“Pray to the God before you leave for college, you have your results,” Rima had instructed me, as she always used to, whenever I had to perform any activity, or was to receive the results of the activity performed, “you have to wash your head while taking your bath, right?” she added. To her, washing the hair meant purity. But then, I said, as I always used to, that I had done the hard work and the result I was about the receive will be a result of it. I never believed that God had any role in judging or bestowing the result of the efforts I was putting in. Every time I answered this way, she said, “You won’t listen, do you?”
I used to laugh out. She sighed.
“If at all you love me, please do it,” she used to be gloomy when she said this, “you love me, don’t you?” I never did believe in her faith, after all one does get what he sows. And so a when person sows, the efforts he has kept in, he would reap the same, where does God come in between, I used to pose her this question. “What if rain spoils all the crops or what if it doesn’t rain at all? Does that, too, depend on a person’s hard work?” She used to come up wittily, but I never wanted to lack behind and then said, my exams don’t need the rain. “Huh, if God is there then he won’t let you eat your favorite Pani-puri!” she said the words, as I remember, in a fit of anger but meant none. I will click a picture with my Pani-puri and send it to you on whatsapp; I had said her in a challenging note. “Whatever,” she said and went on to another topic and slept without any warning, leaving it for me to remind the last words she spoke that night.
I got up the next morning and did nothing as she instructed me to. My results were as I expected, good. With lots of joy, I sent Rima a text regarding the same. As always, every evening, with my friends, I went to the Pani-puri stall. He served me the leaf plate smaller than the size of my palm, and instantly placed the first of six pani-puri pieces I would get for ten rupees. It was then I remembered that I had to send Rima a picture of mine while eating it, too. I called up Damini, my friend, to click me a good picture with her large Samsung Galaxy Grand.
As she was ready to click me a picture, I posed her facing the road, when I saw a man on a motorbike been crushed between two buses, resulting in a severed hand and crushed head due to the bus being run over him. The sound the brakes of the bus made were the most infernal vibrations I had heard. The blood was spilled all over the road and I could evidently see mounds of flesh being torn up from the person’s body. The man had died on spot.
I looked at the Pani-puri wallah and said I cannot eat the Pani-puri after watching this ghastly incident and threw away the one on my hand into the dustbin beside. I walked off to my home immediately. I didn’t have my dinner either.