Short Story: The Cracked Coin

You can spoil your good luck with your stupidity, but even with all the smartness in the world, you can never outrun your bad luck. — - Shon Mehta

It was almost noon, and the worker who I had hired for cleaning my tavern hadn’t turned up. I cursed aloud. My back was sore and I was looking forward to rest a little, but now I will have to work more than usual.

“Do you need help, sir?” said a voice.

It was an elderly woman with a wrinkly face. It is tough to guess the age of poor people, they tend to look older than they are, due to all the hardship they face. She had a hunched back and sunburned skin, common among the workers in the paddy fields of Vidari. I noticed how frail she was — no, the kitchen utensils would be too heavy for her.

“Yes,” I replied. “I need help, but I don’t think you can do the work.”

“Try me,” she replied with determination. “I am fitter than I look.”

I gave it another thought. I wouldn’t be able to clean too well either, so there was no harm in giving her a chance.

“I need someone to clean the large kitchen utensils, and the oven also. It is a lot of work.”

“I will do it!” replied the woman.

“How much will you charge?” I asked.

“Two karshikas,” said the woman.

This was half what I pay to the regular worker.

“If you clean properly, I will give you three. But if you don’t, I will give you none — as a punishment for wasting my time.”

“I will clean everything,” replied the woman eagerly. “You won’t regret.”

The woman was right — she was stronger than she looked. In the next three hours, she had not only cleaned the utensils, but also had swept the floor and even arranged the pots and pans properly. As I watched her work, it was clear that she knew what she was doing. I was surprised, and curious.

“Stop, now,” I said. “You must be tired. Let us eat something.”

I gave her some Trishala Fish, left over from the night before.

“You are very kind, sir,” she said, hesitantly accepting the serving.

“You are very good at your work,” I told her. “How do you know so much about taverns?”

“In my younger days, I used to run a tavern”.

“You owned a tavern?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

“Yes, sir,” she smiled. “My husband owned the tavern, but I used to run it.”

“Then what happened? You are smart and hardworking, then how come you went from owning a tavern to be a farm hand?”

“Bad luck, sir,” she sighed. “You can spoil your good luck with your stupidity, but even with all the smartness in the world, you can never outrun your bad luck.”

I had unwittingly brought back some unpleasant memories. We both remained awkwardly silent for a while.

“I have never seen you here before, are you new to Trishala city?” I asked, changing the subject.

“I am here to show my back to Vaidu, the herb master. He sells a herb ointment which can cure my hunchback. He charges two karshikas.”

“Oh, thats why you were asking for two karshikas.”

She nodded.

“I am good in household chores too, but due to my hunchback no one hires me. If I cure my hunchback, rich lords would hire me as their housekeeper. Then I won’t have to work in paddy fields for half a karshika.”

“Yes, that will be good life for you,” I said. “Lets get back to work.”

The woman worked non-stop till the evening. She even decorated the tavern tastefully — it was now looking nice and festive.

I was happy, and felt more generous than usual. As she prepared to leave, I pulled out a five-karshika coin.

“We had decided on two karshikas,” she said, surprised, as I handed her the coin.

“Take it,” I replied, “You have worked hard for it, and who knows maybe it will bring good luck to you.”

“Thanks so much, sir. May god Sarvabhu bless you.”

She turned to go, but hesitated.

“Whats wrong?” I asked.

“Sorry to bother, sir,” she said. “But this coin has a small crack in it.”

“Oh, that?” I laughed. “Don’t worry, it does not matter. In case anybody rejects the coin, come back to me and I will give you a different one.”

She smiled, thanked me again, and stepped out.

It was now time for business, and I opened the tavern. Slowly, the patrons started coming in. Soon enough, the tavern was in full swing. Everyone was drinking and eating merrily.

It was around midnight when I heard the commotion. There was an argument going between the barman and “Rakha the Drunk Rat”.

Rakha was a regular. I had known him for several years. He did odd jobs in the lower town. He was one of the many who always have the desire to drink, but never have enough money. I had asked my barman to be careful with such customers.

I pulled Rakha aside. “Rakha, you are too drunk,” I told him. “You should go home.”

Rakha was unable to even open his eyes completely, but he recognized me.

“I know what you are afraid that I won’t be able to pay,” he mumbled. “You think I am a penniless gutter vermin, huh?”

I knew that it was futile to argue with a drunkard. I quietly stared at him, wondering what to do with the lowlife.

Rakha reached into a small bag tied to his waist, and took out something.

“Take this,” he shouted as he threw a coin at me.

I picked up the coin, it was a five-karshika coin with a small crack. It was the one that I had given to the working woman earlier that evening.

“Where did you get this coin?” I asked.

“None of your business,” Rakha mumbled and looked away.

“Did you steal it from someone?” I asked, fearing the worst.

“No, it is mine,” replied Rakha.

“I know for sure that it is not yours. It belongs to an old woman.”

“It is my mother’s,” Rakha shouted. “Now give me some sura.”

“Why did she give it to you?”

“She asked me to buy an ointment to for her hunchback,” Rakha smirked. “The old fool — ointments can never cure her hunchback. Waste of good money, I say.”

Rakha remained quiet for a moment. He was getting restless.

“Why am I telling you this?” he looked at me menacingly. “Enough talk. You have my five karshikas, now bring me more sura.”

There was nothing more to be said. I pocketed the coin, asked the barman to fetch the sura, and went my way.

It wasn’t long before I forgot about the whole incident. Then one morning, on my way home, as I passed by another tavern down the street, I heard a familiar voice.

“I can do any work, sir. Just for two karshikas.”

© Sheetal Mehata.

For More Stories and Quotes by shon Mehta visit shonmehta.com