Chapter 15: Dharma Dilemma
Morning spread slowly across Champa.
The city did not wake at once. It unfolded.
First came the temple bells—slow, measured, unquestioned. Then the vendors, shouting prices older than their own lives. Ox carts groaned. Water splashed from pots. Incense smoke climbed lazily into the air, mixing with dust and the smell of sweat.
Dhrubo walked among it all with a small cloth pouch tied to his waist. It was almost empty.
"I need work," he said under his breath. "Even carrying loads will do."
Champa was vast compared to Malaka. Here, no one noticed a lone child unless he caused trouble. That was both a relief and a danger.
As he passed a row of fruit carts, something caught his eye.
Two boys.
Thin. Barefoot. Their clothes were patched more by hope than by thread. One stood close to the cart, asking questions with forced confidence.
"Uncle, are these mangoes sweet?"
"Where did they come from?"
The vendor answered lazily, half listening.
The second boy moved.
Fast fingers. Careful. Three fruits disappeared beneath his cloth.
Dhrubo stopped walking.
Stealing.
His first thought was simple.
"This is adharma."
He did not shout. He did not interfere. Instead, he followed them, curiosity pressing against judgment.
The boys ran through narrow lanes, laughing softly, breathless but practiced. They stopped only when a familiar white structure rose before them.
A Vishnu temple.
Its walls were clean. Too clean. Someone scrubbed them daily. Oil lamps burned even in daylight. Priests moved about with calm authority.
The boys approached the steps but did not climb them.
They laid the fruits on a cloth near the entrance and stepped back.
A priest noticed.
"Oh," the man said, smiling. "You came again."
"Yes, Pundit-ji," one boy said, bowing deeply. "Please accept."
The priest took the fruits without hesitation. His smile was gentle.
"You did well," he said. "Bhagavan Vishnu sees all offerings."
The boys' faces brightened.
Then the priest stepped aside.
"But you know the rule," he continued. "You cannot enter."
The boys bowed again.
"We understand," the taller one said quickly. "We are grateful."
They knelt on the stone ground, just outside the temple's shadow.
Dhrubo watched closely.
No anger. No resentment.
Only sincerity.
The boys folded their hands.
"O Narayan," one whispered, eyes closed tight, "please let us live another day."
"And please," the other added softly, "heal Arun. His pocks are getting worse."
The word cut the air.
Pocks.
A nearby pilgrim gasped. Another stepped back.
"What did he say?" someone hissed.
"Pocks?"
A priest's face hardened.
"Who has pocks?" he demanded.
"Our friend," the boy answered honestly. "He couldn't come."
That honesty became their punishment.
"Fools!" someone shouted. "Why bring death near the temple?"
A stick struck the ground near their knees.
"Get away!"
Another hit a shoulder. Harder.
"Don't curse us!"
The boys scrambled up, shielding their heads as they ran.
Dhrubo's hands clenched.
"These are children," he whispered. "They prayed. They gave. And still—"
He had seen cruelty before. He had lived through Kaliyuga.
But this—
"These are children," he whispered. "Even there… we weren't this cruel."
He followed again.
They ran far this time, away from clean streets and watched corners. Past drains that smelled of rot. Past houses that leaned like tired men.
At last, they stopped near a garbage field.
Flies buzzed. Dogs rummaged. Smoke rose from burning scraps.
At the edge stood a hut.
Mud walls. Cracked. Reinforced with broken wood and prayer alone.
Dhrubo stared at it.
"How is this still standing?" he wondered.
Then he smiled faintly.
"All Mahadeva's blessing," he murmured.
He stepped inside.
Three pairs of eyes turned toward him.
One boy lay on straw, breathing unevenly. His skin bore marks that made the others flinch.
The standing boys froze.
"Who are you?" the taller one demanded, lifting a broken stick.
"I followed you," Dhrubo said calmly. "I'm not here to hurt you."
"Everyone says that," the other boy snapped.
Dhrubo raised his hands slowly. "I saw what happened at the temple."
Silence.
The stick lowered slightly.
"I'm Jibon," the taller boy said after a moment. "This is Sabuj."
He pointed to the sick boy. "That's Arun."
"How old are you?" Dhrubo asked.
"Seven," Sabuj replied. "All of us."
"All alone?"
Jibon nodded. "Our parents died. Hunger. Fever. One after another."
Dhrubo's gaze drifted to the fruits they carried back. Still untouched.
"You were hungry," he said softly. "Why didn't you eat?"
Sabuj answered first. "If we eat, we live one day."
Jibon continued, "If lord Vishnu is pleased, maybe we live many more days."
Dhrubo felt something tighten in his chest.
Dhrubo knelt beside Arun.
He placed his hand on the boy's chest. Life energy pulsed weakly.
Green warmth flowed from him, slow and careful.
Arun's breath steadied.
The marks faded slightly. His breathing steadied.
Jibon gasped. "What did you do?"
"I helped," Dhrubo replied.
Sabuj whispered, "Are you a god?"
Dhrubo shook his head. "No. Just someone passing through."
They stared at him, a child of age 5 or 6, unsure whether he truly is a god or not.
After a long pause, Jibon asked quietly with trying to control his tiers from falling from his eyes, "Why did they beat us?"
Dhrubo did not answer at once.
Outside, temple bells rang again.
"Tell me," Dhrubo said instead, "what is dharma?"
Sabuj frowned. "Doing what priests say."
"Giving to gods," Jibon added. "Even if you suffer."
"And adharma?"
Jibon hesitated. "Stealing. Being born like us."
Dhrubo closed his eyes.
Inside him, Mahadeva's silence pressed gently.
"If you give with sincerity," Dhrubo said slowly, "and are still cast out… is that dharma?"
The boys exchanged glances.
"If you steal to survive," he continued, "and pray for another's life before your own… is that adharma?"
Sabuj's voice trembled. "Then what are we?"
Dhrubo opened his eyes.
"Human," he said simply.
Outside, the city moved on. Bells rang. Prayers continued.
Inside a broken hut, dharma stood uncertain.
Dhrubo knew this was only the beginning. But now he didn't know what dharma & adharma is again.
Chapter End.