The Initiation (1135 words)

 Guna was eating alone, a bun for lunch outside, when Mano, his schoolmate one class senior, sat by his side.

“Guna, you seem to eat almost daily only bun or puffed rice. Doesn’t your mom give you idly, dosa, or some rice item?” Mano asked with friendly concern. Guna kept silent; his head bowed.

“Hey, aren’t you hearing me?” Mano asked, his tone now raspy.

“I heard you. We are poor and only make food at night. Even this, my mom gives with much difficulty,” replied Guna softly.

“Would you like to make some easy money? I do, and my purse is always full,” Mano offered with a smile.

“Do you work after school? How do you make money?” asked Guna innocently.

“I work only two hours in the evenings, and the pay is good. I can take you to my master. He’ll train you, and you’ll be set. You could bring home money every day. Then your mom can make you idly and dosa! My master needs boys like you,” Mano spoke persuasively.

“Will the work be hard?” Guna asked, intrigued.

“Not at all. It’s exciting and doesn’t require physical labour. I see you run fast; that might come in handy now and then. You’ll get good clothes too, and won’t have to wear those tattered ones. Come with me this evening,” Mano encouraged.

Guna’s young mind was filled with fantasies of making his mother happy, completely oblivious to the class going on. He couldn’t understand how someone could make money without hard work like his father did.

Later, Mano took Guna to an abandoned shed a few streets away. About a dozen boys Guna’s age sat on the ground before a man sitting on a plastic drum. Guna didn’t like the look of him. He was dressed in a lungi and tight red T-shirt with a black scarf around his neck. His right wrist had a thick bracelet, and his face was scarred. When he smiled, showing his pan-stained teeth, Guna felt more fear than respect.

“Is this the boy you mentioned yesterday, Mano? What’s his name? Has he agreed?” the master asked.

“Guna, sir. He comes from a very poor family. I think he’ll agree once you explain there’s no risk,” Mano replied.

“Guna, come here,” the master called, and Guna approached with hesitation. The master stroked Guna’s head and asked, “You look hungry. Have you eaten?”

He took a 500-rupee note from his underwear and sent one of the boys to fetch biriyani. As they waited, the master tested Guna’s hands, asking him to pick up various objects quickly, testing his reflexes and nimbleness. By the third attempt, Guna succeeded, earning a pleased “sabash” from the master.

“Practice for three or four days before you join the others. I’ll teach you the tricks, how to divert attention, and how to work unnoticed. In no time, you’ll be great at it,” the master assured.

The boys devoured the biriyani, and afterward, Guna was left alone with the master. He handed Guna 100 rupees. “You’ll earn much more daily. Don’t worry. I know people who will protect you. Just remember, never hold on to anything if there’s a commotion. Drop it or pass it to someone else immediately. Understand?”

“I’m scared of getting caught. If my amma or appa find out, they’ll kill me,” Guna confessed.

“The fear will go. Just tell your mom you’re working in a bookbinding shop or something similar. Don’t tell the truth. If you don’t like the work, I’ll let you leave,” the master said, soothing Guna’s worries.

When Guna handed his mother the 100 rupees that night, she hugged him with pride. “Don’t ever tell your father. If he knows, he’ll take the money for alcohol. And don’t neglect your studies.”

But Guna couldn’t sleep that night. He knew what he was doing was wrong, that one day he’d get caught. But the weight of poverty and his mother’s joy at the money blinded him to the crime.

Even as he trained, Guna saw the other boys return daily with their earnings, happy. Purses and wallets were collected and emptied under the master’s watch, who then paid the boys their share. Some days were more profitable than others, especially holidays.

Finally, the day arrived. Guna was sweating as the master reassured him, “Be calm. Just get one purse and come back.”

The bus was overcrowded. Guna and three others scanned the passengers. Guna found himself behind an old man with thick glasses and a hearing aid. The man’s wallet was protruding, making it an easy target. Guna slipped it out effortlessly and got off at the next stop, walking back to the shed.

“Any luck, Guna?” the master asked.

Guna handed over the wallet, which was filled with 500-rupee notes. The master let out a joyful shriek. “You’ve got real talent, Guna. Well done!”

Guna, with the other boys, reached for a random purse to empty. When Guna opened his, he froze. Inside was a faded photograph of a family—his father, mother, himself, and his siblings. One of the boys had stolen his father’s wallet.

Tears welled up in Guna’s eyes. The realisation hit him hard. Only the poor, people like his father, rode public buses. It was the poor who got hurt the most. He felt a deep shame.

At that moment, he knew what he had to do. But Mano had once warned him—those who defied the master never survived. They just disappeared.Still, Guna couldn’t continue.

“Why are you crying?” the master asked, misreading the tears. “Happy with your success?”

Guna forced a weak smile. He didn’t go home that night. Instead, he made his way to the railway station. As he sat on a bench, waiting for a train to an unknown city, he thought of his mother. The pain of leaving her weighed heavily on him, but he had made up his mind. He would make her proud someday, not with stolen money, but through honest work. The story ends here for most.

Here is a sequel to soothe the disturbed minds of some of the readers.

Guna, like many ragpickers in Mumbai, initially started to polish shoes at railway stations, do odd jobs like sewing buttonholes and stitching at tailor shops and then moved on to a saloon. After a brief apprenticeship, he became adept in hair cutting and styling, all within three years. He became a partner paying some money to an aged owner of a saloon at Hosur. He spent the mornings and evenings visiting clients’ homes for haircuts, earning a tidy sum every day, and spent the afternoons at the saloon. Life was smooth and happy.

One evening after dusk, he surprised his family, narrated the happenings and brought them safely and secretly to his place.