What goes around, comes around. Or does it?

Mr and Mrs Hariharan were a delightful old couple who were liked and respected by everyone in their residential building for their kindness and good humour. They were especially good to their servants and everyone else who worked for them, known even to shoulder the responsibility of educating their maid’s children.

It was a cool Monday evening. Mr Hariharan had stepped out of the house to buy some groceries. Normally, Mrs Hariharan would have accompanied him, but today their maid, Rita, had had a family emergency. She had informed them that she would come to their house to clean utensils a little later that evening. Mrs Hariharan urged her to take the day off, but Rita said she would come. So Mrs Hariharan stayed home. When Rita did come to their house, she had a wild expression on her face. On being asked if she was alright, Mrs Hariharan got only monosyllabic replies. So she decided to give Rita her space and not pry.

Mrs Hariharan settled on the sofa in the drawing room to begin her daily praying ritual. She had read just one verse when she noticed an unusual movement out of the corner of her eye. She looked up from her book and was shocked to find the usually jovial Rita looking almost murderous, standing in front of her brandishing a long knife. Mrs Hariharan recognised the knife as belonging to her own kitchen. What was Rita playing at?

“Put the knife down, Rita. And tell me what’s wrong.” Mrs Hariharan said, trying to portray a calmness in her voice that she didn’t feel. Her heart was beating fast because she seemed to be trapped in her home with a crazed Rita whom she couldn’t quite place. This Rita was completely at odds with the calm, mild natured Rita she was familiar with.

“Get up and hand over all the money in the house to me.” Rita spat out.

Mrs Hariharan froze. Her mind went on overdrive. She evaluated her situation – she was all alone at home, Mr Hariharan was not expected home for at least another hour, the neighbours won’t be home from work yet. She could call the security, but how would she do that without Rita noticing?

“Come on make it fast, I don’t want to have to hurt you.” Rita said impatiently.

Mrs Hariharan slowly rose from her seat. Rita moved closer and trained her knife near Mrs Hariharan’s throat, its point almost touching her. Though Mrs Hariharan was terrified, the dominant emotion in her was that of sadness. She could still not believe that Rita would betray her like this. After all her kindness, this was how Rita had chosen to repay her.

“Don’t do this Rita. Just put the knife down and go home. I am willing to forget this whole incident if you stop right now,” Mrs Hariharan said in an attempt at making peace. Her efforts were wasted. Rita was not going to budge.

“Save your breath, I’m not going to back out now.” Rita said, her expression cold, unfamiliar.

Mrs Hariharan decided to give in. She knew that she couldn’t fight off Rita, not with her arthritis ridden bones. The only way to get rid of her was to give her what she wanted. She would report Rita to the police as soon as she got out of this nightmare.

Mrs Hariharan felt like she hadn’t known Rita at all, if that was even her name. She proceeded to the drawer in the TV cabinet where she kept her purse. Mr Hariharan didn’t believe in keeping a lot of money in the house. Instead, he withdrew money from the bank as and when required. It was much safer that way. And how right he was, thought Mrs Hariharan as she retrieved the purse with trembling hands. There were two thousand rupees in the purse which Rita snatched away greedily.

“I want more. Is this all you have?” Rita asked.

“Yes,” replied Mrs Hariharan.

“I don’t believe you. I think you really don’t have a sense of self-preservation,” Rita said.

She was going to nick Mrs Hariharan’s neck to draw some blood, to scare her into submission when the doorbell rang loudly, startling them both. Saved by the bell, thought Mrs Hariharan. But her relief was short lived.

“Don’t move. You will not open the door,” Rita ordered.

Mrs Hariharan prayed that it was Mr Hariharan at the door and that he had thought to take his set of keys with him. Sure enough, a minute later, she could hear the key turning in the lock. Mrs Hariharan dared to hope again.

The door opened and Mr Hariharan came in saying, “Look who decided to pay us a surprise visit!”

Mr Hariharan and their two sons Ajay and Vijay froze for a second at the scene in front of them – Mrs Hariharan held at knife point, holding a purse in her hand and Rita holding a knife trying and failing to look menacing. Ajay recovered from his shock first and quickly got into action. He rushed to Rita and deftly took away the knife from her hands. Vijay went to his mother’s side. She had sunk to the floor out of relief and exhaustion. After seating his mother on the sofa and giving her a glass of water to drink, Vijay went to help his brother contain Rita. She had a resigned expression on her face, but she was still struggling to escape. Mr Hariharan was calling the security and any neighbours and friends he could reach over the intercom. Within a few minutes, three black uniformed security guards came to take Rita away. She was sobbing now. The guards had no sympathy for her though. She gave one last pitiable look at Mrs Hariharan and allowed herself to be led away. Mrs Hariharan couldn’t stand to look at Rita so she averted her eyes.

The ordeal was over but Mrs Hariharan was badly shaken. Mr Hariharan put an arm around her and they sat in silence, grateful that nothing worse had happened. Neighbours and friends started trickling in after the security spread the word. Everyone was shocked. One of the neighbours offered to drive Mr and Mrs Hariharan to the police station to file a complaint. His wife brought them steaming Dal Rice because she figured Mrs Hariharan wouldn’t be in a state to cook after an ordeal like this. Ajay and Vijay decided to spend the night and the next few days at their parents’ house so they could keep an eye out for them.

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That night sleep was hard to come by for both Mr and Mrs Hariharan, even though they knew that their sons were in the next room. They had lodged a police complaint. In addition, a society meeting was held where the security measures of the building had been updated. All maids working in the various houses of the building were now required to have a photo ID which would be issued by the building management after due background checks.

The moon was full that night, casting its white light into Mrs Hariharan’s bedroom. She was grateful for the light. It made her feel safe for some reason.

“Why did this happen to me? I thought good begets good. What goes around, comes around and all that. The entire concept of Karma, is it all just talk?” Mrs Hariharan asked her husband morosely as she was getting ready for bed. The events of the day had made her doubt herself. Ever since she was a child, she had been taught to be good and kind to others. But after today, she was beginning to wonder if being good was overrated, that maybe what she had been taught was no longer applicable in today’s dog eat dog world.

Mr Hariharan smiled as he straightened his glasses. “Tell me, are you being kind, generous and good to people out of expectation of something in return from them?”

“Of course not!” Mrs Hariharan said indignantly. “But I certainly didn’t expect Rita to behave this way.” Mrs Hariharan was quite hurt by what she saw as an act of betrayal by Rita.

“As to your question on whether good begets good, here’s what I think,” Mr Hariharan said from his armchair next to the window. “What goes around, does come around, but not necessarily from the same source!”

“What do you mean?” asked Mrs Hariharan, confused.

“Agreed, what Rita did today was totally uncalled for," Mr Hariharan said. "But think of some of the good things that also happened today:”

1) It was nothing short of miraculous that our sons and I came home when we did, or who knows what might have happened.”

2) Our neighbours all rushed to our side when we called for help. Diya from next door made us dinner. Did we ask her to? No. Yet she did and how useful it was to us, when you were too disturbed to cook. Similarly, her husband took the trouble of driving us till the police station and back.”

Why did these things happen? Maybe it was your good Karma that protected you, maybe it was Fate. We don’t know.”

“I hadn’t thought of it quite that way” said Mrs Hariharan deep in thought. A verse of the Bhagwad Gita came to her mind, ‘Karmanye Vadhikaraste, Ma phaleshou kada chana, Ma Karma Phala Hetur Bhurmatey Sangostva Akarmani’. This verse meant that one should concentrate on one’s actions and not worry about the results of those actions. In other words, one’s actions shouldn’t be motivated solely by the fruits of those actions. We will definitely avail the fruits of our actions, whether good or bad, but the despatching of fruits is not our department. That responsibility is solely the Universe’s.

In light of this verse, her husband’s words started making sense and Mrs Hariharan finally understood. She wouldn’t forsake the goodness of her heart just because of this one incident. She helped people because it made her happy that she could be of some use to them, not because she wanted something in return. She knew that the Universe will return the favour as it saw fit, in its own good time.

This was quite an epiphany for Mrs Hariharan - that Karma does exist, but it works in mysterious ways. The boons or banes of Karma strike at the unlikeliest of times and we are almost always taken unawares by it. Smiling to herself, Mrs Hariharan fell asleep watching the flickering of Mr Hariharan’s reading lamp.

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