Trial by fire

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The names and characters bear no resemblance to anyone living or deceased.

The food was warm. It smelled good. Fransisco sniffed at it from a distance, enjoying the aroma. It had now been four days since he had eaten anything. His stomach rumbled in anticipation. He checked his pockets, knowing that it was futile to even do so. Ever since he had landed in Mumbai, he had only landed in misfortunes of every kind. His luggage was stolen. His money was snatched. The food that he had carried was now over. Thankfully, water was available, due to which, he was able to survive for the last four days.

After losing his job at the hotel, he had managed to gather his belongings and travel to Mumbai. He was a gourmet chef and had come in from Brazil. He could have easily walked into the embassy and they would ensure that he was sent back to Brazil. Fransisco had ruled out that option though. He had spent a lot of time, effort and money to leave Brazil and travel to India. The poverty, crime and exploitation had been too much for him, although he was born in it. The last straw, was when his parents were shot in a gang shootout. With no family left, the only option for him was to move out. He had some experience, cooking in the family restaurant which proved to be useful. Going through several international websites, India seemed best suited for him.

Fransisco soon got a job with a beach restaurant in Goa. He had just completed a month, when the restaurant was burned to the ground, thanks to some drunk Russians. Fransisco checked his savings and began to look for other jobs. The tourist season had ended and it was proving difficult to find a job. Soon, he was almost out of his money. Someone suggested that he should try his luck in Mumbai and he thought, ‘Why not?’

The police had tried to help him when he had reported the loss of his luggage and money to them. The gang though, was notorious and moved rapidly between cities. Most of them were drug addicts, so finding anything stolen by them would be a futile attempt. One of the senior inspectors tried giving him some money, but he had politely refused. He smiled and asked them if he could spend the night at the police station. It seemed to be the safest place. They had readily allowed Fransisco, even sharing their dinner with him.

That was the last meal that he had eaten. After four days of staying hungry, he couldn’t think straight. His vision kept deceiving him. At the moment, all he could see was the food. There were chunks of meat stuck on a thin rod. The meat was cooked in red spices and liberally sprinkled with pepper. There were rolls of meat, minced and cooked in succulent chutney. Assorted vegetables, cooked in beans and a tomato base filled some plates. Flat breads, cooked on an open flame, were neatly stacked next. Fransisco had to get something to eat. His mind was beyond listening to any reasoning. Hesitantly, he took a step forward. He looked at his arm and was surprised to see it stretched forward. A part of his mind was filled with dread. He was unable to draw back his arm. His steps were slow and labored. In his heart, he knew that it was wrong to steal. He tried to tell himself that, but his mind wouldn’t listen. His stomach was in control and his lags, hands and mouth were hypnotized by it. Fransisco thought about his life in Brazil, where people would casually steal. He had run away from that life, in the hope of starting afresh. It seemed to him that his life was catching up with him, no matter how fast and far he ran. Fransisco couldn’t control his tears and started sobbing. He knew that he was going to lose this battle. His feet dragged forward, towards the food. His arm was still outstretched. His tears had not stopped flowing. Fransisco cursed himself, even as he moved.

The old man adjusted his cap and stared at the tall, good-looking man. He had just returned from his namaaz. He could see the man crying hopelessly, but he looked like he had been brave, once. His clothes were dirty, but they were definitely stylish. His shoulders drooped, but could not mask the strength that they possessed. He was going to pick up some food from the counter and the man did not look like he could pay for it. But the old man had seen enough to know that the man crying some distance away from him, was no thief. He waited to see how the events would unfold. The old man was curious.

Fransisco suddenly stopped, just short of the food. He forced himself to stop crying. Abruptly, without any hesitation, he turned and began to leave.

The old man had seen enough. He ran out from inside the restaurant, passed the counter facing the road and grabbed Fransisco by his arm. He tugged and Fransisco was now scared. The old man looked like he had not approved of Fransisco’s intentions. He tried to explain, but the old man shook his head. He pulled Fransisco and in his weakened state, Fransisco was unable to resist. He burst into tears again and allowed himself to be led.

The old man took him inside the restaurant, past the food counter. He sat Fransisco down at one of the tables and beckoned to one of his waiters. Soon, a plate full of the food Fransisco had seen, was laid before him. Surprised, he looked up at the old man. The old man smiled and gestured at him to eat.

“Kha lo beta. Bhookh takleef deti hai na”, he said.

Fransisco could not understand and shook his head.

The old man attempted to translate. “Eat food, son. Hungry stomach not good. Pains.”

Fransisco did not know how to react and stared at the old man, bewildered.

“Food is nice. Eat. Don’t be hungry”, said the old man, ruffling his hair.

Fransisco was overcome with a fresh wave of emotion. He hungrily devoured the food, thanking the old man for his hospitality.

The old man smiled as he spoke to his waiter. “Aaj mauka mila kuch nek karne ka. Namaaz qubool ho gayi.”

An hour later, through a waiter who translated, Fransisco had opened his heart out to the old man. He just smiled in return. Looking straight at him, the old man asked, “Can cook nice? Want to work?”

Fransisco smiled and nodded. 

**Copyright: Amit D'Souza