Scratch That

BEER - CIGARETTES - LOTTERY - HOT FOOD.

These were the delights offered by the convenience store in which Bhavna Patel had labored for the past six years. To call barely-warmed rotisserie hot dogs hot food was stretching it a bit, but otherwise, it was a fair advertisement. The owner was committed to giving his customers what they wanted, and in this part of town, that meant cheap eats, beer, smokes, and lottery tickets. Business was brisk. Bhavna was usually kept quite busy working the cash register or marking prices during her ten hour shift. But there were lulls.

When they came, Bhavna liked to take out the little black notebook she always kept near her and scan through it. It would have been indecipherable to anyone else. Unless, that is, they were familiar with Devanagari, the alphabet used to express Hindi, Bhavna’s native tongue. In that case, they would be rewarded with reading the wisest, deepest, most enlightening passages ever set to paper or parchment.

The words didn’t come from Bhavna. They came from the Upanishads, the Vedas, and the Bhagavad Gita. They were uttered by Gandhi, Guatama Buddha, Confucious and Christ. There were even some from Wayne Dyer and Deepak Chopra. For years, Bhavna had filled the notebook with quotes that inspired her, no matter the source. Reflecting on their timeless messages never failed to lift her above the mundanity which surrounded her.

It was during just such a break that a customer came into the store whom Bhavna had seen several times before over the years. He always stood out. Male model types sporting three-piece suits and serious bling didn’t come in every day. And although Bhavna was modest, prudish even, she appreciated eye-candy when she saw it. He was one customer always under surveillance, and not because he might shoplift.

He’d typically pick out a few odds and ends - a bottle of water, breath mints, some chips - and also always purchase a few scratch-off lottery tickets. He would then go over to the ATM machine, take out a coin, and scratch away. Winners were cashed in immediately; losers were tossed in the trash. Bhavna always thought it was strange that seemingly wealthy individuals would bother spending money on what was usually a losing proposition. She understood why poor people did it. But rich people? Bhavna didn’t get it.

This visit by Mr. Bling was much like the others. He bought a soda, a box of Kleenex, a soft pretzel, and three scratchers. Then it was straight to the ATM machine to commence the scratching. It didn’t look like there were any winners today…with a disgusted look, he tossed the tickets into the trash can and quickly departed.

A little later, Bhavna was sweeping the floor, something she did twice a day. When she came by the trash can, she saw a lottery ticket lying face-down. She picked it up and gave it a glance. She always checked out any used scratchers customers may have left in the store. It amused her to see how the game’s fiendish designers always made it look like big prizes were just one scratch away. Only…they never were.

Bhavna was about to throw it away when she gave it a second look. And then, with widening eyes, a third. What she saw were three icons representing bags of coins, all with the number seventeen on them and a prize amount of $20,000.00 printed below..

This game required three matching numbers to win.

The card was a winner.

Looking over her shoulder, Bhavna returned to her perch behind the register. She opened her handbag that was stored below and slipped the card into the notebook. It was out of sight for the rest of the day, but not out of mind. Adrenalin born of both fear and elation kept her on edge. She wondered what she should do, and who might have lost the ticket. Mr. Bling was an obvious suspect; she had seen him toss his away with her own eyes.

But he wasn’t the only one to purchase lottery scratchers that day. A good many were sold, and he wasn’t the only one to stay in the store until finding out whether they had a winner or not. It really could have been anyone’s.

For the next several days, Bhavna struggled with that old scourge, Maya, as never before. Should she cash it in? Should she hold on to it until she saw Mr. Bling again and give it to him? Even if he came in again - and that could be several months away - he wouldn’t have any idea that the prize was his. If it was even his ticket to begin with; there was no way to prove it.

Bhavna hadn’t stolen the scratcher…some stranger had thrown it away. How morally bound was she to try and return it to whichever unknown customer had bought it? Wouldn’t the first person she approached say “why, yes, that was mine! Thank you very much!” It would be a rare inhabitant, indeed, of this world of Illusion to turn it down. Saints didn’t come into Bhavna’s convenience store all that often.

Besides, she had become acquainted over the years with the American saying that Finders were Keepers. It’s not something she had run across in the Vedas, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t valid. And it would certainly clear her of any ethical transgression if she kept the card. In fact, her situation seemed like a perfect example of why that doctrine should rule…finding the rightful owner would be almost impossible. What other choice did that leave her?

The funny thing was that Bhavna’s moral quandary had nothing to do with selfishness. As soon as the possibility of winning the twenty thousand dollars sunk in, she immediately thought of her niece, with whom she was very close. Rita was a nursing student who recently had to drop out due to finances. To compound her problems, she had come down with Epstein-barr syndrome, which forced her to quit her part-time job as well. The prize money wouldn’t solve everything. But it would help a lot.

After a week of dithering, Bhavna made a decision…she would cash it in. That didn’t mean she was completely free from lingering doubts or guilt; the image of Mr. Bling haunted her day and night. It only meant that her fears were trumped by her desire to do good. She wasn’t concerned about her own well-being. She was doing it for Rita. Did that make it right? Bhavna didn’t know, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her.

Cashing in the scratcher meant that Bhava had to take off from work and go to the lottery headquarters located nearby in the state capitol. She didn’t tell her boss where she was going that day, or anything about her find at all, in fact. Something told her that his interpretation of Finders and Keepers would involve transferring the card into his capable hands. And that would be that.

After filling out some forms and providing her ID, Bhavna left the office with a cashier’s check made out to her for twenty thousand dollars. She tucked it into the back of her notebook, which she read on her bus ride back home. Once back in her neighborhood, she went straight to her bank and made the deposit. Done and done!.

Bhavna hadn’t breathed a word of her windfall to anyone, least of all, Rita. She wanted to make it a big surprise. In what might have indicated a streak of vanity, Bhavna decided to go all out and present the gift in the form of cold, hard cash - 200 crisp hundred dollar bills - hidden and disguised in a candy box which she would give to Rita when she visited. On her day off, she called ahead and arranged it with her bank. An hour later, the neat bundle of bills tucked deep in her handbag, Bhavna walked towards the convenience store to get a card to go along with the box. There was one there she knew would be perfect.

It happened in a flash. Without warning, she was suddenly pushed from behind. As she was falling, she felt the strap of her handbag being ripped away from from her shoulder. She tried to grab it, but it was too late. Bhavna hit the ground hard. All she could see looking up were a pair of skinny, jeans-clad legs racing away and turning out of sight.

A man rushed out from the check-cashing business along-side her and helped her to her feet. She was shaken up and had a bad bruise on her forehead, but was otherwise okay. There was no point in calling the cops; the robber was long gone. Bhavna was angry at herself; she should have known better. Crimes like this were not unknown in this neighborhood. What was she thinking, walking around with that much money?

Bhavna managed to get herself home, where she washed and bandaged her bruise and then fixed herself a cup of chai. She sat at her kitchen table and started going over what had happened. Sadly, her inspirational notebook would offer no consolation; it was gone too. She was left to her own understandings.

After sitting quietly with her eyes closed for a long while, a smile began to appear on Bhavna’s face. A realization was emerging. Although her mind had convinced her that cashing in the scratcher was ethically sound, a deeper part of her had never agreed. Her soul didn’t buy it. It knew the money wasn’t truly hers. Anything else she might have done with the ticket would have been better than what she had chosen. She would have been more at peace.

And now, the money was gone. The reason that fact was bringing a smile to Bhavna’s face rather than tears was because it confirmed the existence of an extremely important principle, one that she always suspected was true but for which she never had concrete proof. Until now. There could be only one explanation.

Karma.

Cashing in that ticket that someone else had purchased was tantamount to stealing. And now, the money had been stolen from her! If that wasn’t reaping what you sow, what was? It couldn’t be any more clear. Karma existed. And knowing that now brought Bhavna a deep, welcome feeling of relief. It meant that actions mattered. Words mattered. There was an organizing principle to existence; life wasn’t just a chaotic jumble of meaningless events, empty of justice. Everything is taken into account. Nobody gets away with anything. Some might find that terrifying. She found it comforting. The scriptures had been right, after all.

Bhavna had twenty thousand fewer dollars that evening than she had in the morning.

And was immeasurably richer.