Empty Hand Revolution

Part Three: Run-in With a Rickshaw

The cycle rickshaw driver mumbled under his breath, as if he didn’t possess the ability to stop talking. Or perhaps he feared evil spirits would rush in the moment his stream of filthy swearing ceased to pour out.

Cosmo had come to Delhi two weeks earlier not knowing more than a handful of words in Hindi, but he was learning quickly. Kachui, Cosmo’s cousin, had arranged for the two of them to meet a Naga pastor working in New Delhi. During their short trip from campus to the storefront church, Cosmo had heard the driver use one word over a dozen times—bahadur.

The obvious meaning of bahadur was ‘brave,’ or ‘hero.’ The British had used it as an honorary title. A week ago, Kachui had awkwardly explained the word’s usage by another rickshaw driver as a blessing. Since then, Cosmo’s patience for thinly veneered lies had worn out.

Two days earlier, Cosmo had discovered the truth behind bahadur’s semantics. Indians used the word as a racial slur for Nepali servants. In this case, it appeared yet another rickshaw driver, otherwise known as a cyclewallah, had failed to distinguish between Nepali and Naga.

With each passing usage of the slur, it became more likely Cosmo would fail to distinguish between Jesus’ famous teaching on turning the other cheek and Cosmo’s personal code of never letting an insult go unpunished.

A dizzying array of bright advertisements blurred past as the rickshaw sped down a subtle grade. Cosmo attempted to distract himself with his surroundings.

Most of the buildings in this older section of Delhi were two or three stories tall and in varying degrees of construction or decay. It was hard to tell which. It appeared to Cosmo the construction process progressed so slowly that buildings remained in continuous repair. Perhaps they were held together by the billboards plastered over every exterior surface.

Currently, his view of the ads was obstructed by a rat’s nest of electrical wiring. His village didn’t even have electricity. The Indians didn’t seem to know what to do with it. Cosmo wasn’t sure about the protocols, but he was sure he could figure out a more efficient system than this.

The rickshaw swerved. Cosmo jerked his attention to the street, where a clump of construction workers attempted to drag a man from the edge of the road. Cosmo caught only a quick glimpse, but it looked as if the man had been dead, or close to it.

Their driver shook his fist and ratcheted up the volume of his continual swearing. Two of the workers straightened long enough to return the verbal abuse. Soon they were drowned out in a city of constant auditory and olfactory attack.

The driver punctuated his diatribe with a rude gesture before turning in his seat enough to smile at Cosmo. His teeth and gums were stained red from chewing betel nuts.

Cosmo stared coldly back until the driver frowned and resumed his undercurrent of breathy swears. Cosmo thought briefly of buying the man another filthy betel nut to get him to shut up.

The driver gripped the handlebars and focused on pedaling the rickshaw.

Cosmo elbowed Kachui, who had been avoiding eye contact for the last few kilometers.

Kachui glanced at Cosmo, a look of apology on his face.

Finally Cosmo deduced what had been bothering his cousin for the last several minutes. It hadn’t been the rickshaw’s foul language, something standard for every Indian Cosmo had met. More familiar with Delhi’s streets, Kachui had quickly observed something Cosmo had missed.

They were on the outer loop of Delhi, heading in almost the opposite direction of their destination. The rickshaw driver had taken the outer ring instead of an inner spoke to charge his unsuspecting bahadur passengers twice the rate. Cosmo stewed in the dusty caldron of the rickshaw’s back seat until they reached the small church where they’d been bound.

Kachui attempted to address the driver, but Cosmo shoved his cousin out of the rickshaw and exited right behind him. He shielded Kachui while crowding the driver. The man smiled and stood on his pedals with his hand out.

The pits of the driver’s shirt were ringed with dark stains. His teeth were crooked and half rotten from betel nuts stuffed with tobacco. His eyes were sleepy and red, his hair greased. And yet, this Indian cyclewallah felt superior enough to insult his paying customers.

Kachui tugged on Cosmo’s elbow.

Cosmo broke the silence. “How much?”

The driver smiled even broader. They both knew if a passenger had to ask the fare that the price would go up. “Two hundred rupees.”

“How much for the direct route.” Cosmo spoke in English.

The driver’s smile disappeared, replaced by a stream of cursing eventually punctuated by repeating the same price. “Two hundred rupees. You pay!”

“Cosmo!” Kachui tried to stop the inevitable.

Cosmo’s hand twitched. Instead of reaching for his pocket, he jabbed the driver in the face.

Before the man knew what had happened, blood burst from his nose and lip. He staggered and fell from his bike onto the sidewalk.

Cosmo stepped calmly out of the way, so as not to hinder the cyclewallah on his way to the ground.

Kachui threw up his hands in panic. “We can’t just, now what do we—”

Cosmo gestured toward the small church front. “Let’s meet the man you brought me here to meet.” He waved his hands in an effort to focus his cousin’s attention, but without success.

Kachui’s eyes darted from stranger to stranger as a crowd collected around the bloodied rickshaw driver, who had commenced swearing at the top of his voice and pointing at the two Naga outsiders.

Cosmo placed a hand on Kachui’s shoulder. The touch untethered him completely. He bolted in the opposite direction on foot. Rather than chase after his cousin, Cosmo removed eighty-five rupees from his pocket. He held the money up for the bystanders to see.

Stooping next to the frenzied driver, he gripped the man’s hand and clamped it around the money.

The driver’s eyes darted from Cosmo to the onlookers in confusion.

Cosmo slapped him lightly on the cheek to ensure his full attention. “Friend, you made two mistakes. First, I’m a Naga from Manipur, not Nepal. Second, I have self-respect like all Nagas.”

With that, Cosmo stood and parted the crowd. After he wiped the driver’s blood off his hand, he determined to find a good cup of tea before finding another rickshaw to carry him back to campus.