Divya's Dharma

The autorickshaw wallah forcefully sucked on his bidi and then flicked it away. He grabbed a large, black lever by his feet and pulled it forward with zeal, starting the tiny engine. The autorickshaw emanated a high-pitched buzzing sound, as if it was being operated by thousands of angry honeybees. Without glancing at the vehicles racing past him, he swerved madly into traffic.

Divya grabbed onto her suitcase and began praying.

No wonder they say you become more spiritual in India, she thought fearfully. 

Within a few minutes, Divya was experiencing her first traffic jam.  She instantly found herself preferring the reckless speeds to sitting idly in the poisonous haze of carbon monoxide and other toxic gases. She began coughing and feeling light headed from the suffocating traffic fumes. The autorickshaw driver lit another bidi.

Cars, buses, horses, dogs, trucks, bicycles, cows, autorickshaws, and innumerable scooters and motorcycles jammed the intersection. Each vehicle seemed to rumble with impatience, and the drivers revved their engines as they slowly inched forward, filling whatever little space remained, as if they were at the starting line of a Formula One race. 

Divya found the persistent honking from the vehicles overwhelming, and she covered her ears in a futile effort to minimize the auditory assault.

The autorickshaw driver pulled out a newspaper and finished reading his article. He cursed in Hindi.  Divya leaned forward.  He was reading the previous night’s lottery numbers.

I guess he didn’t win, she thought smugly, pleased at his unhappiness.

The police officer standing in the center of the intersection motioned the traffic forward, and her smile transformed into a look of fear as the autorickshaw wallah took out his frustration by driving even more wildly.

The autorickshaw lurched forward and the driver somehow fit into spaces that Divya did not think existed. He drove so close to some vehicles that she could have pulled the hair off the other driver’s arms.

By a sheer act of God, the autorickshaw avoided crashing into any vehicle, animal, or person, and clearing the intersection, raced down another pot-holed street.

The autorickshaw driver suddenly swerved into oncoming traffic, playing chicken with an enormous truck that was rumbling toward them.

Divya was too terrified to scream, certain her life was over.

The autorickshaw driver jerked his handlebars to the left, and pulled to the curb beside an irritable elephant being painted with intricate colors by a half-naked, malnourished looking man in a loincloth. The elephant trumpeted with displeasure.

It took her a moment to realize that she was alive and that they had not reached their destination.

“W-Why have we stopped?” she asked uneasily.

The autorickshaw driver jumped out of the front of the three-wheeler and reached towards her.

Oh my God, he’s going to rape me in broad daylight? she thought, all sense of reason abandoning her.

The autorickshaw driver grabbed something behind her head and pulled it out. She noticed that it was a water bottle filled with fuel. He went to the back of the autorickshaw and opened the fuel tank.

“Oh shit, we’re just out of gas,” she sighed with relief, placing her hand over her racing heart. 

The autorickshaw driver cursed and tossed the empty water bottle into the gutter. He impatiently motioned her to lift her