"Oh my God, no! Please, no!" Steve's gut-wrenching cry resounded down the hospital corridors. Tears flowed unabated from his weary eyes. He pleaded with the doctor for his son's life, but it was all over. Darin had departed for his heavenly abode from which there was no coming back. Kristy was holding his limp body, cradling him like only a mother could, and crying hysterically. Steve kept hoping that Darin would open his eyes and everything would be all right - but his precious child was gone forever and all that remained were memories.
     He looked up at the heavens, and cried, "Why did you do this to me, O Lord - why?" But in his heart, Steve knew that he had sowed the seeds of his own ruin. He had built his grand empire with callous disregard for innocent lives. Yes, this was his Karma. Images from the past came rushing in. He remembered the extraordinary theory that had been carefully expounded to him by a scholar in India. "Karma is based on the laws of physics - it is action and reaction, cause and effect, sin and retribution."

     Fifteen years earlier, Steve had been offered a job working on a construction site in India, about thirty miles from a place called Varanasi, the ancient, holy city of the Hindus. In the beginning, he had misgivings about working in a country with a reputation for poverty, antiquated customs, and senseless religious rituals, but within a few short months, he was in awe of this place called India, fascinated by its colorful diversity and mesmerized by its ancient customs. However, most of all, it was the land's immense potential for business that appealed to him. The entrepreneur in Steve was always on the lookout, prospecting. Then one day, by sheer chance, he stumbled upon it.
     The streets were all bustling with the fervor of a religious festival. Looking down from his hotel window, Steve could see a stream of devotees dressed in rainbow colored saris and white spotless kurtas lining up in the street to pay homage to Shiva, "the God of Destruction." On an impulse, he decided to join in the revelry.
     "Sahib, try this, Sahib. This is excellent." One roadside vendor was battling with another to get his attention. The item in question was a cream colored concoction.
     "What is it?"
     "It is Thandai with Bhang, Sahib. It will make you feel really good." The man rolled his eyes to indicate a particular state of bliss. Steve was tempted.
     "What exactly is Bhang?" he asked the man.
     "It is an herb, Sahib. Don't worry. I'll make you a mild one first."
     "All right, go ahead ... but please go gentle on the herb."
     "You'll love it, Sahib. And you'll come back for more."
     He was right. Steve had three drinks, each more delicious and stronger than the one before. Finally, thoroughly intoxicated, he struggled to make his way back to the hotel. Once inside his room, he flopped down on his plush bed, limp with pleasure. The herb had truly transported him into a state of indescribable bliss.
     The following day, he could not stop thinking about the possibilities. This thing was for real. He had experienced it first hand. Steve knew he could make millions off this stuff. He immediately filed with the appropriate authorities back home, seeking approval to market this wonder herb as an herbal stress reliever. He was going to call it Ambrosia, the nectar of Gods, and sell it to the various herbal health-care stores across the country.
     The government, however, deemed Ambrosia to be a hallucinogenic drug and would not allow it to be sold in America. Steve was crushed. His dream of opulence seemed to be quickly slipping away. "Those bureaucrats in Washington - what a bunch of imbeciles! Did you see what they said?" Steve waved the letter of denial to his friend, Karl.
     Karl, a lumbering, pit-bull from Chicago, shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe it. How can a harmless herb, consumed by millions in India, possibly be a hallucinogenic drug?"
     "That puts an end to our plans, though. I guess I'm doomed for a life of poverty." Steve sighed in frustration.
     "How about sneaking it in? It shouldn't be that hard. Maybe we can even cultivate it ... you know, like marijuana."
     Steve's face turned crimson with rage. "For heaven's sake, this is not a drug, Karl! Please stop equating it to marijuana."
     But Karl was not going to simply give up. "Well then, what do you suggest we do now? Throw in the towel - go back to our miserable existence and act as if this stuff doesn't exist?"
     "I don't know. But I don't particularly like the idea of smuggling things in illegally."
     "Neither do I, Steve. But at this point, what other option do we have?" Karl was shouting, angry at the whole sequence of events. "They will never let you get this herb in legally. We've already seen that!"
     Steve remained quiet, contemplating the best course of action.
     "And even if you don't go along, buddy, I'm gonna do it anyway," Karl blurted out, with grim resolution writ all over his countenance.
     But Steve had made up his mind. He was not going to live the rest of his life wallowing in penury. The herb was introduced as "Ambrosia" and proved to be an instant success. Cheap, exotic, and potent, it rapidly endeared itself to the derelicts across the country. Steve and Karl established an effective network of procurement and distribution, using an array of legitimate businesses as effective fronts. As the drug business burgeoned, so did the fortunes of those business ventures that had been set up as fronts. Fontenot Enterprises was created to put all these legitimate businesses under one umbrella, and it worked. On its roster were a team of exceptional accountants, savvy lawyers, and scheming politicians, all working to ensure unbridled success for its owners.

     Then one day, the unthinkable happened. Steve would remember the events of that day forever. He was viewing the breathtaking Manhattan skyline from his lavish office when the phone had started ringing. Kristy was calling to remind him that he had promised their son Darin that he would be at the finals of the Saint Jude Soccer Classic.
     As he raced towards the Lincoln Tunnel, Steve remembered how excited Darin had been that morning. Darin was the star forward of his team with a dozen goals to show for the season.
     "The next goal is for you Dad," Darin had pronounced confidently over breakfast.
     "How about two, son? We don't want to be stuck with unlucky thirteen, do we?"
     "Don't be greedy, Dad. One is all I can guarantee."
     "All right, how about this? For every goal you score tonight, we'll get you a gift of your choice."
     Darin's eyes lit up. "Really! Anything? Cool!"
     Steve had looked across the table at Kristy, who was shaking her head, eyebrows knit in maternal reprobation. "Of course, it has to be reasonable."
     Steve doted on his little boy, and his son had grown up into a fine young man. Darin looked just like his Daddy, except for the sandy-colored hair he had inherited from his mom, quite different from the dark brown that Steve had. Both were tall and lanky with aquiline noses, piercing eyes, and with deep resonant voices that instantly commanded attention. Thanks to Kristy's discipline though, despite the money and Steve's pampering, Darin had grown up to be a diligent student, an excellent athlete and a respectful son. What more could they have asked for?
     Steve got to the game just in time. Kristy was standing in the bleachers watching Darin complete his pre-game warm-up exercises on the field. Tall, blond, lightly built, with shoulder length hair and deep blue eyes, she looked as lovely today as she had when he had first laid eyes on her twenty years ago. He kissed her lightly on the lips and waved to Darin. Darin's face broke into a big smile and he blew them each a kiss. The two proud parents looked at each other and smiled.
     It was an exciting game. Darin's Supersonics had been trailing for most of the first half, but with just minutes to go before the break, Darin unleashed a scorching left footer to even the score. Amidst thunderous applause, Steve had jumped onto the field and hugged his boy. The second half started with both teams playing fast, attacking soccer. The Supersonics seemed ready to take the lead, when the tragedy happened. In the middle of an explosive surge to the rival goal, Darin fell down, senseless to the ground. Within minutes the team physicians were on the field trying their best to resuscitate him. A pall of deathly silence shrouded the stadium.
     For Steve and Kristy it was the beginning of an endless nightmare. Darin was whisked off to the emergency room where a team of doctors worked feverishly trying to revive him. The anxious parents waited outside, hoping and praying that everything was going to be all right. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, the doctor in charge came out to explain the situation to the terrified parents. Darin had suffered a cardiac arrest caused by a combination of intense physical activity and the drugs that he had consumed before the game. The lab had found Ambrosia, a significant quantity of it, in his blood stream. Barring a miracle, Darin's chances of survival appeared bleak.
     Kristy was grief-stricken and Steve was devastated. How could fate be so cruel? In despair, they held each other's hands, and cried, and prayed, but their prayers were left unanswered as they faced a parent's worst nightmare - the loss of their child.
     The tragedy changed their lives. They decided to move to California and start afresh. Steve relinquished control of all his businesses to Karl, who was more than happy to acquire the windfall. After short stints in various religious groups, Kristy and Steve took comfort in the teachings of a new age religion called "Salvation." In "Salvation," "Karma" and "Reincarnation" were not abstract theories, but real possibilities. While the concept of "Karma" governed their daily existence, the idea of "Reincarnation" directed their hopes that one day their son Darin would be reborn to bring sunshine back into their meaningless existence.

     Decades passed, then one day, out of the blue, Steve got a desperate phone call from Karl. Karl wanted to meet him as soon as possible. Steve knew this had to be important. He agreed to meet Karl the next day at a café in downtown San Francisco.
     After the initial pleasantries were over, Steve decided to get to the point as quickly as possible. "So Karl, what's going on? You sounded frantic on the phone. Is everything all right?"
     Karl shook his head and sighed, "No, Steve, It's all falling apart. The DA's office is gunning for me."
     Despite his initial twinge of sympathy, Steve wanted to distance himself from Karl's skirmishes with the law. "Karl, I feel for you, but I'm sure that you can handle this. You've dealt with those guys before."
     "Well, it's not the same. They've got a smart-ass lawyer out of a fancy law school now; his name is Devin Delaney. This Delaney guy has single-handedly made my life a living hell. He seems to be on some kind of mission." Karl sounded bitter.
     "Karl, you know how much I hate this. I thought part of our deal twenty-five years ago was to keep me out of all this. I hate to sound callous, but what does this have to do with me?"
     "Unfortunately, Steve, it does. The DA's office has dug deep enough to discover the connection. They're coming after you first. They figured you'd be an easier nut to crack, and once they have what they need, they're coming after me."
     "Unbelievable!" Steve was shaking his head in disbelief. "After so many years, my past catches up with me. Haven't I already paid enough for my sins?"
     Karl took a deep breath and continued, "Well, there's nothing we can do about the past, Steve, but we sure can change the future."
     "You're right. How about paying this Delaney guy off?"
     "Nope. We've already tried the soft options with absolutely no success. Delaney's ethics are impeccable. He will not capitulate to political pressure, coercion, or any form of enticement. This guy is crazy! He's on a mission and will not listen to reason. We did a background check on him. It seems he started his career in Miami and was part of the team that busted the Santos cartel. Now he has set his sights on all my operations, from the East Coast to the Bay Area."
     "So, how do you propose to stop him?" Steve was hoping that Karl had thought of something better than a mafia-style execution.
     "Well ... what do you think?" Karl's crazed eyes bored into Steve's. "I plan to have Mr. Delaney eliminated." He leaned back, pulled a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and proceeded to calmly light it.
     Steve was shaken. "I can't agree to this. This is murder, Karl!"
     "I know. But there is no other way. I am not willing to spend the rest of my life in a cold, dank, four-by-eight cell. You know how bad it is for drug traffickers, don't you? Picture yourself in the headlines, Steve, the ex drug lord, now philanthropist, responsible for the deaths of thousands of innocent Americans. Would you enjoy that, eh? Would you still save Delaney's ass? I don't think so. But it will be too late then. Too damn late...."
     Steve was at a loss. He did not want to have Delaney killed but his fate seemed, at the moment, tied to Karl's. He could not reconcile himself to the thought of being labeled as a drug dealer - to be so despised and loathed. Then, there was his loving wife. What if she found out? She would hold him responsible for the death of their son. Steve realized that he didn't have a choice.
     Karl decided that he was going to wait until he was absolutely certain of the DA's case before he gave the go ahead for the execution. The hit on Delaney was planned for the weekend after the court hearing. It would look like a simple hit and run accident. Meanwhile, Karl handed Steve a dossier on Delaney.
     When Delaney was sixteen, he had lost his younger brother to drugs. Ever since, he had vowed to eliminate all of the drug cartels across the country. Within a few years, Delaney had built a reputation stemming from his successes in Florida. Now he had his eyes set on the Karl cartel, regarded by many as the single biggest drug operation in the country. But it was not until the end of the dossier that Steve experienced the shock of his life. On the last page was a recent photograph of Devin Delaney. Steve couldn't believe his eyes. Staring back at him was his long lost son Darin. Steve was shaking life a leaf, as he put the folder down.
     He called Karl, but Karl insisted that the picture was of Devin Delaney, and that except for maybe a passing resemblance, he did not look anything like Steve's son. To Steve though, he looked exactly like his Darin: the same sandy colored hair, the same hooked nose, and piercing eyes. Devin had to be his son Darin reincarnated. Were not Karma and reincarnation the two cornerstones in this continuum of life and death? Yes, Devin was his son all right, but what was he going to do now? Karl was planning to get him killed in a few weeks.
     The court hearing turned out to be a disaster for Karl and his cronies, although Steve relished every moment of it. Devin Delaney was exactly like his Darin: the radiant countenance, the disarming smile, and those loving eyes. At last, his long, lost son had come back.
      During the trial, Devin was thoroughly flustered. He had found the demeanor of Mr. Steve Fontenot very unsettling. He had repeatedly found the old man gawking at him, nodding his head in approval or casting a benevolent smile in his direction. He wondered if the defendants were trying to psyche him out by playing some kind of crazy mind-game. Despite trying his best, he just wasn't able to get the old man out of his head.
     A few days later, Devin received an anonymous batch of documents in the mail. Included were the missing pieces that he needed to indict Karl and his gang. The same day, he got a call from Mr. Fontenot requesting for a meeting. Devin agreed to see him that afternoon. They were going to meet at the Starbucks Coffee right across the road from where Devin worked.
     Devin scrutinized the old man sitting across the table from him. Mr. Fontenot was a tall, gaunt man with a weathered countenance and tired, sunken eyes. However, it was the kindness he exuded, much like an emanating halo that was the most striking aspect of his personality.
     "So, Mr. Fontenot, what is it that you wish to tell me?"
     "You can call me Steve, and I hope you don't mind if I call you Devin."
     "Actually, I'd rather stick to Mr. Fontenot, but you can call me Devin - no problem. Now that we have the salutations all straightened out, let's cut to the chase. What do you have for me, Mr. Fontenot?"
     Mr. Fontenot nodded his head in acknowledgment, then leaned across the table and whispered hoarsely, "Karl is planning to kill you this weekend. They're going to make it look like an accident." He then proceeded to tell Devin the gory details.
     Devin was not altogether shocked by the revelation. Sooner or later, he had expected this to happen. The bigger question was the credibility of the old man. Should he believe his story? What if this was some kind of a ploy to scare him off? "Why are you telling me all this, Mr. Fontenot? Aren't you in on this with those guys? Don't you know that I'm coming after you as well? Why then ... this uncalled for altruism?" There was obvious sarcasm in Devin's tone.
     Mr. Fontenot did not seem too upset by the insinuation. He shook his head, looked straight into Devin's eyes and answered, "Yes, you are right. I used to be with those guys, and I used to be just like them. But not anymore. Steve Fontenot is not the person that he once used to be. I'm a changed man, Devin. You've got to believe me."
     "But I'm still the enemy. Wouldn't it be more astute on your part, Mr. Fontenot, to protect your own interest?"
     "But I am," answered the old man instantly.
     "What do you mean?" asked Devin, not comprehending.
     "Well, I cannot let them kill someone," answered Mr. Fontenot, hesitating. "Let's say my conscience will not allow it." The old man seemed at a loss for a moment and then, on an impulse, he reached out and grasped Devin's outstretched hands. "You've got to believe me son. Please, please I beg you ... please listen to this old man!" There were tears in his eyes as he held Devin's hand across his heart.
     Devin did not know what to do. He had thought he would get some additional evidence during this meeting to further bury Karl. Instead, he was discovering the details of his own planned execution from an old man who seemed either an emotional wreck or an excellent actor. Slowly, he released himself from Mr. Fontenot's grasp. "Okay, so what do you think I should do now? Just drop the case and leave town? Is this some kind of a veiled threat?"
     Mr. Fontenot, for the first time, seemed visibly exasperated. "Son, there is no hidden agenda here. Why can't you see? Don't you realize that I am risking my life by telling you all this? Karl will kill me if he ever finds out. I'm certainly not suggesting that you drop the case. I just want you to take the necessary precautions to save your life."
     "I believe you, Mr. Fontenot. But, really what's in it for you? No one does anything for nothing. Surely, there must be something that you want out of all this."
     Mr. Fontenot gazed fondly at Devin. "I want you to live, son ... a long, successful life. You're doing an excellent job, and I want you to continue the good work." He sighed and then continued, "I am not looking for anything out of this ... absolutely nothing. I wish that when I was young, I had had the fortitude to do what you are doing. Now, maybe, by helping you, I can improve my Karma and ensure my salvation." He smiled, placing his hand gently on Devin's head, like a gesture of reassurance or a blessing of some sort. Then, without saying another word, Mr. Fontenot got up from his chair and extended his hand, indicating that the meeting was over. It was a prolonged handshake - the old man did not seem to want to let go. It was obvious he had something on his mind, but he was debating whether to divulge it or keep it to himself. In the end, he decided not to share his thought, for he slowly turned and walked away.
     Two days later, the police were called in for a hit and run accident. The body was identified as that of Mr. Stephan Fontenot, the noted philanthropist and industrialist. It looked as though Mr. Fontenot had been run over by a speeding truck while crossing the street in uptown Manhattan.
     In the months that followed, Karl and his associates were indicted for drug trafficking. Devin had done the impossible. He had single-handedly destroyed one of the biggest drug cartels in the country. Devin Delaney was now the shining star of the American legal system.

     In the years that passed, Devin often thought about his last meeting with Mr. Fontenot. He had felt an inexplicable affinity for the kind, erudite gentleman who had casually sat across the table from him. What exactly did Mr. Fontenot have in mind during their final handshake? Did he know he was going to die? What was he about to tell him before he had changed his mind? Devin found himself wondering about that often - very often.

Shishir Mohan

You may e-mail Shisher Mohan at nmohan2002@sbcglobal.net