The lucky coin

“What are you looking for?” the police constable asked, eyeing the young man crawling on his knees under the park bench.

“My lucky coin,” the young man replied, still searching the ground.

“Your what?” The cop’s irritation was evident.

“My lucky gold coin,” the young man repeated, patting the grass around him.

“Get out from under there before I have to use my baton,” the constable said sharply.

The young man scrambled to his feet. The cop studied him closely, mentally matching his face to the local criminal mugshots. The young man was tall and thin, looking more puzzled than dangerous.

“Care to explain what’s going on?” the cop asked.

The young man began, “I live in a housing society as a paying guest. The flat number is B23. I share it with five other guys. We’re all preparing for various employment exams.”

“So you’re all unemployed?”

“No, I have a job. I start next Monday.”

“Then why are you here? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I’m not starting until Monday.”

“And what’s with the coin?”

The young man sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“Summarize it, or we’ll go to the station and you can explain there.”

“No, no, Sir. I’ll explain now. I come to this park every day and sit on this bench for about an hour. It helps me clear my mind. Last week, while sitting here, I found a gold coin under the bench. It had some markings on itlooked like Sanskrit to me. I checked around to see if anyone had lost it. I know I should’ve handed it over to the authorities, but I wanted to check if it was real gold.”

“Why?”

The young man hesitated, then spoke softly. “My parents struggle to pay for my studies. I thought if the coin was real gold, I could sell it and help them.”

The constable listened intently, intrigued despite himself.

“I took the coin to a pawn shop nearby. The man there said it wasn’t gold but gold-plated silver. He said I’d get about fifty rupees for it.”

“How did he determine that?”

“He rubbed it on a stone and tested the gold dust with acid.”

“Okay, and then?”

“I wasn’t interested in selling it anymore. I put the coin back in my pocket and left. After that, strange things started happening.”

“Strange? Like what?”

“The next morning, I got a call from home. My sister, who’d just taken her graduation exams, passed with first class honors. My father, who’d been retired, found a job with a local firm. That evening, I got an interview call from Intex International.”

Seeing the blank look on the cop’s face, the young man added, “It’s a major software company in Delhi. All these good things started happening after I found that coin. And now I’ve lost it.”

The constable sighed, scratching his head. He was convinced the young man was telling the truth. The more he thought about it, the more he realized the boy needed advice rather than a scolding.

“Look,” the constable said, “your sister’s success is probably due to her hard work. Your father and you getting jobs must be due to your skills and efforts. A coin doesn’t change fate. Don’t put your faith in superstitions. Go home.”

The young man hesitated but eventually turned away, disheartened. The constable walked off in the opposite direction.

The park fell quiet once more. After some time, a young girl appeared, tears streaming down her face. She sat on the bench, pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her tears, and noticed something shiny on the ground. She walked over and picked it up. It was a gold coin, with markings she didn’t recognize. A smile slowly spread across her face.