This is the last of the 3 part story. You can refresh your memory with Part 1 and Part 2
He sat there, rolling the pearls in his palms. He could not come to terms with the reality of it. He had never believed in supernatural things. He used to laugh away all those stories about ghosts, miracles, etc., that seemed to have excited all his friends during his childhood. He always prided himself on being a sound and rational person. Until now, at least. Who had sent him the cup? If the pearls were indeed, real, why didn't the person who had sent him the cup keep it for himself? Is this a trick? Should he go to the police? What would he tell them - would anyone even believe him? No, he did not want to get dragged into any kind of investigation at the moment. He cannot let Swetha and the baby go through all the trouble. Should he just throw them away and forget the whole thing?
He looked at the clock. It was 4.30 in the morning. He felt very exhausted. Quietly, he placed the pearls in his bag and decided to worry about the whole thing later. He checked on the baby, kissed her gently and crawled into his bed. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow, he would test the pearls.
--
"Are you sure?" asked Sri, trying not to sound too irritating.
"Yes sir. Of course, I am. This is one of the finest pearls I have ever seen. This one would fetch at least ten thousand rupees. I am willing to give twelve thousand for it."
He had been hoping to hear that the pearl was a fake. A tricky imitation. But no. It wasn't meant to be. He had taken one of the pearls to a pawn broker to get it examined and apparently, it was real and quite valuable. He felt miserable. He knew that his conscience would kill him if he sold the pearls and used the money. It just did not feel right.
"Thanks but I am not looking to sell it right now. I will come again, later."
"Okay sir. If you say so. But trust me, I offered you the best possible deal. No one else would give you such an amount."
"I appreciate it. I will definitely come to you when I do want to sell it."
Lost in his own thoughts, he exited the shop and started walking back to his home. As he walked, he saw an old lady down the street. Her clothes were torn and she seemed to be feeling quite cold. She wore a pair of broken glasses and had a stick to support her. There was a cloth on the road in front of her and there were several coins on it. As he got closer to her, he could see that she was saying something. He could not understand most of it but he thought she was narrating to an invisible audience, her story. People kept walking past her, ignoring her like they ignore hundreds of other beggars in the city. They can only donate so much. They are not gods, are they? They would help the beggars, if they had a lot of money, wouldn't they? They...
He raced back to the pawn shop.
"What sir? You did not get a better deal, did you?"
"Please take it and give me the money."
"Okay. Here it is. Remember sir, No one will give you a.."
"Yeah, right. Thanks."
Sri walked up to the old lady and quietly kneeled down beside her. She looked at him, seemingly happy that she found some one to listen to her story and started talking animatedly. He smiled at her gently, took out the money and placed it in her hands. The lady did not seem to understand what happened. She stopped smiling and started examining the money. She was engrossed in counting it when Sri got up quietly and left.
It felt good. Really good. And suddenly, it all seemed to fit in. How could he have missed it? He was "given" the cup. He was "chosen". This is what he needs to do. Whenever he is unhappy, he just needs to cry into the cup, take out the pearls and give them to the needy. And then he would feel happy about it. What a wonderful plan! Something good coming out of every misery! Unbelievable. And so simple. He smiled. And then laughed. Laughed hard. It has been a while since he laughed. And then he cried. Into the cup.
--
That was just the beginning. Srikar started to believe that he needed to, and could, change the world. Every time he saw someone in need, someone in poverty, someone who could use money, he would go home and try to remember Sudheer. And then he would cry.
"Please don't do this Sri! Don't do this to yourself!", Swetha kept begging him. She knew. He had told her. She cried. And then he did, looking at her. Into the cup.
Every night, before going to bed, he would go to his daughter's room. She would smile at him. How beautiful that smile was! All his pain would vanish. He knew he would do anything for her. For her smile.
He would sit there for a while holding her tight, in his arms, and letting her innocence and warmth fill him with the strength to go on. "Anything", he would tell himself. "Anything for her".
It was not easy. He was human, after all. As time passed by, he found it impossible to cry by thinking about Sudheer. He needed something more fresh. More painful at the moment. He would read about every tragic news that he came across, watch every sad movie he could and them imagine himself in the situation and feel the pain. How could he not? He knew very well how it felt to lose someone very close. And if he could convert that pain into something useful for someone so that they wouldn't have to go through it, how could he not try? He never gave up. He tried. He tried hard. And cried.
--
3 years passed by. Srikar could not cry anymore. In fact, he felt no emotion at all. He would stare blankly at the cup all day long. He was just a machine now. The only sign of any remaining emotion he would ever show was seen when he was with his daughter. He would smile. Just a slight smile. That's all. He would hold her, listen to her chattering and just smile. Swetha just had to come to terms with it - the cup had cost him her husband.
--
"What! But she is just a kid".
"Calm down Swetha. This is a 1-in-a-million case. I am very sorry but she has to undergo surgery immediately."
"Is it very expensive, doctor?"
"It will cost you fifty lakhs, at the least."
Swetha could not believe it. Why them? After all Srikar had done for the people around him, after all they had been through, was this the way god chose to "bless" them? Is a chronic heart problem for their beloved daughter a reward for losing the happiness in their lives to help the people around him?
--
She could not take the pain of the irony. She went home and sat beside Srikar. He did not look at her. She told him about their daughter's problem. She waited for him to react. Somewhere down her heart, she hoped that he would cry. For the first time, she wanted him to cry. To save their daughter. But he did not seem to comprehend the seriousness, the pain, the desperation in her voice. He just kept staring at the cup which was lying on the table in front of him. She sighed, kissed him and left. She would have to find another way to arrange the money.
3 days passed by and she could only arrange about one-tenth of what was needed. Srikar, stopped smiling. Not even when he was with his daughter. So he knows, she thought. May be there is a way.
That night, she slipped the letter she had written into his hand, kissed him on the forehead and went away. For good. From this world.
Srikar woke up, the next morning to find the letter in his hands.
"I am going to see the God, Sri. To understand his wicked sense of humor. I know you love me and our daughter more than anything else in the world. This was the only way I could think of.
Save her Sri. I love you."
Sri stared at those words for a long time. And then he wept. He wailed. And howled in pain.
--
"How is she, doctor?"
"She is doing good. She is out of danger now. You may go in and see her."
Two days later, Sri walked back into his home with his daughter in his arms. He went in, tucked his daughter in her bed, and went to his room. The room felt very empty without Swetha. Slowly, he opened his closet and retrieved the cup. The cup of woes. It looked exactly the same. He thought about the day he received the cup - when he first held it in his hands in the coffee shop and dismissed it as a prank. A joke, he had thought. A joke that cost him his wife. And his life.
He turned around and smashed the cup against the wall. It broke, streaming the room with shards of ceramic. He did not look at them. Calmly, he walked to his daughter's room. He picked her up, collected the bags he had packed earlier and left the house without glancing back.
