Chapter 3: The Trinity of Need (part-02)
Dharma, he thought. But whose dharma? The son's duty to family? The individual's right to their own future? How do you honor both?
**[SYSTEM: AWAITING HOST RESPONSE. THIS IS A TEST OF WISDOM, NOT POWER.]**
Krishna leaned back, thinking carefully. "You're not wrong about duty to family. That's real, and it's honorable. But you're making one critical assumption that might not be true."
"What assumption?"
"That this is an either-or situation. Either you sacrifice your future for your family's present, or you selfishly pursue education while they suffer. But what if there's a third path?"
Ravi shook his head. "There isn't. Trust me, I've looked."
"Have you looked for scholarships?" Krishna asked. "Not just the big national ones everyone knows about. There are smaller ones—community organizations, religious trusts, corporate CSR programs. I know someone whose older brother got one from a Parsi trust even though he wasn't Parsi, just because they valued academic merit and demonstrated need."
"Scholarships take time to apply for, and there's no guarantee—"
"What about government schemes? Your father's medical condition might qualify your family for disability assistance. And there are programs specifically for children of parents with chronic health conditions. Have you checked with the municipal corporation?"
Ravi blinked. "I... no. I didn't know those existed."
Krishna was pulling information from somewhere he didn't quite understand—knowledge surfacing like bubbles in water. "And you're only thinking about money in terms of full-time employment. But what about tutoring? You're good at math, right? If Mrs. Kapoor is on your case about homework, it means she knows you understand the material when you actually do it."
"I'm okay at math, I guess..."
"You could tutor eighth and ninth standard students. Three students, two hours each per week, at five hundred rupees per month per student. That's six thousand extra per month without giving up school. Do it on weekends and evenings. If you build a reputation, you could scale up to five or six students by next year."
For the first time, something like hope flickered in Ravi's eyes. "I never thought about..."
"And your mother's tailoring—is she registered with any online platforms? There are apps now where people can find local tailors for custom work. She could charge premium rates for specialized stitching, take orders from a wider customer base than just the neighborhood."
Krishna pulled out his phone, quickly searching and jotting down information. "Here—look. Three scholarship programs with deadlines in the next two months. This government portal for disability assistance. This app for finding tutoring students. And this one for connecting tailors with customers."
He tore a page from his notebook and wrote everything down in clear, organized bullet points, adding website URLs and phone numbers. Then he handed it to Ravi.
"You're right that your family needs money now," Krishna said. "But eighteen thousand a month for the rest of your life versus finishing education, getting a degree, and earning fifty or sixty thousand a month in a few years? That's not sacrifice, that's just bad math. You can honor your duty to your family AND build your own future. It'll be harder. You'll have to work while studying, manage time carefully, fight for every opportunity. But it's possible."
Ravi stared at the paper in his hands like it was a treasure map. "Why are you doing this? We're not even friends."
Krishna smiled. "Maybe we should be. Besides, helping people figure out solutions—I think that might be my thing now. I'm still figuring it out myself."
He stood up, gathering his bag. "Think about it. Talk to your parents. And if you need help filling out scholarship applications or setting up tutoring, let me know. I'm around."
As he walked away, the System bloomed with golden light in his mind.
**[ASSISTANCE PROVIDED: GENUINE. CORE ISSUE ADDRESSED: YES. LONG-TERM SOLUTION OFFERED: YES. INTENTION VERIFIED: PURE.]**
**[PROGRESS: 1/3 INDIVIDUALS HELPED]**
**[KARMIC POINTS EARNED: +10]**
**[NOTE: TRUE HELP EMPOWERS OTHERS TO HELP THEMSELVES. WELL DONE, HOST.]**
Krishna felt warmth spread through his chest. Not the physical warmth of body strengthening, but something else—a sense of rightness, of purpose fulfilled.
*One down,* he thought. *Two to go.*
***
## **Second Need: The Courage to Speak**
The afternoon sun beat down on the school courtyard during the lunch break. Krishna sat under the shade of an old banyan tree, eating the sandwich his mother had packed while observing the social dynamics playing out around him.
Near the basketball court, a group of senior boys from twelfth standard held court, their voices loud and confident. Among them was Arjun Mehta—captain of the basketball team, handsome in the conventional way that made teachers go easy on him and girls giggle when he passed. The kind of boy who'd never doubted his place in the world's hierarchy.
But Krishna's enhanced perception caught something the others missed. Every time Arjun laughed, there was a slightly desperate quality to it. Every time his friends made jokes, his smile lasted a fraction too long, like he was performing rather than participating.
And when no one was looking directly at him, his expression went carefully blank—the face of someone conserving energy.
**[SYSTEM: POTENTIAL INDIVIDUAL IDENTIFIED. DISTRESS LEVELS: MODERATE, CONCEALED. OBSERVE FURTHER.]**
Krishna watched more carefully. The senior boys were discussing plans for the upcoming inter-school basketball tournament. Arjun nodded along, contributing occasionally, but his body language was off. Tense. Withdrawn in subtle ways most people wouldn't notice.
"Arjun, yaar, you're going to destroy them in the tournament," one of his teammates said, slapping his back. "Best three-pointer in the city, hands down."
"Yeah, for sure," Arjun replied, but his smile didn't reach his eyes.
Another boy joined the group—Vikram, also from twelfth standard but not an athlete. Studious type, always carrying books, glasses slightly askew. He approached the basketball players with visible hesitation.
"Hey, Arjun, did you finish that economics assignment? I was wondering if—"
"Not now, Vikram," Arjun cut him off, his voice sharper than necessary. "Can't you see we're talking?"
Vikram flushed. "Right. Sorry. I'll... I'll catch you later."
As Vikram retreated, Krishna noticed something odd. Arjun watched him go with an expression that wasn't contempt or dismissal—it was longing. Complicated, painful longing that vanished the moment his teammates' attention returned to him.
Interesting.
Krishna finished his sandwich and casually wandered closer to where Vikram had retreated—a quiet corner near the library building. The other boy sat on the steps, staring at his economics textbook without really reading it.
"Vikram?" Krishna approached slowly, making sure not to startle him. "I'm Krishna, from tenth standard. Can I ask you something?"
Vikram looked up, surprised. "Uh, sure?"
"Are you and Arjun Mehta friends?"
The reaction was immediate—Vikram's face flushed, his eyes darted away, his hands gripped his textbook tighter. "No. I mean, we're classmates, but we're not... he's got his group, I've got mine. Why?"
"Just curious," Krishna said lightly. "You two seem like you'd have been friends at some point. Similar energy, you know?"
"Used to be," Vikram said quietly. Then, as if the words had been waiting for an excuse to spill out: "We were best friends. From fifth standard all the way through ninth. But then high school happened, and he made the basketball team, and suddenly he was popular and I was just... the nerdy kid who likes economics and debate club."
"That sucks."
"Yeah." Vikram's voice was bitter. "The worst part is, he hates it. I can tell. He doesn't even like most of those guys he hangs out with now. But he's scared to be seen with me because it might hurt his image. So he pretends I don't exist, or he's dismissive when his teammates are around."
Krishna sat down on the steps beside Vikram. "Have you talked to him about it?"
"How can I? Every time I try to get him alone, he avoids me. And when I do manage to catch him, he acts like everything's fine, like we just 'drifted apart naturally.' It's bullshit, but what can I do? I can't force someone to be my friend."
**[SYSTEM: CORE ISSUE IDENTIFIED. SUBJECT ONE (ARJUN): FEAR OF SOCIAL JUDGMENT PREVENTING AUTHENTIC RELATIONSHIPS. SUBJECT TWO (VIKRAM): POWERLESSNESS AND UNRESOLVED GRIEF OVER LOST FRIENDSHIP. BOTH REQUIRE INTERVENTION. THIS IS A TWO-PERSON PROBLEM.]**
Krishna thought carefully. This wasn't like Ravi's situation, where information and resources could solve the problem. This was about fear, social pressure, and the courage to be authentic.
And he couldn't force that. But maybe he could create the opportunity for it.
"What if," Krishna said slowly, "you had a chance to talk to him? Really talk, without an audience, without the pressure of the social hierarchy watching?"
Vikram laughed humorlessly. "That's not going to happen.
""What if I could make it happen?
"Vikram turned to look at Krishna fully for the first time. "Why would you do that? You don't even know me.
""Call it a personal project," Krishna said with a slight smile. "I'm working on being more helpful. So, yes or no—if I could get Arjun alone and willing to have a real conversation with you, would you take that chance?
"Vikram hesitated for a long moment, hope and skepticism warring on his face. Finally: "Yes. Yeah, I would.
""Good. Meet me by the old science lab after school today. And trust me."
To be continued.