Chapter 7: The Chains of Debt
Arjun Kade stood in the flickering shadows of Dharavi's alleyways, the scarred woman's threat—"Your sister's next, boy. Give us the relics—or her"—echoing like a relentless drumbeat in his skull. The new cart, its side shattered by Raju's bottle and hastily patched with scavenged tin, leaned against the shack's crumbling wall, a testament to his fragile defiance. Meera's cough had turned into a rasping wheeze, her feverish body trembling under the threadbare blanket, her life hanging by the thread of a two hundred rupee medicine dose he couldn't afford. The tin box, his last bastion, held a measly fifty rupees—negative fifty after Sanjay Bhai's two hundred rupee loan at fifty percent interest, due in six days. Rent loomed at five hundred, Chotu Bhai's fee at two hundred, and Meera's medicine a daily two hundred, a total of nine hundred against his dwindling resources. The weight of debt crushed him, each rupee a link in a chain tightening around his neck.
The night air was thick with the acrid tang of burnt wood from VedaCorp's raid, the slum buzzing with whispered fears of the next torching. Vikram slumped beside him, his neon-green shirt streaked with grime, muttering, "Bhai, we're drowning. Meera's fading, and those suits want blood!" Priya crouched nearby, her laptop casting a ghostly light, her fingers trembling as she decrypted VedaCorp's latest movements. "They're setting a trap," she said, her voice low. "A sting operation at the docks—bounties are at twenty thousand now. Someone's talking." Arjun's jaw tightened, the fifty rupee betrayal a bitter pill. "We use Sanjay," he decided. "He owes us cover."
Sanjay Bhai's warehouse was a fortress of crates and shadows, the Bhaiya Gang lounging with knives glinting. Sanjay, his scar a jagged line across his neck, eyed Arjun with a mix of amusement and suspicion. "Back so soon, rat? What's the play?" Arjun straightened, ignoring the ache in his ribs. "VedaCorp's hunting us. I need protection and a job—smuggling their own goods against them." Sanjay's laugh was a rasp. "Bold. Protection's seven hundred now—risk premium. Job's a dock run—steal their crates, split fifty-fifty. Thousand rupees base, more if we hit big." Arjun nodded, the price a dagger to his tin. "Deal. Tonight."
Back at the shack, Arjun outlined the plan. Vikram groaned, "Smuggling? I'm no pirate, bhai!" Priya smirked, adjusting her laptop. "I'll hack their shipping logs. But seven hundred? We're in the red." Arjun forced a grin. "We'll earn it. For Meera." Meera's weak smile from the blanket fueled his resolve, though her rasping breath tightened his chest.
That night, they joined Sanjay's crew at the docks, the moon a sliver over the rusted hulks of ships. Priya's hack pinpointed a VedaCorp crate—metal parts worth five thousand. Vikram tripped over a rope, shouting, "Not my foot, yaar!" but recovered, distracting a guard with a juggling act. Arjun and Sanjay's men loaded the crate onto a borrowed truck, the heist smooth until the scarred woman's voice cut through. "Ambush!" Agents swarmed, batons flashing. Arjun dodged, Sanjay fired a warning shot, and they fled, the crate half-loaded—estimated two thousand value. They escaped, the van's roar fading, but Sanjay claimed half, leaving Arjun with a thousand rupees.
Back in Dharavi, Arjun counted—ten hundred fifty total. Meera's medicine took two hundred, leaving eight hundred fifty. Rent and Chotu's fee claimed seven hundred, leaving one hundred fifty. Sanjay's protection fee ate seven hundred, dipping the tin to negative five hundred fifty, the loan debt now three hundred. The cart's repair cost two hundred, borrowed again at fifty percent, due in five days, sinking the tin to negative seven hundred fifty. Meera's next dose loomed, a two hundred rupee ghost.
The next day, they launched the smuggling hustle, selling scavenged metal at black markets. Arjun negotiated with dealers, earning fifty rupees per load, Vikram's charm adding twenty per sale. Priya tracked VedaCorp shipments, boosting hauls to two hundred rupees daily. Over three days, they netted six hundred, paying Meera's medicine—six hundred—leaving zero. Debt grew to five hundred, the cart's wobble a constant threat. Raju's goons struck, smashing a load, costing fifty rupees, dipping the tin to negative fifty.
Priya visited, her laptop glowing. "VedaCorp's sting failed, but they're furious. A new tip's out—fifty thousand for you, alive." Arjun's stomach churned. "Who sold us?" She shook her head. "Sanjay, maybe. He's greedy." Her hand brushed his, a warmth he ignored. "We need leverage," she said. Arjun nodded. "A bigger heist."
That night, Sanjay proposed a warehouse break-in—VedaCorp's relic stash, worth twenty thousand. Priya hacked the locks, Vikram distracted with a puppet show, and Arjun entered, grabbing three Yantras—six thousand potential. The scarred woman ambushed, her baton grazing his leg. "End of the line!" she snarled. Vikram tackled her, Priya jammed the alarms, and they fled, hands empty as guards closed in. Sanjay vanished, the debt unpaid.
Back at the shack, the tin held negative fifty rupees. Meera's cough worsened, the doctor demanding five hundred for a hospital visit. Arjun borrowed five hundred from a shark, debt rising to one thousand, due in four days. Raju's cart rolled past, a thug torching the cart's side, costing three hundred to fix, sinking the tin to negative eight hundred fifty. VedaCorp's van screeched up, the scarred woman leaning out. "Your sister's ours tomorrow, boy. No relics, no mercy."