Low born

When the teenage boy stepped forward, his hand was held by a middle-aged man. The boy turned to look at the man with a questioning gaze.

"Boy, I know you're poor and need money, but why involve yourself in this mess?" asked the middle-aged man, looking at the teenage boy.

The boy hesitated for a moment but pulled his hand away and walked straight toward Maistri without looking back.

At the scene unfolding…

"You lowly bastard! You dared to touch the glass meant for us to drink water. Do you have a death wish?" barked Maistri, kicking the man who was twitching on the ground, groaning in pain.

The teenage boy approached and stood in front of them. Maistri stopped kicking when he sensed someone close by and looked up at the boy standing before him.

"You little bastard, what are you standing there for? Go and do your work if you want to get paid for today," Maistri said angrily.

Maistri didn't care much about the frail teenage boy; he just didn't want the situation to escalate because of the boy's involvement.

Instead of obeying Maistri, the boy looked at the man writhing on the ground and then at Maistri. "Why are you beating him? He just touched the glass. He didn't damage it, right?"

"He's low-born yet dared to touch a glass meant for high-born like us. A crime like this deserves death," Maistri said through gritted teeth.

"Low-born? Just because he's low-born, he has to die for touching a glass? Have you ever thought about how you'd feel if you were in his place?" the boy asked, glaring at Maistri.

"Hmph, what's there to feel? I'll never be born low-born," Maistri replied with disgust.

"Oh, you think you're a god or something, deciding how you'll be born? Let him go," the boy said in a low, sharp voice.

"Boy, do you want to get your ass kicked that badly?" Maistri asked sarcastically, cracking his knuckles.

The teenage boy took a deep breath and glared at Maistri. "I'll be the one kicking your ass."

Without waiting for Maistri to make the first move, he grabbed a nearby metal pipe and swiftly moved toward him. He dodged an incoming attack and struck Maistri with all his might.

Bang…

Maistri stumbled back, looking at the red mark on his hand as anger surged within him. He turned to the crowd and barked, "Why haven't you all made your move yet? Will you only act after I've been beaten to death by this low-born shit?"

A few men of varying sizes slowly emerged from the crowd, holding different tools.

Three men armed with a shovel, saw, and hammer simultaneously attacked the teenage boy. Though he had been severely beaten before, this time he was cautious. He dodged most attacks, but some still landed, leaving him with minor wounds.

Feeling the burning sensation and slight pain from the wounds, he quickly regained his focus and fought back with all his strength, aiming his attacks at the vital areas of his assailants.

After exchanging a few blows, all of them were exhausted, covered in severe wounds. Though the teenage boy was injured, his wounds weren't fatal like before. He slowly turned to glare at Maistri while the three attackers writhed on the ground, groaning in pain.

He approached the man lying on the ground, and Maistri stepped back, fear evident on his face as the teenager drew near.

The boy reached out, helped the man up with all his strength, and asked, "Uncle, where's your house? I'll take you home."

The man slowly opened his eyes, startled to see Maistri on the ground, looking at them fearfully. He then remembered the boy's question and nodded. "I'll lead you to my home."

The teenage boy walked over to Maistri, bent slightly, and reached out his hand. "I'm taking the money for the work I did here," he said, pocketing the money before returning to the injured man.

Both of them headed toward the main gate and left the worksite. The boy signaled an auto-rickshaw, boarded it, and gave directions to the injured worker's house.

After a few minutes, the auto-rickshaw stopped in front of a dilapidated house. The boy paid the fare and helped the worker toward the house. "Sorry, I don't have enough money to take you to the hospital. I can only bring you home."

The worker shook his head. "You stood up for me and got injured because of me. I should be paying for your medicine. How can I let you spend your money on me?"

The worker slowly took out a key and said, "Here, take the keys."

The boy helped the worker onto a flat slab, then moved to unlock the door. After opening it, he returned to the worker, lifted him up, and carried him into the house, heading toward the bed.

He laid the worker on the bed and said, "Even though I can't afford the medicine bills, I'll at least do the first aid."

"Where is the turmeric powder?" asked the teenage boy.

"It's in the kitchen, the side room," said the worker, pointing with his finger.

"Okay," the teenage boy nodded and went into the kitchen to look for the turmeric powder. It took him a few minutes to find the plastic jar containing the powder. He then carried it back to the worker, who was lying on the bed.

Seeing the turmeric powder in the boy's hands, the worker was deeply moved and said with endless gratitude, "Thank you so much, boy. I'm so grateful for everything you've done for me. There's no need for you to do more. Let my daughter take care of everything from here. I think it's time she'll be back home."

The teenage boy hesitated for a moment, then nodded and placed the turmeric powder jar on the wooden chair.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps followed by a sweet teenage girl's voice. "Father, you're back already? You came home so early today. Is there something special?"

"My daughter is here," the worker said. Despite his pain, an affectionate smile spread across his face as he heard his daughter's voice.