It is every intelligent man's experience that evildoing recoils

Host: The evening settled over the old railway station like an old truth returning — quiet, inevitable, unhurried. The platforms were mostly empty now, save for the echo of footsteps and the distant wail of a departing train, carrying strangers and their secrets into the dark.

At the edge of the platform, beneath a dim flickering lamp, Jack sat on a wooden bench, his hands clasped, his jaw tight — a man clearly waiting for something heavier than a train. Jeeny stood beside him, her scarf fluttering slightly in the cool breeze, her expression equal parts patience and sorrow.

Between them, silence stretched — the kind of silence that follows moral storms.

Host: The night smelled faintly of iron, dust, and remorse — the air itself heavy with consequence.

Jeeny: [quietly] “You’ve been staring at the tracks for twenty minutes. What are you looking for?”

Jack: [without turning] “Proof.”

Jeeny: “Proof of what?”

Jack: “That karma isn’t just poetry.”

Jeeny: “You mean justice.”

Jack: [bitterly] “If justice was real, the world wouldn’t keep spinning after what people do to each other.”

Jeeny: [sits beside him] “Ramana Maharshi said something once — ‘It is every intelligent man’s experience that evildoing recoils on the doer sooner or later.’”

Jack: [half-laughing] “Sooner or later, huh? That’s convenient. It gives the universe an infinite deadline.”

Jeeny: “It’s not about timing, Jack. It’s about inevitability.”

Host: The lamp above them flickered, its light painting their faces in shifting gold and shadow — guilt and grace alternating like truth and denial.

Jack: [sighs] “I’ve done things, Jeeny. Not terrible things, maybe, but selfish. Cruel in small, forgettable ways. You think the universe keeps receipts for that?”

Jeeny: “Of course it does. Every unkindness plants its own echo.”

Jack: “Then the world should be deaf by now.”

Jeeny: [softly] “It is. That’s why we can’t hear compassion anymore.”

Jack: [looks up] “You make it sound mystical. I think people just do bad things and get away with them.”

Jeeny: “No one gets away. They just get delayed.”

Jack: [leans forward] “You mean punishment?”

Jeeny: “No. Awareness. The weight doesn’t come from outside — it grows inside. Slowly, invisibly, until it fills the room they call their peace.”

Host: The sound of another train approached, its hum like the heartbeat of inevitability — unstoppable, rhythmic, distant but coming closer.

Jack: “So you think guilt is the recoil?”

Jeeny: “Sometimes. Sometimes it’s loss. Sometimes it’s loneliness. Sometimes it’s the quiet realization that no one trusts you anymore — including yourself.”

Jack: [grimly] “Then karma’s just psychological.”

Jeeny: [shaking her head] “No. It’s moral physics. Every action has a vibration, and the soul’s the surface it eventually hits.”

Jack: [smiling faintly] “That’s poetic.”

Jeeny: “Truth often is. It hides behind beauty so we’ll bother to look at it.”

Jack: [after a pause] “So what about those who don’t feel anything? The ones who do harm and sleep soundly?”

Jeeny: “They’re the ones who are already paying — numbness is the tax of evil.”

Host: The train thundered past, the wind whipping her hair across her face; she didn’t flinch, but he looked away — as though something invisible had brushed his conscience too.

Jack: [after the noise fades] “You ever done something that came back to haunt you?”

Jeeny: [quietly] “Yes.”

Jack: “Did it make you better?”

Jeeny: “Eventually. But only after it broke me.”

Jack: [studying her] “You believe people need to break?”

Jeeny: “Not to be punished — to be remade. That’s how recoil works. It’s not vengeance. It’s realignment.”

Jack: “And you think that’s intelligent design?”

Jeeny: “It’s intelligent awareness. Life doesn’t care about fairness — only balance.”

Host: The station clock struck nine, the sound hollow, echoing across empty tracks, as if marking the distance between repentance and redemption.

Jack: “Balance is overrated. I’ve seen too many good people suffer while the liars get promotions and the cruel get applause.”

Jeeny: [turning toward him] “Maybe that’s because you’re measuring balance in weeks instead of lifetimes.”

Jack: “You mean reincarnation?”

Jeeny: [smiling softly] “I mean consequence. Every life inherits the shape of the one before it — actions become tendencies, tendencies become fate.”

Jack: [leaning back] “And here I was thinking my bad luck was just bad timing.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it’s just your past catching up, not your present falling apart.”

Jack: “You really think that’s how it works?”

Jeeny: “I think every pain teaches the soul where it went wrong. That’s the universe’s version of mercy.”

Host: The station lights buzzed faintly, illuminating the dust in the air — the ghosts of all the departures that had ever happened here.

Jack: “You talk about mercy like it’s inevitable too.”

Jeeny: “It is. If pain didn’t lead to mercy, we’d all just become our mistakes.”

Jack: “And yet some people never change.”

Jeeny: “That’s because they mistake delay for escape. But recoil isn’t a myth, Jack — it’s just patient.”

Jack: [softly] “You really believe the universe keeps score?”

Jeeny: “No. It keeps balance. Scores divide; balance heals.”

Jack: [after a long silence] “Then maybe I’ve got a few debts coming due.”

Jeeny: [gently] “Then pay them with awareness, not regret. The bill’s smaller that way.”

Host: A dog barked somewhere beyond the station, a lonely sound against the vast, still air — a reminder that even the smallest voices echo in the right conditions.

Jack: “You know, maybe Maharshi was right. Evil does come back. Just not in the way we expect.”

Jeeny: “It always returns as the mirror version of itself — cruelty returns as emptiness, greed as loss, deceit as isolation.”

Jack: [nodding] “And kindness?”

Jeeny: [smiling] “As peace.”

Jack: [after a pause] “Maybe that’s why peace feels so rare. Not enough of us are kind anymore.”

Jeeny: “Then start. Every good act is a prepayment for tomorrow’s balance.”

Jack: [quietly] “Maybe I needed to hear that tonight.”

Jeeny: [softly] “The universe always knows when to send its collectors.”

Host: The last train rolled into the station, its brakes hissing like an exhale. Somewhere in the air, forgiveness felt possible — slow, unseen, but moving closer.

Because as Ramana Maharshi said,
“It is every intelligent man’s experience that evildoing recoils on the doer sooner or later.”

And as Jack and Jeeny watched the empty cars roll past under the flickering lights,
they understood that consequence is not punishment — it’s education,
and that every act returns home eventually,
seeking its author.

Host: The train departed into the dark,
and for a long moment afterward, the station stood silent —
cleaned by truth, balanced by time.