the beggar and me.

                                        The Beggar and Me.

The call of the beggar brought me back to my senses.  I instinctively raised my eyes towards the voice and directly met the bold questioning eyes of the beggar.  He was sitting about ten steps ahead and above me, on the stairs leading to the over bridge from platform no.1 of Kandivili Railway station, a suburb of Mumbai.  I was the lone person on the stairs as most of the commuters were taking the easier but dangerous rout of jumping the tracks to cross over to the eastern side of the station.  As I had the habit of dreaming on my feet, found it much easier to climb the stairs rather than to concentrate on the dangerous and prohibitive crossing of the tracks.

The call sounded again, it was a high pitch voice perfected to attract passersby. He was staring at me, his eyes alive with anticipation and hope.  Even an expert would have found it difficult to judge the man’s age.  His body bent and destroyed by disease and hunger.  His large yellow eyes shining unnaturally on his gaunt and haggard face. I mentally searched my pockets, and instantly knew that they are as empty as the cupboard at my rented home.  First I tried to ignore him, failing that tried to apologize, instead looked straight into his eyes and smiled at him.  The smile came from the deep inside of my being and I saw surprise and some unfathomable reflections of emotions in the beggar’s eyes, his outstretched hand which was restricting my movement dropped and I passed him.

But the smile did me wonder, the long day’s tiring and disappointing burden flew away from my shoulders.  I felt light and happy.  My mood changed from worst to best and I suddenly found the courage to meet my wife’s probing eyes more bravely.

I walked home, skipping the bus for obvious reason.  But even the long walk at the end of an irritatingly disappointing day failed to dampen my spirit. I felt thankful to the beggar for helping me in finding a source of new energy in myself.  I felt concerned for the whole lot of beggars roaming this huge city.  I also remembered of reading somewhere that one of the state governments has made or about to make a law by which any one giving alms will be caught and tried in the court of law as a criminal. ‘What a way to fight poverty’ I thought.  But maybe they have their own reasons and I am not bright enough to understand them, I consoled myself. Then I reached home and went through the ordeal of saying no to all of my wife’s queries quite well.

A few days passed and my economical situation dint changed but my arrival time at the station changed as per circumstances.  And I dint saw that particular beggar again.

After about a week, one fine day I had some success in my endeavors and I returned with substantial heaviness in my pockets and a lot more energy in my body.  As I was climbing the stairs two at a time, I heard the same cracking piercing voice.  The beggar was back in his place eyes glaring, arms outstretched.  My hand willingly went to my pocket and I dropped a few coins in the dirty aluminum pot lying at his side.

I took the bus ride home, reminding myself that I did my duty but somehow it failed to generate any warmth in my heart.

By;-

Milton Roy ‘Rahbar’