I had an interesting conversation only yesterday in the context of values, poor people and social businesses. After returning home last night, I chanced on this story... and it struck me that this story, tucked away in a souvenir on Swami Vivekananda, has relevance in the context of values, poor people, rich people, and the business of life in general. I enjoyed reading it. Hope you too like it.
My God The Poor
(An actual life-story as personally witnessed)
by Swami Sastrananda (profile at end of story)
My first personal encounter with him stands out vividly before my mind's eye, though four decades have rolled by since. He was of medium height, thinly built, even emaciated. His dress consisted of a tattered pair of shorts, a sleeveless undershirt, and a piece of cloth tied round the head to serve as a turban. The 'turban' was not so much for sartorial elegance as to help in carrying heavy head-loads. He was then working in a factory among the lowest paid class of labourers, carrying on his dreary and heavy work - that of loading and unloading dusty materials. His job was a very dusty affair, and when I saw him he was heavily covered with cement dust. He had a charcoal-dark complexion and the contrasting whitish dust which had settled on his face, specially on the eyelids, lent him an eerie appearance. Add to it his reddish eyes rendered so by the dust, and it would be no surprise if any one who came upon him suddenly mistook him for an apparition.
But there was more to his personality than this factory-made appearance; more to it than the dusty body and red eyes of an industrial coolie. His gait, even while working, was unhurried and measured. When he spoke, his speech had a rare quality of gentleness. And still later, after he had washed himself, there was such a calm dignity and even sweetness in his dark face and reddish eyes that I became quickly attracted to him. In and through his emaciated features, there would emerge now and then a gentle smile too, though pensive and sad, the result perhaps of a hard life of crushing poverty. Strangely his name was 'Kariya', meaning 'Blackie' or 'Darkie'.
It was some mundane needs of life, some mutual self-interest, that brought us together. The employees of the factory were issued charcoal from the factory for their domestic use, at a concessional price. Of course, this involved time-consuming procedures - presentation and registration of a requisition, approval by the appropriate authority, checking it through the accounts section, taking the registered requisition to the stores on particular days when stocks would be available, and finally transporting it home. For most people all this rigmarole would be most disagreeable, and they would be happy to pass on the job to some other person for a price; and there would be quite a few poor workers needing money and ever ready to take up such jobs to augment their own slender incomes. Kariya happened to be one such. But there was something which distinguished him from his compeers - his gentleness and courtesy, his honesty and dependability. One could just hand over the requisition slip to him and forget about it. He would do all that was needed carefully and deliver the charcoal bags to the home promptly, and all that for a fee of four annas (currently twenty five paisa) per bag, the cost of the charcoal itself being about three or four rupees.
In this cruel world, and especially where sloppiness and unreliability are the rule, to have such a person to help, and on such inexpensive terms, is naturally a rare and heart-warming experience, something which induces faith in human nature. It means that honesty and goodness do exist in this world after all, and that too not dependent on wealth or affluence. Here was one who was quietly proving that poverty need not make one a criminal, and that even a poor labourer, in spite of all his hardships, could yet manifest, the virtues and graces of an honest and worthy life. It was no wonder that I soon started depending on Kariya for various odd jobs and also recommended him to others, and felt happy in giving him bonuses in cash and kind whenever I could. More than the economic benefit, he became to me a symbol of integrity, one who vindicated the basic goodness of the 'poor Indian'. I was reminded that such are 'God's own', even as Sri Krishna declares in the Srimad Bhagavatham, "We are poor and the poor are our beloved", and which Swami Vivekananda echoed, "I am poor, I love the poor".
But all was not smooth sailing for long; billows arrived in due course. As if to teach a lesson that nothing in the world can be taken for granted, as if to prove that after all men are basically selfish and one should not place too much trust in any mortal man, much less an indigent labourer, a new situation developed. Once I gave the usual monthly requisition for charcoal to Kariya and expected it to arrive within three or four days. But something happened this time and the days went on rolling. A week elapsed, two weeks and then three, and still there was neither charcoal nor Kariya. At this point, I grew uneasy and became anxious to know whether he was out of station or had even taken ill. But soon I got reliable reports that he was very much in station and healthy enough to carry charcoal bags to other parties! And when I went to the accounts office and enquired about my requisition, I was told that it had been registered and the amount had already been debited to my account. This information went through me like a stab. Then, had Kariya misused my indent, had he taken the charcoal to some other party and perhaps even misappropriated the money? The very thought hurt me tremendously, not so much for its monetary aspect but as a breach of faith. Somehow on Kariya;s integrity had rested my fragile trust in humanity in general. I suddenly felt awfully let down. So, after all, mistrust and cynicism would have their mocking triumph? It was a very bitter pill to swallow.
After a good deal of cogitation and heart-burning, I decided to contact him and have it out. Going in search of him, by chance I met him right on the road. He was carrying a charcoal bag. Trying to remain as calm and composed as I could, I put an apparently casual question to him, "What is this you are taking?". "A bag of charcoal, sir, to Mr.So-and-so", was his calm reply. "When are you going to bring my charcoal" It is already two months!" "Sir, I shall being yours tomorrow." This unperturbed reply put me out. I thought he was feigning innocence and unless I took him to task, he wouldn't admit his mistake. Yet, I decided to reserve the final dressing down till after he had brought my bag of charcoal.
I expected he would evade me and force me to raise a row, but to my surprise the very next day, he did come and with the charcoal too. And now, like a determined yet cool inquisitor, all set to wring out a confession from a heretic, I put him the loaded question. "So it took you eight weeks to bring charcoal this time?" "Yes, sir." "Why? It would ordinarily take only three or four days. Even allowing some extra margin, it should not take more than a week. Now, tell me what really happened. "Sir, I lost your requisition." This at last elicited a caustic remark. "But you could have told me so! However, I learn that you have already got it registered in the accounts department." "Yes, sir, it is true... It was after its registration that I lost the slip." At this stage the issue began to get rather complicated for me. Still I kept on: "But even so you could have informed me of the same and taken another indent. I would not have hauled you up to a court of law and got you sentenced just for three or four rupees!" "But, sir, how could I come to you and with what face? You had entrusted me with the work and your account had already been debited. So I felt that I could not meet you till the amount of the lost indent was made up by me!" "And may I know how you proposed to do it?" There was still quite a bit of irony in my words. But his calm reply struck me dumb: "Sir, I felt responsible for the three and a half rupees which the lost indent was worth; but I had no ready money with me to make it up straight away. So I had no option but to wait, and to collect money by carrying charcoal bags for others, once or twice a week. The four annas I got for each of these bags I saved to square up the loss I had put you to, through my negligence. In seven weeks, I was able to save the three and a half rupees, then got a charcoal bag of my own and brought it to you. It was yesterday, when I was all set to bring your bag, that you also met me on the road...Here it is, sir!"
As I heard his explanation, uttered in measured words and in his gentle, somewhat sad tone, my mind and heart were taken by storm, as it were. Feelings of remorse and shame overwhelmed me that I had wrongly and harshly judged such a good man. A plain, humble, totally honest man, an unbelievably honourable man, whom neither poverty nor hardships could corrupt - he was truly a saintly soul. It was such true sons of Mother India that Swami Vivekananda's heart bled. It was to get material help for such that he went and toiled in the West. It was referring to such that he declared, "Poverty here (in India) is no crime... Our masses are gods as compared with those of other countries... Ours are angels." It was such he called 'Daridra Narayanas' or 'My God the Poor'.
My own faith in humanity was restored. Suddenly Kariya stood before me transfigured. I saw in him not an uncouth labourer but a god. What if his skin was dark and his eyes were reddish? To me he appeared handsome. Did not our hymns describe Sri Rama and Sri Krishna as of dark hue (shyamala) and of roseate eyes (arunaksha)? Did not the word Krishna itself mean 'dark'? His calmness and courtesy, his honesty and uprightness, his gentleness and dignity, invested Kariya with a divine quality, a quality which has left an indelible impression on my mind, never to be forgotten in this life.
(About the author: Swami Sastrananda (1917-2003) joined Sri Ramakrishna Ashrama Bangalore in 1947 and was later assigned by Swami Yatiswarananda to look after the activities of the Vivekananda Balaka Sangha and became its first Monastic Director. He was instrumental in formulating the ideology of the Balaka Sangha. He was a great enthusiast, provided clear directions and participated in several activities with the children. A strict disciplinarian, he was also endowed with a loving heart which was demonstrated in the love and concern he showed in the welfare of all people who came into contact with him. His was a profound level of thinking complemented by lucid expression.)
(Source of this story: "An Icon of Inspiration", a souvenir released on the occasion of the Unveiling of the Statue of Swami Vivekananda at Sri Ramakrishna Square, Bull Temple Road, Basavanagudi, Bangalore on Monday, 12 January 2009. My heartfelt thanks to the Ramakirshna Math, Basavanagudi, Bangalore 560 019)
But there was more to his personality than this factory-made appearance; more to it than the dusty body and red eyes of an industrial coolie. His gait, even while working, was unhurried and measured. When he spoke, his speech had a rare quality of gentleness. And still later, after he had washed himself, there was such a calm dignity and even sweetness in his dark face and reddish eyes that I became quickly attracted to him. In and through his emaciated features, there would emerge now and then a gentle smile too, though pensive and sad, the result perhaps of a hard life of crushing poverty. Strangely his name was 'Kariya', meaning 'Blackie' or 'Darkie'.
It was some mundane needs of life, some mutual self-interest, that brought us together. The employees of the factory were issued charcoal from the factory for their domestic use, at a concessional price. Of course, this involved time-consuming procedures - presentation and registration of a requisition, approval by the appropriate authority, checking it through the accounts section, taking the registered requisition to the stores on particular days when stocks would be available, and finally transporting it home. For most people all this rigmarole would be most disagreeable, and they would be happy to pass on the job to some other person for a price; and there would be quite a few poor workers needing money and ever ready to take up such jobs to augment their own slender incomes. Kariya happened to be one such. But there was something which distinguished him from his compeers - his gentleness and courtesy, his honesty and dependability. One could just hand over the requisition slip to him and forget about it. He would do all that was needed carefully and deliver the charcoal bags to the home promptly, and all that for a fee of four annas (currently twenty five paisa) per bag, the cost of the charcoal itself being about three or four rupees.
In this cruel world, and especially where sloppiness and unreliability are the rule, to have such a person to help, and on such inexpensive terms, is naturally a rare and heart-warming experience, something which induces faith in human nature. It means that honesty and goodness do exist in this world after all, and that too not dependent on wealth or affluence. Here was one who was quietly proving that poverty need not make one a criminal, and that even a poor labourer, in spite of all his hardships, could yet manifest, the virtues and graces of an honest and worthy life. It was no wonder that I soon started depending on Kariya for various odd jobs and also recommended him to others, and felt happy in giving him bonuses in cash and kind whenever I could. More than the economic benefit, he became to me a symbol of integrity, one who vindicated the basic goodness of the 'poor Indian'. I was reminded that such are 'God's own', even as Sri Krishna declares in the Srimad Bhagavatham, "We are poor and the poor are our beloved", and which Swami Vivekananda echoed, "I am poor, I love the poor".
But all was not smooth sailing for long; billows arrived in due course. As if to teach a lesson that nothing in the world can be taken for granted, as if to prove that after all men are basically selfish and one should not place too much trust in any mortal man, much less an indigent labourer, a new situation developed. Once I gave the usual monthly requisition for charcoal to Kariya and expected it to arrive within three or four days. But something happened this time and the days went on rolling. A week elapsed, two weeks and then three, and still there was neither charcoal nor Kariya. At this point, I grew uneasy and became anxious to know whether he was out of station or had even taken ill. But soon I got reliable reports that he was very much in station and healthy enough to carry charcoal bags to other parties! And when I went to the accounts office and enquired about my requisition, I was told that it had been registered and the amount had already been debited to my account. This information went through me like a stab. Then, had Kariya misused my indent, had he taken the charcoal to some other party and perhaps even misappropriated the money? The very thought hurt me tremendously, not so much for its monetary aspect but as a breach of faith. Somehow on Kariya;s integrity had rested my fragile trust in humanity in general. I suddenly felt awfully let down. So, after all, mistrust and cynicism would have their mocking triumph? It was a very bitter pill to swallow.
After a good deal of cogitation and heart-burning, I decided to contact him and have it out. Going in search of him, by chance I met him right on the road. He was carrying a charcoal bag. Trying to remain as calm and composed as I could, I put an apparently casual question to him, "What is this you are taking?". "A bag of charcoal, sir, to Mr.So-and-so", was his calm reply. "When are you going to bring my charcoal" It is already two months!" "Sir, I shall being yours tomorrow." This unperturbed reply put me out. I thought he was feigning innocence and unless I took him to task, he wouldn't admit his mistake. Yet, I decided to reserve the final dressing down till after he had brought my bag of charcoal.
I expected he would evade me and force me to raise a row, but to my surprise the very next day, he did come and with the charcoal too. And now, like a determined yet cool inquisitor, all set to wring out a confession from a heretic, I put him the loaded question. "So it took you eight weeks to bring charcoal this time?" "Yes, sir." "Why? It would ordinarily take only three or four days. Even allowing some extra margin, it should not take more than a week. Now, tell me what really happened. "Sir, I lost your requisition." This at last elicited a caustic remark. "But you could have told me so! However, I learn that you have already got it registered in the accounts department." "Yes, sir, it is true... It was after its registration that I lost the slip." At this stage the issue began to get rather complicated for me. Still I kept on: "But even so you could have informed me of the same and taken another indent. I would not have hauled you up to a court of law and got you sentenced just for three or four rupees!" "But, sir, how could I come to you and with what face? You had entrusted me with the work and your account had already been debited. So I felt that I could not meet you till the amount of the lost indent was made up by me!" "And may I know how you proposed to do it?" There was still quite a bit of irony in my words. But his calm reply struck me dumb: "Sir, I felt responsible for the three and a half rupees which the lost indent was worth; but I had no ready money with me to make it up straight away. So I had no option but to wait, and to collect money by carrying charcoal bags for others, once or twice a week. The four annas I got for each of these bags I saved to square up the loss I had put you to, through my negligence. In seven weeks, I was able to save the three and a half rupees, then got a charcoal bag of my own and brought it to you. It was yesterday, when I was all set to bring your bag, that you also met me on the road...Here it is, sir!"
As I heard his explanation, uttered in measured words and in his gentle, somewhat sad tone, my mind and heart were taken by storm, as it were. Feelings of remorse and shame overwhelmed me that I had wrongly and harshly judged such a good man. A plain, humble, totally honest man, an unbelievably honourable man, whom neither poverty nor hardships could corrupt - he was truly a saintly soul. It was such true sons of Mother India that Swami Vivekananda's heart bled. It was to get material help for such that he went and toiled in the West. It was referring to such that he declared, "Poverty here (in India) is no crime... Our masses are gods as compared with those of other countries... Ours are angels." It was such he called 'Daridra Narayanas' or 'My God the Poor'.
My own faith in humanity was restored. Suddenly Kariya stood before me transfigured. I saw in him not an uncouth labourer but a god. What if his skin was dark and his eyes were reddish? To me he appeared handsome. Did not our hymns describe Sri Rama and Sri Krishna as of dark hue (shyamala) and of roseate eyes (arunaksha)? Did not the word Krishna itself mean 'dark'? His calmness and courtesy, his honesty and uprightness, his gentleness and dignity, invested Kariya with a divine quality, a quality which has left an indelible impression on my mind, never to be forgotten in this life.
(About the author: Swami Sastrananda (1917-2003) joined Sri Ramakrishna Ashrama Bangalore in 1947 and was later assigned by Swami Yatiswarananda to look after the activities of the Vivekananda Balaka Sangha and became its first Monastic Director. He was instrumental in formulating the ideology of the Balaka Sangha. He was a great enthusiast, provided clear directions and participated in several activities with the children. A strict disciplinarian, he was also endowed with a loving heart which was demonstrated in the love and concern he showed in the welfare of all people who came into contact with him. His was a profound level of thinking complemented by lucid expression.)
(Source of this story: "An Icon of Inspiration", a souvenir released on the occasion of the Unveiling of the Statue of Swami Vivekananda at Sri Ramakrishna Square, Bull Temple Road, Basavanagudi, Bangalore on Monday, 12 January 2009. My heartfelt thanks to the Ramakirshna Math, Basavanagudi, Bangalore 560 019)
