Another chance

For a man with such a humble beginning, what he had achieved was really commendable. But all this while, life roughed him up, worn him out, made him weak. To an onlooker, he could have been a success story. Not a glorious rags to riches story which could have found a place in a tabloid. But one which was occasionally and casually mentioned by his acquaintances. But they could not see the turmoil behind the personna. They could not see the frustration that he sometimes felt. He felt that he had fallen a victim to the circumstances. That he no longer had any say in deciding the course of his life. That he had given away this right much earlier. That his familial duties dictated his purpose of existence. Not that he wanted to run away from them. But he hated being entirely consumed by them.

He had tried to fathom the purpose of existence of a human being. He wanted to know why people do things that they do and are they right in doing them. He wondered whether or not, a life which has not improved the life of another human being, which has not created any impact in the society, a waste. He wanted to know how significant a work should be to create that impact. He wanted to know whether or not his life has served his purpose by at least improving the living standards of his family.

He was terrified by the fragility of the life. He had seen people die just like that. He was also terrified by the madness these riots have brought. It bewildered him to see people ready to sacrifice their life for their religion. He felt sorry for those who had devalued their life and have allowed themselves to get manipulated for petty interests of few individuals. He often wondered is this cheap a life is ?

He had once seen a dead beggar lying on a road side on a chilled winter morning. He was depressed by the apathy of the people who were just riding by. He himself didn't stop. He had more important matters at hand that time. But he did spare some thoughts for that begger who had otherwise gone unnoticed. He wondered what change could this man have brought in the world with his limited means. Can survival itself be the purpose of existence ?

But he himself was a man of means. And that is why when he saw the boy on the other side of the street, he felt an impulse to go down there and bring him to his house. Not that he didn't think about the attackers who may be possibly wandering on the streets. But he felt that this is his chance to make that impact. He came out of his house and then with a sudden rush, went to the other side of the street and brought that child back.

The clothes of that child were splashed with blood. But he was still breathing. He knew that the child would survive. He would see to it that he survives. May be that was one of the puposes of his existence.