A story in which a jacket,police man,and a begger play an important role
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The Day I Stopped Using my Wallet
I was on the train to Rajasthan. The train had just stopped at a railway station. You know the Indian Railways. I had expected at least an hour at the station. My compartment was very much crowded. There was not even the space for a needle to fall on the ground. The platform outside was also busy. The regular humdrum of local lives could be heard all round. There were people from all classes of life inside the compartment - Vegetable and fruit sellers going to the next town to drag thier lives amidst the machine age, tea-sellers, working men, beggars, and little children thin and rough due to years of starvation and labour.
I was watching a person for some time. He was an old man with shabby grey hair, long shabby beard, torn clothes and an aluminium tin in his hand. But the man's appearance was not that attracted my attention. He was poking at a jacket hanging on the compartment door with his cane. I was sure that he was trying to get hold of something worthy from it. Somewhere inside my heart, I felt the need to ask him what he was doing. But me going to him, calling him a thief and making a huge problem out of it - that wont do. So I sat still, turned my eyes away from him and busied myself with the scenes on the platform.
There was no need of me making a problem because someone else has already started one. A young man(God knows which language he speaks) and a tea-seller were having a war of words. This attracted the attention of the rest of the compartment too, and now everyone is enjoying the show - excited and energetic. Again, I wanted to try and solve the problem. But the quiet person inside me prevented me from interfering and perhaps making the matter even worse. Now, I must tell you. I am not the hero of this story.
A baby crying on the platform arrested my attention for a few seconds, and when my mind presence returned back to the scene in the compartment. I was surprised to see the same beggar standing there in the middle of the two shouting men. I was even more surprised when I saw that he wore that very same jacket. The young man's language now was understandable. He said - "Sir, this purse is mine. I want it. But this 'tea wala' says that it is his". I was spellbound at the respect a 'kavi' jacket would give to a weak old man. Soon came the tea-sellers explanation - "Sir, my purse fell down as I was serving tea. It's mine". The problem was not so easy to solve. The old man took the purse and examined it as if he was a policeman. He immediately threw the purse out of the window down on the rails. There came a cry of rage form the young man followed by words of disgrace at the beggar. Meanwhile, the tea-seller jumped down to the rails and took his purse uttering words of prayer. Thus it was proved that the purse was the tea-seller. The problem was solved by the beggar. But still, the beggar had made everyone believe that he was a policeman and had done wrong in putting on a jacket that doesnt belong to him. So I wasn't at all pleased.
The train hasn't started yet. I received a call from my friend and coincidently, he was on the same train. I went to the next compartment, saw my friend, talked to him and had a very nice time. He is a police officer now , and is on leave today going to Rajasthan for some family matter. The train had started and I went back to my compartment. He accompanied me saying that he had kept his jacket somewhere there. I seated myself and looked out of the window. I saw the old man sitting huddled in a corner, with his tin and cane in his hand. He looked weaker. He was in very high spirits as a police servant not a long time ago. My friend came back and I distinctly noticed that he wore the very smae jacket. He smiled and said - "I hanged my jacket on the door. I had some money in its pocket too. Thank God, no one stole it. I must have been more careful". Saying thus, he moved to his compartment. The train was now speeding away and I looked back at the beggar. He wore the jacket, kept his hands its pocket and yet was honest enough not to take the money in it. He could have had a hearty meal that day using the money, but he knew the value of the money earned through hard work.
Real life might not be so heroic and in fantasies and fiction. But such little incidents stay in hearts for a long time.
NB : This story was not copied from google. The story was taken from my experiances , from the deep abyss of time. So please rate this story if you like and comment to me if you have any suggestions.
Title of the story - An inspiration from Sudha Murthy's "The day I stopped Drinking Milk".
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