A Hero


“All things are subject to interpretation whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth.– Friedrich Nietzsche


Who would you call a hero? Our world is black. In these dark times who can you call a lover of mankind? What would be required in a man for him to be regarded as a true humanitarian? Well, actually such questions are easily answered. A hero would be a good human being, a kind man. A man who would go to lengths to ensure the people around him do not suffer. A man or a woman willing to sacrifice his or her happiness to palliate the misery of others. But such answers are hastily provided and are based on the teachings that are installed in us since the time our minds were unable to think for themselves and not on what we realize and learn on our own. Everything in life should be open for analysis, our every belief should be subjected to questions, our trust should not be so easily  placed on things that are handed down from generation to generation, unquestioned and unanalyzed. Everything in this world when properly scrutinized will display different shades of colours, a different hue from every different angle. And a 'good' man need not necessarily be a perfect shade of white. No.
For once I knew a man. A good man.A kind man. A man you would use as an example of how a man should be. But a man you wouldn't know. An obscure man.A man absent from the pages of history.For he was a common man. A poor man. A poor man with a wife.A poor man with a wife and three children.
A man whose numerous accounts of unparalleled kindness are ever present, often in volumes, on the lips of everyone that knows him.A man who was on a windy November night returning to his home from work. Work was cleaning and running errands on a department store. Work didn’t pay nearly enough for a proper life. With three children, a wife and himself, there were a lot of needs. Yes, there were wants too, but those were brushed away as quickly as they arrived because to harbour desires for the extravagant wishes like a chocolate or a soda was monumental stupidity. No, the needs needed fulfilment but even the needs were not being fulfilled. Yes, he had a difficult life. And yet he still managed to find ways to help others, to be charitable where charity was accepted. So the outcome of what was to happen on that windy evening was almost predictable.
It was a starless night as most nights are in this polluted city. The way to home included a small alley which was notorious as a site for mugging. It was dangerous but it was the only way. He was unafraid. He had never been a victim and he had a pleasant intuition that the hundred rupees in his pocket were safe.
On his way through this dark and secluded alley he was approached by a beggar. The beggar looked miserable. He was merely skin and bones with ruffled hair entangled in dirt. His clothes were torn in several places and showed evidences of numerous attempts to prolong its survival. His eyes were sunken and reflected the misery he had suffered, perhaps since the day he was born and will continue to suffer till the day he died. Which his appearance suggested wasn't too far away. The beggar looked more dead than alive.
"Can you spare some change?" the beggar pleaded.
The kind man didn't have any. "I'm afraid I don't have any. I'm sorry." he said.
"Please sir, be merciful. I haven’t eaten in four days. Please be kind and God will be kind to you. Help me sir. I beg you." The beggar then burst into tears.
The site of a grown man crying was unbearable. Can any circumstance be worse than one which reduces a grown man to tears? It was terribly unfair. But life was unfair. It would have been easy to keep that thought in mind as a consoling comfort and walk away to worry about the problems that were concerned with his own fight for survival. But such consolations were never enough for this kind man. Life is unfair because we let it be so. The only reason the unfortunate suffer is because the fortunate do nothing about it. And he certainly was more fortunate than the beggar. So what else was there to do but to give away the hundred rupees nestled in his pocket? And that is exactly what he did. Without the money he would go hungry, but the beggar would starve. It was in the end a simple choice. The right choice.
Or so your pre-instructed mind would make you believe. But was it the right thing to do? There are always extenuating circumstances. He was a family man. There were four more human beings relying on him to bring home some money so that they could together, as a family, fight as best as they could the realities of poverty. The difficulties that envelope such struggles are almost insurmountable and his actions had made it even more impossible. His inability to control his charitable nature would now lead him to a disappointed wife and three disappointed children. He was lucky that he had an understanding wife. She was understanding to a fault. She would, as always, do her best to work around his luxurious expenses. And it was just that. A luxury. For how can someone so encumbered in poverty have the audacity to give away his last rupee?
Was this man that different from an alcoholic husband? If an alcoholic man is single what can you fault him with? He is not responsible for anyone but himself. If he wishes to spend his money on something that helps him get through the day why shouldn't he do it. Until drinking alcohol becomes illegal he has done nothing wrong. It is another thing if when inebriated he becomes a nuisance to people around him. But until that happens how can we condemn him for spending his money the way he wants.
But everything changes if he is a family man. Because he is then responsible not only for himself but for his family. It then becomes wrong to waste money in selfish pursuits. And the same should apply to our kind man.
Why should his selfish pursuit be lauded? Yes, it was selfish in his part to do what he did. What would've happened if he had refused the beggar? He would've felt horrible. He would've carried the guilt of not having helped a man in need when he had the capability of doing so. But his duty towards his family would've been fulfilled. A hundred rupees may not have washed away their worries but it would've helped. It would've meant a happier wife and children at the price of his inner torment. He would suffer while his family felt better, isn't that what being unselfish is?
But he gave away the money. And felt good doing it. Everybody feels good when giving. If they didn’t  no one would ever practice charity.
If he were a single man his actions would've been laudable. It would mean he was sacrificing his benefits to help a complete stranger. A true triumph of the good in mankind. But he was a husband and a father. He had sacrificed not only his but also his family's livelihood. He had willingly sacrificed the happiness of his family just to help a complete stranger. Is his responsibility towards his family not of greater significance than to practice charity? Now disappointment fills his home while his heart and mind are at peace. He feels the warmth of having done the right thing. But his wife suffers. His children suffer. To be content with ones action while others suffer as a direct consequence; is this not the definition of being selfish?
A man who is not able to look after his family.A man who would rather satisfy his need to help others than to provide for his family. Could you call him be a good man? What if one of his children were to fall sick and the price of treatment was the cumulative amount he had given away to help strangers? Would he still be considered a good man?
There are always extenuating circumstances. Life is a labyrinth of cause and effect. Can there be actions with all positive consequences? Can a man be truly unselfish and be a good father, a good husband and a good human being? Who would you call a good man? Who would you call a hero?


Posted by Marred | at 12:00 PM

1 comments:

Anonymous said...

i deeply hope you do change the world one day.

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