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?
