Ordinary people and their extraordinary deeds

Aadil, our gardener for two years, is a soft-spoken youngster. He has sound knowledge of the vegetable kingdom and nurtures nature with care. The other day, he brought laddoos as he happily informed me that he had been blessed with a daughter. I congratulated him and he asked me, “Ma’am, why don’t you come to bless my daughter? My mother is also here.”

The visited him the next Sunday. His home was neat and clean, with a small nursery outside. The buds and blooms reflected the owner’s pride. Aadil’s wife, Azra, a kindergarten teacher, was a sweet and simple girl. I was surprised to see his mother wearing a big red bindi on her forehead and vermillion in her hair parting. Aadil sensed my dilemma and shared his life story.

He was born in a Muslim family but lost his parents in quick succession when he was a child. His Hindu neighbour brought him up despite the family’s meagre means. His foster parents were conscious about his faith and sent him for namaz to the local mosque every Friday. They celebrated all Muslim festivals though there were hardly any Muslims in their village. So as he grew up, he was blessed to have imbibed both Hindu and Muslim cultures, customs, festivals and functions.

He said he owes his gardening skills to his foster mother with whom he worked at their small farm. With their blessings, he opened a small nursery. In fact, he says, he owes his life to them. Now, he tries to double the income for his family by working as a gardener and taking care of the nursery.

My eyes fell on the old woman, she stood eager to hear what I would say. Choked with emotions, I simply bowed in reverence. I felt that this uneducated woman was far advanced in human sensibility and subtlety than many educated people like us. After all, she became mother to an orphan whose relatives refused to look after him. Aadil’s foster parents ensured he completed graduation and became self-reliant.

I finished the tea and looked around. My eyes welled up as I saw two pictures, one of Mecca and the other of Lord Rama, hanging on the wall side by side.

I hugged Aadil’s mother. I felt I had met God. I was reminded of a Sanskrit shloka my mother used to recite, “O God, I don’t need a kingdom nor do I desire to be an emperor. I don’t want rebirth or the golden vessel or heaven. I don’t need anything from you. O Lord, if you want to give me something, then give me a soft heart and hard hands, so that I can wipe the tears of others.”

If the whole world is blessed with such humane generosity, there will be no suffering, grief or animosity. What else is education? It doesn’t take degrees to be educated, and enlightened.

I stood there speechless as Aadil’s mother gifted me two embroidered table napkins. It’s the best gift I’ve ever received.

MY EYES WELLED UP AS I SAW TWO PICTURES, ONE OF MECCA AND THE OTHER OF LORD RAMA, HANGING ON THE WALL SIDE BY SIDE