An Old Blind Man

Everyday, the old blind man would walk that same expanse of road, the same road that he had been treading for over 10 years. Everyday, he would tread that road selling his plastic wares so he could finally earn himself a ridiculously scanty meal for the night. Life was dull, dreary and difficult for Siddhartha, but the old blind man never once stole or begged. He could not even bring himself to borrow some pennies, not least because of his inability to pay a loan back, but because it was against his ideals. If his sales for the day failed to earn him a meal, he would punish his incompetence in generating sufficient income by staying hungry. Such were the ideals of the old blind man.

Everyday was torture for the poor man. However, he never broke his efforts, even for a few hours. He would arrive at the street at daybreak, loudly chant his advertisements while walking up and down the street through the day and at the fall of dusk, he would skillfully count his hard earned money, eat his frugal dinner at a nearby tea stall and then retire for the night.

Everyday was covered in a black veil for the old blind man. Being blind by birth, he had never ever seen the world. He did not know what the people looked like. To him, everyone and everything looked the same, Pitch Black. Human emotions were but a proof-less theorem to him. For him, everyday was a battle, a stern test of his resilience.

One fine day, he was going about his monotonous business, when he was approached by a young boy, or so it seemed to the blind old man. Quoth the boy, “My father is dying. Please give me an anna so I can pay the doctor’s fee”. The blind old man, dear generous soul that he was, handed over his purse, containing his entire day’s earnings, without any hesitation to the boy in question. The boy decently thanked him and made off with the money.

This incident repeated itself everyday for a few days, the boy who never once revealed his identity made the benevolent man part with his hard earned money.

Only a week later did the old blind man hear gossip about a certain boy, who had been faking his father’s death, so he could steal money for a candy. After a week, the old man had lost a pound while the boy had gained three. The blind man however, undeterred, continues his pursuit of happyness.

Everyday, weak helpless men like Siddhartha are capitalized upon by such greedy, well off men. The world is in need of a Robin Hood. We should not oppress those less fortunate than us; instead, we should help them and give them a shot at a better life. The weight of the world should not lie in the hands of a few. Our avarice should not cause us to oppress those who are less fortunate than us.