I was adopted by my father when I was 2 or 3, he wasn't able to remember exactly. What he does remember though, is a frail looking woman walking up to the temple he looked after, with me in a bundle of rags. She was distraught, exhausted and broken. She didn't have a thaali or a ring. I was a bastard child and she was escaping society. My father took me in his arms to give her respite; she said she wanted to relieve herself and went. She never came back. And so it came to be that my father was now a father.
My father was an orphan himself. Having lost his parents at a young age he survived by helping the temple priest. He was honest and quiet. He did as told and never asked for anything. He ate what was offered and slept on the temple veranda. He became the caretaker of the temple. Priests came and went, he was the permanent one there.
He took care of me as best he could. He gave me education. He taught me the virtues of a simple and honest life. His lessons were never told, they were shown to me. He was kind to the bone and never once regretted that fact that I was thrust into his otherwise carefree world. I was his true son. At an appropriate age he told me of the incidence of how I came into his life. Even as he said it, I didn't feel even for an instant if he has second thoughts about me. He did not have money, but he had the heart and he did all he could to make my life comfortable.
I studied hard. I went to college and then to work in the city. I visited the coconut palmed, dried fish smelling village as often as I could ; to see my father and to make life better for him as much I could. He refused monetary help. He refused to hire a maid or a helper. He was far too simple, principled and generous to depend on another to do his work. So I offered the best I could, my company. We would share meals together and sit on the beach and talk. He loved listening to my stories of the city. He took an active interest in my work. He always encouraged me to find a wife and settle down. He said I would make a great father.
After 10 years of working, I got the call from the present temple priest. I harbored a secret fear for this call. I rushed home. Father was ill. He was too weak to sit up. I put in my leave request and decided to stay with him a few days. I fed him and did all the things necessary to make him comfortable. I was relieved that I was able to reciprocate at-least this much for him.
Father had many a visitor during the time I was there. People from all walks of life came to ask after his health. Fishermen, local shokeepers, tourists, priests, rich landowners and so on. I had not realized that father had so many acquaintances. It was surprising to see the genuine worry people had for this man, who I thought was a very quiet reserved person.
On one the days, an old lady walked into the house. She asked for my father and I showed her in. She sat next to father, held his hand and wept. She sat silently, nodded to him and shifted to leave. I was intrigued. I followed her and asked her to wait. I then asked her to sit and asked he who she was and what was her relationship with my father.
She said "Your father was an acquaintance once. Today he is my savior. A few years back, my son had an accident when he went fishing. When I stood helpless in the temple looking for the lord to answer my prayers, your father came up and asked me why I was in despair. Hearing me and understanding my situation of lack of money to get my son to the town hospital, he paid for the ambulance. My son survived. He did this for me when I was a total stranger. He has been a friend ever since". She had tears in her eyes saying this as she left.
I was not too surprised. My father was helpful. He was kind.
On another day he was visited by a man of roughly my fathers age. He sat beside father and tried to cheer him up. He spoke of the village stories and his family. My father was all smiles hearing about this mans grandchild's antics. I asked him how he know father.
He said "A few years ago my son decided to marry a girl from a lower caste. I was furious and vehemently resisted. My son went ahead and married the girl in the temple your father worked in. I arrived there with my community people to separate them, or even better, strike them down. Your father protected them. He gave me wise counsel and asked me to wait a year. If I was still not ok, he would help in resolving the matter. My son was happy and the girl made all of our lives so much better. We have grandchildren and we don't care what others say now. Your father cared about us - even when were strangers.
There were so many more men and women who visited my father during his last days. All of them people whose lives he had touched in some small way or the other. His one common tool to transform all their lives was his smile. He always had it on.
My father passed away a few days later. His funeral was one the most attended ones in the village. Not a man lost the chance to come up to me and tell me how much my father meant to them.
I realized my father was not poor. He was a man of immense riches.
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