“I can’t afford it,” the security guard said softly, glancing at the Hanuman Chalisa and then at me.
“I have a big family to support.”
For a moment, I stood still—surprised, almost shaken. The price was only two rupees, yet for him, even that was a choice between faith and food.
“It’s not for sale,” I smiled, placing it back in his hands.
“I’m giving it to you.”
His eyes lit up. “Oh! Thank you!” he said, folding his palms with a gratitude that felt heavier than any coin. As I walked ahead, distributing the remaining copies, a thought echoed within me: “True devotion is not measured by money, but by the heart that receives it.”
That evening, I shared the incident with my mother. She listened quietly, her face calm, her eyes thoughtful. Without a word, she walked into her room and returned with a large packet of religious books—treasures from her personal collection.
“Take these,” she said gently. “Give them to those who need them.”
In that moment, I understood what it means when elders say, “Charity begins at home.” Janitors, housekeeping staff, cobblers, shopkeepers, gardeners—each would receive not just a book, but a reminder that faith belongs to everyone.
I felt deeply grateful. My mother has always stood beside me, silently strengthening my steps. With her blessings, I realized, “When intention is pure, even small acts become divine.”
Pic : Pixabay
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