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A Magical Moment of Giving

1 month ago4 min read50 comments

Chinnu, Kutty Chinnu, come give me a hand,” called out Kalyani.

A lean 7-year-old boy with twinkling eyes came running from the garden, where he had been plucking semi-ripe guavas from a medium-sized tree. He dropped the cloth bag with the guavas on the ground and deftly lifted the wicker basket filled with cucumbers, helping his mother place it on her head. The cucumber crop wasn’t great this time, and Kalyani hoped to sell this basket for at least Rs. 25. That should be enough to repair the roof before the next bout of rain.

“Amma, you go wait at the railway crossing. I’ll join you after I finish plucking,” said Chinnraj, fondly known as Chinnu.

Despite his young age, Chinnu was a remarkably responsible child. He hoped his parents would save enough money to buy him new slippers before Deepavali—just like the pink ones his friend Parasu had.

Kalyani, balancing the basket on her head, reached the railway crossing and waited for the gates to close. The Trichy Passenger train was due to pass by. She found a comfortable spot, brought down the basket, and placed it beside her as the gates closed and cars began to line up behind the barrier. Gathering a few cucumbers in a smaller basket, she walked briskly toward the cars, calling out, “Vellirikka, vellirikka, 2 anna dhaan, saami!”

“Oh, I forgot about this railway crossing,” remarked Azhagappa, seated in the back of his white Plymouth with his buddies from Karaikudi University, Subbiah and Kandhavel.

“Yes, I was hoping we’d cross before the gates closed,” said Kandhavel. “Let Muruga rest for a bit; he’s been driving for hours!”

Muruga, the driver, got out of the car and went for a stroll.

“Kandha, can you pass me the water? I’m feeling so thirsty,” Azhagappa said.

“Oh dear! The water gooja (container) is empty. I wish I’d filled it when we stopped for coffee at that little hotel.”

Azhagappa got out of the car and spotted Kalyani approaching with a basket of cucumbers. There was a sincerity about her that caught his attention. He watched as she stopped to sell cucumbers to the passengers in the cars ahead.

By now, little Chinnu had joined his mother. Dressed in a simple cotton sari, with glass bangles tinkling on her wrists and fragrant jasmine adorning her hair, Kalyani made her way toward the white Plymouth.

“Ayya (sir), Do you want Velerikka? Will surely refresh you and quench your thirst.” Kalyani reading the tiredness in the eyes of the travelers started distributing fresh cucumbers to all the passengers in the car. They all started munching eagerly.

Azhagappa took out a Rs 100 note and handed it to Kalyani.

“Ayya! How will I find change for the rest? Please give me 2 annas—I’ve only given you 2 annas’ worth of cucumber,” Kalyani said earnestly (2 annas = 12 paise).

“You keep it, amma. Use it for your son’s education,” Azhagappa replied generously.

Speechless with gratitude, Kalyani took the Rs. 100 note and carefully placed it in her muslin drawstring bag.

Suddenly, Kalyani realized that the railway gates would soon open and the cars would speed away. She sprang into action, quickly distributing cucumbers to the passersby and the occupants of other cars. She refused to accept any money.

“Please help yourself, saami. No, no, please don’t give me any money. These cucumbers grow in my garden, and I just wanted to share them with you all…”

Little Chinnu ran about, helping to distribute the remaining cucumbers until the wicker basket was empty.

It was 7 PM, and Maari, Kalyani’s husband, was helping Chinnu create a paper rocket.

“Great people don’t cross our paths every day, Kalyani. Maybe we did something good recently. It’s been a long time since I saw a 100 rupee note! But what made you give away the rest of the cucumbers for free to everyone?”

“I think it was that 100 rupee note from that philanthropist. Once I touched it, something inside me just wanted to give. And guess what? I was so happy as I went around giving them out. It was a magical moment for me. God bless that generous gentleman.”

“Amma, I know that generous gentleman’s name. I heard his friend calling him Azhagappa,” said Chinnu.

This is a true story that took place in 1948. The philanthropist was Dr. Azhagappa Chettiar, the founder of Karaikudi University, established in 1947. He was known for his generosity and is said to have given away all his wealth during his lifetime, leaving nothing for himself when he passed away.

பிறக்கும் பொழுது கொடுவந்த
தில்லை பிறந்துமண்மேல்
இறக்கும் போது கொடுபோவ
தில்லை.

~பட்டினத்தார் (Pattinathaar)

“You came empty-handed; you will leave empty-handed.”

Story Adapted from Prof. S. Meenakshisundaram’s discourse on Pattinathaar and his anecdote which stresses the importance of giving.

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