Leaning on the walking stick in left hand, the old man walks slowly, holding a small book in the right hand mindfully. His off-white shirt hangs loosely on his frail shoulders. His black trousers are shaggy, to say the least. The clothes are washed, but not ironed. His white hair is rather unkempt, and his white beard, also uncared for but short, covers his face. Slowly, step by step, he walks to the shelter of the ‘bus stop’ by the roadside. There are people waiting for the bus. Noticing the old man, one portly, elderly man takes a few coins from his pocket and hold those in front of the old man -- offering him alms, so to say ! The old man’s gait straightens up. He looks up, straight into the eye of the ‘giver’ and says, in chaste Hindi, ‘No, No. I don’t want anything’. Embarrassed, the portly man mumbles ‘Sorry’. The bearded man says in a low but firm voice, ‘I did not ask for anything.

 

I am poor, but not a beggar’. The portly man again mumbles ‘sorry’ with a wane smile. The man with the walking stick climbs one step and sits down on the bench, holds his walking stick between his knees, opens his book and starts reading -- completely unmindful of the people around or the din on the busy road or the buses roaring in and out. ... ... engrossed in the book. Possibly, he has nowhere to go. Or, he has found time to sit there under the ‘bus stop shelter and read the book whose title one cannot read from a distance, covered as it is with the owner’s palm. Others at the ‘bus stop’, too, notice this unusual man.

 

Though he is not looking around, our protagonist appears silently conscious of people’s curious looks. For, once or twice, he raises his face from the book, glances around with a faint smile on his lean face, and dips the face back into the pages. A steady look at the man reveals something unusual. His eyes are calm and wide open and rather soaked in a smile. His shoulders bent forward as he holds the book in his hands. He appears to enjoy reading -- of course unbothered about the people who alight from buses or get in. Watching him for quite a few minutes, one recalls his words uttered some time back -- ‘No, No. I don’t want anything ... I did not ask for anything. I am poor, but not a beggar’. From the edge of a shop next to the ‘bus stop’, one can gather the impression of a proud man with no airs but with a distinct presence even in the crowd. Everything about him had its own signature -- his lean bearded face, his unkempt white hair thinning at brims, his loose but clean clothes, his walking stick ... ! One chooses to watch him on for some more time. After long minutes, he folds the book, rises from the bench, leans on his stick, climbs one step down and walks off -- slowly, deliberately, his gait straight. As he walks into the darkening evening, his words come up again in the mind ... ‘I did not ask for anything. I am poor, but not a beggar’. Possibly, in his book, in his calm countenance, in his poor means, he has found his treasures ! n