WHEN GRATITUDE MET GOODNESS

In the beautiful words of Melody Beattie,
“Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend.”
I shall recount two episodes where the goodness of one person and the gratitude of another one were interwoven to create an incredible story of human hearts.
Let me first transport you to Ranikhet, a beautiful hill station in the state of Uttarakhand, our hometown, which is known for its pristine glory and view of the majestic Himalayas. This charming hill station offers everything to pacify the nerves of any individual. My father, born and bred in these supremely serene surroundings, was equally supremely serene in his temperamental makeup. His army career took him places around the country but he sought tranquillity and pleasure, only in this magical hill station during his sabbatical. The year was 1964. My father, an eligible bachelor, in his new car, drove to Ranikhet merrily one morning and parked his new purchase near Mission School. Then he walked down the lush green mountain slope to reach his ancestral beautiful cottage. The following evening he learned that his new car was stolen!!!
There was a simple mountain man who had fallen into bad company and became a petty thief. Later he transformed into an infamous dacoit by the name of Hira dacoit. It was this very notorious dacoit who had driven away my father’s car but was ambushed by the police and the local youths while he was making his way to the jungles through the busy market area. In order to save his skin, he stopped the car abruptly and ran in the opposite direction, and had become oblivious to all in mere seconds. Luckily, the lost and the found car came home safely, rather too soon, to my father, its rightful owner. Some witnesses had filed a case against Hira dacoit. The police, in the meantime, nabbed him and produced him in the court. My father was to validate and verify the stolen car case and identify the thief in person. That day when the judge asked my father to testify that Hira had indeed stolen his car, my father had looked deeply, right into the dacoit’s eyes for a couple of seconds! Then my father apprised the judge that he could not acknowledge that it was this very Hira dacoit who had actually stolen his car. The fact was, my father really hadn’t seen him stealing and driving away. At that moment the recalcitrant Hira dacoit had looked deeply, right into my father’s eyes for a couple of seconds! Later when my father came out of the court premises, he had even saluted him. He seemed completely inundated in the waters of gratitude. Hira dacoit was a seasoned thief. He was alternating between prison life and jungle life. He would ruthlessly loot shops, homes, and people for food, drinks, and money. Ranikhet was mighty scared of this dacoit.
Years rolled by. Time flew. Papa would come to Ranikhet year after year. When I was barely five years old,  Papa drove us to Ranikhet as usual in the same old car of his. The year was 1974. My grandfather was deliriously unwell and was bedridden in a comatose condition. His death seemed imminent. After spending a month or so, we drove back to Delhi. That evening itself when we reached home, a telegram awaited us. Alas!! It announced that my grandfather had breathed his last.
My father, along with my uncle, embarked upon the arduous return journey to Ranikhet that same evening, leaving mom and me behind. My father drove unhaltingly and tirelessly and sometime around three o’clock at midnight when they were passing through hilly terrain, the car suddenly broke down. It was a terribly cold, dark winter November night of 1974. My father and uncle struggled with the car. They made all possible endeavours in that chilly, hilly roadside with only scant moonlight to assist them. The car had simply stopped. They pushed it to the side of the road. The bonnet of the car loomed over their lowered heads while the duo fidgeted with the mechanics of the car. Just then a shadow of a figure loomed large from amidst the thick jungle towards them. A man approached them and enquired as to what had happened. My father informed him that they were on their way to Ranikhet for their father’s cremation but the car had suddenly broken down. The stranger offered to help them. In fact, he assured them that he would get the car repaired and even delivered to them. All this while my father had strained his eyes hard to see the stranger, who had emerged before them in this unholy hour. Suddenly and unmistakably, my father recognised the expressions of Hira dacoit. A truck was passing by incidentally. My father and uncle took a lift from it to reach Ranikhet. My uncle told papa later, that Hira dacoit had easily scampered off with his car and that he would sell the car parts off soon to generate quick money. But surprisingly, just a day later Hira dacoit, covering and camouflaging his appearance, appeared before my father in my grandfather’s cottage to return the car keys personally to my father. By then the last rites of my grandfather were done with. Hira dacoit expressed his condolence to papa and even saluted him, nice and proper before he disappeared into oblivion yet again. It was incredulous that the ruthless Hira dacoit would ever do anything of this nature. The only justification was perhaps his sense of gratitude towards my father shifted him to a higher frequency and gravitated the hardened criminal toward papa’s goodness.
No wonder, goodness begets goodness!!!!!

Yet another incident is worth recounting and here it goes.
My father, known for his large-heartedness, trusted fellow human beings without a trace of skepticism, all his life. At times even if he knew that the other person was taking undue advantage of him, he would still feign ignorance and readily help. Papa’s house in Noida was a first-floor one and the ground-floor house was rented to a Sikh family. The handsome, turbaned man Navjot, and his pretty wife with their newborn had just moved into our neighbourhood. The new tenants made acquaintances soon. They initiated an electronics repair and servicing business. Navjot utilized his big car garage as a storeroom cum workstation. Summers were to set in soon shortly. Hence, scores of people, including many from our neighbouring areas came to him for repairs and likewise services. The entire neighbourhood witnessed Navjot’s meteoric rise in his new business in a very short span of time but after about a month or so we also started witnessing customers who would come and complain to him. Some would even shout and vent their anger upon him for not repairing their air conditioners, refrigerators, television, coolers, etc. on time. Navjot was not able to meet the aspirations of his clients. The bickerings and fights between him and his customers also grew fast and furious. We would clandestinely watch from our terrace how Navjot in his mild-mannered ways and soft voice would calm and convince his agitated visitors but of course, the situation was becoming precariously bad for Navjot with each passing day for he only collected the new items and never repaired and never returned the goods. When he would meet my father once in a blue moon, he would confide in him and tell him that he was working really hard and was sanguine of his business bouncing back and booming soon. All the neighbours in the meantime distanced themselves from the recalcitrant Navjot and his reticent wife.
Navjot would occasionally come to papa for favours. He had borrowed papa’s scooter for some time saying that he had given his car for servicing and papa despite knowing that people were ignoring him still extended this help. When my mother and I asked him why he should help such a defaulter, my father would justify his stand by telling us that the man was perhaps braving rough weather in his new business and that with a certain faith he had come upstairs to him. Mummy and I had to maintain our calm somehow.  After about a fortnight Navjot had again come to papa requesting this time for our car. Believe it or not, much to our shock and nays, my father offered this help too! Navjot in his inimitable style had convinced papa that he urgently needed the car in an emergency just for a day as the scooter that my father had given had run out of fuel and that he was just not getting any time to go out even to the petrol station. My mother and I were dead sure that Navjot was up to some great mischief. In order to carry out our mundane work and purchases, we had to commute distances in a rickshaw despite being proud owners of a car and a scooter! I would sometimes yell at papa in frustration for being so gullible and rendering help to a man who was doubted, ignored, and isolated by one and all but my father remained undeterred.

 Meanwhile, the commotions and fights between Navjot and his clients became precariously high and rough. Mom made an earnest request to Navjot for returning our vehicles but he gave some reason or the other for not being able to return those then. We could do nothing but feel helpless. In fact, our blood pressure would soar thinking about our crafty neighbour. My father would also get affected watching our angst. He would try soothing our irritated nerves by promising us that he would speak to Navjot about this burning issue each time we created a furor.
It had been barely three days of our car in Navjot’s custody that a spine-chilling scene occurred.  Navjot had gotten into financial debt. A complete humongous financial mess. To escape fights, bickerings, complaints, and police, one night, at midnight, Navjot organised a gigantic truck, which parked right in front of his garage. Nineteen armed men loaded all the gathered electronics and all the household luggage with impeccable coordination and efficiency onto the truck. Two guards who were stationed for the purpose of security at the security gate were threatened, tied with ropes, and their mouths gagged and sealed. Before the break of the first light, the truck disappeared with everything that the house and its garage stored. At four in the early summer dawn, when it was still dusky outside, our doorbell rang, loud and clear, piercing our ears. Papa went hurriedly thinking that there was some emergency in the neighbourhood. On opening the door, papa was shocked to see Navjot standing there, sweating and speaking jerkily. He handed over the two sets of keys, one of our scooter and the other of our car. He told papa that he was leaving Noida for good. He said that he was going to Punjab to his kith and kin and would restart his business there. Papa could definitely sniff that something was amiss. Before my father could quiz him, he hurriedly and worriedly went down the stairs after saying a quick thanks and bye to papa. He even complimented my father for standing by him in times when no one else did. He seemed completely inundated in the waters of gratitude!
My father looked pensive. He was brooding over the next course of action to follow. The rising sun had started to appear in the skyline and its radiant beams awakened and emboldened the sleeping humans of our society only to discover that Navjot had done the disappearing act. The entire sequence of the events as narrated by the two aghast and petrified security guards whose hands and mouths were unfastened by the early risers of our colony. The story travelled far and near, everywhere, like wildfire. It reached our ears too. We were shocked to the core. The distraught and distressed customers of Navjot, in the following weeks, visited and went back shocked and cheated by the trickster. My father was the only recipient of Navjot’s kindness or mercy. It was incredulous that Navjot would ever do anything of this nature. The only justification was perhaps his sense of gratitude towards my father shifted him to a higher frequency and gravitated the hardened criminal toward papa’s goodness.
Dear readers, I reiterate, Goodness begets goodness!
“Be a good human being. Just be yourself and then see your goodness will gravitate people towards you. You will eventually become likeable to all.”
These oft-quoted lines by my father still resonate and reverberate in my ears always, although, now my dear father resides in heaven in the company of Gods and watches me with love.

Shared by Preeti Kandpal Pathak