The Blind Race

He never aspired for luxury. Perhaps, he could never touch it. But the struggle to earn livelihood was so bitter that he had to serve a shopkeeper as a part time worker.

After being relieved from office at 5 P.M., he had to be present at shop. If late, no work, no pay. No mile, no meal.

A heavy bag on his shoulder, crossing the narrow lane of Khari Baoli, he was annoyed with hawkers crowding at the foot path. It seemed that everybody has conspired to obstruct him to reach the shop. On the way he collided with an old lady. She fell down. But attending her meant the loss of that day's salary. He ran as fast as he could.

At night, as he entered his home, he heared his mother's cry out of pain. He stopped.

"What is the matter, Mum?"-he asked.

"My hip-bone has broken, son! Some rascal had hit me at market this evening"-she could speak hardly.

"Oh!"

He felt that the money got from overtime cost him heavily.

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