Life sometimes brings you to a point where humanity and dignity are really tested. It was such a cold night. The bitter breeze of December, the silence in the streets and the hazy moonlight in the sky. In Nandnagar, a small town in Uttar Pradesh, everyone was huddled in their homes. But one man was still at work. Manoj is a hardworking and good-hearted rickshaw driver. Manoj’s age will be around 35. But the responsibilities had drawn lines on his face prematurely. The day’s earnings would have been just enough to burn the stove in the house. The wife’s medicine should come and the son’s copy books can be taken. He was about to return home after work
that night when he saw an elderly man on the side of the road. White dhoti kurta, trembling body and torn slippers. It was as if time had forgotten this man. Manoj pressed the brakes. Baba, everything is fine. The old man said in a trembling voice, “Son, can you take me home?” I don’t have money, but it’s very cold. Manoj came down without asking anything. He took out his old woolen shawl and put it on the old man’s shoulders and said, “Come on, Baba, sit down.” There is no greater compulsion than winter. The rickshaw slowly moved through the streets. On the way, the elderly man started coughing.

Manoj stopped at a tea stall and ordered two kulhad teas. Baba, drink tea. It will give you relief. The old man moistened his eyes and said, “Are you an angel, son?” Manoj just smiled and sat silently. About half an hour later, they arrived at an old neighborhood. It was a broken house. Manoj supported the elderly. He opened the door and ushered them in. Your home is here. The old man shook his head. Yes, son. And money can’t pay for what you’ve done today. God will give you a lot. Manoj was about to answer something when the old man closed the door.
Manoj lightly turned his rickshaw and headed home. Little did he know that this night would prove to be the biggest turning point of his life. The next morning, the first rays of the sun had not yet reached the ground when Manoj’s mobile rang. He had just woken up. Rubbing his eyes, he picked up the call. Hello. On the other side came a stern but calm voice. Are you Manoj Kumar? Did you drop an elderly man in Sector 7 last night? Manoj’s heart started beating fast. Yes, but what happened, sir? On the other side of the phone was the police inspector. He said you have been called to the police station immediately. I have something important to talk about. Manoj’s hands
and feet became cold. He didn’t panic. But there were many questions in my heart. Is the old man all right? Did something go wrong? Did he make a mistake? After 15 minutes, Manoj reached the police station. As soon as they entered, three officers stood up. You are the one who dropped an elderly man to his house in Sector 7 last night. Yes, sir, but what went wrong? Manoj said in fear that an officer came forward and folded his hands and said that you have become an example for the country. Manoj Chauka. The inspector said, “The old man you left at night is not an ordinary person. He has
been the director of the retired Intelligence Bureau. Shri Shekhar Nath Verma had suddenly gone missing from Delhi. They had been looking for him for the last three days. Manoj’s eyes were torn apart. He didn’t say anything. And why talk to you? A senior officer smiled. Perhaps that person recognizes who still has humanity left in him. Meanwhile, a black SI stopped outside the police station. Two commando-like soldiers came out and said, “Manoj ji sahib, want to meet you?” Manoj was dumbfounded. As soon as he got into the car, he reached outside the same house where Manoj had dropped him the previous night. Shekharnath Verma was standing at the door. The same smile,
the same simplicity. As soon as Manoj came forward, he hugged him without saying anything. Son, I have seen a lot in my life but I have seen very few hearts like yours. You helped me without a name, without appearance, just because of humanity. So today I want you to be saluted in front of the whole country. Tears flowed from Manoj’s eyes. That’s all he could say. Sir, I only helped one person. It was 10:00 in the morning. Tight security arrangements were in place in the courtyard of Delhi’s most prestigious government guest house. The crowd of media outside, the hustle and bustle
of officers inside, but everyone’s attention was on one person. Manoj Kumar. Yes, the same simple hardworking rickshaw driver who took an elderly man home selflessly on a cold night. And now the elders of the country had gathered to salute the humanity of that person. Manoj was called on stage. He moved forward with trembling steps. He had no expensive turban, no suitboots, just a simple dhoti kurta and moist eyes. They were standing in front. Home Minister of the Central Government, Defence Secretary and Shri Shekhar Nath Verma himself. Verma took the mic on stage and said, “I have saved the country from outside as well as from inside. But
last night, for the first time, I felt that real security does not come from any weapon, but from the empathy of the common citizen of the country. He pulled a medal out of his pocket. Today I have a personal message of mine.I dedicate the symbol of national service to this man as it reminded me that India is still alive in its small sons. Manoj’s head bowed but his eyes filled with tears. There was thunderous applause on the stage and then something happened that touched the heart of the whole country. The Home Minister said with a mic on the stage. On behalf of the government, I announce that Manoj Kumar has been appointed as the Delhi
representative of the Jan Kalyan Mission. They will now have the opportunity to travel across the country to make people aware so that we can all learn what true service is. Manoj was stunned. The one who until yesterday was saving money for the treatment of his ailing mother. Today he was being given the opportunity to serve the nation himself. Photographers were constantly taking pictures. Breaking news was running on the channels. Rickshaw puller saved the soul of the country. The discovery of the former intelligence chief brought national honour to the common man. But in the midst of all this, an old woman standing in a corner of the stage was smiling the most. Manoj’s mother
whispered. You’ve grown up today, son. But what made you was your straight heart. No status. Not every morning has been the same for Manoj now. The people of the street who once thought of him as a small rickshaw driver. Now bow his head and salute. TV channels, newspapers, YouTube had his name everywhere. But there was no arrogance on Manoj’s face. He still had the same simplicity in his eyes and his routine was almost the same. Instead of a rickshaw, he had an invitation to attend official events across the country. One day when he went to
give a speech on compassion and service to children in a school in Delhi, a child asked, “Sir, why did you help that old man?” They could have been beggars. Manoj was silent for a while. Then he said softly, “Son, no one becomes small by being a beggar, but we become big by helping.” And one should not judge a person’s dignity by looking at someone’s clothes. The children clapped. But that answer made every teacher present there think.