Helping is Divine

It was the second week of the third lockdown, and like many others, I had also started to find it challenging. As a self-employed without a business account, all government schemes to help local businesses were starting to sound like the biggest scam. The stress levels were increasing by the second, but I tried to stay positive and patient by following my father’s pathway.

My father always believed that the brightest mornings come after the darkest of nights, we just need to stay patient and positive. I never saw my father stressed out or worried about tomorrow. He believed in charity and going out of his way to help others.

My father’s favourite quote was ‘staying grateful for the blessings we have is better than getting impatient for the ones we don’t.’

My father was my role model. My mother often thought that I was a carbon copy of my father, of course, not physically but behaviourally. When I was a child, I took my mother’s comments as a compliment and was filled with pride. I always saw my father helping strangers, people who he would never meet again in his life. He always encouraged me to help others without expecting any reward or praise.

‘Never question someone’s need; help them if you can or just say sorry. The petitioner already scarifies their self-esteem by asking you for a favour. Don’t embarrass them further by interrogating,’ he told me once when I angrily questioned my younger brother when he asked my father to help his friend financially. My brother’s friend lost his father a year back, and he dropped out of school because his mother could no longer afford it.

Time passed, and my father became old. During his seventy-five years, he trusted many, but a few betrayed him. They took advantage of his kind nature and left him penniless. He always took it with a smile and showed gratitude for being able to survive through those difficult times. My father never lost his optimism nor his hope, but then one day he was left helpless and alone to die on the side of a cold, wintery road. He had offered his coat to a homeless person who was shivering in front of the shop my father had walked to, to buy some milk for the next morning.

On the day of my father’s funeral, I swore on his coffin that I would never, ever help anyone else in my life. Helping others kills. My father had given his favourite winter coat to a homeless man when he himself needed it most. That person traded my father’s life for material things like his wedding ring and his wristwatch and a tenner from his wallet.

Fifteen years on, I never forgot my father and his generosity, yet I also never forgot the promise I had made. Not until the second week of the third lockdown when I went to buy some milk from my local supermarket. I had only £30 in cash which I needed to make last for the rest of the week. All of my savings were drained during Covid-19 lockdowns. It was extremely cold and dark outside, so I parked my car close to the supermarket entrance. Just as I was about to enter, I saw a teenage girl sitting outside, in between the entrance and exit doors, with a placard. In negative temperatures, she was wearing just jeans and a jumper. It was clear, she was stressed, hungry, and helpless. Her looks were reflecting that she was embarrassed to ask for help. Her unsuccessful attempt to hide her face behind a disposable cup was further betrayed her embarrassment.

There was something about her that made me drop £20 in her paper cup.

‘Are you sure?’ she asked uncertainly.

I quickly walked into the supermarket, my heart thundering in my chest. I knew, there was a place that charged £10 a night and provided a bed and hot meals to those who have no place to go. For the first time in years, I felt strange happiness and satisfaction.

‘The only way to show our gratitude is to share our blessings with others. Helping when someone needs it most is a divine feeling. No other deed can satisfy our soul more than serving humanity and creatures of the Lord,’ I could feel my father smiling at me and his words echoing in my ears.