There he was, sitting under an enormous tree. Its roots made lumps in the ground. It was really hot. He was wearing a creamy turban. Men came, and sat with him.

I had always been curious. Why did a man attract all those people? Who was he?

I had waited for several days before gaining the courage to talk to him.

I sat in front of him. He didn’t speak, so I asked him,” Who are you?”
“Why do you want to know?” He asked me back.

“I am curious.” I answered.
“Why?” He asked again.

I didn’t understand why asked and asked. I tried to be clever, so I asked him,” Why do people come and see you?”

“Why have you come?” He asked me.
I answered,” I have already told you.”
I began to feel love for this man. His eyes were full of blossom and love. He asked me,” You did? Are you sure? Where do you come from? How long have you been here?”

“I come from Padazum. I have been here for three weeks.” I answered.

“I don’t have answers, but you can tell me your story. I have plenty of time for you. He told me.

At last, he made no more questions.

“I don’t believe in modern human beings. They created the belief of poverty. Before they came, to be rich implied having a loving, happy and healthy family. I understand some things made our life better, but… Other things began to corrode our community. People began to be unhappy because they felt they could have a lot more without effort and purpose, and our traditions were forgotten as we began to adopt examples the television brought us. How could they? My child was taken away from me. He was just three years old. Those men took her to the same place I had escaped as a child. That place is horrible. They tell you when to do something, how to think, and what to pray.” I continued.

It happened that in between my long speech I began to understand them. They were afraid of losing their beliefs, so they had to change us… The people who had taken my son were trying to protect their ideals as I had done so, perhaps because none were true.

The old man just listened as I explained him the horrible way people have been treating my community without blood, but killing the security on our past and traditions brought us.

The old man took my hand from my face as I cried, and hugged me. He didn’t speak.
I felt a rush of heat entering my bloodstream as if his love entered my body. He told me,” Find a child. A homeless child, and treat him as your child. Give him the love you wish to give your son.”

I stood up, and as I walked away I understood wisdom was not knowledge, but acting upon love.

I returned home… I found that kid.

Gandhi had made me understand life in love.