Random acts of compassion

It was a busy traffic junction. As I watched the impatient drivers of vehicles honking and jostling for the labyrinthine spaces that would allow them to zoom off when the lights turned green, my eyes spotted an old woman with a painful limp, escorted by a little girl, hesitatingly crossing the road.

My heart skipped a beat when I realised the hazard if the light turned green. To my horror, it did when the duo was in the midst of crossing! Then the miracle happened — the honking suddenly stopped, and everyone waited patiently until the duo had safely crossed over to the other side! The next moment, the vehicles shot off noisily, as if released at once en masse from a magic spell. The invisible power of compassion had instantly synchronised the hearts of all present at the scene.

A few years ago, I visited Ooty with my family. My then-six-year-old granddaughter was so fascinated by a little Red Robin bird at the children’s park that she succeeded in persuading us to buy the same with its cage.

When we set off on our return journey before daybreak the next morning, she kept the cage with her. As our van glided down the ghats along the sharp U-bends, she continued playing with the bird, singing and feeding it. Soon, the glorious daybreak drenched the entire landscape, and the sun rays sparkled through the swaying leaves of the giant eucalyptus trees, waking up the birds with their warmth. The stillness of the jungle was broken by the chirping of the birds. Suddenly we realised that the bird inside our van had become restless and had started shrieking, fluttering its tiny wings as if in torment, obviously triggered by the happy sounds of the free birds around. We watched in silence as the child, too, was growing restless, seeing her dear bird in distress.

“The bird is crying. I want to set it free. Stop the car!” she cried suddenly. 

“But you wanted to buy it so badly, and now you have changed your mind,” rebuked her mother.

“No, it is unhappy. I must set it free!” We stopped the vehicle and asked her to set the bird free. 

“No, not here. Let’s go back to Ooty. Its people are there. How will it go back if we leave it here?”

We had already descended a winding 10 kilometres down the ghat, and now the grim prospect of climbing back was something we couldn’t entertain.

Alarmed by her unusual defiance and her intense state of disturbance, we traced the arduous way back as she kept placating the bird in her own way.

As we neared Ooty, she cheerfully stepped out and opened the cage to allow the bird to fly away to its freedom, as she gleefully clapped! Hurling the empty cage down, she declared triumphantly, “I don’t want this cage to hold another bird captive ever!”