Thursday, May 10, 2012
...I tremble at my own good fortune
...I tremble at my own good fortune in having plenty of food,
good clothes, proper shelter and other desirable things. When
I think of the haunting eyes of those unfortunate wretches, I feel
guilty. By what right do I enjoy the possession of so many
rupees, so many annas, when those poor beggars own nothing
more than rags? Suppose, by some accident of birth or fluke
of fate, I had been born in the place of one of them? I play
for a while with this ghastly thought, but horror eventually
causes me to send it into oblivion.
What is the meaning of this mystery of chance, which, by
the mere fortune of birth, puts one man in dirt-stained rags
upon this road and another in silken robes in yonder river-side
palace? Life is truly a dark enigma; I cannot comprehend it...
A Search in Secret India