I felt hopeless. I was a failure, a poor excuse for a man. I couldn’t even provide for my own family. What kind of husband lets his wife live a life of starvation? What kind of a father is unable to provide his children with even a single morsel of food?
As I walked down the road, I dreaded reaching my destination. It would be easier to die than to disappoint my family again. I could almost picture the homecoming. The hopeful anticipation mirrored in their eyes turning to mute despair once they realized that I’d brought home nothing.
My conscience berated me for my inadequacy. My legs failed to obey my command to walk. I buckled under the pressure of fate. The money, which I carried with me felt worthless. What use was it if it couldn’t fulfill my need of buying food? There was not a grain available.
As I was sitting by the side, I saw a bunch of people walking united towards the granary. It epitomized all our needs. What caught my attention was the zeal and fervor with which the group progressed.
There was hope for food on the table. There was a chance of uprooting the evil caste system. The clash against inequality had begun.