Tukaram was lost in thought, driving through the noisy, traffic-congested roads of Mumbai. His reverie was broken by someone shouting, “Taxi!”. Spotting a well-dressed, elderly gentleman hailing a cab, Tukaram stopped. Climbing into the cab, the gentleman said, “Fort” as Tukaram eased the vehicle back into the traffic.
After a while, the old man asked him, “Is this your own car?” “I wish it was sir, but I’ve borrowed it from a friend to earn some extra money. I used to work for a travel company which closed down recently,” replied Tukaram sadly.
Just then the man’s phone began ringing. He seemed perturbed by the conversation and asked Tukaram to hurry as he was late for a meeting. He remained on the phone for the rest of the journey, giving Tukaram a generous tip as he alighted from the taxi and rushed into a building.
Tukaram drove a little further and stopped at a tea stall. As he got out of the car he noticed something lying on the rear seat. Opening the door, he found a fat, black, leather wallet. Somehow, it must have fallen out of his passenger’s pocket. The wallet was loaded with cash, credit cards and family photographs.
Tukaram was in a dilemma. What should he do? He had prayed to God to help him out of his financial problems. Was this his way of helping him? He wrestled with his conscience that told him to do the right thing and return the wallet but temptation had reared its ugly head. He was torn between guilt and greed and need.
This bonanza would help him pay for his daughter’s admission to college. At the same time, he would have to explain to his family where he had got the funds from. After all, he was the one who told them that it was better to do an honest day’s work than to make a fast buck by cheating or swindling someone. That’s when he decided to do the right thing.
The gentleman’s visiting cards were in the wallet. Tukaram went to his posh office at Nariman point and asked the receptionist if he could meet Mr Cama. “What do you want? Mr Cama is a very busy man,” she enquired, snootily looking down at him from her bespectacled nose. “I have come to return his wallet,” Tukaram answered. She hurriedly dialled a number and with a complete change in attitude, she told Tukaram, “Please follow me” and personally escorted him to Mr Cama’s office.
The old man seated behind a large desk looked up as he entered. “Sir, I have come to return your wallet which you dropped in my cab this morning,” Tukaram said, handing the wallet to Mr Cama. The old Parsi gentleman examined its contents to check if all was intact.
He smiled and said, “Thank you. It’s rare to find an honest man in today’s world. I was upset because my wallet contains one of the very few photos I possess of my dear departed mother. I’m impressed by your integrity but you seem like a worried man. How can I help you, my friend? ”
Hesitantly, but encouraged by Mr Cama’s kindness, Tukaram told him he was feeling miserable as he was unable to afford to send his bright, hardworking daughter to college.
“My family runs a charitable trust in my mother’s name which gives scholarships to deserving young girls for higher education. Bring your daughter with all the relevant documents to
my office tomorrow afternoon,” said Mr Cama.
Tukaram felt as if a great weight had been lifted off his chest. Thanking Mr Cama profusely, he turned to leave. “Wait,” cried the old gentleman. “I recall you said you had lost your job. How would you like to be my chauffeur? I had to take a taxi today because my driver suddenly left. Besides, I want honest employees I can trust.” “Thank you, sir. My father was right. Honesty does pay,” said Tukaram happily.
Tukaram’s prayers had been answered. He considered Mr Cama his providential passenger. He was glad that he had stuck to the right route in life. He could sleep easily tonight. There is no pillow softer than a clear conscience.