High up in the hills the terrain was treacherous. There was a stretch of road at the edge of a cliff that was particularly narrow and scary to drive through. In their love for adventure, people continued to frequent the route. At the beginning of that stretch, stood a young lad called Daya. He would offer to each tourist, to drive their vehicle over the narrow and dangerous track, while they walked over it. It was barely 150 metres. He would drive the cars over and the tourists would walk over, pay him a small amount of money and go off. On their way back too he would be there to see them through.
This went on for years. One day, a lady asked him, “Daya, you put your life at stake, so many times a day. What if you go over the cliff? What if you die? Why do you do this?” Daya smiled and said, “Its okay, I manage, I don’t go over, do I?” But the lady persisted, “Tell me! What makes you do this?” Then he spoke as if from another world, “Ma’am, twenty years ago a jeep fell over this cliff. A man, his wife and two daughters died, only their four-year-old son survived. He was brought up by the local villagers.” “So, where is he now?” she asked.
“He is standing before you,” he said. The lady noticed that his eyes were full.
“No one can understand better than me, what it means to lose your loved ones in a mishap like this one. I do not want history to repeat itself.”
“But, why do you take it on yourself?” She asked in surprise.
“If I die, there is no one to mourn my death. If some one else dies, there will be many more broken hearts like mine.”