Long ago in a small village near Mumbai, lived a family with eighteen children. Eighteen! In order merely to keep food on the table, the father, a goldsmith by profession, worked almost 18 hours daily. Despite their seemingly hopeless condition, Rajin Singh’s sons had a dream. They both wanted to pursue their talent for art but they knew full well that their father would never be financially able to send either of them to study.
After many long discussions at night in their crowded bed, the boys finally worked out a pact. They would toss a coin. The loser would go down into the nearby mines and, with his earnings, support his brother while he attended the academy. Then, the winner of the toss would complete his studies, and in 4 years, he would support his brother at the academy, either with sales of his artwork or, if necessary, also by labouring in the mines. They tossed a coin and Rishi won the toss and went off to Mumbai.
Sanjeev went down into the dangerous mines and, for the next four years, financed his brother’s work at the academy where he was almost an immediate sensation. Rishi’s etchings, his woodcuts and his oils were far better than those of most of his professors and by the time he graduated, he was beginning to earn considerable amounts of money.
When the young artist returned home, the family celebrated. Rishi raised a toast to his beloved bhaiyaa for the years of sacrifice that had enabled him to fulfill his ambition. He said, “Bhaiyaa , the successes I have attained are as much yours as it is mine. Sanjeev bhai, now it is your turn. Go to Mumbai to pursue your dream. I will support you.”
Sanjeev burst out in tears and repeated over and over, “Nahee … nahee nahee, bhaiyaa. I cannot go to Mumbai. It is too late for me. Look, look at my hands! It is too late.”
The bones in each of his fingers had been smashed at least once.
One day, to pay homage to Sanjeev for all that he had sacrificed, Rishi painstakingly drew his bhaiya’s abused hands with palms together and thin fingers stretched skyward. He called his powerful drawing simply “Haath” (hands) but the entire world renamed his tribute of love “The Praying Hands”.
By Varun Ramadhar, SWAHA Dharma Jyot Mandali
