In 1961, When I was about ten years old, living in my village Chawinda Kalan in the district of Amritsar, hawkers would visit daily, selling an assortment of goods—vegetables, fruits, sweetmeats, cloth, and snacks. Among them, the most peculiar and memorable was a man named Kharaity.
The name Kharaity comes from the Urdu word khairat, meaning charity, and perhaps it suited him well. He had a distinctively shrill voice that echoed through the village each afternoon:
“Lalo karare pakode le lo! Masala wale karare pakode le lo!”
Kharaity sold crispy fritters—potato, sweet potato, and kachalu—which he mixed into a delicious, tangy chaat. His snacks were in great demand, selling like hotcakes. He carried his entire setup on his head, unlike other hawkers who had carts or bicycles.
No one knew his real name or religion. Some believed he was a Hindu, while others thought he was a Muslim who had chosen to stay behind during the Partition. He was often seen paying his respects at the village Gurudwara and mandir, but he also visited the Dargah of a revered Sufi pir located on the outskirts of our village. His devotion transcended religious boundaries, and people respected him for it.
Kharaity had a wife, Ram Pyari—a woman as noble as he was. True to her name, which means “beloved of Lord Ram,” she was a compassionate soul. The couple lived in a modest pucca house on the periphery of the village. Every morning, Kharaity would walk to the nearby town to buy fresh ingredients, returning just before noon. While he was away, Ram Pyari would prepare the dishes so he could begin his afternoon rounds without delay.
Though they had no children of their own, they embraced every child in the village as if they were their own. Kharaity had a soft spot for children, especially those who couldn’t afford his snacks. If he saw hungry eyes watching him longingly, he would quietly pack a small portion and hand it over free of cost. Ram Pyari, too, had her own way of serving the village. She was an excellent tailor and would hand-stitch clothes for children. Whenever a baby was born, the village midwife would inform her, and she would bring a set of clothes—either for a boy or a girl—without expecting anything in return. Nearly every newborn in the village received their first garment from her, including me, as my mother once told me.
Their home was always open to travelers and passersby. If someone needed a meal or a place to stay for the night, the couple welcomed them with open arms, never expecting anything in return. Ram Pyari had a habit of visiting any household where someone had fallen ill, inquiring about their well-being and offering any help she could.
Life went on peacefully until one fateful day when Kharaity fell gravely ill. A sudden high fever struck him, and despite the efforts of the village elders and healers, he passed away after three days. His death left the entire village in mourning. Though he had no blood relatives, the entire village was his family. The people came together to arrange his cremation, ensuring he received the farewell he deserved.
Ram Pyari, though devastated, remained steadfast. A year after his passing, she approached my father, who was the sarpanch (village headman), with a humble yet profound request. She wished that after her death, their house be demolished and the bricks and wood used to construct a guest room at the historical Gurudwara Baba Sadhu Sikh, located on the banks of the Lower Bari Doab Canal. This room, she hoped, would serve as a shelter for any traveler or needy person seeking rest.
One year after Kharaity’s death, Ram Pyari too passed away. As per her wishes, the villagers came together to build the guest room at the Gurudwara. Though there was a shortfall of funds, the villagers contributed generously, ensuring that a comfortable shelter was constructed in their honor.
Even today, that guest room stands as a testament to their generosity and selflessness. In an era where most people are consumed by greed, selfishness, and the pursuit of wealth, noble souls like Kharaity and Ram Pyari remind us that true richness lies in kindness and service to others.
Their lives bring to mind a verse from Guru Nanak’s hymn:
“ਜਿੰਨੀ ਨਾਮ ਧਿਆਇਆ ਗਏ ਮੁਸਕਤ ਘਾਲ,
ਨਾਨਕ ਤੈਅ ਮੁੱਖ ਉਜਲੇ, ਕੇਤੀ ਛੁੱਟੀ ਨਾਲ ।”
Those who have spent their lives through hard work and devotion to the Lord
shine with radiance in the court of the Almighty after they leave this world and are held in high regard.
Such were Kharaity and Ram Pyari—souls who lived not for themselves, but for others.
Guchi.
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