His shirt was torn, his shorts hung loosely from his thin frame, and his eyes — those tired, gentle eyes — carried the kind of sadness no child should ever know.
Ravi was only seven.
But life had already made him feel like an old man.
His mother had passed away two months ago. His father had left long before that. Now, it was just him… and his two younger sisters — Meena and Rupa.
Every morning, he’d wake up before sunrise, scavenge for scraps in the market, and hope he could find something — anything — to fill their little stomachs.
He didn’t beg.
He was too proud for that.
Instead, he collected thrown-out vegetables, cleaned them carefully, and told his sisters they were “special gifts from the sky.”
That day, something strange happened.
While looking for food near the back of a restaurant, Ravi saw a group of men laughing, celebrating. One of them placed a big, roasted chicken on a table, then went inside to fetch drinks.
Ravi stared at it. The smell filled the air — warm, rich, delicious. He hadn’t eaten in two days. His sisters were waiting, weak and pale.
He didn’t steal. He just stood there, watching, hoping maybe someone would offer him a piece.
But then, something unexpected happened.
The man who had placed the chicken came out again — and saw Ravi.
Ravi froze.
The man’s expression softened. He walked up, placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, and asked,
“Who are you feeding, little one?”
Ravi hesitated. Then, in a trembling voice, he said,
“My sisters, sir. They’re hungry. Mama’s gone.”
The man said nothing.
He looked at the small boy — the dirt on his face, the tears hiding behind courage — and quietly placed the entire chicken in Ravi’s hands.
“Take it,” he said softly. “Feed your family. That’s what mothers would want.”
Ravi couldn’t speak. His lips quivered. He whispered a thank you, held the chicken tight, and ran home — through the narrow alleys, through the rain-soaked streets, never once letting it go.
When he entered their small hut, his sisters sat up, eyes wide.
He placed the food before them like a king presenting a feast.
“Mama sent it,” he whispered. “She said we must eat together.”
They laughed, they cried, they ate.
And that night, for the first time in weeks, they slept with full bellies and warm hearts.
Outside, under the same stars, the man who gave the chicken smiled too — not knowing that one act of kindness had given three children the strength to believe in tomorrow again.
Moral:
You don’t have to be rich to feed someone’s hope.
Sometimes, a simple meal… becomes a miracle.
