“My mother sold me to an unmarried old man for 15,000 rupees…”

My name is Anjali, I’m only 20 years old. I come from a poor village in the state of Bihar. My father died early, and my mother had to work hard to raise three children. But life was difficult, debts were mounting, and my mother was almost completely exhausted.

One day, a woman from the village came to my house and told my mother that an unmarried old man in the neighboring city of Patna was looking for someone to care for him. If I agreed, he would give my mother 15,000 rupees – a small sum for many, but a significant sum for my family at the time.

I was stunned. I cried, I couldn’t believe my mother would make such a decision. I felt like I was no different from a commodity for sale. But when I saw my mother’s desperate eyes and her trembling hands hiding her tears, I couldn’t find the courage to blame her. I simply shook my head silently, my heart filled with endless resentment.

The wedding day passed very quickly. People said I was lucky to have found a support system, but my heart was filled with sadness. He was decades older than me, his hair had already turned gray, his face was full of wrinkles. I thought my life would be a living hell, becoming a stranger’s “wife,” without love and without hope.

On the wedding night, I entered the room in a trembling state of mind. But the room wasn’t as gloomy as I had imagined. A vase of fresh flowers sat on the table, and next to it was an old Hindi book with a small piece of writing on it. He sat beside the bed, his eyes gentle, without greed or calculation. Seeing me worried, he smiled gently:

– Don’t be afraid. I didn’t marry you to take advantage of you or torment you. I just want to give you a home, a name. I’ve lived a lonely life, and now I need someone to support me. Just consider me your father, that’s enough.

I was stunned. Gradually, the fear subsided and was replaced by surprise. He called me “daughter,” not “wife.” That day, I learned the truth: he had a daughter, but she had died in an accident many years ago. Since then, he had kept himself aloof, quietly doing charity work and helping the poor in the area. When he heard about my family’s situation, he couldn’t ignore it. “Buying” me was simply a way to legitimize my right to enter his home and avoid the gossip of the neighbors.

A friend of mine

Day by day, I gradually realized that he treated me with great kindness. He sent me to learn a profession, even stashed money to help my mother raise my siblings. He taught me to read, taught me to live humanly, and not just see life through my own pain.

Three years later, thanks to his help, I completed my nursing college in Patna. I can go to work, take care of myself, and help my mother raise my siblings. He is still with me like a kind father, quietly caring for me.

One afternoon, he gave me a bank passbook in my name. He smiled:

– From now on, you can freely pursue your own happiness. I just hope you will consider me your father. That is enough.

I burst into tears and hugged him. I never imagined that a disappointing turn would lead me to such a sacred feeling. Life is truly unpredictable: sometimes it feels like hell, but that’s what opens the doors to love.

Now, when I think back, I don’t call it “a mother selling her child,” but rather a strange twist of fate. It’s because of my mother’s sacrifice and kindness that I have today—a peaceful day, filled with love.

By the time I turned 27, I had a stable nursing job at Patna Hospital. Thanks to the money I sent home, my mother and siblings were also living a better life. He—the one I still called Dad—was seventy years old, and his health was deteriorating.

One morning, I got a call from the hospital: He had been rushed to the emergency room with a mild stroke. I rushed there, my heart pounding. Fortunately, he was out of danger. When he regained consciousness, he took my hand, his voice trembling:

– Anjali… You’ll find a wooden box in an old drawer at home. Later… open it.

I was stunned. A few months later, when he passed away, I mustered the courage to look for the box.

Inside it were not only old photographs of him and his late biological daughter, but also land documents and bank accounts worth crores of rupees. I was stunned—he had never told me he had such a vast fortune.

In the box was a letter, written in shaky handwriting:

“Anjali, you are the compensation that fate has sent me. I initially wanted to give this property to my daughter, but now I’m giving it to you. Use it to live a good life and help those in need. Don’t let it become a burden, but turn it into light.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. I thought he was just a poor, kind old man, but I didn’t expect him to have lived a simple life all his life, only to hide his immense wealth.

But the story didn’t end there.

When I went with the papers for the name change process, a middle-aged woman suddenly came to meet me. She claimed to be his biological sister living in Mumbai and insisted that the property should belong to their family.

“You’re just an outsider,” she said sternly. “Only blood relatives have the right to inherit.”

I was shocked, hurt, and scared. For years, I had considered him my biological father, but now he was denied because we weren’t blood relatives.

The inheritance case began. The local newspapers reported it, public opinion was buzzing. I was caught in a legal whirlwind, from the time I went to court to the time I returned home, fatigue weighing heavily on my shoulders. Many times I felt like giving up everything, keeping only memories.

But then, at the last moment, a piece of evidence was presented: his handwritten, notarized will, which clearly stated:

“I transfer all my assets to Anjali – my chosen daughter. No one has the right to fight for her.”

The courtroom fell silent. I burst into tears. I understood that he had prepared for me long ago, knowing that one day my blood relatives would come looking for me. He wanted to protect me to the end.

As I left the courtroom, I looked up at the sky. I felt as if he was still there, smiling lovingly.

A girl who was “sold” for 15,000 rupees, now not only has a home, a love, but also a huge responsibility on my shoulders – the responsibility of living up to his trust and choice.

A Lifelong Inheritance

After the lawsuit, the property officially became mine. The villagers, even distant relatives, were all delighted: a girl who had been “sold” for 15,000 rupees had suddenly become a millionaire.

But for me, this joy was short-lived. Every night I couldn’t sleep, clutching the savings account and the letter he left, tears soaking my pillow.

“I leave this to you… but don’t let it become a burden.” – these words kept coming to my mind.

In fact, I could have kept that money. I had an elderly mother and two younger brothers who needed to be educated and build their own futures. I also dreamed of having my own home, a small family of my own. If I had kept it, I would have lived comfortably for the rest of my life, without struggling for every penny.

But then, whenever I passed his old room, I would see the wooden table where he sat and wrote the donation book, the long list of poor families, orphans, and patients he had quietly helped. I remembered his kind eyes as he taught me:

– Anjali, people may forget how much money you have, but they will never forget how you helped them in their most difficult times.

I was in a dilemma. On one side was a secure future for me and my family, and on the other was the spiritual legacy he left behind.

On his first death anniversary, I went to the cemetery with my mother and siblings. Placing a garland of white chrysanthemums on the grave, I suddenly felt my heart cleansed. I turned to my mother, my voice trembling:

– Mother… I have made a decision. I will establish a charity fund in his name – the Suraj Prasad Fund.

My mother was stunned, but her eyes filled with tears.

A few months later, the Suraj Prasad Foundation was officially established in Patna, using all of his wealth as seed capital. This foundation supports the education of poor children, provides medicines to patients who cannot afford treatment, and builds small classrooms in rural areas.

On the day of the inauguration, I stood on the stage and watched hundreds of children applaud, and suddenly I felt a sense of relief. I realized I had made the right choice.

I still set aside a small portion to care for my mother and siblings, but most of my wealth has been transformed into light, just as he intended. And that brings me more joy than any house or car.

Now, when someone asks me: “What is the greatest thing he left you?” I smile.

Not money.

Not property.

But the belief that in life, even if it is sold as a commodity, people can still find love, salvation, and a way to do good for the world.