“I don’t ask for much,” said this man who has held his arm up for 50 years now. We were deeply amazed by his extraordinary gesture, and upon discovering the real purpose behind it, we couldn’t help but eagerly share his story with our beloved readers.
Meet Amar Bharati.
A devoted Indian ascetic by the name of Amar Bharati has been tirelessly advocating for world peace for 50 years, all the while maintaining a remarkable gesture of raising his right hand in the air without ever lowering it.
A sadhu, which is a revered religious ascetic or holy individual in Hinduism (and occasionally in Buddhism and Jainism), is someone who has willingly renounced all worldly desires.
Mr. Bharati, previously a married man with three children who worked as a clerk in New Delhi, made a life-altering decision in 1970 when he resigned from his job and parted ways with his family and friends. His profound commitment led him to dedicate his existence to Shiva, one of the central deities of Hinduism, often referred to as “the primordial yogi.”
Next, he conceived a gesture that would become universally recognized.
Starting in 1973, he began raising his arm as a profound symbol of his unwavering devotion and as a powerful statement to actively advocate for peace and oppose conflicts worldwide. In his unconditional commitment, he endured excruciating pain for two long years, resulting in his arm losing all sensation and the muscles therein wasting away.
Indian sadhus frequently embark on the most rigorous forms of penance, demanding exceptional self-discipline, all in the pursuit of attaining liberation and enlightenment, referred to as Moksha in the Indian spiritual context.
Today, Bharati’s arm stands as a testament to his enduring resolve. It has become a mere skeletal structure, and his once-nails have transformed into spiraling claws.
In a candid interview, the wise sadhu shared his heartfelt message, saying, “I do not ask for much. Why are we fighting our sons among ourselves? Why is there so much hatred and enmity between us? I just want all Indians and the whole world to live in peace with each other.”
One can only fathom the immense pain he must have endured throughout his incredible journey. It is precisely these acts of extreme self-discipline and the underlying motivations behind them that have piqued the interest of individuals outside of India, even drawing the attention of historical figures such as Alexander the Great.
Mr. Amar has adapted to life with his raised arm.
He lives as if his arm is missing, using his other hand for everything, like eating, getting dressed, and bathing. Although it’s not easy, Amar firmly believes that this way of life brings him closer to Shiva and encourages people to think about being more peaceful in their daily routines.
“If you try to lower Bharati’s hand you will cause him real pain, not physical but spiritual, for he believes that his eternal salute does indeed promote world peace,” one of his acquaintances explained. Another individual addressed the practical aspect, pointing out that there’s a physical challenge as well. The cartilage in his elbow has dried out, making any attempt to move his arm a potential risk to his joint.
in his devoted pursuit of peace.
Before you go, make sure to read another article where we explain why rocking a peace sign in your photos can put you in danger.
Preview photo credit ERIC LAFFORGUE / Alamy Stock Photo
I Became a Burden to My Father after I Lost the Ability to Walk – Story of the Day
I Became a Burden to My Father after I Lost the Ability to Walk – Story of the Day
I was paralyzed and trapped in a wheelchair in an accident, and my father refused to be burdened with me. But then he gets taught an important lesson.
I was 19 when I was run over by a car on my way to work. For me, it was the end of the world: a screech of tires, darkness, and pain. And when I woke up, I heard the voices say I’d never walk again.
I kept asking for my father, but he only showed up three days later, looking the worse for the wear and I knew he’d been on a bender while I’d lain there fighting for my life.
She was injured in a horrible accident | Source: Shutterstock.com
My mother died when I was 12, a victim of breast cancer. I remember her as a sweet, weary woman, always cringing from my father’s cruel words, working to keep food on the table while he drank his paycheck away.
As soon as I turned 14, he ordered me to find a part-time job to help with the bills, and when I was 16, I dropped out of school and started working full time to support myself — and him.
But when my father finally arrived at the hospital to visit me, there was neither compassion nor gratitude in his eyes. The doctor explained that although my spine was not severed there had been severe bruising and compression.
I might — by a long shot — recover my ability to walk, but most likely, I would be in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. And that was when my father walked away. He said to the doctor, “She’s over 18, isn’t she? She’s an adult, right? So she’s not my responsibility anymore. You take her.”
My father was an alcoholic | Source: Unsplash
I remember my doctor’s horrified expression and my father’s gaze sweeping over my limp legs. “Useless! Useless like your mother!”
Those were the last words I’d hear from him for the next six years. A little while later I was transferred to a recovery center where I was lucky enough to be assigned to a therapist named Carol Hanson.
Family is built on love, not a biological bond, or shared DNA.
She was an older, motherly woman who immediately took me under her wing. Carol was as loving as she was demanding, and she was very demanding. Over the next year, she pushed me towards a recovery I’d never dreamed possible.
The day I stood on my own two feet and took my first step, I cried like a baby, and so did Carol. It was only the beginning, and the next few months I worked even harder, but finally was pronounced healthy.
I woke to discover I was paralyzed | Source: Unsplash
It was a bittersweet moment for me. I was healed from my injury and I was walking again, but I was terrified. I had nowhere to go, no family. I was all alone in the world.
Carol walked in and found me crying. She sat beside me on the bed and put her arms around me. “Jenny,” she said to me, “it’s all right to be scared. You’re starting your life again.”
“I have no one, and nowhere to go,” I whispered, remembering other patients leaving surrounded by loving family, “I’m alone.”
“No you’re not,” Carol said firmly, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. Would you like to move in with me? Just until you get your life together again…”
I was stuck in a wheelchair | Source: Unsplash
So I did, and it was lovely. Carol and I got on beautifully, and she gave me my own room, a pretty room, the prettiest I’d ever seen. “It was my daughter’s,” Carol explained with tears in her eyes. “I lost her like you lost your mother.”
I started googling for jobs the next day on Carol’s computer, but when I came down to breakfast there were some informative flyers on the table from the local high school announcing night classes for adults wanting to complete their secondary education.
“I think,” said Carol firmly, “that you need to go back to school so you can go back to college.”
My mouth dropped open. “College? I can’t afford college!” I gasped. “Carol, I don’t have a cent to my name and no way to support myself if I don’t get a job, and quickly.”
The physiotherapist helped me heal | Source: Pexels
Carol shook her head: “No, Jenny, you can’t afford NOT to go to college. Listen, I will lend you the money, and when you graduate, you pay me back — just like a student loan with a bank.”
Anyway, she talked me into it, and I quickly completed the high school certification I needed and applied to the local college. I’ll admit Carol’s example inspired me to become a nurse, and four years later, I graduated summa cum laude.
I started working at a local hospital and ended up specializing in neo-natal care. One day, a TV crew came in to do a news story on a set of identical triplets and ended up interviewing me.
For a while, I was a bit of a celebrity, but the attention brought me an unwanted visitor. The doorbell rang and when I opened it, I was stunned to see my father standing there.
I became a nurse | Source: Pixabay
He looked terrible, like a bum, and he reeked of alcohol and sweat. “Jenny, my sweet baby girl!” he cried, reaching out his hands. “I’ve finally found you again.”
“Found me again?” I asked sharply, “You abandoned me in the hospital because I was useless, remember, like my mother?”
He squeezed out a few tears. “Oh my baby,” he sobbed. “Forgive me, I was frightened and in shock… You won’t turn your dad away now, would you? I haven’t been well…”
“You look fine to me,” I told him coldly, but my trained eye had already noted the yellow tinge to his skin and eyes. He had some kind of liver disorder, probably due to his drinking.
An unexpected visitor | Source: Pixabay
He shuffled forward. “I’m sick, Jenny, daddy really needs you…And…” he licked his lips thirstily. “And I’m broke, baby, no money for food…You’re not going to let your daddy go hungry, are you?”
“Like you left me to my fate? Helpless in a wheelchair? Guess what ‘DADDY,’ I am. Get out.” I slammed the door in his face and walked back into the lounge.
Carol looked up at me and smiled. “Who was that, Jenny?”
“Oh, just some man selling something!” I went to the sofa, sat down beside Carol, and hugged her fiercely. Carol hugged me back.
Carol adopted me | Source: Pexels
“Jenny,” she said, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. Would you allow me to adopt you? Become your mother? Because in my heart you already are my daughter.”
I started crying and I just couldn’t stop. I had been cursed with a terrible childhood, and now as an adult, I had been lucky enough to find a loving home and a parent who cherished me.
What can we learn from this story?
1. Family is built on love, not a biological bond, or shared DNA.
2. What you give is what you get, as Jenny’s father discovered.
Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about a beautiful socialite who humiliates an old friend and ends up regretting it.
This account is inspired by our reader’s story but written by a professional writer. All names have been changed to protect identities and ensure privacy. Share your story with us, maybe it will change someone’s life.
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