Compassion is a function of empathy, sensitivity and commitment. It is all about sharing, blossoming in many ways just as sensitivity has different shades. There are those who are well endowed and can spend to benefit the poor and the deserving. There are others who are motivated but not well off, and therefore generate funds for spending on social welfare undertakings. At the bottom of the list but top of the merit are those who have practically no material means but are driven to share and deliver benevolence to the needy any which way they can. These are the real flavour of humanity at its best. Amanat is a paunchy, middle aged, small time loaf baker in a busy bazaar of Rawalpindi Sadr. He has a tandoor (oven) in a small shop on the corner of a dark narrow street, where all day long little girls and boys from the dingy neighborhood buy loaves for meals at home. Labourers lugging goods buy their meals at lunch and dinner time, as he offers a single item food menu at an affordable price. Amanat’s real show starts after dinner. One has been seeing this, on and off, since 1984.To begin with there used to be three beggars or more who would sit silently by his bakery. Amanat would pick up a loaf of bread, pour some gravy or whatever was left over and give it to each free of cost. I didn’t really notice his budding generosity much then. He didn’t look like a typical philanthropist; had no airs of piety nor any inclination for fanfare or publicity. He made no moralising sermons or used any holy theatrics while giving away free food. Rather he spoke ordinary and direct language with no embellishment. This extraordinary man remains that way even after 26 years of uninterrupted free food service to literally hundreds of hungry men, women and children who now choke the bazaar after dinner every night. One day I couldn’t resist asking him how he managed so much free food. His reply was simple and matter of fact. He said, “Initially I was giving away whatever was left over from the day’s business. When the number of the needy began to grow I started to worry. Next day came a wealthy looking man, gave me a few thousand rupees and asked me to feed the poor on his behalf. I was both relieved and amazed. From then onwards people just leave thousands of rupees with me. That created a dilemma of a different kind. I requested a few elders of the bazaar to form an informal committee, made a small hole in my old table top and locked the drawer below. Whoever wants to donate, I point towards the chink where they push the money into the drawer. The committee gathers after dinner, unlocks the drawer, counts the cash and writes in a register. This cash is used for the free food next evening. I have never run short of money for the needy ever since.” We have since become friends. Whenever I pass by, I quietly slip in some money into his rickety drawer and never forget to ask for a loaf of bread as my share. He gives it with a smile and perhaps knows why. I do that because I feel he is a genuinely saintly man, utterly unpretentious and humble, feeding hungry humanity since more than a quarter of a century. Most remarkably, it is faceless compassion at its best, one could say (on Amanat’s request I have not used his real name). One also knows a different and ordinarily an unlikely character, a serving military officer who gave his services to the needy and the neglected with outstanding generosity and kindness. It was July 28, 2010 when the country was hit by the worst floods in its history. Along River Indus and its tributaries millions of people were scattered by roaring flood waters in the plains of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa (KP), Punjab and Sindh. In KP, Nowshera was the hardest hit .This officer was commanding an officers’ training school on the bank of the River Kabul in that unfortunate little garrison city. That fateful night and the next day there was torrential rain and furious flood water rose to 20 feet above normal, mercilessly devastating crops, houses, shops, water wells, electricity grid stations and whatever fell in its destructive way. Drinking water pipes, sewage lines and entire drainage systems were choked. Military equipment and private property worth billions of rupees were gutted, rendering affluent families penniless by the time the sun rose next morning. Sticky muddy silt and the stench of rotten bodies, decomposing vegetation and ponded water together with raw sewage was becoming unbearable with every passing day. Every hand that was extended was that of the needy, hungry or the sick. In that catastrophic time this officer rose above himself and went far beyond the call of duty. He was literally everywhere, rescuing, feeding, sheltering and attending to the displaced in pouring rain and rising flood waters, with whatever little he was left with. However, his limited stores of rations, medicines and bedding were fast running out whereas the number of the displaced was increasing around him. By then word about his selflessness and dedication had spread to as far as Lahore and people began to give money, rations, clothing and all sorts of donations to him for distribution to the needy. With the money he received he was able to construct over 45 houses for the affected at one third the going cost near villages Mohib Banda and Pir Sabak. The officer’s most rewarding contribution, however, lay on a different plane. About six months had passed and life had picked up pace in and around Nowshera. He was informed that a poor shelterless women with two grown up but mentally-challenged daughters was living in a deserted hut in the fields in Charsadda. He found that her husband was a daily wager in Charsadda bazaar, and they were living in almost subhuman conditions. Immediately, he undertook to construct a two-room shelter for this impoverished family and bought a five-marla patch behind his military training centre. He was expecting to be posted out thus felt driven to complete the construction as soon as possible, which took him nearly six weeks. He shifted the family quickly into the house and went to see them with rations and other provisions. While the parents could not hide their immense gratitude and immeasurable happiness, the two sisters were bound with ropes to prevent them from harming themselves. The elder one raised her hand as if to greet him and the younger jumped up and down mindlessly. That night the older one died. Her mother told him that since the last few days she was insisting on shifting to the new house, whereas he was propelled by the fear of his impending posting to shift the destitute family in as soon as possible. In fact, in nature’s scheme it was perhaps ordained that she would die in her ‘house’ and be buried by the people of the locality like a respected neighbour and not as a leper in the wilderness. God likes godliness in people and chooses men and women with this trait regardless of caste and creed. Those blessed with compassion and magnanimity are bestowed with grace, respect and life like a lighthouse beaconing through the thick fog of greed, envy and ambition. There are Amanats and men like this officer all around us who are sharing their small blessings with the needy with boundless generosity and commitment, albeit quietly. We just have to pause, appreciate and help. Maybe the blistering life around us becomes a little more bearable and a little more worthwhile. The writer is a retired brigadier of the Pakistan army and can be reached at clay.potter@hotmail.com