“Mom, really? All this hassle for Dad’s measly ₹12,000 pension? We pay more than that to a single employee!”
Mohit scowled as he stood with his mother, Sarala, in the endless queue at the State Bank. His father, Vishambharnath, had passed away a month ago after a prolonged illness. A retired government schoolteacher, he had received a modest pension for 12 years. Now, as per government rules, half of that pension would transfer to Sarala—but only after she completed the tedious paperwork.
To Mohit, a wealthy businessman, the entire ordeal was absurd. Why waste hours in line for peanuts? His empire raked in crores; ₹12,000 was a rounding error. But Sarala, clutching her husband’s death certificate, stood firm.
The Hidden Humiliation
A week earlier, Sarala had asked Mohit for ₹10,000—her grandson Kushagra’s birthday gift. Mohit, distracted, tossed the request to his wife, Shreya. With a sigh, Shreya handed over the cash but muttered, “Times are tough. Spend carefully.”
The words stung.
Later, when Mohit’s sister visited, Sarala hesitated to ask for money again. Shreya’s “tight budget” remark echoed in her mind. Swallowing her pride, she prepared to bid her daughter farewell empty-handed—until Shreya thrust ₹2,000 into her palm. “You can’t send her back with nothing!” The generosity felt like charity.
The Weight of Dependence
Sarala wasn’t destitute. Mohit covered her medical bills, phone recharges, and groceries. But the other expenses—donations to temples, gifts for relatives, tips for servants—required her to beg. Each request chipped away at her self-respect.
When her impoverished sister visited, Sarala couldn’t offer help. How could she, when she herself relied on her daughter-in-law’s grudging allowances?
The SMS That Changed Everything
Then, one morning, her phone buzzed:
State Bank Alert: ₹72,000 (6 months’ pension) credited to your account.
Sarla walked to the ATM, withdrew ₹10,000, and held the crisp notes like gold. For the first time since her husband’s death, she stood tall.
Why ₹12,000 Meant More Than Crores
Mohit’s wealth had never been hers. But this pension—Vishambharnath’s final gift—was. It wasn’t just money; it was freedom. The freedom to give without shame, to help without hesitation, to reclaim the dignity she’d lost.
As she handed Kushagra his new bicycle, Sarala smiled. No more pleading. No more guilt. Her husband’s ₹12,000 had given her something crores never could: her self-respect back.