The Grave Digger's Son.

Out of all the people who may have walked into my office room on that busy Monday the last person I expected to see was him.

He was the grave digger from the cemetery.

His discomfort showed this was unfamiliar territory from his usual lush green workspace.

He hesitated to talk to me and refused a seat even though I offered him one.

“I need an advertisement” were the first words that escaped his lips.

What kind of advertisement would this man want?

Is he trying to sell a land? Maybe he wants to look for a house by placing an ad in the classified sections.

These were the thoughts that were going through my mind.

But then I realized this request had a desperate undertone.

Slowly but surely the story came out.

The cemetery is in the heart of the city.

According to the City regulations, his son is automatically accepted to what is considered the best and most popular school in the country. Royal College of Colombo.

A college that has given birth to prime ministers, top academics, and billionaires.

Many parents go to extreme lengths to get their sons into this school.

From using the influence of powerful politicians to offering large amounts of money as bribes disguised in the form of donations.

Whilst everyone would believe this young boy is extremely lucky to study here, in a way it’s kind of a curse.

A large majority of his classmates would be from families of extremely wealthy businessmen, top government officials and politicians, or those belonging to the high society of Sri Lanka.

As a child from a less privileged background, the gap between his desk and that of the other students was miles apart.

In most schools, donations are sought for various school projects.

There was no difference in this class as well.

The class teacher was forcing each child to get at least one souvenir advertisement for such a project.

Enormous pressure is exerted on the children by the teachers as they too are competing with one another. Those who do not comply are shamed in front of the entire class. In the end, the pressure exerted on the children finally lands on the shoulders of the parents.

For some parents getting an advertisement was an easy task. But not for a humble grave digger.

The guilt of his inability to protect the image of his child was crushing him.

He gets a small monthly stipend from me to maintain the grave.

“Sir can you give me an advertisement and you can deduct it from the money you give me” he asked me in a desperate voice.

A full page would be one year's worth of income he would have to forego.

But he was proud and did not want to beg.

As a father, I understood his pain and frustration.

I too had faced similar requests from the school my daughters attend which was a stone's throw away from where his son studies.

I knew the teachers could be mercenary in their mission to extract every last possible penny from their students.

Fortunately, I was sufficiently blessed financially to be able to handle these requests.

So yes we gave him an advertisement.

No, the cost was not deducted from the money paid to him.

It was a different man who walked out of my office.

A proud father with his held eye knowing that he can be a hero in his son’s eyes.