In a cramped back lane near Ghandi Chowk in Bodh Gaya, India, 60‑year‑old Lakhan Manjhi has lived for years on the margins of the city—and of other people’s sight.

On April 22, 2025, Tzu Chi volunteers followed him into a space that barely counts as a room: a storage cubicle about three by five feet, offered by a friend. If he stretched out his arms, Lakhan could almost touch all four walls. Yet this tiny space was the only shelter he had from the heat, dust, and monsoon rain.

Completely blind in his left eye and with only faint vision in his right, Lakhan had survived by doing porter work whenever he could find it. At the end of March 2025, he fell from a roof, suffering a fractured hip and a severe head injury that required 25 stitches. For someone already struggling to see and to work, the fall pushed his life into a deeper valley.

His wife had died 15 years earlier. His son, struggling with drug addiction, had left home and never returned. His married daughter lived far away and was barely able to support her own family; she visited when she could, but had no resources to help. The days when Lakhan worked as a cook in another town now felt like they belonged to a different life.

A local ally opens doors

Volunteer Chin Mee Chwong (陳美聰) has been doing charity visits for 17 years. Accompanying Lakhan, she did not feel her work was unusually hard. What stood out to her most was, in her words, the “benefactor” they met along the way: local volunteer Rajesh Kumar.

Rajesh knew the alleys, the landlords, and the informal rules of life around Ghandi Chowk. He became the bridge between the volunteer team and the neighborhood. Through him, help was not just an occasional visit but could continue, grow, and adapt to what Lakhan actually needed.

From the operating table back to his feet

With volunteers arranging transport and paperwork, Lakhan was able to undergo surgery in May 2025. Team members took turns staying with him in the hospital, helping with basic care that he could not manage alone because of his poor eyesight and limited mobility.

By June, he could walk again without a walker.

Helping him recover from his injuries felt like the completion of a first stage. The next question was harder: where could he live with some dignity and safety?

In his present condition, Lakhan could not safely cook over an open flame or even a small stove. Volunteers repeatedly encouraged him to consider a local elder care home, where meals and care would be provided. Each time, he refused. He did not want to spend the rest of his life in an institution.

The pull of an abandoned home

The turning point came in early December, when Rajesh asked once more what Lakhan really wanted. After a silence, Lakhan said he hoped to go back to his own house in Bakraur, across the river from Mahabodhi Temple.

The house was a simple mud-brick structure of about one hundred square feet, with an open yard of similar size next to it. It had been abandoned for years.

“For one person, it is enough,” Lakhan said quietly.

On December 13, following Lakhan’s directions and memories, the care team went to Bakraur to see the house. The bricks were worn and stained. Doors and windows were missing. The roof was so damaged that wind and rain could pass through freely. And yet, stacks of bricks still lay neatly by the side, as if waiting for someone to start rebuilding. It was not a safe house, but it still felt like a possible home.

After an on-site assessment, construction volunteers concluded that the structure was unsafe. There were no beams or columns; repair would not be enough. They recommended finding another place instead of trying to rebuild on the old site.

With Rajesh’s help, the search began again—this time for a modest place that Lakhan could truly call his own.

A landlord chooses to share what he has

Rajesh explains that for years Lakhan had no fixed address. He slept by the riverbank or on the streets. Without stable food or medical care, Rajesh felt that Lakhan might not survive much longer.

When a room finally appeared, it came through a long‑standing local relationship.

Near Ghandi Chowk, in Sidhiyaghat, Rajesh located a simple room of about one hundred square feet. The owner, Rakesh Kumar, had known Rajesh for twenty years. After hearing about Lakhan’s life and injuries, Rakesh agreed to rent the room for less than the local market price, asking only for a symbolic contribution toward electricity and cleaning. He also committed to providing meals.

Seeing him so poor and with no one to rely on, I felt I should also have the chance to give. —Rakesh Kumar

He had watched the volunteers come and go in the area, sitting with people who were dirty, sick, or living in cluttered spaces. To him, their willingness to keep showing up—bringing food, clothes, blankets, and now rent support—was a powerful example of care that did not depend on social status.

In the new room, Lakhan can finally lie down, sit up, and move around without fear of knocking into every wall. He no longer worries every day about whether he will eat.

“I am happy now”

Rajesh visits often to check on Lakhan, and each time he asks how things are going, the answer is the same: “I am very happy now.”

One day, Rajesh brought a bamboo coin bank to Lakhan. He explained a simple practice: every day, make a good wish—for yourself and for others—and put in a small coin as a reminder of that wish. Lakhan, with great care, placed one rupee inside and then carefully set the bamboo bank where he could reach it.

In that gesture, he was no longer only on the receiving end. He was becoming someone who could also think of others, even with the smallest offering.

More than shelter: the work of quiet companionship

For overseas volunteer Mei-Tsung, Lakhan’s move into a safe, stable room is not the end of the story.

She recalls the teaching that every person, regardless of disability, has boundless inner potential. In her view, continued visits and friendship can gradually help Lakhan discover what he is still able and willing to do. The goal is not only survival, but also a renewed sense of worth.

Lakhan’s journey—from injured and helpless to walking again, from a dark storage cubicle to a rented room with regular meals—mirrors the struggles of many unseen residents in Bodh Gaya’s back alleys. It is also the result of many small decisions to care: a neighbor providing temporary shelter, a local man bridging communities, a landlord accepting lower rent, and volunteers showing up week after week.

What Lakhan needs most is not only medicine, food, or a roof, but the assurance that even at the lowest point in life, someone will stand by him.

A small light in a narrow lane

Today, in a modest room near Bodh Gaya’s Ghandi Chowk, Lakhan has a bed to rest on, regular meals, and people who know his name and story. The narrow alley where volunteers first met him now holds a different memory: not just of hardship, but of a man who is slowly standing up again.

Overseas and local volunteers plan to continue visiting him, adjusting support as his needs change. In one corner of the market district, their quiet presence is like a small but steady light—just bright enough to help one man walk out of a long, dark chapter of his life.

Written by Cheng-Hsuan Wang (王承瑄)

Translated by Mindy Chen (陳敏理)