Every morning, for 22 long years, a frail, diminutive man, barefoot and clad in a loin cloth, would trudge two kilometres to a hillock of solid rock and chip away at it with a hammer and chisel. Bemused onlookers thought he had lost his mind, and he was an object of great fun for village urchins. But the women of the village, young and old, admired him, for his was a labour of love.
Dasrath Manjhi was trying to clear this mountain so a road could be built leading to the nearby village with a hospital. His wife had died because he couldn’t get her to the hospital in time. This was a memorial to his wife.
Read the story from Outlook India: here