Feast for beggars

“So you got to give out these lunch packets to the needy ones, not to anyone who just drops by.”

The lady ordered and went to the marketplace with a well packed lunch, 80 in all. The maidservant and the driver knew their lady had this habit for years. It was an almsgiving ritual, they thought, a merit-gathering event.

The lady was kind and soft spoken to those who reached her for a lunch packet. She was highly delighted to see how she could feed the hungry people. She practised this habit whenever she dreamt her parents.

“They also need my merits,” the lady said to her husband as he was about to leave for work.

“I will join you too one day,” her husband said in an approving tone.

“That’s good for you too,” she remarked. “But how do you know whether they really need lunch or not?” her husband inquired.

“You can see it in their faces and the way they beg.”

“Don’t they get more than one packet?”

“They do sometimes. But some are not really beggars. Still they need food. They never beg. There are women who sometimes approach me and whisper their need, one for them and one for the child. When they see me, they know I have brought lunch. So they rush as if they had seen a saviour.”

“That’s wonderful.”

Some call me ‘bat nona’ (rice lady). I am more than happy to hear that.” She realized the gravity of inner happiness by thinking of this merit-gathering function.

She would also bring home a lunch packet or two. On such days her maidservant does not have to cook. She would say: we got to eat what we give away.

There must not be discrimination. She would even ask her husband if he would turn up for lunch. Her husband would also want a packet.

On this particular day, the lady met with an unusual encounter. As she was distributing the packets with her driver and maidservant, a man approached with a question.

“What is it you are doing, madam?”

“Can’t you see what it is?”

“I can. But are you sure you are giving to the needy?”

“Yes, I am sure of that.”

“But I have doubts.”

“Why?”

“The genuine needy ones live several yards away, in that temple premises.”

The man pointed towards a distant temple site.

“They come here too. They know I am here with lunch packets.”

The man looked cornered. He showed a bitter face. He left the place in fury, the lady sensed.

Why should he get angry about this, the lady wondered aloud. The driver got wind of it. The maidservant listened to the conversation. Midday dawned gradually as it was getting sultry. The lady was too happy to feel it.

“I know that madam,” a fairly old man said, approaching the lady.

“Who is he? He looked as if he did not know what I was doing.”

“Are you hurt madam?”

“No, I am not.”

“He is a lunch packet seller, madam.”

“A lunch packet seller?”

“Yes madam. He runs a kiosk to sell his lunch packets. Your meritorious deed has disturbed his business. He feels as if he is hit hard.”

“But have I really disturbed his business?”

“No madam, not at all. People with money go to him and buy his lunch packets. But you are doing a meritorious deed. Your recipients will bless you.”

A smile appeared on the lady’s face.

“Oh I am happy to hear that.”