Almost every culture has picked up on the cautionary tale of the simpleton who exchanges a thing of value for something less, and does so several times until left with nothing in particular. But this devotional folk tale intriguingly stands the premise on its head.
Janba Patil and his wife Jana Bai were a byword for being soft-hearted, in their upland village in what is now Maharashtra. Besides a couple of fields and a few cattle, they had a yard full of vegetables. The holy tulsi flourished in its square, decorated brick urn in front and the soil beneath it was silky soft, for Jana Bai watered the tulsi every day from a copper pot as part of her daily devotions. No matter how tired they felt after the day’s chores, Janba Patil and Jana Bai took care not to speak roughly to their little boy and girl for, said Jana Bai, “The hearts of children are as soft as the earth beneath the tulsi.”
Instead, the children were told delightful stories about the playful, mysterious gods who loved to sport with mortals for their own amusement.
The children especially liked to hear of Krishna, who loved animals and fresh white butter just as they did. The parents, too, were always glad to speak of him for they worshipped Krishna as their lord, as Vithoba in the temple town of Pandharpur. One day, Jana Bai told her husband, “Why don’t you sell our second buffalo at the market tomorrow? We have more milk than we need from the first one.” So Janba took the buffalo towards a village where cattle were usually sold. A short distance away, he was hailed by a stranger on horseback. “Where are you off to with that fine buffalo, Patil?” said the horseman.
“To sell her at the market,” said Janba cordially. “Why bother? Why not take my fine Kathiawari mare in exchange?” offered the stranger.
“Why not, after all? My children will enjoy the rides,” said Janba and they exchanged animals. But after leading the mare away, he discovered that she was blind in one eye. A man leading a pretty milch cow had stopped to watch as Janba gently rubbed the mare’s head after she banged blindside on a tree.
“Why not trade that one-eyed mare for my cow?” said this stranger sympathetically. Janba agreed and the stranger rode off. But a few steps forward with the cow revealed her to be lame in the hindleg. “Never mind,” thought Janba stoutly, “it’s not your fault, poor thing,” and turned back to see if he could sell the cow. But a man with a goat stopped him and offered to exchange it for the cow. Janba agreed but soon the goat fell into a faint for it was very sickly. A man with a fine rooster came along and convinced Janba to trade the goat for the rooster. At last, Janba Patil arrived at the market and managed to sell the rooster for a rupee. He had planned to do some shopping after selling the buffalo but now all he had was a rupee and he found himself very hungry. Janba bought himself a roti and dry curry for a few annas and sat down to eat beneath a tree.
But just as the first morsel was on its way to his mouth, he found a man looking longingly at his food. “Feed me, traveller, I have had no food for two days,” said the man, trembling. Janba felt very sorry for him. He stood up at once and courteously held out his lunch. “Eat, friend, may God keep you,” he said warmly and left for home. It was past the hour of godhuli when Janba Patil got home and sat down wearily on the string cot in his courtyard. The children flew to fetch water, to give him to drink and to wash away the dust. “What kept you, Baba? We were worried,” they piped and looking at their sweet, concerned faces, Janba Patil forgot how tired he was. He told them the day’s adventures and apologised for coming home empty-handed.
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“Not at all, you did the right thing,” said his wife. “A horse would have been nice for the children to ride on. A cow would have been their own pet and cow’s milk is very good for growing children. A goat would have been all right, too, for they say that goat’s milk has healing qualities. A rooster would have made an ornamental pet with his fine feathers, and would have woken us up every morning. So, all your exchanges were good. But we didn’t need that rooster. I’m glad you did not go hungry but bought food with the rupee.”
“But I didn’t eat it,” said Patil, smiling. “I gave my lunch to a hungry man who showed up just as I was about to eat.” “Well, that was right. It’s good to feed the hungry, especially if they come by when you’re eating. It’s rude to eat alone without sharing,” said Jana Bai and the children nodded, for they had been taught that very early by their mother. Janba felt like the cleverest man on earth.
The little family went off to sleep soon after, drawing contentment like a quilt over themselves. Early next morning, they were woken up by a loud cry of “Kokoro-ko-ko!” followed by a chorus of moos, whinnies and bleats. Lined up outside in the yard were a stout she-buffalo, a dainty bright-eyed mare, a plump she-goat in perfect health, a preening, strutting rooster and a pipal leaf on the plinth of the tulsi stand with a shining rupee coin on it.
“Ohh!” said the children while Janba Patil and Jana Bai looked at each other.
“Now who could those strangers have been?” said Jana Bai meaningfully. “Ah, who?” said Janba Patil, beaming. But the children didn’t need to be told. They were flat on the ground, stretched out in namaste to Krishna-in-the-tulsi.
Renuka Narayanan
(shebaba09@gmail.com)