The Welcome Visitor

Friends, here is an Indian village folktale, with the central theme of devotion. Thanks.

Village Sitapur is a place near the North Indian pilgrimage town of Ayodhya, the sacred Birthplace of Lord Sri Ram. There is a pond of crystal-clear water in this place. This water is held sacred by all nearby villagers. Among them was Rukmini, affectionately called ‘Mausi’ by the village children. It is a Hindi word that stands for maternal aunt.

Rukmini used to live in a cottage together with her younger cousin, Nandini. At the time of writing, Rukmini’s husband was working as a carpenter in Delhi, and her two sons were visiting their grandparents, who stayed in another village nearby. In personal life, Rukmini was a staunch devotee of Lord Ram. In professional life, both Rukmini and Nandini happened to be expert tailors. Their skilled work was well known among the residents of Sitapur as well as those residing in the surrounding villages. As a result, orders for stitching clothes used to pour in, keeping them busy.

As a human being, Rukmini was generous and hospitable. She used to love feeding the wandering monks who often passed through her village. This fact was well known among the travellers in those parts. However, Nandini, being more conservative, was not very welcoming by nature.

Now, in the plains of northern India, the two consecutive months of December and January are very cold. In these winter months, people in the towns and villages there go to sleep quite early. This custom of retiring early is even more pronounced in the villages. Thus, one will find the streets of a typical north Indian village deserted by 9 pm. Sitapur used to follow a similar custom.

It was a day in the middle of December. The winter had set in with all its might. The night had arrived quickly, and people in Sitapur had gone indoors. Suddenly, at around 10 pm, there was a sound of someone beating on the main door of Rukmini’s cottage with the iron knocker. In Indian villages, the cottages have a system of door knockers in place of doorbells. They are heavy iron rings fixed on the doors. The former is as effective as the latter.

Both the cousins had already gone to bed and were fast asleep when the door knocking was heard. Any time iron knocking on hardwood makes a distinctive noise. It is easily audible. On a still winter night, that sound seemed like cannonballs going off in the sleepy years of the duo. Now there was a tussle between two opposite traits. The hospitality of Rukmini was facing the selfishness of Nandini. That selfishness was accentuated by the soothing heat of a quilt on the chilly winter night.

To the credit of Rukmini, generosity won over comfort. As the iron knocker sounded for the second time, she hurriedly shook off her quilt and got off her bed. Then, as the shivering woman wrapped up in a flimsy shawl opened the door, she was greeted by the surprising sight of a young monk standing outside. Dressed in a simple ochre robe, he did not have any woollen garments on him. Yet he seemed to be immune to the cold. In addition, there seemed to be a serene light illuminating the face of that sacred figure.

As a hesitant Rukmini was deciding what to do, the ruffled voice of Nandini came from beneath her quilt. Though indistinct, Rukmini could guess her cousin was saying, “Ask the visitor to go away and then come back to your bed.” But Rukmini did not comply with that logical advice. At her heart, she was a devotee and knew very well that the Lord dwells in everyone’s heart. She therefore happily and willingly invited the monk into their humble home.

Asking him to wait a bit, she brought a tumbler of water and washed his feet. Traditionally, in the Indian villages, a visitor is welcomed and given a seat in the veranda outside the cottages. But it being cold outside, she spread out a mat on the floor of the first room of her modest cottage and bade the monk to sit there. In this room, she used to keep the hand-driven knitting machines and other tailoring accessories.

She then asked with humility, ‘Revered monk! What brings you to my humble cottage at this odd hour and that too in this cold season?”

In reply, the monk said in a gentle voice, “Mayi (Mayi means mother in Hindi), I was going to Ayodhya to see Lord Ram. The nearer I came, the more eager I became to reach the Lord’s Temple. This is why I did not stop my journey and take shelter in an inn, an hour on foot from your village. I must appreciate the innkeeper for his kindness because he was insisting that I stay over in his inn for the night, free of cost. Yet I carried on my journey, and here I am. Now my foot wants some rest, and my stomach wants some food.”

“O Revered one! You are welcome to take shelter for the night in my humble cottage. Do give me five minutes. I am lucky that I have some milk and rice in the kitchen. I will just warm them and bring them over to you.”

By this time, Nandini had come into the room.

In her characteristic harsh voice, she first scolded the monk for disturbing their slumber and daring to ask for food at such an odd hour. Then she turned toward her cousin and poured her anger on Rukmini for proposing to give that rice and milk to the monk when she knew very well that they were meant for their breakfast the next morning. Plus, she knew that their quantity was very limited and would barely suffice for their own consumption.

True to her sweet disposition, however, Rukmini just smiled and replied, “Lord Ram is going to provide for us at all times. So, don’t worry.”

When the monk heard this exchange, he asked that the bowls of rice and milk be brought up to him. When Rukmini complied with his command, the monk took one bowl each in his hands, closed his eyes for a moment and gave them back to the hospitable lady. Then, smiling, he got up, saying that his hunger was already quenched.

With this mysterious reply, he took leave and went away into the thick fog of the winter night, leaving behind the two cousins in a perplexed condition. Rukmini was sad that she couldn’t feed the venerable monk, and Nandini was happy that their breakfast was now intact.

The next morning, the two sisters had their scanty breakfast and went back to the knitting work as usual. When the lunch hour came, they went inside the kitchen to start the necessary cooking work.

Lo and behold! What an amazing sight greeted them!

In front of them were those two bowls. They were lying on the ground in the same position where Rukmini had kept them after eating from them and scrubbing them clean. But now the two bowls were full to the brim. Yes, one bowl was full to the brim with rice of the highest quality and the most wonderful fragrance. Likewise, the other bowl was full to the brim with milk, with thick cream floating on the top. It was a sheer miracle!

A lovely voice suddenly rang out in the kitchen.

“Rukmini and Nandini! It was I who came in the form of a monk yesterday. These two bowls are always going to remain filled with rice and milk, irrespective of how many times they are emptied. So, from this day onward, you can eat heartily. You can also feed your guests to your heart's content, regardless of the time they arrive at your home.”

Both immediately fell to the ground in gratitude to the Lord. Rukmini had tears of happiness, while Nandini’s face was marked with tears of repentance.

The Lord works in mysterious ways indeed!

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