Magnanimity of a petty vendor
As we were to set out with our two children on a day-long trip to the holy city of Rishikesh after breakfast at our sister’s home where we were lodged, I suggested that her two kids join us, which would have added to the pleasure. They were, as if awaiting the opportunity. I recalled my childhood days when the arrival of outstation guests with hold-all and metallic trunk was exhilarating since their presence meant relaxations in family norms, special meals and chances of an outing with them.
There was something divinely rejuvenating in the Ganga flowing under the ‘Lakshman jhula’, or in the variegated floral ambience. So, each one of our six-member team was fresh and eager to take a stroll further, despite having had a sumptuous lunch at a popular dhaba en route. Those days, in a thali one could have as much of any item as one wanted, unlike now, when it is limited to the rather predictable, staple fare, all served once, besides servings of anything additional on extra payment.
After visiting several temples, we passed through the undulating pathway interspersed with shops selling idols, antics, toys and decorative items of various descriptions on either side till the hustle made way for a serene setting. The thundering clouds above did not dampen the spirits of the children. Shortly, torrential rain drenched us. Nonplussed, we witnessed a petty vendor ensconced under the protective trunk of a bulky tree. Close by lay his bicycle with a tarpaulin overlaying containers of snacks and biscuits. My wife requested the vendor to let the children take refuge beneath the cover, so they could be shielded from the rain. As the rain god bid adieu, and the vendor got ready to leave, we thanked him profusely for helping the children.
The chill in the weather warranted tea or coffee. We get what we fervently want, it is said. Shortly, a tea stall came in sight. With the beverage served, someone placed two plates on our table, one with biscuits and the other with delicious snacks.
We gazed at the man. To our surprise, it was the same vendor who had sheltered our children in the rain. Before we could say anything to convey our gratefulness, the man had left. While leaving, we asked the man at the counter for the bill. Pat came the reply, “Rs 30, for six cups of tea.” I reminded him that there were snacks and biscuits to be paid for too. “That has been settled by the vendor,” we were told.
The incident took place many years ago. But ever since, whenever I find a vendor selling snacks, the benign figure of the magnanimous man we encountered in the pelting rain comes back to refresh my memory.
