A Fitting Reward

Fifty miles from the city of Kailasapur was the village of Gulbarga. It was only a scattering of modest hutments, and as the village was several miles from the highway, few knew of its existence.

Living in the village was a peasant named Bhagavan and his family. Bhagavan earned a modest living working on the land, but sometimes, like during the rains, there was little work to do, so life was always a hand-to-mouth existence.

One evening, when Bhagavan returned home tired and hungry after a hard day digging drainage ditches, he could see at a glance that his wife was bursting with excitement. He wasn’t to be left in ignorance for long.

“Have you heard the good news?” she fairly shouted in her excitement. “A famous holy man is at Kailasapur, and he is rewarding everyone with gold and silver according to the good deeds they have done. You must go at once and claim your reward.”

“Claim my reward?” said Bhagavan dubiously. “I have never done any good deeds. It’s only the rich that can afford to do good. So don’t be silly, woman.”

“You must have done some good deed during your life,” his wife insisted.

“Nonsense,” said Bhagavan, grinning at his wife. “I am certainly not trudging all the way to Kailasapur to get a reward for the good deeds I have never done.”

But Bhagavan was wrong. Halfway through the night, his wife argued and argued, and in the end, more for peace of mind than anything else, Bhagavan reluctantly agreed to make the journey to Kailasapur.

Mile after mile, he plodded, busy all the time trying to recall some good deed he had performed. But he had to give it up as hopeless and only hoped that this holy man would give him a few coins out of charity.

Long before he reached the city, he overtook others bent on the same errand. There were rich men in palanquins, others on horseback or driving carts, and many like himself, trudging on foot. There was no doubt as to where they were bound, for there were many loud voices boasting of all the good deeds they had done.

As dusk fell, the entire cavalcade decided to rest for the night in a small glen, overshadowed by a huge spreading banyan tree. “That tree looks familiar,” thought Bhagavan. Then he remembered. Yes, it must have been three years ago, when he was making one of his infrequent visits to the city. He had sat under that tree to eat his food, and an old man, obviously starving, had come along and begged for something to eat.

He could recall that old man so clearly. Leaning on a stout stick to support his withered frame, the old man could hardly walk. How grateful he was when Bhagavan had made him eat most of the food. “Perhaps the holy man might consider that a good deed, although it really wasn’t worth mentioning,” Bhagavan thought.

Eventually, the travelers reached the city, and there was no difficulty in finding the whereabouts of the holy man, because it seemed that everyone was heading in the same direction. Bhagavan waited outside the holy man’s hut, blissfully hoping for a reward.

Squatting down with the rest, Bhagavan patiently waited his turn to meet the holy man. From where he sat, Bhagavan could see inside the hut, and there was the holy man questioning each person who entered. Afterwards, each person was weighed on a huge pair of scales, and instead of weights, the holy man was using gold and silver coins.

Some persons only seemed to weigh a few coins and did not receive any reward, while others weighed much more. To these, the holy man presented small bags of money.

At last, it was Bhagavan’s turn to go into the hut. As he sat down opposite the holy man, his courage failed him.

“Tell me, my son,” said the holy man. “What good deeds have you performed during your life?”

“Holy sir, I don’t think I have ever done a good deed,” confessed Bhagavan, feeling very miserable. “My wife insisted that I come to see you, and I did so, hoping that you would be charitable to a poor man.”

“Do not judge yourself too harshly,” said the holy man, giving Bhagavan an encouraging smile. “Think hard, and you may remember some little good turn you did for another.”

“Well, I once shared my food with an old man,” said Bhagavan. At this, everyone within hearing began to laugh, but the holy man scolded them severely. Walking across to the scales, he beckoned Bhagavan. “Come here, and let us see how much your goodness weighs.”

Bhagavan slowly sat in one pan of the scales, wishing he were miles away. Meanwhile, the holy man started to empty bags of coins into the other pan. But the scales didn’t move. More and more coins were emptied into the other pan, but Bhagavan outweighed the lot.

“My son,” cried the holy man. “Your goodness weighs more than all the coin I have. How can I reward someone like you? Only the gods can decide.”

“Father,” said Bhagavan, getting off the scales. “If, as you say, my goodness is priceless, we should not talk in terms of gold and silver. Let the gods decide if I am worthy of any reward.”

“Nobly said,” exclaimed the holy man. “Go in peace, my son, and rewarded you will be.”

Bhagavan started his long journey home, wondering what he should tell his wife. When he arrived home and entered his house, he was astonished to see that his wife was wearing a new sari, and all the children had new clothes.

“You’re back at last,” cried his wife. “Such good fortune has come our way. Your uncle died and surprisingly left us all his money.”

Bhagavan, recalling the parting words of the holy man, just smiled.