The Old Banana Leaf Vendor # 13

Returning from the Ganges, where he had amused himself by bothering the serious brahmanas absorbed in their ablutions and daily rituals, Nimai decided to take one last stroll through the town before heading home, looking for some townspeople to tease. His thoughts turned particularly to Kolavecha Sridhara.

The man was destitute, earning his living mainly by selling banana leaves. These leaves were used as plates, either fresh or dried and shaped into containers. They were inexpensive, practical, natural — as the cows would eat them after use — and both clean and aesthetically pleasing. Everyone used them.

Sridhara was always delighted to see young Nimai, even though the boy often pushed him to his limits. But Sridhara, a wise man and a devoted follower of Vishnu, never stayed angry for long — just long enough to adjust his turban. He particularly cherished the moments when Nimai sat beside him to chat and laugh... or even hurl insults; to him, it was a price worth paying.

Today would be one of those days. Nimai was looking for an outlet for his energy, and Sridhara would be his first target. He was going to make him fly off the handle. A typical scene was about to unfold.

“Still counting your beads?” Nimai teased sarcastically. “Why do you need to chant all the time? Aren’t you serving the husband of the Goddess of Fortune, Lakshmidevi? Then why are you always so poor?”

“I lack nothing, as you can see,” replied Sridhara flegmatically, determined to maintain his composure in the face of Nimai’s provocative tone, which hinted at an impending heated debate. “I eat my fill, and I have clothes to wear. Perhaps they don’t meet your standards because they’re neither new nor perfectly fitted, but I am entirely content as I am.”

“Come on, Sridhara, only you would call those rags clothes!” Nimai retorted. “Admit it, I know very well that you don’t even have enough to eat at home. Just look at your walls!” (The day before, he had pointed at the uneven plaster, a mixture of cow dung and mud used to coat the walls of village cottages.) “Wake up and do what everyone else does: worship Goddess Durga, and she’ll quickly fulfill all your needs. Observe your peers — they enjoy delicious dishes bought at the market, and their children are a testament to their prosperity. But you — just look at yourself — you look like a beggar!”

“It’s true, I admit there’s a difference,” Sridhara replied with a faint smile. “But when you think about it, we’re all the same. The king lives in a palace, surrounded by his court; he eats and enjoys himself lavishly, sparing no expense. Meanwhile, birds build their nests in trees or on temple roofs using twigs they find here and there, and they humbly peck at what nature provides. But in essence, life is the same for everyone. The Lord has arranged a way of living for each being, and we act accordingly. Personally, I prefer the humble existence I lead — it’s a matter of choice.”

“Taratata! Stop talking like that!” Nimai interrupted with mock indignation. “I’m sure you secretly indulge in worldly pleasures like everyone else —you’re just a miser! I’m going to expose you to the townsfolk. I’ll tell them you’ve hidden a treasure at home and feast like a glutton in secret!”

“What nonsense are you spouting now!” Sridhara exclaimed, losing his composure, unable to discern the child’s playful intent. “If you want, my dear Brahmin, you can come with me this instant and I’ll show you. I hide nothing! Don’t start aggravating me with your absurd stories. Everyone knows that half of my earnings go toward worshiping the Ganga, and I barely scrape by on the other half. No one will believe your claims. So stop pestering me in such a hurtful way. Don’t you have any compassion for an old man like me?”

“No, no, no! You’re not getting off that easily. I’ll make sure everyone knows the truth. But enough talk —it’s not all about laughing. Tell me, what will you give me to eat today? Arguments alone have never filled a belly.”

“I’m just a poor banana leaf vendor,” Sridhara replied with a sigh. “What could I possibly offer you with my meager earnings?”

“Fine then!” Nimai consided as they arrived at the house. “I won’t tap into your hidden reserves this time. But if you give me a banana flower and a bunch of bananas, I’ll drop this pointless argument.”

Sridhara, no stranger to these encounters with Nimai, considered the proposal silently. ‘This pushy young Brahmin always finds a way to profit from any situation. One day, he might even beat me! And if he does, what could I do? Nothing. Still, I can’t afford to keep giving him my goods for free every single day.’

Lost in thought, he glanced at the mischievous boy standing before him. Nimai, one hand on his hip, was smiling charmingly, fully aware of the turmoil he stirred in the heart of this devout merchant and friend. Seeing him like this, with his long black hair and a yellow sash tied around his waist, filled Sridhara with an inexplicable joy. ‘This radiant body belongs to someone divine. This Nimai is no ordinary human being... And so what? Let him do as he pleases. One way or another, he’ll get what he wants. I should consider myself fortunate to have dealings with someone so special. Even though I’m poor, I’ll give him whatever he desires.’

With resignation, yet singularly happy, Sridhara said, “Go ahead, dear Brahmin, help yourself! Today is my day of charity, and I give gladly. Here, take these bananas, some vegetables, and a few banana-leaf bowls. My only request is that you cause no more trouble.”

“Finally, you’re being reasonable!” Nimai retorted. “I don’t like this either, so make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

Pleased to have won so easily, Nimai sat down and commanded with flair, “Now serve me some high-quality bananas. And I’d like a little of those radishes you save for your best customers.”

This scene, with slight variations, played out almost daily. Nimai loved to eat with Sridhara, using his banana-leaf dishes, while Sridhara delighted in showering the boy with affection. One day, when a pumpkin had grown on his roof, Sridhara lovingly prepared it with milk, rice, sugar, and spices. He eagerly awaited Nimai’s visit, ready to offer it to him. Despite being teased and ridiculed at every meeting, Sridhara cherished Nimai’s company more than anything.

After satisfying himself with his host's preparations, Nimai started the conversation again: “I’d like you to tell me what you think of me. After that, I promise to leave you alone and go on my way.”

Each time, Sridhara fell into his trap. The boy was a sharp debater and utterly relentless. To avoid stirring him up, Sridhara crafted a diplomatic response: “You are an eternal, infinitesimal part of Lord Vishnu.”

“Oh, stop right there!” Nimai interrupted. “I see you’re missing the point. I’m not what you think —not a Brahmin, as you imagine. I belong to the community of cowherds. I’m a child of the farm. I love tending to the cows, leading them into the fields, and bringing them to drink at the river. I adore their milk, butter, and yogurt —just like Krishna in Vrindavana.”

The remark made Sridhara smile. He now simply listened, unable to grasp the full meaning behind Nimai's words. Noticing his confusion, Nimai took even more delight in driving the point home, teasing him further: “Today, I’ll reveal a great mystery to you. Did you know that the Ganges, whom you worship daily, originates from me?”

“Oh, Nimai, aren’t you ashamed to speak like that?” exclaimed Sridhara, stunned by his audacity. “As people grow up, they usually become more composed and serious, but you’re doing the opposite—you’re getting even more frivolous! It’s high time you started looking at life with a more mature perspective.”

“Ha, ha, ha! One day, I’ll prove it to you,” laughed Nimai, pushing his plate aside and preparing to leave. “Then you’ll understand who I truly am, ha, ha, ha!”

He often played similar tricks on Kolavecha Sridhara, leaving the humble man pensive and intrigued, captivated by Nimai’s beauty and extraordinary nature. Despite Nimai's impudence, offenses, and occasional harshness, Sridhara’s affection for him never waned. On the contrary, without being able to explain it, Sridhara found himself repeatedly wondering, passive and mesmerized, at the irresistible charm and mystery of this mischievous and enigmatic boy.

Preceding chapter: The Call of Sannyasa # 12
Next chapter : The Encounter of Nimai and Keshava Kashmiri # 14