The Shrinathji temple festival had filled Nathdwara with colour. Marigold
garlands hung across the lanes, drums thumped somewhere near the steps, and
Dadi had given Meera a paper packet of warm besan ladoos — her very
favourite, golden and crumbly and still smelling of ghee.
"These are for you," Dadi had said, "for being such a help all morning. Eat
them slowly."
Meera held the packet against her chest like treasure and walked toward the
temple square, already deciding she would eat one now and save the rest for
the evening aarti.
That was when she saw the boy.
He was small, smaller than her, sitting against a wall a little apart from the
crowd. His clothes were thin and grey with dust. He was not begging; he was
only watching the festival sweets being carried past, his eyes following each
packet, his throat moving as he swallowed. Nobody was looking at him. He was
too quiet to be noticed.
Meera stopped.
Something inside her went still, the way it did in the temple when the curtain
drew back and the deity appeared. She thought about how hungry the boy must
be, and how she had eaten a full breakfast, and how she had a whole packet of
ladoos warm in her hands.
She did not call out. She did not wait for anyone to praise her. She simply
walked over, knelt down so they were at the same level, and held out the
packet.
"These are really good," she said. "Have them."
The boy looked up, unsure, as if expecting a trick. Then he took the packet
very gently, the way you take something you can hardly believe is yours. He
did not say thank you. He just looked at her with wide, surprised eyes, and
Meera smiled and stood up and walked on before he could feel he owed her
anything.
She told no one. She did not need to. The strange thing was that her hands
felt fuller empty than they had felt full — as if she had eaten something far
sweeter than any ladoo.
Later, watching the evening lamps float on the temple tank, she understood
what her grandmother always said: the best giving is the kind you do quietly,
to someone who cannot repay you, just because it is the right thing — and then
you let it go.
