The child, Narendra had a very sensitive mind. He had millions of questions to ask from everyone regarding things and situations around him. There was no knowing when his inquisitive mind would pop up what question. Babu Vishwanath had his own horse buggy and driver. Whenever Narendra rode the buggy with his parents he would pester the driver with questions all the way. Often the driver was asked to take Narendra for a ride, Then he had to brace himself for a barrage of questions. The illiterate driver would answer the questions according to his own level of knowledge. It entailed trouble because young Narendra took all his answers and explanations very seriously.
By the side of Dutt mansion, there was a chamber built on a high platform which the Barrister used as his library and meeting room where his clients met him. Hence, the chamber had rows of chairs and hukkahs for clients. There was a separate hukkah for each caste as the society was very caste-conscious.
One day, a massively built Pathan Mr. Khan was sitting in one of the chairs of the chamber. He had descended from Afghanistan to meet the Barrister for consultation on a legal matter. Besides he was a friend of Mr. Dutt. He knew the kid Narendra. The Barrister was not in at that time. So, he was there waiting for him.
Just then, four year old Narendra walked in who was exploring around for something of his interest. The sight of his favourite jolly uncle made him squeal in delight. He folded his hands and greeted, “Adaab, Khan uncle.”
Mr. Khan fondly cuddled the cherubic kid and asked, “How are you, huh darling Billay? Happy as cuckoo!”
The kid giggled and his twinkling eyes spotted a bag hanging by the wall behind Mr. Khan.
“What is in it?” he asked in excited voice.
“A lot of sweets. Kabul sweets, full of dry fruits,” Mr. Khan informed.
“Sweets! I like sweets,” the kid squealed, his face lit up with happy anticipation.
Khan uncle realised that the kid expected the gift of sweets as his legitimate right. Mr. Khan would love to give all the sweets to the kid naturally. But there was a hitch.
Mr. Khan was a Muslim and the kid’s family was Hindu. The Barrister himself was an educated person and didn’t believe in narrow communal thinking. But his wife was an orthodox woman of religion who carried out all the instructions issued by priests as religious duties. For the peace in the homes the males avoided confrontation with the women who stubbornly abided by caste and communal diktats. They would not accept any eatable from a Muslim.
Mr. Khan was in confusion. He knew all the above facts. But the kid’s face flushed with sweet expectations and his pleading eyes swept away all the hesitations and other considerations. He impulsively sprang up from his chair and took out a large peace of sweatmeat which he put in the hands of the kid who chirped with delight.
The kid ran away to his mother to show the gift given by his Pathan uncle. He announced, “Mother, mother! My Kabuli Khan uncle gave me this Kabul sweet! Look!”
The mother, Bhuvaneshwari Devi was too shocked to react instantly. The sweet given by a Muslim was a poison for their religion, so she understood. But how to tell that to a child?
As she stood thinking about how she could take away the sweet from her child in diplomatic way, Narendra walked up and put a piece of the sweet in her mouth saying, “Taste it, ma!”
Bhuvaneshwari Devi was horrified as if someone had put filth in her mouth. It all happened so suddenly. Her orthodox mind recoiled. She spat out the sweet in disgust and ran to the water pitcher to wash her mouth. While washing her mouth clean she begged for the forgiveness of all the gods and goddesses she could remember for the grave sinning.
She returned to find her son eating the remaining piece blissfully. It enraged her. The imp had defiled her piety. She flew at him and spanked his hand to brush off the remaining particles of the sweet. It was followed by a hard slap on the cheek of the kid and a scream, “Get out of my sight, you son of satan! You have desecrated my religion!”
Little Narendra was stunned. He couldn’t understand what wrong he had done. He cried and ran blindly to seek refuge in the library chamber of his father. Meanwhile, Khan uncle had departed from there. There was no one to console him or to answer his questions.
He sat on a chair and tried to think. Once before his mother had thrashed him when he had touched the women who used to sweep and mop their house. On that occasion too no one had tried to explain things to him.
Then, Narendra remembered one day buggy driver uncle telling him that God had answers to all the questions. He also remembered that in an answer to his query his father had told him that several hukkahs were required in the chamber because a separate hukkah was needed for every caste. One caste member didn’t smoke the hukkah meant for the other castes. In further explanation the buggy driver had revealed, “God gets angry if one didn’t smoke hukkah meant for one’s caste only. It is bad for one’s caste or religion to smoke the hukkah meant for the others. God destroys such sinners.”
Suddenly an idea flashed into the mind of the child, “I will anger God by smoking all the hukkahs. He will come to destroy me. Then, I can ask him all the unanswered questions, why did mother beat me when I touched the sweeper auntie and when I ate the sweatmeat given by Khan uncle?”
Thus, making up his mind young Narendra caught hold of the pipe of the nearest hukkah and put it in his mouth and sucked in air. A very foul smell rifled out of his nostrils. His lungs tried to belch out the rotten air and the boy was rocked by coughing fits. He was already sobbing as his cheek still burnt from the slap. More tears came to his eyes induced by nicotine.
Making God come was no easy, the kid realised. But he was determined to annoy God. So, he bravely went to other hukkahs and pulled in lungfuls of the rotten air. He felt his head spin and his stomach wanted to throw up.
Just then, he heared the sound of approaching foot steps. Had God arrived with his heavenly guards? The kid’s spinning head tried to process the questions he wanted to ask from God.
It was, of course, his father coming in with his friends or clients talking loudly. They suddenly fell silent at seeing the child, Narendra holding the pipe of a hukkah in just-about-to-puff-in pose.
“What are you doing, Billay?” the father asked.
“Smoking all the caste-hukkahs,” came the innocent reply.
“Why?”
“To make God come to destroy me. I have a lot of questions to ask from Him,” the kid revealed.
The Barrister and his friends looked at one another. Then, the father picked up his son in his arms and planted a kiss with a question, “Son, why do you think God will come if you smoke all the hukkahs?”
“The buggy driver uncle told me so,” the son answered.
The Barrister, Mr. Vishwanath realised that his son’s inquisitive mind was being troubled by many many questions. He had little time to spare to hear the long story of his son and to provide answers to his questions. And he was doubtful if he could successfully drive away the confusions of the mind of his kid. So, he decided to pass on the problem to his buggy driver who was, after all, responsible for misguiding the child about God.
He called in the driver and said, “Take my Billay on a long drive of the city. He needs outing.”
The buggy driver nodded his head but he was not happy. Taking the kid alone on a long journey meant barrage of questions his illiterate mind could not cope with. The sight of the kid frightened him. He could see that the kid had become a pressure cooker of questions ready to explode on his face. He gritted his teeth and said, “Come, Billay master! Let’s go for a ride.”
While walking up to the buggy the kid accused, “Uncle, you are a liar. You told me that God came to destroy those who smoked other caste hukkahs. I smoked all the hukkah but God didn’t come.”
The driver pleaded, “I will explain it on the way. Get on the buggy patiently.”
On the way, the driver made up a lot of excuses for God for his failure to arrive to punish little Billay. Billay was not satisfied with the excuses but he could not cross-examine the defendant due to the lack of his own knowledge. But the driver uncle won’t be let off easily.
The kid remembered one other occasion when Hanuman Katha was organised in his home. The devotees were hearing the great deeds of great Hanumanji. As usual the kid, Billay was present with his mother there listening to the tale with rapt attention.
The story reciter Pandit concluded, “…and thus, valiant Hanumanji defeated the god of death, Yamaraja and became a power whom death could no more touch. He is immortal and goes on living for ever and ever.”
The kid was very pleased to hear it. If Hanumanji still live on he could be met, the kid thought. The only thing needed was to find out where he lived. He gave the idea a lot of thought. As the Panditji knew the entire tale of Hanumanji he should know all the procedures and whereabouts of him, he reasoned.
When the katha ended Panditji gave laddoos to the devotees who were there to hear the katha as a token of the blessing of Hanumanji. When Billay’s turn came to receive his share of the laddoo, he didn’t extend his hand. Infact, he declared, “I won’t take laddoo.”
The shocked Pandit looked around to spot Bhuwaneshwari Devi but she was not there.
So, he tried to placate the kid, “Come on, take Hanumanji’s blessing like a good boy,” and added the warning, “If you refuse Hanumanji will be very angry with you because not accepting his blessed laddoo is a grave sin.”
“I don’t care,” the kid shot back.
Everyone stared at Billay. No one had any idea about what the kid was upto. Some people ran to look for the kid’s mother.
Meanwhile, Pandit tried to break the impasse, “Son, tell me exactly what do you want?”
“Tell me where does Hanumanji live?” Billay curiously asked.
The question surprised the people who heard it. Some giggled. Others looked at the kid for some further revelation.
“I won’t tell you because you are refusing to accept the blessing of Hanumanji. You have no right to know as you have insulted him,” Pandit announced.
Billay offered a deal, “I will take the laddoo if you tell me where he lives.”
“You must take laddoo first and then you will be told where Hanumanji lives,” Pandit told him.
The kid accepted the deal and the laddoo. In one gulp he swallowed the laddoo to qualify for the information. He eagerly asked, “Panditji, now tell me where does Hanumanji live?”
Pandit realised that there would be no peace until the kid was dealt with to his satisfaction. So, to get over with the problem, Pandit informed, “Son, Hanumanji is very fond of bananas. Wherever a banana garden is he is sure to be around there.”
“Aha!” the kid squealed and disappeared to workout his next move. Fortunately the Dutt family had banana grove in their garden. Billay slipped into the garden and surveyed his grove. The bunches of ripe bananas hung by the banana plants. Surely, Hanumanji won’t be able to keep off those lovely bananas if he was really fond of bananas, the kid assured himself. So, he made up his mind to wait for him patiently under the most fruit laden plant.
The evening approached and then the night fell. The garden was gradually turning into a concert of the rasping music of the insects. The kid lay in wait to ambush Hanumanji. But there was no sign of him. The kid stayed put undeterred.
Just then, his mother and a servant arrived there looking for him with a torch. They found the kid sitting under a banana plant. The mother asked, “What in the devil’s name are you doing here, Billay? We have been searching for you all over the place. You are really a menace, another name for trouble. What makes you sit here?”
“I wanted to meet Hanumanji. Panditji said that I could meet him here. He shall come here to eat bananas.”
Bhuwaneshwari Devi looked up skywards.
Suddenly, her anger evaporated as she realised that her child was taking things very seriously who trusted the adults to speak the truth and guide him along sincerely.
She picked up her kid and hugged him endearingly saying, “Son, there are thousands and millions of banana plants and trees all over the world. Hanumanji must have gone to some other garden. No one knows when he will come to our garden. Don’t lose heart. Keep faith and someday you might meet him by chance.”
The mother’s words consoled the child greatly and his disappointment had seeped away.
Now Billay decided to cross-examine the buggy driver about Hanumanji.
He asked, “Uncle, do you know about Hanumanji?”
The driver nodded his head, “Who doesn’t? All the Hindus know Hanumanji and worship him. I am also a devotee of Hanumanji…Bajrangbali.”
“Have you seen him?”
“Yes, I have.”
The reply excited young Narendra. His face lit up and he squealed, “Really? You seen him really really??”
“Yes, I have but only in my dreams,” the driver explained.
“I want to meet him in person. I waited for him in my garden but he didn’t come,” the kid informed.
The driver was a bit puzzled. He asked, “Son, why did you think that Hanumanji would come to your garden to meet you?”
“Panditji had said that he descends in gardens to eat bananas. He didn’t come inspite of my banana plants being laden with ripe fruits. My mother says that I would meet him someday by chance. Is that true?”
“May be,” the driver coughed because he didn’t know what exactly to say. An answer could invite more questions. So, he had to be careful. He said, “Young master! This Hanumanji thing is very complex. Even those sages who did penance for thousands of years could not understand it. I can only tell you what I think. It can be wrong, of course. Meeting Hanumanji is not easy. Very very difficult. He is god of celibacy, you know. My guru told me that only a person who does not get married all his life can please him and Hanumanji appears to that person.”
“But that is not very difficult,” the kid
remarked.
Back home, Billay sought out his mother and announced, “Ma, I shall not marry all my life. I have decided to become Brahmchari for ever.”
The mother stared at her son.
Then, she hugged him and said, “It is your life son. You can do whatever with it. But I hope that you will change your mind as you grow up.”
The kid shook his head to confirm his resolve.
One day, the father Barrister Vishwanath asked his child, “Son, what would you like to be when you grow up?”
The kid replied, “A driver.”
The father smiled at the childish wish. But it was to prove true. The kid indeed, became as Swami Vivekananda, the driver of the chariot of India’s spiritual message that he drove all around the world. And he remained Brahmchari all his life as he had announced to his mother when he was only four years old.
So sensitive and serious that child was!
