In the mellow shade of his veranda in Malgudi, where the evening light lingered like an old acquaintance reluctant to leave, Swami or some such thoughtful soul might have reflected thus:You are invited to a banquet, let us say. The table is laid before you with rice steaming hot, sambar fragrant with tamarind, and perhaps a little pickle to sting the tongue just enough.
Do you then turn to the host and begin to demand this dish or that sweet, or complain that something is missing? They would think you a perfect fool, and rightly so. The gathering would fall silent, and someone would surely whisper, “What an idiot fellow!”
Yet, strange as it is, this is precisely how we behave when we pray. God has spread before us a feast—health in the morning air, the laughter of children in the street, the quiet satisfaction of a day’s work, and the simple rice and dal that fills the belly without fuss. But no.
We fold our hands and begin to ask for what is not there: more money, a bigger house, a promotion over our neighbour, or perhaps a miracle to set right some small irritation of life.As though the Provider, in His infinite patience, had forgotten something!Be contented, my friend. Develop the “I have enough” mentality. Look at the crow on the roof—it caws once, eats what it finds, and flies away without complaint.
We humans, with all our prayers and petitions, might do well to learn from such simple creatures. Enough is a feast in itself. The rest is only noise.