At daybreak the monk walked down the lane accepting food and other offerings from the devotees. As dawn turned into morning, making his way back to the monastery, the monk passed a pair of beggars-man and wife-moving unsteadily along at the start of their begging day. The monk’s metal bowl was full and heavy, the beggars’ plastic bowl empty. Thus they encountered one another nearly every morning, and the monk often wished to share the food in his bowl with the beggars. He had never done it, thought.
They met again this morning, like other mornings, but not quite. The monk sensed something different was about to happen. The beggars were standing under the awning in front of a shop-house with the grill-door locked as it was not yet opening time. They looked strangely furtive, the monk thought. A few steps forward and now he could see they were staring hard at him and whispering to each other. Covertly glancing at them, he quickened his pace, meaning to get past the spot where they were lurking as soon as possible. But no longer had he done so than the beggar’s wife dashed after him. Now she stood confronting him, barring his path.
The lane this morning was rather quiet, with only a few people going off to work and a few scavenging dogs among the dustbins.
The monk remained stock still, unable to keep his eyes from the woman’s hand, which was clutching something inside the grimy cloth bag hanging from her shoulder. He was also wondering how to get away. But at the moment the woman turned and went back to her husband, leaving the monk to hesitate whether to wait or be on his way. He did not hesitate long, steeped as he was in the discipline of monkhood and well-versed in the precept and practice of self-control. He waited and watched calmly as the woman helped her husband-her limping one legged husband with the crutch-come towards him. The hand inside the bag was twitching as if on the point of taking out whatever it might be. Might it be a knife, perhaps? The monk speculated. Well, if it were, I am young and strong enough to deal with it.
Now it came. Out and up it came. In a flash. No, not a knife. A small plastic bag it turned out to be, securely tied eith elastic band and containing boiled rice. The woman held it carefully with both hands, raised it to her forehead in a highly respectful gesture, then took her husband’s hands to join hers in presenting the bag to the monk.