The Banana Peel in Vidura's Kitchen

In the city of Hastinapur, in the great palace of the king, there lived a quiet man whose name was Vidura.

Vidura was the king's half-brother. He was a minister. He was wise, soft-spoken, and very kind. He lived in a small house on the edge of the palace gardens with his wife, Sulabha.

They had no riches. They had no jewels. They had a small kitchen, a small bed, a small garden where Sulabha grew tulsi and a few green vegetables.

But Vidura was rich in one thing: he loved God. And the God he loved most was Krishna.

One day, Krishna came to Hastinapur.

He came on a mission of peace. The king, Duryodhana, had invited him. There was to be a great feast in the royal hall. Hundreds of cooks had been preparing for days. There were silver plates. There was rice cooked in milk. There were fruits from far lands.

Krishna walked into the royal hall. Duryodhana rose to greet him with a grand smile.

"Welcome, great Krishna," said the king. "Sit. Eat. Honour us."

Krishna looked at the silver plates. He looked at the gold cups. He looked at Duryodhana's smile, which did not quite reach his eyes.

"I thank you, king," Krishna said gently. "But I cannot eat here today."

The hall fell silent. The cooks stopped stirring. The musicians lowered their flutes.

"Why not, Lord?" Duryodhana asked, his face going pale.

"Because," said Krishna, "I am hungry only for love. And love is not on this table tonight."

He turned. He walked out of the great hall. He walked through the palace gardens. He walked to the small house at the edge.

He knocked softly on the wooden door.

Sulabha opened it.

When she saw who was standing there, she dropped the cloth she was holding. Her knees shook. She could not speak.

"Sister," said Krishna with a small, warm smile, "I have come for dinner."

Sulabha stood with her mouth open.

"Lord —" she stammered. "Lord, we have nothing. We have only a few bananas. We have no rice. We have no spices. We were going to eat the banana skins tonight, after we gave the fruit to the children next door. Lord, please, you must go to the palace. They have feasts waiting —"

Krishna stepped gently into the small kitchen.

He sat down on the simple wooden seat.

"I have already left the palace," he said. "I am here now. Will you feed me?"

Sulabha could not move. Tears began to roll down her cheeks. She did not even know she was crying.

She fumbled for the bananas. Her hands were shaking so badly that she could not peel them properly. She tore one open clumsily. The white fruit fell out.

She held out the banana skin to Krishna.

She did not see what she was doing. She was so overcome by love and fear and disbelief that she handed him the wrong half.

Krishna took the banana skin gently.

He ate it.

He ate it slowly, with closed eyes, as if it were the sweetest sweet ever made in any king's kitchen.

He smiled.

"Sister," he said softly, "in all my travels, in all the great halls of all the great kings, I have never eaten anything as sweet as what you have just given me."

Sulabha looked down. She saw the white banana fruit still in her hand. She gasped. She began to cry harder.

"Forgive me, Lord — I have given you the skin — I am so foolish, so —"

Krishna laughed gently. He took her trembling hand. He folded her fingers around the white fruit.

"Eat it, dear sister," he said. "You are carrying my friend Vidura's child. You need the sweetness more than I do."

Sulabha gasped again. She put her hand on her belly. She had only just begun to feel the small flutter that morning. She had told no one. Not even Vidura.

"Lord —" she whispered. "How did you —"

"Hearts that love me cannot hide from me," Krishna said softly. "Especially the smallest hearts. Even one only the size of a tulsi seed."

Just then, Vidura came home from the palace, his face full of trouble about Duryodhana's hardness. He stopped in the doorway. He saw Krishna sitting in his small kitchen, holding Sulabha's hand. He sank to his knees.

"My Lord," he whispered. "You came here?"

"Of course I came here," Krishna said. "There is more love in this kitchen than in any palace in this kingdom. And there is a new soul here too — listening, even now, to every kind word that is said."

Vidura's eyes filled. Sulabha's eyes filled. Krishna's eyes shone like the river at evening.

They ate together that night, the three of them, on the small wooden floor of the small kitchen. They ate bananas. They drank cool water from a clay pot. They laughed. They were quiet. They were full.

Outside, the evening star rose over the palace walls. Inside Sulabha, the smallest heart in all of Hastinapur was beating gently, steadily, having heard, on its very first day of being known, the soft sweet laughter of God.