The king had heard of the stories of the great benevolent Hatim Tai, who gave up his throne for the sake of his people, and wanted to be known as even more generous.
To celebrate his fortieth birthday, he had a great palace made with forty rooms. Each of the forty large rooms were all filled with gold. The king would distribute gold coins for the next forty days, and asked that all needy should come and receive a gold coin. The king sat at the window of a new room every day, and each day he would distribute gold to all who came, till all the gold in that room was over.
There was a dervish, the holy one who wore the patched cloth of the wise, who came every day, and accepted a gold coin from the king. The dervish did not bow, nor did he utter a word of thanks, but accepted the coin and walked off. After the fortieth day, the king
was angry. “Dervish, you show neither gratitude nor respect,” the king thundered, “but seek to become rich on alms? Or are you lending out the money on interest?”
“Neither,” said the dervish as he flung the forty coins on the ground, “but just to teach you that
generosity cannot exist without three prerequisites. First, give without any sentiment of generosity; second, have complete patience; and three, have no suspicions. You gave because you wanted to be generous, and that sentiment itself destroyed your generosity.”
This mortal body, and the light of life that is placed in it, are both His gifts. Having been the recipients of His generosity, it is folly to think that we give, for even our body and our life belong to Him. Just share, not to be generous, but to thank Him for His benevolence:
Pilgrimages, ritualistic fasts and donations to charity, done with pride in the mind –
O Nanak, these are useless—like the elephant, who takes a bath, and then rolls in the dust.