The Coconut That Cost Nothing

In a town in Gujarat there lived a man named Bhikhubhai, and Bhikhubhai loved one thing above all others, and that was not spending money. He would walk a mile to save a single coin, and call it a fine morning’s work.

One day Bhikhubhai got a powerful craving for fresh coconut. “Wife,” he said to Labhuben, “I am going to the market for a coconut.” And off he went, his purse held tightly shut.

At the first market stall the coconuts were a perfectly fair price. But Bhikhubhai haggled and grumbled and clutched his purse. “Too much! Far too much!” The seller sighed. “If you want them cheaper, go down to the big market by the road.”

So Bhikhubhai walked all the way to the big market. There the coconuts were cheaper, but still he grumbled. “Too much!” “Then go to the harbour,” said that seller, “where the boats bring them in.”

So Bhikhubhai walked all the way to the harbour. Cheaper still, and still he shook his head. “Too much!” “Then go to the grove,” said the boatman, rolling his eyes, “where they grow on the trees themselves.”

So Bhikhubhai walked all the way out to the coconut grove, hot and dusty and footsore now, but very pleased with himself. The gardener there kindly offered to climb up and cut him a fresh coconut for the smallest price of all. But Bhikhubhai’s eyes had drifted upward, to the tops of the tall palms, where the coconuts hung in the breeze for free.

“Why should I pay you even that,” he said, “when there they are, growing for nothing? I shall fetch my own.”

And ignoring the gardener’s warnings, the stingy little man wrapped his arms and his legs around a tall palm, and began to climb, and climb, puffing and slipping, all the way up to the very top.

He got his coconut. Oh yes, he got it. But coming down a tall palm tree turns out to be a great deal harder than going up, especially with a coconut to carry. Halfway down, poor Bhikhubhai lost his grip and came sliding and bumping the rest of the way, landing in the soft sand at the bottom with a thump and a groan.

He limped home that evening, scratched and sore and thoroughly worn out, clutching his one free coconut. He had walked half across the district, climbed a tree, and bruised himself from head to toe, all to avoid paying the very fair price he could have paid at the very first stall, two minutes from his own front door.

Labhuben looked at him, and looked at the coconut, and did not say a single word. She did not need to.