HKB
speaks of "Ganésa sublime," which to those who know him for what he is,--the sagacious and respectable "God of getting on"--is a deliciously incongruous epithet and a false quantity besides.
He is mixed up in countryside stories with mere human creatures in a friendly fashion which shows that he is a popular favourite. Thus, once upon a time Shiva and Parbati were strolling about on the earth, and they visited a temple of Shiva, in the precincts of which sat a poor beggar-man asking for alms. Parbati said to her awful husband, "It is really too bad that this man, who has been begging here for years in your name, should not be better provided for. I call it discreditable." They passed, wrangling, into the court of the temple till Shiva impatiently cried: "Ho! Ganésha." The voice of Ganésha came from the inside--"Ho!" "Let something be done for the tiresome beggar-man your mother has been bothering me about!" "Very good; I will see that he has a lakh of rupees within the next three days." "That will do," said the great Mahadeo, and he passed away with his quarrelsome wife. Now, while they were talking, a Hindu Baniya (dealer and money-lender) was standing hidden behind the pillars, and though nearly frightened to death, he cast about in his greedy mind how to secure that lakh of rupees. So he went to the unconscious beggar, sitting in the outer court, and asked about his earnings. "My earnings are nothing," said the beggar, "sometimes a copper or two, sometimes only cowries, sometimes a handful of rice or pulse;--nothing." Pretending to be interested in the matter from mere curiosity, the usurer offered five rupees for all the beggar earned during the next three days. Startled by this large sum, the beggar held back, protesting the Baniya would be a loser, whereupon more were offered. The talk went on in the dawdling inconclusive way that only those who have tried to strike a bargain in India can understand, till finally the beggar insisted on consulting his wife. As frequently happens in Indian stories, as in Indian life, she was a very clever woman: "Depend upon it that usurer is after no good; offered you fifty rupees, did he? Then it's worth more than fifty times as much. God knows how, but that's not our affair. Go back and don't give over bargaining even if you go as high as half a lakh of rupees."
The beggar went back and the bargain began again, and was finally closed at half a lakh of rupees, which were duly brought to the wondering mendicant.
The usurer hung round the temple, anxious to see how Ganésha would bestow the lakh of rupees on the beggar-man. At last he heard the approach of the Gods, and as they passed the beggar, the mother of Death and Life asked Shiva if anything had been done for him. Again Ganésha was summoned, and as Shiva spoke, the great stone threshold of the temple rose from its place and jammed the trembling usurer's leg against the wall. Said Ganésha--"It is all right! the beggar has received half of the promised lakh of rupees, and I've got the man who owes him the other half fast by the leg here, and he will not be released till he has paid the uttermost farthing."
Then that covetous one's liver was turned to water, for he knew that he who owes to the Gods must pay.
When a native storyteller repeats a triviality of this kind, one seems to see the belly-god asleep in the dusk of the temple and to hear the rustle of his dry trunk uncoiling as he awakes, the jovial carelessness of his voice echoing in the carved vaults and roof, and his chuckle of satisfaction as the usurer is caught.