The lame buttermilk vendor

I waited alone in a lonely spot in the morning, Under the shade of a huge banyan tree, Which was in a slightly elevated flooring, That located on the east coast of the sea. The poor widow carried me and a pot to that place, The mud pot contained tasty buttermilk purely, I sold the buttermilk to the weary wayfarer race, Who took shelter from the heat under the tree fully. On that day I waited for a long time for the customers, No traveller was turned up towards that side, And I was little disappointed like a failed hunter, Alas, I was a lame buttermilk vendor of roadside. Suddenly I saw a lady of stunning beauty, Who stood before me holding a baby in her arm, The baby looked at me with a charming smile cutie, She asked a cup of milk for her baby calm. I gave her a cup of buttermilk immediately, I considered it as a great honour and privilege, And I offered a tiny hospitality to the visitors obediently, She saw me a merciful and benevolent visage. Then she bade me to get up and walk slowly, I leaped to my weak feet immediately, My joy knew no bounds when I walked really, The distinguished visitors disappeared heavenly.