PART 2 MOTIVATING NARRATIVES

Stories conceived by His Holiness as also scriptural stories recapitulated by Him are included here, together with His explanations and conclusions. This material is based on what He narrated in His public discourses and in private and is presented under 54 headings.

1. Insidious Attack of Desire

A group of monkeys dwelt in a forest. One day, the leader declared, “Humans fast on ekādaśī days and thereby obtain puṇya. We too shall fast on ekādaśī.” So, on the next ekādaśī, all of them assembled and sat on the ground, with their eyes closed. After some time, one of them said, “We are unsafe sitting motionless on the ground. A herd of elephants passing by may trample us. It is also possible that a passing tiger may maul us. Further, as we are tree-dwellers, remaining continuously on the ground is uncomfortable for us. So why not we climb the trunks of trees and remain at the start of the branches? We will be safer and yet will not be close to the fruits at the end of the branches.” His suggestion was appreciated by them and they implemented it.

Some time passed. Another monkey said, “A cheetah can attack us here. Were we to go to the end of the branches, we will be better off. Cheetahs cannot come there because the portions concerned will not support their weight. Further, we can easily save ourselves by jumping to the next tree. We can also save ourselves easily from snakes. We could sit facing away from the fruits, keeping a watch on the ground and the tree trunks.” This idea too was liked by all and immediately implemented.

Some more time passed. Then, one monkey said, “Continuously watching the ground is terribly boring. Why not we take turns to spot danger? The rest of us can then feel free to look around and thereby avert boredom. Surely, no fast will get broken even if our eyes were to momentarily fall on a fruit.” “He is right,” felt the others. Soon, they were frequently eying the fruits.

It was not long before a monkey opined, “While we are seated here, we might as well feel the fruits to identify the ripe and juicy ones. That will make our task of foraging easier tomorrow. After all, we will be hungry then and would not like to spend much time picking the right fruits to eat.” There was no voice of dissent. Soon, the monkeys got busy feeling the fruit, with their hands lingering for a while on the good ones.

An aged monkey then said, “Not only will we be hungry tomorrow morning but also weak. Setting out for forage will be difficult. So, let us pluck the good fruits now and keep them ready for eating tomorrow.” “A wise suggestion,” thought the others and began to pluck fruits.

A little later, another aged monkey said, “One cannot pick good fruits merely by feeling them. Smelling them is also necessary. After all, a fruit may be nice to feel but may smell bad. Definitely, we would not like to eat any foul-smelling fruit.” The others agreed. So all of them began to smell the fruits plucked and to throw away those whose smell they found unsatisfactory.

Some time passed. Another aged monkey said, “From experience, I know that even a fruit that is nice to look at, good to feel and pleasant to smell can have a rotten core or worms. Thus, tasting fruits by biting each of them is necessary to confirm that the fruits we will be eating tomorrow morning are truly nice. Surely, we would not want to get a stomach-ache by eating bad fruits in the morning. Our ekādaśī fast will remain unbroken even if each of us were to taste a piece of fruit but take care not to swallow it.” The suggestion was regarded wise and implemented.

In but a few minutes, the monkeys began swallowing the delicious pieces of fruits in their mouths. That was the end of their fast.

Underestimation of the power of the senses to unsettle the mind, flawed self-justification for one’s actions, overconfidence and making of compromises where one should not are among the factors that cause a person to have a moral or spiritual fall.

2. Harmfulness of Anger

Śaṅkara and Hari were resident students of Sanskrit literature at a pāṭhaśālā. They shared a room along with two others. It was paurṇamī. There were no classes that day and the students were in their rooms. Śaṅkara was seated in his corner reading the portion of Kālidasa’s Raghuvaṁśa that his preceptor had taught a couple of days earlier. Hari and his two room-mates were chatting.

Hari: Have you heard of any elephant that is terrified of rats and which jumps, runs and creates an earthquake on seeing one.

Companions: No.

Hari: I know of one. Śaṅkara is that elephant. He is so fat that he weighs as much as a pachyderm. He is mortally scared of rats. Yesterday evening, when he was seated under the aśvattha tree, a rat passed by. Our elephant jumped up and ran. He tripped on a banana peel and fell. There was a minor earthquake. Poor Mother Earth! What a blow she received!

Hari burst out laughing and so did his friends. Śaṅkara, who heard all that was said, lost his temper. His face red and his breathing shallow, he vituperated Hari and called him names. Hari turned and walked out of the room. After a few minutes, Śaṅkara’s other two room-mates went out to attend to some work.

The moment they left, Śaṅkara tiptoed to Hari’s corner, picked up Hari’s Raghuvaṁśa book, hid it and resumed his seat. Hari entered. He appeared upset on not finding his book but did not say anything. He automatically assumed that Śaṅkara was the culprit. So, when Śaṅkara went to answer the call of nature, Hari brought a vessel of water and threw it on Śaṅkara’s bedding. Śaṅkara did not realize what had happened when he returned.

A teacher who taught Hari and Śaṅkara had observed from the hall all that had transpired. He entered the room. The two boys prostrated before him. He sat down and asked them also to do so. Then, he told them a story.

Teacher: On a wintry night, a person was sleeping with a blanket pulled over him for warmth. He woke up when he felt something moving on the blanket, near his ankles. In the dim light, he was able to make out the figure of a rat. Without a second thought, he picked up a bottle containing water that was by his side and hurled it towards the rodent. The bottle grazed the rat’s tail, struck the man’s feet and broke. He yelled in pain; his bedding became wet. He cursed the rat and looked around for it. He found that it was hiding in a corner, not far from him. Wanting to terminate the rat’s life, he swung his arm swiftly and succeeded in catching the rodent by its tail. Desperate to escape, the rat bit him. Feeling sharp pain, he relaxed his grip. The rat scurried away. Well, Śaṅkara, what do you think of the man?

Śaṅkara: He was a thorough fool.

Teacher: Why do you say so?

Śaṅkara: The man tried to kill the rat with a bottle, which was certainly not appropriate for the purpose. He did not realize that he would be hurting himself by his action and that he would be unable to sleep comfortably thereafter because his bedding would get wet. Catching the rat by its tail was a stupid thing to do, for he virtually forced the rat to bite him.

Teacher: When Hari made fun of you, you could have laughed at yourself. Alternatively, you could have let the matter rest, thinking, “I am fat. It is also true that I am scared of rats and that, yesterday on seeing a rat, I jumped up, ran and fell. Sarcastic embellishments apart, Hari’s narrative is not false.” Instead, you lost your temper. Just as the rat disturbed the man of the story, Hari’s ridicule disturbed you. The bottle hurt the man and wet his bedding. Your anger too affected you in two ways.

Śaṅkara: How?

Teacher: Did you mean all the things that you told Hari in anger?

Śaṅkara: No, I was so excited that I could not think rationally and choose my words then.

Teacher: The ability to think logically and act sensibly is a very valuable asset of humans. You temporarily lost that ability. Did you not?

Śaṅkara: I admit I did.

Teacher: That was a major, immediate setback for you just as the blow on the feet was for the man. After you snapped at Hari, you tried to continue with your studies. Were you able to concentrate as before?

Śaṅkara: For some time, I could not. My mind was agitated and the thought that Hari had humiliated me in the presence of my friends kept recurring.

Teacher: Just as the man was unable to sleep in comfort that night because of the wetness of his bed, you were unable to attend to your studies for some time because of your mental agitation. The man did not realize the consequences of his hurling the bottle. He only thought he was going to get rid of the rat. You did not think of the consequences of your anger. You only thought of putting Hari in his place. Do you agree?

Śaṅkara: Yes.

Teacher: Hari, tell Śaṅkara what you did to his bedding and why.

Hari: Śaṅkara, you hid my book. In retaliation, I threw water on your bedding.

Teacher: Irritated with the rat, the man caught it by its tail and it bit him. To punish Hari for having teased you, you hid his book. Because you did so, you have a wet bedding.

Śaṅkara: I now clearly see that there is much in common between the foolish man and myself.

Teacher: I know that you have a quick temper. Try to change yourself. Remember that anger harms the very person who gives room to it. It temporarily deprives him of his precious God-given gift of rational thinking and sensible behaviour. It agitates the mind and destroys peace. It does not give the least happiness; no man feels happy when he is angry. Lord Kṛṣṇa has spoken of anger as one of the gateways to hell.

Śaṅkara: If I give up anger, will not people take advantage of my resulting docility?

Teacher: A person should be patient and should not give room to anger. This does not mean that he must allow people to ride roughshod over him. He can be firm and even give a strong verbal response when the situation necessitates it. A boss may have to reprimand an indolent subordinate who is not amenable to soft words. In such situations, anger may be feigned but mental composure must be retained.

Śaṅkara: I understand the importance of conquering anger and shall do my best to reform myself.

Teacher: Hari, there was no need for you to tease or provoke Śaṅkara. People normally resent censure and humiliation. Because of what you did, Śaṅkara gave you a good dressing down. His rebuke hurt you, did it not?

Hari: Yes, that is why I left the room. For some time, I continued to feel ill at ease.

Teacher: Śaṅkara foolishly hid your book but your retaliation too was unwise. Had Śaṅkara found out later that you had wet his bedding, he would have hurt you for what you did. You are familiar with the Mahābhārata. You know that when Droṇa sought help from Drupada, the latter insulted him. So, after training the Kauravas and the Pāṇḍavas, Droṇa got Arjuna to capture Drupada and took possession of half of Drupada’s kingdom. Drupada, for his part, performed a sacrifice and obtained a son who would slay Droṇa. Dhṛṣṭadyumna killed Droṇa during the Mahābhārata-war when the latter laid down arms on being told by Yudhiṣṭhira that Aśvatthāma had died. Later, Aśvatthāma avenged his father’s death by slaying Dhṛṣṭadyumna. What a chain of reactions!

Hari: In future, I shall try to keep the feelings of others in mind and abstain from unwisely initiating retaliatory measures.

Teacher: Both of you should apologize to each other and be friends as before.

The boys did as told. Śaṅkara then returned Hari’s book; Hari put Śaṅkara’s bedding in the sun to dry.

Anger harms the one who gives room to it in more ways than one. It is, as declared by the Lord Himself, a gateway to hell. Hence, it is in the interest of everyone to give no quarter to anger. A person should be patient. However, if the situation necessitates it, he may simulate anger; even then, he should not become mentally agitated.

3. The Veda Determines What is Dharma

A lawyer argued, “Your Honour, my client should not be treated as guilty. It is true that he stole. But there is a reason for that. He was forced to commit the theft because his family was starving. With the stolen money, he not only helped himself but also his family. While stealing, he did not destroy any property. In fact, he did not even damage the lock as he used a duplicate key. The money that he took away was meagre compared to the rich man’s hoard of black money. My client performed a service to the Government by unearthing black money. This apart, the wealthy man has so much cash that this little depreciation ought to mean nothing to him.”

How would the judge respond to such an argument? He would presumably declare, “I am not interested in such arguments that ignore the law of the land. Stealing is an offence under the Indian Penal Code. Even you admit that your client did steal. So I am duty-bound to punish him.” Then he would hold the lawyer’s client guilty and send the thief to jail.

Judges determine whether an act is a punishable offence or not by relying on the penal code and not on fanciful arguments that disregard the penal code. Likewise, to determine what is dharma and what is adharma, a person must turn to the Veda and not to mere reasoning that is independent of the scriptures. The penal code, having been formulated by humans, may require occasional revision. However, the Vedas, which emerged from Īśvara, are ever flawless.

4. Spotlight on Speaking the Truth

A person stole some goods. He was accosted and made to take an oath that he would answer truthfully. He said, “As long as there is life, I shall speak the truth.” He was then cross-examined. He flatly denied that he had stolen anything. On the basis of his testimony, he was let off. A friend of his, who had participated in the vile act, asked him, “Why did you utter falsehood so brazenly in spite of the oath that you took?” The man nonchalantly replied, “I did not lie. All that I had said was true. I agreed to spell out the truth as long as there was life. I had an insect in my hand. Before I started answering, I crushed the insect to death. Hence my statement, ‘I shall speak the truth as long as there is life’, continued to hold.”

This is an example of sophistry. When a person has something in mind but makes equivocal or confusing statements so as to cause the listener understand something else, he is guilty of having deviated from the truth. To speak the truth, as insisted upon by the scriptures, one’s words should accord with one’s thoughts. The next point to be noted with regard to veracity is that one should speak what is pleasant. But uttering what is pleasant does not imply speaking what is not factual.

A mischievous person decided to fool a friend of his. He went to his friend and said in an excited voice, “Are you not aware that you have won ten lakhs in a lottery? How can you sit here so calmly?” The friend was dumbfounded. When his amazement decreased a little, he began to build castles in the air. In the meantime, the prankster left. Finally, the man took up a newspaper to have the pleasure of seeing his lottery-ticket number there. When he could not find it, his exultation gave way to total dejection. This is an example of a pleasant untruth.

One should not irresponsibly verbalize a distressing truth. Following a massive heart-attack, a person was convalescing in a hospital. One day, his son was involved in a road accident and died. A person who had witnessed the accident rushed to the hospital and exclaimed to the heart-patient, “Do you know what has happened? Your son has died!” The patient, who was very fond of his son, could not bear the terrible news. As his heart was already weak, he breathed his last. The conduct of the person who conveyed the bad news was blameworthy.

To sum up, one should speak the truth. Further, one’s words should be pleasant and beneficial to others. Distressing truths ought not to be irresponsibly verbalized and words should not be chosen so as to mislead others.

5. Truth and Silence

Once, three persons were proceeding to heaven in a celestial vehicle which had come to collect them. On their way, they chanced to behold a snake that was just about to swallow its prey, a frog. One of the three commented, “O serpent! Do you not have any compassion for the frog? Spare its life.” The irritated snake cursed, “How dare you deny me my food? May you go to hell.” Sad to say, the man went to hell.

The second man, who was bewildered on seeing this, supported the snake’s stance and said, “The frog is but your natural food. You can surely eat it.” Now, the frog became wild and retorted, “How dare you suggest that I be eaten! You have no kindness. May you suffer the tortures of hell.” The man fell from the celestial vehicle. The third man, who remained silent, reached heaven. This story illustrates that, on certain occasions, remaining silent is even better than speaking the truth.

6. Subtle Aspects of Truthfulness

After the death of Droṇa, Karṇa became the commander-in-chief of the Kaurava forces. In an encounter with Karṇa, Yudhiṣṭhira, Nakula and Sahadeva were worsted and injured. Humiliated and in much pain, Yudhiṣṭhira withdrew from the battlefield to his tent to take some rest. The battle raged on. After a while, being anxious about Yudhiṣṭhira, Arjuna wanted to see him. So leaving the Pāṇḍava forces under the control of Bhīma, he asked Kṛṣṇa to take him to Yudhiṣṭhira’s tent. When Kṛṣṇa and Arjuna came to pay their respects, Yudhiṣṭhira wrongly assumed that Karṇa had been killed by Arjuna. He sought to know the details. Arjuna explained to him that till that point of time, he had not been successful in putting an end to Karṇa’s life. He averred that he would definitely do so.

On hearing Arjuna’s words, Yudhiṣṭhira felt greatly dissatisfied and gave way to wrath. He severely censured Arjuna saying, “Unable to defeat Karṇa, and moved by fear, you have left Bhīma in command of the forces and come away here. Had you told me long ago that you would not fight Karṇa, I would have taken my decisions in a different manner. You promised that you would kill Karṇa but have not fulfilled your promise. Your chariot has been fashioned by Viśvakarma and on it, there is a flag with the symbol of Hanumān. You have the Gāṇḍīva bow with you. Sri Kṛṣṇa Himself is your charioteer. Still, out of fear of Karṇa, you have run away and come here. Give away your Gāṇḍīva to Kṛṣṇa. Let Him do the needful by killing Karṇa. Alternatively, give your Gāṇḍīva to somebody else. You are unfit to have it. Shame on you! Shame on your prowess! Shame on your Gāṇḍīva!” Yudhiṣṭhira’s rebuff stung Arjuna enough to make him lose his temper. He started to pull out his sword. Seeing this, Kṛṣṇa asked him, “What is it that you are trying to do? There are no foes here. Why do you want to pull out your sword?” Arjuna said, “I am going to kill Yudhiṣṭhira. I had secretly vowed that if anyone were to tell me, ‘Give away your Gāṇḍīva’, I would certainly slay him. Now, in fulfilment of my promise, I am going to murder Yudhiṣṭhira, for he has insulted me by asking me to give away the Gāṇḍīva to another and regarded me as unfit for wielding it.”

Kṛṣṇa said, “Shame on you, Arjuna! Nobody who knows the true nature of dharma would behave the way you intend to. Upholding the truth is most exalted. However, the nature of truth, as upheld by noble persons, is not readily comprehensible. There are occasions when a person may tell a lie without incurring sin. For instance, one can utter a falsehood to save one’s life or to protect oneself from complete ruin or for the well-being of a holy one. By doing so, one does not become guilty of unrighteousness. There are also occasions when, by bluntly speaking the truth, one incurs not merit but sin.”

Kṛṣṇa then narrated the story of a man named Kauśika who was not very learned but who wanted to be truthful. He was well-known as a speaker of the truth. One day, when he was seated, certain people ran past him. A short while later, he saw a gang of dacoits. They approached him and asked him about the whereabouts of the persons they were following. Deeming utterance of truth to be priceless, Kauśika indicated where the people had gone. The dacoits resumed their pursuit and finally massacred them. Kṛṣṇa then explained that by virtue of his factual speech, Kauśika not only did not acquire merit, he incurred sin. The Lord said that in the circumstances, Kauśika should have remained silent. Alternatively, if his silence itself would have been a hint to the effect that the persons had run in that direction, he could have misled the dacoits.

Kṛṣṇa clarified to Arjuna that Yudhiṣṭhira was in great pain and had been humiliated by Karṇa. Karṇa had attacked Yudhiṣṭhira even after the latter had stopped fighting. Thus, Yudhiṣṭhira was in a sad plight when he censured Arjuna. Further, by his sharp words, he sought to exhort Arjuna to bring about the death of Karṇa, for he knew that Arjuna had the requisite capacity. The Lord explained that since Yudhiṣṭhira was a noble person who deserved to be venerated by Arjuna and since his words could be satisfactorily justified, it would be thoroughly improper for Arjuna to slay him; such an act would be a gross violation of ahimsā, which is paramount.

Arjuna requested Kṛṣṇa to unequivocally specify what he should do, for, on the one hand, it was wrong for him to assassinate Yudhiṣṭhira and, on the other, he had to fulfil his vow. The Lord said, “When extreme scorn is inflicted on a great, highly-respected person, he dies, as it were. The Atharva-Veda teaches that speaking disrespectfully to an august leader is tantamount to slaying him without extinguishing his life. Taking recourse to this scriptural pronouncement, fulfil your vow by insulting Yudhiṣṭhira. Thereafter, fall at his feet and seek his forgiveness. Being pious and understanding, he will excuse you.”

As instructed by Kṛṣṇa, Arjuna began to rudely reproach Yudhiṣṭhira. “You have escaped to this place that is far removed from the battlefield and are fully dependent for your safety on the prowess of your well-wishers. What a contrast there is between you and the heroic and powerful Bhīma! Unlike him, you are quite unfit to find fault with me. You are addicted to gambling. It is because of you that we lost our kingdom and had to face severe hardships,” said Arjuna.

As he finished his tirade, he was overcome with remorse. He again drew out his sword. Seemingly surprised, Kṛṣṇa queried, “What is the problem now?” Arjuna said that he intended to get rid of his body with which he had behaved in an unbecoming manner towards his elder brother who was truly worthy of being worshipped by him.

The Lord stopped him saying, “Think of how terrible it would have been if you had slain Yudhiṣṭhira. It was only to avoid that unrighteous act that you spoke rudely to him. Why, then, are you drowned in grief? You want to commit suicide but that is something that wise men never do. If you kill yourself, the sin you shall incur will be more than the sin that would have accrued to you had you assassinated your brother; you will experience overwhelming agony in hell. Self-glorification is on par with suicide. So, eulogize yourself and thereby commit the equivalent of the self-killing you intended to indulge in.”

Arjuna then began to boast, “With the sole exception of Lord Śiva, the wielder of the bow Pināka, there is none who is a match for me in archery. I can single-handedly destroy the entire world with its inhabitants. I was the one who earlier defeated the kings ruling in the various directions and made them subservient to you, O Yudhiṣṭhira. I have now destroyed half the Kaurava forces.” Having been saved by the Lord from the sins of breaking his vow, slaying Yudhiṣṭhira and committing suicide, Arjuna paid obeisance to his brother and begged to be forgiven.

Having propitiated Yudhiṣṭhira, Arjuna readied himself to return to battlefield. “My life is for doing what is pleasing to you,” he asserted. In the meantime, Yudhiṣṭhira, who had earlier listened silently to Arjuna’s stinging rebuke, became dejected and felt that he was despicable. He said, “I am a vile sinner who has caused all of you so much trouble. I deserve to be killed. Bhīma is fit to rule and should become the monarch, not I who am impotent. I shall depart for the forest.”

Yudhiṣṭhira got up from his cot to leave but Kṛṣṇa fell at his feet and pleaded, “Arjuna could not falsify his vow to kill anyone who asked him to give the Gāṇḍīva to another. Hence, in keeping with my advice, he spoke disrespectfully to you and thereby fulfilled his promise. We seek refuge in you. Prostrating before you, I beseech you to kindly forgive our transgressions. You desired the death of Karṇa. Today, he shall be slain and the earth shall drink his blood.”

Thoroughly appeased, Yudhiṣṭhira lifted Kṛṣṇa up and said to him, “Arjuna and I were deluded and would have drowned in the ocean of calamity and sorrow. You saved us. Your wisdom is the boat that enabled us to safely reach the shore.”

This episode of the Mahābhārata shows that while one must ever adhere to the truth, truthfulness has several subtle aspects. When issues are complex, one should rely upon the conduct and the advice of great people.

7. Vedic Chanting Should be Error-Free

A poor pundit had unmarried daughters. He was at a loss as to how he could find the money to get them married. A friend told him, “Musicians get handsome rewards.” Consequently, the desire to learn singing sprouted in his mind. He found out that to train his voice, he would have to practise singing for long. Hence, he sat under a tree at the outskirts of his village and practised singing. But what emerged from him was mere cacophony.

A ghost that had earlier been a musician inhabited that tree. It was not able to bear the pundit’s murder of music. So, it told him, “I am a music-knowing ghost. This tree is my home. Your cacophony is making it impossible for me to stay here. Go elsewhere.” The pundit replied, “Why should I go? I want to earn money and for that I want to become a songster by ardent practice. This is my chosen place for practice.”

The ghost said, “Since it is money that you want, I will tell you how you can get it. I shall possess the princess. The king will have his physicians attend to her. However, they will be unable to cure her. You seek the king’s audience. Tell him that the princess is possessed by a ghost and that you can exorcize it and cure her. With the king’s permission, go to the princess and sing there as you are doing now. I, who cannot bear your atrocious singing, will immediately leave the princess. She will get cured. The king will handsomely reward you. Thereafter, there will be no need for you to come here and kill music.”

The man agreed and the ghost’s plan was successfully executed by them. As a consequence, the man was able to get more than enough money to get his daughters married, while the ghost was able to live in peace on its tree. Just as the music-knowing ghost of the story was put off by the poor man’s cacophony, Vedic scholars feel ill at ease when someone chants the holy Vedic Mantras incorrectly in their presence.

While bad singing might exceptionally fetch rewards as illustrated in the tale, incorrect chanting of the Veda invariably results in sin accruing to the person who chants. Care must be taken to learn and chant the Veda correctly, without errors in either the words or the intonations. While there is no rule that a person should learn music, it is obligatory on a qualified man to learn Vedic Mantras from a teacher and to chant them correctly. By fulfilling this duty, the chanter acquires Puṇyam; by neglecting it, he incurs sin.

8. Parents and Children

There was a beautiful child whose parents were poor. A wealthy childless couple lived nearby. They approached the child’s parents and requested, “Please allow us to adopt your child.” The mother was hesitant. However, the father said, “We are poor and cannot afford to give our dear one good food, clothing or comforts. Our child will, after all, be living in the next house and so we can see it every day. It would be in the child’s interest for us to part with it.” Reluctantly, the mother agreed.

The child was given all comforts in its new home. However, with the passage of time, the rich couple forbade the child’s parents from coming to see it. The mother was taken aback and wept copiously. But what could the poor lady do except reconcile herself? One day, the rich man’s servant told her, “The child has small-pox and nobody is willing to go near it.” “Oh, my child!’ cried the mother, and rushing to the affluent man’s house, took her dear one in her arms.

The story shows that a mother’s love for her child is intense and unconditional. Parents strive for the welfare of their children. They put up with innumerable sufferings and inconveniences for the sake of their offspring. So, it is not surprising that the Veda declares, “Revere your mother as a god. Revere your father as a god.” Manu states that the mother is ten times more venerable than the father. In any case, it is impossible for a person to repay his debt of gratitude to either of his parents. Were he to be ungrateful to them, he would be committing a heinous sin for which there is no expiation.

The scriptures speak of the duties of a son towards his parents. When his parents are alive, he should obey them. After they have passed away, he should perform the śrāddha ceremony every year. The performance of śrāddha at least once at Gaya is deemed laudable.

A person wished to send some money to a relative living in another town. So, he went to the post-office and obtained a money-order form. Having filled it, he submitted it at the pertinent counter along with the money he wanted to give his relative. His money remained at the post-office but an equivalent amount of cash was delivered to his relative.

In a similar manner, by the power of God, what is offered by a man with faith at a properly-performed śrāddha ceremony reaches those for whom the offering is intended in a form beneficial to them, regardless of whether they dwell in the world of manes or have been reborn on the earth.

The śrāddha ceremony benefits the performer too, for he obtains much puṇya and the blessings of the manes. Were he to abstain from performing śrāddha, he would be guilty of giving up his scripturally-ordained duty and would incur sin.

Parents, for their part, should try to inculcate good habits and righteousness in their children.

9. Thankfulness

A man threatened to file a criminal complaint against a rich businessman for defrauding him and also causing injury to his subordinates due to negligence. The affluent man felt perturbed and discussed his problem in depth with a law-knowing friend. The friend told him that he was in for great trouble. He advised him to immediately engage a leading lawyer and also suggested the name of an advocate. The rich man promptly rang up the lawyer concerned and sought an appointment. He also briefly mentioned his problem. The lawyer told him that as he was leaving on a vacation in a couple of days, he was not in a position to take up the case. The affluent man pleaded but the lawyer was firm.

That evening, the advocate was surprised to find the rich man waiting at his house. The potential client pleaded so much that the lawyer finally told him, “Send the case details to my office tomorrow morning. I shall read the papers and then convey my decision about accepting or not accepting the case to you over the phone.” The next morning, when the advocate went to his office, he found the rich man there in person. After hearing the details of the problem and reading the pertinent documents, the advocate said, “Your position is pretty weak. Much preparatory work and reading need to be done to defend you. I am hard pressed for time and also plan to leave tomorrow on a holiday. So, I suggest that you contact some other lawyer.” “Please do not refuse me,” begged the rich man. “I have come to you for succour as did Vibhīṣaṇa to Rāma. I am counting on you. Kindly do not let me down. No matter what your fees and other expenses in connection with the case may be, I am ready to pay. Money is no criterion.” Moved by the entreaties of the man, the advocate decided to cancel his vacation and take up the man’s case. Soon, a warrant of arrest was issued against the rich man. He promptly rang up his lawyer and, breaking into sobs, stuttered, “Help me! I will die of misery if I have to spend even 24 hours in confinement.” The lawyer effectively rebutted the points raised by the prosecution against his release and persuaded the judge to grant him bail. After his release, his friend told him that his lawyer had been very forceful. However, the man was not particularly thankful and said, “Perhaps, getting me out on bail was, in any case, a simple task.”

The main case soon came up for hearing. The lawyer conducted the defence in a brilliant manner. Further, for reasons unknown to the prosecution, its main witness went back on what he had told the police. So, the man was acquitted. He perfunctorily thanked his lawyer and, full of joy, went out to celebrate. That evening, when he was relaxing at his house, his servant received a phone call and informed him that his lawyer wished to speak to him. He, however, asked his servant to convey that he had gone out. The lawyer left a message asking him to call back. The rich man did not bother to do so. Instead, the next day, he left on a holiday.

When he returned, he received a bill from the lawyer. Summoning his secretary, he told the man to meet the lawyer and to somehow get the fees reduced to the extent possible. The secretary did as he was told. Disgusted with the haggling of the secretary, the lawyer said, “I am sick with him. I should never have taken up his case. Let him pay what he wants or nothing at all.” The rich man then paid only about 50 percent of what he was required to.

His friend, who had recommended the lawyer to him, said, “Earlier, you waited at his house and office and pleaded with him to help you. You even said that you had come to him for succour as Vibhīṣaṇa had approached Rāma. Yet, having won the case, you not only did not go to see him but even avoided his phone call. You earlier said that money is no criterion. Now, you are unwilling to pay even the modest bill received by you. Are you not ashamed of yourself?” The rich man nonchalantly replied, “There is nothing for me to be ashamed of. Actually, the case against me was weak. The lawyer’s role was inconsequential. So, why should I pay him much? Do not refer to Vibhīṣaṇa and Rāma in the present context for, unlike this lawyer, Rāma did not present Vibhīṣaṇa a bill for granting him protection. It is only because of his love of money that this advocate cancelled his vacation and took up my case. He has done me no favour whatsoever.”

There are people who behave even with regard to God the way the rich man did towards his lawyer.

Once, a villager had climbed to the top of a palm tree situated at some distance from his village when he heard the growl of a tiger. He then saw the tiger walking up to the base of the tree, sitting down there and looking up. He was feeling quite uncomfortable on the tree and knew that he could not remain there for long. So, in an attempt to drive away the tiger, he waved his hand and shouted at it. The tiger growled in response.

Fearful of life, the man prayed to his favourite deity, “O goddess, if I emerge from this ordeal unhurt and reach home safe, I shall sacrifice a goat to you.” After this, the man saw the tiger slowly rise and begin to walk away from him. Gaining some courage, he climbed down a little.

He looked down again and found that the tiger was no longer nearby and was continuing to move further away. His fear came down. He thought, “I will have to spend hundreds of rupees to purchase a goat to sacrifice. People offer the goddess not only goats but also hens. A hen is far cheaper than a goat. So, why not I immolate one?” Hence, he mentally conveyed to the goddess, “I shall offer you a hen instead of a goat.” He then began to move down further.

When his descent was more than half complete, he took a look around and noticed that the tiger was not visible. His fear decreased even further. He reflected, “Even a hen is costly. So, why not I sacrifice another animal that is somewhat of the same size as a hen?” Consequently, he told the goddess that he would immolate a bandicoot. He soon reached the ground. He looked around and found the tiger to be nowhere around. He thought, “It is true that it doesn’t cost me anything to trap a bandicoot and kill it. However, it is difficult to catch a bandicoot. My goddess has saved my life. As a quid pro quo, I should offer her a life. It is not necessary that I sacrifice only a bandicoot; any living creature will do.” Deciding thus, he picked up a small crab that was on the ground and crushed it. He felt satisfied that he had fulfilled his promise to his goddess and went home, quite happy with what he had done and glad to be safe.

People normally seek human or divine help when in trouble. The tendency to ignore or forget a benefactor once one’s problem has ceased is wrong and must be countered. Ingratitude is a sin that has no expiation. A true devotee’s mind is centred on God regardless of whether all is fine or whether he is in deep trouble. Kunti, it is said in the Bhāgavata, went to the extent of requesting Kṛṣṇa, “O Teacher of the world, let calamity always befall us for, when You come to our aid, we will have Your transmigration-effacing vision.” In the Rāmāyaṇa, it is said, “By virtue of His self-control, Rāma does not recall even a century of wrongs done to Him but is satiated even with a single favour done to Him.

10. Benefits of Charity

People think that wealth will give them great happiness and the fulfilment of desires. For the sake of wealth, a person goes to the extent of doing what is improper. He does not feel inclined to give the Government what is due to it. So, it becomes necessary for him to prepare a false account. On getting caught, he pays a bribe to save his skin. He feels that, somehow, he must amass more and more money. But then, there crops up the problem of where he is to keep it. There would be a tax problem if he were to deposit in a bank. Therefore, he is forced to keep it in a box, lock it and ensure that the box remains in a safe place. When he performs sandhyā-vandana, the thought of the box comes to his mind. When he sits for the worship of God, again, the thought of the box crops up in his mind. When does he finally become freed from this thought? Only on the day he dies and departs. His zealously-guarded wealth then completely passes to others without his knowledge.

Such a man would have loved to take his wealth with him to the next world. He might have thought, “I have somehow earned money and so far kept it with me. I do not at all want to part with it even after death. If possible, I would like to place it on my head and carry it with me.” To such a person, Nīlakaṇṭha-dīkṣita has given a humorous but valuable advice. He has said, “If you desire to take your wealth with you after death, then donate it, while you are alive, to a good, deserving person. What will happen if that is done? The wealth will get transformed into puṇya. Regardless of whether or not you have a head after death, it is certain that the wealth will accompany you in the form of puṇya.”

The scriptures prescribe the giving of gifts to the deserving as an antidote for greed. So, charity, apart from bringing about happiness in others, greatly conduces to the spiritual well-being of the donor. A person who loses some money feels unhappy. But he feels happy, not sad, when he voluntarily gives the same amount to a poor student who is not in a position to pay examination fees. Charity can thus make not only the receiver but also the donor happy.

11. Charity in Keeping with Capacity

A person was advised by a holy man to gift a vegetable a day and told that he would attain great merit by doing so. The poor man strictly followed the advice. After death, he was reborn in a royal family and grew up to become a king. He was able to recall what he had done in his past birth. So, he continued to gift a vegetable a day. Surprisingly, after death, he was reborn as a beggar. The man was unable to comprehend the reason and so sought the advice of the holy man who had earlier blessed him.

From the sage, he learnt that prior to becoming a king, he had been very poor and so a gift of a vegetable a day was sufficient to give him a lot of virtue. On the other hand, as a king, he was endowed with affluence. So, thereafter, the gift of just a vegetable a day was quite insufficient to earn him merit of any consequence. The person realized that the extent of charity needed to earn a certain degree of merit depends upon one’s financial capacity to give.

12. Lord Rāma and the Profundity of Dharma

The śāstras declare that one must obey one’s parents. However, a complex situation arises when the instructions of one’s father and mother are antithetical. Then, obedience to the father entails disobedience to the mother and vice versa. Lord Rāma Himself had to face such a situation. His resolution of the moral dilemma is instructive.

On learning of Daśaratha’s intention to install Rāma as prince regent, Kaikeyī’s maid Mantharā poisoned the queen’s mind against Rāma. So, when Daśaratha went to see her, Kaikeyī asked him to make a solemn vow to the effect that he would fulfil her keen desire. The unsuspecting emperor obliged. Kaikeyī then called upon the Devas to bear witness to her husband’s oath. Invoking the two boons that Daśaratha had offered her on an earlier occasion, she demanded that Bharata be installed as prince regent and that Rāma be sent away to the forest for 14 years. Shocked, Daśaratha pleaded with her to change her mind and even fell at her feet. But she refused to relent. Though he loved Rāma very dearly, being a man of his word, Daśaratha was unable to turn down Kaikeyī’s demand. So he sent for Rāma.

When Rāma came to His father’s chamber, He found the king grief-stricken. When He sought to know the reason, Kaikeyī told Him about the emperor’s promise and of the boons that she had sought from him. Rāma assured her that He would definitely proceed to the forest and spend 14 years there. He said that even if He had been commanded just by her, He would have gladly parted with the kingdom in favour of Bharata. “How much more gladly,” said He, “shall I part with it when commanded by My father and that too with the intention of pleasing you and for honouring the pledge given by him.” Such being the case, stated Rāma, He felt upset that instead of personally telling Him about Bharata’s installation, the emperor gently shed tears, with his eyes riveted on the ground. He told Kaikeyī that as His mother, she had greater authority over Him than His father. He presumed that she did not see any trace of virtue in Him and hence felt the need to approach His father instead of commanding Him on her own. He assured her that He would leave for the forest on that very day after taking leave of Kausalyā.

He then proceeded to see His mother. She was, at that time, engaged in her morning worship. On seeing Him, she warmly embraced Him. As gently as possible, He told her what had transpired. But she immediately fell down unconscious. On regaining her senses, she expressed her anger at the turn of events. She told Him, “Just as Your father is venerable to You, so am I, Your mother. Further, I have been diligently discharging my duties as a mother and am extremely fond of You. You should not go to the forest. I refuse to grant You leave. Remain here and practise dharma by serving me. Attending upon the mother is deemed to be most virtuous.

“A son of the Sage Kaśyapa stayed on at home, engaged in the service of his mother. As a consequence, the disciplined tapasvin ascended, after death, to heaven and attained the position of Prajāpati, the Lord of creation. Emulate this example. A single hour in Your company means more to me than mastery over all living beings. On the other hand, if You leave me and go, I shall be plunged into unbearable sorrow. In fact, I shall take a vow of fasting unto death. Were You to depart, the onus of my suffering and death shall be upon You and You shall incur great sin. Samudra inflicted suffering upon his own mother. Hence, he had to suffer hellish tortures. Do not go his way.” Since Kausalyā explicitly forbade Rāma from going to the forest, the Lord was forced to deal with contradictory commands from His mother and father.

Rāma told her that Daśaratha had offered Kaikeyī two boons and so had to grant them. Though what Kaikeyī had asked Daśaratha hurt him intensely, and though he loved Rāma extremely, still it was because he was an unswerving adherent of the truth that he had acquiesced to Kaikeyī. Thus, Daśaratha’s act was in conformity with dharma.

A son was duty-bound to obey his father. There were instances of great persons acting in accordance with the instructions of their father even when the directives were inappropriate. For example, Sage Kaṇḍu killed a cow in deference to his father’s command even though he knew it to be a sin. Likewise, in obedience to the order of his father Jamadagni, Paraśurāma killed his own mother Reṇuka who had entertained lustful thoughts on seeing king Chitraratha. In the present case, the command of Daśaratha was righteous and so there was all the more reason for Him, as a son, to obey it.

Rāma went on to explain to Kausalyā that her directive was not correct. As Daśaratha’s wife, she ought to be his companion in the path of righteousness. It was wrong for her to thwart her husband’s adherence to dharma. Further, Daśaratha was the emperor. His subjects were duty-bound to obey him. So, his directives had to be respected not only by Him but also by her.

Rāma thus explained that while His father’s command conformed to dharma, His mother’s directive did not, and that in the present case, the right course of action for Him was to obey His father and go to the forest.

He requested Kausalyā to await His return. On hearing Rāma’s explanation, she agreed with Him. She, however, wished to accompany Him to the forest. He told her that it was not right for her to disregard her righteous, aged husband and live with Him, her son. Further, Daśaratha was already suffering much because of His impending departure and was feeling miserable at being betrayed by Kaikeyī. It would be downright cruel for her to leave him at this stage because his grief would then be too much for him to endure.

Kausalyā appreciated what Rāma had to say and finally gave Him her complete blessings. She said, “My son, depart with an unswerving mind. May dharma, which You scrupulously observe, protect You. May You live long protected by Your truthfulness. And by virtue of the service You have done to Your father and mother, may the Devas ever bestow happiness on You as You roam about in the forest. I shall happily behold Your return to Ayodhyā.” Having received His mother’s blessings, Rāma prostrated before her and took leave of her.

Ahimsā is highly eulogized. A person is advised not to harm even one who is inimical. Obviously, he ought not to injure one who bears no ill-will towards him. Does that mean that a strong man should be a passive spectator to violence perpetuated by evil persons against those who are harmless and unprotected? Rāma had to tackle a question of this kind.

After Rāma’s departure to the forest from Ayodhyā, on an occasion, He visited the āśrama of Śarabhaṅga. The sage honoured Him and then ascended to the realm of Brahma. The hosts of sages assembled there approached Rāma. They told Him that rākṣasas were obstructing their rituals and austerities and were also killing many of them. They did not want to curse the ogres to save themselves, as they would be thereby wasting their tapas. They beseeched Rāma to protect them from their tormentors. Rāma told them that they ought to command Him rather than make a request to Him. He assured them that He would slay the troublesome rākṣasas.

Thereafter, as had been suggested by Sage Śarabhaṅga, Rāma went to the hermitage of Sage Sutīkṣṇa and spent the night there. Then, Rāma, Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa headed towards the Daṇḍaka Forest. Sītā expressed to Rāma Her misgivings about His resolve to kill the rākṣasas. She told Him that it was terrible for a man to be cruel to one who bears no enmity towards him. She stated that the ogres had done Him no harm and so He was not justified in attacking them. Further, wielding of weapons was incompatible with forest-life. If He wished, He could don the role of a warrior after His return to Ayodhyā.

She told Him that by His taking up arms, there was a possibility of His misusing them. She cited the story of a truthful and pious ascetic who dwelt in a forest. Indra wanted to obstruct the sage’s tapas. So, he assumed the guise of a warrior with a sword. The warrior came to the sage and, depositing his sword with the ascetic, requested him to take care of it. The warrior then went away. The sage felt it was his duty to pay attention to the sword and see that it was not stolen. So, he began to take it with him even when he went to pluck fruits. In the course of time, he began to use the sword that he was carrying. Gradually, he became cruel and turned away from austerities. As a consequence of his cruelty, he went to hell.

Sītā emphasized that Rāma was so well-acquainted with dharma that none was really capable of teaching Him. Because of Her holding Him in high esteem, She was not making any effort whatsoever to instruct Him. However, because of Her great affection for Him, She did not want that He should ever err in any way. Hence, She was reminding Him about the dharma that He already knew.

Rāma appreciated Her concern. He told Her that it was the duty of a kṣatriya to protect those who were suffering and that it was for that purpose that they wielded weapons. Harmless sages were being troubled and killed by the rākṣasas. So, it was His duty to save them by combating the ogres. Moreover, the sages had sought His protection. It was incumbent upon Him to provide succour to those who sought refuge in Him. Also, in response to their appeal, He had promised them full protection. Truth being extremely dear to Him, He could give up His life but not a promise, especially one made to the holy sages. Having heard Rāma’s explanation, Sītā’s misgivings ceased.

A related episode pertains to the killing of Vāli. In the course of their search for Sītā who had been abducted by Rāvaṇa, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa encountered a demon named Kabandha. From Kabandha, they learnt that, to find Sītā, they should first approach Sugrīva, the monkey-chief who lived on Ṛṣyamūkha, the mountain adorned with the catchment of Pampā Lake. So, the brothers proceeded there. They were met by Hanumān who enquired about the details of their life. He then reported the arrival of Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa to Sugrīva. Sugrīva gladly approached them and offered his hand of friendship to Rāma. Rāma and Sugrīva solemnized their bond of friendship in the presence of fire. Sugrīva lamented that he was suffering much because of his brother Vāli. He explained that when his father died, his brother, the valorous Vāli, was crowned king. Thereafter, Sugrīva lived with Vāli, respecting and obeying his brother.

One night, a demon named Māyāvi came to the outskirts of the town and challenged Vāli to a fight. Vāli immediately rushed out, accompanied by Sugrīva. When Māyāvi saw both the brothers standing boldly, he took to his heels. Vāli and Sugrīva chased him. After some time, he ran into a hole in the ground. Vāli decided to follow him. Sugrīva wished to accompany Vāli but was ordered by his brother to stand guard at the entrance of the hole till he returned. Vāli went inside and Sugrīva heard the roar of his brother. He waited there for one full year but Vāli did not come out. Sugrīva then observed a stream of blood flowing out. He heard the sound of the demon but not the roar of his brother. Presuming his brother dead, he blocked the entrance of the hole with a big rock and returned to Kiṣkindhā. There, the ministers crowned him king.

After some time, to his delight, Vāli returned. Sugrīva explained the situation to him and readily offered the throne back to his brother. However, Vāli was very furious with Sugrīva and accused him of betraying him. He drove him out of the capital and also usurped Sugrīva’s wife for his own enjoyment. Sugrīva escaped to the Rishyamūkha Mountain, which Vāli could not approach because of a curse that he had received. Sugrīva implored Rāma to kill Vāli and save him. Rāma readily agreed to do so. Sugrīva then tested Rāma’s might by subjecting Him to two tests. Thereafter, he gained full confidence in Rāma.

Rāma told him to fight with Vāli, adding that He would do the needful. However, when Rāma saw Vāli and Sugrīva engaged in combat, He found that they looked so much alike that He was unable to identify Sugrīva. He did not discharge an arrow to kill Vāli, lest the one He strike down be Sugrīva. Injured, Sugrīva ran away. Rāma explained to him the reason why He had not acted and asked him to again challenge Vāli. Lakṣmaṇa put a garland of flowers upon him to serve as a mark of identification. Sugrīva returned to Vāli’s fort and roared out a challenge. Vāli was about to rush out when his wife Tārā restrained him. She told him that the very fact that Sugrīva had returned so quickly after having been severely mauled implied that he had found an ally. She had learnt from the spies who had reported to their son Angada that two Ikṣvāku princes named Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa were in the region. She suspected that Sugrīva must have sought the friendship of Rāma. She told Vāli that as per the data she had received, Rāma was equal in might to Indra, the Lord of devās, and was extremely righteous. She advised Vāli to desist from fighting with Sugrīva and to patch up with him.

Vāli did not pay heed to her advice and said that if Rāma was so righteous, He would have no occasion to attack him. He emerged from his palace to fight with Sugrīva. The two brothers engaged in a very severe combat. Gradually, Sugrīva began to lose ground and was about to be overpowered. At that juncture, Rāma shot an arrow and severely wounded Vāli. Vāli, however, did not die immediately by virtue of the power of a gold chain gifted by Indra that he wore. He lay mortally wounded on the ground.

Addressing Rāma, he said, “I have done You no harm, nor have I committed any offence in Your kingdom. So, You did wrong in striking me. If You had wanted to attack me, You should have challenged me to a duel and fought with me. Instead, You injured me while I was engaged in combat with another. From what I have heard about You, I believed that You are fully endowed with virtues such as forgiveness, righteousness, valour and meting out punishment only to evil-doers. I also took into consideration Your excellent pedigree. That is why, though I was warned by Tārā, I came out to fight Sugrīva with the full confidence that You would never stoop so low as to strike me while I battled my brother. Now, I realize that though putting on an appearance of being virtuous, You are quite sinful.

“Monkeys such as I dwell in forests and subsist on fruits and roots, while men such as You dwell in towns and require different kinds of cooked food. So, what ground is there for any animosity between us? Men hunt animals for their flesh and skin. However, it is forbidden for a kṣatriya to eat the flesh of a monkey. Further, it is not permissible for noble people to wear the skin of a simian or use its skin and bones. Hence, there is no justification for You even to hunt me as an animal.

“Instead of obliging Sugrīva in the hope of recovering Your wife, You could have approached me. Regardless of whether Your wife has been held captive on an island or below the ground, I would have brought Her back to You in a single day. I would have also tied Rāvaṇa and delivered him to You.

“It would have been appropriate for Sugrīva to ascend the throne only after my death in the normal course. Now, however, for his sake, You have sinfully inflicted a mortal wound on me. What justification do You have for Your action?”

Rāma gave a detailed reply to the objections. He said, “This land too falls under the jurisdiction of the kings of Ikṣvāku Dynasty, for their ancestor Manu bequeathed it to them. The country is now ruled by emperor Bharata who is extraordinarily virtuous. He and his representatives are dedicated to upholding the paramount kingly duty of duly chastising evil-doers.

“As per the dictates of dharma, a younger brother and a virtuous pupil are like one’s own son. Sugrīva is your younger brother. Yet, though he was blameless, you behaved very unfairly with him and drove him out of Kiṣkindhā. His wedded wife Rumā is your virtual daughter-in-law. Yet, you took possession of her and, blinded by lust, have been cohabiting with her. Hence, you are guilty of a heinous crime. Death is the punishment ordained for a man who lustfully associates with his daughter, sister or his younger brother’s wife. Acting as a royal Kṣatriya who is a representative of king Bharata here, I have awarded you that very punishment.

“At the time when My irrevocable friendship with Sugrīva was solemnized, I gave My word, in the presence of other monkeys, that I would get back for him his wife and his sovereignty. How could a man like Me ever allow a promise to remain unhonoured? This too is a reason for My striking you.

“You complained that you were struck when engaged in combat with your brother. Remember that you are only a monkey. It is not a practice of men to challenge an animal to a fight and only then to kill it. A hunter, for example, kills a deer regardless of whether it is attentive or careless and regardless of whether it faces him or away from him. You being a monkey, it is irrelevant whether you were fighting someone or not when you were pierced by My arrow.

“In a pair of verses accepted as authoritative by those versed in dharma, Manu has declared, ‘Men who have perpetuated sins become free from faults on being punished by kings and ascend to heaven like those who have performed virtuous deeds. A thief gets absolutely freed from sins either through punishment or by being pardoned and allowed to go free. However, a king who does not punish a sinner incurs that man’s sin.’ You had committed a terrible sin. By punishing you, I have freed you from that sin. Now you can ascend to heaven.”

Vāli was fully satisfied with Rāma’s explanation. With joined palms, he told Rāma, “What You have said is absolutely correct. Forgive me for the unbecoming and harsh words I uttered by mistake.” He then beseeched Rāma to protect his young son Angada and to establish the best of relationships between Sugrīva and Angada. Rāma benevolently granted his request.

13. Though Unseen, God Exists

A boy refused to believe the existence of anything that he could not see, inclusive of air. His father pointed to the fluttering leaves of a tree and said, “See the role of air, which you deny.” “You are showing me the leaves, not the air. Where is air?” retorted the boy. The father quickly pressed shut the boy’s nostrils and mouth. Experiencing suffocation, the boy struggled to free himself. In less than a minute, the father released him. “You blocked my breathing. It hurt,” protested the boy. The father queried, “What is it you wanted to breathe in?” “Air,” said the boy, conceding its existence.

Imperceptibility does not always imply non-existence. God, like air, cannot be grasped by the eye but certainly exists. It is He who originates, sustains and annihilates the cosmos.

14. Atheist in a Quandary

A minister, who was an atheist but had great regard for me, came to see me. During his conversation with me, he commented, “Our ancients were very wise indeed. Long ago, people were discharging their duties properly. Though some of them might have erred, generally speaking, policemen were not required in large numbers to maintain law and order. The reason was that people had faith in Īśvara and the śāstras. Consequently, they feared His punishment. Nowadays, people like me proclaim that God does not exist and that dharma is meaningless. We thought that people would be captivated by such rhetoric and that they would be guided by us. However, our scheme backfired. People fear none now and heedlessly violate the law of the land. They give very little importance to ethics. We eliminated God from the scene but could not get a suitable replacement to ensure discipline. I feel that the ancients wisely conceived a God and propagated what they had imagined.”

As can be seen, even an atheist will do well not to deny God!

15. God’s Merciful Justice

One day, when Rāma and Sītā were dwelling on the north-eastern base of the Chitrakūṭa Mountain, not far from the Gaṅgā, a crow pecked at Sītā. The vicious crow was actually Indra’s son. She sought to drive the bird away by hurling a clod of mud at it but it defiantly remained in Her vicinity. Sometime later, while Rāma slept on Her lap, the wicked bird sharply attacked Her breast. Again and again, it tore at Her bosom. Her blood wet Rāma. She woke up Rāma and, on seeing Her injured chest, He demanded to know who was responsible for it. He then himself beheld the crow in front of Sītā, with its talons stained with blood. The bird quickly hid itself in the ground.

Angry, Rāma invoked the brahmāstra in a blade of darba-grass and hurled it at the hidden son of Indra. The bird flew as swiftly as it could all over the world but was unable to shake off the missile. Indra, the Devas and the sages refused succour. So finally, it sought refuge in Rāma. Though the crow deserved to be killed, Rāma compassionately offered it protection. He told the bird, which had arrived helpless, “The Brahmāstra cannot be rendered futile. Hence, you yourself suggest a way out.” The crow replied, “Let Your arrow destroy my right eye.” Rāma acceded to its plea and hence the astra blinded its right eye but spared its life.

Rāma thus meted out justice and yet exhibited great compassion. It is noteworthy that mercy did not cause Rāma to reduce the death penalty to some unjustly minuscule punishment such as the loss of a single feather. The heinous act of Indra’s son is an example of the saying, “He who is in the grip of lust neither feels ashamed of himself nor fears the consequences of his behaviour. Such is the ruinous nature of lust.”

There was a judge whose misguided compassion caused him to pardon even hardened criminals. He felt that as a votary of ahimsā, he ought not to subject even murderers and rapists to the prolonged suffering of life imprisonment or deprive them of their lives. On an occasion, a man who was guilty of repeated, armed robbery and murder was brought before him. The prosecution’s case against the man was iron clad. Yet, the judge ruled that the prosecution had not established its case beyond reasonable doubt and set the man free with a warning. The unrepentant criminal did not waste much time before commencing his despicable acts.

A few days later, he broke into the judge’s house itself. He managed to open the safe containing valuables. As he was getting ready to decamp with his loot, the judge’s wife, who had been awakened by sounds, saw him and tried to raise an alarm. Without a moment’s hesitation, the dacoit strangled her to death and escaped. All this would not have happened if the judge had not discarded justice in favour of his thoroughly misguided compassion.

No physical, verbal or mental sin committed by a person either in this or an earlier birth fails to fructify in the form of suffering experienced by the doer. Scripturally-prohibited behaviour indulged in this birth often yields its consequence only in a future birth and so some mistakenly imagine that God lets off wrong-doers. The current prosperity of a debased individual stems from his puṇya of an earlier birth and is like the inherited property of a wastrel. God, being just, awards punishment to a sinner but, being compassionate, mitigates the suffering awarded to a penitent man to the maximum extent possible without making a travesty of justice. His functioning is not foolish like that of the judge of the example considered. Just as repentant first-time wrong-doers are looked upon leniently by judges but unrepentant, habitual offenders are severely punished by them, God is lenient towards those who unknowingly commit a misdeed on multiple occasions or knowingly commit it once but comes down hard on those who knowingly and repeatedly sin.

It is said, “The sin of an earlier birth troubles the doer in the form of disease in the present birth. It is neutralized by recourse to medicines, gifts, sacred recitation, homas and worship of God.” Further, “There is expiation for a sin committed unknowingly or once with knowledge. However, what remedy is there for a misdeed repeatedly performed with attention?” While a person may be able to escape the arm of the law of the land, he cannot ever escape God’s law of Karma. Justice and compassion find perfect consummation in God.

16. Jīva, the Reflection, and God, the Prototype

A foolish person looked at a mirror and saw a clear reflection of his face. He found it to be ugly. He mused over the possible reason. He noticed that the reflection had a blank forehead; there was no tilaka on it. His aesthetic sense induced him to apply vermilion on the reflection’s forehead. But when doing so, he moved his face slightly. Consequently, the vermilion spot went out of alignment. He tried to re-position the vermilion over the reflection’s forehead but again failed. After several such failures, the foolish man realized that it was impossible to directly beautify the image. He then applied tilaka on his own forehead and was pleasantly surprised that it immediately appeared on the image at the right place.

To improve the reflection, it is necessary to adorn the original face. Likewise, if we seek happiness, we should worship God. This is because a relation between God and the Jīva, the individual soul, as postulated by the scriptures, is that between a face and its reflection. The mind is a servant of the Jīva. A serf’s duty is to please his master. How is the mind to please its master, the Jīva? If it directly strives for the welfare of its lord, its efforts will be futile; they would be on par with the fool’s attempt to directly beautify his reflection. However, if it were to direct itself towards Īśvara, joy would accrue to its master. Bhagavatpāda has charmingly elucidated this point in a verse addressed to Lord Narasiṁha.

17. Anyone Can Tread the Path of Devotion

In order to tread the path of devotion, is any special qualification a sine-qua-non? This is an oft-raised query. A popular verse supplies the reply in the form of rhetorical questions.

The verse commences with the rhetorical query, “What was Dharmavyādha’s profession?” Dharmavyādha was a butcher. He carried on his duties without any attachment and dutifully served his parents. As a result of this, he was recognized as a great follower of dharma. The Mahābhārata contains a story about him.

A certain brahmacārin, by virtue of his penance, acquired some powers. A bird innocently put its droppings on his head. The celibate looked up enraged and the bird was reduced to ashes. Puffed with conceit at the spontaneous manifestation of his supernatural ability, he proceeded for bhikṣā. He went to a house and begged for food. The lady of the house asked him to tarry a while as she was serving her husband. This infuriated the brahmacārin. However, the lady calmly replied, “I am no bird to be burnt up by you.”

The continent one was amazed that the lady knew about the incident. Humbled, he sought her guidance. She directed him to Dharmavyādha who gave him detailed instructions. The teaching was particularly pertinent to the brahmacārin, who had ignored his obligation to his father and mother. Dharmavyādha was greatly blessed by the Lord, though his profession was deprecated by many. Thus, one’s profession poses no restriction for treading the path of devotion.

The next consideration is age. Should one be of a prescribed age to be a devotee? The verse under consideration asks, “What was Dhruva’s age?” Dhruva’s father Uttānapāda had two wives. Dhruva’s stepmother Suruci did not like him. Once, when he wished to sit on his father’s lap, his desire was frustrated because Suruci wanted Uttānapāda to fondle her child. Weeping, he went to his mother Sunīti. Unfortunately, Sunīti was not in a position to help him. She asked him to pray to the Lord.

With determination in his heart, Dhruva retired to a forest. Sage Nārada saw the boy and, being immensely pleased with him, initiated him into the worship of Lord Nārāyaṇa. Dhruva sat absorbed in meditation. So pleased was the Lord with his love that He manifested before him and declared that he would earn the love of his father, and later become a great king. The Lord continued that after his death, he would constantly abide in the firmament as the pole star. Since Dhruva was a young boy when he obtained a vision of the Lord, it is clear that there are no age restrictions for treading the path of devotion.

Is great scholarliness needed? The verse asks, “What was the learning of Gajendra?” Gajendra was an elephant who lived with his wives. He was a great devotee of the Lord. One day, a crocodile grasped his foot with its jaws. A great struggle ensued between the two. The crocodile gradually gained the upper hand. Despairing for life, Gajendra called out to the Lord to save him. Lord Viṣṇu rushed to the spot, slayed the crocodile and liberated Gajendra. Gajendra, an uneducated elephant, was thus able to acquire the grace of the Lord. Hence, absence of learning is no bar for devotion.

Should one be high-born? Is it necessary that one should only be a Brahmin in order to gain the grace of the Lord? The verse asks, “What was Vidura’s caste?” Vidura was born to a servant-maid. As such, he was not a high-caste individual. When Lord Kṛṣṇa came to Hastināpura as an envoy of the Pāṇḍavas, He chose to stay, not in the royal palaces offered to him by the Kaurava princes, but in Vidura’s house. This shows that the Lord does not regard low caste as any bar for resorting to and succeeding in the path of devotion.

Maybe factors such as profession, age, learning and caste do not matter. But could it be that great grit and manliness are essential? The verse asks, “What was Ugrasena’s manliness?” Ugrasena was Kamsa’s father. The demon Kamsa had imprisoned his father and usurped power. Kamsa’s nephew was none other than Lord Kṛṣṇa. When He was brought to Mathura, He killed Kamsa in a duel and restored Ugrasena to the throne. Thus, even one who was lacking in prowess was graced by the Lord.

Is physical charm something that captivates the Lord’s attention? “Was Kubjā a bewitching damsel?” is the counter-query contained in the verse. When Lord Kṛṣṇa arrived at Mathurā, a hunchbacked woman, who was certainly no belle, offered scents to Him. The Lord was satisfied and blessed her. Her deformity gave way to beauty. Thus, absence of a delightful appearance does not preclude the reception of Īśvara’s grace.

People are often pleased by affluence. Is the Lord too like that? The counter-question in the verse is, “Did Sudāma have great wealth?” Sudāma was a boyhood friend of Lord Kṛṣṇa. They studied together and later parted, Kṛṣṇa becoming a royal prince and Sudāma a devoted Brahmin householder. Sudāma suffered intensely on account of his poverty. However, he bore it with great fortitude. Unable to withstand the problems of penury, his wife requested him to go and see his friend, Lord Kṛṣṇa. Overjoyed at the thought of meeting his beloved friend, he consented.

His wife gave him some puffed rice. Sudāma went and met Lord Kṛṣṇa. The Lord received him with due honour. Sudāma felt ashamed to offer the puffed rice he had brought. But Lord Kṛṣṇa was quick to notice it and asked for it. The Lord began eating it. After some time, His consort Rukmiṇī stopped him. When Sudāma returned, he found a palatial mansion at the location of his old, dilapidated house. He saw that his wife and children were expensively clad. He realized that it was the Lord who had made him affluent. It is clear that the Lord ignores factors such as richness.

What is God concerned with? He considers only devotion. Where there is devotion, He is satisfied. It follows that there are no specific qualifications needed for treading the path of devotion.

18. Forms of God

A person was on his way to his place of work, wearing a shirt, trousers and a tie. A friend tapped him on the shoulder and said, “I am really glad to see that you are dressy. This is the type of dress that is needed for you to be successful as a sales representative.” The man came home in the evening, changed into a Dhoti and sat down to chant the Viṣṇusahasranāma. A friend who dropped in just then remarked, “It is true that while going to work, you have to dress like an Englishman. But it is this dress that suits you. I prefer to see you like this.”

The story reveals that a person, when attired differently, pleases different people. God is formless but, for the sake of His devotees, He assumes different forms. The Purāṇas describe numerous manifestations of the Lord. The scripturally-described forms of Śiva, Viṣṇu, etc., do have implicit meanings.

For instance, Śiva has ten hands. The ten hands denote the ten directions, inclusive of top and bottom, and convey the omnipresence of God. Śiva is well-known as the three-eyed one. The sun, moon and fire constitute these eyes. He has the crescent moon in His crest. This moon stands for knowledge. Śiva’s wearing it in his matted locks is a pointer to the Lord being endowed with pure knowledge. “God is omniscient, omnipotent and omnipresent and there is naught but Him,” is a common inner meaning of the descriptions in the Purānās.

19. Light on Idol Worship

A person purchased a mud idol of Vināyaka and began worshipping it on Vināyaka-caturthī. At the end of three days of pūjā, he carried the idol and immersed it in a river. This was seen by a friend of his who had hardly any knowledge of idol worship and was puzzled by what he saw.

Friend: You were worshipping the idol with great faith. Yet, now, you have thrown it into the river. Why?

Worshipper: Originally, the idol had no sanctity and was just a beautifully-shaped piece of mud. Then, at the commencement of worship on Vināyaka-caturthī day, I duly invoked Lord Gaṇeśa into it. Thereafter, it became sacred. Treating it as the Lord Himself, I performed pūjā to it. At the end of the stipulated period of worship, I requested the Lord to withdraw His special presence in it. The idol lost its sanctity and became just a piece of mud. It was that mud piece which I immersed into the river.

Friend: How is it possible for a mere piece of mud to become holy and to then revert to its original state? Further, how can a devotee have the capacity to effect such transformations?

Worshipper: Consider an example. There is an ordinary man with whom we are all familiar. We are able to meet him whenever we wish. If he desires to see a high-ranking government official, he has to struggle to get an appointment. At the suggestion of people like us, he contests an election and, because of our votes, wins.

He then gets appointed as a minister. Thereafter, if we want to see him, we have to fix up an appointment. The very officials whom he had difficulty in meeting, now come to him and carry out his orders. He is provided with security and good accommodation. After his tenure as minister, he contests an election again. This time, the people do not vote for him as before and hence he loses. Thereafter, as before, he becomes a common man. The special privileges and the authority of a minister are not his any longer.

People like us, by our votes, cause this ordinary man to become a minister and then we revert him to his earlier state. Likewise, in response to the devotee’s āvāhana, invocation, the Lord specially graces an idol and the idol then becomes holy. Having accepted the devotee’s worship, the Lord withdraws His special presence in response to the devotee’s request; the idol loses its sanctity.

An idol in a temple may have originally been a part of a rock on a hill; people might have walked over that rock and may have even urinated on it. A sculptor fashions what is an ordinary rock into a beautiful idol by chiselling it. Even then, it does not become holy. It, however, becomes sanctified when it is duly consecrated in a temple. Thereafter, people worship it. The very sculptor, who earlier delivered hammer blows to it, prostrates before it and does not so much as touch it.

Friend: Why did you make reverential offerings to the idol during your worship? After all, it did not even move a millimetre to accept anything.

Worshipper: When a venerable guest comes to our house, it is in our holy tradition to receive him with honour. He is offered a seat and his feet are washed. He is fed. Devotees see in the idol not just mud or stone but the living presence of God. They hold that God does accept what is offered to Him, though the idol itself does not stretch out its hand to take what is given. That is why, in the course of my worship, I offered God a seat, just as I would, to a holy one who comes to my house. Then, I offered pādya, water, to wash His feet. Subsequently, I fed Him; this was my offering of naivedya.

Suppose a guest proves unworthy of the respect that is shown to him by misbehaving with a female in the host’s house or by pilfering costly items. It is likely that the host will hand him over to the police. In the case of God, there is no possibility of His ever proving unworthy of the devotee’s worship. Hence, devotees never discard the idol they worship in the middle of the pūjā.

Friend: On Vināyaka-caturthī, Gaṇeśa is worshipped in many places at the same time. Which idol does He choose to specially abide in? What influences His choice?

Worshipper: All idols wherein God is properly invoked become sanctified. Wherever there is a drop in pressure, air rushes there. Likewise, God, who is everywhere, specially occupies all the idols where He is worshipped, regardless of the number and the location of such idols.

Friend: In some places, the food that is offered is very small in quantity and in others, it is very large. Is not the former insufficient for a deity and the latter excessive?

Worshipper: No. In the Vedas, it is said that the offering gets modified in accordance with the wishes of the deity to whom it is offered. What is important is that if a devotee were to resolve to offer a certain number of modakas (sweetmeats of a particular kind), say 1000, in a Gaṇapatihoma, that is the number he must offer. He should not think, “This is too much for Gaṇeśa to eat,” and offer less. Actually, the Lord needs nothing but accepts and becomes sated with whatever is offered by a worshipper with devotion.

20. Gopuras Induce Humility

Two friends were walking along a road. One of them was a braggart and an egoist to the core. He told his friend, “Who else can achieve as much as I? I am indispensable at my place of work and earn a fat sum.” He carried on in this fashion, listing his various achievements. The two happened to pass by a temple with a massive gopura. The braggart’s friend told him, “Just have a look at this gopura.” The egoist turned around and beheld it. Being an architectural wonder of gigantic proportions, it filled him with awe. As he stood gazing at the gopura, he felt insignificant. He realized that compared to the huge structure, he was but an insectlike creature. It was an ego-shattering experience for him.

Our ancients built massive gopuras to induce humility in people.

21. Significance of Śivarātri

Once, Brahma and Viṣṇu were quarrelling as to who was the greatest of all. Śiva appeared before Them in the form of a liṅga. Viṣṇu sought to locate the foot of Lord Śiva and for that purpose, took up the form of a boar. Assuming the form of a swan, Brahma went in search of the Lord’s head. Neither of Them were able to locate what They intended to. Hence, Their pride was crushed. They realized that the Supreme Being, the Omnipresent Lord, is the greatest of all.

This story is not meant to differentiate the Trinity, nor is it meant to induce the feeling that Viṣṇu is inferior to Śiva. Its primary purpose is to show that the omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent Lord of the cosmos is the greatest. The manifestation spoken of in the narration is said to have occurred on Śivarātri, which falls on the fourteenth day of the dark fortnight of the month of Māgha. One should observe a fast that day and keep awake throughout the night, engaged in the worship of Śiva. It is meaningless to forego sleep but not spend the night thinking of God.

What is the fruit of performing pūjā throughout the night? A reply to this query is found in a verse which means, “O Eyes! It behoves you to carefully keep awake this night which is most auspicious and sacred. If you do so, a companion resembling you shall manifest between both of you.” The idea is that one becomes akin to Śiva Himself if one offers worship on Śivarātri.

22. To Which Deity Should a Person Pray

A Brahmin stood hesitant on the banks of a river in spate, waiting to cross over. He enquired of a Muslim who happened to come that way about the means to reach the farther shore. “Trust in God and jump in, my friend,” said the latter. “He will take you across.” But the Brahmin was shrewd. He did not want to take unnecessary risks. So he told the Muslim, “You dive in first. Then I will follow.” “Very well,” said the Muslim. Catching hold of his beard and saying, “Allah-Ho-Akbar,” he took off. Somehow, he managed to ferry himself across.

Now, the Brahmin mustered a little courage. He prayed to Ganeśa, the destroyer of obstacles. No sooner did he jump than the thought struck him that he would have a greater chance of survival if he prayed to Śiva, Ganeśa’s father. Hence, he sought refuge in Śiva as he plunged. Ganeśa thought that His great father would protect the Brahmin. Śiva, on the other hand, expected Ganeśa, who had jurisdiction over obstacles, to save the man. Neither offered help. The doubting Brahmin had his fatal trip.

A person should realize that it is the same Lord who has manifested as Śiva, Viṣṇu, Ganeśa, etc. Hence, he should not imagine that one deity is less potent to help him than another. It is, however, perfectly legitimate for a person to have an Iśṭa-devata, a preferred deity, such as Śiva. He ought to think, “It is my beloved Śiva who has taken the forms of all the other divinities, such as Viṣṇu,” rather than, “Viṣṇu is different from and inferior to Śiva.” A person with such an outlook will be fully at ease in any duly-consecrated temple and will not be troubled by thoughts, such as, “If I pray to Viṣṇu, will Śiva be displeased with me?”

23. Characteristic of a Great Devotee

Once, Nārada went to Lord Sri Viṣṇu and asked Him, “Who is your greatest devotee?” The Lord said, “There is a farmer who is truly devoted to me.” Nārada grew angry at this and exclaimed, “What! Am I not your foremost devotee? How can that poor despicable farmer be as devoted as I am?” The Lord told Nārada to go and see the man for himself. Nārada scrutinised the activities of the farmer. Every morning, the farmer got up, prayed to God and then attended to his domestic tasks. Thereafter, he went to the fields and sat in silence for a while absorbed in the thought of God. He then attended to his agricultural duties. His next prayer was reserved for the evening.

Nārada returned to Lord Viṣṇu and protested, “What is this? The farmer does not even repeat Your name often. How is he great?” Lord Viṣṇu said, “Before I answer, I shall give you a task. Take this cup that is full of water and go round the streets. Then return to Me. Ensure that not a drop of water spills.” Grasping the cup, Nārada set out. No sooner had he walked a few paces than the fear that a drop or two might spill gripped him. It possessed him to such an extent that his mind failed to think of anything other than the water in the cup. On the completion of his task, he returned to the Lord.

Lord Viṣṇu asked him, “How many times did you recite my name while you were on the streets?” Nārada was taken aback and said, “How could I chant Your name? I was too busy to do that; I had, after all, to ensure that no water spilt.” The Lord said, “The farmer was also busy like you. Despite that, he thought of Me. That is what made him great.”

One morning, Yudhiṣṭhira came to behold Lord Kṛṣṇa. He found Him seated motionless, in deep meditation. When Kṛṣṇa opened His eyes, Yudhiṣṭhira respectfully asked Him, “You are the creator and destroyer of the cosmos and are without a beginning and an end. Yet, you were in deep meditation. Could you kindly tell me the significance of Your meditation?”

Kṛṣṇa replied, “Lying on a bed of arrows, Bhīṣma has fixated his mind on me. Hence, my mind locked onto him.” Though pierced by numerous arrows and in deep pain, Bhīṣma thought of Kṛṣṇa with such intensity that he completely drew the Lord’s mind to himself.

24. Concentration

Droṇācārya impartially expounded the nuances of archery to both the Pāṇḍavas and the Kauravas. At the end of their course, he gave them a test. “See that small bird sitting on the tree,” said the Guru. “You will have to shoot it down with an arrow.” He called his disciples, one by one, and asked, “What do you see now?” Each of the disciples replied, “Sir, I see the bird, the tree and also the surroundings.” The Guru told them, “You have not mastered archery.” Finally, Arjuna’s turn came. Droṇa asked him the same question. Arjuna answered, “Revered sir, I see only the bird and nothing else.” The master asked him to release the arrow. The disciple obeyed and the bird fell.

This story brings out the praiseworthiness of intense concentration on one’s target or the task on hand. Focussing the mind on God during meditation is certainly very important, particularly for a spiritual aspirant. However, many say that they are unable to meditate because their minds keep wandering. Quite often, a major reason for their poor concentration is the inadequacy of their interest in meditation.

A person was given a packet of hundred-rupee notes to count. As he was busy counting, a friend called him. He, however, did not hear the call and so did not look up. Only after he had finished his task, he noticed the presence of his friend. He told him, “My whole attention was on the notes because I knew that any error in my counting would have proved costly for me.”

This man regarded his task as important and so was able to suitably direct his attention. In like manner, if a man regards meditation as extremely important and feels that he stands to lose greatly by inattention during meditation, it is likely that he will succeed in focussing his mind on God.

25. Fate and Free Will

The fields of two farmers were identical in size and had similar kinds of soil. They worked equally hard, tilled their lands well and sowed seeds of uniform quality. The rainfall over the fields was neither excessive nor scanty and so the crops grew well. At the appropriate time, they commenced their harvesting. Before they left for their homes on an evening, they were able to behold with joy large heaps of grains, the result of their efforts. There was hardly any difference in the yields obtained by them.

That night, while they slept, there was a very heavy downpour on one land and only a light drizzle on the other. The next morning, when they went to their lands, one was dismayed to find that the rain had ruined his grains while the other felt relieved that his heaps of grain were intact. Thus, notwithstanding the similarity in their efforts, the results they obtained were markedly dissimilar. It was the unfavourable destiny of one farmer and the favourable fate of the other that led to the loss of the former and the gain of the latter. Those who have faith in the Vedas and śāstras and are logical do not regard the experiences of humans as just fortuitous.

Two students wrote an examination. The boy who had studied better answered all except two questions well. The other managed to answer just two questions correctly. The examiner was an impartial but a lazy man. He scrutinized two of the first boy’s answers. They happened to be the incorrect ones. Assuming the other answers too to be incorrect, he awarded the boy low marks.

Then, he took up the second boy’s answer book. The answers he selected for checking happened to be the correct ones. Taking it for granted that the remaining answers were also correct, he awarded the boy concerned high marks. On seeing the results, the boy who had studied better grieved, while the other rejoiced. Thus, hard work fetched a poor result and poor preparation yielded good marks. Here too, the hand of destiny is seen.

There was a poor man who was a wastrel and a drunkard. His wife gave birth to twins. Gazing lovingly at her children, she told her spouse, “They look regal.” The husband laughed and announced that he would name them Cakravarti and Bhūpati, ironical names for the members of a poverty-stricken family. To make ends meet, the wife used to work as a domestic servant in the house of a very affluent couple. After becoming a mother, she started taking her children with her to her place of work as there was no one at her hut to take care of them. Being good, understanding people, her employers did not mind in the least.

Unlike the twins’ father, their mother was very keen that they be sent to school. So, when they were five years of age, she admitted them into a government school that provided free education. The twins took to their school as a fish to water. Cakravarti was particularly fond of his mother and hence insisted on helping her for some time at her employer’s house every day before going to school. Bhūpati, for his part, swept the hut and washed the utensils used by his mother for cooking. Thereafter, he proceeded to school and joined his brother.

The affluent couple had a son who was almost the same age as the twins. He had been born five years after their marriage. They doted on him. Just before the woman had conceived, they had sought the blessings of a holy man for begetting progeny. That man used to wander from place to place and sustained himself on food obtained by begging. So, he was commonly known as Akiñcana; the word means, “He who has nothing”. Believing that his wife had conceived because of the holy man’s blessings, the husband named their son, the heir to an immense fortune, Akiñcana. Akiñcana made friends with Cakravarti and the two spent some time with each other every morning.

When Cakravarti was nine years old, his beloved mother died. His alcohol-loving, good-for-nothing father had the habit of scolding and beating his children on the flimsiest grounds. Because of his wife’s demise, he had to make do with less money than before and this made him highly irascible. To ease the financial situation, Cakravarti started to work at Akiñcana’s house in the mornings and in the evenings, before and after his school timings. His brother Bhūpati decided to do the cooking, cleaning and washing at their hut.

Akiñcana and Cakravarti became quite close. One day, Akiñcana asked his mother, “Can I take Cakravarti with me by car every day and leave him at his school? After all, his school is almost on the way to mine.” “Certainly,” said his mother, “I myself wanted to suggest this.” Akiñcana and Cakravarti thereafter left for school together.

One day, the car in which they were travelling was involved in a major accident. The driver died on the spot. Akiñcana’s legs were pinned in the wreckage and soon a minor fire broke out. By the time he was pulled out by some good Samaritans, he sustained significant burn injuries; his legs were badly damaged. Cakravarti phoned Akiñcana’s parents and they summoned an ambulance. Akiñcana was rushed to the hospital, screaming in pain. There, the doctors were forced to amputate his legs.

The amputation and the extensive burns caused Akiñcana agony. After a month of intense suffering, he appeared to be on the road to recovery. Unexpectedly, he contracted pneumonia. The doctors did their best to cure him but he did not respond to their treatment and died.

Akiñcana’s parents were devastated. Their sorrow declined with the passage of time but every time they passed or entered Akiñcana’s room, they felt miserable and nearly broke down. After six months had passed, they paid a visit to the holy man, Akiñcana. He advised them, “Sell your house and shift to another town; also adopt a son.” The advice appealed to them and they decided to act according to it.

Akiñcana’s mother told her husband, “We have known Cakravarti for a long time and he is, undoubtedly, a well-behaved boy. Akiñcana was so fond of him. Why not we adopt him instead of some unknown boy?” He readily agreed, for he too had a good opinion of Cakravarti. They talked to Cakravarti about their intention and, finding his response favourable, approached his father. They expressed their wish to adopt Cakravarti and offered the man a substantial sum of money. The wastrel had no hesitation in parting with his son; as far as he was concerned, Bhūpati was there to attend to his house.

Cakravarti had been sickly since childhood but he quickly acquired robustness because of the good food and excellent medical care he received in his new home located in an unpolluted hill-station. His adoptive parents developed deep affection for him; they sent him to an excellent school and eagerly satisfied his every wish. They never spoke to him harshly; the question of their giving him corporal punishment did not arise at all.

Everything was going right for Akiñcana. Then, for no major fault committed by him since birth, the good boy lost his legs, suffered terribly for weeks and finally passed away. As for Cakravarti, he suffered because of sickness, poverty, the death of his beloved mother and the bad treatment meted out to him by his father. He had not done anything wrong since birth to merit so much suffering. After Akiñcana’s parents adopted him, the picture changed completely for him. The road accident about whose occurrence the boys had no inkling and over which they had no control, radically altered the course of their lives. Destiny that had been smiling at Akiñcana began to frown at him. On the other hand, fate, which had been scowling at Cakravarti, began to smile at him.

Many examples such as these can be given to highlight the power of destiny, which is actually nothing but actions performed by a person in an earlier life that have begun to fructify and are responsible for the present birth. Likewise, there is no dearth of instances in favour of the power of effort stemming from the exercise of free will.

Aśvapati, the pious and just ruler of Madra, was desirous of progeny. So, chanting the Gayatrī-mantra, he offered thousands of oblations into fire every day. Pleased with him, Goddess Sāvitrī manifested before him and told him that his longing would find fulfilment. In due course, a daughter was born to him. The king named her Sāvitrī, in honour of the Goddess who had graced him. When she came of age, he sent her along with his minister on a tour to enable her to identify a prospective husband. When she returned, the celestial Sage Nārada was with Aśvapati. She said that she wished to marry Satyavān, the son of Dyumatsena.

Dyumatsena was a firm adherent of dharma and had ruled Śālva. He always spoke the truth and so did his wife. Hence, they named their sole son Satyavān. When Satyavān was still a child, Dyumatsena lost his eyesight. Taking advantage of the situation, a neighbouring king invaded Śālva successfully. As a result, Dyumatsena was forced to leave for the forest with his son and wife. On seeing Satyavān in the forest, Sāvitrī felt that he was the ideal husband for her.

Nārada said that Satyavān was very handsome, valorous like Indra, forbearing like the earth and self-controlled. But, added the sage, he had one great shortcoming and this was that he was destined to die in one year. On hearing the sage’s words, Aśvapati asked Sāvitrī to choose another man. She, however, said, “I have once desired him as my husband. Regardless of whether he is long-lived or short-lived, I cannot choose anybody other than him.” Nārada told the king, “She cannot be swayed from her righteous decision. Satyavān has unmatched good qualities. My opinion is that you should give your daughter to him.”

Aśvapati then approached Dyumatsena, obtained his approval and, then, gave Satyavān the hand of his daughter. After marriage, Sāvitrī removed her jewels and donned a simple ochre dress appropriate for her life in the forest. She proved to be an ideal wife to Satyavān and a perfect daughter-in-law to Dyumatsena and his wife. They were very happy with her.

Sage Nārada had specified to her the exact moment at which Satyavān was scheduled to breathe his last. She did not disclose this information to her husband but constantly worried about what was to come to pass. Four days before the specified day, she commenced a fast and stood motionless. On being questioned by Dyumatsena, she replied that she was observing a vow. She did not eat a morsel and remained where she was till the final day. That morning, she formally ended her religious observance but announced that she did not wish to eat till evening.

She expressed to Satyavān her desire to accompany him to the forest when he went to fetch sacrificial faggots, flowers and fruit. He asked her, “You have not ventured into the forest in the past. The path is tough to tread. You have become enfeebled on account of your fast. How will you be able to walk far?” “I am enthusiastic and am unexhausted by my fast. So, please do not forbid me from accompanying you,” requested Sāvitrī. He acceded to her wish but wanted her to get the approval of his parents. She obtained their consent and left with Satyavān.

Deep inside the forest, both of them gathered flowers. Then, taking up his axe, Satyavān proceeded to chop wood. After some time, he felt fatigued. His head and limbs ached severely and he felt too weak to stand. He explained his condition to Sāvitrī. She rushed to him and, as he lay down, rested his head on her lap. Satyavān closed his eyes.

At that time, Sāvitrī beheld an effulgent, dark person holding a noose. She stood up reverentially and asked him, “Your body is not like that of humans. I think that you are a Deva. Kindly tell me who you are.” The effulgent one said, “I am Yama. It is because of your chastity and Tapas that you are able to see and converse with me. The life-span of your husband has come to an end. I have arrived to take his life.” “O Lord, I have heard that your emissaries carry out the task of taking the souls of humans. Why is it that you yourself have come?” queried Sāvitrī. Yama replied, “The reason for my coming is that Satyavān is an ocean of good qualities and is established in righteousness.” Then, at the precise moment specified by Sage Nārada, Yama withdrew Satyavān’s soul; Satyavān’s breathing ceased.

By virtue of her devotion to her husband and her religious observances, Sāvitrī was able to follow Yama and did so. He told her to return. She, however, said, “Wherever my husband goes or is taken, I shall accompany him; that is in keeping with dharma. The learned persons who have realized the Truth have declared that when a person walks with another, they become connected by friendship. I seek to speak to you on the strength of the bond that has arisen between us by my accompanying you.” Then she spoke words that appealed to Yama.

Yama: I am pleased with you. Ask for any boon other than the life of Satyavān.

Sāvitrī: Let the eyesight and strength of my father-in-law be restored.

Yama: I grant you that. Now return. Do not strain yourself.

Sāvitrī: In being near my husband, I feel no strain. I shall accompany you wherever you take him. It is said that proximity with holy men on even one occasion is most desirable. Friendship with them is even more valuable. Thus, one should always keep the company of the holy.

On hearing her extol the company of the holy and express her desire to be in his and her husband’s presence, Yama felt happy.

Yama: Ask for another boon but not for your husband’s life.

Sāvitrī: Please let my father-in-law regain his kingdom and may he never deviate from the path of dharma.

Yama: So be it. Now you go back.

Sāvitrī: Great ones such as you forgive even foes who seek refuge. Please show mercy on people like me.

Yama: Ask for any boon other than your husband’s life.

Sāvitrī: My father, king Aśvapati, has no son. Please bless him with male progeny.

Yama: It shall be as you wish. You have come a great distance. Go back now.

Sāvitrī then glorified Yama and made him happy with her words.

Yama: I am highly gratified by you. Ask for any fourth boon other than the restoration of your husband’s life.

Sāvitrī: May my husband and I have strong, valorous sons who will propagate our line of progeny.

Yama promised her what she desired. Sāvitrī then told him that, unlike the first three boons, the fourth could not find fulfilment without her husband being restored to life. She, being a chaste woman, could not have a son by any man other than Satyavān. Yama saw her point and released Satyavān’s soul.

Then he told her, “You have given me full satisfaction by your righteous words. Satyavān shall be restored to health and shall be fit to be taken back by you. He shall live with you for long and shall, by his adherence to dharma, attain great fame. Both of you shall have sons who shall become kings.” After bestowing this blessing, Yama left. Sāvitrī returned to where her husband’s body was and sat down, placing his head on her lap. Satyavān opened his eyes. He thought that he had slept for long and wondered why she had not awakened him earlier. He said that he had beheld a dark-coloured person and wanted to know where that person was. Sāvitrī assured him that she would tell him later. Then, she led him back to their abode.

Some ṛṣis were with Dyumatsena when the couple returned. They asked Satyavān, “Why did both of you not come back much earlier instead of so late in the night? Your parents were worried.” Satyavān responded that he had fallen asleep. A sage announced, “Your father’s sight was suddenly restored. Perhaps Sāvitrī can give the reason.” She described all that had transpired. The next morning, the former subjects of Dyumatsena came to the forest and met him. They told him, “O King, your foe and also his family have been killed by his own ministers.” They requested him to again take over the reins of the Śālva kingdom. All that Yama had promised came to pass.

Dyumatsena was destined to be blind and live in a forest. By Sāvitrī’s efforts, he regained his sight and his kingdom. Aśvapati was not destined to have sons. But obtained them. Satyavān was to die young, but he lived long; he sired sons and ruled the Śālva kingdom for many years. This story is a striking example of how what is destined to happen can be markedly changed by human effort.

Mārkaṇdeya was fated to die at the age of 16 but lived on because of his devout worship of Lord Śiva. Śuka, the son of Vyāsa, was such a great Yogi that he attained disembodied liberation at the time of his choice. Numerous instances of the alteration of the course of fate by personal effort and by the grace of God can easily be cited.

Neither destiny nor personal effort singly determines the course of human life; there is great interaction between the two. Destiny or actions of the past that have begun to fructify, human effort and divine grace together govern what happens. Manu has compared destiny and personal effort to the two wheels of a chariot; a chariot cannot move on a single wheel.

After the Mahābhārata war, Kṛṣṇa took the Pāṇḍavas to Bhīṣma who lay on a bed of arrows but intensely meditated upon the Lord. The Lord relieved Bhīṣma of pain and imparted to him unimpeded and complete Knowledge. He then asked Bhīṣma to answer the questions posed to him. One of the questions asked by Yudhiṣṭhira was, “Is destiny more powerful or human effort?” In the course of his elaborate reply, Bhīṣma cited the answer given by Brahma to Vasiṣṭha when the latter had posed a similar question.

He said, “Destiny is comparable to a seed and individual exertion to the soil. Seedless soil does not yield a harvest nor does an unsown seed. Crops grow from the combination of seeds and the soil. It is by the combined influence of destiny and effort that people rise to heaven.

“The doer reaps the fruit of his deeds; happiness and unhappiness result from good and bad deeds respectively. A deed done always has a consequence. If one’s action were to bear no fruit, then all actions would be puerile; relying on destiny alone, men would become idlers.

“Everything can be secured by effort but nothing can be got through destiny alone by a man who remains idle. By well-directed human efforts, a person attains heaven, objects of enjoyment and the fulfilment of his wishes. The celestials attained their high status from that of a human being, through dint of effort. Just as a small fire becomes big when fanned by the wind, weak, favourable destiny increases greatly in potentiality when it is associated with individual exertion. A noble man who is diligent in his efforts can acquire the wealth that is hidden and guarded by unfavourable destiny.

“A sinner soon loses his precious gains; destiny does not help the man steeped in delusion and greed. A man may have obtained, through favourable destiny, vast wealth, women and objects of enjoyment but if he is inactive, he cannot enjoy them. When oil is used up, a lamp gets extinguished. Likewise, favourable destiny loses its influence in the absence of human perseverance. Favourable destiny cannot uplift a man who treads the path of evil; there is no inherent power in it.

“Just as a disciple follows his Guru, so does one’s action, guided by fate, follow one’s own individual effort. One’s own self is one’s friend and one’s enemy. Virtue is the refuge of the Devas and by it, everything is attained. Destiny cannot thwart one who is established in virtue.”

26. Influence of Food on the Mind

A Yogi lived in a small āśrama. Daily, he used to beg for food and partake it. He was thus leading a calm and peaceful life. The king of the land had a great regard for the sage. One day, he invited the ascetic to his palace for bhikṣā. The saṁnyāsin said, “I have been eating only food procured by begging. I do not know how my mind will be affected if I consume anything in your palace. So I should to decline your invitation.” However, in response to the ruler’s repeated requests, he relented. When the ascetic was washing his hands after his meal, his eyes fell on a necklace of pearls. Noting that nobody was watching him, he picked it up and put it in his kamaṇḍalu. Then, he went to the main hall, blessed the king and returned to his hermitage. Only after some time, he began to ponder over what he had done.

Meanwhile, the queen complained to the king about the loss of the necklace she had left in the bathroom. The king analysed the situation and concluded that one of the servants must have pilfered it. In order to extract the truth from them, he applied third degree methods. They kept on pleading innocence. When one of them suggested that the hermit might be the thief, the monarch became infuriated.

At the āśrama, the ascetic was thoroughly ill at ease. “What a foul deed I have committed today! For whose sake did I steal the necklace? If I wear this and go for bhikṣā, certainly no one will offer me food. If I leave it here itself, someone may steal it. Why did I become a kleptomaniac? I have beheld many necklaces but have never been affected by desire for them. The fact that a longing has arisen today implies that my mind has become impure. What could be the cause?” he pondered. It dawned on him that the food he had eaten that day must have been the cause. He induced vomiting and then went to the king. On seeing the commotion in the palace, he asked for the reason. The king replied that no one had admitted to stealing a missing necklace. The Yogi said, “How will these innocent ones plead guilty?” “Here, take the necklace,” continued the remorseful ascetic. “I, the thief, have brought it for you.”

The shocked king asked the saṁnyāsin, “You are a great sage. Is it proper for you to have taken the necklace? Further, what made you bring it back? I am thoroughly confused. Please elucidate.” The sage replied, “In the beginning, I turned down your invitation to have bhikṣā in your palace. However, I finally gave in to your request. The result is that so many people have got unnecessary beatings and I have also earned a bad name. O King! You have stored so much rice in your granary. I wonder whether you have rightfully collected it.” “I am sorry to say that unfair means have been employed to collect so much rice,” the monarch replied truthfully. “I ate this rice for only one day and even that was enough to spoil my mind,” sighed the Yogi. “Such being the case, I shudder to even think of its effect on all of you who take it daily. So please do not invite me for food hereafter. I will get my food by begging as I have been doing hitherto.” “Cannot begged food also be impure?” queried the sovereign. “The food may be impure but it is so only till it is put into my begging bowl. Such is the verdict of the śāstras,” clarified the sage.

This story illustrates that food does influence the mind. Eatables are classified as sāttvika, rājasa and tāmasa. Sāttvika food is pure and confers strength and good health; curd is an instance of a sāttvika product. Rājasa food stimulates desire and anger; an example is a pungent item. Tāmasa food leads to sloth, sleepiness, etc. Putrid food and ort are instances of tāmasa eatables. The mentality of the cook and the presence of defiling factors, such as a strand of hair, also have a bearing on the purity of food. Care should be taken by a sādhaka (a practitioner of spiritual disciplines) to consume only properly-prepared, sāttvika food.

27. How a Householder Should Conduct Himself

A district collector was distraught. A friend who dropped in at his office to pay him a casual visit, sensed his discomposure and asked, “What is your problem?” The collector replied, “My wife and children are all laid up with fever. My son first fell ill and his infection spread to the others.”

Friend: Did you not call a doctor?

Collector: Of course, I did. He prescribed medicines and said that they would recover in a few days.

Friend: You are so upset at the illness of just four people living in a house situated in a quarter of an acre. How then do you deal with problems in your jurisdiction which covers thousands of acres and is populated by lakhs of people? What indeed would be your condition if there were to be an epidemic in your region?

Collector: I would inform the health department. Investigations would be carried out and the disease identified as cholera, plague or something else. Treatment and preventive measures including sanitation would be taken up on a war footing. I would handle such a situation efficiently, with a cool head.

Friend: If such a major, widespread problem can be dealt with by you without getting ruffled, why are you so distraught about a minor problem confined to four members of a single house?

Collector: Unlike the others, those who are ill now are my very own. Such is the deleterious influence of strong attachment and of the feeling, “This person or thing is my own,” that the collector who worked hard and efficiently discharged his official duties without losing his composure became inefficient and beset with worry when it came to his wife and children.

A pilgrim, on the way back to his town, halted at a dharmaśālā. He appeased his hunger there with the free meal offered to him. Then, desirous of doing good and acquiring puṇya, he joined the inmates in serving food to the pilgrims who had come there. Thereafter, he helped in cleaning up the place. Before retiring for the night, he engaged in conversation with the others, expressed his sympathy to those who voiced their personal problems and also gave them beneficial suggestions.

He behaved as if the choultry was his home and the persons there were his family members. Yet, his mind was fully at peace and he left the next morning without the least hesitation or regret. After he had returned to his home, a person asked him, “Where did you spend last night?” “At the dharmaśālā,” he replied. “What transpired there?” asked his relative. “Nothing of consequence. I ate there, slept and left. That is all.”

A married man has many duties and responsibilities and has to face many a problem affecting his family. The scriptures and Bhagavatpāda graciously advise him to lead his family life without attachment. He ought to be like the collector when engaged in the discharge of his official duties and like the pilgrim during his stay at the dharmaśālā. He will then perform his duties and face family problems effectively and efficiently but without any mental agitation.

28. Karma-yoga

Three brothers went on a vacation to a hill station and stayed there in a cottage booked by them. One night, when they were fast asleep, a powerful earthquake wreaked havoc in the region. The roof of the cottage fell and would have crushed them to death had not a portion of the roof-beam come to rest on a piece of wooden furniture in the bedroom. From the creaking sounds the brothers heard, they realized that in moments the roof would descend on them. There was simply no question of their remaining where they were till help arrived.

They turned towards the two doors that led out of the room. Due to an electric short-circuit, a fire had started near one of them. The flames were spreading. The way to the other door was strewn with glass pieces from the shattered window panes. One of the brothers ran towards the door where the fire was. He managed to escape through it but suffered severe burns and had to be hospitalized for weeks. The second brother recognized the danger of passing through the flames and so moved as swiftly as he could to the second door. His soles were pierced at several spots by the glass pieces on the way. He had to be hospitalized for two days.

The third brother thought, “It is madness to remain here. Heading towards the spreading flames is foolish, for severe burns will be inevitable. So, I must escape through the other door. But, first, I must do something to protect my feet from the glass pieces.” He tore his bed-sheet and wrapped a piece of cloth on each foot. He worked fast and so the whole process took only seconds. Then he headed for the door chosen by him. He escaped unhurt.

A person cannot remain without performing some action or the other just as the brothers were not in a position to remain where they lay in the bedroom. All his acts do have consequences. If he engages in adharma, he will experience much suffering in future, in hell or on earth. His behaviour would be on par with that of the brother who headed towards the door engulfed by fire. He who performs meritorious deeds experiences happiness for some time in heaven or acquires a good birth on the earth. In any case, he has to be reborn. Thus, even the acquirer of puṇya does suffer the bondage of transmigration. His conduct is comparable to that of the second brother. The path to the fiery door was easy to tread like the path of evil; the other door had to be reached with difficulty like the path of dharma, to go along which one has to restrain the mind and the senses.

The Lord has explained how a person may perform actions but avoid being bound by them. The person should dedicate all his actions and their fruits to God and discharge his duties without hankering for the results. This means of performing actions but escaping bondage is called karma-yoga. The performer of karma-yoga is like the third brother, who escaped through the very door through which the second brother had left but without suffering any injury. The most intelligent of the brothers protected his feet with bandages; the karma-yogin protects himself by dedicating his actions and their fruits to God.

A person had the practice of performing pūjā to God, and offering Him fruits and other eatables. After the worship, he used to partake of an offered fruit as God’s prasāda. An agnostic friend of his mockingly told him, “Your practice of performing naivedya is silly. The fruit that you place before your God remains exactly at the same spot where it was kept. It undergoes no physical change either. Further, it is not the God you worship but you who consumes it.”

The devotee responded with a smile, “I submit a fruit to God with the firm conviction that, in keeping with His statement in the Bhagavadgītā, He will accept it. Having received it, He is free to do with it whatever He pleases. Since He is omnipotent, He is perfectly capable of making it vanish or leaving it behind in its entirety after having consumed it. I believe that it is He who leaves behind the fruit for me after partaking of it in a humanly-inconceivable way. As far as I am concerned, what I consume after naivedya is the remnant of what God has eaten.

“Recently, when your political leader came to town, you and numerous others received him and offered him garlands. He certainly did not and could not wear all of them. He even gave you one of the garlands that he had received and you accepted it joyfully. As he walked through the large crowd of his supporters, he tossed some garlands to them and the crowd cheered. It is possible that a supporter got back the very garland that he had given. Just because your leader does not retain garlands presented to him, you people do not abstain from the practice of garlanding him; you derive joy in honouring him and do not tell him what he should do with the garlands you give him. Why then are you uncomfortable with my sincerely offering God fruits and feeling happy? Further, when your leader can return a garland to you, why should God not be free to give me back the submitted fruits with His blessings? A karma-yogin, in fact, offers to God not just eatables but all his thoughts, words and deeds.”

A man had two servants. One of them was particular about eulogising his employer but not in executing his master’s instructions. The other sincerely carried out the tasks assigned to him; he also held his master in high esteem. The employer obviously preferred the second servant to the first. A devotee, who, like the second servant, sincerely performs the duties ordained for him by God and specified in the scriptures and, further, does so in a spirit of dedication, pleases God greatly and receives His grace in abundance. By the Lord’s grace, his mind becomes very pure. In due course, he realizes the Truth and gets liberated.

A woman doted on her young son and took great care of him. One day, she woke up with a splitting headache, fever and nausea. Nevertheless, she attended to her child’s morning requirements without any laxity. That day, she found the rice prepared by her to be slightly overcooked. Promptly, she started to cook some more. Her husband noticed this and told her, “You are sick and in pain. Why do you want to strain yourself? The rice that is ready is quite eatable.” “I want to give my son only the kind of rice he is used to and likes. As for the overcooked rice, I shall consume it,” replied the wife. Out of deep love for her child, the woman did her very best for him. Likewise, a karma-yogin, by virtue of his devotion to God, performs his duties to the very best of his ability and refrains from adharma.

Two students appeared for an examination. In spite of having prepared well, they fared badly because the questions were very tough and some of them fell outside the scope of the prescribed syllabus. One of them, who did not practise karma-yoga, became highly dejected because of his inept performance. When he went home and sat down to prepare for the next day’s subject, his mind kept reverting to that day’s question paper. His worry greatly hampered his preparation. The other boy, being a practitioner of karma-yoga, did not experience the least anxiety. This is because, in the examination hall itself, he had dedicated his performance and its fruit to God. After returning home, undistracted by worry, he focussed his attention on the next day’s subject. On the following day, the first boy became flabbergasted on encountering a tough question. The karma-yogin read the question carefully and answered it to the best of his ability without getting perturbed in the least. It is hardly surprising that the first boy secured a lower rank than his friend. This example shows that the efficiency of a karma-yogin exceeds that of a person who acts with a longing for the fruits of his actions.

The Lord has declared in the Bhagavadgītā, “Perform your prescribed duties, for action is superior to inaction. Moreover, even the maintenance of your body will not be possible by inaction. Man becomes bound by all his actions except those done by him for the sake of God. O, son of Kuntī! Perform actions for the sake of God without being attached...By performing his duty without attachment, a person attains liberation (through the purification of his mind).”

29. Fitness for Knowledge of the Supreme

Desirous of heaven, Vājaśravasa performed the Viśvajit sacrifice in which one gives away everything. He had a son named Naciketas. Being full of faith, the boy was dismayed to find that the cows his father was gifting to the priests were decrepit and barren. He felt that as a son, he should do something to compensate this shortcoming in his father’s sacrifice. He decided to allow himself to be gifted. So, he asked his father, “To whom will you offer me?” Vājaśravasa ignored him. When Naciketas asked for the third time, Vājaśravasa angrily told him, “I hereby offer you to Yama.”

“My father has spoken these words in wrath without any consideration of purpose. Nevertheless, they must not be allowed to get falsified,” thought Naciketas. The boy left for Yama’s abode. As the latter had gone out, Naciketas patiently waited for him for three days. When Yama came back, he offered the boy three boons to expiate for his sin of not attending to a guest for three days.

As his third boon, Naciketas wanted to know whether or not there is an Ātman, distinct from the body, senses and the mind, that survives the death of the body. With a view to testing Naciketas and determining whether he was truly fit to be taught about the Ātman, Yama tried to dissuade him and to tempt him in various ways.

Yama said, “Ask for sons and grandsons who will be centenarians. Ask for many cows, horses, elephants and gold and a vast expanse of land. Live for as many years as you wish. If you desire some other equivalent boon, do ask for it. Ask for wealth and a long life. Become the king of a huge region. I shall make you fit to enjoy all pleasurable objects. “Ask, according to your choice, for desirable things that are difficult to obtain. Here are celestial nymphs with chariots and musical instruments; they cannot be had by mortals. Get yourself served by them. But do not enquire whether anything exists after the fall of the body.”

Although Yama did his best to tempt the boy, Naciketas remained unperturbed like a still, vast lake. He said, “O Yama! All these enjoyable things enumerated by you are ephemeral. Moreover, they waste the vigour of man’s senses. All life, without exception, is short indeed. Hence, let all these remain yours.” He insisted that he only wanted the boon he had sought. Extremely pleased with Naciketas’ dispassion and firmness, Yama taught him about the Ātman. The boy became enlightened.

This story of the Kaṭha-upaniṣad reveals that unwavering dispassion characterizes the person who is fit for the knowledge of the Supreme.

30. Contentment

Desirous of progeny, a man prayed to God to bless him with an offspring. Soon, he became the father of a male child. It refused to suckle. Hence, the devotee again sought the Lord and said, “You gave me a child but it does not consume milk. I fear that it will not survive. So, please do something.” “I see,” said the Lord, “From tomorrow, it will start taking milk. Do not worry.” That problem got solved but the child gradually became intolerably mischievous.

Once again, the devotee turned to the Lord. He prayed to Him to make the child behave better. “So be it,” blessed the Lord. From that moment, the child stopped its misconduct. It became so subdued that it remained silent. Unable to tolerate this, the devotee requested the Lord to come to his aid. Thereafter, the child conversed normally. After many such prayers, the devotee got his son married. A few years passed but his daughter-in-law did not conceive. So, the devotee beseeched the Lord, “I feel I would have been happier if You had not given me a child. My mind is fraught with sorrow at the thought of my son not having any progeny.”

Quite obviously, such prayers have no end at all. People are normally not contented with what they have. Our ancients have declared, “A man with a rupee longs for a hundred. He who has a hundred wants a thousand. He who has acquired a thousand desires to possess a lakh. The owner of a lakh seeks to become a king. A king yearns to become a Kubera, the god of riches. Kubera wishes to become Indra, the king of the gods. Indra hankers after the rank of Brahma. Brahma pines for the position of Viṣṇu. Viṣṇu covets the state of Śiva. Who, indeed, has attained the limit of desires?”

There is a humorous verse to the effect, “A mountain is huge. The ocean is larger than a mountain. Space is more expansive than the ocean. God is bigger than Space. More extensive than even God is desire!” While discontentment makes a man miserable, contentment confers steady joy. A dispassionate man is contented; contentment favours dispassion.

31. The Feeling, “Mine,” Kills Peace

A man pondered for long about the kind of house that would be ideal for him and also sought the views of several knowledgeable persons. Finally, he framed a clear conception of it. He entrusted the construction to a competent and reputed engineer. But so concerned was he that there should be no shortcoming or deviation from what he had in mind that he spent almost all his time at the site. He proffered suggestions and comments to the extent of making a nuisance of himself. Finally, the house of his dreams was ready and he joyously moved into it with his family.

He swelled with pride whenever anyone expressed even the slightest appreciation of his home. One day, his son who wished to hang a picture started to hammer a nail into a wall. No sooner had the boy struck a single blow than his father came running into the room. His face crimson with anger, the man ordered his son to immediately stop the hammering. “How dare you do something that might mar the smoothness and beauty of the wall?” he asked. “If you want the picture, then keep it on your desk.” The boy was taken aback by the intensity of his reaction, for he was usually soft-spoken and indulgent.

Years passed. In the interest of his health, which had begun to deteriorate, he decided to shift to a hill-station with good medical facilities. He sold his house for a large sum and received much of the payment in the form of a bank draft. As his bank had closed for the day, he locked the draft in his cupboard with the intention of presenting it at the bank the next day. That night, as he tossed and turned unable to fall asleep, he heard a sound. Without making the least attempt to determine what might have caused it, he phoned the police. A few policemen soon arrived. On investigating, they found that the culprit was not a thief but a rat.

After they left, his wife asked him, “Why did you panic so easily?” “I was so apprehensive about the safety of the draft that I did not fall asleep. The moment I heard a sound, I felt that my fears had come true and that a burglar had entered, who would steal the draft. Hence, I phoned for help. Now I realize that I overreacted,” he said sheepishly. He spent a sleepless night and arrived at his bank the next morning even before it opened. It was only after duly presenting the draft that he relaxed. Shortly after he left, a strange event transpired at the bank.

Some cheques and drafts, including the one given by him, were found to be missing. Tension gripped the manager and the concerned staff and they began to frantically search for the missing items. A sigh of relief escaped them when a peon announced the solution of the mystery. The manager’s five-year-old son who had come to the bank to see his father had picked up the cheques and drafts lying on a table and entered the toilet. After filling a bucket there with water, he had been about to make paper boats with them when the peon had seen and stopped him.

The man who had deposited the draft was unaware of all this. The next day, he finalised the purchase of a house of his choice located at the hill-station where he had made up his mind to live. Soon, he shifted lock, stock and barrel to his new residence. His old house was demolished and a shopping complex came up in its place. When he saw the shopping complex for the first time, he remarked to his friend, “It looks nice.”

The man of the story first had a strong idea, “This is my house,” and was deeply attached to the building concerned. Hence, a nail partly driven into a wall seemed to him to be a spear thrust into his heart. After selling the house and receiving a bank draft in return, he firmly felt, “This draft is mine,” and deemed it important. Consequently, he spent a sleepless night worrying about it. Once he presented it at his bank, he ceased to view it as his precious possession. So, he relaxed. On the other hand, the bank officials, who became its temporary custodians, lost their peace when they found it to be missing.

After the protagonist had shifted his residence to the hill-station, when he first saw a shopping complex in the place of his former house, he did not feel perturbed; he was even able to appreciate the new construction. It was because he no longer had the notion ‘mine’ with respect to his former house that its demolition did not affect him. Had his feeling towards it been as strong as before, he would have been rendered senseless by grief; after all, he had earlier been unable to bear even the hammering of a nail into its wall.

Janaka, the great king of Videha, was once informed that his capital Mithilā was on fire. He remained thoroughly unruffled and averred, “Though Mithilā is ablaze, nothing of mine is burning.” He was completely free from the notion ‘mine’ with respect to his kingdom and so, though he sincerely shouldered the massive burden of suzerainty, he was always peaceful.

When a person has the notion ‘mine’ with respect to an object, he is affected by what happens or what, he thinks, might happen to that object. On his giving up that idea, the article ceases to be a trigger for his mental disquiet. Abandonment of the feeling “mine” with reference to persons, places and things makes a man calm and blissful, without compromising his efficiency.

32. The Source of Happiness

“Sweets give me great joy. Hence, I do not hesitate to accept them whenever they are offered. Further, I always make it a point to eat some everyday,” remarked a man to his friend. Some days passed. He fell ill and was laid up in bed. His doctor informed him that he was suffering from diabetes and infection. His friend, who was unaware of all this, dropped in one day and said, “I have brought you a bag of sweets.” Almost in despair, the bed-ridden patient replied, “Oh! Take it away from me. I do not desire it at all. Sweets are like poison to me.”

The story shows that what is considered pleasurable at one time is deemed to be a source of misery at another. Were sweets to be intrinsically a source of happiness, the man would never have despised them; his sickness definitely did not impair his basic desire for happiness and his dislike for misery. In fact, a little analysis would readily reveal that there is no sense object that is intrinsically a source of happiness. Such analysis engenders dispassion.

A father fondled his child. As he kissed it, his rough beard and moustache pricked its tender face, causing sharp pain. The child bawled. Keen on pacifying it, the father repeatedly kissed it. As a result, the baby began to wail all the more.

The Bṛhadāraṇyaka-upaniṣad teaches, “It is only for the sake of the Ātman that everything is dear.” A husband loves his wife not purely for her sake but because he regards her as his spouse and associates his happiness with hers. In the example considered, the father wished to calm down the child because he regarded it as his own baby and associated his happiness with its pacification and joy.

Bhagavatpāda has taught in His Śataślokī, “An object continues to be dear as long as one derives pleasure from it and it is detested for the duration that it causes pain. The same object cannot be always liked or disliked. Sometimes, that which is not dear may become dear. Moreover, that which was loveable can turn unpleasant. The Ātman, towards which affection never wanes, is always the most beloved.”

The Ātman is ever the dearest because it is always the source of joy. In fact, the Upaniṣads are emphatic that it is of the nature of unalloyed bliss. Because one fails to realize one’s intrinsic nature of being pure bliss, one turns towards sense-objects, mistakenly imagining them to be sources of one’s happiness. The happiness that one seems to derive from sense-objects actually has for its basis the bliss of the Ātman. Thus, there is just one source of joy and that is the Ātman.

33. Entrapment in Eddies

A worm fell into a river. It was dragged along by the current and soon got trapped in an eddy. Round and round it went. Despairing for life, it struggled to escape but in vain. After some time, primarily because of the very dynamics of the flow, it found itself out of the eddy. Alas! Even before it could savour its respite, it was trapped in the watery grip of another eddy. Again, it was spun around in circles. Its freedom from this eddy too was short-lived, for it got caught yet again in churning waters. Its life would surely have ended but for the fact that a kind-hearted man beheld its plight. He reached the spot where it was spinning in an eddy and gently rescued it. He carried it to the bank and finally left it on dry land. The worm realized that if the water level were to rise with the passage of time, it would be in trouble. So, it moved away from the river and soon reached a safe spot under a tree in the vicinity.

Man’s plight in the cycle of transmigratory existence is akin to that of the worm. People strive to obtain pleasure. The enjoyment they obtain motivates them to endeavour further to obtain pleasure and avoid pain. Thus, a vicious cycle comprising activity and enjoyment sets in from which there is virtually no respite. This cycle is like an eddy in the river of life. After death, a man moves on to another birth just as the worm passed on from one eddy to another. Like the kind man of the example, the Sadguru provides succour to the helpless man trapped in the cycle of work and enjoyment and the cycle of birth and death. Having received the grace and guidance of a Guru, it behoves a person to put in effort, like the worm placed on the shore, and become a Jīvanmukta, one liberated while alive.

34. Need for a Guru

A customer approached a jeweller. He had a diamond with him and wanted to ascertain its value. He was under the impression that the diamond was flawless and that it would fetch him a good price. The jeweller examined it and said, “This diamond is not very worthy as it has a defect in the form of a black dot.” The customer examined the diamond thoroughly but could not locate the dot. So, he told the jeweller, “I see no dot.” The jeweller asked him to inspect it carefully. Still, the customer failed to perceive the dot. The jeweller then gave several directions as to how the spot could be identified. After some time, the customer was able to apprehend the dot.

Even in a matter like examining a diamond, guidance is necessary. What then need be said about the importance of guidance in comprehending the Truth, which is most subtle? The Kaṭha Upanishad declares, “As the Ātman is subtler than the subtlest, It is beyond the scope of arguments.”

A person may peruse the Upanishads, which expound the Truth, and reflect deeply on the import of the scriptures. But this much is inadequate for him to get direct realization of the Supreme and, hence, liberation. The grace and instructions of a Guru are essential for the dawn of enlightenment. It is said in the Chandogya-upaniṣad, “Knowledge acquired from the Guru is what definitely becomes most beneficial.”

35. The Sadguru Graces All Immaculately

An enlightened sage lived in a forest spending most of his time oblivious of his body and surroundings, in nirvikalpa-samādhi, the acme of yoga. One day, two youths came to his divine presence and reverentially waited, standing motionless with joined palms, till his mind emerged from samādhi. When, on his opening his half-closed eyes, his glance fell on them, they prostrated for long. Thereafter, they humbly beseeched him to grace them by accepting them as his disciples. By virtue of his realization of the non-dual Truth, he had transcended all duties and wants. However, being an ocean of mercy, he acquiesced to their request.

To provide them an opportunity to perform Guru-sevā, which is invaluable for a disciple, he assigned them tasks to be performed on a daily basis, such as washing his ochre robes, cleaning the place where he performed penance and obtaining food by begging in the villages at the edge of the forest. He initiated both of them into a Mantra and taught them how to meditate.

One of the disciples soon became an adept at meditation who sat for hours with a rock-steady, concentrated mind, without awareness of even the body. The other wholeheartedly and regularly attempted to meditate but found his efforts consistently thwarted by distracting thoughts that kept on arising and disappearing like the waves of the ocean. The first disciple readily grasped, in its entirety, what the sage taught. The second lad sincerely attended the classes and read for long the portions taught. But as he was not bright, he comprehended far less than his companion. Both the disciples efficiently carried out the tasks assigned to them with thoroughness.

Five years passed. One day, the Guru told his disciples, “Your studies are now complete and it is time for you to return to your homes.” They loved their Guru dearly and the mere thought of being separated from him was very painful. However, they had the firm conviction that at no time should any command of the Guru be transgressed, even to the slightest extent, for any reason whatsoever. So, in deference to their Guru’s directive, they got ready to leave. The first disciple prostrated before his Guru. The sage blessed him with abhaya-mudrā, upraised palm. When the second disciple prostrated, the sage placed his divine hand on the disciple’s head and stated with certainty, “May you become fully enlightened, right now.” His grace was so potent that the disciple promptly became an enlightened mahātman.

The first disciple felt unhappy that, unlike his friend, he had not received the special blessing. Not one to hide his feelings or thoughts from his Guru, he asked with joined palms, “O Lord, a doubt has arisen in my mind. I seek your permission to express it to you. By your grace, my meditation has been far superior to his and I have grasped much more during your classes than him. Such being the case, O Master, why did you specially grace him rather than me? In case, my query is inappropriate, kindly forgive me.”

Guru: Prior to my answering your question, let me pose some queries to you. What do you think of me?

First disciple: You are my revered Guru. You are a great sage who has realized the Supreme and achieved all that is to be achieved.

Guru: Do I appear to be a man given to transacting business with his disciples?

First disciple: Certainly not.

Guru: My child, you referred to your superior meditation and your greater grasp of Vedānta. You aver that I am not a trader. Why, then, do you expect me to dispense grace proportional to a disciple’s service, success in absorbing my teaching and progress in meditation practised according to my instructions? You further say that I have achieved all that is to be achieved. If so, I stand to gain nothing by your service or by producing a scholar adept at meditation, through whom my name shall spread.

First disciple: Are not meditation and enquiry means to getting knowledge of the Truth, which is what my companion has now got?

Guru: Of course, they are. If properly practised, meditation and enquiry eradicate the ego. You, my child, feel, “I meditate well. I am a scholar.” You should not be egoistic like this. Your companion, on the other hand, feels, “I am nothing. Whatever state my Guru places me in, that is all that I want. Let my Guru do whatever he wishes to do with me.” First disciple: If there be the possibility of a disciple who has not progressed in the spiritual path straightaway getting enlightened by the grace of the Guru, then does not spiritual effort become something that is dispensable?

Guru: Not at all. A disciple should carry out his Guru’s instructions to the very best of his ability and then leave everything in the hands of his Guru or God; that ability of his may be great or insignificant. If, thinking, “I need not personally take steps in the direction shown by my Guru. May he himself deliver me to the goal,” a disciple were to be indolent or careless, he will certainly not attain the highest. Undoubtedly, your companion did do his best. It is true that you, whose capacity is far greater than his, were also sincere.

My child, I love both of you equally. A mother attends more to a babe that is a few days old than to her ten-year-old child. This is not because she loves the latter less but because the former is in greater need of care. You are very intelligent, learned and meditate well. Combat your ego and realization of the Supreme shall be yours. For that, you have my complete blessings. Your companion is helpless like a new-born babe. He is neither intelligent, nor learned and his mind wanders like the wind. If I had not uplifted him myself, he would have been lost. So, I gave him special blessings. As for you, you too shall become enlightened. Have no doubt or apprehension regarding this. Numerous are the persons who shall be uplifted by you.

The Guru then called out to the second disciple, who was standing at some distance to allow his companion to converse in private.

Guru: If I had ignored you when you prostrated, what would you have thought?

Second disciple: Lord, you are everything to me. You know best. So, I would have remained quiet and fully satisfied if you had ignored or even cursed me.

Turning to the first disciple, the Guru said, “See how profound his devotion is. He spoke truthfully when he said that he would have been satiated even if I had cursed him. I blessed you and yet you felt dissatisfied. What a difference there is between his devotion and yours!” The first disciple hung his head in shame. Looking at him with compassion, the Guru unequivocally declared, “I questioned your companion for the sole purpose of creating a situation conducive to eradicate your ego, the obstacle in your path. Now that humility has pervaded your heart, you deserve the highest and shall have it.” Saying so, he specially graced the first disciple and the latter promptly attained the highest.

Regardless of the differences between disciples, the ideal Sadguru knows and does what is best for each of them. His mode of gracing is ever immaculate.

36. Where Censure is a Blessing

Devadatta was a bright, dexterous lad who studied his Veda and the śāstras at the hermitage of an very erudite sage. Five other brahmacārins were his classmates. The Guru was strict and ensured that his pupils, who venerated as also feared him, led disciplined lives conforming to the rules of their brahmacarya-āśrama.

One day, at the commencement of his śāstra lesson, the Guru asked a question to a disciple. As the question was simple and pertained to the portion covered the preceding day, the not-very-bright disciple gave a satisfactory answer. The Guru nodded. Turning to another brahmacārin, he asked a simple question, again relating to the previous day’s lesson. The brahmacārin hesitated for some time and then gave a completely wrong answer. The Guru spelt out the correct answer and asked the boy to repeat what he had said. On the lad doing so, the Guru told him, “Pay more attention. If you do not understand anything that I say, feel free to ask me.”

Then, turning to Devadatta, he posed a tough question pertaining to a portion that had been covered over a month ago. Nevertheless, Devadatta thought over the matter and began his answer. He proceeded correctly for some time and then got struck. The Guru waited for a moment, and, with a frown on his face, shouted, “You fool! Your answer is inadequate. Have you come here to study or to while away your time? After this class, do not show me your face again, unless and until you are able to give me the correct answer.” Devadatta thought to himself, “My companion did not answer a simple question pertaining to yesterday’s lesson correctly, but my Guru was soft with him. I, however, answered a tough question partly. Yet, he has given me a strong rebuke. To avoid such censure, I shall study harder and thereby ensure that I do not ever get caught inadequately prepared.”

The Guru continued with the lesson. At the end of it, Devadatta did not go out like the other brahmacārins but continued to sit in the same room, pouring over his books. After a couple of hours, he approached his Guru. The Guru asked him, “I told you not to come to me unless you are ready with the correct reply. Can you give me the answer now?” Devadatta said, “Yes, master” and gave a flawless reply. The Guru did not express either approval or disapproval. He merely went on to ask a few more questions. Devadatta provided the correct answers. The Guru nodded and moved on. Time passed on with Devadatta never failing to answer correctly when questioned by his Guru during the classes.

One afternoon, he was fanning his Guru in his master’s hut when another brahmacārin came there and announced that a person who seemed to be a reputed scholar had come to the āśrama. The Guru asked that brahmacārin to receive the visitor with due honour and to usher him to his hut. The brahmacārin obeyed. The scholar who entered exchanged pleasantries with the Guru and then said that he had come for a discussion based on the śāstras. He expounded a point and then posed a query. The Guru unexpectedly turned to Devadatta and said, “Answer!” Devadatta was taken aback, for he thought that the question was addressed to the Guru. Nevertheless, in obedience to his Guru’s command, he began to give a reasoned reply. The visitor raised another point and a further question. Once more, Devadatta responded and soon a full-fledged discussion of great depth ensued. After about an hour of discussion, the visiting pundit posed a complex question. Devadatta rapidly called to mind all that he had read and heard from his Guru on the issue concerned. But he was unable to think of a satisfactory response. So he remained silent.

Noticing this, his Guru gave out a cogent answer that fully satisfied the visitor. Then, turning to Devadatta, his Guru shouted, “You are a disgrace. Can you not think beyond what is given in the books? Do you have to be told everything? If you are going to reproduce what is in the books and whatever I tell you, then, what is the difference between you and a parrot? I might as well keep a parrot here as a student instead of you.”

While the Guru was scolding Devadatta, the visitor was all smiles. Devadatta felt thoroughly humiliated.

He wondered, “Why is my Guru humiliating me like this in front of this reputed scholar? After all, I was not in the least expecting this discussion and yet managed reasonably well. I have been faring much better than my classmates. Yet, my Guru sharply censures me and also has a low opinion of me. Perhaps, he does not like me.” Never one to lose hope, he resolved, “No matter how much effort I have to put in and regardless of the scolding and humiliations I receive, I shall somehow master the śāstras to such an extent that he will be forced to be proud of me.”

Thereafter, Devadatta not only studied what he had been taught but also pondered on the implications of the passages. He considered possible unstated objections and thought up powerful replies to them.

One day, during his Guru’s śāstra class, Devadatta abruptly began to feel dizzy and nauseated. He tried to control himself so that he could continue to attend the class. His Guru, however, discerned what was happening. In a kindly voice, he said, “My child, you are unwell. Do not strain yourself. Go to the hut, lie down and rest.” Devadatta was surprised at the extreme softness in his Guru’s voice. He tried to get up but as he did so, because of the dizziness, he nearly fell. His Guru quickly got up and held him. Then, lifting Devadatta in his arms, the Guru personally carried him to the hut and made him lie down on a straw bed. He prepared a medical potion and administered it to Devadatta. When the other brahmacārin came there, he told them that he was cancelling his class for that day.

Taking a disciple with him, he went out of the āśrama after instructing another brahmacārin to tend to Devadatta. He returned a couple of hours later. He had cuts on several portions of his body and was bleeding profusely. Worried, Devadatta asked him about what had happened. The Guru merely said, “Let us not talk about me,” and proceeded to prepare a special medicine, a little of which he administered to Devadatta. He then spent the whole night by Devadatta’s side, giving him a kaṣāya every one hour. Devadatta was deeply touched by his Guru’s affection. The next morning, he felt reasonably well.

As he was about to go for his bath, a co-student of his came to the hut. He said, “Last night, I heard you ask our Guru about the injuries on his body. But you got no answer. I know what happened.” He continued, “Yesterday, our Guru took me and went out of the āśrama. He moved into the forest for some distance and gathered few herbs. He gave them to me and said, ‘Wait here for me in the safety of some tree. But do not tarry for more than an hour. If I do not return by then, return to the āśrama, prepare a medicine with these herbs and administer it to Devadatta.’ He explained in depth how I should prepare a potion using the herbs that he had given me.

“He then walked deeper into the forest, leaving me behind. I climbed a tree and from my perch could see him moving swiftly. He encountered a dense, thorny bush on the way. To cross it, he had to plunge through it. As he did so, his body was badly injured. But he did not seem to mind. He just picked himself up and continued to walk. I was shocked to see that he was proceeding towards a cave, at the mouth of which a tigress was seated along with her cubs. She was nursing her cubs. You will recall that our Guru had told us that tigers do not normally harm human beings and that if we encounter a tiger during our walks in the forest, we should remain perfectly still till the tiger passes. You will also remember that he warned us to take special care to avoid a tigress nursing her cubs because, apprehending danger, she might maul us.

“As our Guru headed towards the cave, I watched helplessly. I felt like screaming out to caution him but knew that he would not approve. So, I just sat where I was, petrified. The tigress sensed his arrival and growled. He ignored the warning and did not slacken his pace. Surprisingly, the tigress relaxed and continued to nurse her cubs. Our Guru soon reached the entrance of the cave and began to gather some herbs. I realized that he had gone there because the herbs concerned were found only at that spot. Having collected the herbs, he headed back. Again, he had no choice but to plunge through the bush on the way. He injured himself further. As he came up to the tree where I was perched, I descended.

“Seeing me stare at his wounds, he merely said, ‘Oh, these are nothing. Let us move on.’ We returned to the āśrama and it was with the herbs that he had gathered at the spot where I waited and at the entrance of the cave that he prepared the medicine that he administered you. He risked his life for you.” Devadatta was deeply moved and tears came to his eyes. He thought to himself, “What a blunder I have committed. I thought that he does not like me. Indeed, he loves me very dearly.”

One day, when Devadatta was cleaning his Guru’s hut, a brahmacārin came there and announced the arrival of two visitors to the āśrama. The Guru asked the brahmacārin to usher them in. Devadatta moved to leave the room. But his Guru ordered him to continue with his work. One of the visitors was obviously a pundit, while the other appeared to be his quiet, submissive attendant. The Guru asked the visitors to sit down and they exchanged pleasantries. The scholar said that he had come to have a debate. He then initiated it. The Guru instructed Devadatta to respond and the latter did so.

Soon, the discussion reached great heights. Arguments sallied forth from one side to the other. About two hours passed in this way without the visiting scholar being able to gain the least upper hand. After some time, the scholar advanced what appeared to be an invincible argument in favour of his proposition. However, Devadatta beautifully demolished it. The scholar had no choice but to keep silent. Devadatta thought that the scholar would feel upset or annoyed. However, he was surprised to find the visitor in high spirits. The Guru then turned to Devadatta and said, “You can leave now.” Devadatta obeyed. Thereafter, the visitors and the Guru engaged in conversation for a while after which, the visitors left the āśrama.

Two days later, the king of the land came to the āśrama and met the Guru. On being summoned, Devadatta went to the meeting place, prostrated and stood reverentially at some distance from his Guru. His Guru ordered him to sit down. He obeyed. The king turned to Devadatta and, rising from his seat, respectfully said, “I have built a big āśrama in the woods near the capital. Please accept it as a humble offering from me. I would be deeply honoured if you will agree to be my adviser in religious matters. I would be much obliged to you if you will also agree to gauge the scholarship of visiting pundits so that I can suitably honour and reward them. Please think over my requests and let me know whether you will grant them. I am eagerly hoping that you will give me an affirmative answer.”

Devadatta was perplexed to hear the king address him thus. He asked, “Why is it that Your Highness is making such an offer to me? You do not know me at all.” “I do,” said the king. “Your Guru has told me much about you. He is extremely proud of you and has unequivocally asserted that you are a thoroughly disciplined scholar par excellence.” “My Guru said that!” exclaimed Devadatta, his jaw dropping in amazement. The Guru said, “My child, I have always been proud of you. Because I rebuked you, you thought that I have a low opinion of you and do not like you. Is it not?” On hearing this precise description of his earlier state of mind, Devadatta felt ashamed of himself.

The Guru continued, “You will recall that I had posed a tough question to you during a class and when you had given a partially correct answer, I had shouted at you. I knew you to be a priceless diamond that would dazzle the eyes of beholders on being properly cut and polished. You were head and shoulders above all the other brahmacārins but I wanted you to rise higher and have all the lesson sat your finger-tips. To make you drive yourself harder, I rebuked you. I was glad to find that the aim of my harsh words was amply fulfilled.

“You will also recall the discussion in which, after responding brilliantly for some time, you were unable to proceed further. The scholar with whom you held that discussion was a classmate of mine. I was the one who had asked him to come here and that too at a time when only you would be with me in my hut. Further, the question that stumped you was asked by him in accordance with my earlier arrangement with him. As you know, after you were at a loss for an answer, I scolded you with extreme severity. My words broke my heart far more than they did yours. Nevertheless, I continued because my intention was to provoke you so much as to make you firmly resolve to prove yourself to me by becoming a scholar par excellence. I was overjoyed to find my efforts fully rewarded.

“My child, I did not praise you all these days not because I was not appreciative of you but to avoid any possibility of your becoming complacent. A Guru should keep in mind the risk of his eulogy serving as clarified butter to the fire of his disciple’s ego. Now that your studies are complete, I feel free to open my heart to you. You are the very best of the disciples I have ever had. Right from the time when you first came to me, you have been very close to my heart.” With joined palms, Devadatta said, “O Lord! How much I misunderstood you. I have been a thorough fool. Please forgive me.” The Guru said, “My child, there is nothing to forgive. Be at ease.”

The king who had been silently hearing the dialogue between the Guru and the disciple told Devadatta, “I should tell you at this stage that the scholar whom you debated a couple of days ago studied with your Guru at the hermitage of your master’s master. He has been my adviser in religious matters but has now decided to retire to the Himalayas. The quiet man who accompanied him that day was myself, in disguise. Your Guru invited us to witness a display of your superb erudition and debating skills. Needless to say, we were enthralled. Now you can see that I did not make my request to you without knowing about you.” After seeking his Guru’s directive, Devadatta acceded to the king’s wishes.

When a mahātman censures a person, it is not because of inadequate control over the tongue or out of malice or on account of a desire to humiliate or to derive sadistic pleasure. The purpose is to correct or uplift that person. That is why it is said, “Persons who are rebuked by the Guru with harsh words attain greatness.” Condemnation by a sage is truly a great blessing in disguise.

37. The Sadguru Rewards Unstinted Guru-Sevā

Upamanyu was a disciple of the great Sage Dhaumya. In accordance with his Guru’s instruction, he took the cows of the hermitage every day for grazing. In keeping with the rules to be observed by a brahmacārin, he obtained food by begging and submitted the same to his Guru.

Desirous of testing Upamanyu, Dhaumya kept all the food that was brought by his disciple with himself and gave nothing to Upamanyu. However, the Guru found that even with the passage of days, his disciple remained quite strong and healthy. So, he asked Upamanyu about how he had been able to maintain his strength. Upamanyu said that he had been fetching bhikṣā a second time. The preceptor said that his practice was wrong and forbade him from indulging in it.

Surprisingly, the disciple continued to remain sturdy. On his Guru asking him the reason, Upamanyu said, “Nowadays, when I take the cows for grazing, I drink some of their milk.” The Guru told him, “Henceforth, you must not do so. If you consume the milk, which is my property, it only amounts to your stealing it.” The disciple stopped imbibing milk. However, he continued to be robust. This was because he began to subsist on the foam that remained on the mouths of the calves after they had suckled their mothers. On learning of this practice of the disciple, the Guru commanded that he should desist from consuming foam. The disciple obeyed. But overcome by hunger, he started eating the leaves of an arka plant. As a consequence, his system became poisoned and he lost his vision. Blinded, he staggered and fell into a disused well.

At dusk, the cows returned home without him. The Guru began to worry about the non-arrival of Upamanyu. “I wanted to test his devotion. But he is in some trouble. Why has he not returned?” he thought. Calling out the pupil’s name, he began to search for him. When he approached the vicinity of the well into which Upamanyu had fallen, a feeble voice responded to his call. Observing the sad state of affairs, Dhaumya asked him, “How did you fall into this well?” “Overcome by hunger, I tasted arka leaves. Consequently, I became blind and stumbled into this well,” replied Upamanyu. Compassionately gazing at the disciple, Dhaumya said, “Recite this particular portion of the Veda which is a hymn eulogizing the Aśvinīkumāras.” As commanded by his Guru, Upamanyu chanted the said Ṛgvedic hymn. Pleased with him, the Aśvini Kumāras, the physicians of the gods, appeared before him. They offered him a cake of flour and asked him to eat it. Though extremely hungry, Upamanyu told them that he could not do so without submitting the same to his Guru. The Aśvinīkumāras tried their best to persuade him to consume it without offering it to his Guru, but Upamanyu did not budge from his stance. Extremely pleased with his devotion to his Guru, the Aśvinī-kumāras restored his eyesight.

Upamanyu climbed out of the well, approached his Guru and prostrated before Dhaumya. Then, he told his preceptor about what had transpired between him and the Aśvinī-kumāras. Fully satiated with Upamanyu’s Guru-bhakti, Dhaumya said to him, “You are intensely devoted to me. Hence I bless you that even without further studies and service, all the 14 Vidyās will spontaneously accrue to you.” His words came to pass. In the course of time, Upamanyu became a great and revered sage.

Āruṇi of Pāñcāla was another very devoted disciple of the Sage Dhaumya. He served his Guru with diligence. One day, Dhaumya sent him to the fields to attend to the dyke there. Āruṇi tried his level best to plug an opening through which water was leaking. However, he was unable to succeed. Finally, he blocked the flow with his own body. Time passed. At the hermitage, Dhaumya asked, “Where is Āruṇi?” His other disciples told him, “O Lord, you had sent him to attend to the dyke.” Dhaumya immediately set out with his disciples in search of Āruṇi. He called out, “My child, where are you? Come to me.” On hearing the words of his Guru, Āruṇi stood up, quickly plugged the opening as best as he could and rushed to the presence of Dhaumya. Having prostrated before him, he explained what had happened. Then, he asked, “Master, what is your further instruction for me?” Dhaumya said, “In view of the task done by you, you shall become famous with the name Uddālaka. You have fulfilled my command. Let all the Vedas and the dharma-śāstras become known to you.” Uddālaka-Āruṇi promptly became thoroughly erudite.

38. Teaching Through Silence

The four mind-born sons of the creator Brahma known as the kumāras were thoroughly disinterested in getting married and begetting progeny. They were extremely dispassionate and wished to free themselves from the cycle of transmigratory existence. Out of compassion, Lord Śiva manifested as a four-armed figure, Dakṣināmūrti, and sat at the foot of a banyan tree in the Himalayas, silent and lost in the bliss of the Supreme. The sages approached Him with the intention of asking Him how to get rid of the cycle of transmigratory existence and of getting their doubts set at rest. The Lord, as Dakṣināmūrti, did not speak. Yet, so potent was His silence and grace that the sages immediately became enlightened; their doubts vanished.

There is darkness on the night of the full moon as also on the night of the new moon; there is no night without darkness. In the darkness of the night of the full moon, people are able to move about on the roads and are also able to perform their routine activities. They, however, have to strain to read a book; that is all. In the darkness of the night of the new moon, if the sky happens to be overcast too, it is not possible for people to walk on the road or to engage in their activities; the question of reading a book does not arise at all. The ignorance of the sages such as Sanaka was like the darkness of the night of the full moon. On the other hand, the ignorance of almost all the others is like the darkness of the night of the new moon. The silence of an enlightened sage is adequate to dispel the mild ignorance of an extremely pure-minded disciple who is akin to the holy ones who approached Dakṣināmūrti. However, disciples of a lower calibre, whose ignorance is denser, require to be taught the Truth by their Guru.

39. Brahma’s Advice: “Da, Da, Da”

Brahma, once instructed the devas, humans and asuras. He rendered the same advice, “Da, da, da,” to all of them. The Devas, as a rule, are given to enjoyment of sense objects. Hence, they thought that Brahma wanted them to be self-controlled. That is, they interpreted ‘da’ as connoting ‘dāmyata (Control yourselves)’. Human beings are selfish by nature and hoard wealth for future use. They comprehended the word ‘da’ to mean ‘datta (Perform charity)’. Asuras are cruel by nature. So, they understood the utterance ‘da’ to mean ‘dayadhvam (Be compassionate)’.

Bhagavatpāda, in His commentary on the relevant portion of the Bṛhadāraṇyaka-upaniṣad, has clarified that the story does not necessarily refer to devas, humans and asuras considered separately. ‘Deva’ here means a person with a predominantly sāttvika nature, tainted by tendencies of enjoyment and conceit. ‘Asuras’ are stone-hearted persons with fierce instincts. All men should therefore cultivate sense-control, charity and compassion. To this day, the Creator declares “Da, da, da” through the sound of thunder.

A Guru instructs his disciples bearing in mind their competence. It is perfectly possible for a common teaching to have different implications for different disciples; the instruction of Brahma is an example.

40. Essentiality of Humility

A lad approached a sage and requested, “Please instruct me about the Supreme.” The Guru said, “First live here as a brahmacārin for six months.” The disciple did so, duly observing the rules for a brahmacārin such as serving the Guru.

At the end of the stipulated period, the disciple decided to approach his Guru for initiation. He first had his bath in the river. As he was about to start, a man appeared on the scene and dumped a basket of filth on him. The disciple flew into a wild rage and gave the man a beating. Having bathed again, he went to his Guru. The Guru asked, “Tell me what you did today.” The disciple said, “Everything was fine till just prior to my coming here after a bath, when a rogue defiled me with filth. How dare he do that to me! So, I beat him. Having purified myself, I have come here to receive holy instruction from you about the Truth.” The Guru said, “The time for instruction is not yet ripe. Observe brahmacarya here for three more months.”

The disciple obeyed. Again, on the day he was scheduled to be initiated, he took a bath and emerged from the river. The man who had dumped filth on him on an earlier occasion came there and repeated his act. The disciple felt irritated but far less than on the previous occasion. He scolded the man, bathed again and went to his Guru. The Guru asked him about what had transpired that day. The disciple narrated what had happened. The Guru said, “The time is still not ripe. Observe brahmacarya here for three more months.”

The disciple obeyed. At the end of three months, on the scheduled day, he bathed prior to approaching his Guru for instruction. When he had finished his bath, the man who had troubled him on the earlier two occasions again came there and dirtied him. This time, the disciple felt no anger. He saluted the man and said, “I am indebted to you. Thank you for helping me remedy the defects of arrogance and wrath.” Then, he took a fresh bath and proceeded to his Guru’s abode. This time, the Guru told him, “Now you are fit to be instructed,” and duly initiated him into the Truth. The Guru was actually the one who had arranged for the disciple to be defiled on all the occasions so as to make the disciple shed his sense of self-importance and become humble. A disciple who is proud and short-tempered fails to realize the Truth expounded by his Guru.

41. Some Errors of Disciples

A cow had fallen ill and its owner was worried about it. He took the animal to a veterinary doctor who prescribed a certain medicine with the instruction that it should be given after mixing with ghee. The owner of the cow reasoned, “The cow yields milk. From that we get curd, butter and finally ghee. So, the essence of ghee is already present in the cow. Such being the case, why should I mix ghee with the medicine?” Having analysed thus, he administered the medicine without adding ghee. The indiscretion of the milkman aggravated the disease instead of bringing it down.

A disciple should carry out the instructions of his Guru to the last letter, without deviating from them in the least. Were he to introduce innovations of his own, he would be on par with the milkman.

A teacher had two foolish disciples. One day, he summoned them and said, “I am feeling some discomfort in my legs. Give them a good massage.” The disciples grasped a leg each and commenced their massage. Soon, for relaxation, the teacher rested his right leg on the left. The student who was massaging the left leg thought, “What is this? Something has fallen on my teacher’s sacred foot. How can I, a devoted disciple, allow such a thing to happen?” He roughly pushed the right leg aside without realizing that it also belonged to his master. Seeing this, the other disciple shouted, “What do you think you are doing? How dare you shove my teacher’s leg?” Then, he wrathfully pushed the left leg. The other disciple retaliated.

The disciples quarrelled thus at the cost of their teacher’s comforts. When this went on for some time, the master sat up and said, “What are you two up to? I asked you to massage my legs to relieve my pain but you have only worsened it. Get lost.”

Service of the Guru is essential but it should be done with due care, after obtaining permission. Improper service will only be a hindrance to the Guru.

Four students learnt the mantra-śāstra from a Guru. After the completion of their studies, they started for their homes. As they were passing through a forest, they came across a dead tiger. Three of them opined, “We are conversant with the sañjīvinī-mantra which can restore the dead to life. Should we not test its efficacy? Let us revive this feline with it.” The fourth student saw the foolishness of their proposed course of action. He did his best to dissuade them but failed. So, he climbed a tree nearby and sat on a branch. His companions utilized the sañjīvinī-mantra to give the tiger a fresh lease of life. The carnivore rose. Feeling the pangs of hunger, it struck its saviours dead.

Notwithstanding scholarliness in the mantra-śāstra, lack of common sense caused the trio to perish. A person’s mind is like a blunt knife that is unfit for cutting unless it is sharpened by the knowledge acquired from a teacher. Erudition without common sense is like a sharp knife in the hands of a monkey. Thus, learning and common sense are both essential; bereft of these, one would be mentally blind though physically sighted.

42. Teachers to Avoid

A patient suffering from a bronchial ailment approached a doctor and narrated his tale of woe. “Do not worry,” said the doctor. “I have the right medicine for you. I am also suffering from this very disease for a long time and have been taking this medicine. It does not seem to have much effect on me. Now that you have come, I have an opportunity to test its potency. I feel that it will cure your disease,” he explained.

How can a patient have faith in such a doctor? Similarly, a teacher who himself is not sure of what he teaches will neither inspire confidence in his pupils nor expound well.

A boy’s orthodox father took him to Kāśī and enrolled him there in a Vedānta-pāṭhaśālā with the hope that he would become an erudite, renowned scholar. He attended the classes because he was required to but as he was neither hard-working nor intelligent, the understanding of the Vedānta texts that he acquired was meagre. After a few years, he dropped out of the pāṭhaśālā and returned to his home in South India. He claimed that he had completed his course successfully. As he was the son of a wealthy, respected man and he was supposedly a pundit, several vaidikas in his town had no hesitation in offering their daughters to him in marriage. He soon got married and set himself up as a teacher of Vedānta. He was more than ready to accept anyone who came to him as a pupil, regardless of whether that person was a brahmacārin or a gṛhastha.

Being lazy and ignorant, he did not bother to prepare for any class. His mode of teaching was to read or to ask a student to read a few lines, restate the contents in different words without elaboration, and pass on to the next few lines. Now and then, he cracked some jokes and gave worldly examples that were more irrelevant than pertinent. He handled questions to which he did not know the answers in three ways.

Sometimes, he said, “This issue is not of significance. There is no need for us to waste time on it. Read on.” When what was asked was obviously important, he looked at the watch. If the class was scheduled to end in a few minutes, he said, “There is no time for this today. We shall see sometime later.” Were there much time left, he nonchalantly stated, “This very point has been discussed and clarified in our text itself in a portion that we will be covering in future. So, there is no need to consider it at this juncture.”

He was fortunate that his six students had great faith in him and felt that they had no one but him to make them Vedānta-paṇḍitas. Further, they felt fully satisfied with the semblance of knowledge they were receiving. The teacher was happy and so were the students but the latter did not know that they were great losers.

One day, a bearded young man clad in a silken ochre Dhoti and shirt turned up at a town. When some people met him, he said that he had descended from the Himālayas after spending seven years there absorbed in meditation. He claimed that his Guru was an omniscient celestial who had suddenly materialized before him years ago. His Guru had vouchsafed to him a hitherto-unknown, simple and quick method for people to get peace, fulfilment of desires and finally, freedom from rebirth.

His Guru had then transformed him, by touching select spots on his body, into a knower of Truth and endowed him with special powers. “Remain here in meditation for seven years. Then, travel to various places and teach the potent method that I have made known to you, to others,” the Guru had said before disappearing. The people were impressed with his account. A person asked him about his life prior to his encountering his Guru. He responded, “That is a closed chapter. Having taken a new spiritual birth, I should not and shall not say anything about it.”

He was given some rooms for his use in the mansion of an affluent man who had begun to think much of him. That evening, he gave a talk to a modest audience. Being a good orator, he comfortably held the attention of his listeners. In the course of his discourse, he said, “There is no need to renounce the world or even desires to attain peace and liberation. I am ready to teach those who approach me with full faith. The new method that I have received from my Guru is most efficacious and simple but not time-consuming.”

His disciples were basically required to generate a sound like the braying of an ass synchronized with the outgoing breath. After doing so for five minutes, they were to breathe in and breathe out as fast as possible, while mentally chanting a monosyllabic mantra received from him. He assured them that on chanting the mantra for some time, they would feel lightheaded. They were to then stop the mantra, breathe normally and enjoy the unusual feeling till it vanished. The process was to be carried out in a dark room.

Prior to initiating a disciple into a mantra, he said, “Make a complete confession to me. By my power, I will free you from the consequences of your weaknesses and faults. Once I do so, it will be immaterial whether you change your ways or not.” After hearing out the disciple, he placed his right hand on his disciple’s chest and intoned, “I free you from sins,” thrice. Then, he began a complex process of initiation in a dark room, in the course of which the disciple was required to sit motionless, with eyes closed.

After initiation, he presented every disciple with a framed photograph of himself. Then, by waving his hand in the air, he produced some kuṅkuma which he gave his disciple. He was very particular that no disciple of his should divulge the Mantra or the meditation procedure to another. Any violation of secrecy would, he severely warned, render the process infructuous for the disciple. Further, the erring disciple would fall seriously ill within six months.

Every disciple experienced tingling sensations in the body during initiation; some had a variety of experiences that filled them with wonder and joy. During the meditation procedure, the disciples did get an uncommon feeling after chanting the mantra for a short time; some had visions and felt ecstatic. Each disciple noticed a white powder forming automatically for a day on the photograph he received from his Guru.

The Guru frequently went on long tours and soon acquired a large following and much fame. Many gave him large donations or costly articles, out of a sense of gratitude. What his disciples did not realize was that they were losing, not gaining, by coming into contact with him.

It was by sleight of hand that he brought kuṅkuma to the palm of his right hand. The gradual formation of ash on his photograph was simply the consequence of his having applied suitable chemicals on the glass part of the frame. Hyperventilation caused by the rapid breathing was responsible for the disciples experiencing an unusual feeling during meditation. During initiation, he used a device to administer very mild electric shocks and also gently manipulated a disciple’s body hairs to produce tingling sensations that seemed to spread. The disciple who sat full of faith with his eyes closed and that too in a dark, quiet room did not suspect or identify foul play.

The Guru knew the power of belief, expectations, auto-suggestions and hypnotic suggestions and exploited them to the hilt. Thus, the special experiences had by some disciples during initiation were the consequences of their Guru having successfully hypnotized them; they were highly susceptible to hypnosis and the Guru put them into a trance by appropriate, repeated suggestions given in a flat tone. The unusual experiences had by some during meditation was a consequence of factors such as their belief in what he had told them might happen and their high expectations.

The Guru had no scruples about taking advantage of the confessions made to him by his disciples and about sexually exploiting females during initiation if he found them to be gullible. He knew that they would heed his warning never to divulge the details of the initiation and of his imparting ‘special śakti’ to them by physical contact with them.

People stand to lose greatly by being the disciples of fraudulent Gurus such as this man and by studying under teachers like the ignorant Vedānta teacher. Unfortunately, persons who expound Vedānta without a deep knowledge of it and unenlightened or downright bogus Gurus are commonplace now-a-days. It is said, “Many are the preceptors who take possession of the wealth of their disciples but rare is he who takes away the sorrow of his disciples.” The śāstras say, “One should give up even a Guru who is tainted, who does not take cognizance of right and wrong and treads the wrong path.”

Bhagavatpāda has described a true Sadguru as, “He who has realized the Truth and is ever intent on the welfare of his disciple.” It is to such a Guru that one should resort. To avoid the risk of being misled by a charlatan, it is advisable to go only to a Guru who belongs to a line of great preceptors, is conversant with the scriptures, teaches in accordance with the scriptures, does not propagate a self-discovered path, is a master of his mind and senses, is dispassionate, whose conduct is spotless, who is clearly interested in the welfare of the disciple and who does not expect anything in return from the disciple.

43. The Hypocrisy of Pseudo-Advaitins

A saṁnyāsin was not observing any regulations with regard to food and spiritual practices. A householder approached him and asked, “You do not seem to be observing any regulations whatsoever. You eat as you wish, spend your time loitering and do acts that are unbecoming of a saṁnyāsin. Is it proper for you to be like this?” The saṁnyāsin replied, “Everything is Brahman. The body and mind perform actions whereas I am the pure, conscious Ātman which is unstained. As such, it matters little to me what the body and mind do. Indeed, everything is Brahman.”

The householder queried, “Will you come to my house for bhikṣā?” “Yes,” replied the saṁnyāsin. “I have no objections. To me, who revels in the Ātman, nothing matters. I shall come.” That afternoon, the saṁnyāsin went to the householder’s place and sat down to have a meal. However, his host did not offer him even a drop of water. As minutes passed, he became restless. His host deliberately ignored his uneasiness. Finally, unable to withstand the delay any longer, he shouted, “What do you mean by keeping me waiting? I am quite hungry. Serve me fast.”

The householder came up to him and said, “I fail to realize how hunger and thirst could arise in you who are totally immersed in the bliss of the Ātman. You are all-pervasive, for such is the nature of the Ātman. I am unable to offer you water, for, being omnipresent, you already pervade it from within and without.” The saṁnyāsin got up saying, “Do not speak like that. I am unable to bear my hunger.” He then left in search of food.

This saṁnyāsin lacked self-control and dispassion. Hence, he did not adhere to the rules meant for unenlightened mendicants. He misused Advaita philosophy merely to explain away his misconduct. His unrestrained behaviour fetched him much sin; his Advaitic declarations offered him no protection from demerits.

During an eclipse, a paṇḍita went to the sea for a bath. He had a copper vessel with him. He thought, “If I leave this vessel on the shore while I bathe, someone may steal it. On the other hand, if I take it with me, it may slip from my hand and get lost in the waters. What should I do?” He dug a hole in the beach, put the vessel in it and topped the vessel with sand. To be able to locate the spot, he made a sand Lingam there. Heaving a sigh of relief, he proceeded for his bath.

Some persons saw the Lingam on the shore and the pundit bathing in the sea. They assumed that everyone should make a Lingam before taking a sea-bath. Sometime later, the pundit went to the place where he had hidden his vessel. What did he see there? Not one or two but numerous Lingams made of sand. “My God!” wailed the pundit, “What happened? How did all these Lingams crop up? How am I to find out the Lingam that I had made?” He searched for his vessel under some Lingams but failed to find it. Finally, he returned home without it.

The above story gives a glimpse of the fact that many have the tendency to follow others without a second thought. Blindly following others is inadvisable. Further, the tendency of people to follow those whom they revere makes it imperative for teachers and religious personalities to set good standards.

A person was expounding Advaita philosophy to a group of students and, in the course of his discourse, pointed out that the world is unreal. Suddenly, a wild elephant chanced to come running that way. The disciples ran helter-skelter; the teacher was no exception. Unfortunately, the teacher slipped and fell into a pit. After the elephant went away, the students discovered their teacher in the pit, shouting for help. They approached him and asked, “Sir, you were just telling us that the world is unreal. Why then did you run, gripped by fear, when the elephant charged? Further, why are you now shouting for help?” The helpless teacher thought for a moment, and said, “Please help me to come out and I shall explain.” Accordingly, he was pulled out.

He resumed his seat at the place where he was teaching and, without batting an eyelid, declared, “I stand by what I had said. The world is unreal. The elephant that charged was unreal. You noticed that I had fallen into a pit and was screaming for help. All that was unreal. Finally, your helping me out too was unreal.” The explanation shows that the so-called teacher was shrewd but it does not alter the fact that he was being hypocritical.

One should be true to one’s conscience. One may deceive others by high-sounding talk on Advaita but it will not be of any use if one does not mend one’s ways. It is said, “He who is attached to worldly comforts but still says that everything is Brahman is actually one who has fallen from Karma and also from Brahman. Such a person must be discarded like a lowly one.” Because such a man fails to realize the Truth and procure liberation, it is said that he has fallen from Brahman. Because of his putting up a show that he is realized, such a man does not perform the ordained duties sincerely. Hence, there is the declaration of his having fallen from karma.

44. Search Without Dismantlement

A person had a harmonium. When he played it, melodious music flowed out of it. Hearing the enchanting tunes, another man thought, “How does such sweet music come out of this? Probably, these sounds are present inside this instrument.” Getting very curious, he dismantled the harmonium and searched for the sounds in every nook and corner. However much he toyed with the internal parts, he could not get the original music out of them. “Ah, what a wonder! This instrument produces music out of nowhere,” he concluded.

While there are certain occasions when one should dismantle and analyse, there are numerous other situations where this technique will not be of any help. Analysis of the Ātman falls under the latter category. The Ātman has to be discerned without actually taking apart the body which It enlivens.

45. Superficial Knowledge

A certain philanthropist offered a sum of rupees fifty thousand to anyone who knew well all the four Vedas. After a couple of days, a young man approached him and asked for the award. “Are you familiar with the four Vedas?” queried the philanthropist. The seeker of the prize answered, “I am aware of the fact that there are four Vedas.” The donor was stunned by the reply and asked, “Is that all?” The young man said, “Sir, I know that the Vedas are four in number. Is that not sufficient?” Well, what was the philanthropist to do? He just sent away the young man.

Just as the man’s superficial knowledge was inadequate to fetch him the prize, superficial or indirect knowledge of the Truth cannot bring about emancipation. Direct realization of the non-dual Supreme is what destroys ignorance and results in liberation from transmigratory existence.

46. Overlooking What is Immediate

Once, ten fools forded a river. After reaching the opposite bank, they wished to ascertain whether all of them had crossed. One of them started to count. He listed all except himself and so concluded that one of them had drowned. This caused him much grief. Another fool made the same error and confirmed that one person was missing. Consequently, all of them began to weep.

A well-wisher happened to pass that way and sought to know what their problem was. One of the fools said, “Ten of us set out to cross the river but now we are only nine.” The well-wisher was amused. He told the leader, “Please count and let me know how many of you are here.” As the others had done before him, he arrived at the answer, “Nine”. The well-wisher announced, “No. The tenth man is not dead.” The fools experienced some relief. Quickly pointing at the man who had counted, he continued, “You are the tenth man.” The significance of the well-wisher’s words dawned on the fools. Exultation replaced their grief.

Each fool forgot to count himself; we have forgotten our true nature of being the non-dual Supreme. Playing a role like that of the well-wisher of the story, the Sadguru tells his disciple, “You are not the limited, miserable person you imagine yourself to be. You are the Supreme that is of the nature of existence, consciousness and bliss.” A very pure-minded disciple promptly becomes enlightened. A disciple of a lower calibre has to serve his Guru for long and sincerely practise spiritual disciplines to free himself from defects, such as uncertainty and misapprehension. Thereafter, he obtains direct realization of the Truth.

47. Upaniṣads are a Flawless Means of Knowledge

A man named Bharcchu was the favourite of a king. This was resented by the other courtiers who were highly jealous of him. So, they drew up a plan and arranged for him to be kidnapped. With his hands tied and eyes covered, Bharcchu was taken far away from the kingdom and abandoned deep inside a forest. He began to shout for help.

Fortunately for him, a forester heard his cry. Coming up to him, he removed the bandage from his eyes and untied his hands. Then, he pointed out the direction in which Bharcchu ought to proceed to reach his kingdom.

Bharcchu moved on for some time in the prescribed direction and encountered another woodman. He took further instructions from him. Thus, seeking directions from different people in the course of his journey, he reached the boundary of his kingdom. However, because of the precautions they had taken, the courtiers who had arranged to have him kidnapped got wind of his arrival. They threatened him and precluded his entry into the kingdom. Much earlier, they had informed the king that Bharcchu had died and gradually convinced him to the extent that the king had no doubt whatsoever in this regard.

One day, the king went out from the capital towards the forest. By chance, he happened to see Bharcchu. The king ought to have been overjoyed to meet Bharcchu. However, what he experienced was not happiness but fright. The reason was that he was quite convinced that the entity before him was Bharcchu’s ghost, for Bharcchu, the man, was dead. He swiftly turned and quickly rode away, leaving Bharcchu quite perplexed and sad. The king’s organ of sight was faultless and presented him a clear image of Bharcchu. However, because of the defect of miscomprehension, he did not arrive at the right conclusion. The Upanishads, too, are flawless like the eyes of the king in the story. They produce correct knowledge. However, in spite of this, many people who study the Upanishads do not immediately get enlightened. The reason is the defect that lies in their minds. They are beset with faults such as extreme attachment to sense objects, doubts about what has been taught, as also miscomprehension. Due to flaws such as these, an individual fails to get correct knowledge though the means of knowledge, the Upaniṣads, are flawless.

48. Unreal Can Point to the Real

A person went to sleep. He soon had a dream in which he beheld himself being chased by a ferocious tiger. Since the tiger was by far swifter than him, the distance between them shrank rapidly. He was overcome with fear. So terrified was he that he abruptly woke up, his forehead wet with perspiration. The tiger seen by him in the dream was undoubtedly unreal. However, it was instrumental in bringing about a real effect, awakening.

Some object, “According to the Advaitins, the world is illusory and Brahman alone is real. If so, the teachings of the Vedas, which are included in the cosmos, should be unreal. Hence, they cannot produce true knowledge. Consequently, Advaita philosophy, which is based on the Vedas, should be worthless.” This objection is invalid.

Advaitins speak of the unreality of the world only from the standpoint of the Absolute. From an empirical standpoint, the world and the Vedas do exist. Another reply of the Advaitins is that an unreal object can, as in the example considered earlier, lead to the real. Hence, though being illusory, the Vedas can effect enlightenment and, thereby, establishment in the Supreme.

49. Recognition of Identity

A prince was kidnapped when he was a child. He was taken to a forest and left there to die. Fortunately for him, some foresters took care of him. Brought up by them, he began to live, work and behave as a woodman. Years passed. In the capital, the king passed away. So, the search for the prince was intensified. Certain persons who had known him as a child chanced to see him in the forest and even managed to recognize him. They informed him of his royal birth. Then they told him that as his father was dead, it behoved him to accept the throne. At first, he did not believe them. Gradually, he became convinced that they had spoken the truth to him. He returned to the capital and soon began to conduct himself in a manner befitting a king.

We are, in reality, the Supreme that is bereft of all bondage. On account of ignorance, we presume that we are subject to birth and death and that we are given to suffering. When, through the words of the Guru, we realize our true nature, we snap our imaginary shackles and remain as the blissful Supreme. No actual transformation takes place. False beliefs are discarded, as in the case of the prince.

50. Mind, the Cause of Bondage and Liberation

A three-year-old boy asked for an apple. As there was no apple at home, his mother offered him other fruits instead. He refused them and insisted that he be given only an apple. His mother told him that she would procure one for him in the evening. He, however, began to cry and continued wailing till his indulgent mother took him to a shop and allowed him to pick an apple of his choice. It was when his desire was gratified that he smiled joyfully.

His seven-year-old sister, who had witnessed all this, desired to have some fun at his expense. She informed him with assumed gravity, “Without realizing it, you ate a seed. I saw you do so. Do you know what will happen? An apple tree will start growing in your stomach. It will cause you great pain and, emerging from your nose and mouth, make you look funny.” He swallowed her tale hook, line and sinker and turned pale with fright. Seeing him petrified, his mother ascertained the cause and did her best to pacify him. She emphasized more than once that his sister had been pulling his leg. But her explanation fell on deaf ears. He continued to remain terror-stricken and did not take even a drop of water for hours. His mother started to worry about him. So, the moment her husband returned from work, she informed him about what had happened.

He held his son in his arms and said in a gentle reassuring voice, “Normally, no tree grows inside the stomach when an apple seed is swallowed. Even when it does, it is small. In fact, it is so tiny that it does not cause any pain and cannot be seen by others. So, even if a tree develops within you, you will neither suffer nor become the butt of ridicule. You like apples. Once there is a tree within you, you will have a constant supply of apples. You can put your fingers inside your mouth and pluck out a small fruit which you can then chew and swallow. It would be wonderful to be able to get delicious apples any time you desire them. Is it not?”

The boy nodded, with the traces of a smile forming on his face. “Do you want the tree to grow or not?” queried the father. “Definitely I do,” responded the boy. “The seed may not sprout. But if it does, then, to help it develop into a tree, you will have to eat food and drink water. If you starve yourself, the tree will die,” declared the father. Promptly, the boy ran to his mother and asked for his meal and a glass of water. His terror was completely replaced by joy and enthusiasm.

The boy was initially unhappy because of his unfulfilled desire for an apple. Thereafter, he was overcome with trepidation owing to his foolishly-imagined future danger to the body he was intensely fond of. His mind was thus the cause of his unhappiness before and after he obtained an apple.

Bharata, the eldest son of Ṛṣabha was anointed king by his father who then renounced every possession. Bharata and his wife Pancajanī had five sons. Erudite and steadfast in the observance of dharma, he ruled justly and looked upon his subjects with affection. They, for their part, adhered to their duties and held him in high esteem. Bharata performed numerous sacrifices, such as the Darśapūrnamāsa, and worshipped Viṣṇu with deep devotion. Having ruled well for long, he handed over his kingdom and possessions to his sons and retired to holy Śaligrāma on the bank of the river Gaṇḍakī. There, he lived as a recluse. He bathed thrice a day, unfailingly performed his sandhyā-vandana and spent much time in pūjā and meditation on the Lord.

One day, after he had bathed in the river and completed his sandhyā-vandana, he beheld a pregnant doe approach the river to quench its thirst. As it was drinking avidly, it heard the roar of a lion. Stricken with fright, it leapt across the stream. As it did so, the foetus in its womb emerged and fell into the water. Owing to exhaustion and because of having prematurely delivered a young one, the mother died. Moved by pity, Bharata rescued the orphaned and helpless fawn. He assumed the responsibility of rearing it.

He took great care of it and grew increasingly fond of it. Consequently, he was smitten with anxiety whenever it went to roam in the forest and took time to return; he feared it might have been attacked by a carnivore. Even when it was in the hermitage, he interrupted his religious observances to confirm that it was safe and sound. Time passed. Finally, he lay dying. The thought about what would happen to the deer pervaded his mind. Focussed on the deer rather than on God, whom he had nearly attained prior to rescuing the animal, he breathed his last.

As a consequence of his intense attachment, he was reborn as a deer. Fortunately for him, the memory of his past birth did not desert him. He wended his way back to Śaligrāma and lived there, patiently waiting for his life as a deer to terminate. After death, he was reborn as the sole son of the second spouse of a pious Brahmin. Retaining as he did the recollection of his past lives, Bharata was terribly afraid of getting attached to the world. Eschewing attachment in its entirety, he focussed his attention on the Lord and realized the Truth. He conducted himself like a dull-witted person. His father invested him with the sacred thread and taught him. However, Bharata’s mind was disinclined towards even scriptural activity. Consequently, his father’s efforts to educate him were unsuccessful. With the passage of time, Bharata’s parents died. Holding him to be a dunce, his step-brothers gave up all ideas of instructing him. They were unaware that he was a jīvanmukta, constantly reposing in the Supreme. Bharata wore no more than a rag around his loins and slept on the bare ground. His brothers employed him in their fields. He raised no objections but worked disinterestedly. Whatever his brothers gave him to eat, he consumed regardless of whether it was well-cooked or ill-cooked.

One day, a bandit chieftain desirous of a son made arrangements to offer a human sacrifice to Goddess Kālī. His servants had searched in vain for long for a victim when they espied Bharata, who was stout and flawless in every limb. They bound him with a rope, unopposed by him, and took him to the place of sacrifice. There, they bathed and decorated him. When he was about to be killed, the Goddess intervened to save the life of the saint and brought about the death of those wanting to shed his blood.

One day, the ruler of Sindhu-Sauvīra territory set out on a palanquin to meet Sage Kapila. The captain of his palanquin-bearers, who was on the lookout for recruits, spotted Bharata. He drafted the sage to bear the king’s palanquin.

Bharata did not utter a murmur of protest. But he walked with his eyes riveted to the ground and his pace did not match that of the others. So, the palanquin jolted. The king instructed his palanquin-bearers to walk at a uniform pace. The palanquin continued to jerk. Finding that his instructions were not having the desired effect, the ruler identified Bharata as the one responsible and reprimanded him. Sarcastically, he told Bharata, “Oh, you have carried the palanquin a long way all by yourself; you are not well-built and age has made you feeble.”

Taking pity on the king, Bharata taught him the Truth. He said, “Stoutness pertains to the body, not to me. Your body is a modification of pṛthvī (earth). It is borne by the palanquin which again is a modification of pṛthvī. The body of the bearer too is made of pṛthvī. The palanquin rests on the shoulder which is held up by the trunk; the trunk transfers weight to the feet; the feet rest on the ground. Where then is the question of my supporting any load? Notions such as distance to be traversed or a destination to be reached are not based on reality. Consciousness alone is real. All else is a mere appearance.” The king realized the greatness of Bharata and profited greatly from the sage’s didactical, poignant discourse. Bharata lived his life without giving least room to attachment and, on death, attained disembodied liberation.

Bharata’s mind was the cause of his rebirths and also of his getting the knowledge of Truth and, hence, liberation. The Maitrāyaṇī-upaniṣad declares, “The mind is of two kinds, pure and impure. It is impure when with desire; it is pure when devoid of desire... The mind indeed is responsible for the bondage and liberation of humans. When attached to objects, it brings about bondage. When devoid of the thoughts of objects, it leads to liberation... Just as fire subsides into its basis on the exhaustion of fuel, the mind subsides in its source, the Ātman, on the cessation of thoughts... The mind must be restrained in the heart, on the Ātman, till it is destroyed... The bliss that accrues for the mind that has been cleansed of dirt by samādhi and which is fixed on the Ātman cannot be described in words.”

51. Renunciation of Everything

In the Dvāpara-yuga, there lived a king named Śikhidhvaja who ruled over Mālava. He was learned and endowed with good qualities such as generosity, kindness and bravery. His queen was Cūḍālā, the daughter of the king of Saurāṣṭra. She was thoroughly chaste and an ideal mate for her husband. They loved each other dearly and their mutual affection waxed with the passage of time. They lived together in great joy.

Years rolled on. Their youth passed and they became old. In due course, they realized that all worldly objects and joys are transient and that there is no worldly object on acquiring which the mind gets permanent relief from sorrow. Cogitating deeply, they concluded that knowledge of the Ātman alone can confer complete freedom from the virulent disease of transmigratory existence. So, with all their being, they strived to acquire such knowledge.

Cūḍālā listened to the import of the scriptures from wise people and then reflected on what she had heard. She thought, “Who am I? The body is inert. I, who am conscious, cannot be the body. The senses that are associated with the body are inert like it, impelled as they are by the mind, just as a stone is moved by a stick that strikes it. So I am not the senses. Nor am I the mind, which too is basically devoid of consciousness; it is, after all, moved by the intellect just as any inert object is. The intellect, activated by egoism, is certainly inert and I cannot be the intellect.”

Thinking deeply in this fashion, she came to the conclusion that she was non-dual consciousness, the Supreme Brahman. Focussing on the Truth, her intrinsic nature, she acquired enlightenment. She became dispassionate and untroubled by the pairs of opposites such as pleasure and pain and heat and cold.

Śikhidhvaja noted that Cūḍālā looked glorious. He asked her, “How is it that you look as if you have regained your youth?” She replied, “I have abandoned the cosmos that is neither real nor totally non-existent. I am contented without worldly enjoyments and neither rejoice nor feel irritated. I revel in my Self that is absolute and infinite. Hence, I am radiant.”

The king, however, did not comprehend the significance of her words. Hence, he derisively told her, “You prattle like a child. You are in the midst of royal pleasures. Where is the question of your having abandoned anything? You are confused. O beautiful one, you are sporting with words. Enjoy yourself.” He laughed and left for his afternoon bath.

Cūḍālā felt sorry for Śikhidhvaja but recognized that he would not heed advice from her about self-realization. Though she had transcended desires and was constantly contented, one day, she casually decided to acquire supernatural powers. Observing the requisite restrictions, she practised prānāyāma and meditation. She awakened her kuṇḍalinī. Finally, she acquired all the eight renowned yoga-siddhis, such as the power to become minute or large. Spiritual practitioners should not be enamoured with siddhis and should view them as distractions and obstacles in their yogic path. However, as Cūḍālā was already enlightened, she had nothing to gain or lose by them and their acquisition did not in the least cause her to deviate from her establishment in the Supreme.

Though she tried hard to awaken her husband from his slumber of ignorance, he did not concern himself with her words, taking her to be just his very loving but unenlightened wife. He performed much charity, undertook pilgrimages and also practised austerity marked by severe dietary restrictions and fasting. Nevertheless, he continued to remain ignorant of the Truth and troubled by afflictions. He began to strongly feel that his enjoyments, power and duties were impediments in his quest. Hence, he decided to renounce them.

He told Cūḍālā in private, “I have ruled this kingdom for long and experienced various enjoyments. Now, prompted by dispassion, I propose to proceed to the forest. Joys, sorrows, prosperity and adversity do not torment a man who has renounced and lives in a forest. Dwelling there, I shall be happy and free from all concerns. You should not thwart my noble course of action and, instead, ought to attend to the kingdom.”

Cūḍālā conveyed to him that giving up the kingdom at that time was inadvisable. But he remained firm in his resolve. At night, when Cūḍālā was asleep, he moved out of her presence. He told his attendants that he was going alone on a patrol.

He proceeded to a distant forest and built a hut of leaves. He dwelt there performing japa and worship. Cūḍālā located him with her Yogic powers but, deciding that the time was not ripe for her to help him, left him alone and attended to the kingdom. Time passed. Desirous of uplifting him and knowing that he would not take her advice seriously, she transformed herself at the appropriate time into a young Brahmin boy, radiant with Tapas and approached him in this form. Śikhidhvaja rose and duly venerated her. She told him that her name was Kumbha and that she was the son of the celestial Sage Nārada. He felt greatly impressed with her. She told him that to attain realization, he should renounce everything. Śikhidhvaja responded that he had renounced his kingdom, his palace, wealth and even his dear wife. He then asked, “Does this not constitute total renunciation?” Cūḍālā as Kumbha, responded, “Though you have renounced your kingdom and the like, that does not constitute total renunciation. You still have attachment.” At this, the king said, “I, at present, am fond just of this forest. Hence, I shall now give up attachment to it.” He succeeded in what he proposed to do. Then he remarked, “I have completely renounced.” Cūḍālā continued to object and said, “Even by abandoning your fondness for trees, streams and mountains, you have not accomplished renunciation of everything.” The king then gave up his utensils and the hut in which he was dwelling. Even then, Cūḍālā was dissatisfied. So Śikhidhvaja discarded his deer-skin, rudrākṣa beads, bowls, etc., and stood naked.

Once more, Cūḍālā objected that he had not renounced everything. The king thought that as he had only his body left, to achieve complete renunciation, he ought to discard it. He readied himself to commit suicide but was stopped by his wife. She told him, “Even if you give up this body, you would not have achieved complete renunciation. On the other hand, if you give up that which is the activator of this body and which is the seed of all births and activities, only then you would have renounced everything.” The king asked for clarification. Cūḍālā explained that it was the renunciation of the mind that was most important. It was the mind that manifested as everything. The mind comprised vāsanas or tendencies and the seed of the tree of the mind was egoism. “Investigation into the nature of one’s own Ātman is indeed what annihilates the seed of the mind,” emphasized Cūḍālā.

Guided by her, the king succeeded in implementing her advice and became enlightened. She left him and came back to him after a while. She tested him severely but he remained firmly rooted in the non-dual reality. Having accomplished her purpose as Kumbha, she revealed her identity to him and successfully persuaded him to return to the kingdom. He then began to rule but without any attachment and without being affected in the least by adversity and prosperity. He and his wife remained totally rooted in the Supreme.

52. Illusoriness of the World

Vidyānidhi was a brahmacharin who studied Vedānta under an aged mahātman. His Guru and he were the only occupants of the Guru’s small cottage situated at a secluded, scenic spot on a hill, close to a stream. One night, Vidyānidhi lay down as usual just outside the entrance of his Guru’s room. His Guru had retired for the night a little earlier. In a few minutes, Vidyānidhi fell asleep. Shortly thereafter, he was awakened by the sound of his Guru moaning softly. He opened the door and entered to see if his Guru was in need of anything. He found his preceptor clutching his abdomen and obviously in great pain.

Vidyānidhi: O Lord, may I fetch the Vaidya from the village?

Guru: No. Why trouble him by making him travel five kilometres at night? In any case, pain is only for the body-mind complex. I am the unchanging and unaffected witness.

Vidyānidhi: I know that you are unmoved by pleasure and pain, but I am unable to bear your suffering. I beseech you to at least let me fetch some medicines for you.

The Guru saw that Vidyānidhi was highly worried and on the verge of tears. So he specified an Āyurvedic preparation and permitted Vidyānidhi to meet the Vaidya and fetch it. Immediately, Vidyānidhi set out. The moon was clearly visible and the village could be reached by just walking along the side of the stream. Hence, Vidyānidhi did not take any source of light with him. He walked briskly.

After he had journeyed for half an hour, he felt a sharp pain in his right foot. He found that a cluster of thorns had penetrated his sole. He sat down and carefully pulled them out. The pain started to decrease. However, owing to the continuing discomfort, he remained seated for a few minutes. Then, he got up thinking, “My master is unwell. It is wrong on my part to delay procuring the medicine for him. In any case, the moon will set in three hours and I must be back before that to avoid having to travel in the dark. How I wish I could fly like a bird. I would then be able to reach the village and return in minutes.”

He arrived at the physician’s house in the village in half an hour. In response to his knock, the physician’s teenaged son opened the door. Vidyānidhi told him that he had come to fetch a particular medicine for his Guru. The boy and his father were devotees of the Guru. So, the boy immediately woke up his father. Vidyānidhi described his Guru’s condition and named the medicine he had come to fetch. The Vaidya said, “I do not have any of it left. But I shall prepare it now. Wait for about half an hour.” The physician then started his work. Vidyānidhi sat down. As he felt sleepy, he closed his eyes.

He found himself back on the path. As he walked, he felt himself rising from the ground. In moments, he was coursing through the air. As he effortlessly descended to reach the ground near the cottage, he realized how different the hermitage looked when viewed from above. He went to his Guru. At that moment, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Abruptly, he found himself seated at the Vaidya’s house. The Vaidya’s son told him, “You had fallen asleep. Father told me not to wake you up until he had finished preparing the medicine. It is ready now.”

Vidyānidhi collected the medicine, thanked the Vaidya and his son and left. From the position of the moon, he inferred that he must have spent an hour at the village. He increased his pace. As he moved on, he mused, “My dream at the Vaidya’s place was clearly based on my waking-state experience of the recent past. I had wistfully thought of being able to fly back to my Guru with the Ayurvedic preparation and fly is what I did in my dream.” He returned to the hermitage a little before the moonset. When he approached his Guru, he found that his master was still in great pain.

He administered the medicine. In a few minutes, his Guru told him, “The pain is almost gone. You have put up with much inconvenience for my sake. Now go and lie down.” Vidyānidhi returned to his mat and quickly fell asleep.

He woke up well before dawn as was his wont. He peeped into his Guru’s room and found his master peacefully asleep. In a short while, the Guru came out. Vidyānidhi respectfully asked him, “O Lord, please may I know how your health is today?” “It is good,” replied the Guru with a smile and moved on.

That afternoon, the Vaidya came to pay his respects to the Guru. On seeing him, Vidyānidhi said, “The medicine acted quickly on our Guru.” “What medicine are you talking about?” asked the Vaidya, looking perplexed. “I am referring to the medicine you prepared and gave me last night when I came to your place,” explained Vidyānidhi, wondering how the Vaidya could have forgotten. “It is impossible for you to have met me last night. I have not been in my village for the past one week. I returned only a couple of hours ago,” stated the Vaidya. “Are you unwell?” he continued. Vidyānidhi remained silent, feeling thoroughly confused.

At the earliest opportunity, he asked his Guru, “O Master, as you know, with your permission, I went last night to fetch a medicine from the Vaidya to relieve you of your abdominal pain. The Vaidya, however, now says that he was not at his house last night.” “My child, I had no stomach pain and did not ask you to meet the Vaidya,” said the Guru. “Tell me in detail what you think happened.” Vidyānidhi obeyed and described everything. The Guru burst out laughing.

Then, he explained, “My child, yesterday I was teaching you the Vedāntic position suitable to advanced spiritual aspirants that the world of the waking state is on par with the world of dreams. You had several doubts and I told you that I would provide you clarifications today. By God’s grace, you have had a dream that makes my task easy.

“You went to sleep. Now, you think that you woke up on hearing me moan in pain. But that was just the starting point of your dream. Your dream ended with your returning to your bed. Such were the unusual commencement and termination of your dream that, even after waking up, you have been unable to differentiate your dream from your waking state. As you can see, you have had a first-hand experience that the world of the waking state is akin to the world of a dream.

“In your dream, you did not feel pain before coming into contact with the thorns but felt it when the thorns penetrated the sole of your right foot. You grasped and pulled out the thorns. Thereafter, the pain gradually subsided. Similar is the experience you have when awake. Why then should you not regard the thorns of the waking state to be false like those of the dream state?

“In your dream, a moon in the sky provided you the light for your journey. Further, in the course of your forward and return trips, you saw that moon in different positions. You even estimated the passage of time on the basis of the moon’s movement. You found yourself advancing along the stream when you walked but not when you sat down. You can encounter all this in an identical fashion in the waking state. Why then should you not regard the moon, passage of time, space and the effect of movement in the waking state to be on par with those in a dream?

“You believe that dreams are based on real experiences of the waking state and that when you wake up from a dream, you revert from a false world to a real one. Now, in the course of your dream last night, you had a second dream that apparently had for its basis your experiences of the main dream. Further, when you woke up from the second dream, you regressed to the main dream. Is not the relationship between your waking state and your main dream on par with the relationship between your main dream and the second dream? Why then should you not regard your waking state to be false like the main dream?

“In the course of your dream last night, the Vaidya and his son apparently saw you sleeping in their house when you had your second dream. They could have certified that you had not flown back to your cottage as experienced by you in your second dream. Why then, should you not regard the people of the waking state who can observe you when you sleep and dream to be on par with the Vaidya and his son of the main dream?”

Finally, the Guru asked Vidyānidhi, “Have the doubts that you expressed yesterday evening at the end of the Vedānta class now got resolved?”

“My doubts have vanished. I am now in a position to accept that the world of the waking state is as unreal as the world seen in dream,” responded Vidyānidhi.

The Guru said, “My child, it is only when you realize the non-dual Truth that you will have the unshakeable experience that the states of waking, dream and deep sleep are illusory and that their substratum, pure consciousness, alone is real. Your present understanding is only a step in this direction. Unless a person is free from desires, he cannot cognize the waking state to be on par with the dream state. Strive on in the spiritual path. By God’s grace, success shall be yours.”

In His Bṛhadāraṇyaka-upaniṣad-bhāṣya, Bhagavatpāda has explained, “The Veda deems the experience of the waking state to be but a dream,” and, “In dreams, worlds that do not exist are falsely superimposed as being a part of the Ātman. One must understand the worlds in the waking state too to be like that... Since, in the waking as also the dream state, the gross and subtle worlds, comprising actions, its factors and its results, are merely objects apprehended by the perceiver, therefore, that perceiver, the Ātman characterized by consciousness, is distinct from its objects, the worlds seen in those states, and is spotless.”

53. Vision of Unity

Sage Ribhu was a mind-born son of Brahma, the Creator. By his very nature, he was firmly rooted in the non-dual Supreme and was a repository of scriptural knowledge. He had a disciple named Nidāgha. Taught by Ribhu, Nidāgha mastered the śāstras He, however, did not attain steady repose in the non-dual Truth. At the end of his studies, he took leave of his Guru and settled down at Vīranagara, on the banks of the river Devika, as a householder. He led a pious, charitable life, firmly observing gṛhasthadharma. Years passed.

Ribhu was sure that Nidāgha, whom he had not met for long, continued to be unenlightened. The sage felt great compassion for his learned, dear disciple and made up his mind to personally go to Vīranagara to uplift Nidāgha. Nidāgha had completed his rituals and was standing at the door of his house, eagerly hoping that some guest would arrive whom he could honour and feed, when he espied Ribhu. As the sage had disguised his identity, Nidāgha did not recognize him. However, he respectfully invited Ribhu to his house and washed his guest’s feet.

Having duly honoured Ribhu, Nidāgha requested him to have food. Ribhu agreed but asked, “Tell me first, what items of food you will serve me?” Nidāgha gave him an impressive list. However, Ribhu responded that he did not find the items appropriate for his consumption. He then specified what he wished to be given; his list primarily comprised sweet items such as pāyasa and halwa. Nidāgha instructed his wife to prepare the dishes concerned with the best of ingredients available. Soon, Ribhu was served a meal consisting of all that he had asked for.

After Ribhu had finished eating, Nidāgha asked him with great humility, “O holy one, has the meal sated you? Are you feeling at ease?” He also respectfully expressed his desire to know where his guest dwelled, where he was coming from and where he was headed.

Ribhu said, “He who experiences hunger attains satisfaction after a meal. Never have I been hungry. So, how can there be satiation for me? When the fire of digestion consumes the food ingested, hunger crops up. Likewise, when the water available in the body gets depleted, thirst arises. Hunger and thirst are thus bodily attributes. They do not pertain to me, who is not the body. Peacefulness and satisfaction belong to the mind and not to me, who is not the mind. Thus, your questions about satiety and tranquillity are inapplicable to me.

“I am the Ātman that is omnipresent, being all-pervasive like space. So, there is no question of my dwelling at a specific place, coming from somewhere, or proceeding towards some destination. By virtue of differences in bodies, you, I and others appear disparate, but are really not so. You and I are not the limited, distinct beings we seem to be; we are only the non-dual Ātman.

“What is considered delicious becomes inedible with the passage of time and causes displeasure. What is tasteless can change into something tasty. Thus, no object is intrinsically delicious or unpalatable. There is no eatable that continues to be delicious in the past, present and the future. Further, the various items of food such as rice, wheat, jaggery, milk and fruits are all only modifications of Pṛthvī.

“Thinking in the manner mentioned by me, you should make your mind same-sighted. Being ever same-sighted is the means to get the knowledge of the non-dual Truth and become liberated from the cycle of transmigratory existence.”

Hearing Ribhu’s words of wisdom, Nidāgha said, ‘O Lord, be propitious to me. You have come for doing good to me. Kindly tell me who you are.”

Ribhu said, “I am Ribhu, your Guru. I came here to teach you the Truth. Know that all that is there in the universe is intrinsically the Supreme. In reality, there is no diversity whatsoever; there is just the non-dual Ātman.” Nidāgha prostrated before Ribhu and worshipped his Guru.

Having blessed his disciple, the sage departed.

Years later, motivated by his overflowing mercy, Ribhu came once again to Vīranagara to grace his disciple; he knew that Nidāgha had still not attained steady abidance in the Supreme. Ribhu observed that the king of the region was entering the town with great pomp. Nidāgha was standing aloof, holding darbha grass and sacrificial faggots obtained from the forest in his hands. The sage approached Nidāgha in the guise of an ignorant person and prostrated. Then, Ribhu asked, “O holy one, why are you standing here alone?”

Nidāgha: The king is coming. As the streets are crowded, I am waiting here.

Ribhu: You appear to be well-informed about the happenings here. Kindly tell me who among the people seen here is the king and who are the rest?

Nidāgha: The one riding the huge elephant is the monarch. The rest are his attendants and followers.

Ribhu: You simultaneously indicated the king and the elephant. Please explain which among the two is the elephant and which one is the king.

Nidāgha: The elephant is below and the king is the one above. Who indeed is not familiar with the relation of the rider and the mount?

Ribhu: You spoke of below and above. Kindly clarify what is meant by the words below and above.

Nidāgha felt exasperated. He quickly mounted Ribhu’s shoulders and sat with his legs astride them. Then, he said, “Now, like the king, I am above, while you, like the elephant, are below.” Without the least irritation or hesitation, Ribhu asked, “O great Brahmin, you stated that you are like the king and that I am like the elephant. If so, who, intrinsically, are you and who, intrinsically, am I?”

Ribhu thus turned Nidāgha’s mind to the instruction that he had given years earlier that, intrinsically, everything is the Supreme and that there is actually no diversity whatsoever. Nidāgha jumped down, fell at Ribhu’s feet and held them in his hands. He said, “O Lord, you are undoubtedly my revered Guru, Sage Ribhu.”

Ribhu compassionately said to him, “As a student, you served me with great sincerity. Out of love for you, I have come here to instruct you about the Truth. In everything, realize the non-dual Ātman.” Nidāgha became enlightened and Ribhu left.

54. Lessons from Śuka’s Life

Maharṣi Veda-Vyāsa once performed intense austerities and worshipped Lord Śiva with all his heart. He prayed to the Lord to grace him with a son endowed with the firmness of the five elements, earth, water, fire, air and Space. Pleased with him, Śiva manifested before him and said, “You shall have a son of the kind you desire. Possessed by greatness, he will be as spotless as Space and the other elements. He will be firmly rooted in the Supreme and will attain great fame.”

After obtaining the boon of his choice, Vyāsa took up a pair of sticks of the Shami tree and rubbed them against each other to produce fire. As he was doing so, he beheld the apsarā Gṛtācī who quickly assumed the form of a parrot and came near him. A spark of life from the sage came into contact with the sticks in his hand and from them emerged Śuka, ablaze with spiritual splendour. Goddess Gaṅgā personally bathed him with her waters. From the sky, there fell a staff and a deer-skin for the divine boy’s use. Subsequently, Lord Śiva came there with Goddess Uma and performed Śuka’s upanayana.

By the grace of the Lord, right from his birth, Śuka was endowed with wisdom and was conversant with the Vedas. However, the Vedas must necessarily be learnt from a preceptor. Hence, after his upanayana, Śuka approached Bṛhaspati as a student. Having quickly learnt the Vedas and the śāstras at the feet of the Guru of the Devas, he returned to his father. Śuka’s brahmacarya and control of the mind and senses were impeccable and he was dispassionate to the core. He had direct knowledge of the non-dual Truth but mistakenly imagined that there was still much to be learnt and done by him to attain the highest. He requested his father to teach him about how he could attain liberation.

Vyāsa instructed his son in depth. Nonetheless, he found that his enlightened son, who had become an adept at Yoga, continued to feel that he was ignorant. Hence, Vyāsa told him, “Go to king Janaka. He shall make known everything about Mokṣa to you.” As Śuka readied himself to leave for Mithilā, Vyāsa said, “Do not use your powers of yoga and transport yourself there by air. Walk and approach Janaka with humility.

Accordingly, Śuka trekked the long distance on foot. He was not distracted in the least by the numerous beautiful sights he encountered on the way. Finally, he reached Janaka’s palace in Mithilā. The guards at the gate, however, rudely denied him permission to enter. Without a murmur of protest, Śuka stood silently near the entrance. Seeing that the boy was free from anger and indifferent to the hot sun, one of the guards appreciated his greatness and escorted him reverentially to a chamber within the palace.

Janaka’s minister received Śuka there with joined palms and led him, through another chamber, to a delightful garden with ponds, many plants prettified by flowers and numerous fruit-bearing trees. Several beautiful damsels were there. The minister ordered them to attend to Śuka and left. The belles washed his feet, duly honoured him and offered him tasty articles of food. After Śuka had eaten, they showed him everything of interest in the garden. They were skilled in music, dance and dalliance and did all they could to entertain him.

However, Śuka’s mind-control and dispassion were so great that just as the disrespect he was shown at the palace gate did not irritate him, the garden and the efforts of the belles did not elate him. Even-minded, he sat on a seat offered to him and began his evening sandhyā-vandana. Then, he went into deep meditation. By the time he emerged from it, a third of the night had passed. He slept for the second third of the night. Thereafter, he got up and again absorbed himself in Yoga till dawn. A little later, Janaka approached Śuka accompanied by his priest, minister and the members of his family. The king offered the holy boy a jewelled seat and thereafter worshipped him. Śuka experienced neither joy nor discomfiture. He paid his respects to the king and explained the purpose of his visit. Among the questions he posed were, “How is emancipation from transmigratory existence obtained? Is knowledge or penance the means? If a brahmacharin obtains knowledge and freedom from the pairs of opposites such as likes and dislikes, is it necessary for him to get married?”

Janaka, in the course of his sagacious reply, said, “It is only by means of knowledge and direct realization of the Truth that one becomes liberated. Such understanding and realization cannot be acquired without the guidance of a Guru. Knowledge is the boat that carries one across the ocean of Samsara and the Guru is the boatman. He, whose mind has become immaculate by virtue of the cleansing of his senses and recourse to righteousness in many births, procures liberation in his brahmacharya-āśrāma itself. Becoming enlightened and liberated in the brahmacharya-āśrāma, he has no use at all for married life.

“Beholding one’s Ātman in all beings and all beings in the Ātman, one should live without being attached to anything. He who views all beings, praise and censure, pleasure and pain, gold and iron and life and death with equanimity reaches the Supreme.”

Janaka added, “I see that all this knowledge that I am communicating to you is already there in you. You are fully conversant with all that needs to be known about liberation. Your knowledge, attainment and power are far superior to what you imagine them to be. In spite of directly realizing the Truth, a person does not attain the highest if he doubts his experience or entertains a fear that he will not become emancipated. When such misconceptions are dispelled, he promptly attains the Supreme. You have already apprehended the Truth. Your mind is steady and tranquil. You are free from desires and are truly same-sighted. I and others like me behold you to be established in indestructible freedom.” On hearing Janaka’s words, Śuka’s doubts and vacillations ceased; he became a jīvanmukta.

He took leave of the king and flew to where his father was in the Himalayas. Out of compassion for people, Vyāsa codified the unified Veda into four. He entrusted the spreading of the Ṛg, Yajur, Sāma and Atharva Vedas to Sumantu, Vaiśampāyana, Jaimini and Paila. The four great disciples of Vyāsa left for the plains and became householders; Śuka, who had been taught by Vyāsa along with them, remained a celibate and stayed on with his father, reciting the Vedas. To Śuka is attributed the narration of the Bhāgavata to Parīkṣit.

One day, the celestial Sage Nārada met Śuka when the latter was alone and spoke to him at length about mokṣa. In the course of his advice, Nārada said, “Abandon dharma characterized by the performance of scripturally-ordained actions, such as sacrifices, and give up adharma, typified by the performance of scripturally-prohibited actions, such as killing. Discard truth and falsehood. Having dispensed with these, renounce the mind by means of which you relinquish all these. Give up dharma by ceasing to make any saṅkalpa, resolve. Abstain from adharma by dispassion. Restraining speech by the mind, desist from uttering either verity or untruth. Renounce the mind by ceasing to identify with it and by realizing that you are pure, non-dual consciousness.”

Śuka reflected on what Nārada had told him. He decided that he would display his yogic powers to the world and then cast off his body through yoga and attain disembodied liberation. Nārada expressed his approval. Śuka proceeded to where his father was. On learning his son’s intention, Vyāsa said, “My dear son, stay with me today so that I may gratify my eyes by beholding you for some more time.” However, Śuka was so dispassionate and keen on disembodied liberation that he did not tarry.

He ascended the summit of a mountain and sat there for some time in samādhi, revelling in the supreme bliss of Brahman. After emerging from that state, he walked round Nārada and took leave of the celestial sage. He then rose into the sky. As he flew, ṛṣis and the celestials gazed at him in wonder. He requested the presiding deities of nature, “If my father were to follow me and repeatedly call after me by name, please respond on my behalf.” The deities who presided over the seas, mountains, rivers, etc., loved him so much that they promptly agreed to do what he desired.

As he coursed through the sky, he beheld a pair of contiguous mountains in his path. Without slowing down, he smashed his way through them.

Many bewitching apsarās were sporting unclad in the Gaṅgā when he flew over them. However, his dispassion and absorption in the Ātman were so obvious to them that they felt no shame and did not make any move to cover their nudity. Śuka rose higher in the direction of the sun and, terminating his astounding yogic show, cast off his body and attained absolute disembodied union with the non-dual Supreme.

Meanwhile, driven by his love for Śuka, Vyāsa supernaturally transported himself to the spot from where his son had taken off. The mahaṛṣi retraced Śuka’s aerial path and soon reached the mountains split by Śuka. On encountering him, the ṛṣis described to him the wonderful feats of Śuka. Vyāsa missed his son so badly that he began to lament and loudly called out to Śuka. From everywhere, there came the response, “Bho!”

Having witnessed the evidence of the glory of his son who had now truly become the soul of all, Vyāsa sat down. When the naked apsarās sporting in the Gaṅgā espied him, they became agitated. Filled with shame, some plunged deep into the waters. Some ran into the groves while some quickly covered themselves with their clothes. Recalling that the belles had not minded remaining undressed in Śuka’s presence, Vyāsa felt proud of his son but ashamed of himself.

Lord Śiva manifested before Vyāsa who was burning with grief at the loss of his son. Consoling the sage, He said, “You had prayed to me for a son who would be like the elements. You obtained, by your penance, the son you wanted. By My grace, he was mentally spotless and spiritually glorious. He has attained the highest state. Why then do you grieve? His fame will remain undiminished till this world lasts. By my grace, you will henceforth be constantly accompanied by a Śuka-like shadow that will be visible to you.” The Lord then vanished. Vyāsa beheld a shadow of his son and this filled him with joy.

Śuka was born with the knowledge of the Truth. Such a birth is possible but is extremely rare. A person who passes away while on the verge of getting enlightened may effortlessly become a Jīvanmukta in his next birth. The Upaniṣads speak of Sage Vāmadeva obtaining, by virtue of his past, direct experience of the Truth even while he lay in his mother’s womb.

Śuka knew the Vedas without being taught. Nevertheless, he went to Bṛhaspatī as a disciple to learn them. This is because it is imperative that the Vedas be learnt from a preceptor. Children who are regularly exposed to Vedic chanting may be in a position to recite Veda-mantras without being formally taught. They do not, however, become exempt from the rule regarding Vedic chanting.

When approaching a mahātman for guidance, one must do so with humility and respect. Though Śuka had the power to quickly transport himself to Janaka’s presence by air, he undertook, in accordance with Vyāsa’s advice, a strenuous journey by foot to Mithilā and waited there patiently for an opportunity to meet with Janaka.

Doubts and misconceptions can prevent a person from benefitting from his first-hand experience. The following two examples emphasize this.

When a person was reorganizing and cleaning his house, he accidentally came across a pouch. His father was the one who had concealed it years ago. Though his father had wanted to inform his son about it, he had fallen seriously ill before actually doing so and died without recovering from the ailment. The son opened the bag and found 50 glittering diamonds in it. They would have fetched him a good price and, with the amount, he could have lived in reasonable comfort.

However, he thought, “My father did not speak to me about them. So, they are unlikely to be diamonds. Presumably, they are pieces of glass. If I take them to a diamond merchant, he is likely to make fun of me for being unable to differentiate between precious diamonds and worthless pieces of glass.”

Because of his doubts and misapprehension, he put the pouch back where he had found it and continued to struggle to make ends meet.

A boy wanted to turn on a light in his room and so moved his hand to the pertinent switch. The moment he touched it, he got an electric shock. As he jerked back his hand reflexively, he banged his elbow against an article on his desk. He, who had never received an electric shock before, thought, “My friends have told me that they have experienced a tingling sensation on being struck on the funny bone of the elbow and that the cause is pressure on a nerve passing over it. Almost certainly, the sharp sensation in my arm was caused by the blow I received on my elbow.” Failing to identify what he had directly experienced, he touched the switch again. This time, the consequence was disastrous.

Not only in worldly but also in religious and spiritual matters, doubts and misconceptions can cause great harm. Lord Kṛṣṇa told Arjuna, “Neither this world nor the next nor happiness is there for one who has a doubting mind.” A man who is beset with doubt about the existence of life after death is unenthusiastic about acting according to the scriptural injunctions and securing an exalted realm. Because he is not certain that there is no life after death, he is unable to unhesitatingly revel in a materialistic life. Thus, he suffers a double loss.

Śuka’s life reveals how doubts and misconceptions about the Ātman can block spiritual success. Though Śuka had realized the non-dual Truth, he failed to have a conviction regarding it and so did not become a jīvanmukta. It was only when Janaka put an end to his uncertainties and misunderstanding at rest that he attained the highest.

Dispassion, equanimity and mind-control are vital for a spiritual aspirant. Marriage is not only not obligatory but also useless for a brahmacārin who is pure-minded, dispassionate and keen on liberation from rebirth. These points can be gleaned from the life of Śuka.

A person must conduct himself reverentially towards his Guru even after becoming a jīvanmukta. Nārada gave detailed spiritual advice to Śuka and thereby played the role of a Guru. Hence, Śuka, a Jīvanmukta par excellence, worshipped Nārada and took leave of the celestial sage before casting off his body and attaining disembodied liberation.

Attachment unsettles the mind of even the great. Vyāsa was undoubtedly a very great sage and a knower of the Truth. Yet, because of his intense attachment to Śuka, he was plunged into grief when Śuka left him for good. As for Śuka, he was an epitome of dispassion and did not have the least hesitation to leave everything, including his body. True detachment does not make a person callous. It is only out of consideration for his father’s feelings that the dispassionate Śuka requested the presiding deities of nature to respond on his behalf to his father’s call.