"One
Little Story"
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... for this son
of mine was dead and has come to life again; The
Yaksha
on the tree had stopped the five
Pândava brothers from drinking at
the lake below, for, it put questions to each of
them and when they could not answer to its
satisfaction, they died - four of them! It was
Dharmarâja (Yudhisthhira), the eldest, who
came last. He was able to answer the questions
correctly. So, the Yaksha said: "Well, you can
now revive and take with you one of the
four brothers who are lying here dead".
Yudhisthhira had the hardest of problems, but,
he did not take long to select. He did not
revive either Bhîma or Arjuna, though they
were for him as his two hands. He selected
Nakula. The Yaksha asked him why he had chosen
him. He said: "I, Bhîma and Arjuna are the
sons of Kuntî and Nakula and Sahadeva are
the sons of my stepmother Madrî. My mother
has me alive, so I wished my stepmother too to
have a son alive; So I choose one of her sons".
What a noble heart was his! At this the Yaksha
was so pleased that it allowed him to revive all
four and go forward happily. Samartha
Ramdas, the great saint, was on his begging
round. He stood before the palace of S'ivaji
(for it was on his way) and cried: "Alms".
S'ivaji Himself came down and stood before him
and placed a piece of paper
in the saint's hands. "What can a hungry man do
with a scrap of paper?", Ramdas asked. "Read it
please" said S'ivaji, humbly and reverentially.
The paper was a document by which S'ivaji had
transferred His empire to the care and control
of his master, Samartha Ramdas. Ramdas laughed
and said: "Well, rule the empire on my behalf,
with due attention to dharma". He gave
the paper back. Then, he resumed his begging
round. Once a big
argument arose between a dualist and a
monist (a dvaitin
and an
advaitin).
The monist said that the jîva
is not really jîva, but is
genuinely deva; that the individual is
God, that all is God. The dualist would not
agree, even though many quotations were given by
the monist from the Vedas etc. to prove the
point. The dualist accosted a dhobi
(washerman) who was passing along the road and
asked him: "Hello, tell us who you are. Are you
God?" The dhobi got frightened at the suggestion
and said: "No, I am only I''. Then, the dualist
said: "Did you hear? Even the man in the street
knows that he is not God and that he is only
a jîvi". The advaitin replied: "No.
He said that I am I. Everyone from the Emperor
down to the man in the street says, I am I.
Now, that I is the reflection of God in the
individualised body". A
pilgrim going to a forest shrine was overtaken
by night and unable to see his way he slipped
into a well. Luckily, while falling he chanced
to hold the root of a tree hanging loose by the
side of the well. When morning dawned, a
sâdhu
came to the neighborhood of the well and sang a
few s0ngs on God. The pilgrim shouted to him and
when he saw the plight of the poor fellow, the
sâdhu let down a length of sturdy rope, so
that he could pull him up and save him. The
pilgrim was now in two minds - whether to hold
on to the root or hold the rope. Of course it
was silly; one should hold on to the root, only
until the rope is available. So too, when God is
realised, all karma must drop off. One
merchant who was very much afraid of death,
worshiped the God of Death, Yama
for many years and offered elaborate puja
to Him. Yama was pleased at the special
attention and adoration shown by him and
promised that he will not pounce upon him all of
a sudden, but will give him advance intimation,
so that he could put his affairs in good trim
before leaving the world. When at last, his end
came and he was about to die, he got wild with
Yama and in his anger, he blamed Yama with
falsehood, ingratitude and cheating. He said
that he was not given any advance intimation at
all. But, Yama said: "Why? I have sent you not
one but four intimations, well in advance of
this consummation." The merchant said that he
had not received any of them. But Yama said:
"Your hair turned grey, that was the first
intimation. But, you dyed it and forgot its
lesson. I made you bold, but you wore a wig and
slighted the notice I gave. Then, I had all your
teeth fall off; you wore a denture and pretended
I was far away. The fourth intimation I sent was
folds all over your skin. You did not pay heed
to that warning too". Indeed Yama had kept
His word. When
Râma, Sîtâ and
Lakshmana were riding off to the forest
in the chariot, in obedience to the plighted
word of Dasaratha, Dasaratha came in
another chariot, behind them and shouted, in
great agony at their departure: "Stop! Stop!
Turn back!". [see RRV
ch. 14]
But Râma told the charioteer,
Sumanthra, the Minister attached to the
Court of Dasaratha: "Do not stop. Go faster".
Sumanthra pleaded that he was an officer who
must obey the Emperor and that he may be
punished for disobedience. Râma told him:
"Tell him that you did not hear his orders".
"But that would be a lie", said Sumanthra. "No.
As an Emperor he has asked you to take us out of
Ayodhyâ in this chariot. Now, he is asking
you to stop, not as Emperor, but as a
grief-stricken father. You must listen to the
command of the Emperor of course. You have no
right or duty to listen to agony-stricken
fathers wishing to have a look at their
sons." The
Mother Cat, it is said, carries its newly born
kittens, still with unopened eyes, from house to
house, depositing them in seven different homes.
By the time the seventh house is reached, the
kittens open their eyes and can see well and
clearly. Man changes home every birth. But,
his eyes do not open to the truth of God, even
after his changing home (lives) many and many a
time. One
day, when Swami Vivekananda was moving
about in the city of Calcutta, an
aristocratically dressed person accosted him and
asked: "Why do you wear this gerua (ochre color)
robe? Perhaps, you want to advertise that you
have given up the world and renounced all
desires. This exhibition is a sign of ego".
Swami Vivekananda laughed and said: "My dear
friend! I have no such idea. I wear it because,
seeing that I am a sannyasin, with no money, no
beggar would approach me and bother me. I can
walk about without being pestered. I have
spiritual treasures with me, but no cash. When
people come asking for them, I give".
When
Babruvahana,
the son of Arjuna, took hold of the horse
that was to be sacrificed ceremoniously at the
As'vamedha
to be celebrated by the Pândavas,
he did not know that it was his father who had
come to retrieve the horse from captivity. When
he knew that Arjuna had come, he moved
forward and fell at his feet. When his mother
heard about his quiet submission, she got
enraged at his cowardice. "Being a
kshatriya, how could you yield the horse
you have laid hands on, without a fight? Let
him, even if it be your father, win it on the
battlefield", she said. So, the battle took
place between father and son and, believe it or
not, Arjuna fell dead when the arrows of
Babruvahana struck him on the chest. The
s0n lamented his fate and wept aloud at the
calamity that he had inflicted on his mother and
on the world. Just then, Ulupî,
a naga princess from the nether world appeared
there and comforted Babruvahana and the rest,
she narrated the true story of the event, which
showed that Arjuna had himself prayed for such
an end. During
Kurukshetra battle, Arjuna had let loose
the Brahmâstra,
the most mortal of all lethal weapons, at
Bhîshma and that had led to his
ultimate death. But, instead of joy at the death
of the mighty general of the Kaurava forces,
Arjuna was overwhelmed by remorse. Bhîshma
had brought up the Pândava brothers
lovingly and with care after the death of their
father Pându, while they were yet
children. He was the
pithâmahâ or grandfather of
all of them. Now that he had himself caused his
death, Arjuna cursed himself for having done so.
He wished: "Let me be killed by my own son as
compensation for this ungrateful act of mine".
Ulupî described this background story and
soon, revived Arjuna back to life, with the
mysterious powers she had accumulated in the
nether world. Every incident that looks
absurd or wonderful, inexplicable or impossible
that is mentioned in the Purânas
[see the Purâna S'rimâd
Bhâgavatam]
has a deeper meaning and significance.
Akbar
[also known as Akbar the Great of the
Mughal Empire, (1542-1605)] was happy
whenever Tansen,
his court musician, sang. Tansen was the
greatest musician of his days. When he sang the
râga 'Meghamala', clouds
thickened in the sky; when he sang the
râga 'Varuna', showers of rain
fell. When he sang the 'Nâgasvara',
snakes gathered. Akbar was very proud that he
had in his durbar (court), a musician of such
eminence. But one day,
while Akbar was engaged in prayer, he heard the
distant music of Haridâsa, a wandering
minstrel, a beggar singing to the tune of a
single-stringed instrument he held in his hand,
Akbar was thrilled, enchanted, deeply moved.
He asked
Tansen, why that song appealed to him more than
all the songs Tansen sang in the durbar. Tansen
replied: "Lord! I sing, looking at your face to
see any sign of appreciation, in the hope that
you will give me a few gems or some acres of
land. He sings looking at the face of God, with
no greed for material wealth or ambition for
earthly goods. That is the
difference". Thiruvalluvar,
the renowned
Tamil
Saint,
who has written the immortal work called 'Kural'
or 'Thirukkural', used to keep by his side, when
he sat for meals, a needle and a small cup
filled with water. Once, his host asked him why
he insisted on having these two placed by the
side of the plate. He said: "Food should not be
wasted. Even a grain is precious. Sometimes,
stray grains of cooked rice or stray peaces of
cooked vegetables fall off the plate or away
from it, while I eat. Then, I lift them off the
floor with the help of this needle and stir them
in the water to clean and eat them. What a
great lesson this is for those who waste more
than they consume! There
was a Court Poet in the durbar (court) of the
Emperor of Vijayanagar, called
Lingapurana Sooranna, since he was an
expert in expounding the text Linga
Purâna.
He had rabid envy towards Tenali
Ramakrishna,
another Court Poet who had far greater talents.
One day, Sooranna was at home composing a
lampoon against Tenali Rama (or Vikata
Kavi) in quite a ribald style. He was
half-way through, when he received a call from
the Emperor. So, he left the manuscript on his
table and hurried to the palace. Then, Mother
Kâlî, the Goddess who was the
patron deity of Ramakrishna, appeared
before him and asked him to go to Sooranna's
house and himself finish the unfinished lampoon.
He did so and when Sooranna returned home, he
was dismayed to find that the lampoon was an
attack on himself, on his low and vulgar envy
towards others far greater in poetic talent.
Divinity cannot tolerate the besmirching of
true devotees by envious and malignant minds.
[see for an example Bhâgavata
Purâna,
5.9:
The Supreme Character of Jada
Bharata] A
conceited, greedy son-in-law went to his
mother-in-law's house. She was very poor,
managing the household with great difficulty.
However, she rendered him hospitality far beyond
her means, borrowing from all and sundry. But,
the fellow stayed on and showed no intention to
depart. The number and taste of the dishes at
lunch and dinner became less and less. Still, he
did not plan to leave. She then tried some
vedantic philosophy. She sermonised on
the evanescence of physical joys, the triviality
of sense satisfaction etc. The fellow reacted in
another way, the opposite way. He said: "Dear
mother-in-law, I hold another view. You cannot
change it by Vedanta. I know, even the
Gods declare by their action that the
mother-in-law's home is more secure and more
desirable than one's own. S'iva lives in
the Himalayas, and His consort is the daughter
of the Himalayas. Vishnu is ever on the
Ocean of Milk, where Lakshmî was
born." The mother-in-law had at last to resort
to desperate measures. She quietly locked the
fellow out and escaped to another village.
Surdas
was a blind mystic, singer and poet. Lord
Krishna once appeared and asked him, in His
infinite mercy, if he wanted eyes, so that he
could see the world. Surdas replied: "Though
people have the kind of eyes you are offering to
give me, they are befogged with ignorance and
are not able to recognise You in all forms and
in all beings. Though people have ears, they
cannot hear the melody of your flute. I want
eyes that can always see Your beauty everywhere;
ears that can hear Your flute from every corner
of the world". There
were once three fishes in a pond. One fish said
to the other two: "The water in this pond is
getting less and less; the pond will dry up
soon. Let us go to some lake which will not dry;
the fisherman is waiting to catch us and eat
us". The second fish said: "O, it is a long way
off. We might get a shower of rain and the pond
will not get dry". The third one said: "Your
mind is full of needless fears; you were always
so. No fisherman knows we are here". As
anticipated, the fisherman did come and trapped
all three. The fisherman is no other than Death.
The length of our life here is the level of
water in the pond. We are fishes that are
blind and stupid, who will not listen to
warnings. Râvana
tried all methods to persuade
Sîtâ to yield, enter his
zenana and become his consort. He
threatened her with instant death; he enticed
her with gifts and promise of more. He tried
soft words and cruel torture. At last, he hit
upon a brilliant idea. He assumed the form of
Râma and thought that she would be
misled by that impersonation. But, as soon as he
assumed that form, all evil thoughts fled from
him and only ideals of righteousness held sway.
So, he had to give up that trick, as useless
[see also Ramakatha
Rasavahini]. Abou
Ben Adhem saw a brilliance in his room when
he returned home. He found an angel sitting at
the table and recording something in a register.
He ventured to ask her very politely what she
was so assiduously writing down. She said that
she was recording the names of those who loved
God. Abou was a kind soul who helped the
poor, shared his food and shelter with the
hungry and the homeless; he was ever engaged in
wiping tears off the faces of the sad. He had no
particular loyalty to any God. He loved persons
following all religions, provided they were good
and kind He cared only for the broad heart and
the controlled mind. The Angel said: "No, your
name is not here." Next
day, Abou's home was again lit with the same
brilliance, in the centre of which was found the
same recording Angel. She had another register
now. Abou asked her what she was
recording in that register. She said: "I am
writing down the names of those who are loved by
God." Hesitatingly and with great temerity, Abou
asked her whether his name was in that register.
The angel put her finger on the very first entry
and said: "See! Your name is the very first".
Love your fellowmen, that is the best method
to earn the Grace of God. Sage
Vis'vâmitra knew that Râma
was the Incarnation of God and that He had taken
human form in order to destroy the demonic
forces and persons. He felt that
Râma alone could keep the demons at
bay, while he performed the vedic rite of
yajña. He was certain that
Râma was invincible on the
battlefield and that Râma's
divinity was full and impregnable. Yet, his ego,
at the possession of certain weapons which can
be activated by the pronunciation of certain
mystic formulae and his knowledge of certain
mantras which can confer safety and
security, was so dominant that he offered to
teach Râma how to handle them and
how to master the mantras! It was all the
effect of mâyâ and
Râma tolerated the whims of the old
man. He was the author of the delusion and he
must have repeated the mantras after
Vis'vâmitra with a chuckle, at the
predicament of Vis'vâmitra. There
lived on the banks of the sacred Ganga a poor
brahmin, who was an ardent student of the
Bhagavad Gîtâ. He read it every day;
he worshipped the Book and he tried to live
according to its teachings. But, his faith was
sorely tried, for he was immersed in distressing
poverty. His bowl was seldom filled; he and his
wife were on half ration all the time.
One
day, while overcome by grief at his misery, his
eye fell on the 22nd
s'loka of the 9th
chapter,
where the Lord assures that He will bear the
burden of all who take refuge in Him. He felt
that in his case, the assurance was a hoax and
so, he took his pen and dipping it in red ink,
he struck out the exasperating line! Somewhat
relieved of anger, he rose and went out with his
bowl. Before
long, two boys, brothers by appearance, the
younger of darker hue, came to his door, with a
bag of rice and a basin of sundry other
provisions. The wife was surprised because they
insisted all of it was for her and her husband!
She found a bleeding gash on the back of the
younger boy and when she asked him who had
inflicted the cruel wound, the reply was: "Your
husband". How could he lose temper so much as to
stab such a charming child, she wondered. But,
the brothers disappeared in a flash. The
husband knew nothing about the bleeding boy. He
pleaded innocence. He wondered who could have
sent them help. His head was in a whirl. As
always, he turned to the Gîtâ
for consolation. The Book opened on the 9th
chapter, s'loka 22. Ah! His eye fell on the
angry gash he had drawn on that page, across
that line. That
pen had gashed S'rî Krishna's back! His
want of faith had "wounded" Him so. He ran about
like mad to discover the Boy to fall at His
feet, crying for mercy. But He could not be
found. So,
have faith in the assurance ofthe Lord; when He
says: "Why fear, I am here", He means it. When
He says: "I look to you, when you look to Me",
He means it. [See also the story: An Old
Brahmin Friend (Sudama) Visits Krishna -
S.B.
10.80] 237.
Father
Leaps to Save the Son You
may ask, why should the Lord Himself incarnate?
Why can He not set about the task of restoring
dharma through the many minor gods He has
at His command? This question was posed before
the courtiers by Akbar himself, for, he laughed
at the hindu idea of the Formless adopting Form,
and descending into the world as an
Avatâr to save dharma.
Tansen
asked for a week's time to furnish the answer
and got it granted by His Imperial Majesty. A
few days later, when he was in the pleasure boat
of the Emperor sailing across the lake with his
family, Tansen cleverly threw overboard a doll
made to look like the emperor's little son,
crying at tbe same time: "O, the Prince has
fallen into the water". Hearing this, the
emperor jumped into the lake to rescue his son!
Tansen then disclosed that it was only a doll
and that the son was safe. He allayed the anger
of Akbar by explaining that he had perforce to
enact this drama, in order to demonstrate the
truth of the hindu belief that God takes human
form Himself to save dharma, without
commissioning some other entity to carry out
that task. Dharma is as the son God loves
so dearly. Akbar could have ordered one among
the many personnel he had on board, to jump in
and rescue his son but, his affection was so
great and the urgency so acute that the Emperor
himself plunged into the lake to pull out the
"son". The decline in dharma is so acute
a tragedy; the intensity of affection that the
Lord has for good men is so great that He
Himself comes. |