My Personal Fasting Experience

My Personal Fasting Experience

My mother observed a one-day fast about ten times a year. Later my sisters did the same. I noticed that women in most of our related families fasted similarly. Very few men ever fasted. To me the idea sounded good, so following my mother’s example I fasted occasionally. I was not conscious of its health benefits.

However, I heard that cows and buffalos stopped eating when they were ill and they started eating as soon as they got well with or without home treatment. Nine times out of ten they recovered. Only old animals with severe illness died. Later in America, where many people keep dogs, I heard that dogs also fast when they are sick. There was an obvious connection between health and fasting. But I must admit I didn’t see it at that time, nor did I suspect that this might be true for all living animals and plants.

After college I worked for about a year at Wardha and 4 years at Rasulia. At both these places I got a chance to know and work with many outstanding men and women. One thing out of many that I learned from them was to avoid taking medicines. To stay healthy I must regularly use and exercise all parts of my body, eat right food in moderate quantity, and make my immune system strong. Most of my life I have followed this advice and have not eaten pills except when it was absolutely essential.

About 20 years ago, in 1990, I visited Ateeta Ashram. My stomach was upset and it had been sick for a whole month. I consulted Swami Sahajananda. He asked me to fast for three days. I agreed. On the third day he brought some cooked ridge gourd for me to eat. But after hearing what was going on inside me he said I should not eat and stretch my fast for 2 more days. Again on the 5^th day he advised continuing fasting for 3 more days. So I broke the fast after full 8 days. Silently, he made me a friend and a convert to the idea of fasting for healing. He shared his knowledge with me and gave me a good book to read.

Two days later I noticed I was passing two kinds of excreta with a 15 minute gap: first the regular stool and then old, hard, reddish, and sticky stuff. I showed them to Sahajananda. After looking closely he stood up, smiled and shook my hand. “You are lucky,” he said. “Your stomach was healed in the first two days of fasting. But you were still fasting and available for more toning work. Your body took up the work of cleaning the intestines. It is a major cleansing job that doctors rarely undertake in hospitals on very serious patients. They often remove up to 2 kilograms of muck.”

The work in my stomach continued for one full month. I could feel it and actually locate where it had reached. After cleansing was done I felt lighter, cleaner, and better able to digest and absorb food. I noticed that I needed to eat smaller quantity than earlier. I was much healthier and felt ten years younger. Twenty years later till today the effect still continues.

As you would imagine, this was a major enlightening experience. All my life’s observations and experiences jelled to give me a clear and powerful view of the marvelous immune system that nature has built into each one of us in this community of life. I also learned that our immune system works at its peak when we fast.

All animals know it and particularly in the wild they maintain optimal health with minimum of outside assistance. When they are hurt or fall sick they fast and take complete rest in some comfortable place. In this way they send a signal to their own immune system to use its full wisdom and energy to heal and tone up the body. I have seen dogs badly hit by cars heal deep wounds and broken bones in this way all by themselves. They eat nothing for days on end and come out fully healed and only slightly limping from their hiding places.

Only city dwelling human beings have deviated from nature’s simple and effective rules. They overeat and do no physical work. When they fall ill they run to the doctors who normally prescribe antibiotics and other factory made medicines. In the process our own wondrous immune system becomes weak for it feels spurned and unwanted.

In the last twenty years I have cured myself by fasting and have not eaten any pills. Only on four occasions when I had minor operations (hernia, prostate, and cataract) when the doctors made me swallow pills mainly to adhere to required procedures.

I believe we can all benefit by learning more about our immune system and the techniques of fasting and resting. It is very simple and everyone can learn it.

Partap Aggarwal

June 7, 2010

Reconnecting with Rati Ram

Rati Ram is my street dog friend. We met last year and for many months saw each other every morning. I wrote about him and our meetings for many weeks. Then, suddenly, I lost contact with Rati and wondered if he was dead or still alive.

Many months passed. To my joy, the other day, I noticed him, went close, and said hello. Rati is not exuberant like my earlier dog friend Kalu. He wagged his tail indicating that he was glad to see me again. But he did not jump at me and ask where I had disappeared. Knowing him, I too did not ask where he had been. We were together and that was good. We accepted the break in our meetings as a thing that happens in life. We traverse different routes and our paths sometimes do not cross. Now we are together and feel good about it.

Rati Ram began to appear regularly to walk a small distance alongside my friend K.T. and I. But he would stop at an invisible line. On our return from the newspaper stall he would often be gone, but occasionally still waiting. K.T. has been keeping dogs for years and is more familiar with dog behavior than I. He told me Rati Ram seems now to move within a narrower territorial boundary. This perhaps relates to his getting older and weaker. He is wisely avoiding conflict with younger, stronger, and more assertive dogs.

K.T. felt that perhaps Rati Ram would like me to give him some food. So I began every morning to buy a bun from a bakery and feed it to him slowly by hand. He liked the gesture and began accepting the offering with grace and love. I noticed that he receiving the food from my hand with perfect dignity and great care.

Now he takes each morsel from my hand taking care that his teeth would not touch my finger and accidentally hurt me. He is also careful not to wet my hand with his lips or tongue. I also notice that he relishes homemade bread or Roti more than buns.

For some time out meetings were irregular because Rati was not in his usual place. Now I find him in one specific spot outside a little meditation center waiting for my arrival with healthy whole wheat bread.

I am often amazed to notice how intelligent Rati Ram is. He makes it clear that he likes and appreciates my gift of food every morning. But he does not think of it as something extraordinary. He seems to take the whole thing naturally. We are friends and visiting each other. He is hungry and has to wait till someone comes along to feed him. I have access to food and I give him some. This is the law. Food is for the hungry and the two aught to meet when they are near. And that is what is happening.

Rati Ram knows we are friends. He wags his tail to show happiness when he sees me. He accepts food from my hand. He walks short distance with me often. But he never indicates a desire for to be taken to my home and adopted.

Partap Aggarwal
May 8, 2010

Part of the whole

Here is a beautiful spiritual message from Einstein. Many people do not know him other than only a scientist.

He talks of humans living in a prison of personal desires and attachment to a narrow circle of relatives and friends.

Indeed our task must be to free ourselves from the prison. But it is difficult when we live in a man made environment.

It would be mush easier in a forest, ocean or some other natural place.

I give you Albert Eienstein.

A human being is part of the whole.
called by us as ‘universe.’
a part limited in time and space.

He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings
as something separated from the rest
-a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness.

This delusion is a kind of prison for us,
restricting us to our personal desires and
to affection for a few persons nearest to us.

Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison
By widening our circle of compassion
To embrace all living creatures
and the whole of nature in its beauty.

- Albert Einstein, 1950 -

Enjoy.

Partap Aggarwal
May 1, 2010

Part of the whole

Here is a beautiful spiritual message from Einstein. Many people do not know him other than only a scientist.

He talks of humans living in a prison of personal desires and attachment to a narrow circle of relatives and friends.

Indeed our task must be to free ourselves from the prison. But it is difficult when we live in a man made environment.

It would be mush easier in a forest, ocean or some other natural place.

I give you Albert Eienstein.

A human being is part of the whole.
called by us as ‘universe.’
a part limited in time and space.

He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings
as something separated from the rest
-a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness.

This delusion is a kind of prison for us,
restricting us to our personal desires and
to affection for a few persons nearest to us.

Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison
By widening our circle of compassion
To embrace all living creatures
and the whole of nature in its beauty.

- Albert Einstein, 1950 -

Enjoy.

Partap Aggarwal
May 1, 2010

God as Silversmith

"He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver." Malachi 3:3

This verse puzzled some women in a Bible study and they wondered what this statement meant about the character and nature of God.

One of the women offered to find out the process of refining silver and get back to the group at their next Bible Study.

That week, the woman called a silversmith and made an appointment to watch him at work. She didn't mention anything about the reason for her interest beyond her curiosity about the process of refining silver.

As she watched the silversmith, he held a piece of silver over the fire and let it heat up. He explained that in refining silver, one needed to hold the silver in the middle of the fire where the flames were hottest as to burn away all the impurities.

The woman thought about God holding us in such a hot spot; then she thought again about the verse that says: "He sits as a refiner and purifier of silver." She asked the silversmith if it was true that he had to sit there in front of the fire the whole time the silver was being refined.

The man answered ‘yes,’ he not only had to sit there holding the silver, but he had to keep his eyes on the silver the entire time it was in the fire. If the silver was left a moment too long in the flames, it would be destroyed.

The woman was silent for a moment. Then she asked the silversmith, "How do you know when the silver is fully refined?"

He smiled at her and answered, "Oh, that's easy -- when I see my image in it."

If today you are feeling the heat of the fire, remember that God has his eye on you and will keep watching you until He sees His image in you.

This very moment, someone needs to know that God is watching over her.
And, whatever she’s going through, she'll be a better person in the end.

Partap Aggarwal
March 27, 2010

Shake It Off and Take a Step Up

One day a farmer's donkey fell into an abandoned dry well. The animal cried piteously for hours as the farmer tried to figure out what to do. He finally decided the animal was old and the well too, needed to be
filled up. So it just wasn't worth it to try to retrieve the donkey.

He invited all his neighbors to come over and help him. They each brought a spade and began to pour dirt into the well. At first the donkey wailed horribly. Then, he quieted down.

The farmer peered down into the well and was astounded by what he saw. With every load of dirt that hit his back, the donkey was doing something amazing. He would shake it off and take a step up.
Pretty soon the donkey stepped up over the edge of the well and walked off. All the men were astonished.


The moral of the story is obvious. Life is going to rain all kinds of dirt on you. The trick is not to let it bury you. Shake it off and take a step up. Treat each of your troubles as a stepping-stone.

We can get out of the deepest wells just by shaking off the dirt and taking a step up! The trick is just never to give up.

Partap Aggarwal
March 20, 2010

Healing a Chronic Boil By Fasting

Mukand Lal (name fictitious), a man about 50, came to Atheeth Ashram one afternoon in 1991. He lived in Delhi and ran a training institute for young men where he taught them stenography, typing, and accounting.

Mukandlal had a boil on the right side of his chest for more than two decades. He had tried many different treatments but none had worked. The boil was dormant most of the year but it tended to flare up every summer. Then it pained terribly and oozed pus and blood. At times it burst and made real mess.

Noticing that the head of the Ashram, Swami Sahajanand, offered treatment for various ailments by right food and fasting, Mukand told Swamji about his boil.
Since he spoke English with heavy Punjabi accent I was asked to interpret.

We learned that Mukand was a heavy eater from childhood partly because of his love for food and also because he was taught that it was desirable to eat a full stomach. The food he ate was cooked in ghee. Milk, buttermilk, and butter were part of his daily diet. In the mid-60’s he learned to eat meat. It soon became regular habit. Once, or sometimes twice a week, he ate mutton, chicken or fish with friends. Although he liked meat, his body was not easily digesting it and converting part of it into toxins. The boil in his chest was to expel the poisons. None of his physicians had seen the connection between the food he ate and the boil but to Swami Sahajanand it was obvious. He was asked if he would fast for three days. He agreed. The effect was immediate. His boil loosened up and drained in the evening of the second day. Third day his pain almost disappeared. He stayed in the Ashram for a week and ate very light South Indian style food.

Mukand agreed with Swamiji’s diagnosis and promised faithfully to observed his instructions; i.e. eat only light vegetarian food and fast when the boil reappeared. A year later he wrote to inform Swamiji that the boil did not come.

Partap Aggarwal
March 13, 2010

John Gwaltney

My friend Wendell Mott sent me the following account of an unusual man both of us had met at different times. He writes:

The rule is: "three strikes and you're out," but not for John Gwaltney. He had three strikes against him and he was still swinging. One strike was his poverty. Another was his blindness. A third, he was black and bore scars of discrimination from childhood.

I don't know how he afforded classes at Columbia University. Perhaps he had a scholarship. If so, it didn't help with his transportation problem.

The rest of us lived on campus, a few steps from class. Not John. He lived in New Jersey. His itinerary every day included a bus ride from his home to the terminal on the Jersey side of the Hudson. Transfer to the train under the Hudson River to the Port Authority Terminal on the Manhattan side. Find his way through the labyrinth of this massive terminal to the subway station. Take the express train on the IRT line to 96th Street. Cross the platform to the local train to 116th Street. This put him just outside the gate to the Columbia campus. Cross the campus and up the steps near Low Library, across another plaza to Schermerhorn Hall. Then down several floors to our classroom in the basement.

John did this in utter darkness, without the benefit of eyesight. Going home, he reversed the sequence.

We sat next to each other in Professor Bowles class on the anthropology of India. Occasionally, John would be late.

"I fell off the subway platform at 96th Street," he explained one morning.

Once he had scratch marks on his arms and face. He laughed. "You know how the campus is almost completely paved over. Well, I found one of the few places where it wasn't, a bed of roses!" In climbing the stairs near Low he went too far and fell six feet over the side of the stairs into a flowerbed.

Once, we were talking about Franklin Roosevelt and the New Deal.

"You know, Wendell, I've got to tell you a story about his wife, Eleanor. I was a small kid. It was the 1930s and the middle of the Depression. My mom wanted something or other from Social Services and she got the run-around."

"You know what my mom did? She whipped off a letter to Eleanor Roosevelt. And do you know what happened? She got a letter back! And what's more, Social Services called up and said to come in and pick up the thing my mom wanted!"

Maybe that's where John got his moxie. Not once did he ever imply that he was a victim. Not even with three strikes against him. He was a doer and a mover.

Our paths went separate directions after Columbia. However, I heard that Margaret Mead, the famous anthropologist at Columbia, took him under her wing. She may have given him a boost. But he did the rest.

Like his mother, whatever John did, he did under his own power.

The last I heard, John was a full professor at an Ivy League school, Cornell.
--------------------

I did not meet him during my six years (1960-66) at Cornell. He would have come there after my time. But what a coincidence, we had met in 1961 in New York City. Both of us were attending the American Anthropological Association annual meetings held at a city hotel.

I vividly remember our meeting. With a couple of friends I entered a big hall where the inaugural lecture of the conference was to be delivered by the president of the Association. We found a good area and sat down. A friend came over and said, “Come I will introduce you to a remarkable man you will remember for the rest of your life.” It was John Gwaltney. We chatted for half a minute. The meeting was to begin. John invited us to a get-together at his apartment soon after the meeting. Both my friend and I accepted the invitation.

It was a tiny dwelling on the fifth floor of an old brick building. John had bought some food. He served it most gracefully with help from one of his guests. Everything was done elegant and snacks were simple yet delicious. We talked trivia as in most such parties.

I remember two things to this day. One person asked John if he remembered where each person sat in the room. He said, “Yes, of course. If you call a name I can put my hand on the person’s head straight out without fumbling. Every single one of you in the room I can shoot if I had a gun and wanted to kill.”

Another person asked, “This is an old building prone to fire. Do you know what to do if it happens?”

“Yes,” said John “There is a fire escape at one end. It is a bit rickety, but still usable if everyone didn’t get on it at the same time. I have checked it out by going down on it once. This is more than what most residents have done. I know my way very well and would be the first to use it in an emergency. This is a poor area don’t forget. Here only a few buildings have fire escapes. We have it, but I must admit, repair and maintenance is not as it should be.”

Fifty years have passed but I still remember John Gwaltney and our little party. ‘What a man!’ I said then and I say the same now.

Partap Aggarwal
March 6, 2010


















Thanks Wendell for the wonderful rich reply. I vividly remember visiting with John Gwaltney. We were both at an Anthropological meeting in NYC. He said many memorable things. One of them was: you know I can place you so well that if I had a gun and wanted to shoot, I could get every one of you. This was when someone asked if he could find his way down the fire escape from fifth floor. I am glad Cornell hired him. For it I give my alma mater a high grade.

Dattatreya and the Ocean

In the past different sages took different spiritual paths to find the Truth. Of course, even though they followed different paths outwardly, the same human values, the same inner wisdom, dawned in all of them. Take the example sage Dattatreya. He was unique in that he did not have a human being as a spiritual master or guide. For him the whole universe was his master: the five elements and all the forces in nature. They guided him and taught him the crucial lessons of life. Here is one of these lessons.

One evening, deep in meditation, Dattatreya was walking along the sands near the ocean. His mind was so calm and quiet; he could perceive everything around him with clarity and insight. He watched the waves and saw how they reached the shore and spread out on the sand before silently going back into the ocean. He also noticed that the waves brought some small pieces of wood to the shore and left them back on the sand.

“How selfish is this ocean”, Dattatreya thought to himself. “It won’t keep even a few pieces of wood in its fold. Out they go onto the shore”

Just then, Dattatreya heard a voice! It was the ocean, speaking to him!

“Why do you think I am selfish, Dattatreya?” asked the ocean. “Just because I am not letting even a few pieces of wood to defile me? O wise man, can’t you see that if I let even the smallest speck of dirt to stay in me I will no longer be pure and clean? If I allow even the smallest pieces of dirt to stay in me more will surely follow them. It will soon become impossible for me to get rid of them. So I am always vigilant, and I make sure that in every moment of my life, I don’t keep anything impure inside me.”

In a flash Dattatreya realized his wrong thinking and understood the importance of ocean’s action.

“But of course!” he thought. “If I let even a single negative thought stay in my mind, I have lost my purity/. I will become weak, and then more and more negative thoughts will come and stay in my mind. So I must follow the example of the ocean. Always be vigilant and never let negative thoughts stay in me. Only then can I be pure. When my thoughts are pure my words and actions too will be pure. And only when all three are pure, will I always be content, happy, stable and unchanging like the ocean.”

Dattatreya was so thankful for this lesson that he fell on his knees and bowed down before the ocean, in gratitude for such a valuable lesson.

Babak
Date

Mullah in Search of a Wife

(My friend Babak Kardan sent this story to me. He is an excellent teacher. Probably he wrote it for a class. I am sure you will like it.)
You may think this is just an amusing story, but there is more to it… think about it!
Mullah was a man who lived a long time ago in Arabia. He had many experiences in his life, which we can learn from, even today! Listen to this one…

One evening, when the Mullah was old, he was sitting around with his friends, talking. All of a sudden, one of his friends asked,

“Dear Mullah, you have been so kind to all of us for so many years. We have often wondered why you never got married and had a family. Please tell us the reason why.”

“Well,” said the Mullah, “it’s a long story, but I will tell you.”

“When I was young, of course, I wanted to get married. Once I had finished my studies, I started to think about marriage. What type of person would I like? What should she be like? Where should she be from? You know….. All sorts of ideas.

“So I thought about this. Hmmm, well, she should definitely be slim, and tall too. And with dark, beautiful eyes that shine like stars. She must be very fair-skinned, of course, with long black hair. And educated too, and be able to play musical instruments, so that she can play music for me in the evenings. She should also be a good cook, of a noble family background, not too serious, and have excellent behaviour in front of elders. But her nose shouldn’t be very big, and she should have a mind of her own too, not be so docile after all….

“So I set off on my horse to travel to different cities across the country and find my true love, my perfect wife. After all, she must be out there somewhere, waiting for me too.”

“The first city I stopped at, I met this wonderful lady, with dark, shining eyes, tall and fair too. Ah, she was very attractive, and from a noble family background.”

“Well?” asked the Mullah’s friends, “so, what did you do?”

“Oh, that,” replied the Mullah, “Oh no! She was not for me….. she didn’t know how to play any musical instruments, and actually, her nose was a little big……”

“So then I traveled to another city, where my friends introduced me to a very good family with a lovely daughter. She was so proper, so decent and well-behaved, she was a gifted musician, and above all, she was an excellent cook, her parents assured me!”

“That’s wonderful!” Exclaimed the Mullah’s friends. “So what happened?”

“Well, actually, she was a little plump” said the Mullah, “and kind of short.”

“Oh my!” said the Mullah’s friends. “Then what?”

“Ah then!” said the Mullah, “I went to my native town, and there, my relatives introduced me to a most precious young lady. I cannot even describe her personality, so bright, just the right balance of mind, tall and fair, a keen music layer, educated and everything I had wanted in a wife. Finally, I had met the perfect wife!”

The Mullah then fell silent. Everyone looked at him, but he didn’t say anything.

Finally his friends asked him, “please tell us, what happened then?”

“Oh that,” said the Mullah, in a quiet tone, “you see, she, too, was looking for the perfect man…”

Babak
Feb 13, 2010

Quakers

If you were to join a group of peace or social justice activists in England or America you would find that many of its members are either Quaker or have strong Quaker influence.

‘Quaker’ is just a nickname. Real name of Quakers is Friends: collectively, members of the Society of Friends. George Fox founded this movement in1650 in England. He experienced enlightenment after persistent quiet contemplation and taught his followers that they did not need organized church or priests between them and God for He was within all of us. Quakers meet on Sundays for silent worship in what they call the Meeting House, or in homes of members.

After Fox’s example a huge number, nearly a third of the population of Britain experienced spiritual awakening in some degree and became Friends. As this was a powerful direct experience they felt gripped by its fervor and often trembled in courts or other places where they were tried and forced to prove themselves. Hence they began derisively to be called ‘Quakers.”

‘That of God in every man’ is one of the central pillars of Quaker beliefs. So they treat all people with respect and refuse to kill or knowingly hurt anyone. Similarly, they take all their beliefs seriously and try to live by them. I must add that all Quakers are not saints but they do still have a strong ethical-moral streak inherited from their past.

I first came to know them in 1949 in Punjab. My association grew over the years and continues to this day. For long and short spells I worked in Quaker projects in India and America. In 1966 I formally joined the Society of Friends in Hamilton NY and became a Hindu Quaker. I find great similarity in the two traditions and feel comfortable in both.

I think a good brief way to tell about Quakers would be to tell a story. For a true story as an example of Quaker behavior will tell more about them than a lecture on their belief system.

The story below dates back 200 years but it is believed to be true. Undoubtedly with innumerable telling it must have changed. I read it in a book Friendly Story Caravan published by Pendle Hill. I have made small changes here and there.

The Silver Tankard
Daniel Gordon backed horse Jerry into the buggy shafts and rapidly buckled the harness. It was Sunday morning and he and his wife were getting late for the meeting. Their two boys had left a half-hour ago on their horse Dobbin. Their nine-year-old daughter Hetty was to stay home.

As they were about to leave, a neighbor John Perkins arrived with disturbing news. “I don’t think it’s safe for you all to go to Meeting today,” he said.

Daniel told him that the boys had already gone and he and his wife were in a hurry to leave. Hetty would stay home.

“The girl mustn’t stay home alone. Bandit Tom Smith has been seen with two men. They know of your silver Tankard and plates and Tom is reported to have sworn to relieve you of them before the summer is over. You know what it means.”

Daniel knew well of Tom and his gang of desperate men who robbed lonely farmhouses in the area. There was no effective police force in Maine those days, and escape from law was easy. Everyone knew of his silver valuables and pirates like Tom could pounce on them any time. Daniel stood in deep thought. He believed with his whole soul that God would take care of those who did their duty and put their trust absolutely in Him. He had all his life lived in this faith. Here was a severe test. Nothing might happen but the risk in leaving Hetty alone at home was real. Yet he would do it: For to take his daughter in this situation would mean to teach her fear. He would leave her in God’s hands.

As Daniel bent to kiss his daughter he said to her, “Hetty, if any strangers come while we are gone, treat them well. We can spare of our abundance to feed the poor. What is gold and silver compared to God’s words of love.” The girl was puzzled to read anxiety on her father’s face for she had never seen him so troubled.

After making the kitchen tidy Hetty sat down by the window with a book. It was quiet and she felt a little lonely. Only an hour had passed and the family would be away for a long time yet. She looked out the window and was overjoyed to see 3 men walking rapidly up the road toward the house. Her father might have been expecting them she thought. This was why he told her to treat them well. She ran down the path to meet them.

“Won’t you please come in? Father will be so sorry not to see you, but he bade me serve you in any way I could.”

“Are you alone here?” asked the youngest man, who was Tom Smith.

“Oh, yes I am quite alone. If mother were here she would do more for you, but I’ll do all I can.” The men stared at each other in silence, and entered the neat comfortable kitchen. The silver jug and plates sat visible in the cupboard.

“Please be seated and allow me to prepare a meal for you?” said Hetty, in a panic lest her guests would not feel at home and leave her alone again all too soon.

Smith propped into a chair as though his knees had suddenly given way under him and said, “Yes we will, thank you, my child, for we are all hungry.”

For several minutes Hetty flitted in and out, while the men watched in silence. She dragged forward the table that stood against the wall, and Smith sprang forward to help her. While he was doing this she asked him to kindly lift down the silver jug and three of the best silver plates. She had brought cold cider from the cellar and filled the jug with it to the brim. She had also brought home made butter from the springhouse, and a huge loaf of bread. She paused a moment, her little forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. “Would you prefer to have some cold roast meat or wait while I cook chickens?”

“We cannot wait. Give us what you have,” said one of the older men. Soon all was ready and Hetty the hostess invited them to be seated. She was amazed the way they ate; picking up the meat with their fingers, gulping it down as if they had not eaten for many days. They finished several helpings of food and drank up three jugs of cider. Hetty kept offering more until they said they were full

When the meal was over Tom got up and told his companions to leave with him. One protested, “What, leave empty handed with all this silver here?” and he tried to grab the jug. Hetty felt chill of fear. “Oh, please,” she cried, “It is my father’s.”

Smith leaned across and clutched the man roughly by the arm. “Put that down, he shouted. “I’ll shoot the man who takes a single thing from this house.” Hetty looked in terror from one to the other as they glared across the table. Then she ran to Smith’s side and pressed close against his arm. The men turned and walked sullenly out of the house muttering. Smith looked down at Hetty’s trusting upturned face and a strange softness came into his eyes. He turned abruptly after the others, and Hetty, very much puzzled, watched the three men stalk down the road and out of sight.

When Daniel and his wife drove in that afternoon an hour earlier than usual, Hetty greeted them with: “Your strangers came, Father, and I treated them well, but they forgot to thank me.”

Partap Aggarwal
February 13, 2010

Boy Advises His Infant Brother

(This is a true narrative shared with me by the boy’s aunt who heard it directly as she was sitting behind the nearby wall with the boy’s mother.)


This story relates to a six-year-old boy whose name I do not know. He was admitted in a school in a Kerala town less than a year ago. One morning he is dressed up in his smart school uniform. His heavy satchel is on his back. As he is about to go out of the house he hears his 6-month old infant brother crying loudly. The boy turns around, goes to the baby’s bed and bends over him. He is curious. Why is this baby crying? On touching the baby’s clothes he finds him dry. He sees nothing wrong and begins to talk to his little brother.

‘Brother, what is wrong? Why are you crying? You are neither dirty nor wet. You might have tummy ache, but not likely. I do not see the reason for your crying so loudly.” The baby only wanted attention. So he smiles sweetly to indicate that he is happy to see his brother.

“Listen to me little brother. You can ‘poo’ in your pants and pee in your pajamas. Nobody will scold you. Mother will quickly wipe, wash and powder your bottom. She will also hug and kiss you as if you have done a grand act!”

“You just have to whimper and mother will set you to her bosom and feed you the most delicious milk made specially for you. Your bedding is soft and clean. Mother loves you like none else in the world can. You sleep snug and warm at night next to mother.”

“For all this you just lie, babble, sleep, and smile. You have no worries whatsoever for no burden of responsibility is on you. Your life is better than a king’s. Enjoy yourself. Do not cry. You know what? With your kind of luck you have no right to cry and complain. So be quiet and enjoy!”

Boy’s mother and aunt heard everything. They called him and asked, “Is your life not good like the baby’s?”

“No,” said the boy. “I have to go to school and sit in a room full of kids. We can neither chat nor play all day. Then there is this boring learning ‘A B C’ and other stuff. On top of it you do not let me play even when I come home. You make me do the homework first. Looking at you grown-ups does not make me very optimistic either. For all of you work all day, worry a lot, and complain about the worsening conditions.”

The two women were struck dumb. This was a great eye opening experience.

Partap Aggarwal
February 6, 2010

Million Frogs

A farmer came into town and asked the owner of a restaurant if he could use a million frog legs. The restaurant owner was exhilarated. “But where can I get so many frog legs?” he asked. The farmer replied, “There is a pond near my house. It is full of frogs. There must be millions of them. They croak all night long. I am about to go crazy!”

So the restaurant owner and the farmer made an agreement that the latter would deliver five hundred frogs every week.

Following week, the farmer returned to the restaurant looking sheepish. He had only two scrawny frogs. The restaurant owner asked, “Well... where are all the frogs?” The farmer said, “I was mistaken. There were only these two frogs in the pond. But they were making so much noise I though there must be at least a million of them!'

Next time you hear somebody criticizing or making fun of you, remember, it's probably just a couple of noisy frogs. Problems always seem bigger in the dark. Have you ever lain in your bed at night worrying about things, which seem almost overwhelming like a million frogs croaking? Chances are when the morning comes, and you take a closer look, you'll wonder what all the fuss was about.

Rajeev Gupta

JUDGMENT DAY

(This is a true story. About two years ago a dear friend narrated this personal experience. It touched my heart. I saved it. Now I share it with you. I am sure it will touch your heart as it did mine.)

I was about 14 and growing up on a farm in Iowa. Father and I were putting up hay. My job was to take the tractor out to the alfalfa field, pick up a load of hay and bring it back to the barn. There, Father would set the grapple hook, and with the aid of Dick, our horse, lift the hay into the barn.

Our tractor was a Farmall with a huge rake sticking out in front. This placed the weight of the hay on the small front wheels.

The alfalfa field to the southwest of the barn had small gullies, perhaps two feet wide and two feet deep. Father made a special point that I should go around these gullies.
Under no circumstances was I to try to cross them.

But I was young and impatient. Sometimes father had seemed overly cautious. So I tried to cross one of the gullies. However, the small front wheels did not come out of the gully as I expected. I shifted into reverse. Again, the front wheels were stuck in the gully.

Then, before my eyes, the tractor pulled apart! The front wheels were stuck, while the tractor backed up. The side-rails, part of the very frame of the tractor, sheered off their bolts and let loose. The front twisted to the side and dropped. I was sitting on a tractor that seemed to be going down a very steep hill. The fan belt squealed as the fan chewed into the radiator. The engine died, and I sat in near-silence as steam hissed from the broken radiator.

I left the wreckage and began the longest walk of my life. I can still see the puffs of dust raised by my work-shoes. Each step carried me closer to a terrible reckoning. As I came around the barn, Father said, “Where’s the tractor?”

“It’s still in the alfalfa field,” I said, not wanting to say that it was actually “piled” in the alfalfa field. I had to
Explain. Then I waited for the judgment in my case.

In fact, I had no case. I had done the very thing I had been told specifically NOT to do. So there was no doubt about my guilt. It was complete.

Moreover, this was not just a misdemeanor. It was a major felony. We could not afford even minor repairs. This was going to be terribly costly.

Therefore, it was in fear and trembling that I stood before my Father and waited for his judgment.

He was quiet for a while, thinking. Then he looked at his watch and said quietly, “I wonder if we can get into town before the implement dealer closes?”

My case was closed. Judgment had been rendered.

To the very end of his life, this is ALL Father ever said about my terrible crime. He never mentioned it again.

I recounted this story at Father’s funeral, standing before his casket.

Somehow the story wasn’t complete.

I paused, waiting for something I felt was missing. After a pause, it came to me: “And now Father faces his time of reckoning. I pray that he will be judged with the same compassion as he judged me.

Wendell Mott
January 23, 2010

Aches, Pains and Other Diseases

Aches, Pains and Other Diseases

Life is a unity. It is one and indivisible yet manifest in all animals and plants. The tree in front of my house has same life as I, not similar but identical. Our bodies are animated by life. Tribal people all over the world call it the animator. They therefore recognize kinship with birds, animals and plants.

Life’s Wisdom is embedded in every being. Furthermore it comes afresh every day with the air we breathe and sunshine in which we bask. Everyone living in the wild imbibes it. But when some animals (particularly we humans) insulate themselves by living inside four walls, they lose touch with the free flowing Manna. But nature in its generosity does not give up. It punches us to puncture our shell. The pain immobilizes and makes us lie down to pay attention. If we recognize true nature and purpose of this pain, the gift of precious wisdom is delivered and the pain goes.

I illustrate this with a personal experience.

In the beginning of December 2008 I woke up one morning with a pain in my right thigh. It was not severe but vexing enough to ring an alarm. I tried to recall what all I had done the previous day. It was an ordinary day and I had followed my routine of exercise, deskwork and leisure of a couple of short naps. I definitely had not hurt myself. There was no telltale sign on my leg, no swelling, no red or blue color, not even a scratch. Yet the pain persisted and by the following morning it became severe.

I got up from bed feeling considerable pain but when I tried to walk the pain became so intense. I knew it was a major event not likely to go away as quickly as it had come. Both bedrooms in our duplex house are upstairs. So we got a bed brought down with the help of some visiting friends and I made myself as comfortable as was possible.

Low pain was constant but it flared every time I moved my right leg. I lay on bed and meditated most of the time. Neighbors got word and came to see me. They gave suggestions. I heard but didn’t feel the necessity to do anything in a hurry. It is not my habit to run to a doctor for every little ache. Four days passed. My friend and neighbor Sreedhar came in to announce that he was taking me to our good Doctor C. M. at 10am. I said okay for when this dear friend comes in such situations there is no other answer.

With great difficulty I walked the short distance from car to the elevator and we were in the doctor’s room. She sat me down and asked what had happened. I told her I did not think there was anything wrong with me. My pain was benign and had come with a gift! Dr. C. M. was not surprised, for she knew me well. “You may be right, but we have to find out our way,” she said. She made me lie down on a bunk, examined me, and said she will make appointments with some specialists and inform me when to come. In a week I was checked by three of them. All gave me a clean chit. She said she too was puzzled. She prescribed some pills twice. I bought and swallowed the first bunch, but quietly skipped the second. I knew they were painkillers and I did not need them.

There was nothing wrong with me. The pain was a wrap covering a priceless gift. I needed patiently to wait. After a long month I knew the gift was being delivered and it was with me. The pain mellowed and soon disappeared.

I had had such experiences many times since 1956. Most of them came when I needed guidance. The path to take was pointed. I was healed. I know that a silent Animator permeates my body. In fact that is who I am. It needs to draw my attention and communicate with me in silence, not words. If I am ready to receive the message it comes clear as bell.

Partap Aggarwal
January 9, 2010

Environment in a New Light III

Environment in a New Light III

“Prabhate mala darshanam” -unknown
This dictum probably comes from Vedic time. It says, “every morning look at your feces.” As we try to make our lifestyle more eco-friendly by avoiding wrong eating, saving water, and recycling sewage, this advice of a Rishi (sage) of ancient times is more appropriate now than it was then.

It sounds simple; some people may even think it simplistic. But it is profoundly wise counsel. I have lived by it all my life and it has worked like a powerful talisman.

By its odor, color, texture, shape, quantity our feces clearly tells us every single day whether or not we are eating the right food in right quantity.

For instance, normally our feces should not stink. Its rancid odor means we are eating wrong food in large quantity and it is not digesting properly inside the stomach. When we change our food, the offensive smell goes. This can be seen in animals also. I lived in upstate New York for several decades. In the 60’s and 70’s the state was dotted with small farmers many of whom raised dairy cows in addition. Cows were mostly grazed in the fields and fed some additional grain meal to sustain their high milk yield. Their excreta smelled okay. But later, in the 80’s and 90’s yield of milk per cow had to be raised in order for the farmer to remain competitive. Factory made feeds of higher nutrient content became vogue. They contained grain and waste materials from food processing plants. Some clever animal nutrition experts began to recommend feed factories to use waste products of butcheries. These included blood, ground up hoofs, bones and bits of viscera. Cow dung odor turned terribly obnoxious. Dairy farms began to stink so bad that one could smell them from miles.

This trend is changing for the better in the present millennium as dairy farmers go organic. I visited some of them in 2006. Offensive odor in many dairies had vanished. We visited a highly successful farmer who keeps 80 cows. “It smells good,” he said. My family and I live in a house right next to the dairy. He served us snacks and coffee in his house to prove his word. He also told us that Cornell experts had warned him that he would not be viable for long. “I proved them wrong,” he boasted! As you can see I am doing well.

In India we have always considered cow dung shuddha, (clean and safe). We use hands to lift, carry and use it. Our houses were regularly plastered with it. The reason obviously is that we fed the cows their natural feed, i.e. grasses. No wonder we call it gobar, not cow shit!

When I am at Navadarshanam I never use indoor WC, for I do not want to waste precious water and valuable manure. I find a secluded area near our house and a spot where a plant can use manure. I cover the excreta with mud or dry cow dung if some is found nearby.

Most of the time all is well but sometimes odors turn rancid. I quickly make amends. Sometimes one may notice little worms squirming and whole peas and other grains. Timely action sets things right. Feces may occasionally be too runny or hard. It may be of unusual color or have too much white mucus. It may come out as one long piece, or in small shreds. Sometimes I have to spread it with a twig to see clearly. Whenever one or more unusual signs appear, they tell a tale. I can easily recall what and how much I ate the previous day. Because of long experience I know what amends I need to make. Often all I have to do is miss one or two meals and all turns well. But occasionally I have to fast for a day or much longer. I must also avoid foods that do not agree with my stomach. One thing to remember always is to eat less.

Human feces dry quickly in open air. Good living soil decomposes it quite fast. I cannot even find it after three or four days in many places; microbes and insects have eaten it up. All of it is finished off and gone. There is no room for pathogens to lurk. But when we give human feces a watery medium, like in a modern flush latrine, pathogens love it and thrive. No wonder every city in the world faces a huge sewage disposal problem. There is no solution in sight while the problem worsens at alarming speed.

Mala Darshanam teaches us much more. But it won’t fit in this paper.

Partap, December 29, 2009

Environment in a New Light (part II)

Environment in a New Light (part II)

“The need today seems to be to reexamine our way of life in every detail. Whatever seems in anyway to harm the natural order must be shed and what promotes health and peace needs to be adopted. For this we must have reverence for the Creator and discipline to obey rules that govern the universe.” We concluded the last article with this statement. Now let us see what all we need to shed and what to adopt.

AIR
Let us first talk of air, for it is our most important intake. We breathe it all day and all night throughout our lives. On waking up we need to stretch our limbs and take deep breaths. Next we city folks must find a way to soak in our quota of oxygen for the day. The best place for it is a local park where there are trees and other plants. Morning air has moisture that soaks up impurities. The plants pull this moisture, drink it and eat what’s in it. You see it as dew on the leaves. The air is washed clean, or relatively so! We must add this qualification because the amount of pollutants we put into the air is huge.

Let us walk in this morning air for ½ or at least ¼ hour. Brisk walk is better, but do not torture your body. Remember always to remain comfortable or you can hurt yourself.

Then sit down on a bench. Do basic neck exercises. These are especially important for people over 40, or if you use a computer for work. Take long breaths inhaling maximum amount of air so that your lungs are full and belly puffed up. Then exhale. Be sure the belly contracts. In most people this process is reversed and very harmful. To learn the correct way, observe a baby sleeping in a crib. That is the way we need to breathe every day all our lives. It is not difficult to learn.

Learn 6-7 basic pranayams as Baba Ram Dev teaches them. Do each 10 or more times. But this is not enough. In addition pick one and do it continuously for 15 to 20 minutes. I do the kapal bhati 500 hundred times. This way you absorb a lot of oxygen in your blood and rest of the body. Specific pranayams are recommended for different ailments. Take advice from a yoga teacher if you need it.

Next, you stand up straight and do some basic exercises of your arms. This is essential for people with sedentary jobs.

There are many benefits of this daily routine. One is that you become conscious of the quality of air you breathe and learn to avoid polluting it. You then know that it is good to avoid known polluted areas in the city. Cut down on shopping. Reduce your needs. Do whatever you can to be in cleaner areas. I always use Volvo buses in Bangalore. This also keeps me safe from prevailing road rage.

I have often mentioned what “I” do only to stress that you too can do it. For I believe that everyone can do what even I can do.

Partap Aggarwal
December 24, 2009

Environment In a New Light

Environment In a New Light
Even as far back as the1950’s there was much talking about environment. Few people heard this talk seriously. I know many friends called such people doomsayers. As time went by pollution levels rose and the media began to think environment news was fit to print. Awareness level of people went up. They began to hear with more interest. But most of them thought ‘scientists’ would fix the problems. There is nothing to worry. More recently, when the globe began to overheat enough for people actually to feel the effect their interest level rapidly shot up. Environment talk became louder and concern more urgent. Many friends have begun to see sense in such talk and merit in this concern.

I persevered in my interest in environment study. As a result I have learned little more and become slightly wiser. Today I say there is no environment problem. For rain still falls and water percolates into the earth. The Sun shines and the air flows. New species of living beings evolve. Older ones adapt to the natural environment. New ones grow and change. Individuals die and yield their bodies to the living so that life should continue. Everything needed by the living is still provided by nature. Otherwise life on this Earth would have ended.

Even in my primary school I learned through shlokas of the Vedic Rishis that the entire universe is one single whole. All things are connected. Therefore, whatever any one of us does affects all the rest. Because we are part of a unity, whatever we do must get reflected in the whole. If my community and I cut down the trees around our settlement we must face consequences. But if we cherish the old trees and plant more for fruit and other produce we would benefit. Nature gives us a lot of freedom to act but whatever choice we make appropriate consequence follow. This law governs us humans and all other living beings. No one is exempt, not even Vishnu, Shiva and other deities.

Condition of our environment is bad and it is rapidly deteriorating further. It is not just one country or a few people who are responsible but it is the worldview and lifestyle promoted by the industrial civilization. Sadly it has spread worldwide and is still expanding. A few islands of sane living that still linger are fast disappearing.

The need today seems to be to reexamine our way of life in every detail. Whatever seems in anyway to harm the natural order must be shed and what promotes health and peace needs to be adopted. For this we must have reverence for the Creator and discipline to obey rules that govern the universe.

Partap,
December 13, 2009

Baba Amte’s Childhood Lesson

Baba Amte’s Childhood Lesson
I subscribe to a Hindi-language monthly magazine called Madhusanchaya. It is in fact a modest 8 page non-profit publication circulated to a small number of subscribers. But every issue has nuggets of wisdom. In one of the recent issues there was this beautiful piece that describes a touching incident in Baba Amte’s childhood.

When Baba was just about 6 years old his mother gave him a Japanese toy. It had a human figure set on a wooden base. The figure was so fitted on a spring that one could push it down flat on the base. But as soon as the figure was released it shot back up in its original upright posture. Boy Amte found it very amusing.

One day his mother sat him down next to her and asked, “Son, do you know that this toy has an important message for you?”

“No” said Amte, “ I do not get any message. Please, mother, tell me what it is.”

The mother explained, “In life, every one experiences many big and small pit falls. But one must remember not to feel overwhelmed. Knowing that they are a normal part of life one must stand up as quickly as possible and resume ones journey.
You must remember this lesson all your life.”

“Very good, mother,” said Amte. “I will always remember what you have told me. I promise.”

Baba Amte, a towering personality of modern India, lived a long life of very difficult struggles. But remembering what his mother had taught him he faced them with courage and overcame every single one of them.

Partap
December 8, 2009
1
Enjoyed your story about Baba Amte. He must have been extraordinarily courageous to have himself injected with leprosy when it was commonly felt to be contagious. When I looked him up in Wikipedia it said, surprisingly, that he was an atheist. It then offers a poignant quote from him: "I sought my soul, but my soul I could not see, I sought my god, but my god eluded me; And then I sought my sisters and my brothers, and in them I found all three." It also said he liked to think of himself as a "mechanic with an oil can" ministering to small ills, rather than the spectacular, although he played a major role in India's struggle for independence. Your story about his childhood experience is an interesting sidelight.

Wikipedia also said he worked with the Gonds. Remember the Gond community northeast of Hoshangabad (I think it was northeast)? At Rasulia, I was told they were an "island" of the original inhabitants that survived the southward migration of people displaced by the invasion of the Aryans. Are you familiar with any studies of them? From the N.Y. Times I get intimations that Maoist groups in Madhya Pradesh are trying to appeal to them. But it's all a muddle in my head and I'd like to read more about it.

Enjoyed your account of "Renu's first visit to America." It was funny.

Partap, your example may be spreading, in the sense of encouraging others to write up their recollections as well. My cousins and I are finding great joy in sifting through family diaries and records. But we know we're missing many stories. It's important to write them down as you have been doing. So far, I've written about 45, and still have many more to go. One, incidentally, is about John Gwaltney whom I think you knew at Cornell. I'll attach it to this e-mail and hope you get it.

Again, thanks for your stories. Winter is here. Today, I've been shoveling paths through about 5 inches of wet snow. Enjoy India's beautiful winter weather!

With best wishes,

Wendell












Thanks Wendell for the wonderful rich reply. I vividly remember visiting with John Gwaltney. We were both at an Anthropological meeting in NYC. He said many memmorable things. One of them was: you know I can place you so well that if I had a gun and wanted to shoot, I could get every one of you. This was when someone asked if he could find his way down the fire escape from fifth floor. I am glad Cornell hired him. For it I give my alma mater a high grade.






JOHN GWALTNEY



The rule is: "three strikes and you're out." But not for John Gwaltney. He had three strikes against him and he was still swinging.

One strike was his poverty. Another was his blindness. A third, he was black and bore scars of discrimination from childhood.

I don't know how he afforded classes at Columbia University. Perhaps he had a scholarship. If so, it didn't help with his transportation problem.

The rest of us lived on campus, a few steps from class. Not John. He lived in New Jersey. His itinerary every day included a bus ride from his home to the terminal on the Jersey side of the Hudson. Transfer to the train under the Hudson River to the Port Authority Terminal on the Manhattan side. Find his way through the labyrinth of this massive terminal to the subway station. Take the express train on the IRT line to 96th Street. Cross the platform to the local train to 116th Street. This put him just outside the gate to the Columbia campus. Cross the campus and up the steps near Low Library, across another plaza to Schermerhorn Hall. Then down several floors to our classroom in the basement.

John did this in utter darkness, without the benefit of eyesight. Going home, he reversed the sequence.

We sat next to each other in Professor Bowles class on the anthropology of India. Occasionally, John would be late.

"I feel off the subway platform at 96th Street," he explained one morning.

Once he had scratch marks on his arms and face. He laughed. "You know how the campus is almost completely paved over. Well, I found one of the few places where it wasn't, a bed of roses!" In climbing the stairs near Low he went too far and fell six feet over the side of the stairs into a flower bed.

Once, we were talking about Franklin Roosevelt and the New Deal.

"You know, Wendell, I've got to tell you a story about his wife, Eleanor. I was a small kid. It was the 1930s and the middle of the Depression. My mom wanted something or other from Social Services and she got the run-around."

"You know what my mom did? She whipped off a letter to Eleanor Roosevelt. And do you know what happened? She got a letter back! And what's more, Social Services called up and said to come in and pick up the thing my mom wanted!"

Maybe that's where John got his moxie. Not once did he ever imply that he was a victim. Not even with three strikes against him. He was a doer and a mover.

Our paths went separate directions after Columbia. However, I heard that Margaret Mead, the famous anthropologist at Columbia, took him under her wing. She may have given him a boost. But he did the rest.

Like his mother, whatever John did, he did under his own power.

The last I heard, John was a full professor at an Ivy League school, Cornell.
Enjoyed your story about Baba Amte. He must have been extraordinarily courageous to have himself injected with leprosy when it was commonly felt to be contagious. When I looked him up in Wikipedia it said, surprisingly, that he was an atheist. It then offers a poignant quote from him: "I sought my soul, but my soul I could not see, I sought my god, but my god eluded me; And then I sought my sisters and my brothers, and in them I found all three." It also said he liked to think of himself as a "mechanic with an oil can" ministering to small ills, rather than the spectacular, although he played a major role in India's struggle for independence. Your story about his childhood experience is an interesting sidelight.

Wikipedia also said he worked with the Gonds. Remember the Gond community northeast of Hoshangabad (I think it was northeast)? At Rasulia, I was told they were an "island" of the original inhabitants that survived the southward migration of people displaced by the invasion of the Aryans. Are you familiar with any studies of them? From the N.Y. Times I get intimations that Maoist groups in Madhya Pradesh are trying to appeal to them. But it's all a muddle in my head and I'd like to read more about it.

Enjoyed your account of "Renu's first visit to America." It was funny.

Partap, your example may be spreading, in the sense of encouraging others to write up their recollections as well. My cousins and I are finding great joy in sifting through family diaries and records. But we know we're missing many stories. It's important to write them down as you have been doing. So far, I've written about 45, and still have many more to go. One, incidentally, is about John Gwaltney whom I think you knew at Cornell. I'll attach it to this e-mail and hope you get it.

Again, thanks for your stories. Winter is here. Today, I've been shoveling paths through about 5 inches of wet snow. Enjoy India's beautiful winter weather!

With best wishes,

Wendell