Vinoba Finds out Fair Wage for Spinners
When Vinoba was still very new at Sevagram some workers started an organization to promote spinning and weaving as means of earning a living. One very important question was what would be the fair wage for a full day’s work. There were many different opinions and often-heated discussions. Everyone of course wanted to be fair to the workers, but some more than others.
Vinoba spoke few words. When asked he said he had no basis for suggesting a fair wage for a full day’s spinning at a hand operated wheel. He would want to know how much it cost to buy the basic necessities and how much yarns an average spinner could produce per day. To find that out would require long fieldwork. Nobody had time for that. Some people thought Vinoba was being too sticky. They needed to come to some figures before the end of their discussions. So they did just that.
Vinoba did not protest, but he was clear what he was going to do to find out the right answer. After the meetings he started spinning about 8 hours a day and continued for six months.
He sold the yarn every day to the shop set up by the khadi organization (predecessor to today’s Khadi and Village Industries Commission). He bought his food and other minimal necessities with the money he earned.
In the next meeting of the organization Vinoba gave detailed report of his experiment. What struck the members very deeply was his observation that all of six months he could afford only one meal a day. It is up to us he said, to change or not to change the figures we agreed on in our last meeting.
Vinoba’s diet even at that time was quite meager. We know that he lived on 600-700 calories per day in the second half of his life.
February 5, 2005
God Alone might save me
God Alone might save me
Long time ago a king had no children. A learned man suggested sacrificing a child in front of the Devi.
The king announced a large reward if a family would give their child for the purpose. A poor couple had four sons. In order to get the reward they offered their 13-year-old boy to the king.
The boy was taken to the palace. He was bathed, properly groomed from head to toes, nicely dressed, and sumptuously fed. He was then given a last chance to do what he wished.
The boy wanted to perform a puja (ritual worship) at the riverbank. There he sat down on the sand and carefully built 4 sand piles. He then prayed before one of them and demolished it. He did the same to the send and the third. The boy did not destroy the fourth pile.
The king was curious and asked the boy the meaning of all he had done. The boy answered: “The first pile symbolized parents and family. They offered me to be sacrificed just for a little money. I rule them out from my list of well-wishers. The second pile stood for my community that I thought would always support me, but they failed me. I rule them out also. The third pile was for my king and he too proved useless. So I flattened his pile too. The fourth pile represents God. I have not destroyed because I do not know what He would do when all others have failed.
The king was so impressed he cancelled the sacrifice and adopted the boy. He grew up as the crown prince and in time became the king.
.
January 29, 2005
Long time ago a king had no children. A learned man suggested sacrificing a child in front of the Devi.
The king announced a large reward if a family would give their child for the purpose. A poor couple had four sons. In order to get the reward they offered their 13-year-old boy to the king.
The boy was taken to the palace. He was bathed, properly groomed from head to toes, nicely dressed, and sumptuously fed. He was then given a last chance to do what he wished.
The boy wanted to perform a puja (ritual worship) at the riverbank. There he sat down on the sand and carefully built 4 sand piles. He then prayed before one of them and demolished it. He did the same to the send and the third. The boy did not destroy the fourth pile.
The king was curious and asked the boy the meaning of all he had done. The boy answered: “The first pile symbolized parents and family. They offered me to be sacrificed just for a little money. I rule them out from my list of well-wishers. The second pile stood for my community that I thought would always support me, but they failed me. I rule them out also. The third pile was for my king and he too proved useless. So I flattened his pile too. The fourth pile represents God. I have not destroyed because I do not know what He would do when all others have failed.
The king was so impressed he cancelled the sacrifice and adopted the boy. He grew up as the crown prince and in time became the king.
.
January 29, 2005
Gambling Match of Mahabharat
Gambling Match of Mahabharat
“Like a stone on a sling we are hurled, seemingly helplessly, round and round in a circle by destiny. What choice a situation offers only one in a million recognizes, for as brilliant light blinds
the eye, destiny clouds our vision.”
When Yudhishtar received his cousin Duryodhan’s invitation to a gambling game he answered in an affirmative. YES, he said. He knew Duryodhan was burning with envy and wanted to humble him and his brothers. He also knew that Shakuni will play for the Kauravas, and he is a cunning trickster.
Further, Yudhishtar was clearly warned by his uncle Vidur and others that the game he was being invited to was no mere game. It had a sinister motive. His brothers told him he was walking into a snare. Yet Yudhishtar accepted the invitation saying that a kshatriya never turns down a challenge. Was it destiny? At seems destiny did have a hand in it.
Hundreds of dignitaries were invited and accommodated in comfortable specially crafted sofas around the arena. King Dhritrashtra, patriarch Bhishma, guru Vishwamitra, as well as other important leaders and members of the clan were present and seated in places appropriate to their ranks. The public too was invited to this shameful chess of destiny with pawns from the royal family.
Yudhishtar lost the first two throws, when he also lost the third; he complained that Shakuni was cheating. But he was cleverer in talking even than in cheating. Like today’s lawyers he fooled and subdued everyone. The game continued. Duryodhan’s men were suggesting stakes to the rapidly losing Pandava. He lost villages, cities, gold, his brothers, himself, and finally Draupadi.
Bhim and Arjun were furious; they muttered oaths. The elders saw what was going on. Vidur talked into the king’s ear. Bhishma was stunned. The air was ominous. Foundations of a ruinous conflict were being laid. Even the ordinary people could guess trouble.
Duryodhan was warned, “Please stop. You know the dice are loaded. If you go on cheating beyond limits antagonism will reach flash point and total destruction will follow.” Duryodhan knew this well but he was too jubilant to listen. He said, “This is a game we have played since ancient times. One side always loses. Today, thank God, we are winning. Do you want me to be sorry for that? No, I cannot be sorry, for I am glad. We are lucky the Pandava are not. What can I do?”
As we know the game ended badly. Duryodhan’s brother Dushasan and his friend Karan misbehaved to the extent of insulting Draupadi in public. Arjun and Bhim vowed in the full assembly to avenge the insults. The ground for the great Kurukshetra war was laid.
Bhishma was angry. Dhritrashtra was asked to declare the game null and void and invalidate all gains and losses. Pandava were set free. But destiny was not deterred. The Kauravas did not learn any lessons. They continued to feed the flames of discord, and in the end the big war had to be fought.
Have we learned? Thousands of years later, today, nations (and social divisions within them) are playing the same game. Powerful industrialized nations are winning and the rest are losing all the time. Obviously the dice are loaded as they were then. Otherwise, in a game of chance how can one side win all the time?
Conflicts are increasing and violence spreading like wild fire. Wise men and women caution us that due to lack of socio-economic justice the entire human race is in danger, but are we listening? Can we do something? Or is it again destiny?
January 15, 2005
“Like a stone on a sling we are hurled, seemingly helplessly, round and round in a circle by destiny. What choice a situation offers only one in a million recognizes, for as brilliant light blinds
the eye, destiny clouds our vision.”
When Yudhishtar received his cousin Duryodhan’s invitation to a gambling game he answered in an affirmative. YES, he said. He knew Duryodhan was burning with envy and wanted to humble him and his brothers. He also knew that Shakuni will play for the Kauravas, and he is a cunning trickster.
Further, Yudhishtar was clearly warned by his uncle Vidur and others that the game he was being invited to was no mere game. It had a sinister motive. His brothers told him he was walking into a snare. Yet Yudhishtar accepted the invitation saying that a kshatriya never turns down a challenge. Was it destiny? At seems destiny did have a hand in it.
Hundreds of dignitaries were invited and accommodated in comfortable specially crafted sofas around the arena. King Dhritrashtra, patriarch Bhishma, guru Vishwamitra, as well as other important leaders and members of the clan were present and seated in places appropriate to their ranks. The public too was invited to this shameful chess of destiny with pawns from the royal family.
Yudhishtar lost the first two throws, when he also lost the third; he complained that Shakuni was cheating. But he was cleverer in talking even than in cheating. Like today’s lawyers he fooled and subdued everyone. The game continued. Duryodhan’s men were suggesting stakes to the rapidly losing Pandava. He lost villages, cities, gold, his brothers, himself, and finally Draupadi.
Bhim and Arjun were furious; they muttered oaths. The elders saw what was going on. Vidur talked into the king’s ear. Bhishma was stunned. The air was ominous. Foundations of a ruinous conflict were being laid. Even the ordinary people could guess trouble.
Duryodhan was warned, “Please stop. You know the dice are loaded. If you go on cheating beyond limits antagonism will reach flash point and total destruction will follow.” Duryodhan knew this well but he was too jubilant to listen. He said, “This is a game we have played since ancient times. One side always loses. Today, thank God, we are winning. Do you want me to be sorry for that? No, I cannot be sorry, for I am glad. We are lucky the Pandava are not. What can I do?”
As we know the game ended badly. Duryodhan’s brother Dushasan and his friend Karan misbehaved to the extent of insulting Draupadi in public. Arjun and Bhim vowed in the full assembly to avenge the insults. The ground for the great Kurukshetra war was laid.
Bhishma was angry. Dhritrashtra was asked to declare the game null and void and invalidate all gains and losses. Pandava were set free. But destiny was not deterred. The Kauravas did not learn any lessons. They continued to feed the flames of discord, and in the end the big war had to be fought.
Have we learned? Thousands of years later, today, nations (and social divisions within them) are playing the same game. Powerful industrialized nations are winning and the rest are losing all the time. Obviously the dice are loaded as they were then. Otherwise, in a game of chance how can one side win all the time?
Conflicts are increasing and violence spreading like wild fire. Wise men and women caution us that due to lack of socio-economic justice the entire human race is in danger, but are we listening? Can we do something? Or is it again destiny?
January 15, 2005
Mahadev Humbled
Mahadev Humbled
Mahadev and Parvati sometimes go on a stroll to talk to ordinary folks. Once on such a visit, near a village they saw a farmer planting seeds. Mahadev asked him why he was planting seeds when there were neither clouds nor any other signs of impending rain. He got into a long drawn conversation and bored Parvati went home to Kailash.
The farmer said signs or not he still expected rain in the night.
The two got into a heated argument. One said it will and the other that it will not rain. In order to prove that he was right Mahadev went to the rain god, Indra, and told him not to send rain in the night. Indra agreed but said if the frogs croaked he would not be able to restrain himself.
Mahadev went to the king of frogs and told him to order the frogs not to croak in the evening. He said, “I’d like to obey you, lord, but I cannot help it if the fireflies come and shine.”
Mahadev went to the chief firefly and asked her reign her tribe for just one night. She agreed and Mahadev was happy.’ Now the farmer will be proved wrong,’ he thought.
But wonder of wonders, black clouds came from nowhere and it began to pour. Mahadev was furious. He went to Indra and shouted at him for breaking his word.
“But I was helpless,” he complained. “The frogs croaked. What could I do?”
Mahadev went and called the king of frogs a cheat. “Why did you promise one thing and do something else?”
The king of frogs said it was not his fault because a firefly shone.
Mahadev complained to the chief firefly. She said, “Not a single one of us shined, I swear.”
Mahadev was puzzled. He went to the tree under which he had seen the farmer. He was sitting there holding a pole. The burned cloth at the top of his mashal (firebrand) had fallen off, but the end of the stick was still glowing. It is this that the frogs had mistaken for a firefly flash.
Mahadev admitted defeat and went home to tell the story to Parvati, his beloved wife.
January 22, 2005
Mahadev and Parvati sometimes go on a stroll to talk to ordinary folks. Once on such a visit, near a village they saw a farmer planting seeds. Mahadev asked him why he was planting seeds when there were neither clouds nor any other signs of impending rain. He got into a long drawn conversation and bored Parvati went home to Kailash.
The farmer said signs or not he still expected rain in the night.
The two got into a heated argument. One said it will and the other that it will not rain. In order to prove that he was right Mahadev went to the rain god, Indra, and told him not to send rain in the night. Indra agreed but said if the frogs croaked he would not be able to restrain himself.
Mahadev went to the king of frogs and told him to order the frogs not to croak in the evening. He said, “I’d like to obey you, lord, but I cannot help it if the fireflies come and shine.”
Mahadev went to the chief firefly and asked her reign her tribe for just one night. She agreed and Mahadev was happy.’ Now the farmer will be proved wrong,’ he thought.
But wonder of wonders, black clouds came from nowhere and it began to pour. Mahadev was furious. He went to Indra and shouted at him for breaking his word.
“But I was helpless,” he complained. “The frogs croaked. What could I do?”
Mahadev went and called the king of frogs a cheat. “Why did you promise one thing and do something else?”
The king of frogs said it was not his fault because a firefly shone.
Mahadev complained to the chief firefly. She said, “Not a single one of us shined, I swear.”
Mahadev was puzzled. He went to the tree under which he had seen the farmer. He was sitting there holding a pole. The burned cloth at the top of his mashal (firebrand) had fallen off, but the end of the stick was still glowing. It is this that the frogs had mistaken for a firefly flash.
Mahadev admitted defeat and went home to tell the story to Parvati, his beloved wife.
January 22, 2005
Food Offerings to Ancestors
Food Offerings to Ancestors
India and China are next-door neighbors; naturally, they influenced each other’s culture. One such influence is in honoring ancestors. In both the cultures ancestors are remembered, honored and fed. On specified periods each year priests or the poor are feasted on favorite foods of the ancestors.
Also in both cultures the line of descent is traced all the way to the great flood when almost everyone was drowned. There are legends of such a flood called pralaya in the Indian tradition. The Chinese too have a beautiful story of the flood that we shall hear presently.
This folk tale is popular among the Jiro people of China and it goes as follows. Long ago, water began to flow alarmingly, inundating villages and killing people, plants and animals. One family that had a son named Manu and twin daughters Mani and Mang did some quick thinking. They packed a hollowed log with food and told the children to climb in. The opening at the top was covered with cowhide and sealed with bee’s wax. Bells were attached to the boat so that they would ring when the boat hit dry land. The raging flood drowned the parents and set the log afloat.
After many days on the water the children were curious to see what was happening. The boy slit the cowhide with his knife. There was high water and dead bodies floating everywhere. The boy quickly closed the opening and sealed it with wax.
After several weeks of floating the log landed on a hilltop. The bells rang; the children came out and began to scout for a suitable place to build a house. They put up a shelter the best way they knew how and found enough edible berries and leaves despite the destruction cause by the flood.
Many years passed. One day, Manu, now a man, noticed grey hair on his sisters’ heads. It dawned on him that they were the only three people alive and all were getting old. The boy proposed to his sisters the idea of marriage and procreation. They were horrified at first but on further reflection grasped the importance of their brother’s suggestion. The sisters decided to agree but said they must first get the permission of grandfather Banyan tree.
As they went to the tree, Manu quietly ran by the short cut and hid behind it. The sisters bowed down before the Banyan and said, “We know it is not right to marry our brother, but under the circumstances we are confused. Please guide us,” Manu answered in an old man’s deep voice, “Children, if you don’t marry your brother the human race will end. Incest is permitted in this case.” After saying this Manu raced home and was there before the sisters returned.
So the twin sisters married their brother, but for long years none of them conceived. Manu feared they might already be too old. But something strange was happening.
One of the pumpkin seeds their parents had packed in the boat grew and flourished unusually well. Its creeper crept over valleys and mountains and spread like no other plant had ever done before. Thousands of pumpkins ripened every year. One branch of the creeper climbed over the twins’ house and produced a lot of fruit.
One day Mani heard strange voices in the back of the house. The sounds were not loud, but it seemed that a lot of little people were clamoring. Who could they be? She called Manu and both of them looked everywhere. Finally, they were convinced that the sounds were coming from a large pumpkin. Not knowing what to do, they didn’t do anything.
After much hushed waiting Manu decided to release the people inside the pumpkin. With a big knife he tried to cut a hole. A piteous cry came from inside, ‘please have pity, do not cut us.’ Manu stopped. Twice again he tried to cut the gourd to release the people, but had to stop because of appeals from inside.
Then another more commanding voice spoke from inside, “Son, I am Apierer. These are my children. The time has come for them to come out and spread over the earth. Please open the path on my navel.”
Manu did what he was told. As soon as the way opened, Apo came out. Because he rubbed against Apierer’s black navel his skin became dark and to this day the Apo people of China are dark.
Next came out the Han to spread with his descendents over a lot of land. Third came Dai and last came Jiro. Ji in Chinese means ‘squeeze’ and no ‘last’. So the Jiro were the last to squeeze out.
By the time Jiro came out, all the land was already occupied. So the Jiro settled on the remaining least desirable hilly area where they still live. But they are full of gratitude to Grandmother Apierer for her sacrifice. They always offer food to her and give thanks whenever they have good fortune.
January 01, 2005
India and China are next-door neighbors; naturally, they influenced each other’s culture. One such influence is in honoring ancestors. In both the cultures ancestors are remembered, honored and fed. On specified periods each year priests or the poor are feasted on favorite foods of the ancestors.
Also in both cultures the line of descent is traced all the way to the great flood when almost everyone was drowned. There are legends of such a flood called pralaya in the Indian tradition. The Chinese too have a beautiful story of the flood that we shall hear presently.
This folk tale is popular among the Jiro people of China and it goes as follows. Long ago, water began to flow alarmingly, inundating villages and killing people, plants and animals. One family that had a son named Manu and twin daughters Mani and Mang did some quick thinking. They packed a hollowed log with food and told the children to climb in. The opening at the top was covered with cowhide and sealed with bee’s wax. Bells were attached to the boat so that they would ring when the boat hit dry land. The raging flood drowned the parents and set the log afloat.
After many days on the water the children were curious to see what was happening. The boy slit the cowhide with his knife. There was high water and dead bodies floating everywhere. The boy quickly closed the opening and sealed it with wax.
After several weeks of floating the log landed on a hilltop. The bells rang; the children came out and began to scout for a suitable place to build a house. They put up a shelter the best way they knew how and found enough edible berries and leaves despite the destruction cause by the flood.
Many years passed. One day, Manu, now a man, noticed grey hair on his sisters’ heads. It dawned on him that they were the only three people alive and all were getting old. The boy proposed to his sisters the idea of marriage and procreation. They were horrified at first but on further reflection grasped the importance of their brother’s suggestion. The sisters decided to agree but said they must first get the permission of grandfather Banyan tree.
As they went to the tree, Manu quietly ran by the short cut and hid behind it. The sisters bowed down before the Banyan and said, “We know it is not right to marry our brother, but under the circumstances we are confused. Please guide us,” Manu answered in an old man’s deep voice, “Children, if you don’t marry your brother the human race will end. Incest is permitted in this case.” After saying this Manu raced home and was there before the sisters returned.
So the twin sisters married their brother, but for long years none of them conceived. Manu feared they might already be too old. But something strange was happening.
One of the pumpkin seeds their parents had packed in the boat grew and flourished unusually well. Its creeper crept over valleys and mountains and spread like no other plant had ever done before. Thousands of pumpkins ripened every year. One branch of the creeper climbed over the twins’ house and produced a lot of fruit.
One day Mani heard strange voices in the back of the house. The sounds were not loud, but it seemed that a lot of little people were clamoring. Who could they be? She called Manu and both of them looked everywhere. Finally, they were convinced that the sounds were coming from a large pumpkin. Not knowing what to do, they didn’t do anything.
After much hushed waiting Manu decided to release the people inside the pumpkin. With a big knife he tried to cut a hole. A piteous cry came from inside, ‘please have pity, do not cut us.’ Manu stopped. Twice again he tried to cut the gourd to release the people, but had to stop because of appeals from inside.
Then another more commanding voice spoke from inside, “Son, I am Apierer. These are my children. The time has come for them to come out and spread over the earth. Please open the path on my navel.”
Manu did what he was told. As soon as the way opened, Apo came out. Because he rubbed against Apierer’s black navel his skin became dark and to this day the Apo people of China are dark.
Next came out the Han to spread with his descendents over a lot of land. Third came Dai and last came Jiro. Ji in Chinese means ‘squeeze’ and no ‘last’. So the Jiro were the last to squeeze out.
By the time Jiro came out, all the land was already occupied. So the Jiro settled on the remaining least desirable hilly area where they still live. But they are full of gratitude to Grandmother Apierer for her sacrifice. They always offer food to her and give thanks whenever they have good fortune.
January 01, 2005
Ganga Talks of Her Children
Ganga Talks of Her Children
River Mother Ganga flowed quietly one late afternoon. The day had been hot and muggy, but the soft breeze cooled quickly over the river water, especially because the sun had already turned toward the west. Mother Ganga was unhurried and in a pleasant mood.
I sat down on a ledge on the bank and turned both my ears to the river. My entire attention was in the ears. I heard no clear words I could understand, just a faint hum. But after some time, when I got more tuned in, I sensed that Ganga was watching me to read my thoughts. Like in a dream, she began to talk to me, telling me of her million experiences of watching life on her banks. This is what I heard.
“Son, you seem to be a serious young man. Let me tell you something about trees. They grow all along my course in a large variety and number. I often hear them talk about themselves.
The mango tree is boastful. She stands tall, wide, and luxuriant. In summer she is loaded with fruit. Some mango trees live for 500 years or more. When they flower, bees and other honey sucking insects gather in their millions and feast on the mango’s nectar. The scene is one of a giant mother suckling a vast brood. Then the flowers dry up and fall. Little mango fruits begin to appear and in a few weeks they ripen to the delight of humans and many other animals. Some of them literally subsist on mangoes for months every year. The tree has reason to boast but there is a price to pay.
Another day I watched a Pipal tree. It was huge like the mango but its thicker trunk and denser foliage made it look bigger. It produces no fruit for the humans, but twice a year it is loaded with little figs that the birds love to eat. Flocks of migratory birds alight on their favorite Pipal on their flight path year after year and stay for a few days to build up the fat level in their bodies. Local birds too, feast on the figs of the generous Pipal. The Pipal tree is proud of itself, but also enslaved by its worldly role for which it has to bend all its energies.
One day, I had the opportunity to visit with a Gulmohar (May Flower) growing tall on my bank. It was early April when the winter goes and spring arrives. The Gulmohar was sprouting millions of buds all over its branches. Soon after, these buds blossom into the most gorgeous flowers. There are so many of them that the whole tree appears to be one giant flower. There is no other tree that can match the Gulmohar in beauty. The flowers keep coming for about three months. The Gulmohar produces no food for humans, other animals, or birds; but its beauty gladdens all of them and they come as if pulled by a powerful magnet. Quite naturally, the tree is proud and it shoos all other plants from under it.
I could go on endlessly talking of my observations, but before stopping I must tell you of my conversation with a most unusual tree. It is called Cypress. It is neither big not long-lived, nor does it bear flowers or fruit. Occasionally a bird might build a nest in its branches, but otherwise no one is drawn to the Cypress tree. Yet in Persia they call the Cypress ‘Azad’, i.e. free. It has attracted the attention of poets and mystics everywhere through the ages. Naturally, I was full of curiosity when I got my chance to have the attention of a living, breathing Cypress not far from my shore. I wanted to know what this plain being had to say for himself. The following is what I learned.
The Cypress likes to remain still and unruffled. It takes for its sustenance a bare minimum of food, drink, space, and attention. It is so humble it does not ask for a particular terrain or climate. It grows in the Himalayas as well as in the desert. This strange tree remains green all year round. It is healthy, happy, and content most of the time.
Because it requires so little and thinks for itself, the Cypress chooses to be FREE. It does not dance to the wind, nor sing to the breeze like the Pipal. In the fall it does not shed its leaves. All winter it remains green when all other trees go grey, bare, and bald. Coming of spring gladdens the Cypress, but it does not glow, burst and dance like the others; for by turning inward it had remained cozy throughout the winter.
Cypress is neither stingy nor unloving even though it does not give anything tangible. Yet it gives something priceless—the knowledge of how to remain happy in this world full of sorrow. It is burdened neither by social obligations, nor political cumber. All its life it takes its just share of what is available. And since it does not suffer from the guilt of grabbing what should have gone to others it does not feel indebted to anyone. Perhaps when the Gita talks of stithapragnya, Cypress is her model.”
January 8, 2005
River Mother Ganga flowed quietly one late afternoon. The day had been hot and muggy, but the soft breeze cooled quickly over the river water, especially because the sun had already turned toward the west. Mother Ganga was unhurried and in a pleasant mood.
I sat down on a ledge on the bank and turned both my ears to the river. My entire attention was in the ears. I heard no clear words I could understand, just a faint hum. But after some time, when I got more tuned in, I sensed that Ganga was watching me to read my thoughts. Like in a dream, she began to talk to me, telling me of her million experiences of watching life on her banks. This is what I heard.
“Son, you seem to be a serious young man. Let me tell you something about trees. They grow all along my course in a large variety and number. I often hear them talk about themselves.
The mango tree is boastful. She stands tall, wide, and luxuriant. In summer she is loaded with fruit. Some mango trees live for 500 years or more. When they flower, bees and other honey sucking insects gather in their millions and feast on the mango’s nectar. The scene is one of a giant mother suckling a vast brood. Then the flowers dry up and fall. Little mango fruits begin to appear and in a few weeks they ripen to the delight of humans and many other animals. Some of them literally subsist on mangoes for months every year. The tree has reason to boast but there is a price to pay.
Another day I watched a Pipal tree. It was huge like the mango but its thicker trunk and denser foliage made it look bigger. It produces no fruit for the humans, but twice a year it is loaded with little figs that the birds love to eat. Flocks of migratory birds alight on their favorite Pipal on their flight path year after year and stay for a few days to build up the fat level in their bodies. Local birds too, feast on the figs of the generous Pipal. The Pipal tree is proud of itself, but also enslaved by its worldly role for which it has to bend all its energies.
One day, I had the opportunity to visit with a Gulmohar (May Flower) growing tall on my bank. It was early April when the winter goes and spring arrives. The Gulmohar was sprouting millions of buds all over its branches. Soon after, these buds blossom into the most gorgeous flowers. There are so many of them that the whole tree appears to be one giant flower. There is no other tree that can match the Gulmohar in beauty. The flowers keep coming for about three months. The Gulmohar produces no food for humans, other animals, or birds; but its beauty gladdens all of them and they come as if pulled by a powerful magnet. Quite naturally, the tree is proud and it shoos all other plants from under it.
I could go on endlessly talking of my observations, but before stopping I must tell you of my conversation with a most unusual tree. It is called Cypress. It is neither big not long-lived, nor does it bear flowers or fruit. Occasionally a bird might build a nest in its branches, but otherwise no one is drawn to the Cypress tree. Yet in Persia they call the Cypress ‘Azad’, i.e. free. It has attracted the attention of poets and mystics everywhere through the ages. Naturally, I was full of curiosity when I got my chance to have the attention of a living, breathing Cypress not far from my shore. I wanted to know what this plain being had to say for himself. The following is what I learned.
The Cypress likes to remain still and unruffled. It takes for its sustenance a bare minimum of food, drink, space, and attention. It is so humble it does not ask for a particular terrain or climate. It grows in the Himalayas as well as in the desert. This strange tree remains green all year round. It is healthy, happy, and content most of the time.
Because it requires so little and thinks for itself, the Cypress chooses to be FREE. It does not dance to the wind, nor sing to the breeze like the Pipal. In the fall it does not shed its leaves. All winter it remains green when all other trees go grey, bare, and bald. Coming of spring gladdens the Cypress, but it does not glow, burst and dance like the others; for by turning inward it had remained cozy throughout the winter.
Cypress is neither stingy nor unloving even though it does not give anything tangible. Yet it gives something priceless—the knowledge of how to remain happy in this world full of sorrow. It is burdened neither by social obligations, nor political cumber. All its life it takes its just share of what is available. And since it does not suffer from the guilt of grabbing what should have gone to others it does not feel indebted to anyone. Perhaps when the Gita talks of stithapragnya, Cypress is her model.”
January 8, 2005
I Let Go of My Accumulations
I Let Go of My Accumulations
This is a Black American prayer. I came across this beautiful poem in May 1997 and share it now with all you friends.
My ego is like a fortress.
I have built its walls
stone by stone
to hold out the invasion
of the love of God.
But I have stayed here long
enough. There is light,
over the barriers, Oh my God.
The darkness of my house
forgive
and overtake my soul.
I relax the barriers.
I abandon all that I think I am,
all I hope to be
all that I believe I possess.
I let go of the past,
I withdraw my grasping hand
from the future,
and in the great silence of this moment,
I alertly rest my soul.
As the sea gull lays in the wind current,
so I lay into the spirit of God,
my dearest human relationships,
my most precious dreams.
I surrender to His care all that I have called my own.
I give back
all my favorite things
which I withhold in my storehouse.
I let go.
I give myself unto thee
O my God.
Amen.
--Howard Thurman
January 28, 2006
This is a Black American prayer. I came across this beautiful poem in May 1997 and share it now with all you friends.
My ego is like a fortress.
I have built its walls
stone by stone
to hold out the invasion
of the love of God.
But I have stayed here long
enough. There is light,
over the barriers, Oh my God.
The darkness of my house
forgive
and overtake my soul.
I relax the barriers.
I abandon all that I think I am,
all I hope to be
all that I believe I possess.
I let go of the past,
I withdraw my grasping hand
from the future,
and in the great silence of this moment,
I alertly rest my soul.
As the sea gull lays in the wind current,
so I lay into the spirit of God,
my dearest human relationships,
my most precious dreams.
I surrender to His care all that I have called my own.
I give back
all my favorite things
which I withhold in my storehouse.
I let go.
I give myself unto thee
O my God.
Amen.
--Howard Thurman
January 28, 2006
Making of a Bhikshuni
Making of a Bhikshuni
Twenty-five hundred years ago during travels across India to share his insight with the people, Gautam Buddha camped outside the city of Vidisha in a mango grove. (Vidisha still exists just north of Bhopal.) The grove was at some distance from the settlement and the Buddha and all the bhiksus went out every morning, bowls in hand, to beg food.
Buddha was walking along the street one day when a chariot stopped and a well dressed young lady came out of it. She walked toward him with a garland of jasmine flowers in hand. As she tried to put the garland around the Buddha’s neck, he said, “No, shubhe, (auspicious one), this is not the right time for it, for I am carrying my begging bowl. If you bring this garland to the grove tomorrow morning, I will gladly accept it.” The lady gracefully agreed and left.
A companion informed the Buddha that the lady was Vanamala, a wealthy and prominent citizen of Vidisha. She entertained the rich with her beautiful songs and dances in an auditorium in her own palatial house. She also taught the young men of the area’s prominent houses in etiquette and finesse in interpersonal relations. Fame of her skill and beauty had spread throughout the region.
The following morning Vanamala arrived at the camp with the jasmine garland in hand and gracefully offered it to the Buddha. He respectfully received it, but commented, “Shubhe, as you can see, the jasmines have withered and their fragrance is gone. They are not like they were yesterday when you first offered them to me.”
Vanamala was a bit puzzled. She asked, “Bhante Bhagawan, don’t you know how fast these flowers decay? They are fresh today and gone tomorrow. I am sorry.”
“Yes indeed,” answered the Buddha, “but so is the body; strong and beautiful today, weak and wilted tomorrow.”
The lesson was crystal clear and its delivery straight as an arrow. Vanamala was pierced to the core.
She began to attend Buddha’s daily discourses. Soon after, she began to spend more time with the bhikshunis at the camp.
Her professional dates began to get passed up. New appointments were sparingly given. Disappointed customers turned to her rival performers. Her house was soon locked up for she spent all her time at the Buddha’s camp serving together with the other disciples.
In a couple of months as the rainy season came to close The Buddha was ready to pack and move on. Or more truthfully, just move on, for there was nothing to pack. Vanamala too, had donned yellow robes and she too walked barefoot carrying her begging bowl.
A new bhikshuni had been made and put on the path to love, compassion and bliss.
January 14, 2006
Twenty-five hundred years ago during travels across India to share his insight with the people, Gautam Buddha camped outside the city of Vidisha in a mango grove. (Vidisha still exists just north of Bhopal.) The grove was at some distance from the settlement and the Buddha and all the bhiksus went out every morning, bowls in hand, to beg food.
Buddha was walking along the street one day when a chariot stopped and a well dressed young lady came out of it. She walked toward him with a garland of jasmine flowers in hand. As she tried to put the garland around the Buddha’s neck, he said, “No, shubhe, (auspicious one), this is not the right time for it, for I am carrying my begging bowl. If you bring this garland to the grove tomorrow morning, I will gladly accept it.” The lady gracefully agreed and left.
A companion informed the Buddha that the lady was Vanamala, a wealthy and prominent citizen of Vidisha. She entertained the rich with her beautiful songs and dances in an auditorium in her own palatial house. She also taught the young men of the area’s prominent houses in etiquette and finesse in interpersonal relations. Fame of her skill and beauty had spread throughout the region.
The following morning Vanamala arrived at the camp with the jasmine garland in hand and gracefully offered it to the Buddha. He respectfully received it, but commented, “Shubhe, as you can see, the jasmines have withered and their fragrance is gone. They are not like they were yesterday when you first offered them to me.”
Vanamala was a bit puzzled. She asked, “Bhante Bhagawan, don’t you know how fast these flowers decay? They are fresh today and gone tomorrow. I am sorry.”
“Yes indeed,” answered the Buddha, “but so is the body; strong and beautiful today, weak and wilted tomorrow.”
The lesson was crystal clear and its delivery straight as an arrow. Vanamala was pierced to the core.
She began to attend Buddha’s daily discourses. Soon after, she began to spend more time with the bhikshunis at the camp.
Her professional dates began to get passed up. New appointments were sparingly given. Disappointed customers turned to her rival performers. Her house was soon locked up for she spent all her time at the Buddha’s camp serving together with the other disciples.
In a couple of months as the rainy season came to close The Buddha was ready to pack and move on. Or more truthfully, just move on, for there was nothing to pack. Vanamala too, had donned yellow robes and she too walked barefoot carrying her begging bowl.
A new bhikshuni had been made and put on the path to love, compassion and bliss.
January 14, 2006
Neither a Saree nor a visiting Card!
Neither a Saree nor a visiting Card!
Gandhi ji was a stickler for punctuality.
One day a khadi worker named Hanumanth Rao was ushered into his room full ten minutes late for his appointment at 4:00 PM. Gandhi ji asked him, “Why have you come late?”
Hanumanth Rao answered, “It is because I neither have a starched saree nor a visiting card.”
“What do you mean?” asked Gandhi ji.
“I came punctually five minutes before my appointment, but your volunteers did not allow me to enter your room. They were favoring rich men with visiting cards and women wearing starched sarees! I had neither.”
Gandhi ji laughed, but he also understood what was happening in his own house.
January 7, 2006
Gandhi ji was a stickler for punctuality.
One day a khadi worker named Hanumanth Rao was ushered into his room full ten minutes late for his appointment at 4:00 PM. Gandhi ji asked him, “Why have you come late?”
Hanumanth Rao answered, “It is because I neither have a starched saree nor a visiting card.”
“What do you mean?” asked Gandhi ji.
“I came punctually five minutes before my appointment, but your volunteers did not allow me to enter your room. They were favoring rich men with visiting cards and women wearing starched sarees! I had neither.”
Gandhi ji laughed, but he also understood what was happening in his own house.
January 7, 2006
Chasing Tails
Chasing Tails
This is an old story first written some years ago. It comes to you in its new avatar.
We have two dogs at Navadarshanam. One is a brown male called Raja. The other is a black female we naturally call Rani. You see, they periodically produce a litter of puppies which leads us to conclude that they are husband and wife.
Raja is handsomer with gold frame on his muzzle and a bit of gold on his ears. His bushy tail is his handsomest organ. It is not only well proportioned; it is also decorated tastefully with shades of brown and gold.
Rani is plain, even rustic in comparison, and not so smart. We cannot say whether or not dogs think of these things and let them fill their minds like us humans. But these two dogs do seem to be sensitive to looks and mental ability.
During my last 2 or 3 visits I had noticed a hint of superior attitude in Raja. In his occasional altercations with Rani he seemed always to want to win. This time I noticed a new habit in Raja of chasing his tail. Every dog with a handsome tail like Raja’s would naturally do such a thing, but Raja spent all his energy in this useless activity. In my opinion it was excessive.
One day I could not resist asking and politely said to him; “Friend Raja, why do you chase your tail all the time? True, it is handsome but why to waste all that energy. Besides, most observers would interpret it as egotistical.”
Raja was a bit embarrassed. He answered, “I know I have a bad habit but I am stuck with it. However, if you don’t mind my saying so I picked it up from you humans, for most of you have it and dogs normally don’t. I have been observing visitors to Navadarshanam. Some are occupied with their wealth. Most are circumspect, but with my superior olfactory power I can smell their body chemistry. Then there are others who are too taken with their education and knowledge. They are always defending a point of view or proving something or the other. Women are not much behind men in this game. They are a long step ahead as some of them spend hours in front of mirrors pinching, massaging, rubbing, plucking, powdering, creaming, coloring, and doing god knows what to their faces. All this is tail chasing and all humans are addicted to it.”
“You are right Raja, but are you suggesting that we can give up tail-chasing? If we did, much of our industry would collapse. For it is dependent on this habit of ours. Also many people would not know what to do with themselves.” I commented.
“Some people would for a time be confused, but they would soon learn to live healthier uncluttered lives. They will begin to enjoy their natural god given beauty and will not need to want to temper with their skin. There is no gain in tail-chasing. That I know from experience.” Raja explained.
I further probed, “Do you think humans have something really valuable to gain by realizing the silliness of tail-chasing? What in your opinion would it be?
“What a question to ask of a dog by a human!” laughed Raja. “You should know. Vishnu lies on a sheshnag (a huge snake) and on a lotus growing from his navel sits Brahma the creator. They do not chase their tails. Their energy is not wasted. And as you can see, they have become gods; Brahma creates and Vishnu sustains the universe. They carry on doing their onerous duties for billions of years because the energy of their silent stillness is awesome.”
“And by not chasing their tails they lose nothing. Lakshmi, Saraswati, and all the other goddesses press their feet. Wealth, learning and all other good things come to them in abundance. Humans too can follow their example and live blissful lives. By leaving your tails alone you can shed all your cares and become enlightened. Humans can do it easily. For dogs it is difficult.”
February 25, 2006
This is an old story first written some years ago. It comes to you in its new avatar.
We have two dogs at Navadarshanam. One is a brown male called Raja. The other is a black female we naturally call Rani. You see, they periodically produce a litter of puppies which leads us to conclude that they are husband and wife.
Raja is handsomer with gold frame on his muzzle and a bit of gold on his ears. His bushy tail is his handsomest organ. It is not only well proportioned; it is also decorated tastefully with shades of brown and gold.
Rani is plain, even rustic in comparison, and not so smart. We cannot say whether or not dogs think of these things and let them fill their minds like us humans. But these two dogs do seem to be sensitive to looks and mental ability.
During my last 2 or 3 visits I had noticed a hint of superior attitude in Raja. In his occasional altercations with Rani he seemed always to want to win. This time I noticed a new habit in Raja of chasing his tail. Every dog with a handsome tail like Raja’s would naturally do such a thing, but Raja spent all his energy in this useless activity. In my opinion it was excessive.
One day I could not resist asking and politely said to him; “Friend Raja, why do you chase your tail all the time? True, it is handsome but why to waste all that energy. Besides, most observers would interpret it as egotistical.”
Raja was a bit embarrassed. He answered, “I know I have a bad habit but I am stuck with it. However, if you don’t mind my saying so I picked it up from you humans, for most of you have it and dogs normally don’t. I have been observing visitors to Navadarshanam. Some are occupied with their wealth. Most are circumspect, but with my superior olfactory power I can smell their body chemistry. Then there are others who are too taken with their education and knowledge. They are always defending a point of view or proving something or the other. Women are not much behind men in this game. They are a long step ahead as some of them spend hours in front of mirrors pinching, massaging, rubbing, plucking, powdering, creaming, coloring, and doing god knows what to their faces. All this is tail chasing and all humans are addicted to it.”
“You are right Raja, but are you suggesting that we can give up tail-chasing? If we did, much of our industry would collapse. For it is dependent on this habit of ours. Also many people would not know what to do with themselves.” I commented.
“Some people would for a time be confused, but they would soon learn to live healthier uncluttered lives. They will begin to enjoy their natural god given beauty and will not need to want to temper with their skin. There is no gain in tail-chasing. That I know from experience.” Raja explained.
I further probed, “Do you think humans have something really valuable to gain by realizing the silliness of tail-chasing? What in your opinion would it be?
“What a question to ask of a dog by a human!” laughed Raja. “You should know. Vishnu lies on a sheshnag (a huge snake) and on a lotus growing from his navel sits Brahma the creator. They do not chase their tails. Their energy is not wasted. And as you can see, they have become gods; Brahma creates and Vishnu sustains the universe. They carry on doing their onerous duties for billions of years because the energy of their silent stillness is awesome.”
“And by not chasing their tails they lose nothing. Lakshmi, Saraswati, and all the other goddesses press their feet. Wealth, learning and all other good things come to them in abundance. Humans too can follow their example and live blissful lives. By leaving your tails alone you can shed all your cares and become enlightened. Humans can do it easily. For dogs it is difficult.”
February 25, 2006
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