Dhanraj - The Art of Giving

@ Illustrations by Dr.Ribhu Rajpal, Max Healthcare Patparganj

Once upon a time there was a great king Dhanraj. He was famous for his just ways, able administration and great leadership. He nurtured his subject with kindness, helped them in times of calamities, even among the neighboring kingdoms he was highly respected and honoured.  During times of hardships, he used to send relief to other kings unmindful of national boundaries, without expecting anything in return.

Vices he had none. He believed himself to be the biggest philanthropist of all times. Fortunately, more he gave away, more prosperous his kingdom became.  His wealth grew by leaps and bounds, and he gave away all of it, yet his wealth did not erode. Slowly but surely his ego could not take the praises he received from his beneficiaries, and he started measuring himself in larger than life terms. Soon he proclaimed himself as ‘Dhanraj the benevolent God’. When the news of his growing ego reached heaven,  God decided to correct the situation by teaching him a lesson.

One day, God disguised as a saint paid Dhanraj a visit.  Dhanraj received the saint at his palace gates and escorted him to his court. There preening himself, Dhanraj exclaimed, "Oh Great Saint, I am known as the most benevolent God on earth, I give everyone, anything that they ask for. Pray tell me, what is it that I could gift you". 

The saint smiled but remained silent.

“Oh Saint’, you seemed to be tired, first let us partake of a meal, perhaps, then you shall recover your strength, you can in the meanwhile decide what to take away from my kingdom”.  So saying Dhanraj ordered his staff to serve ‘The Saint’ a lavish lunch.

The royal cook immediately set about preparing a lavish spread for the Saint. Customarily the king himself, personally served food to sages who came visiting. This time also without eception, Dhanraj served exquisite dishes on a plantain leaf for the saint. ‘The Saint’ however, reached into his tattered bag, and pulled out a handful of roasted grams, ate them, drank from a water bag that he carried and issued a loud burp which could be heard right up to the palace gates.

This profanity angered Dhanraj, but he chose not to question the saint.  “’Oh great Saint’, it seems that you do not wish to have food from my kitchen, I wonder why. However if you happen to change your mind, please let me know, and my kitchen staff shall be at your service. You must now be very tired from your journey, my personal bedroom is the right place for you to spend the night, let me show you the way" said Dhanraj with pride. 

The saint smiled and accompanied the king to his bedroom, where the king offered him the royal bed, in which to spend the night. The royal bed stood on a pedestal, soft with satin, pearls and precious stones laid intricately on its frame.

The room was lighted by chandeliers, fountains of perfume casting an intoxicating aroma. The palace was built such that, the easterlies got channelized into the room through a complex maze of deflectors. None could imagine a more luxurious setting.

While Dhanraj was waiting for the saint to take his place on the royal bed, the saint smiled and silently pulled out a tattered sheet out of his motheaten bag, laid it on the ground, and went off to sleep.

By now Dhanraj was plainly irritated. Furious and deeply disappointed the way his offerings had been rejected. 

The next day the Saint prepared to leave, and Dhanraj, not yet wise from the events of the night again set to please the Saint.  He ordered his treasurer to lay out all the finest pieces of jewels and ornaments as offering to the saint.

“Oh Saint” Dhanraj the benevolent God, prays that you accept the gifts of a humble king, and provide me your blessings.

As soon as Dhanraj uttered these words, ‘The Saint’ started laughing out loud. He laughed and laughed and laughed, the court room stood astonished at the saint’s audacity. But the saint laughed on, he rocked on his heels laughing ....hahahahahahah . “Foolish king” he bellowed, “you are neither benevolent, nor are you God, what you give in the name of charity and gift is nothing compared to what other great kings across the desert, to the north of your kingdom give. What you give out in a life time they give out every minute of the day. If you travel alone through the desert for hundred days and hundred nights, you shall meet them and realise how less you give away”.

So saying the saint vanished into thin air.

Dharaj was now an upset man. He had come to believe that he was the greatest of all kings.  Now to even think that there were others as great was a shock indeed. Without wasting much time, he handed over the affairs of his kingdom to his trusted minister, and set out on a journey of hundred days and hundred nights.

The summer was at its worst that year when Dhanraj set out. As directed by the saint, he traveled alone. As he crossed the borders of his kingdom, the lush greenery gave way to a harsher terrain and became hotter and hotter as he progressed towards the waste lands.

He had traveled now for ten days and ten nights, his feet became heavier, as they dug deeper into the slippery sand, the heat became torturous, he could not bear the weight of his armour anymore, each step became a struggle, and in that struggle, he decided to take off his heavy crown and his armour.  No sooner he did so, a voice rang out from the sky “‘O King’ the first barrier towards your redemption was your crown, now that you have given away your crown you have created a path towards greatness, keep up the journey of a hundred days and hundred nights and you shall meet the kings who are greater than you” said the voice from heaven.

On he went, for a few weeks more, now his shoes were worn out, the water in his water bag already empty, the last watering hole he had encountered was around a week back, the little water he carried from there, now empty. Lips parched and legs blistered, he kept on, now in delirium. Suddenly in the horizon he could make out a hunched figure limping towards him, a man older than any that he had seen so far, zillions of lines crisscrossing his face, which seemed to be a hundred years of age, but an unusual energy gave him a halo, a brightness to his face more powerful than the glare of the sun in that blazing desert.  As the old man drew closer he did not seem to notice Dhanraj, was about to walk past Dhanraj. The first human he had set his eye on in almost a month of travel, Dhanraj, called out to the old man, “Hey you”. Hearing the voice, the old man turned towards Dhanraj. “Sir, good that you called out to me, because I am blind and I would surely have missed you, pray what can I do for you”, exclaimed the Old man.

“’Old Man’, I am on a journey of hundred days and hundred nights, I have been walking for twenty five days and twenty five nights, I look for kings greater than me, but I have run out of water, I am power less in this vast desert, so I beg of you to give me the bag, in which you carry water, said the king.  .  No sooner had he uttered these words, a voice spoke from heaven, “O King, by begging for water from that old blind man, frailer and needier than thou, you have finally overcome your ego. Greatness, comes by not carrying one’s ego along.  ‘O King’, this is another major victory, but you have a long journey yet, so keep walking”.

The old man seemed to be oblivious to the voice from heaven, “Oh great king”, said the old man,  I may be helpless and blind, but the bag I carry provides unending supply of water to those lost in the desert, my job is to look for such people and save their souls, so ‘O king’, partake of as much water as you can,  but don’t ask for the bag, said the Old Man, so saying the Old Man, emptied the contents of his water bag, into Dhanraj’s  open palms.

Now quenched of his thirst, Dhanraj set out on his journey again. 

It had been fifty days since he set out, and the seasons had changed, the sun cast its long shadow and soon it became dark. Nights in the deserts are very cold. Fatigue and hunger gnawed at Dhanraj, now shorn of his clothes and ornaments was a shadow of his royal self. Shivering in the freezing cold, the night seemed to stretch like a snake crawling out to devour Dhanraj. The shivering continued unabated, his learning’s from the long years of training in warfare, seemed to be useless in this long journey.  He looked in every direction, wanted to dig in deep inside the sand dunes, but they too seem to be cast in ice, till suddenly he noticed a fire burning in the distance. As he neared, he noticed a middle aged lady frozen in the darkness staring at the fire. As he stumbled into her vision, she realised how cold Dhanraj was and quickly ran up to him and gave him her shawl to cover himself up, took his hand and escorted him towards the fire,  the fire burned in all its fury,  and the lady made Dhanraj comfortable in its warmth.

When the heat from the fire seeped into his flesh, and he the fury of blood gushing through his veins resumed, he noticed that all was not well with the lady who seemed lost in trance,  a closer look revealed  a trail of tears down her cheeks. Hey woman! Why do you cry? Asked Dhanraj, 

“Sir, replied the woman, the fire that you see, is a pyre, in which my lone teenaged son burns, he perished in the King’s war, I am happy that he laid down his life for our benevolent king.  We learn from our king that giving away is a way of life.  My son has made me proud, even in his death, his funeral pyre gives you the warmth and made you live to see another day”, said the women.

One has to be really unfortunate to borrow warmth from a funeral pyre, but fate decides who gets what in this roulette. With a deep sense of pain, the king stood up to continue his journey; this was the second time in his journey he has been shown the path to selfless sharing. Charity done with millions in the vaults, indeed is virtuous, but comes easily to people, but the intent to give away, when there is nothing in hand is touching upon greatness and needs courage and conviction unmatched.

The journey was only half done. Two episodes, and Dhanraj, now really wanted to understand the true meaning of giving. This motivated him to get up and walk again.

Day seventieth of his journey he met a young man. “Where are you going young man” exclaimed Dhanraj. 

“Sir, replied the young man, across the oceans I go, to learn the art of teaching”.

 “Pray why”!  Asked Dhanraj

“So that I can remove ignorance from this kingdom” replied the young man.

“How will that help”? Enquired Dhanraj.

“Oh sir, have you heard of our foolish king Dhanraj”?  Asked the young man.

“Foolish?  But I have heard that he is a benevolent king”!  Exclaimed Dhanraj.

“No Sir”, replied the young man, “there is no man more foolish than our king”, replied the young man. “He believes giving away wealth creates wealth. But I believe teaching how to create and sustain wealth, is the true answer to prosperity. Our King believes in doles that keep his subject happy, not realising that they have got used to this life of well being and care, the day the King runs into troubled times, his subjects shall suffer along with him. That fateful day even the friendly neighbours that he has nurtured shall turn upon him” he continued.

“I shall learn and the share knowledge with my fellow men. Knowledge, is true wealth, not gold coins and precious stones”, declared the young man. “I shall empower my countrymen, not enslave them to others charity”, he added.

What better learning could Dhanraj get than these words of free wisdom? Unknowingly the young man had hit the nail where it hurt most and unsolicited knowledge worth a billion gold coins in an instant.

On went Dhanraj, until on the eightieth day he met a man who was carrying a basket of fruits. Hunger and fatigue gnawing him, Dhanraj approached the man for a few of those.

“Of course dear sir, these fruits come from the hard work of many in my village. From the bees who pollinated the flowers, to the rain which nourished them, to the men who toiled in the orchards to the women who picked them up with care, the benefit of these fruits belong to each one of them,  who am I then, to claim ownership on these, these are for the world to savor, I am but a means through which nature gives await its bounty, unlike my King Dhanraj, I dont lay my claim to greatness, by giving away that which is not mine!  Exclaimed the man.

If Dhanraj though that his educational sojourn was over, he was mistaken, there was more to come for there were twenty more days to go. So in their search he set out again, in search of the elusive kings who gave away more than he did.

The last twenty days of the journey went by in a daze, he kept counting the days remaining, looking for those elusive kings. The final day arrived, and he was sure that his journey would not go waste, he was sanguine that soon in a city nearby he would come across the palace. He was charged up in anticipation that come morning he would have completed the journey, already wiser from the lessons from the lessons he had learnt so far. In that excitement, he was on a day dream, when he fell asleep.  The desert had now given way to thick forests. He was woken up by the wild screams of a tribe of cannibals, prodding him with their spears.  They had stumbled upon him during their hunt, and were only too eager to scalp him. It was a full moon day and it was customary to sacrifice a warrior to the moon god. They dragged Dhanraj brutally through the bushes, and reaching their hutment, they tied him up to a pole in preparation for the sacrifice.

A few feet away stood another familiar figure also tied up to a mast. Dhanraj strained his eyes, and recognised Budhan a lieutenant from his personal guards.  Seeing Dhanraj in that condition, Bhudan was shocked.  “My lord, we are tied up to this post to be sacrificed at mid night” whispered Budhan, they have to choose between the two of us, Let me die, I leave behind my seven sisters and my blind parents, yet there shall be a meaning to my death if I manage to save you, for if you were to be killed, there will be a thousand Bhudan and their families who will perish, exclaimed Bhudan.

“I have a plan”, he whispered. The Cannibals sacrifice only person without a blemish, Oh King, pardon me, for I plan to hurt you a little. So saying Bhudan tugged with all his might, at the pole to which he was tied. Dhanraj, was wondering what Bhudan was up to. Bhudan heaved again with all his might, he roared and grunted, and finally the pole started shaking on its foundation. Before Dhanraj could guess as to what was happening, the pole was swinging dangerously with the might with which Bhudan pulled at it.  That was the last thing Dhanraj remembered, as the ten foot stake fell on his head.

When he came to, it was too late. He had a searing headache, and he could sense dried up blood, making his forehead taut. The stake must have fallen on him, he realised and  he would have been out for hours, for the morning sun was shining brightly and the birds chirping. He lifted up his head to look around, and could see blood all around.  As he shifted his vision, he saw the gory scene of young men in their teen pulling at dismembered human foot; one youngster was sucking at a bleeding hand. Dhanraj suddenly realised that the arm belonged to Bhudan. That was when reality dawned on him. Bhudan had made the stake fall on the King, thereby injuring him, so that the tribal’s would not sacrifice an injured human being. Bhudan had made the ultimate sacrifice for his king. Selfless in his concerned for thousands across the country, Bhudan had chosen to be scarified, thereby saving his King.

A moan escaped Dhanraj’s lips. He was now living a life owed to Bhudan. That instant, he realised that living on charity is by no means a pleasant experience.  He did not have an option; neither did those millions who live out of charity. One accepts what is given for free, but free does not remain the soul which owes to someone. It would be true to say that at that moment Dhanraj’s  ego dissolved as he burst out sobbing, waves of grief hit him one after the other, as he recounted his journey from being a kind considerate king, to a one consumed by ego, vanity.

As he lay there sobbing, a voice rang out. “Raise O benevolent God” said the familiar voice. As he looked up, he found ‘The saint’, who had sent him on the journey. The saint seemed to have acquired radiance, and a halo around his head. ”Raise my son; I am none other than God.  I sent you on this journey of many miles. You have completed your hundred day journey, and have come out of it baptised by fire.  What you went through was journey to show you the true essence of life, the essence ‘giving’. Of being a true leader, and caretaker, a patron, a King in a true sense of the word. I think you have learnt your lessons and shall strive in future to earn your redemption”, said God.

God! There are many a lessons that I learnt these hundred days, but where are the many Kings that you promised, I shall meet across the journey? Asked Dhanraj, I still need to meet them, to understand as to be a better king and patron

God Smiled, did you not remember meeting many kings on your journey! Asked God.

“Don’t you remember the blind old man who gave you water to drink when you needed it the most?  He has been roaming the desert, offering water to lost souls, because his son died of thirst, while crossing the desert”.

“Don’t you remember the young mother, who provided you warmth on her son’s pyre? He was her only son, who perished protecting your kingdom. She did not know that you were her King, when she offered you the warmth from her son’s pyre”.

Don’t you remember the young teacher who wanted to give free knowledge to all? His intent was not to earn a living, but to enlighten others to help themselves instead of living in charity.

Don’t you remember the man, with the basket of fruits? Who taught you that the fruits of labour are sweeter than charity?

Don’t your remember Bhudan? He gave up his life, to save you from death, so that you could live and look after the millions whose hopes rest on you. So what if in the process, he has left behind a family which is now orphaned.

Yes those were the kings I set you up to meet. They know how to give, they give what they could without expecting anything in return, and they give because they felt it was their duty to give.  

The old man taught you to selflessly serve others even during times of extreme hardship and disability.

The Young mother taught you how to sacrifice everything one has, and yet smilingly acknowledge the universe and pay back to the best of one’s might.  Even if that means providing warmth by burning ones dearest possession.

And Bhudan taught you to make the ultimate sacrifice. He had a family to protect, but considering the nation as a family, he saved you so that his country men are not at loss.

With a brimming cup, it’s easy to give, all wealthy men give with great pride, yes indeed they are good souls, but great are those who give all that they have, give something out of the last bit they have, borrow to give to others more in need, or give to others when their own needs are more pressing. Those are the times when charity gets transformed into worship, and gods smile down on their children from heaven.

So king rise, go back to your kingdom, you were a kind man, you shall be again restored to your former glory, with the learning’s that you have got on this journey. So saying God was about to walk away, when Dhanraj called out O God, can I have one wish from you...... he had hardly completed the sentence, that God smiled.  “I know what you are going to ask of me. You want me to bring back Budan to life. 


“He is already back home, and the memory of this episode, has now been erased from his memory.

  

So saying God disappeared.







Special Thanks to
Illustration by Dr.Ribhu Rajpal Max Healthcare Patparganj.


    

Woodcutter

Once upon a time when forests were not protected zones, there was a wood-cutter called ‘Dhaboo’. The poor guy used to slog days together collecting wood from the Jungles to make his living. A hard day’s work used to barely yield enough money for him to afford a single meal a day. He used to head out to the periphery of the town early in the morning, collect head loads of wood.



By the time he was back it would be dusk.  Dropping off the load in one of the houses, he would collect few coins, which would then become his sustenance for the day. On Days when he could not go out to work, he used to sleep hungry. Such was the life he led, till the day he met ‘Swamiji’.

Swamiji was passing through the town that day, and decided to camp just across where Dhaboo was cutting wood. Three hours of discourses, and multiple hymns latter, seated under the banyan tree, ‘Swamiji’ noticed Dhaboo single minded working on the wood, across the clearing. Swamiji noticed as to how Dhaboo never was distracted by the activities happening around him. The swami’s devotees camping around and creating such a cacophony never seem to bother Dhaboo,  would first bring down a dead branch, and with great precision chop it down to even lengths of 3 feet each,  long enough for him to tie-up together and balance on his head back to the village.

 “O young man” exclaimed Swamiji, walking up to Dhaboo,  “why do you struggle so hard in this blistering sun, when you could come over to my hut and part take of all the goodies which my devotees leave behind for me”  asked the Swamiji.

“Swamiji, I am a person of small means,  by habit I work hard, and know that hard work pays, whereas the food that your devotees bring for you, will not feed my family forever, so Swamiji,  let me rely on my efforts to feed for myself”,  Dhaboo said.

The Swami smiled in acknowledgement, and used to watch from afar, every day, Dhaboo painstakingly working his way around the wood.  Seasons changed and Swamiji kept notice of the clock work regularity shown by Dhaboo over the months.

One fine summer day, the sun was beating down relentlessly.  The crowd in the ashram had ebbed due to the exceptionally harsh weather, but the Swami noticed Dhaboo, sweating it out as usual.  Taking pity on him, the swami, called him over, and said, “Son, I have noticed you relentlessly doing your duties, irrespective of all the distractions around you, I am impressed with your perseverance” he continued, “I want to help you” he said. “If you are ready to take a small risk, and go five kilometres into the woods, you will find avenues to multiply your earnings five times”.

 “As you wish ‘Swamiji’, I will take up your asking, so saying Dhaboo set off into the dark jungle. The Jungle was dense and the work hard. Soon Dhaboo reached the location shown by the ‘Swamiji’.  Just like the swami had predicted, Dhaboo, found a small niche in the rocks, and sitting on a niche in the rocks, protected from the weather, was a small book.


As Dhaboo, was drawn by curiosity towards the book, his senses were overpowered, by the smell of Sandalwood.  He looked up, to see Sandalwood trees all around him.   “Aaah, he exclaimed, so this is why Swamiji sent me here”.  He quickly set about cutting down the Sandalwood trees. He slogged and slogged, and cut down enough wood to sustain himself for five more days. 


But the visit inside the jungle was fraught with danger, snakes around the trees waited to snare him in their fangs, but he was an honest man, and made sure not to hurt them as he went around doing his job. Yet it took a long time for him to cut through the jungle, and after a good day’s struggle he brought home enough to sustain him for five days.  This went on for some months.

The honest man that he was Dhaboo, was satisfied with what he used to earn, and now started whiling away the time he saved due to his extra earnings. One day a though struck him, that he should go to the Swami, and ask for more bounties. 

So he set off the next day in search of the ‘Swamiji’,   finally he found the Swamiji a few villages away.   “‘O Swamiji’, do you remember me!  I am Dhaboo, the honest wood cutter, you had shown me the way to the Sandalwood trees, but now I am tired of working once a week, can you show me the way to more riches?  He asked.

“Why not Son”! Exclaimed the Swami.  “You are a honest man, and honest men are rare,  so here it is, if you take some more risk, and go further ten kilometres into the jungle you will find avenues to better  your earnings”.  

The next day, unmindful of the wild cries of animals in the jungle, or of the silent eyes watching him from inside the bushes, Dhaboo, held his axe high and set off deeper into the Jungle.

Soon, as promised by the swami,  he stumbled upon a clearing, and in that clearing protected by a niche was a small book,  as Dhaboo bent down to look at the book closely, he was distracted by a glitter on the Rocks,  he rubbed one such rock, and lo & behold,  a gold nugget dropped into this hands.


 Forgetting about the book, Dhaboo started collecting the rocks, and set back on the journey back to town.  This time around, the money he made from the sale was enough to sustain him for years, and soon he stopped working, grew fat, and lazy, till one fine day his money ran out.  Too lazy to go back to the mines to get nuggets Dhaboo went searching for the Swami.

Few towns away he finally found the swami.” ‘O Swamiji’, I am dhaboo, the honest wood cutter, you had shown me the way to the Sandalwood trees, and the gold mines, but now I am tired of working so hard, how can I enhance my fortunes? “He asked.

“You are a honest man, and honest men are rare,  so here it is, if you take some more risk, and go further  into the jungle, you will find a cave with a book, it is there that you will get your answers” replied the swami.  

So again Dhaboo set off in search of wealth. This time he was no fool, he dragged along a cart into which he could load the riches he would find. The journey was tough & the forest dense. As he ventured deeper into the jungle, the march became a struggle, the drag caused by the cart was
getting difficult to manage, marshy land pulled at the wheels of the cart.

The animals now deep inside the jungle became more ferocious and bold, no more threatened by the axe which lay there useless inside the cart shorn of its gleaming blade. Yet undeterred Dhaboo moved on.

Fighting all odds, he reached the clearing as indicated by the swami.  Again he found a niche in the rock, and protected by the niche was kept a book, as he bent down to have a closer look on the book, a glitter from the stones nearby caught his eyes. As he went nearer, he found that to be a perfectly formed diamond, glittering in the afternoon sun.  He was overwhelmed beyond words; he pocketed the diamond and began looking for more. His search yielded a few more.  With his bare hands now he scrapped the stones around looking for more gems;  

he picked up his disused axe and tried using it as a tool to find more. He slashed at the rocks with his axe, which by now in a sad state of misuse, broke into two. By now Dhaboo was a man possessed. He broke down his cart to make tools out of which he could dig for more gems,   but alas, apart from dismantling the cart it did him no good. In all this frenzy he did not notice that it was getting dark.   The howling of the jackals from the nearby bushes brought him down to reality. He quickly lit the remains of the cart into a bon fire, and managed to survive the night. Come day time, he was hungry.  Looked around and found nothing edible around, but the euphoria of the heavy diamonds tucked into his pocket kept him on. 

Jungles are places where one has to carefully tread, Dhaboo in his hurry had lost his way, and how he was without his axe, his cart, defenceless, hungry and lost. His energy levels started to ebb and he dragged himself along, soon he came to a clearing, and tumbled out exhausted, and passed out.  When he came to his senses, he was surrounded by bandits, pointing their swords at him, and asking him for his gold, when he denied having anything on him, one of them searched him, and found the diamonds instead. They broke out into a cheer and started celebrating, completely forgetting him.

In the frenzy he somehow managed to slip back into the Jungle, and on the way grabbed some eatables stored by the bandits. How he reached home he did not know, everything went by in a trance.

As luck would have it, his only child was down with some infection, and when he reached home, it was just in time to see the child pass on into the other world.

Defeated and broken, physical labour now no more possible, jobless, Dhaboo remembered the Swami and went looking for solace. As he narrated his entire experience the Swamiji broke into a loud Guffaw. Puzzled Dhaboo asked him “Swamiji, why are you laughing”?

The ‘Swamiji ‘ replied, “Dear Dhaboo, you were a hard working young man, the money you were earning through your work did not justify your efforts, but it did not matter to you, because you loved your work.  In order to reward you for the hard work, I gave you the clue to the Sandalwood grove, not for you to cut down the trees, but for a larger cause. In the niche in the rocks there was a book, which would have taught you to enhance your skills, taught you an art which would have made you the greatest wood carving artisan in this kingdom, but alas, you chose not the book but the Sandalwood. Even then nothing was lost; you could have done your daily labour and still maintained a living better than your earlier one. But you chose to rest for five days and work only once a week and yet was not happy with that life, and you came asking for more”.

The ‘Swamiji’ continued, “when you came to me the second time, nothing was lost yet, you still had the capacity to work, so I gave you the directions to the gold mine. The idea was not to bestow upon you the gold, but had you picked up the book in the gold mine, and read it through you would have learnt the importance of hard work & the secret art of mining the gold and the expertise of creating ornaments out of it. Anyone who had read that book was destined to become the greatest goldsmith in this kingdom, but you chose to ignore the book and chose the gold, which did not anyway last you very long”.

“Finally when you came to me, I gave you the greatest gift of it all, the path to the diamond caves, in a niche in that cave was a book which would have revealed to you the futility of running after wealth, it would have shown you the path to happiness & of mental peace, it would have given you a spiritual energy which would have made you the greatest saint of all times, alas, you chose to pick a diamond instead of the book.  In life, you have lost so much, that I do not have the power to give back any of it, but follow me, get back to your earlier hard working mode, and I assure you of mental peace and enough to sustain you in your life”.

So saying the ’Swamiji’, picked himself up, and slowly walked into the horizon, With Dhaboo following.

@ Inspired by a talk by Swami Sukhbodananda

We all start with boundless energy in life, put all this to work, and yet are impatient to achieve more,  in the process we take more and more risks,  we gain a lot, but we do not notice all that we lose in the process. Till a time comes, when our wants become endless, the risks that we take more and more unsustainable, for causes, that we will find did not matter at all.

We get lot of chances to mend our ways, like Dhaboo, there are lot of books that we pass by, and take shortcuts which are unproductive in the long run. We give up what we have to aspire for more, the more we get, the more we lose.

Finally when the journey ends, we realise that we were much happier, and contented, in the initial days of our struggle, when the only thing which mattered to us was our hard work, and the satisfaction which it gave us.

 

 

 

The 'Clown Prince' (A short story in homage to the earthquake in Nepal)

Everyone knew the ‘Clown Prince’. He was brave,  there was no doubt about it. He was resilient and everyone knew it.  There were no border he could not conquer and no horizons that he had not driven into.

He was funny because he believed that he was the greatest of them all. He would laugh at people who suggested that there had been men greater than him on earth before.  He would mock at people who challenged him, he grimaced when he sensed a challenger, but it gave him a sadistic pleasure to fight and win, and win he did every time. His confidence turned into contempt for people less able. The frail he detested, the old he disrespected and the sick he ordered thrown to the lion.  People came to know of him as the ‘Clown Prince’.

So large was his ego, that he had scant regard even for the elements.  He would shoot arrows through the fiercest wind,  endure a journey through the hottest desserts. He would climb the highest of the mountains, swim through the fastest currents. There was no beast he had not fought  nor any demon that he had not vanquished. The news of his feats spread far and wide, so did the news of his arrogance. People came to see him, bow before him, kiss his outspread hand and swear allegiance to him.

One day the breeze was blowing gently, the prince was trying to light a candle. Every time he would show flame to the candle, the breeze would blow it out. The prince tried to light the candle thrice, every time with little success. On the fourth attempt he became furious. “Stop you stupid wind” he yelled. But the wind kept blowing gently as it would. By now he was in a rage. He took out his bows and showered a thousand arrows into the walls around. The arrows covered every little opening into the palace, blocking the wind.  The air inside the palace became still and finally the candle was lit. Not content with having stalled the wind, he bellowed at the wind, “ that will teach you a lesson ‘O Wind’, now you cant enter  without my permission”  he gleefully shrieked. Insulted the wind turned away, to blow in another direction.

On a fishing expedition one fine day, he was trying to catch a fish. He was hungry and irritated. After a long wait, there came a school of fish. He was delighted. “At least I wont die of hunger” he said to himself. He picked up his spear and was about to pounce upon a large fish when a sudden gush of the stream carried the fish into safety.”Oh no “ he exclaimed, and targeted another large one he saw nearby, and again a gush of water pushed this one too to safety. The hunger gnawed at his stomach. “O stream” he yelled, “let me catch my food”. But the stream gurgled along happily, unmindfully. The ‘Clown Prince’ grew furious. “Oh idiotic stream”, don’t you know who is out fishing here, have you not heard of my powers, how  dare you disrespect me ! Let me teach you a lesson”, with these words he asked his men to build a large dam to hold the stream some kilometres away. Soon his whole kingdom was put to the task of building the largest of all dams.  The stream was quelled, but its ego hurt. The dam was too large for it to fill up or drown, it gushed and it rushed, but could not fill the dam, leave alone drown it. Subdued it filled up the dam as much as it could.

One by one,  he antagonised all the elements.  “Clouds” you are banished  from my kingdom, he foolishly retorted one day,  when they soaked his new clothes.

In the meanwhile the people of his kingdom became equally arrogant. They were sure that their prince was the greatest of them all, the news about how he commanded the elements became the talk of the town.  Even the kingdoms which united with his, became arrogant of their powers.

 Time passed, the world was tired of the ‘Clown Prince’ but they had no one to turn to.

 By now the elements conspired. The wind called for a meeting. All the elements turned up.

What shall we do friends ? the wind appealed.   We should all go to Mother Earth and ask for a redemption from this funny prince, replied the Cloud.  Yes they all agreed, and so they all went to Mother earth.

Mother Earth was lazily spinning around one bright young morning, when all the elements knocked on her door.

Dear Mother, we are tired of the ‘Clown Prince’, they cried.

What happened ‘O Dear ones’ exclaimed Mother Earth.

Oh Dear Mother!  they wailed in unison, and told her all about the prince.

Mother Earth smiled. ”Don’t you worry dear ones,  no one can disturb the elements without dire consequences”  replied Mother Earth, “be bound by your nature and do what you must do, and leave the rest to me”, she added,  “and  as of this day make sure that you leave that kingdom  and disappear northwards into the mountains beyond”, she whispered.

So the clouds, the steam, the wind and the elements disappeared into the mountains to the north of the kingdom.

The news reached the prince, that all the elements had disappeared from his kingdom and gone into the mountains.  He was furious and took his army against the mountain.  ‘O Mightly mountain’, he yelled,  having reached the foot of the mountain, let me pass, I want to take back all the elements back to my kingdom.   “Sorry prince”,  the mountain replied,  they have come of their choice and they will leave of their choice no one can bind the elements,  said the Mountain.

O Mighty Mountain, you do not know my powers,  I had bound the elements in my kingdom. They do as I please, someone has conspired to take them away from my land, they would not dare defy me”, replied the prince.

“Think again, O Prince”, replied the mountain. “You cant take them against their wishes, the cloud is heavy with sorrow and may burst anytime, the wind is angry and is howling in pain, the stream has swelled with rain and is about to rush down, but all of them are happy being in my land, so return to your kingdom O Prince”, the mountain replied.

“I have thought this through,  you stupid mountain, now don’t waste my time, and let me pass or I will raze you to the ground”,  thundered the prince.

 “ ‘O Prince’’, I am a man of honour, people bow before me, and I do not get ordered around. I think you are in a hurry to get past me,  you only have to ask for my permission and I shall make way for you to pass”  said the mountain.

“I don’t have time to manage your ego, you idiotic mountain, just shift an feet and I will pass through”  saying this the prince kicked the mountain hard.

The moment he did this, he regretted it. “As you wish” the mountain smilingly shifted just a little,  few inches perhaps, not more not less, and the whole earth moved.

The elements who were tied down in the mountains also slipped from their place, the wind gushed out in anger,  the cloud now pregnant to its full term, burst in its fury and in a gush joined the stream, who rushed down the mountain in a trail of destruction. Was it the  fear or the contempt for the prince,  no one knows,  but they rushed straight down to the kingdom below.  Now their inertia was out of control, the earth shook ,  the wind howled, tonnes of snow,  mountains of rocks, all rolled down, taking along all that came in their way, innocents paid the price along with the guilty, and all became one with nature, and nature became innocent in its fury.  No one was a by-stander, they were all party to the crime, the crime of disregarding nature, of thinking that they had overcome the elements, so they had to pay for it.

It was time to purge.  When purging happens, its not just the dirt which gets washed away, the holy purging takes along a lot of sweat,  rivers of blood, and lot of flesh . Pointless it all seems, but just like the stalk which wither after giving birth to the grain, the good must go, to make way for the new, that is the law of nature, a cycle which has been going on for ages.

Nature has a job to do, and it bows before no one.  Human pain as we know it, is only part of the truth, the larger truth remains, ‘The Creation’ is supreme, rest of us are mere specks in the universe.  

The Ujaad ( A short story)

Once upon a time there was a barren land. Every body had written off the land as useless. People used to pass by it daily, but none noticed it. They used to call it ‘Ujaad’ (Barren). The land felt out of place, dejected and depressed. It hated the name ‘Ujaad’. 

One day a mice tried digging a burrow, but the ground was so hard that it abandoned the project midway. Time passed, one day a squirrel brought some fruits from the Peepal tree. It tasted the fruit, did not find it appealing and dropped the fruit which rolled down the burrow dug up by the mice.

Come rains the burrow filled up with water, the Peepal  seeds in the burrow germinated and took roots. Peepal has the habit of surviving in the hardest of conditions. It grew with time into a young tree, casting it's cool shadow on the barren land. People suddenly noticed the tree and started resting under the tree.

Time passed. One day a Mahatma (a sage) passed by and decided to rest under the tree. He was tired and quite liked the place. He meditated under the tree.

Years passed and he stayed transfixed at the place in deep meditation.  People were amazed by his steadfastness. They used to offer food for the Mahatma which remained untouched. Birds and little creatures devoured the food instead. Yet the Mahatma would not open his eyes. People started flocking in great numbers, to have a glimpse of the great man.

One fine day the Mahatma opened his eyes, and cast a glance all around. His aura cast a glow all around, illuminating the ‘Ujaad’ even during night. He spoke great words, gathered a huge following and delivered scriptures after scriptures sitting under the tree.

Finally he became old, one fine day he asked people to dig up hole in the place for him to attain Samadhi (Salvation). In the middle of the night he entered the pit. Thirty one days passed. People got curious and entered the pit. The Mahatma was nowhere to be seen, they found a heap of roses where the Mahatma had rested.

The story spread all over the world, people came from far and near to pay their respects. The area got highlighted on the map and a large city developed around the barren land. The land continued to be called as the '‘Ujaad’'. But the fruits it now bore were the sweetest of them all,  by no stretch of imagination was it barren any more.

Nature's evolution is an unending process. It makes, destroys and rebuilds again. Nothing is constant. Nothing is useless, everything finds it's own utility over a period of time.

Names may be misleading, it may not depict a true picture of that the name denotes. A sure shot reason for people not to go by a name. If the world calls you names don't be affected by it, time proves most things wrong.

Salvation is a guaranteed process, as matter gets converted from one form to the other, salvation is certain.

No single person is responsible for your salvation . The universe orchestrates. The mice brought the seed, the land gave it roots, the rain made it grow, the Mahatma found peace under the tree and finally he rested upon the place to bring glory to the ‘Ujaad’.

Life is a multiple act play, just play your part and keep faith on the provider who shall deliver through his myriad ways.

The Rock - A short Story

A little girl went up the hill on a vacation, accompanied by her  parents. The road trailed  a river flowing  down the hills. Further and further they drove along the narrow road, As they went along, the river became narrower and faster. The traffic became rarer and the gradients steeper.  The naughty gurgling of the river,  replacing the sounds of traffic.  Clear water eagerly seeking it's destination downstream.

As their car stopped for a break the little girl ventured tenaciously, ankle deep into the water. The floor of the river was covered by small pebbles and rocks, all of them rounded perfectly into oval and circular shapes, small and large, some a bit flat, some perfectly round. But all of them rubbed smoother than the little girl’s skin. They lay there uncounted and unrecognised multitudes of them in various shapes. Some of them goaded by the river to continue their roll down the river, others resting firmly on the river bed, only till the time the river again gets impatient and angry to keep them moving downstream.

The rocks came in all colours, pale yellow, snow white, amber, grey and black, contended they lay there in shallow water wet as though from perspiration from their hard journey.

The little girl picked up a few small pebbles and carefully put them her pocket. Then she saw a unique rounded rock. Larger than the others,  this one looked different, looked royal for a stone, part of it translucent, rest of it white as a lily. Rounded like a smiley, it had dimples too.  It was large for her pocket. Something she would have to lift up with both hands. With great effort she lifted it up and carried it back to the car trunk, she knew her father would never allow her to carry home such a large rock, so quietly she hid the rock behind some rags in the boot.

Soon the rock was out of her mind. Back in town, a few days later, her father was driving home through a desolate stretch, when the car got a flat tyre. He started to take out the spare tyre when he discovered the rock. Oh! He exclaimed.  “Where did this come from ?”. Not know for his sensibilities for finer things in life, he could not find anything unique in the rock, he flung the rock into the wasted terrain.

There the rock lay, among other boulders, different from the rest shining in the moonlight, feeling oh! so out of place. It had felt so suffocated sitting in the trunk, and breathed easy now under the moonlit sky. It was about to doze off when a nudge woke it up. Hey wake up! came a voice. The rock opened its eyes, it was the large boulder lying next to it. "Where did you come here from, how come you are so beautiful and fair, shining in the moonlight like no one I have seen doing. You have dimples on your face too, who made you so beautiful, tell us, how can we too become extraordinary like you" exclaimed the boulder.

"Hey large one" replied the rock, the shine that you see in my face is not a shine but a fatigue which has come from years of getting my face rubbed against sand and water, my fairness due to repeated bruises to my face,  the rounded profile that you see is the result of long years of journey from high up in the hills, tumbling down to unknown lands not knowing where the next moment will take me to. I am small because I started out as large as you, but years of giving back to nature, has made me small and shrivelled.  The sheen that you see is something which has come from great turmoil and tempest. The joy you behold is because I know I escaped the stone crusher down stream who collects us all to prepare gravel for the  roads. The contentment is knowing the fact that it can't get worse than this.

Oh! Sighed the boulder. "You mean to say one can succeed only with turmoil? "

No, each one has his own path, exclaimed the rock. "But success comes after great perseverance and entails as much giving away as it denotes acquisition. The journey is defined, successes assured for someone who stays on and believes in oneself. The sheen comes naturally, because it is the sign of the journey. So hey large one, don't lose heart. You look dark, but you are a  strong granite, someone will come to chisel you, convert you into a god figure. People shall worship you, people will repose their faith upon you. They will never realise the tough path you have endured to attain godliness, the pain of being chiselled with an iron, the turmoil of being shaped like the way the world wants to see you.

So bide your time hey large one, such is the journey of Life " whispered the rock.

Brands

Brand,  usually register in our minds for the status enhancement, aspirational  value, or gets into our good books for CSR activities. But there are some brands which get entwined in our life and become part of us, capture our hearts, and give us immense pleasure at nominal cost. Let me cite an personal example.

Cadbury's Milk Chocolate. A bar of chocolate wrapped in a silver foil sliding out effortlessly out of a royal blue sleeve. The mesmerising texture of the blue pack, and the crisp foil unfolding to reveal the rows of chocolate pieces neatly perforated. I used to remember way back in the sixties, as a child my mama ji gifting me one, on pay days every month.  I remember opening the pack excitedly and gasping salivating  at contents unpacked. Eating one whole  was a luxury , all items used to be neatly cut into pieces to be distributed equally in the household.  More than monetary, the reason was of thrift. (a family could in those days sustain for month on what is thrown away in a week nowadays)  hence eating a full bar of chocolate was blasphemy in those days. So as expected we used to get one tiny piece to be relished in leisure. The time taken for the chocolate to melt in the mouth would seem like an eternity, the taste lingering in ones mouth till the next month, awaiting Mamaji's pay check.  That taste still lingers in ones mouth, the brand managers for the chocolate trying hard to capture those moments on film but hardly making it there.

Such is the brand affection if I may call it so,  for cadbury’s . The association so impersonal yet so endearing. Yes there was an aspirational value to the pack of chocolate,  not because they were priced high (used to buy one for Rs.1 if I remember correctly), or one wanted to be counted among the wannabe by using it, but because  FMCG and consumer goods were literally non existent those days, earnings were sparse, and spending even more so, reliance was on home  made stuff, at least for the palate.

The  Brand evokes memories unfathomable Memories, try as they might the brand managers at Cadburry’s can never recreate those emotions in their ads. the association so impersonal yet so endearing

Today when I want to splurge I do so on the likes of Toblerone...but when we think of think of chocolate we come home to Cadbury's Dairy milk.

I wish we could create such brands, horses for long hauls, unaffected by the ups and downs of wall Street, not wanting to scalp you for the pedigree that they proclaim themselves to be, those who remain there for ages to come, and there are examples galore..Bata,(my grandpa used to wear one) Amrutanjan (my grandma used to smell of one) Cherry blossom(i used to polish my dad's shoes as a child) brands part of your life...not fleecing you, not  in a hurry to make a fast buck, but just there as a part of you, .... for life.

Good Morning V Arun Kumar

Garnish your life.

One searches for a word to describe parts of a whole, without which the  whole will never be the same. Even sans any individual identity of its own, the morsel makes such a lasting impact that it overshadows the identity of the larger serving. Puzzled ! don’t be,  knowing my style of writing you would have already guessed that I would be coming to something  crazy.  A large piece of cyber cake with a funny (as in stupid) taste to it.  So let me elaborate.

As I sat savouring a plate of lemon rice, the tangy taste of the lemon, the bright hue of the rice, the overbearing scent of the curry leaves, and of course the culinary skills of the better half. Yet, what I was left relishing at the end of the course was the joy of cracking one by one into the crisp fried Chana dal which went in as part of the garnish into the ’Lemon Rice’. 

Lost was the taste of the rice, and presto !  dawned the importance of the Tadka dal.  When the curd rice followed its place in the next course,  the point was punched in just that harder. The snowy flakes of rice cooked in cream and curd, did little to elevate as did the taste of the little specs of garnished mustard fired deep in pure ghee. One forgot the taste of the rice as the mustard played hide and seek with the exploring tongue, relishing each morsel, gently biting into each mustard, the soft crack of it exploding and leaving behind a sweet taste more lofty than provided by the curd rice. 

The story did not end there,  the Gajar ka halwa which followed would never have been complete without the cashews. The list is endless.. , the sweet taste of the raisin in a hot and spicy Samosa,  the one grain of pepper in the folds of a Mathri, the once strand of saffron adorning a ‘Rasmalai’, the one piece of pumpkin seed perched upon a juicy ‘Moti Chur Laddu’, the spicy South Indian Mixture prepared for Diwali, with the royal peanuts making it just that perky.

   

So what makes this morsel take over the taste of the entire dish. Certainly not the quantity, for in sheer counts these small pieces of matter are totaly out weighed by the larger dish. It is not even because these are exotic items,  the lowly mustard can hardly call itself exotic.

So then what is it that inspite of a lesser identity of their own, these morsels end up making such a quantum change in the experience that they bring forth to the package that they are part of !

Now lets apply this paradigm to our life, the material things that we strive for,  the larger goals for which we end up burning our energies for, years on end,  never measure up to the little experiences that make our life complete.  The sweet smell of rain, the haunting feel of walking though fog and mist, the first rays of sunshine warming the skin on a cold winter morning, the boxing fights with the kids, making your grandchild ride your back, the experience of helping a lesser abled cross the street, the joy of giving, sharing, playing a prank, stopping by to admire a flower stall, to tousle the hair of plump little kid playing in the park.

Little moments that make life larger, the canvas more vibrant, the hues more contrasting, and  tastes that colour your soul permanently, that which the latest generation of gizmo or a career that you chase can never claim to do.

So what are you waiting for ! Go capture the moment,. As they say ‘Carpe Diem’ -  seize the moment.         

Don’t forget, somewhere you would realise that I too find myself being  a small morsel in your life somewhere, no matter how silly a part.