There was this man who had no means of earning a living. He went out every morning into the village and sought biksha (alms) from the houses therein.
So it was this morning too as he stepped out with his joli (actually a piece of cloth folded like a pouch to hold small stuff). It held at its bottom some grains of rice put in by his wife. There was a reason for it. The householder offering biksha would be satisfied on seeing the rice he/she was not being fooled, safe in the thought someone else too saw it fit to offer it to him.
As he began his morning round, he saw a cloud of dust kicked up at a distance and also heard the rumble of wheels on the road. It was the Raja’s chariot, royal flag with the insignia fluttering atop. He was at once delighted. Finally today was his chance to seek alms from the Raja himself. So far he was always thrown out whenever he tried to gain admittance to the palace. He thought furiously about what he would ask of the Raja…this, no, that…
In a few moments, the chariot reached the point where the man was standing and, what more, it conveniently stopped by his side. Providentially his job was made easier now.
Just as he was ready to get going on his act, to his utter surprise, the Raja himself sought him out and held out a joli, his, in front of the man!
Raja: ‘Today I decided to ask and receive something from the first man I meet. It’s you. Please give me something you have!’
Well, the man just stood there in a daze for he had nothing on his person to give. Also he had only known about receiving all along. Here was the Raja of the land standing before him asking him for alms!
‘Come on, you must have something…what about the joli you’re carrying? Surely…’
He remembered he had some rice grains left in there by his wife. So he put his hand into the joli and managed to collect a handful.Then he thought it was too much. He dropped half of it back into the joli. Then again he felt he was still giving away a lot more than he should. So some more grains dropped back into the joli.
Becoming impatient, the Raja ordered him to expedite.
The man finally parted with one grain, just one.
The Raja without a demur thanked him for it and drove away.
The man was sad at what had happened. Not only he did not receive any dhaan from the Raja, he had to give away a grain of his own.
He completed his usual round and returned home.
‘Why, what happened, you look distraught?’ the wife asked him as she relieved him of the joli.
‘You know I lost a grain today…’
Wife said: ‘Why, you’re joli feels full…in fact today you seem to have collected far more than usual and you’re sad for losing a grain?’
‘But I lost a grain…’
As she ran her hands through the collected grain, she suddenly whooped in glee:
‘Look, what we got here…a grain of gold!!’
The man cried inconsolably leaving his wife nonplussed.
In the holy city of Kashi – the oldest inhabited in the world, it’s said – there lived a cloth merchant Shivendra with his family of wife and three sons: Vishwa, Shambu and Hara. In a city boasting a hoary history for weaving brocades of silk and gold and cotton, Shivendra thrived in his business; textiles were a passion for him – sourcing top quality material, engaging artisans who conceived both traditional and innovative new designs and wove magic…coupled with his business acumen. Over time, his products became iconic with people coming from far and near to buy from him.
While the going was great, the stress of doing business was slowly getting to him. The sons helping him out observed he was getting slower on his feet, going about with greater effort. He did not go out to meet his suppliers and major customers as often as he did before – it required him to be on his feet longer. His visual acuity also was not as good as before – he was often passing defective material both at input as well as output that merited outright rejection in line with the high standards they had set for themselves.
Worst of all, he was increasingly losing his cool with his family over trivial matters, with vendors and customers during negotiations thereby seriously hurting the business. The sons saw this was more due to his lack of adequate sleep in the nights, an ailment he suffered from as far back as they could remember, rather than an innate part of his makeup. All kinds of mantriks and tantriks were called in to no avail. Reconciled to his lot he gamely carried on. Was it a genetic disorder? His past karma as some observed? Only now, it was beginning to show in ways that perceptibly impacted family life and business too.
The sons were fond of Shivendra, still young in his early sixties. They put their heads together wanting to do something about it. Finally it was decided one of them by turn would go out seeking remedies that must exist in some part of the land while the other two would stay back to help their father and the family. The parents reluctantly agreed after they were convincingly reassured about his safe return within a month or two.
Thus one day Vishwa set out northwards on his horse, adequately equipped. Set to go for the Himalayas in search of holy men (sadhu’s, yogi’s) for a miracle cure, he rode for several days until he reached outskirts of Sitamarhi (about 150 kosh or some 500 kms away by today’s measure), said to be the birthplace of Sita. Still an hour away from the town and it was getting dark, he stopped for an overnight halt at a village, taking shelter in a mandapam (a four or more pillared stone structure) standing by itself in the middle with the shrine it had served disappearing long ago without a trace.
Secured his horse to a tree nearby and settled down to watch idly the happenings in the village. It was just a single street lined with squat houses, about a dozen of them. Men folks were returning home from farms and wherever, the women lighted up lamps in their houses and children back in their pen after play-time. After a while, a kind lady from one of those houses came to him inquiring if he wanted water. Soon another came to him with some roti and sabzi, followed by some fodder for his horse too! Villages in our land were known for their hospitality even to strangers!
In an hour things quietened down further with no one appearing on the street. That’s when he saw an old man – must be in his seventies – emerge from the farthest house on the street, accompanied by a young man. The man walked with firm footing in the failing light, refusing to hold the hand offered by the young man. They came down on the street and walked slowly looking down all the time not missing an inch as if they were searching for something. On inquiry, the young man informed him it was indeed so. Earlier in the evening, his wife had dropped somewhere while walking on the street her diamond nose-ring. So?? Well, the old man was the vaidya (medicine man) revered in the village and had the sharpest pair of eyes. So it was…and truly in a few minutes he found the ring lying partially hidden under a stone!
Vishwa was mightily impressed by what he saw. He requested some time from the old man.
On the following morning, he went up to the vaidya’s house and told him all about his father and family and the purpose of his visit. He wanted some medicine to improve his father’s eyesight so he could as before keep a hawk’s eye on the business.
The old man patiently heard him out, asked a few questions…he then went away to the back of his house and returned after a while with a bamboo canister in his hand containing an herbal potion to be given to his father first thing every morning for a week…no need to continue thereafter. More importantly, he was required to do a few activities without fail to go with the potion and even after, never to be discontinued. Results would begin to show in about four weeks. All this, not before teasing him about the inevitability of ageing.
Something about the old man made Vishwa believe in him. He respectfully thanked the old man for his help, offered him appropriate dakshina (fees) and took leave of him carrying the canister carefully.
All at home were quite happy to see him with his horse back safely – it had been only a month.
He explained his consultation with the vaidya. Happily for him everyone agreed on the new regimen he suggested to be put in place as early as the following morning.
The day began with Vishwa’s mother giving Shivendra the potion first thing in the morning.
It was not just with the potion. Shivendra reached the workplace before anyone else. He threaded every needle and loaded every loom ready for operation. When the workmen arrived at their workplace, they were surprised to see it was all set up ready to go. Shivendra waved them away when they fondly fussed about his straining his eyes needlessly, insisting on doing it again whenever needed during the day. All the same they were enthused and energized by their master ‘soiling his hands’ on the shop-floor like one of them in a new practice that had come to stay. It showed in the output at the end of the day.
Exactly what the vaidya had ordered!
In about three weeks they saw Shivendra doing it in half the time he took to begin with! Things got better where it mattered – he was catching flaws easily in the finished product passed by others. Likewise with the input yarn going onto the looms. The final validation came in by way of fewer customer complaints. And not just at work, it showed in the house kitchen too – his wife was happy and impressed to see him help her in her daily chores by unerringly hand-picking stones and mud-balls clean off the rice that went into the cooking pot,
A couple of months passed. One day, Shambu came up to express his desire to go out for a while like Vishwa did, to do his bit for the family. Vishwa told him how the vaidya he had met, certainly not a day younger than seventy five, had walked effortlessly without any help – he was the man if anyone could help their father with his legs. And it was now in evidence he genuinely cured. So it was agreed Shambu would exactly follow his brother’s footsteps, reach the village and consult the vaidya. It was worth a try.
On day 8, Shambu reached the vaidya’s house.
He was told by a young man, his attendant and household help, master was away on his morning routine to collect fresh herbs from up the hill nearby…he should be back anytime now. Did he hear right? Up the hill? Yes, he did it every day, Not once, but once in the morning and once in the evening – some herbs need picking only in the evening, the attendant told him. He sat down on the thinnai (porch) waiting for the vaidya’s return. In a little while, he saw a light drizzle sending towards the house an old man he rightly guessed to be the vaidya in a hurry without a stumble or slip, Muttering more to himself the ground would turn slushy in no time, he gave a perfunctory nod to Shambu and went in. Giving him a little time to dry himself and settle down, Shambu knocked and entered almost feeling sorry for imposing himself thus on the old man. .
When he identified himself, the old man did not appear to mind the intrusion. Recalling his meeting with Vishwa, he inquired about their father and was happy to learn his patient, unmet, was doing better. So why was Shambu here? If the potion given was exhausted, there was no need for more to be given, he already had said. Thereupon Shambu clarified he had come for a different purpose – it was his father’s problem with his legs and his curtailed movements. The vaidya heard him out patiently, threw a few questions and as before at the end he gave him a bamboo canister containing an herbal potion with same instructions – to be given to his father first thing every morning for a week…no need to continue thereafter. More importantly, he was required to do a few activities without fail to go with the potion and even after, never to be discontinued. And wait for four weeks for the results to show.
On his return, Shambu shared his consultation with the vaidya. With everyone in agreement, the new regimen was rolled out from the very next day.
Once again, the mother was entrusted with the job of giving Shivendra the potion every morning for the week it lasted. At lunch, he had porridge of crushed oats, horse gram and sprouts, sitting next to his horse also feeding on the same though prepared differently along with some green grass. This was to be his largely unchanging luncheon menu, minor tweaking permitted, for three days in a week henceforth. The horse seemed to love sharing the table with the master!
On two other days he went out and met his suppliers and major customers, collecting inputs directly from the field. They too were happy to meet him and be heard. With improved bonding, many irritants of little value were not allowed to get out of hand simply though talking it out, letting them focus their energies on more substantial issues they faced. On one occasion, a supplier in jest remarked Shivendra would do well to tell his wife to guard him against any ‘evil eye’; for he had heard from many in their circles say these days he went about like a young horse, defying his age.
Which his wife duly did, exorcising any evil spells, by performing the prescribed rites, when he carried the supplier’s tale back home.
So some more months passed. While things were a lot better Shivendra still had the occasional bouts of irritation, impatience and anger. The lack of adequate sleep in the nights was telling. Did cause some setbacks in business and loss of goodwill; though not irreparable, a lot of energy and effort went into retrieving the situation whenever it happened.
One day, the youngest son Hara came up to say it was time he also did what he could. This time both Vishwa and Shambu advised him strongly to go back to the same vaidya, citing the successes they have had with his cures. So he set about following the same route as the other two.
It was the tenth day and he was standing in front of the vaidya giving him an update on his father and telling him about his father’s problem of insomnia and how it affected life at home and workplace. This time the vaidya asked Hara questions at length about his father, his personal and professional life. Asking him to wait, he went inside the house.
Half an hour had passed, still no sign of the vaidya. Hara inquired with the attendant. The attendant informed him his master was meditating in his room. Wrong timing, should have come a little later after he had finished his morning prayers, Hara thought to himself.
Another half an hour passed. Hara was pacing up and down impatiently now bordering on irritation. Again when he made inquiries, the attendant told him his master was scribing on palm leaves. Strange, they – his brothers – had never warned him to expect this. What was happening?
And then the vaidya emerged from inside. What, no bamboo canister in his hands? Instead, something wrapped in silk. Hara’s heart sank – may be the vaidya could not find in all this time a cure for the ailment in his books.
As if he read his mind, the old man said there was no easy cure for his father’s ailment. From all that Hara had told him and revealed by meditation, it appeared to be karmic in nature. There was no option but to live with it as he was doing presently. However it is fury could be somewhat mitigated thru medication…
Hara breathed easy.
The old man then asked him to take the package in silk to his father. In it was the medicine that would give him some relief from the ravages of the affliction. Must be handled carefully during the return journey, else the contents could crumble to pieces. This was as best as he could do.
Profusely thanking him and offering a generous dakshna Hara headed back home.
They eagerly gathered around him, though a little disappointed he returned without the all too familiar bamboo canister. With the father’s permission, they opened the package taking great care not to damage the contents. In it there was no medicinal pudi (powder) or potion, but two palm leaves containing a prescription message from the vaidya.
They wondered if it would work. Nevertheless they decided to give it a try, beginning with once a week and stepping it up if it indeed worked. There must be something in what the vaidya said – he had not so far let them down.
It was the first day of their trial. A couple of hours before dinner Hara and his father set out to a neighboring village, much bigger than theirs, a kosh (about 3.5 kms) away. Prayed at the Amman koil (female deity). Came out and distributed food packets they had carried to the poor, handicapped, mentally deranged and destitute that usually collected outside, holding each one’s hands for a moment and possibly looking into his eyes – this part was specially emphasized on those palm leaves (social distancing was not in force then). They indeed felt they were giving out more than the food.
It wasn’t late for dinner when they returned after the good walk. The entire evening had been a wee bit tiring for Shivendra.
Hara found his father…a strange kind of peace on his face, more affable? …usually the first hour was the worst. May be he did catch some sleep after the rather busy evening.
In the evening, assessing the day, the family decided they should do it more often.
Sleep or not, one thing Shivendra certainly gained over the days was awareness and goodwill in the neighboring village with the inevitable rub-off on the business sure to follow.
Two months later with all the gains continuing through sustained efforts…the family was breathing easy and their business back on even keel thanks to the vaidya – he had been awesome, right for the third time and how!
Yes, joy ofgiving (charity) to the less fortunate seemed to be the antidote, satisfying to the soul, for ones inescapable karma…especially the touch and look – that was a brilliant stroke, pure magic.
(explanation would be needed about karma and soul)
Ambiguity, thy name is Sanskrit! Perhaps a little more than most other natural languages. A poet’s/reader’s delight and a (lexical) parser’s nightmare.
A mere reordering of words below yields a delightfully new perspective! Read on:
There lived a Queen who wanted to understand Bhagavad Gita – its essence.
‘How many shloka’s (verses) make up the
Gita?’ She asked a Pundit at her court.
‘700, my lady,’ he said.
She summoned the minister: ‘Kindly get 700 gold coins ready from the treasury. Tomorrow as the venerable Pundit here explains each shloka, he be given a gold coin. That makes it 700 coins.’
700 gold coins for him? The Pundit was elated at his good fortune. He returned home in high spirits and pulled out all his notes for perusal so he may best explain the shloka’s to the Queen.
Next day he made it to the royal court
at the appointed time. His eyes popped on seeing before him the pile of
glittering gold coins on a plate.
He mentally prayed to Lord Krishna to be on his side and help him out in his endeavor. And thus he began in a booming voice with the first shloka: ‘Dharma kshetre Kuru kshetre…’
(Meaning: At a place where Dharma reigned
supreme, at a place belonging to the Kuru’s…)
The Queen was moved to tears on hearing
‘Please stop right there, say no more, Sir,’ she addressed the Pundit.
The Pundit paused.
The Queen turned to her minister: ‘Get
the palanquin ready, we leave immediately.’
Had he offended the royalty in any manner? He didn’t think so. Not able to make any sense of what was happening, the Pundit pleaded: ‘My lady, we haven’t even started…’
‘Where is the need after you’ve explained so concisely, so beautifully the essence of Gita? Please do take these 700 gold coins. Not a moment more to be wasted here…I’m off to do exactly what you bade.’
’The Pundit’s head went for a spin. Vexed,
he cried meekly: ‘What did I explain?’
‘What more after your excellent sum up of Gita – when you said ‘Dharma kshetre Kuru kshetre…it just leaped at me…I could make out the message therein right away:Kshetre kshetre or ‘at place after place’ dharma kuru or ‘do dharma (charity).’ So well said. Beautiful. I’ve decided to follow it right away. And so here I’m taking off…’
An interpretation absolutely unheard of! Why did it not occur to him? Thoroughly humbled, the Pundit offered the coins back to the Queen, requesting her to use the same for the charity she was setting out to do. And, renounced the worldly life in pursuit of Knowledge.
Source:With grateful thanks to tamilandvedas quoting a monk from Ramakrishna Mutt.
At the end of a discourse on charity, the guru called his sishya’s (pupils) and asked them what would they ask Mahalakshmi (Goddess of Wealth) if she were to appear before them.
The first sishya: ‘Guruji, I would ask for a lot of wealth so I can help the poor and needy.’
The second sishya had more to ask: ‘One never knows one’s mind for sure, especially after coming into possession of wealth. So I would ask for lot of wealth and along with it the will to give it away to others.’
His companion, the third sishya, thought different: ‘If we are wishing well for others, I prefer to remove myself altogether and would pray to Mahalakshmi to grace them directly with enough.’
The fourth sishya differed: ’My prayer would be for them to have enough wealth, but they would earn it by their efforts.’
The guru smiled and walked away leaving them behind to debate among themselves the wisdom of their views.
There are times when it is best to act before thinking. Read on to find out about one such occasion – here’s an extract from my diary:
The film disturbed me…the plight of the single women left in the lurch by the shameless men. Amazing NGO guys working for them…and what do they get in return…
The pravachan (talk/sermon) by the Swamiji (holy man) – it made so much sense. Shouldn’t we all give back something?
The Swamiji said it again. Have been thinking about it. Will set aside a thousand rupees a month for giving away. I think I can afford it.
The HelpAge brochure…just the thing I had in mind. Helping destitute women. Must write a check.
The check yet to be sent out. Damn all this work. Sucks up the time and the energy to do anything else. Keep forgetting.
Saw the site. Seems to be a big setup. My contribution – a burp in a hurricane. The phrase – I coined it, Hadley Chase’s was less sanitary. Look at smaller setup’s desperately needing support. These guys won’t miss it.
Sanskrit and Veda’s institute struggling for survival… So what if I haven’t learnt. Must do our bit for preserving tradition. It’s only two thousand rupees. Nice and smart of them to ask small.
Yes, the institute. Had a thought – what if they’re already beyond the tipping point? Would be a waste, no? Must look at something else.
Home for Cancer patients…poor folks. Need a place to stay in the city for treatment. Cities…so expensive. Six thousand rupees to cover one or two patients. A great thing. Will also protect us – it’ll be such an irony. Lord would not let that happen.
Just checked on the Home’s brochure. No Income-Tax registration. No known names. These days…so many scams. Who knows if it’s genuine?
Today, a procession by film-stars collecting for flood victims in the south. How will my contribution make a difference? These stars…if they give what they charge for just one film that should handle half a dozen floods. And what is the government doing with all these taxes? Passing on the buck to us? What passing the buck? They’re collecting the buck. There’s a word for such wrongly applied phrases – can’t recall. Some mal…
So boring. Had to be done. Readied Income-Tax returns. Just found haven’t made any donations to claim deductions. Must do it in the next financial year.
This is easy. Swamiji talked about small acts of kindness – like feeding the pigeons. I think, I’ll begin with that. Men will take care of men. Who will worry about these poor creatures? Need to check on this avian flu, though.
No later entries found on the subject.
Once in a while, when the thought of doing good enters one’s mind it is best done without a second thought; given a little time the rational mind asserts itself to successfully dissuade one from actualizing it.
– – – . End