Aug. 1, 2010
Many males get impressed with their pseudo wisdom of acting as if they are the last word on a subject and usually without first hand knowledge! This behavior gets revved up when the talk is of conscious matters of life. Walking the talk with demonstrated proof of the talk is a whole 'nother ball game that separates the 'talky talkies' from the real 'McCoy's'. It's been said, 'talk is cheap', and give a man a little ability to gibber jabber and the 'bull' flies. (Let it be said that it's a different jibber jabber form from 'gossiping' - if you get the drift!).
The world's mind has been controlled by males who put themselves in the position to control by words. Examples that come to mind would be two of the ultimate 'snake oil salesmen' - politicians and 'religious salesmen (men of the cloth)'. Oh, and the pontificators of the 'coverup' - wandering husband! To 'know' from experience and positive wisdom is quite different than 'intellect babbling'. Better to spend time examining the inner and seeing the results of manifestation than spending life pontificating what amounts to meaningless conjecture.
Give a person a ready made belief system or ideology (might even be money investing!), and they'll devote all portions of their brain to 'hardwire' themselves much to the exclusion of all other information, much of which is likely to objectively counter what they claim to know. Religious pundits can be the worse. Those who make money selling god are usually well educated and primed from religious biblical college indoctrinations on how to sell the masses. It's shameful but they only tell the followers in the pews what they want to hear to keep donations flowing in.
Go it alone without the intruders of the mind. Love is always a welcome 'intruder' for the open heart. Move with 'watchfulness' while letting go of judgement which is like a boomerang always seeming to come back as a judgment. As in the piece 'Desiderata' by an Max Ehrmann in the 1920's -
"Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence....Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit."
Silence is the best teacher - listen to your heart!
Written by Arhata
Posted by me
Truth Catches Lies
March 6, 2010
Ever seen a 'truth catcher' - not the 'dream catcher' that is so
popular for 'wishing upon a star'... YOU ARE the 'truth catcher' if, you're not the one to be caught. Lies come dressed in all kinds of clothes from denial of the truth to outright omission or .coverup. of the evidence. Another form would be to ignore the obvious or, even to not see what needs to be the obvious and, not to ignore 'deception'... A train coming down the tracks is good reason to realize the impending danger of hopping off the tracks!
The governments are 'professional liars' paid by you to keep their jobs through sugar coating the distasteful to make the masses happy and, be controlled. Gee, that might even work in the millions of bedrooms! The 'cluck' you sleep with is likely a combo truth teller/lie feeder better qualified to spin hogwash than the politicians you elect who abuse the trust while learning the secrets of spinning 'truth and lies' for the gullible. Lies are fed by stupidity and, living in fairy tales (lies). I'm reading a biography of William Paley, the founder of the major TV station, CBS. Paley was a married philanderer of the highest order while his wife was in denial, instead basking in notoriety and luxury. Unwilling to give up the perks while living in a 'sexless' marriage, she added to the lie by silently suffering in denial. They both 'lied', as couples are usually 'co-conspirators' of lies rather than face the 'fear of truth'….
Everything grows in truth. Lies grow everywhere that 'truth' is hidden from. Truth has no fears. Lies fear the shadows of truth! What's going on is a question that 'truth' is always seeking the answers to. Lies beget lies, while truth begets truth. Fear fuels the lies of all life. In fact, the real war is that war between 'truth and lies' from ones personal life to the life in the world. Lies work in the dark, truth in the light and, truth is love. There are no reasons to fear the truth when one discerns the best way to reveal the truth in truth. Truth stays away from lies or, at the very least, is always looking to shake down the lies to reveal the truth.
Living in truth is to live in love and awareness of every step along the way of life. Lies stumble upon themselves necessitating (?) more lies for the 'cover-up'. Lies breed lies as truth breeds more truth and trust. Lies die where truth lives while trying to protect themselves from exposure. Seek the company of truth always, for what can be gained by lurking in the dark but stumbling and falling. In the aroma of truthful love all fear dies.
Yesss Self Love Center
Posted by me
Slave to Misery
March 5, 2010
Be a 'puppet on a string' or, cut the strings of attachments! Freedom never comes from blaming or attributing life’s happenings to others but, taking responsibility for your own choices. Life controlled by others will be a life of alternating misery and quickly fading happiness. Life has the potential of becoming a heaven on earth with commiserate challenges to convert to opportunities.
The possibility of missing the bliss and love in life are very possible. Few escape out of the ‘rabbit hole’ that they find themselves in. You are what you see yourself as even if it’s an erroneous opinion or judgment. The mind has many compartments that, if not cleaned out of these self judgments, becomes a prison where one becomes a ‘prisoner of the false self’ without ever knowing the bliss that resides in the other compartments that only need positive attention. Few escape the prison of false self where blisses of life rarely are stored, in fact, way upwards of 95% of the world’s ‘walking cadavers’ ever get more than quick glimpses of the .sweetnesses of life...
Makes no sense being shackled to the ‘conservatism’ of accepting ‘everyone else’ being responsible for what you’ve made a choice to take little responsibility for. Step up as you step out of the drudgery of the .same ole, same ole. Dead conservative rut that only gets deeper as the light of possibilities gets darker and darker. Today, in the ‘western world’ particularly, people rarely see that their relationships that have been numerous are always problematic and, escaping the love that their instincts say they deserve to have. It’s all a matter of self choice which begins with seeing that it’s all yours regardless of what damage or traumas came before in childhood.
Billions live in various forms and degrees of misery. Bliss or misery it’s you choice! Might as well feel happy that you have succeeded in being miserable! If that’s not your choice, let go of it and, drop all patterns that create it. Start new patterns that open new doors where bliss starts flowing in. Might just start with examining why you are so attached to so many things including emotions that are 'self induced'... Freedom comes in letting go of attachments, even love. Only false love needs attachment. Real love is .free while it’s being responsible...
Yesss Self Love Center
Dec 6, 2009
It.s all up to you! No one else can give you what you hold the key to as an opportunity that no other living animal has ... The gift of having the choice of growing spiritually. Any animal can grow physically. Growing in intellect has been replaced by computers for the most part. Now is the time that the heart and being rise to heights beyond mediocrity. Only man can walk with the .pinnacles of histories conscious ones. - no other animal has the choice and, the divine opportunity.
Growing old has little to do with the precious gift of fitting into the .suit. of spiritual consciousness. Traveling the world over infinite times with every experience imaginable as well as success beyond any expectation or, being the best mother, father, husband or wife, has NOTHING to do with the traveling within to find the riches that is each
humans birth has the potential of. Mocking the spiritual is to turn ones back on the treasures of life awaiting discovery. Being obnoxious to the love with in with whatever habits one manages to use in avoidance, is to place one in the category of any animal, while ignoring the blessings
that humans are endowed with to go beyond.
Wasting life chasing dreams that ignore the journey within is like a gold prospector digging for years to find a treasure that will ultimately prove valueless...if, he even finds it, to see the splendors that life silently
awaits those in the heart. Wasting each moment in lieu of chasing anything else while ignoring the gifs within is to have experienced life as any animal would, only with amusements. Amusing the self at the expense of this one opportunity is to ignore seeing and living .godliness.. .
Paradise potions. can.t be bought! It.s a .trick or treat world.! The treats are both out there and, inside but, the tricks are in the treats of the outer if not seen first within. It.s .wakeup. time, the lights of the world are on as never before for all to see the truths. It is essential at this precious moment to let go of what isn.t .really essential. to living and, walk every moment in an accelerated awareness to see the layers of the flowering bliss that unveils itself. This IS the moment those in the past have dreamed about!
Yesss Self Love Center
Port Townsend, Washington USA
Monkeys to Humanoids
Humanity has not happened yet! This morning on the news was a piece on the ‘mischief’ of monkeys in the cities of India where gangs of them roam the streets jumping on cars, fruit stands and, anything appealing – in other words, paying little attention to ‘conscious decisions’ that are sensitive to others. Humans, for the most part, do they same thing only not so ‘blatant’.
Humans still are just above the ‘monkey’ and, having not that long ago, been presented with ‘technology’ that allows them unprecedented freedoms often used for ‘monkeying around’. We live in a time of ‘primitive consciousness’ where society is still, in regards to consciousness, very unevolved. The monkeys gather their ‘stashes’ of food, people spend most of their lives in pursuit of ‘stuff’ that masks their ‘love of self’ and, pursuit of a ‘heaven on earth’.
What can be more exciting than making this revolving graveyard of trillions of dead who came before, into a ‘paradise among planets’? Societies as they are must disappear be it Sweden, Italy, Germany, India, Japan or, the Christians and Muslims - on and on. These ‘separators’ are more and more meaningless. What has resulted other than ethnic food and thousands of wars as well as incestuous breeding except during war when soldiers from foreign lands impregnate the locals? Tear down the ‘walls of non communication’!
The politicians and religious leaders have used this ignorance to perpetuate endless conflicts that keep humans on a treadmill of lower mind and heart, going no where. The ‘hocus pocus’ leaders somewhere in time got their hands on the .buttons. and, keep passing on the ‘vile privilege’ from incestuous family to family. We must see beyond the blinders. Open minded and loving people with awareness in consciousness will evolve into a humanity resembling ‘godliness’ instead of ‘apes, monkeys and baboons’.
The ‘animal’ must disappear for humanity to blossom beyond the ‘idiot and moron’ state into ‘humans’. The vast majority are still ‘idiots’ needing to move to the transition stage of ‘moron’ or “more on’ where all ‘sensitive attributes’ are learned before becoming HUMAN!
November 14, 2009
Yesss Self Love Center
Port Townsend, Washington USA
Posted by me.
Posted by Barindranath Chaki at 10:37 PM 0 comments
Shri Gangadharan :Part One
Now, from a month or two I have been thinking deeply of another very great personality of the Ashram. He remains so to say an unsung hero, but a true child of Mother and Sri Aurobindo.
It appears one day, suddenly it was Sri Aurobindo who said:
Sri Aurobindo - Where is Gangadharan ?
Nobody seemed to know.
Sri Aurobindo - All of you are centred around your own selves, and you don't care about him because he is a simple man, but Gangadharan is constantly in our consciousness. He is a great soul. He is lying ill in his room, somebody kindly go and attend him.
Immediately, Arvamedu Iyengar @ Amrita-da went to his room. He found Gangadharan- ji was lying on the floor. He was unable to get up even. From several days he had not had even his food. But it did not in the least matter to Gangadharan- ji. He was simply calling the name of the Mother and thats about it !
Sri Gangadharan- ji was a fisherman and a local Tamil boy born on 24th of July,1913 in a small coastal village of Veerampattinam, south of Ariankuppam, some 6km. south of Pondicherry. I have posted two photos of Veerampattinam beach now and several others in Orkut, both of Ariankuppam river and Veerampattinam .
Now in the 1930's Mother used to go out for long drives. Some of you may have even read in bulletin the story of a temple that she had visited at Veerampattinam on one of those outings. However, after the visit as she was returning a young man was strangely fascinated by Her and he ran behind the Mother's car all the way to the Ashram at Pondicherry. Naturally, he was not allowed in the Ashram premises. He went on insisting that he wanted to see the Mother and said he wanted to stay here in the Ashram. The parents of the lad came from Veerampattinam, and tried a lot and cried too. But the lad was steadfast in his resolve. Finally Mother advised the parents that, -
' Since the boy wants to stay here so much, I think it is best he stays here.'
So on 24th of July, 1933, exactly at the age of 20, on his birthday, Sri Gangadharan- ji joined the Ashram.
He was given the work of supervising the cleaning of all the W.C.s of the houses of Ashram in the Sanitary Department, which he did till the in 1987. He was called by everybody as brother Gangadharan, because he was always smiling and was a true brother to everybody from his heart.
He stayed all his life in a very small room like a store, may be 6'x12', next to Manoj-da's room. It is only at the very end we could give him a good room, which he accepted after a lot of persuation.
At the end from Ashram-side I was looking after his small needs, such as providing biscuits, bring the money from cashier's room to give him for his servant, etc.. For that the grattitude that he showered was unthinkable. Even now, I have tears remembering simply that grattitude !
He was a great saint, and his spiritual experiences that he has written are of great value, written by a simple heart ! Such was the simplicity and true greatness of this man that even his servant has become a saint !
At the end, for several years he was not keeping well. His relations form Veerampattinam wanted to take him. he agreed that after I die you may make the ceremony at Veerampattinam. So a permission was taken from Dyuman-bhai for that .
Now, he had some urinary problem, and he had probably not passed urine for a couple of days. So I told him on 16th of August, 1992 in the late morning , -
Sri - Gangadharan- ji, let us go to the JIPMER hospital, so that this painful situation of the urine will be at least solved .Ganga - Brother, my time has come.
Sri - Gangadharan- ji, that time comes for all of us, but why physically suffer now ?
He would not listen. So finally, I called Manoj-da to tell him. As soon as a senior like Manoj-da told him, he readily agreed to go to JIPMER.
At 1.10 p.m. I took him. We were talking while going and talked normally too, in front of the casualty in JIPMER. I returned with the casualty doctor may be not more than 2 mts. The doctor declared :
Doctor - You have brought us a dead body !
So I returned back to Ashram. He was taken to Veerampattinam. For three days there was no deterioration in his body. Finally on the 4th day, he was cremated on the Veerampattinam beach, on the back-drop of the vast ocean and top the infinite blue sky.
What a sublime and indescribable atmosphere there was !
Posted by me.
The Beauty of The Stars
One has to become more aware than one ordinarily is. To become more spiritual means to enter into the phenomenon of the sacred. For that more awareness is needed, much more, because it is not something mechanical, something routine. It is now every day. It is moving from the unknown towards the unknowable. It is dropping the known every day, dying to the known and entering into the unknown. It is an eternal pilgrimage, because every moment is so full of mystery that one has to be very alert, otherwise one will miss.Very few people know the beauty of the stars... Very few people know the beauty of the mountains.
Posted by me
Meditation cannot be a fragmented thing. It should be a continuous effort. Every moment one has to be alert, aware and meditative. But the mind has played a trick. You meditate in the morning and then you put it aside. Or you pray in the temple and then forget it. Then you come back to the world, completely unmeditative, unconscious, as if walking in a hypnotic sleep. This fragmented effort won't do much. Consciousness is a continuum. It is like a river, flowing constantly. If you are meditative the whole day, every moment of it - and only when you are meditative the whole day - the flowering will come to you.
Posted by me
On publication of his enlightened essays in this Blog,
Arhata Osho has written :
Enjoyed browsing your fine blog - very neat and conscious!
Thank you, Barin for having me in it.
Blessings and Gratefulness,
A Short Story by
I met Ramananda Pande in the office of a stone quarry. Usually one wouldn’t find him there till late in the evening. Luckily for me he came at around nine. Clad in a dhoti, baniyan and a white turban, he walked in gracefully, a torch in hand. For a person who was 60, Pande looked very composed and cheerful. He had been a celibate till quite late in life, and had married only recently. “Did you meditate in the sacred seat beyond the cremation grounds in those days?” I asked.
“Yes, I was a very young man then,” relied Pandeji in colloquial Bengali, which he had picked up rather well.
“ It must have been 30 to 40 years back,” he continued. “The place was a dense jungle. There was a dilapidated temple and a pair of great banyan and pipul trees under whose shed the sacred seat lay. You could also find medicinal plants there. It was difficult for human beings to make way through the thorny bushes even during the day. A sage, so the story went, used to meditate there long ago. He had a tiger for company, for whom he created the forest.
“The sage could take out his intestines and wash them in the river. He rode the tiger occasionally. When the river swelled in the rainy season, he effortlessly walked over the water as if it was a bed of rock. One could hear the sound of his wooden slippers striking against the water as if it were a block of stone.
“ I came across the sacred location when I was roaming around as a young ascetic. The place was attractive to anybody who aspired to reach a higher level of human perceptions, through meditations and self-denials. I wanted to start right away.
“ One day I felt really hungry and went to the neighbouring locality to look for food. I managed to get some from the villagers. But once I was fed, I began longing for sex. Women came voluntarily, as I was handsome and strong. You can imagine what that led to. Recently I married for the third time. My desire never allows me any freedom.”
“ But what happened to the sacred seat of meditation?” I asked.
“ I resumed the meditations after the brief interlude. But by then I had been marked. I stopped going to look for food in the village and started living on wild fruits. I was making a rapid progress towards realizing my objective. It was now a matter of time before I would reach my goal. But something came in the way.
“ Kindness, like sugar in a cup of tea, creates many problems. It enters one’s blood stream and disrupts the biological processes. You call it diabetes. But would you like to have tea without sugar? Kindness is like the sugar in human nature, it adds beauty to one’s character just as sugar enhances taste. But kindness does not allow one to function effectively.
“ Some of our senses are sharpened as we go through the process of meditation. We can feel things that are otherwise imperceptible. In such a state of mind I found many human souls begging me to liberate them from bondage by making offerings at Gaya for all of them. I complied. They earned freedom.”
“ What about you?” I asked.
He said that he suffered from self-inflicted diabetes, as he was unable to ignore the cries of the distressed souls.
He was thus reconciled to being just a night guard in the stone quarry.
A Short Story
Siva Gopal Ojha
On the left corner of the market gate every morning one can find Surdas, the tramp squatting on the ground with an outstretched hand in a symbolic gesture of seeking alms. The busy marketplace hums with activity right from early morning well into the day. This is a vegetable and fruits market with several provision stores doing brisk business as well.
Well to do gentlemen and pretty ladies enter and leave the market through this gate with bulging bags dangling from both hands. While entering the market they cast a pitiful glance at the tramp. But there is no spare change for doling it out to him. Some of them are kind enough to resolve to throw a coin or two at Surdas during their exit. But the problem is that on their return journey both their hands are full with loaded bags. The tramp, of course, cannot see all these because he is stark blind. When nothing strikes his hand for a long time he starts reciting a couple of Tulsidas’s dohas (couplets) from the Ramayana praising God and his benevolence.
A stray dog is not as inconsiderate. It sits beside Surdas and sniffs at his outstretched hand just out of shear habit. An Aluminium bowl is kept in front of Surdas for keeping the few coins thrown at him. It is early morning and so the bowl is empty and so are the bowels of Surdas and the dog.
After chanting a few couplets a number of times, Surdas switches over to singing them repeatedly. He is no singer but attempts to introduce some music into the words all the same. Passers are not interested. They expect a blind tramp to sing well. God compensates for one quality with another normally. If a person is denied the capacity to see he is normally endowed with a melodious voice and the capacity to sing. Surdas is denied both. Yet he remembers God all the time and prays to Him for everyone including himself. God seems to listen to him partially for everybody else is granted the prosperity prayed for. Only Surdas remains as poor as ever and so is his companion, the stray dog.
Occasionally, though, the adjacent tea stall boy throws a slice of stale bread or yesterday’s left over at the dog. The dog munches the foodstuff happily. Surdas smiles because at least his mate gets the first food of the day. The boy who works at the tea stall brings some hot tea in a small glass tumbler and places it beside the blind man telling him to finish it off quickly before the owner returns back. The boy feels for the pair of destitutes and tries to help them as much as he can. Proximity induces kindness in him. But the same cannot be said of the tea stall owner.
Surdas occasionally gets a coin thrown at his bowl by a compassionate passer by. Whenever that happens decibel of his chantings goes higher. He starts praising God with renewed vigor. But howsoever may he try; God’s name fails to evoke much charity from the market goers. At the end of the day, Surdas returns to the shantytown where he stays, with barely anything worth its name.
Surdas sleeps in a small space eight feet by two feet with one side open just outside the door of a small room which is home of the tea stall boy and his parents. When it rains or weather turns rough, a plastic sheet is hung on the open side to give a semblance of protection. The tea stall boy does all that is necessary to keep Surdas alive.
It is very difficult to stay there in the winter months. Rains are equally disturbing but life goes on like this for years together. Early morning everyday Surdas calls the boy’s name aloud several times from outside his door. It is toilet time for the tramp. The boy leads him by the hand to the community toilet of the shantytown and helps him to take his bath. Without the boy Surdas cannot survive for a day. Surdas says that the boy must have been his son in some earlier life. Otherwise why should he do so much? He even shares his food with Surdas. The boy’s mother knows that. She gives a few chapattis (Hand made bread slices) and some curry everyday to the blind man.
Surdas has become an old man now. The boy still works in the tea stall. On a cold winter morning the boy is not awakened by loud calls of the tramp. He opens the door of his room to find Surdas lying motionless in his place. The dog wails deeply on seeing the boy. The end comes so easily that it is unbelievable.
Time waits for none. Everything becomes normal again. The plastic sheet remains bundled on the wall. There is no need to open it now. The dog has vanished. The boy finds that time hangs heavy on him now. Nobody wakes him up in the morning. Nobody recites Tulsidasi Ramayana outside his door day in and day out. Many couplets of the great epic spontaneously ring in his mind without an effort. Surdas used to chant particularly those couplets that described the Godly qualities and the beauty of Lord Rama.
The boy looks at the vacant corner beside the market gate where Surdas used to squat daylong. The space does not remain vacant for long. An umbrella repairer does brisk business there now. By mistake the boy runs there with a cup of tea only to realize his folly moments later. The umbrella man looks up at him in surprise.
As days pass by the boy’s mother notices certain changes in him. Nowadays he gets up early in the morning and chants the couplets from the Ramayana in a melodious voice. The boy can sing very well now. He keeps on singing the verses in the small space where Surdas used to sleep. The boy doesn’t like to go to work in the tea stall any more. His mother doesn’t compel him either. After all, the boy has turned into a young man now. He should be left free to pursue his profession.
The dog has returned from nowhere. The begging bowl has been retrieved from a corner of the small place of Surdas. One fine morning the boy and the dog appear at the market gate with the begging bowl. The dog barks furiously at the umbrella man and drives him away.
The place becomes theirs again. The boy sings the Ramayana so well but still no body is impressed. It doesn’t matter any more. For the boy is not able to see very clearly. He is slowly turning into a blind man.
Only the boy’s mother sheds a few drops of silent tears from a distance.
© Siva Ojha
A short story
20, Padmini Thottam,
The bug had been constantly adding ire to the irascible state of his mind, which was due to his constant attachment to Mina. He was sitting on his chair. Before him, on a table, a book was kept opened. The subject of the book was economics, accountancy, philosophy or some such thing. He could not comprehend it, as he had not properly read, even the first line of the opened page during the past hour. The moment he tried to concentrate on the subject, a thought stirred up in his mind that only Mina could give him pleasure. It was not something trifling, it was all the pleasure that Mina contained in her. ‘Oh Mina!’ he said.
The moment he turned his gaze toward the forgotten first line, the bug bit on the soft inner portion of his thigh. With irritation he shifted his bitten thigh over the other one. ‘Yes only she could give me pleasure.’ He thought again. ‘Though I have never seen a volcano,’ he confessed, ‘I always dream about volcanic eruptions. May be that I dream at night of such volcanoes impregnated with fire. Voluptuous Mina is impregnated with fire.’ He dreamt at night but could do nothing in the day.
He tried to move while sitting in his chair as the bug had been caressing his other thigh with eagerness and obduracy. But he could not move even an inch, as the old torn cane chair was no bigger than his buttock. He was moving mechanically, tilting from one side to the other, to get a temporary relief. The bug was waiting, allowing him to settle. As he tried to concentrate on the first line of the printed page, the words simply vanished. Mina remained with her soft rosy chin and pink-green veins in different parts of her body. ‘She only could…’ he murmured. ‘It would become hard with a touch,’ while thinking this, he almost jumped up from his seat as the bug had succeeded in sucking a considerable quantity of blood from his soft thigh. He felt as if a shark had been working on him but he could not feel until the last moment. Eventually he got up.
Seated in his chair, he opened the book with the help of a tag kept on the first page which lay before him on the table. Overhead there was a roof from which water would ooze during the rains. On his left there was a window, on the right, up on the wall, a ventilator and yonder, there was the door. A bird’s nest in the ventilator and an extinguished hearth in the open area outside the room are the others scenes he was bored with. A few unwashed cups with stains of tea and a few unwashed utensils usually were scattered as usual. He verified them again and plunged in the world of his voluptuous ideas but the bug was busy drawing out his precious blood with all its might. His soft thigh was its only haven now. He fidgeted and realized his own negligence in not repairing his cane chair. But immediately his idea was diverted toward Mina. He would spend for her rather than for the chair. ‘Oh, Mina!’
Instead of holding her, he strongly held the handles of his chair. His face was twisted. He would certainly wash the chair with hot water, he resolved but he did not get up and waited in his chair to be bitten by the bug for enjoying a masochistic pleasure, even without desiring so. He thought of doing the work the next day, but the plan was postponed as he remembered that he would then be serving the office overtime, as required by the boss.
He tried again and again to read and understand the meaning of what was written in the first line of the book but he could not make head or tail of it, as he had been infatuated with Mina. Only she could give him solace, he thought. As he was with her again, all the bugs started biting him at a time. At once he jumped in revolt. The book was automatically thrown on the ground. The spectacle was somehow saved from falling but it hung from one of his ears. He could wear it again properly with much effort.
After a while getting up with a feeling of giddiness he looked into his chair. Nothing was visible, as if all the bugs were gone home. Then lowering the head,
he observed a bug going down the leg of the chair. As he was preparing to take revenge, the insect stopped moving. He was face to face with the bug. Eye ball to eye ball they looked. He became numbed.
After sometime as the bug started crawling down, his muscle became stiff. He lowered his face to look at it but realizing the tiny insect’s capacity to suck blood with such vigor, he became aghast. Afraid to move further, he decided not to fight the bugger then and there. He preferred to wait for it.
It really came down and started to move slowly. Coming to the cot, at one corner of the room, it started crawling up its leg. Recovering his strength he confidently neared the insect and raised his index finger over its tiny body to hold and crush it. But the bug was continuing to go up the leg, disregarding what was going to happen to it soon.
‘What a trifling thing, how slowly does it move! I may kill it at any moment with my fingers. Its death is imminent in my hand!’ He was gloating. He would not let the chance go. He would take the revenge. He would get back the blood, which the bug had sucked, he decided. All around him, there had been volcanic irruptions. He would crush the whole world, incinerate it, if he could.
He was sweating. Pearl drops adorned his forehead. Tremulous, he neared the bug and brought his finger over it but instantaneously came back two steps. ‘If I kill it, the river of blood which will flow from its veins and arteries, may flood the earth.’ He felt a tremendous force of the flowing blood under his feet. Somehow he managed to save himself from falling, by holding the edge of the cot.
After a while, he opened his eyes and looked around to verify whether he was in the right place. Hot red torrents of blood vanished. He recovered his senses.
Over his head there was the roof from where the water usually trickled during the rains. On his right, upon the wall there was a sparrow’s nest. An extinguished hearth, stained cups and utensils adorned the place beyond the door. The cane chair was now behind him. As he looked back at the chair and the book that had fallen on the floor, he remembered that the bug had drunk his blood.
He was on his knees, holding the edge of the cot. The bug also had neared the same edge. Though it remained there unmoved, by a little effort it could go under the quilt or could be lost within its folds. The moment their eyes met, the bug again moved.
He became angry and very revengeful. Without any further dalliance he raised the insect with his thumb and index finger. The moment the insect was raised, it bit him. With pain and anguish he went to the window and shook the vermin off from his hand. The rogue started falling below, frantically moving its legs. He went ballistic, failing to kill it instantly. However, he rejoiced its fall.
He gasped for breath for some time like a boar. Then suddenly, ‘I too could go down and settle the score with him,’ said he and ran the stairs. He was in no time on the road. It was noon. The asphalt was burning. A light air above it was dancing in the sun. The road was less frequented at that time. He made a thorough search for the bug. Both sides of the road were sloped as usual. Dried mud with broken lines was seen just below his window. He knelt down, expecting to find the vermin in the gutter. He started crawling alongside the drain, under the scorching sun with sweat dropping from his body. Soon he became dog-tired but found the bug resting in a shadowy place.
With stiff muscles and thoroughly revengeful mind he lowered his hand to lift it with two fingers but just at that moment an octogenarian crone, resting on a stick, was passing through the road. On her left hand was a bag. A pair of think and hazy glasses with many scratches on them adorned her eyes, which were full of crow’s foot. As he looked at her eyes, it seemed that strange rays were being emitted through them. The hunchback woman had her rosary hanging from her neck.
As she looked at him with her tired eyes, resting on her sticks with an unusual inquisitiveness, he abruptly stood erect on his feet. He knew that the people of the world were selfish and treacherous. As she continued to look askance at him, he shuddered and recoiled. ‘A teacup after the tea is sipped gets sullied with stains of the drink,’ he remembered, as he had a few such cups in his house. After a pause the old crone resumed walking at a snail’s pace. As she crossed him and had gone, he felt that she was emitting a hind light, which was mingled soon with the blazing sunlight.
‘I think that she is a prehistoric mammal, who has become aware of my conspiracy against the bug. Back home she will whisper about my affairs to her people and then all of them will come running, to call for my explanation.’ He mused.
He was again on his knees to see the bug so he could finish the worm quickly before others arrived. Now the bug was walking on the road, almost a highway. He started crawling behind it slowly. He seemed to have gathered massive strength and conviction to complete the work soon. But an unexpected incident happened. A car was coming at a high speed from afar. The driver, at a distance, took him to be a quadruped. When the car was very near, he tried to get up in fear but was, unfortunately, run over. The driver soon realized his misdeed. As the road was almost deserted, he drove for his life.
Gradually a few people gathered around the dead body. The body was beyond recognition. No one knew the owner of the body. No one knew who killed him and how.
The head was smashed. One of the eyes came out entirely, leaving only a cavity in its place. The other was badly mauled. Was the man one-eyed? It was a question. His waist was buried deep and a few ribs from the diaphragm were showing themselves to the sky. The lower parts of the body, including the legs, were intact. His clothes became the skin of his body.
The police was informed as usual. They came in a van, made some enquiries and left. Further enquiries were to be conducted before taking the body. Some policemen were retained near the body to keep vigil. The place became crowded in the meantime. The neighbors from the surrounding houses stooped from the windows in different floors, including the window of the room used by the dead person. Several faces hung with unknown curiosity in their eyes.
From the chunk of the clotted matter a thin yellowish blood flowed toward the slope. The bug crossed the flow very slowly. It sniffed but did not taste the blood flowing from the dead. It moved further on. It is strange that no one noticed the vermin.
© Aju Mukhoadhyay, 2003
Precision of Vedic insights in their pristine simplicity and beauty
Tusar N. Mohapatra Says: November 21st, 2006 at 12:16 am Sri Aurobindo’s interpretation of the Deep Sleep state as the very highest causal state is, in fact, in variance with the traditional Vedantic and Buddhist thought and their modern commentators. Sri Aurobindo brings in the precision of Vedic insights to the fore in their pristine simplicity and beauty and in that lies his supremacy. But the secret is to read The Life Divine oneself instead of relying upon stereotyped two-liners written by someone else.
# posted by Tusar N Mohapatra : 12:55 PM Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Posted by me
From Darkness toward Light
A poem by
20, Padmini Thottam,
Darkness is covered by the darkness
layer after layer
light beyond the womb
Falsehood has spread everywhere
greed is covered by carcass
darkness in the nether world
dark hole in the sky
schizophrenics idiots and nincompoops
suffer from nebulosity
half-wits and cunning fellows
are consumed by their own follies
earthquake pestilence and deluge
the natural calamities
earth has witnessed many;
This is for the first time that
man has threatened the nature and earth
warming nuking aiding with AIDS
Nature is a helpless spectator.
swarm like snakes on earth
whole body covered with burqa like things
they look at your heart
with vile eyes
without your knowledge
swarming outspreading in alien lands
they kill themselves, kill others;
zealots’ Damoclean swords
hang over your heads, close to necks
saints benevolents and honests
hide inside the dark caves
nothing is spared, none is spared.
Hermaphrodites lesbians sodomites
prosper like models everywhere
it’s an ill-gotten bastard time
but it seeks change earnestly.
All sleep when thousand stars
illuminate the earth and sky
but they linger at the brink
of the half-conscious memories
trellised sunlight falling on wood’s floor
seeks the balls of light
at the source of darkness;
From the holed hideouts
they peep and peer out
the sons and daughters of light.
The skeptics yawn at their audacity
to penetrate the thick darkness
at their impertinence
and unforeseen challenge.
© Aju Mukhopadhyay, 2006
Posted by me
The integral metaphysics of The Life Divine is universal
Tusar N. Mohapatra Says: November 15th, 2006 at 10:37 pm The divine manifestation of The Mother and Sri Aurobindo and the path of Integral Yoga enunciated by them is a matter of personal choice. But the integral metaphysics of The Life Divine is universal and any human being can learn it with profit. It is a stand alone treatise which Sri Aurobindo has revised thoroughly. Nobody quotes from the book here; but if we do, the points over which we are arguing would seem so puerile and outdated.
Tusar N. Mohapatra Says: November 15th, 2006 at 11:58 pm May I add that the philosophy delineated in The Life Divine also provides ample hints for practice at every step. In that sense it is no less a manual of yoga. Reading a page or two regularly is a great help instead of quibbling over revelations and realizations.