front-Cover-Guru-Dakshina

GURU DAKSHINA ~ a love offering

Sw. Vandana Jyothi

(Part 16, Chapter 11 in its entirety)

Chapter 11 ~ Panduranga’s Gift

After determining to go on the 1982 pilgrimage, Vandana plants the seeds of an American basil plant in a pot on her dining room table; they sprout and grow nicely (a minor miracle right there for her) and she culls them one by one until only the most primo is left to get all the attention. She has been to enough satsangs by now that she has learned the sacred tulasi plant, the holy basil (ocimum sanctum) is very dear to Lord Vishnu.

She cannot get tulasi seeds so American basil, like her, will have to do. The tulasi represents faithful devotion. God can have or create anything He wants. But by the rules of His own game, He cannot demand that His own creation love Him. That has to be given freely.

She plans on taking a clipping of her American tulasi plant to India to offer to the feet of Lord Panduranga, whom Guruji keeps calling “Heavenly Father.” This event is supposed to happen in a place called Pandharpur.

“Heavenly Father” is Vandana’s God. She has a private Name for Him, but Heavenly Father is her God. She knows Him and He knows her. Before she met Guruji in person, when she had just turned twenty-three or so, she is ready to call it quits on this janma, this birth. Two small kids she is rearing practically alone because husband #2, their father, is gone all the time off trying to become a millionaire before he’s thirty. Or having an affair with his partner’s wife. This isn’t the American dream. It’s the American daymare.

The children are tucked into bed and asleep. She’s alone. Thoughts of suicide take a form and she selects a large French chef knife and keeps it on the dining room table. She sits in front of it and contemplates doing the deed. Picking it up, she turns it over. The overhead light glints on the stainless steel blade. There’s no thought of guilt or overwhelming attachment to the children to stop her. But she starts to laugh softly. She fancies herself a bold warrior, does she? When she was a kid, she didn’t read Dr. Seuss or comic books. She read World War II novels heavy on righteous cause, inspirational bravery and heroism. And clearly, very clearly, the challenge here is it will take far more courage to live the rest of this life than to end it.

She puts the knife away, goes out into the living room and takes a seat in her favorite orange rocker. A reverie overcomes her and she begins affirming, very powerfully but without effort, “I and my Father are One. My Father’s peace is my peace. I and my Father are One. My Father’s peace is my peace. I and my Father are One. My Father’s peace is my peace.” Over and over again, deeply felt, for twenty minutes, silently, without surcease.

Her husband returns home and with almost no interaction, they retire very shortly thereafter. While lying silently on her side of the bed, the chant begins anew, without her bidding. “I and my Father are One. My Father’s peace is my peace.” After only one more repetition, before it is complete, Heavenly Father blossoms in her. Holy, holy, most holy unbelievable Love floods her entire being from head to toe, thrilling beyond description, in gentle waves showering bliss and peace in their wake. After enjoying this divine darshan without visuals for a length of timelessness He alone knows, her Father asks, “What shall I give you?”

Do you know what she asks for? After you hear it, you will be embarrassed for her. Forty years later, the thought still induces shame.

See, when Vandana was a baby and still with her birth parents, she fell off a changing table. It damaged something so that her eyes don’t track together. The left eye goes wayward to the outside. Her brain only permits peripheral images to be registered from that eye, otherwise she would always see double. So she also has no depth perception. It takes two eyes focusing on a single point to enjoy that function of the eye. It can be pretty funny to watch her try to light a candle if she can’t approach it from the side to see the gap narrow between the match flame and the candle wick. So she compensates by watching how light refracts off of surfaces differently to gauge their position in space. Doesn’t work at all in dimly lit environments, though.

When she was in elementary school, she had to wear a patch over her good eye so she got teased about being a pirate. When she got to middle and high school, the flaw of the wandering eye, along with the flaw of being too brainy, was a combo that kept her on the outermost periphery of acceptance. After she’s an adult, neither kids nor their parents can figure out if she’s really looking at them. She covers or closes her left eye so they can spot her in the right eye in order to communicate. “I live behind this one,” she says. The “embarrassment” to her ego dogs her throughout life.

Well, that’s what she asked Heavenly Father for. To fix that eye, which four surgeries before her ninth birthday did not do—she asked Him to make both her eyes track. Now she knows she should have asked for unfaltering, ever-increasing devotion to His most Holy Feet. She prays to get that chance again. And Pandharpur’s the place.

By the way, any of you doctors and nurses who participated in the little scene at her first surgery... and her last, well. Fie on you! You know what they did? The twins are scheduled for surgery on the same day. What I hadn’t mentioned earlier is that the other baby fell off, too, and got crossed eyes. But they can’t do anything until we’re four years old. So they put us in the same room. Her bed is in the middle of three. Mine’s in a corner. They come in for her first, wheel her off quietly. Nothing scary there. But after her surgery is over, they bring her back to the room in full view of me—out cold, smelling like ether, with her head on its side and her eye dripping blood slowly into a small silver cup. Then they come for me saying, “OK, honey, now it’s your turn....”

I start screaming in complete, abject terror and catapult over the bed railing into the hindermost parts of the corner created by the two walls, gripping the bars of the railing, hoping they will keep me in and them out—peering at my would be captors through those bars and howling. Didn’t stop them. They captured me and strapped me to a gurney and wheeled me into a white room and lowered a foul-smelling mask over my nose and sounds went all hollow.... hollow.... hollow.... and then I fell asleep. When I woke up, my eyes still didn’t track.

Fie on you!

Or how about you... you... jerks!! who neglected to tell me when I was nine years old that when I wake up, the surgical patch will be on my right eye, my good eye? Why did you let me wake up and go nuts thinking you’d operated on the wrong damn eye?! Why didn’t you tell me they shorten that muscle which is connected to the other eye? Did you think I might not get that? And when the patch came off, my eyes still didn’t track.

Fie on you!

There. I’ve wanted to get that off my chest for a long, long time.

On the morning the tour bus pulls into Pandharpur, it’s relatively quiet. In July and November during two festivals, however, the streets and roads for miles and miles around are jammed with celebrants, devotees of Lord Panduranga all chanting His Name and dancing. But the temple where this murti resides is actually closed today. That is unexpected by the tour arranger. Guruji and he alight from the bus while everybody else waits on board. They’re gone for a few minutes and when they return, the temple doors open. Guruji makes things like that happen.

The group goes inside and it’s dark, really dark. It seems like a dank labyrinth with rope or cloth stanchions which direct foot traffic through a winding maze towards the deity, like the long lines which snake from the ticket turnstile to an attraction at Disneyland. Since the temple doors opened, Indian devotees who were unexpectedly blessed that day to get the Lord’s darshan also crowd behind and up to the American pilgrims. Vandana is the last one in the group. An Indian mother comes up and pushes and bumps her and continues to push and bump her. Enough!

Vandana spins around and her eyes flare. Lady, don’t you have any sense of personal space? Well, it’s true Easterners can stand people a lot ‘closer’ in space to them than Westerners. We’re probably spoiled with so much room. But this behavior is rude no matter where you come from. Remember, Vandana’s still the cub in training. So, roaring at that poor lady, she gains about seven feet clearance.

Satisfied, she turns back and continues to try to prepare herself for the momentous occasion—really, the secret highlight of her pilgrimage—of offering the homegrown American tulasi flower top to Heavenly Father. Before she left, the plant had bloomed in the most extraordinary manner—in January, no less! The tip-top of it had flowered into a beautiful purple flower which exuded the characteristic mildly pungent scent of American basil, an herb.

She had snipped it the day she left, moistened a small piece of paper towel and slipped both into a small, black 35mm film canister. It is that which she is opening as the line moves around and through and forward into the temple. Finally, it’s her turn and she is face to face and maybe six feet away from Lord Panduranga.

Heavenly Father? He isn’t even dressed! The murti must have just had a bath. Really. He’s just this little four foot tall black murti standing in a puddle of water with His arms akimbo on His waist... smiling, waiting for Vandana’s offering. And she doesn’t have seven feet clearance anymore from the prancing Indian mama behind her.

Quickly, Vandana unwraps the tulasi flower and reverently as she can tosses it toward Lord Panduranga’s Feet. It doesn’t weigh enough to make the distance! It won’t make... it’s going to fall way... short and the arc of descent is fixed. But while she’s observing with dismay her clumsy, ineffectual toss to get her symbol of devotion to her Most Beloved Lord’s Most Holy Feet, before the purple flower falls to the ground, it is lifted up and its trajectory altered by an unseen force. The flower literally defies gravity, commences another upward arc and then floats gently, exactly, exactomundo, precisely in between Those Two Feet. O Jai Panduranga!!!!

Guruji tells a little drama, a lila of Lord Sri Krishna’s which illustrates the power of sincere, faithful devotion. It, too, uses the tulasi leaf as its symbol.

Once upon a time, Sage Narada, a singing saint who travels freely among all the lokas plucking a tambura and chanting “Narayana, Narayana,” a Name of God, and who seems at times to have a personal mission to stir things up in the higher lokas just for the sport of it—a lot like the Boss in that way—happened upon a very upset female devotee, a gopi, Satyabhama by name. She was one of Krishna’s eight main queens. But she was not immune from jealousy.

“Narayana, Narayana!” the honey-tongued, sympathetic-sounding [read conniving] sage cooed as he landed near the distraught lady. “My dear Queen, what troubles you?” He knew what was about to happen.

The queen sniffed, dabbed her eyes with a bejeweled hankie and then sobbed some more. “When I approached my Lord, He told me He was busy with one of the other Queens and my heart is broken into pieces. He doesn’t love me as much as the others! I just know it!” She broke down again, crying.

“Narayana, Narayana!” consoles Sage Narada. “The Lord just doesn’t understand how it is for His devoted bhaktas... the throes, the pangs of separation. It’s a fire He just doesn’t experience.”

“No, Sage! You’re right! He doesn’t at all understand! Let’s see how He feels when He doesn’t get our love! Let’s just see how He feels then! You take Him! You take Him away with you!” The queen gives a wave with her hand.

“Narayana, Narayana! That should teach Him a good lesson for sure, my Queen! I’ll do that. I’ll do that right away! We men never get His company to ourselves, anyway. Of course, I’d be happy to relieve you of this burden!”

With that, Sage Narada, the tambura-plucking, golden-tongued, mischief-making, Holy Name chanting muni lifted off to claim the Prize of prizes, the Lord of the Universe, Lord Sri Krishna Himself!

“Narayana, Narayana!” He called out nearing the palace where the Lord was ensconced. He was so excited, he repeated himself. “Narayana, Narayana! My Lord, I’ve come to take You away! As per the gift of Satyabhama, one of Your queens, You now belong to me!”

The Lord grinned at the sage as He arose from a silk-covered divan. “I belong to you, Narada? How did this happen? Pray, tell Me!”

Narada related the story of the unhappy Satyabhama and her gift to him and how it all came about. Rukmini, Sri Krishna’s devoted queen with whom He had been conversing, was close to fainting. She covered her mouth and her bosom rose and fell in small gasps; she was unable to catch her breath. Satyabhama did what? She gave away our Lord? She gave away the Light of our eyes? She gave away the Love of our....... and with that, the queen fell unconscious.

Sri Krishna clasped His beloved to Him and brought her ‘round. He consoled her as best He could but what could He do? He was bound by His bhakta’s word. Now the other queens, except Satyabhama, rushed into the chamber. Such wailing and gnashing of teeth! Such clamor and upset! There was nothing He could do, nothing He could do!

The Lord hugged the inconsolable queens, retrieved His flute and divine weapons and exited the palace.

Sage Narada escorted His Lord with extreme respect to a secret Clubhouse where only the males go. Narada had sent word ahead so the den was full. You can’t imagine the rejoicing and ‘high fives’ and ‘atta boys’ they all laid on their clever Sage Narada. There they engaged Sri Krishna in a rousing game of SuperBowling using an extraneous sun they’d found out back of the Milky Way.

It was all in good fun, the Lord let them win and the men cobbled some hot chai together and served it along with some really buttery, honey-drenched scones. [Shhh! I told you a daffy Westerner is telling the story today, children!]

Thus passed Day One of the period of the Great Drought as it came to be known in gopi-land. It wasn’t that there was a drought of tears, let me hasten to assure you. The drought is occurring in their tender hearts where the unutterable desolation, dryness, thirst, parched thirst is wreaking havoc, pining for the spring-like waters of Love which the grace-bestowing glance of the Lord of their hearts, their dear Lord Sri Krishna is not there to bestow.

How long can they endure this?

Satyabhama does not relent. The queens implore. No dice. Days Two and Three pass. Satyabhama does not repent. The other queens can’t get out of bed now. Their maidservants are alarmed. Dutifully, they paint signs and picket Satyabhama’s palace. [Shhh! Stop giggling!] It has no effect on the stubborn queen who looks a mite pale herself as she peers at the picketers from behind brocade curtains.

One of the maidservants belongs to a Social Networking site so she peeps her whole BFF list to peep everyone on their GF, BF and BFF lists to get up here and help try to persuade Satyabhama to come to her ever-lovin’ senses. Soon the heavens are filled with flying vehicles, from two-seater coupes with those dashing flames shooting out along the sides—not painted, real flames—to multi-passenger chariots drawn by winged coursers. They are united in one goal: to persuade Satyabhama to go to Sage Narada and beg for the return of her gift, their one and only, the breath of their breathing, their dearest of the dear, their Lord Sri Krishna.

Days Four, Five and Six of the period of the Great Drought drag by. A small tent city has sprung into existence on Satyabhama’s palace grounds. It has been all so spur of the moment, no plan has been made for refuse. The smells waft up to Satyabhama’s chambers. Day and night, a megaphone blares up at her window, “Go get our Lord back! Get our Lord back now! Go get our Lord back! Get our Lord back now!” Relentless din borne of the agony of separation, viraha. [The spell checker didn’t know viraha. Suggested piranha. Very close.]

On Day Seven, something moved in Satyabhama. We’ll probably never know just what finally tipped the scales. Maybe she looked in a mirror and saw her face was white as a sheet. She had given away her very life force. No matter. She called for her chariot and posthaste tuned her shapely ears for the sounds of male merriment coming from the direction of the secret Clubhouse. She found their hideaway, parallel-parked her chariot just to show the brute who was guarding the parking lot that she could, alighted and strode confidently to the gate. But she was stopped from going further by a second fierce, muscle-bound male who came to assist the first.

“Stop!” he commanded. “Only men are allowed inside here to sport with Lord Sri Krishna!”

“Men, you say?” retorted Sri Krishna’s queen. “Men? There are no men! All souls are women when compared to our Lord Sri Krishna! Inquire within! And let my Lord know that Queen Satyabhama has come to retrieve Him.”

The guards start rubbing their beards, sniffing their armpits. What? Not men?

“You wait here,” the second guard says to the queen gruffly. “You, guard her!” he says to the other. He goes inside the Clubhouse.

“My Lord,” he bows and addresses Sri Krishna Who is getting a little Rasa dance exercise using a Wii hologram. It’s not quite the same as the Real thing, but....

The Lord stops His dance and smiles at the guard. “Yes?”

“My Lord, there’s a lady outside who arrived in a chariot which she skillfully parallel-parked, insulted my manhood and that of my subordinate, said her name was Satyabhama and that she has come here to retrieve You!”

“Retrieve Me? Hmmm. Did she say anything more?”

“No, my Lord. Nothing more.”

Narada has stood up and advances protectively toward his treasure. “Narayana! Narayana!” he murmurs.

“Sage Narada, let us go outside and offer My queen some water and refreshments and hear what she has to say? It cannot hurt to hear what she has to say, now can it?”

Sage means ‘wise.’ Wise means you don’t argue with God. Narada does that little sidewise ‘yes’ shake of his head, gathers some fruits from a basket and a kalasha of water from the man cave’s refrigerator and follows Sri Krishna outside.

“Satyabhama! My Queen!” The Lord embraces her warmly. “How wonderful to see you! How are you? How are My other friends and well-wishers back Home? My dear? Why don’t you speak? You look a little pale, actually. Are you well? Satyabhama?”

She is transfixed enjoying the darshan of the Lord whom she sent away seven days ago. Oh! It was all a big mistake! A terrible mistake! She falls at the Feet of her Master and begs His forgiveness over and over.

“Of course! Of course, My dear! Of course I forgive you! You are dear to Me! My very own!” Sri Krishna consoles the sobbing woman. Her tears subside.

“Oh, thank You, my Lord! Thank You!” she exclaims. “Please accompany me back Home now.”

Sri Krishna doesn’t release her, but He steps back while holding her arms gently.

“I can’t go with you, mon cherie,” He says tenderly. “I belong to Sage Narada now. You’ll have to seek his permission to take Me back Home.”

One of Satyabhama’s hands crosses over the Lord’s arm and flutters to her throat. Well! What? Well, what could that entail? The Lord lets her go when she turns to Narada.

“Narada muni,” she says. “I made a terrible mistake. All the Queens back Home are near death with grief over the loss of their Lord. I am also missing Him so much. My skin is pale, my throat is parched, I cannot sleep.”

“Narayana, Narayana!” says the sage sympathetically. “That is terrible news! We’ve been having a wonderful time here!” He turns to Sri Krishna. “Wouldn’t You say so, my Lord?”

“Oh! Indubitably! For certain! I haven’t had this much fun since... well, I just can’t remember when, Naradaji! Yours and your friends’ hospitality has been over the top! I especially liked the SuperBowling! And the clever cheerleaders masquerading as matched Lippizaner stallions pulling the chariot of the Sun with that herding dog riding shotgun for the half-time show! Oh, it was jolly good! “

Sage Narada is remembering all the good times with relish, as well. But he is compassionate. That comes with being a sage, too.

“Narayana, Narayana! Mataji, Maharani (great queen) Satyabhama. I cannot in good conscience keep the Lord here while there is so much suffering going on back Home. That would not be dharma. But to give such a valuable gift and then take it back, my Lady, that likewise is not dharma. How do you propose to balance these two dharmas?”

The queen replies, “Yes, great sage, of course you are right! We will all go back Home and make a scale. On one side we will put our Lord. On the other I will put as much jewelry and gold as it takes to balance the scale. What do you say to that proposal? When the scale is in balance, Sri Krishna becomes mine again. Yes?” She nods her head excitedly. This is very equitable!

“Narayana, Narayana!” the wily sage demurs for a moment. But he is compassionate. “OK, my Queen. That seems fair.” The man cave empties, everybody dashes to their vehicles to be first out of the parking lot, there’s a minor fender bender here and there, Satyabhama loses a silver hub cap, but basically, everybody gets off OK and makes it back Home safely to witness the weighing of Krishna.

A simple but strong scale is built and placed on the veranda of Satyabhama’s palace. The refuse police have come while she was gone and things smell better all around. The other seven queens have learnt that their Lord is coming and they finally have the will to bathe and comb their tresses and don their finest jewels and silk saris. Six of them arrive in their palanquins, no need to parallel park, the boys just set ‘em down and the queens gather together to watch.

Sri Krishna, God, whatever you call Him, the Light of all the lights of any kind there are, is led out resplendent in yellow silken robes and wears the most flirtatious small bouquet of vibrant peacock feathers adorning a simple, yet captivatingly stylish gold and jewel-bedecked crown. Several thousand gopikas of 72,000 swoon on the spot. The Lord smiles shyly. Several thousand more bite the dust. He sits on one side of the scale, assumes the full lotus posture and waits while Satyabhama announces the terms of the deal. Sage Narada nods his agreement.

Thereupon Satyabhama commands her servants to begin piling on the jewels and gold and silver ingots and gemstones she has stockpiled on the veranda. The platform upon which Sri Krishna is seated does not move. It remains on the ground. Satyabhama’s head lifts, perky little nose tilting up, up. Perhaps she misjudged. Math and weights and measures were never her strong suits. Abundance means ‘enough’ is how she always figured it. She retreats to the doorway of her palace and claps her hands thrice.

More servants appear. “Fetch more gold, more silver from my treasury! Chop! Chop! Empty it out!” The servants scurry to do her bidding. Even after adding all that gold, all that silver, every piece of jewelry she owned, every single item in her vast treasury, the earrings from her ears and her nose and toe rings, still the scale did not budge an inch off the ground.

Now it is Satyabhama’s turn to beseech her sisters. “Please! Bring your gold! Bring your silver! Bring your jewelry! We must weigh our Krishna and pay Sage Narada to get him back! Quick! Quick!!”

The six lumber off in their palanquins, return with their entire treasuries and place it all on top of the mounds of wealth already there. Still, the scale does not budge by so much as a micron. The seven queens are distraught. Then they notice that Rukmini, the eighth queen, is not present. Where is she? They send a runner to her palace to find out if she is there and if so, to give the message that “they need her entire treasure to be brought forthwith to the weighing scale. It is the ransom required to ensure the return Home of their beloved Sri Krishna. Bring your treasure!”

The runner arrives at Rukmini’s palace and discovers she is doing puja and chanting the Names of her Lord softly. She is on her knees just about to offer a tulasi leaf with all bhakti when the runner bursts into her chambers, seeks her permission to speak and breathlessly tells the whole story in one long run-on sentence about how Lord Sri Krishna’s scale just won’t budge unless she brings all her wealth to the weighing ceremony where her sister queens await her.

“Is that so?” the regally calm Lady asks. “Is that so? All my wealth? Tatastu!” She arises with tulasi leaf in hand, calls for her chariot, offers a lift to the runner and they speed off to Satyabhama’s palace.

Queen Rukmini gets down from her chariot and seeing the Supreme Object of her Affection sitting there cross-legged, serene of countenance, peacock feathers and crown glimmering and shimmering, yellow silken robes glinting golden in the sun, she is momentarily blinded by the Light and stops, awed.

She looks at her sister queens. They are bereft of every sort of adornment and their cheeks are rivulets tear-stained black by the collyrium from their eyes. Satyabhama’s defiance is almost, but not quite gone.

“You are a fool twice, Satyabhama. First, for giving away your life. Second, for thinking you could buy it back.”

Queen Rukmini orders all the gold and silver and gemstones and jewelry be removed from the scale. When it is completely empty, with loving looks and warm prostrations and salutations again and again and with eyes brimming with devotion, she offers that one tulasi leaf onto the scale opposite Sri Krishna. The side where the leaf was placed plummets to the ground and Sri Krishna’s side springs high, high up into the air!

Satyabhama’s ego is humbled as new understanding dawns. When it comes to pleasing God, faith and devotion outweigh every other kind of wealth anyone could offer. That is what God treasures.

Faith in God

Have faith in the great utterance that God is holding the strings of all the hearts (sutradhari), and everything happens according to His will. Knowing this, you feel very happy to participate in the day to day duties and responsibilities. In the practice of karma yoga this feeling that, “I am just a puppet and God is the string-holder,” is absolutely essential. Otherwise powerful prakriti with Her gunas will entangle the soul.

Feeling is the most powerful instrument. It costs nothing to feel that God’s palm is always over our heads. If you think it strongly, it will be so; if you doubt, it will not be. Therefore, one who is not a bhakta can never be a karma yogi, and one who is not a jnani can never become a genuine bhakta. Let it be known that jnana is not book knowledge, but consists in feeling the oneness of God in the world of variety.

Surrender to God

Craving, anger, fear, grief, attachment, ego, arrogance, unclean mind, likes and dislikes are all impediments in the practice of karma yoga. Fill the heart and mind with the Name and the Prem (love) of God and never entertain any of these demoniacal and negative feelings. Should they arise, pray God sincerely so that they may be driven out or transformed into love divine.

If you independently try to avoid these bad qualities, you will see that it is difficult to conquer them altogether. The best way to destroy these is by taking shelter in God (that is, total surrender). Have the Krishnarpana bhava (that is, mentally offering everything to God). This is the secret of success in karma yoga, and for that matter, all yogas.

In the beginning stages, the mind prays to God to fulfill its desires. Suppose the result is opposite, or not as desired. Immediately think that, for your own good, God is willing otherwise. God knows your needs. More than anyone, including you, He knows what is best at a given time for a given soul.

If you cultivate this bhava, you will know the technique of turning your will to the will of God until ultimately your will merges in Him and His will alone manifests through you. Then you become absolutely happy, free and peaceful. Why not try, beginning now, this minute, and witness the miracle of God taking you into His hands!

Divine test

One important thing to remember here is: as soon as you try to surrender your will to His will, He may either immediately send His grace, or He may send trials to play with His devotees. He may send various tests and difficulties. But please do not forget that when tests and difficulties come to you, they are a definite sign that God loves you and wants to make you His perfect, permanent instrument—His servant.

We know that every master uses only perfect instruments. If they are imperfect, he makes them perfect. This means the instrument should undergo difficulties, trials, etc. Most people think that when they remember God they should be given only health, wealth, long life, progeny, worldly fame, earthly riches, etc.

We agree that this is one of God’s methods of showering His grace. But we cannot limit His ways. Suppose He gives you what you desire, do you think it will quench all your desires once and for all? Suppose it makes you forget God, as it does in most cases; then you are at a total loss.

There is another method, in which God gives everything that is desired by His devotees and still confers His devotion, too. People will certainly think of such a boon. Suppose He gives both material wealth and His love; then what happens? You will see, all that you have desired you desire no more because of God’s love. Lord Krishna transformed His friend Kuchela (torn-clothed one) into Sudhama (one having a rich palace). He gave him all riches and His love also. What happened? Sudhama offered all the riches back to Sri Krishna and asked Krishna not to tempt him with any worldly riches.

Love those who hate

In practicing karma yoga there is a definite possibility of ignorant and arrogant people bringing all sorts of trouble to you. Some might smite you, spit on you, hurt you, or deprive you of your time and rest. In all such cases, you should remain as a passive witness without taking it seriously or with active joy receiving both honor and ignominy alike. You know how much happiness you derive when people praise you. If you could maintain the same joy when people abuse you, then you have become a fit instrument to serve everybody.

Thus, a robber hurled stones over a harmless saint for no fault of his, and the saint was calm and serene. After a few days the robber fell ill. The saint came to know about it, went to the robber and sat near him, kneading his feet. The robber realized the compassion of the saint and fell at his feet. This Narayana bhava (to see God in everybody) is the highest state in yoga, which is not possible for everybody, but should be the ideal. Sage Narada transformed a cruel hunter into sage Valmiki by transmitting divine love and imparting the sacred mantra. Such illustrations are abundant in our sacred spiritual literature.

The Bhagavad Gita is of the opinion that none can surely escape action through inaction. Karma could be reduced to ashes through selfless action done with the spirit of yajna or sacrifice. You will never reach the selfless state of yoga without beginning to act with a dedicated spirit. The more you give, the more inspiration and strength you receive, until you realize only to give and never receive.

(to be continued)

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Chapter 11 ~ Panduranga’s Gift

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