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Прочитано: 36% |
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Прочитано: 36% |
A foolish boy was flying a kite to his heart's content upon an unwalled rooftop. So engrossed was he in the fun that he was totally oblivious to his surroundings. A man passing by on the street below looked up to see the boy standing right on the edge of the roof, one foot dangling out into space as he reeled in and let out the string of his kite-spool.
The man, who was good-hearted and had a strong sense of social responsibility, rushed up the stairway to the roof of the building, dragged the boy away from the precipice and snatched the kite-spool from his hands.
The boy, who had been so close to serious injury or death, was outraged. "You trespasser!" he shouted. "What right do you have to barge up here and spoil all my fun! Hey, give me my kite back! I'll tell my parents! They'll call the police on you!"
The kind-hearted man simply endured the boy's tantrum with a smile and led him down from the rooftop.
Similarly, a truly benevolent friend of the human race points out the dangerous game society is playing by its thought- less indulgence in animalistic sense gratification, which spoils the whole human purpose. But the thanks he gets from a vast section of the populace may be compared to the reaction of the boy whose dangerous rooftop kite-play was abruptly halted.
Amar was a boy of the village. He'd been suffering inten- sly from a boil on his back. Around him, friends and relatives tried to alleviate his pain in different ways. His mother waved a hand-fan upon the swollen boil, and sometime she blowed upon it orally. A neighbor suggested that Amar be given an anaesthetic to relieve his pain. Still another person said Amar should be killed, because while living he suffered so much, but when dead he'd not feel the pain of the boil. But the father, not ap- preciating these half and half-witted measures, called a doctor.
After examining the boy, the doctor prescribed an operation. Mother began weeping. Others protested: "This could be very dangerous!" And Amar, who had grown delerious from the pain, shouted "You rascal, you've come here to kill me! Stick that knife in your own body, murderer! Go home and kill your own son!" But with the help of the father, the doctor performed the surgery. After a short time, the swelling and pain decreased; within a few days, Amar was completely cured.
This story has a similar purport as does the one about kiteflying. The spiritual master must cut the bonds of attachment in the heart of his disciple, and this is not appreciated by worldly society. It may even be unappreciated by the disciple himself. Relatives are heart-broken, though their measures to alleviate material distress may be compared to blowing on a boil. Some persons say material distress should be ignored altogether by anaesthisizing ourselves through fanciful philosophy, entertain- ment, intoxication, etc. And impersonalists say the problem is personality itself. But the saintly Vaisnavas never heed this misguidance. Instead they administer the real cure and effect the real good for the living entity.
A village was predominated by a proud pandit named Dada Thakura who, in spite of his brahminical heritage, was an unlettered fool. But it had been the custom for many generations for the villagers to respect the male members of Dada Thakura's family as great learned authorities.
There was one villager who was a little more experienced in life than the others. He grew tired of seeing Dada Thakura's fumbling rituals and hearing his inaccurate recitation of mantras. He grew tired of seeing him collect money from superstitious simpletons who blindly believed that this, their village pandit, was one of the great sages of all time. Finally this gentleman decided to invite a truly erudite brahmana to hold a public discourse.
When the news that a pandit with the title "Shastri" (learned in the Vedic scriptures) would soon visit spread around the village, Dada Thakura's family became alarmed. "What will become of us all", they lamented, "if this new pandit wins away this village from us? How will we live?"
Dada Thakura called his kinsmen and the important men of the village together. "Have no fear," he assured them all. "Our village traditions are safe. As soon as that pandit arrives, you village leaders usher him here to me. I will speak with him in Sanskrit, and all of you will see who is truly learned.
And so on the appointed day the visiting pandit was brought to the house of Dada Thakura, where a high pedestal had been erected. The thakura sat atop it on a plush seat. Seeing this, and having been informed that Dada Thakura wished to converse in Sanskrit, the pandit addressed him by stating, "Kastvam?", which means, "Who are you?"
In reply Dada Thakura thundered, "Khastvam gastvam ghastvam mastvam castvam chastvam jastvam jhastvam nastvam tastvam thastvam dastvam dhastvam ksatvam!"
The visiting pandit was aghast at this display of blatant foolishness. He instantly feared his reputation; he might become a laughingstock if it became known that he had visited this village and had mixed with such a crazy fellow as sat upon the high throne. Without a further word the pandit offered his pranams to everyone present and turned to leave.
The Thakura's family and the onlooking villagers laughed and cheered their great Dadaji. "Our Dada Thakura is such a great pandit that this Shastri could not even open his mouth before him. Did you hear how Dadaji spoke Sanskrit? Who in the whole world could stand before him?"
Persons who are very determined to cling to material existence similarly answer the questions "kastvam?" or "Who are you?" with a meaningless barrage of pseudo-science and pseudophilosophy which is just meant to hide the real answer: that we are eternal servants of Sri Krsna. They are praised by fools and avoided by the truly learned.
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