I’ve included a lovely passage of Guru Nitya’s writing in my
response to Bailey, about a classic moment between Narayana
Guru and his disciple, Nataraja Guru.
Good work, everyone. For those who aren’t writing, please
don’t be intimidated by the wise rishis in your class. Feel free to
share your questions and confusions, and it’s okay if it’s brief.
Bindu
When Rabindranath Tagore visited Narayana Guru and praised
him for his achievements and the “great work” he was doing, the
Guru replied with deep humility: “Neither have we done anything
in the past nor is it possible to do anything in the future.
Powerlessness fills us with sorrow.” These words capture the true
heart of Karma Yoga. The Guru understood that he was not the
real doer; he was only an instrument. Life moves on its own, and
we are merely small parts of that movement.
In today’s world, many modern gurus seek recognition through
visible achievements. Media is often used to gain attention, build
influence, and sometimes monetise their image. Their power seems
to come from followers and visibility, much like a magician who
gathers a crowd through illusion. As popularity grows, ego often
grows with it, and the focus subtly shifts from truth to
selfpromotion.
This connects closely with the idea of getting over the need to
prove ourselves. Social media has become a space where people
display only the best moments of their lives, creating an illusion of
continuous happiness and success. But can anyone truly be happy
all the time? Happiness is just one emotion among many, and like
all emotions, it does not stay. What truly matters is a steady
mind—one that remains balanced through constantly changing
states.
When I look into my own life, I see this tendency in myself as
well. At social events, I sometimes feel a pull to present myself in
a certain way—through clothing or appearance—to gain attention
or validation. Even when it is unnecessary, something within urges
me to prove my worth.
At work, I notice a similar pattern. I sometimes feel the need to
strongly defend my opinions. I remember a conversation after a
meeting where I spoke about men not contributing enough to
household responsibilities. A colleague supported me, but my
manager felt uncomfortable and defended himself. Later, I realised
I had placed him in a difficult position. I was trying to validate my
viewpoint, but it caused discomfort for someone else. Afterwards, I
asked myself: Why did I need to prove my point so strongly? Was
it really necessary?
Karma Yoga reminds me that life is unfolding naturally and that I
am only a small part of it. The urge to prove myself only creates
stress. When I let go of that need, I feel calmer and more confident.
I can simply do my best without seeking approval.
The phrase “Do fight with fever gone” holds great power for me. It
teaches the importance of acting without emotional disturbance.
When I first came to England, I struggled to accept the country.
My family and friends were in India, and in my twenties,
loneliness became a constant companion. Frustration and anger
often shaped my reactions.
Once, after an argument with my husband, I cut all the cards from
his wallet—including my own. He simply smiled at my childish
reaction. For a moment, I felt relief. But reality quickly returned:
we couldn’t shop, and we had to contact the banks to replace
everything. That incident taught me how emotional reactions
create unnecessary consequences.
I’ve observed that when I react emotionally—especially from
frustration or urgency—my decisions are driven by those
emotions. But when I pause and regain balance, I respond with
greater clarity. This recovery is still a work in progress. Sometimes
balance returns quickly; other times it takes longer. Desire and
anger cloud the mind, but when I observe them clearly, they begin
to lose their power. Inner calm is not weakness—it is strength.
Another insight is how often we live through imitation. From
childhood, we are conditioned through comparison: “Learn from
her,” “Look how well he is doing.” This pattern continues into
adulthood. Even in social situations, I sometimes behave according
to expectations rather than my true nature. There are moments of
discomfort, as though I am not fully myself. Slowly, I am
becoming more aware of what feels genuine for me. Being
comfortable in my own skin is still a journey, but I am learning to
accept myself without comparison.
Ultimately, true growth comes from selfunderstanding, inner
balance, and action that is free from ego and uncontrolled desire.
Bringing this reflection into the present, I recently created a
fiveminute mindfulness audio for my workplace. When meditation
sessions were announced, I signed up without realising I would
need to record an audio or video. When I was informed, I
hesitated. Then I thought—if I signed up, I should at least try.
I wrote a short script and recorded the audio. It was my first time,
and I wasn’t comfortable appearing on video. I felt nervous and
shared the audio with colleagues and friends, asking for feedback.
My accent is still Indian, but I did my best. Once it was completed,
I let it go. It will be published on the company website, but it
doesn’t matter, and it doesn’t define me. I practiced letting go of
the outcome—do, and move on.
It was a pleasure reading your biography, Bailey. Your writing, life
experiences, and depth of understanding feel far beyond my own
perspective, which until now has been quite limited.
Your story also brought to mind the words of William
Shakespeare: “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women
merely players; they have their exits and their entrances …”
It also reminded me of Swami Vivekananda’s reflection: “Drama
is the most difficult of all arts. In it, two things are to be
satisfied—first, the ears, and second, the eyes. To paint a single
scene is easy enough; but to paint many different things and yet
keep the central interest intact is very difficult. Another challenge
is stage management—bringing all elements together in a way that
preserves that central truth.”
Together, these reflections resonate deeply with the idea that while
we each play our roles, it is awareness, balance, and inner
steadiness that allow us to perform them with grace—without
losing ourselves to ego, comparison, or the need to prove anything.
Love Bindu x
Scott: Narayana Guru’s response to Tagore is deeply moving, but
I’d like to suggest a slight addition to the excellent points you
make about it, Bindu. There are many places in his writings that
Narayana Guru laments the situation. He cared very much, but
wasn’t deterred by disappointment, because his ego wasn’t
dependent on the outcome, and he didn’t need to take any credit.
He knew he was involved—he was very much present, and knew
that much suffering came from the ignorance he was doing his best
to dissipate. He didn’t have a specified program, and he was not
merely a “social reformer,” as is so often said of him, but he gave
heart and soul to everything and everybody.
All I’m cautioning is we should not pigeonhole him. He was
a truly exceptional example of the elusiveness of yogic expertise in
action. The more one knows about him, the more inspiring it
becomes. He was both an instrument and a master performer.
These are not two things.
The Guru’s performance with Tagore is something we can
practice: Someone praises you. Your ego throbs with pleasure. So
you turn off that impulse and say, “It ain’t me, babe,” or “It’s
nothing,” or, at the top of the options list, the astounding refutation
the Guru offered. It is said that Tagore understood the Guru’s
reply, and accepted it. Because he was also wise. Anyone who tries
to help humanity is aware of the immense resistance with which it
retains its ignorance. Anyway, a yogi counters the positive with its
complementary negative, preserving the neutrality. Narayana
Guru, beloved by millions, held fast to his neutrality, or he would
have been swept away.
Bindu, your assessment of what happens when the ego is
ridden into popularity is well put, ending with “the focus subtly
shifts from truth to selfpromotion.” Then all is lost.
Your response tempts me to write high praise to you, but then
I’ll be putting you on the same spot of having to negate it, so let’s
skip that. Great essay, Bindu. Now, what can I criticize…. You
overdid it a bit after a meeting and then thought “Why did I need to
prove my point so strongly? Was it really necessary?” So you
were restraining yourself more than necessary. Perhaps you also
balanced this with the thought that it’s true that men very often
don’t hold up their side of homemaking, so you were making a
valid case for improved equality. With both thoughts together, you
are kept in balance, without regret or pride muddying the water,
and you also struck a blow for freedom.
Staying in balance is a lifetime effort, but it definitely gets
easier with practice. I’ve found that life keeps us on our toes with
all sorts of tricks, to keep us in practice. It’s the Kurukshetra, the
field of battle, never far off. The world stage. Play away.
Gopica
---continuing here with my work life experiences----
My leader gave me feedback filled with many words, which felt
hard at first. I tried not to get stuck in the words, but to move ahead
with my actions, holding the intention as pure as I could. I am not
sure if I showed my best humility, or if I was simply doing my
work without attachment.
For the first time my leader said, “You have to be my eyes and
ears.” That sentence felt confusing to me. I did not clearly
understand what she meant at that time.
Some time later, I had to contact the IT team to help a volunteer
with a technical issue. The IT person who always replied quickly
to my questions did not respond this time. I waited a day and
called, but he did not pick up. I sent a message to his boss, asking
if he was well or on leave. His boss responded that he would
check.
Later, the boss called me and asked if I could talk for a few
minutes. He told me that my leader had asked him about a report I
had sent. She had told him that no future request from me or from
anyone else should be processed without her approval.
I was shocked. I felt that if something was not okay, she could
have spoken to me directly. I shared this with him. He asked me to
keep our conversation confidential. I told him that all my requests
to the IT department were sent as screenshots, and I did not know
what had troubled her. I also said that she is the leader and we
must follow her directions.
In that moment, I felt pain, but also a kind of clarity.
I thought this may be the answer that the leader wanted me to see.
Perhaps she expects me to observe, to listen, and then to consult or
get her approval before acting. This helped me understand her
statement on eyes and ears.
After that, the earlier conversations with her felt lighter in my
body. The heaviness I had been carrying eased. I felt that these
verses from Chapter 3 came at the right time as a blessing in
disguise to help me respond rather than act from impulse.
Meaning making:
These verses are showing me that even when decisions go through
others, I am still doing my duty without owning the outcome. The
leader’s role is to guide and oversee; my role is to work with
clarity, honesty, and humility. When I remove the “I did this” and
“I was wronged” from the story, I can see the situation as a flow of
actions and relationships, not as a personal attack.
The “eyes and ears” teaching is helping me shift from reacting on
impulse to pausing, seeing more clearly, and then choosing my
next step in alignment with the larger picture. In this, I feel a gentle
release in the body and a subtle sense of freedom in the mind. The
verses are like a quiet companion, reminding me that every
difficult interaction can be a chance to grow in self-awareness and
inner balance.
Verse sync:
v27 - Actions happen through instruments, not 'I'
v30 - Dedicate all to Me, free from ego
v36 - Impulse arises, wisdom responds
Thanks & Regards,
Gopica
Scott: Very interesting, Gopica, and it sounds like you have
resolved much. My impression, however, is that you are still
relying on your own speculations about the leader—in a workable
way—yet you haven’t asked her for her own understanding of your
relationship. She addresses you directly, so you could simply let
her know you aren’t sure about something and ask her for
guidance. This is harder than it sounds when there is an expected
deference in the employee, but I don’t see that, with the
information I have. It should be only a little hard.
It’s totally fair for you to know exactly what you are
surrendering to, and few leaders are perfect. You are willing to do
what’s required, and that’s the important part. “Eyes and ears”
conveys a wide range of meanings, and I would ask exactly what
she meant. A good leader is eager to clarify misunderstandings,
and that’s a reasonable assumption on your part.
Contractual; work, like a job, is not exactly the same as
spiritual development, where you surrender to the flow, to what
you can trust. Trust is earned, not given away without a solid basis,
and the Gita will make much of this in the middle chapters.
Reducing the ego, as you have, is good, yet there is room for you
to care about your outcomes, including guaranteeing that no one
misrepresents you or takes credit for your work. You are in fact the
instrument itself—it doesn’t play without your direct participation.
Your dedication is a beautiful thing; being free of ego does not
mean having no ego, but not letting egoistic needs confuse the
situation. That’s where your spiritual development benefits
whatever work you perform.
Please keep us up to date on your job, and also keep in mind
that jobs carry constraints that we can hang in the closet during our
“free time.” It takes time for them to play in harmony.
Venkat
Venkat is still catching up, but since everything is related in the
Gita, It’s worthy of being included right away, and it will add a
little more excitement to the study. – Scott
I have been reading Chapter II from the Gita. I was able to read
until verse 49. I decided to write my thoughts to you and then
continue with the remaining section as they seem to flow like a
stream of water; I could only merely get a handful (not
overwhelming, but a revelation).
An uncle from my mother's side of the family is an
important teacher in my life. Everybody calls him uncle ( including
my mom and dad ), so I don't know his exact maternal relationship
to us. He followed the Sri Vidya School and used to do sadhanas
everyday. I still remember the day I felt his warm hands around my
shoulders and his soft voice asking me to call if I ever needed help.
From then on, I called him at any point I felt overwhelmed at a
crossroads. Most of the time, I could never grasp his answers, but
they have always been a revelation of my true self. His words
would eventually make sense to me in the mundane tasks of
everyday life. I miss him deeply now, yet his words remain in my
memory, surfacing exactly when they are needed. I have always
appreciated his guidance, and not a day goes by without my
remembering him. I no longer think of him as an Uncle but as one
of my Gurus.
I am fortunate to have you guide me to read the Gita. As you
mentioned in your previous email, I have begun to read your
commentary of the Gita and ponder the exercises. As your
commentary says in II.8, I was able to get past my personal
interests and your insights have helped me understand some of the
questions that I have been struggling with. Thank you, as always.
I have had a few experiences related to the content of Chapter II
over the past couple of weeks. As you know, I was very
disappointed at work; however, in a recent conversation with my
manager, he mentioned that job titles are just vanity and urged me
to consider if I am enjoying the work alongside its affordability.
The reward of an action has always been a hindrance to me. The
cycle of thinking about future rewards—and the disappointment
when they aren't met—has always been startling. Having this
conversation just before starting Chapter II felt clairvoyant; it
provided the balance needed to help me ponder my current state.
Another such experience happened yesterday, after bird watching
at a nearby park. My 3 year old son, wife and I visited a
nearby park to look for warblers' spring migration. Though
unlucky with the warblers, we were able to completely be present
in the moment, looking and listening with full attention. We saw a
Painted Bunting, a Carolina Wren and an Eastern Whip (rare for
our region). We were all happy (though tired) and completely
immersed in nature. My wife shared the pictures with our
friends and family but we could never describe the happiness we
shared in those moments. It felt so close to your commentary on
Absolute vs relative - how explaining the absolute will always be
partial, as it can only be experienced in its entirety.
"
A certain person sees This as a wonder, likewise another
speaks about This as a wonder. Another hears of It even as a
wonder, but even hearing no one understands This at all.
"
I have been in awe with these verses and how unexplainable our
experiences are.
I couldn't grasp verse 39 and the different layers mentioned in the
commentary. I will ponder a bit more and reach out to you in my
next letter. Please advise if you feel there are any resources or
steps that can help me.
Looking back, I see my letter is all over the place with a common
theme of awe and gratitude, I say to myself that all these
experiences are just side effects and to not be distracted by them.
Thanks,
Venkat
Scott: You’re doing great, Venkat; don’t expect to get full
value from the Gita on the first exposure. Each verse is a
banquet in itself, and it’s just fine if you are able to taste a
small amount of it. These ideas will develop on their own,
below your radar, and begin to appear on the screen more
over time. With your preparation, they are working in fertile
ground.
Let the revelations come on their own—they’re waiting
in the wings, but can’t be elicited until you’re ready. For now,
let them be.
The Gita will help you make better sense of your uncle’s
teachings, putting them in context (if they aren’t already), and
your growth will undoubtedly catch up with them, too. Guru
wisdom is better conveyed as a mystery. When we think, “Oh
yeah, that makes sense,” we don’t bother to look farther.
Bafflement leads us to probe deeper, so long as you trust the
source.
It’s good Krishna’s teachings are already helping you
with work issues, and that can be a main focus for you right
now. Part of the job factor is that you have every right to
stand up for your contractual expectations at work. Not
having expectations is meant here in a spiritual sense, that you
won’t become a super-hero by practicing yoga, as an example.
In your job you should be fairly valued and given credit, and
rewarded accordingly. Gopica is also working with job issues,
so peek at her response if you have time. Bindu and Bailey are
also excellent companions for this journey.
You touch on an important point, Venkat—we’ll be
contemplating the Absolute all through, yet it is indefinable,
so we need to keep in mind that we aren’t trying to pin it
down or define it, other than in a very general sense. Only
open ourselves to it. You, and your family, and your
adventures, and your knowledge drawn from helpful uncles
and unhelpful encounters, and of course your employment,
are all the Absolute, and that knowledge will help you bring
your best game to the match.
The verse you quote, II.29, is one of my all-time
favorites. Let’s celebrate the wonder, and admit we know only
the least amount. When your side effects are awe and
gratitude, it means your attractions are well-directed. Thank
you for your participation.
Bailey
verse 36: How do we bring ideals and actions together
harmoniously? And why are our impulses so powerful, so much
stronger than our best intentions? A question to keep
pondering!
(April 16). Thank you, Scott, for sharing with us something about
how your long-term study of the Gita in the larger context of your
engagement with the Narayana Gurukula strand of Vedanta has
nourished, and continues to nourish you, as our world continues to
be shaken by violence (that, alas, is nothing new) and confronts
unprecedented threats to civilizational values our fore-parents
sought to define and defend, indeed to the very survival of
our sapiens species on the Mother Earth as so many past
generations have experienced it. How are we to keep our heart,
our courage, our confidence in ourselves and one another in the
face of today’s threats? Of events and of attitudes that can suggest
that our world is careening toward catastrophe? You cited Pope
Leo “standing for sanity” – and now in the aftermath of his Easter
message he has maintained his message in the face of Trump’s
bullying and bluster. Just today I read, in a fundraising appeal
from the Democrats, that pollster Nate Silver puts Trump’s
approval among Americans at 44% (!). Perhaps if Nate aggregated
his polls this week the figure would be diminished but I fear the
figure would still be much too high. But our teaching tells us to be
ruled not by fear but by the honest search for understanding, for
Truth. Lucid truth. Acceptance of What Is Here-and. Now. What
you have been doing over the years, and continue to do is to
encourage us who join you in the Gita journey persevere, and I
thank you it.
(April 17) Better to act in conformity with one’s own nature than
to imitate behavior “foreign to one’s nature even well done”
(verses 34-35). This has been a recurring thought these past
days. Daily life oscillates between routines, not fully chosen, more
or less imposed from the outside, and impulses, which one tends to
think come from somewhere within (where?), until some
acquaintance with psychology or Vedanta or whatever makes one
more aware of the origins of one’s impulses in the shaping
influences of Experiences, one’s own and beyond. Ah, but I have
left out the critical, self-defining other factor, haven’t I? one’s
projects, plans, or –to take a word given emphasis in this
morning’s “spiritual reading”: Intention.
The “spiritual reading?” This has become, since Christine and
I, began living in our little garden cottage in Meadowood our one
mutually & fully-chosen. day-beginning routine, accompanied by
freshly-ground coffee (thus reminiscent of the routine in Ooty in
the Spring of 1972). Recently we have been reading Vivre. La
Guerison Spirituelle selon Swami Prajnanpad by Emmanuel
Desjardins (ED), who opens the book with a photo of his two-year-
old self in 1966 reaching for Swamiji’s hand. Both his parents,
Arnaud and Denise Desjardins, were among the nine French
disciples of this Bengali Vedantin and have published books about
their experience of his teaching; Arnaud founded –with Swamiji’s
blessing—spiritual centers in France which continue to flourish.
Swami Prajnanpad (1891-1974) was born Yogeshvar Chatterjee
into a poor Brahmin family, orphaned at age eleven and raised by
his older brother Sejda, who made sure the boy, whose acute
intelligence and spiritual gifts were notable early on, had the
opportunity to pursue his education through university. Yogeshvar
studied both science and literature (Indian and Western) and
became himself a university teacher in Benares in the 1920s. He
also immersed himself in the Upanishads and the Gita and,
impelled by idealism, thought of founding a school for young
children. One day in 1922 he consulted the Vedantin Niralamba
Swami, who perceived that the young man’s burning desire was
for the Absolute rather than any project of social betterment, and
became his guru. Many years later, looking back for the sake of his
French disciples on the decisive moments –what one might call the
signposts—which set him on his own spiritual path, he began with
a chance encounter in the streets of Dacca with a deranged man
(fou). One moment he would be reciting chants, at another burst
into tears crying “Woe is me! Here I’m mouthing holy words, then
demons are driving me!” Passerby, used to this, smiled, mocked or
paid no heed but young Yogeshvar was gobsmacked: this
“madman” has seen lucidly, as in a flash of lightning, the trap in
which he is caught – and beyond his own case, that’s the human
condition. Caught in a trap! Impossible to escape? It was in the
aftermath of this upsetting realization that Yogeshvar meets
Niralamba Swami, who teaches him that Wisdom lies elsewhere,
beyond the realm of traps and escaping traps, and that Wisdom
begins with learning to distinguish between Self and non-Self,
what endures and what is always subject to change.
Nataraja Guru, commenting on Shankaracharya’s Crest Jewel of
Wisdom at Fernhill in Spring 1972
Swami Prajnanpad, for the benefit of his French disciples,
singled out two other decisive signposts in regard to his own
journey. The first has to do with chastity and sexuality, and
requires context. Perhaps, two fundamental facts. One: Yogeshvar
married in 1919, when he was twenty-eight, a twelve-year old girl,
Anasuya, from a poor family. It would be more exact to say he
agreed to marry, or accepted to marry, on the insistence of his
family, in particular the brother, Sejda, the head of the family since
the parents died, who had loved, nurtured, protected him all his
life. Sejda and the family considered that marriage was the normal
and correct thing for a university teacher embarking on his career
to do now that he was entering the second of life’s four stages
(householder) according to Hindu tradition. Yogeshvar insisted
the girl be from a poor family (no doubt moved by his personal
idealism at this stage) and that consummation would wait for her to
mature more. This points to fundamental fact #2: he had very little
sexual drive –even, it would seem— as repugnance. As he later
himself told the story: when he was in his mid-twenties he once
saw a male goat mount a female: it was degrading, repellent! The
male licking the female’s urine even before he sticks in his
penis—ugly! Not for me! So once married he was in no hurry to
consummate. Problem was, by the time she was fifteen or so
Anasuya was under serious pressure from family to produce a
baby, so the young man did his part and a baby girl, Chinmayee,
was born. Then what does the young man do? In March of 1925
he takes vows of sanyasa and heads for the Himalaya! It is during
this sojurn (it was never meant to be more than that, he assured
Anasuya that he would be coming back) that he passed the fourth
signpost, met –as he later told the French disciples—his fourth
teacher. An ant. There he was meditating in his room, he notices a
grain of rice moving. An ant is trying to get it to go into a little
hole. It won’t go. The ant backs down, changes angles, tries
again. Nope. Try again. It will take 13 tries, but the ant won’t
give up, she perseveres. To paraphrase ED’s version of Swamiji’s
own words: “What patience! The ant is moved by a single
intention: get it into there! Decide what you want to do and keep at
it. That’s the secret of action, of acting. Ant, you’re my
guru. Persevere! The lesson if good for action in all domains.”
Yogeshvar did return to his home, did resume teaching to
support his family, to assume the responsibilities of the
householder stage of life, but made it very clear to everyone that he
now regarded himself as a sanyasin to the extent possible for
him. Though living in the world, he had renounced it. (Or, as he
later put it when asked, rather, the world had renounced him.) Any
sexual life was now out of the question. He was more and more
absorbed in spiritual practices. When his guru Niralamba Swami
died, in 1930, the former professor now known as Swami
Prajnanpad moved into the ashram bequeathed him, to remain for
the rest of his life. Anasuya and their daughter lived for a while in
a lodging he was able to provide for them in Calcutta; it seems he
was prepared to free her through divorce, but she was unwilling.
Later she moved to the ashram; there, years later, the French
disciples would also get to know her and listen to her complaints of
how she had suffered during her husband’s early, idealistic
phase. Swamiji was always an attentive and engaged father, ED
tells us; Chinmayee married, became in her turn a mother. The
world continued to turn, but from that 1930 day when Swami
Prajnapad established his regular daily rhythm in that Bengal
ashram lost in the midst of rice-paddies far from any road the
world turned detached from his engagement. He did not cut
himself off from people. When they came, and his advice was
sought he offered it on a strictly one-on-one basis. He never gave
a lecture or wrote anything for publication (he did respond to
letters). There were always a few Indian disciples who came and
went. In 1959 he was “discovered” by his first French disciple,
Daniel Roumanouf; eight others followed, making stays of a month
or more, over the next 14 years. He accepted their invitation to
come, twice, to France for entirely private visits, continuing his
daily routine in a Paris suburban villa. One September 1974 day
Swamiji asked his son-in-law, at his bedside, the time, remarked
“it is time to go” and left the body.
(April 20). A brisk, sunny & cool Spring day. I have just
come from a short walk in the woods adjacent to our house; the
trees, still mostly etched branches against the sky a week ago, are
wearing their early, bright green foliage. The passage we read this
morning in Emmanuel Desjardin’s book tells the story of his father
Arnaud’s first meeting with Swami Prajnandad. What do you
want? AD says: Atma darshana. Swamiji smiles. “That’s
nice”. He goes on: how do you know there is such a thing
as Atman? Arnaud cites the Upanishads, Shankaracharya... That’s
nice, but how do you know this is true? How do you know what is
true? That anyone knows? I have myself met living saints, insists
Arnaud (he has been making his film Ashrams, and another about
the Tibetans). Ma Ananda Mayi is a living saint! She embodies
truth! Returns Swamiji: You have never met Ma Ananda
Mayi! you have met your Ma Ananda Mahyi...
(April 22) I’m back from dropping Christine at the airport,
now must focus on my own packing. I follow her in three days.
What have I been trying to communicate in this response, my
fellows in this study, I am asking myself? Perhaps a validation, for
myself, of verse 33, where Krishna tells Arjuna that “even a man
of wisdom acts in conformity with his own nature.” We are not all
called to a life of austerity, as was young Yogeshvar --certainly not
me! I was attracted to the India of the Upanishads, and when I
encountered Nataraja Guru and the Fernhill Gurukula of that day,
attracted enough to stay, even to turn around, when we had started
to return westwards, and choose to stay. The lesson of the ant:
persevere. From this study, from other readings and stories and
interactions with people I keep at it as best I can. Thank you,
Scott, for your comments and your encouragements, and best
wishes to you, fellow students. I shall get on with my travel
preparations, and look forward to continuing our journey.
Scott: Computers are the game-changers that make permanent
oppression possible, I’m afraid. We don’t have to imagine
Orwell’s boot stamping human faces forever, AI will do it for us,
while our stampers luxuriate in the Grand Hotel Gaza Beach.
I shuddered with dread in the mid-nineties, when it was
proclaimed that the new Internet was going to usher in the Golden
Age, but I admit I didn’t imagine it would look as bad as this….
I love the ant story!
I’ve surveyed the little I have on Narayana Guru’s marriage,
quite similar to Yogeshvar’s. He and the chosen girl were never
“engaged.” There is an account in Nancy Y’s biography, mostly
drawn from Word of the Guru. You must have these books?
Nitya, who was swarmed by enthusiastic women in America,
some who would jump in his lap and kiss him, which he quietly
despised. He told us once that the Gurukula has slowly warmed to
women: that Narayana Guru was terrified of females, and if one
tried to touch his feet, he would leap up onto the back of his chair.
Nataraja Guru contemplated marriage until around age 50 (I can’t
locate this story), then made the decision to take sannyasa and
become a dedicated bachelor. He had cautious intellectual
associations with women, mostly imaginary. His collected quotes
is filled with lines like “If you understand a woman, if you really
understand a woman, you understand God.” Clearly, he idealized
women, but knew very little about them. They were still very much
on the periphery in those days. I could go on…. But won’t.
Nitya had to keep running from the adoring women around
him, in the West at least. In L&B, Nitya was in Bombay, and was
good friends with several women. He writes:
Guru was a great admirer of traditional Marathi homes, and
he somehow connected the culture of the women with
Kalidasa’s classics. I had never noticed that cooking, serving,
and eating could be such an aesthetically and spiritually perfect
art. The day closed with a satsang, during which Guru gave a
touching interpretation of traditional Hindu family life.
Next day the second teacher came to pay homage to Guru.
From her behavior Guru presumed that she was head over heels
in love with me, and he decided to nip that sentiment in the bud
for the good of both of us. He spoke very affectionately, gave
her a paternal embrace, and said, “If you give your heart to this
young man, you will regret it later. He is an irresponsible
sannyasi who is wandering in all the three worlds. He cannot be
restrained by anyone. If you give him your heart, he may
inadvertently leave it somewhere and forget it.”
His warning had the desired effect. After Guru had gone, she
wanted to know all about sannyasa. I wrote an explanatory
letter in the form of a dissertation, which clearly showed what a
woman can expect from a sannyasi and how he may conduct
himself without breaking any of his vows of celibacy and
chastity. Upon reading it she became extremely upset. She
invited me to have tea with her at a restaurant where poets and
writers often met, but she was so upset she couldn’t say
anything. So we decided to part. When we came out of the
restaurant, I got into a bus and left her standing dazed by the
roadside.
I never saw her again. What happened to her from that day on
is an absolute blank in my mind. If Guru had not come along at
that very moment and set me back on my path, my life might
have been very different.
This wasn’t the first time Guru had come into my life like a
destroying Shiva to separate his disciple from the snare of
karmic entanglements. Wherever I proved to be successful or
was becoming admired, he had a knack for sabotaging the
situation. Once I asked him why he was doing this, and he told
me his name was Natarajan and he was only doing his duty,
adding “If Shiva doesn’t demolish, Brahma won’t get a chance
to create again.” I have to admit that whenever he intervened to
get me to terminate a program it always led to another program
of greater spiritual value.
Deb also met Ma Ananda Mayi, while traveling with Nitya in
1971. Her version was quite impressive.
I thought of you when stumbling upon this story:
When they were together in Colombo, Narayana Guru suddenly
picked up an ochre-colored robe and gave it to Nataraja Guru.
Nataraja Guru had one moment of hesitation before taking it,
because it meant a great deal. He was young. He had not
decided whether he should live the life of a householder or that
of a renunciate, or whether he should get his doctorate and take
a good job or not. He had not decided anything. So he had one
moment of hesitation. Then Narayana Guru said: “The color is
only on the surface of the cotton fabric. The cotton itself has
not changed.”
Do you get it? This meant everything for Nataraja Guru.
Narayana Guru had called his attention to a very subtle
difference. The color was what appeared important, but the
material was actually made of cotton. All the implications of
the color are only in the phenomenality of life. At no time does
your real Self change, now or hereafter, whatever kind of life
you live. You can be a sinner or you can be a saint; wearing
holy robes will not alter who you are.
The day you go one step further to realize your becoming a
great saint or a great sinner is not going to change your Self in
any way, a great calmness will grow inside you. At least you
will have gotten over the agony of your guilt. (That Alone, 456)
Okay, Bailey, off you go!
No comments:
Post a Comment