Holding God For Ransom

"If the stock market rights itself," Isha said, "I'll bathe Shivling with a couple of bottles of milk."
"Bribing God?" Rosh had overheard her, "He laughs at prayers like that!"
"What's wrong with me showing some gratitude if He hears and answers my prayers?" Isha flared.
"Doesn't sound like showing gratitude," he responded, "That's striking a bargain. It's no use bargaining with God. Even little Johnny knew that."


"Little Johnny?" Isha was stumped.
"Yeah," Rosh answered, "Little Johnny had been naughty all year, and it was almost Christmas time."
"His mum had been telling him that God rewarded good boys, not bad ones, but obviously he wanted his Christmas presents."
"God, I've been good this year," he presented his case in his prayer, "I think better than last year, anyway. So I should get lots of presents."
'No, that won't work,' he shook his head after a moment's reflection, knowing that wasn't true. God knows the truth, he'd been told.
He got on his knees.
"God, I haven't been the best child this year," he tried honesty, "But I still deserve lots of presents for trying to be good."
'No, that won't work either,' he shook his head again after some thought. If God knows everything, then He probably knows I didn't even try.
He laid face flat on the floor.
"God, I have been a complete devil this year," he argued, "But I can change, I promise! Just send me the gifts, will you?"
'No, there's no way He'll believe that!' he knew with certainty as soon as he had said it. He hated know alls.
He got up off the ground and walked over to the model of the stable that Jesus was born in, desperately searching for levers to plead his case. Looking at Virgin Mary with Joseph, he had a flash of inspiration.
He pulled the little statue of Madonna out of the stable, went into his room, wrapped her in a sock, and placed her in his drawer.
"Ok God, if you ever want to see your mother again...!"

Control Your Tongue

Build character and learn to control your tongue, and your words, like Rishi Durvasa’s, will have the power to move mountains and create history.

Insightful kids story from Hindu mythology showing that words have power. Words can heal, and words can hurt.

The silence in the house was suddenly shattered when the boys came squealing and chasing each other into Rosh’s room.
Josh jumped onto his father’s lap and leered back at Hosh, secure in the knowledge that he couldn’t be strong-armed here. Rosh smiled and hugged them both.
“You also said earlier that there have been many Hindu avatars,” Isha directed him back to their conversation. “Tell me more about the others.”
“Who are you talking about?” Josh asked, suddenly sensing a story.
“The Sanatan Hindu Avatars,” said Isha. “I want to find out, for example, what great things a sea-turtle could possibly have done, that made the ancient Sanatanis call it an Avatar of Vishnu?”
“That is an interesting question,” Rosh acknowledged. “After Matsya - the fish, in Satyug, the tortoise Kurma is remembered as the next avatar in the Dashavataar timeline.”
“There are at least two temples in Andhra Pradesh dedicated to Kurma, one in Kurmai in the Chittoor district and another in Srikurmam in the Srikakulam District. At least one other temple dedicated to this incarnation is in Gavirangapur, in Chitradurg District of Karnataka.”
“This Hindu story of Samudramanthan, a Sanskrit word literally meaning churning of the ocean, can not only be seen illustrated in murals at Hindu temples throughout India, but has remained one of the internationally better-known episodes of Hindu mythology for centuries.”
“For example, it is depicted in a bas-relief at Ta Prohm, one of the most popular temples at Angkor, in the Cambodian province of Siem Reap. UNESCO inscribed it on the World Heritage List in 1992.”
“That temple was originally built in the Bayon style in the 12th and 13th centuries as a Mahayana Buddhist monastery and university, but when the Khmer empire reverted back to Hinduism in the mid-13th century, its state temple was altered accordingly.”
“I’ve seen a giant Samudra Manthan sculpture at the Suvarnbhoomi Airport in Thailand too,” Isha agreed. “But what could a tortoise possibly do, for mankind to venerate it as a savior God?”
“Bhagavat Puran, Mahabharat and Vishnu Purana, talk about churning of the milky white ocean, the Kshirsagar,” said Rosh, “traditional abode of Vishnu, to extract vital commodities and to mine hidden resources.”
“Surs, the demi-gods, needed these to enhance their longevity and prosperity after they started getting their ass kicked by the Asur (Sanskrit: demons) armies of King Bali, who eventually defeated them and gained control of the universe.”
“How can gods be defeated?” asked Josh incredulously. “Aren’t they all powerful?”
“Demi-gods,” Rosh corrected him. “The mightiest elephant can be killed by the tiniest ant. Some Hindus attribute their losses to sage Durvaasa, supposedly an incarnation of Lord Shiv, who is said to have cursed Indra, the King of Devas (Sanskrit: demi-gods), to a life of ignominy.”
“How can anyone curse a demi-god?” asked Josh, even more incredulous.
“People curse God for their misfortunes all the time,” Rosh smiled. “It’s just that their curses don’t pack any power. But the Rishis were pure souls. Their words packed a mighty punch. And it kept powerful men and gods alike, in check and well-behaved.”
“In Abhigyan Shaakuntalam, famous Sanskrit play written probably around 5th century CE, Kalidas dramatized the Mahabharat story of maiden Shakuntala, who was so busy daydreaming about her lover, King Dushyant, that she failed to pay Durvasa due homage, when he arrived at her door as a guest. Enraged, he cursed her that her lover would forget her.”
“This is the same Rishi Durvasa you may have heard of, from when you went to see Akshardham temple (photo above) in Noida a couple of years ago. Followers of saint Swaminarayan believe that Narayan too, was once cursed by Durvasa, as a result of which he had to be born like a mortal (Saint Swaminarayan).”
“Local tradition in modern Azamgarh has it that Durvasa's Ashram, meaning hermitage, was situated 6 km north of the Phulpur Tehsil headquarters, at the confluence of Tons and Majhuee rivers, where many of his disciples went to study under him.”
“Despite his short-temper, Durvaasa was a learned sage. So, he was received with great reverence wherever he went. Grow up to be a man of integrity like him, and your words will have his power too.”
“Tongue is the strongest muscle in our body, you know. And although it may not itself be able to lift 1 kg, it can inspire others to lift a 100 kg.”
“The words it shoots out all day, have power. Words can heal, or words can hurt, regardless of who or where we are. We all have the power to move men with our words, just not the power to move mountains.”
“But build character and learn to control your tongue, and your words, like Rishi Durvasa’s, will become mightier than the sword. They will have the power to move mountains, and create history.”
“On the other hand, go around cursing people willy-nilly, being loose with your tongue, and your anger may even get you into big trouble yourself, like it did Durvaasa once with King Ambarish, in another Bhaagvat Puran story.”

Eye Of The Beholder

Rosh was in his bed, brooding quietly. Isha had almost never seen him as quiet as this before.
He was a battler, always planning, always improvising, never lost. Her heart cried out for him.

 
No scars of his fight were visible on his body, and his psychological scars she could not see, although she knew full well they were there, and they were deep.
“Want to see an old Hindi movie?” she asked him, wanting to extract him from his sad stillness, and cheer him up a bit.
“Okay,” he looked up at her and smiled. “Maybe something from the 1950s or 60s. Bandini, Bootpolish, Do Bigha Zameen, Do Ankhen Barah Haath, Guide, Satyakaam …”
“But all those movies are depressing,” she objected. “They all move you to tears.”
“They also lift my soul,” he smiled weakly. “Clear my vision.”
She nodded silently and walked out to fetch something from his Library. Riffling quickly through his collection, she picked out ‘Anand Math’.
It was a tragic 1952 film, but she remembered that it had a couple of legendary songs with rousing music. Both those songs were amongst his all-time favorites.
That’s what she would prescribe for him, she decided. She brought the DVD back to his room, put it on, and climbed into bed beside him.
He reclined back comfortably. They watched the film together, in silent harmony, feeling a contentment that long and happily married couples know so well.
When they saw the first of its two legendary songs, she noticed for the first time that the lyrics were all in Sanskrit, and seemed connected with Hindu mythology.
No wonder she had never understood the song, even though she had heard it umpteen times since childhood, and had studied Sanskrit at school.
“Do you understand the meaning of these lyrics?” she paused the film to ask him, wondering how he could have enjoyed it so much.
“A little,” he confessed. “But what the director wants the verses to mean here becomes clearer only in context. His message is clear: Act with faith. Have faith in God, and do your duty with a mind free from anxieties."

Karmanye vaadhicar astey, ma faleshu kadaachana. Ma karmfal hetur bhurma, te sangostva karmani.
कर्मण्ये वाधिकारस्ते, मा फलेषु कदाचन। मा कर्मफल हेतुर्भूर्मा, ते सङ्गोऽस्त्व कर्मणि॥२-४७॥

“Krishn tells Arjun to do the same thing in Gita (2:47). He tells him that he has the right to act, but no right to the results of his actions. So, he must perform his duties, neither desiring nor fretting about the result (fruit of action).”
“But result motivates action. Causes it in the first place. That’s how us ordinary folk work. Nishkaam Karm (desireless action) of the Vedic Philosophy is so difficult to practice. So, what to do?”
“So, the mind frets. Fear consumes. Fear of losing what we love and have, grips us so hard, that we fritter away what time we have been granted on this Earth, and fail to do what we should have done in that time.”
“Why do I never get any of these messages from anything?” Isha was exasperated at how he could see a meaning in everything.
“Because you aren’t looking,” he smiled painfully. “You aren’t seeking. For you have lost nothing.”
“Great loss can be a great benefactor. Pain a great cleanser. They prepare you. To become a ready receptor. To find solutions. To seek deliverance.”
“When your search becomes so intense, that nothing but your quest remains, nature delivers. Nothing changes in the world around you at that moment, yet your whole world changes completely. Like it did for Buddh."
"That moment is the moment of enlightenment. The eye sees. The eye of the beholder is the key.”


She waited for him to say more, and did not resume the movie. It had been a long time since he had shared insights with her like this. She wanted to hear him speak again, explain things to her simply and insightfully, like he used to do so often.
“Hindi movie songs these days,” Rosh spoke up again, rewarding her patience, “are generally written by lyricists especially commissioned to write them. So when something written by people who lived centuries ago, gets used, there must be something very special about it.”

“But for a song to be immortalized, it has to be composed and sung exceptionally well too. This was the case with two songs in this film, Jai Jagdeesh Hare and Vande Maatram."
"For Hemant Kumar Mukhopadhyay, this film's music composer and male playback singer, making his debut in Hindi Cinema, their success proved pivotal.”
“Jay Jagdish Harey, the duet we just saw, was a brilliant overlapping rendition done at a time when song recordings were done on a single track, probably using a single mike."
"This song is not actually in Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay’s novel Anandamath, on which this whole film was based. Vande Mataram, the other famous track, however, was based on a patriotic poem that Bankim did write in his novel.”
“Vande Maataram became a legend straightaway – becoming a battle cry against the British rulers, soon after the novel was published. In fact, the book itself became a major source of inspiration for Indian freedom fighters in their struggle for independence.”
“The British banned this novel, and this ban remained in place for over half a century until India finally gained its independence in 1947.”
“Despite religion-based controversies plaguing the song for decades before freedom, Vande Matram achieved cult success. It is still widely considered as India’s national song.”

Cracked Pot

We're all cracked pots, but can still be useful.

The parable of the cracked pot teaches Rosh that succeeding despite our imperfections can lead to fulfillment.



He got up from his cot, and went to lay alongside his grandfather. Dev made way for him, but did not speak.
He silently nuzzled into his grandfather, feeling the familiar loving warmth from the old man.
“I am flawed,” he whispered silently, his body shaking with the force of emotion now breaking loose.
Tears rolled off his cheeks and were soaked up hungrily by his grandfather’s cotton shirt.
Love cleanses, Dev knew, and the boy had to be taught a lesson to last him a lifetime.
Catharsis is never painless. But the earlier the treatment could be administered, the earlier the recovery could begin.
When the boy’s violently racking body had finally settled down into infrequent spasms, Dev turned around towards him.
His warm compassionate hand reached across to smooth his grandson’s hair.
“A water bearer,” he said, “had two large pots. Each hung on the ends of a pole which he carried across his neck, as he walked a long walk from the stream to his house daily.”
“One of the pots had a crack in it. So, each day the cracked pot arrived home only half full. The other pot was perfect, and always delivered a full portion of water.”
“For a very long time, this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water to his house.”
“Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfections, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been designed to do.”
“After years of shame, and guilt, and what it perceived to be a bitter failure, the cracked pot finally mustered the courage to confess his shortcomings to the water bearer.”
"I am ashamed of myself, it said, and I want to apologize to you. I have been able to deliver only half my load because a crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house."
"Did you notice,” the bearer replied, “that there were flowers only on your side of the path, but not on the perfect pot's side?”
“I have always known about your flaw. So, I planted flower seeds on your side of the path. And every day, while we walked back to the house from the stream, you've watered them for me."
"For years, I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my home. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace my house!"
“The moral of the story is that we all have our faults. Nobody is perfect! Each of us has our own unique flaws. We're all cracked pots, but can still be useful in our own way.”
“Succeeding despite our imperfections leads to a fulfilled life. This is what can bring out greatness in us. For our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.”
“It's the cracks, the faults, the flaws we all have, that make our lives together so very interesting and rewarding. Yep, we've just got to take each person for who they are, and look for the good in them.”
“Strength lies in weakness?” Rosh was trying to understand. “You’re not just giving hope to a loser to make him feel good about himself?”
“No,” answered Dev, “a good builder works with all kinds of materials. Wood and metal have different strengths and weaknesses. Clay and cement are different. Yet, there is a place for all of them when one is creating a home.”
“Everything serves a purpose. Even our weaknesses and imperfections. What one can do, the other can't. So, a good tradesman doesn’t blame his tools. He just learns to make the best use of whatever he’s got.”
‘Indeed!’ thought Rosh, as he contemplated the story. ‘Without the water-bearer's compassion, his observation of the pot's weakness, and without his putting it to good use, he wouldn’t be collecting flowers at all!’
‘But if he hadn’t had the foresight and intelligence to plant flower seeds on the path, the cracked pot would have still watered something. What? Weeds, perhaps?’
‘These could still have benefitted insects and our herbivore friends. So, weakness could still turn out to be strength really. Blessings to all of us crackpots! But how do I learn to see things that way?’
‘Would I rather be a perfect pot,’ Rosh asked himself, unaware that his grandfather beside him was already fast asleep and snoring heavily, ‘or a cracked pot who strives to become useful?’
‘Neither!’ he concluded. ‘The pots are what they are. They don’t have a choice in the matter. I am who I am – perfect or flawed – and I have no choice in the matter of my being.’
‘But I can still choose to become. I would like to become the water bearer, the one who knew how to make even a cracked pot lead a full, useful life.'
'A compassionate, caring person. Smart! Not wasting anything. Not my talents, not my imperfections. Not even a drop of water!"’