All World
Gayatri Pariwar

Today I had to walk along a very treacherous trail.  There 

was the Ganga flowing below and the mountain standing 

high above. By the foot of the hill, there was a very narrow footpath.  It was hardly 3 ft. wide.  We had to go along this path.  Even a slight faltering step could result in hurtling down and getting lost in the roaring rapids of the Ganga hundreds of feet below.  If you thought of avoiding it and walk away safely, there stood the high mountain almost vertically rising hundreds of feet above refusing to budge an inch. On this narrow and difficult path, every step had to be taken with utmost caution - the distance between life and death was hardly a foot and a half long.

For the first time in life I experienced the fear of death.  Long time back, in my childhood, I had heard this epic story. Once sage Shukdev visited King Janak and asked the latter as to how he remained unperturbed like a Yogi while attending to his multifarious duties as a king.  To explain the point Janak handed to Shukdev a bowl filled with oil and asked him to make a round of the town and come back without spilling a drop of oil, the punishment for failure being severing of the head.  Out of fear of death Shukdev, made the round as ordered, concentrating all his attention on the oil-filled bowl, totally unaware of things and people that he came across during his round of the town. King Janak then explained to him that as he (Shukdev) had concentrated only on the oil and nothing else out of the fear of losing his life, he too always remembered death while going about his duties and this helped him in putting his best in the performance of his duties and daily routines - every moment of life with a totally focused mind.

The moral of this story was acutely experienced by me while negotiating that narrow path. There were a number of other pilgrims traveling with me.  All the way we had been talking and laughing when the path was smooth and safe, but no sooner did we reach this narrow footpath, than all the conversations ceased and everybody became pensively and attentively silent. Nobody thought of one’s home or of any other subject.  Mind and soul were fully concentrated on only one thing - keep the next step at the proper place.  With one hand we were trying to clutch at the mountain wall, though there was hardly anything to clutch at.  The only solace in doing so was that it might help maintain the body balance in case it tended to tilt towards precipice falling down to the bed of the Ganga.  This distance of about 1.5 miles was passed with great difficulty.  The heart was kept throbbing violently throughout.  We learnt a great practical lesson today.  How careful we have to be in order to protect our lives from getting sniffed out.

The tortuous and dangerous patch of the trail was at last over; but its memory brings forth a train of thoughts.  If we always remember that death could pounce upon us any moment, we may not indulge in chasing illusory pleasures.  The journey of life is like the just concluded journey of today, which called for the need of keeping every step consciously, cautiously and correctly.   If a single step was taken wrongly or carelessly, it might mean our straying away from the true aim of life and falling down to abysmal depths of inconscience.  If life is dear to us, in order to make it worthwhile, it is necessary that we are ever alert and conscious every step of the path.  Life is full of responsibilities like that of the travelers walking along the narrow path alongside the edge of the Ganga.  Only after negotiating it successfully, can we have hope of reaching our cherished goal of self-fulfillment.  The path of duty is narrow like the footpath described above.  Carelessness will make you slip and fall into a bottomless pit of darkness, thus depriving of the chance of achieving the true aim of life in this incarnation.  Clutching to the wall of righteousness will help maintain the balance and help minimize the fear of leaning toward the edge of the abysmal depths.  In difficult times this wall is our solace and support.  

The Mountain of Silver

Today I was put up in a room on the top floor of Sukki camp.  Right in front was seen the top of the snow-clad mountain.  The snow was melting slowly and was flowing down in a thread-like simmering stream. Some flowing pieces of snow were still half-melt.  The sight was heavenly and soothing to the eyes.

Some other pilgrims were staying in a room third from mine.  Among them there were two children – a girl and a boy, both of about 11 or 12 years of age.  Their parents were on the pilgrimage.  The children were brought on a device called ‘Kandri’ carried by porters.  They were sweet natured and precocious. Both were debating on what the shining mountain was made of.  They had heard that the mineral mines were situated in the mountains.  The boy logically concluded that the mountain in front of us was that of silver.  But the girl disagreed, reasoning that had it the silver been lying so open and unguarded, people would have plundered it long time back.  She, however, could not herself say what metal the mountain was made of. Nonetheless she continued stubbornly disagreeing with the boy. The debate interested me. I called them both to my side and explained that the mountain was made of stone, but being of high altitude, it is covered with snow.  During summer the snow melts and in winter the snow covers the mountain tops again.  It is the snow that shimmers in the sun and assumes a silvery appearance.  The children got their doubt cleared on this count, but went on asking me more questions related to it.  I readily and gladly provided them with lot of information about the mountains in order to enrich their knowledge.  

This made me think of the innocently ignorant human intellect in childhood, which makes him to assume an ordinary thing like snow as valuable silver.  But when grown up, man thinks more deeply and gets down to the reality.  If the human intellect were properly educated and developed right from childhood, children, too, would get to know the reality of things while young.

But I realized that my musings were misplaced. How far are most of grown-ups free from follies and misconceptions? In the same manner as these children mistook snow for silver, the grown-ups too consider many worthless or cheap things like pieces of silver or copper, sexual excitements, worthless ego-displays and this mortal body to be of lasting value and stay attached to them, smugly forgetful of the true aim and purpose of life. 

We are more deeply and pitiably entangled in transitory and meaningless worldly pleasures and attractions than the small children are in playing with toys and paper boats.  The grown-ups admonish the children for their lack of foresight and for spending their valuable time in fun and frolic, instead of attending to studies.  But who will admonish the gown-ups who, like puppets, dance to the pull-strings of sensual pleasures, instead of upliftment of the soul?  The children could be convinced of snow not being silver.  But who will convince the grown-ups that the aim of life is not sensual pleasures or gratifications of desires but self-realization?

Yellow Flies (Wasps)

Today while we were silently passing through a dense forest we were suddenly attacked by a swarm of yellow flies that were buzzing over some trees.  Some of them stung us so deeply that it was hard to pull them off.  We tried to drive them away by hands or clothes and we even ran to get away from their range.  But they did not leave us for a long distance.  After over half a mile’s running, during which we stumbled and fell down too, the flies, at long last, left us.  Wherever they had stung, it had swelled up due to poisonous stings and was severely painful.

I began to ponder over the matter.  Why did the flies attack us?  Did they get anything by doing so? What did they intend to gain by hurting us?  Perhaps the flies might have been thinking that the forest territory was theirs; it was their dwelling place; and it had to remain safe and secure for them; no one should dare trespass that territory.  When they saw us passing through the forest they might have taken it as an act of arrogance, endangering their security and posing a challenge to their sovereignty.  So they might have deemed it necessary to teach us a lesson for our imprudent trespass.

If this be so, it is sheer folly of the flies.  The forest is made by God; not by them.  They must stay atop the trees and make their living.  Their greed to occupy and keep for themselves the entire territory is unreasonable; for they have no use of the whole territory.   They should also understand that this world is a co-operative venture, and it is only proper that it is equitably shared by all.  They should have had the forbearance to let us pass through it enjoying the beauty, the green cool shade of the trees and fragrance of the wild flowers.  Instead of showing magnanimity, they stung us, lost their stings; some of them were even mauled to death and others badly injured.  Had they not exhibited their mad anger in this way, they could have spared themselves from the unnecessary harm they suffered and the ill-will and bad impression that they created on us. From all angles their attack and greed of power did not exhibit wisdom. They proved themselves true to their name, “Yellow flies” implying “mean creatures”.

      But why blame the poor flies alone? Why should they alone be called foolish? We, the human beings, are also behaving in a similarly avaricious way. The vast resources created by the Almighty to be equitably shared and used by all, are being rapaciously grabbed by a few of us for ourselves alone. We never pause to think that the needs of the body and even our family are limited and that our amassing the nature’s resources beyond our needs would deprive others of even their bare survival needs. The excess acquisition only helps feed the ego’s insatiable hunger of being the owner of vast resources; which one cannot keep with oneself for ever.

Man too, like the yellow flies, gets blinded by greed and selfishness.  He does not acknowledge the nature’s eternal law of mutual caring and sharing. He does not care two hoots for the suffering caused to others by his self-aggrandizement. The yellow flies went back after stinging and chasing us for half a mile.  But when I think of the horrific misdeeds perpetrated by man intoxicated by the craze for pelf, power, and self-indulgence, I feel shy of blaming the bees, who live by survival instinct of their species and are not endowed, like humans, with discriminative intelligence (which can distinguish between the good and the bad). How sad that so few of us consciously exercise this gift of the Creator!

Hot Fountains of  the Cold Mountain

For the past many days, we have been taking bath in the icy cold water. Mustering all the courage we could, we used to have a quick dip or two, but due to the biting cold, we could not dare to properly rub and wash the body clean. When we reached Jagnani camp, we came to know of three hot water spring ponds at the top of the hill. We could not resist the temptation to avail of the chance of having a proper bath, by rubbing and washing the body clean in hot water. We crossed the Ganga over the bridge and panting and tired and resting many a times, we climbed up to the top of the hill where the hot spring ponds were situated. There were three ponds side by side. The water of one of them was so hot that you could not even touch its surface with your hands, leave alone taking bath in it. We were told that raw rice and pulses, bundled in a piece of cloth, when dipped in this water, would be cooked in no time. We could not experiment it ourselves, but in the second pond, which was tolerably hot, we bathed properly after a few weeks. We also washed clean our clothes.

I wonder how some hot springs exist here and there in the high Himalayan Mountains, which are mostly covered with snow, and from whose breasts flow cold streams down to the planes. It appears that there may be deposits of sulphur inside which might be imparting tremendous heat to the under-surface water currents passing through deposits. It can be compared to a gentleman endowed with many virtues and behaving coolly like the cold springs, but also letting out a trace of boiling anger lying hidden inside. Or may be the mountains are letting out their pent-up steam within in a controlled way through the medium of these outbursts of hot springs, rather than hypocritically suppressing them. It is bad to have defects, but to conceal them is worse. The mountain knows this principle. How nice would it have been if man too had realized it!

The mountain might also have deemed it better to pour out whatever heat is left within so that the passers-by like us, distressed due to coldness, might get relief. Having become cold from outside, a little heat might be left within. So the mountain might have thought, “ why to save the little heat left in when the whole thing has become cold, why not give it to the needy, since I may have no use of it “. If only there were many human beings following the ideals of this self-sacrificing mountain! However hard we may try, we can never forget these hot fountains of the cold region. Thousands of travelers like me will sing paeans of praise for the mountain, for it is a manifestation of selfless sacrifice. Providing heat to others while suffering in cold oneself is like providing food for others while himself remaining hungry. 

Fear Out of Confused Communication

Today a group of pilgrims to Gangotri also joined us. There were seven members in the group - five men and two women. We were carrying our luggage ourselves, but their luggage was carried by a porter of the hilly area. The porter was a villager and his language was also difficult to understand. He was rude and quarrelsome by nature. While we were going along the top of the hill leading to Jhala camp he pointed to something, making a queer and frightening face and muttered something in his colloquial language. What he told was not fully understood but a member of the group thought that he heard the porter uttering Bhalu, Bhalu (Bear) and started looking in the direction indicated by him. The fog was heavy at the time, making clear vision impossible, but some black animals could be seen moving in the area indicated by the porter.

Our companion, who heard “Bhalu, Bhalu” from the porter and saw the black animals in the indicated direction, was very much frightened. He was now fully convinced that ferocious bears were roaming about nearby. He was some distance behind us, but now he moved as fast as he could and joined us. His lips were dry and trembling with fear. He stopped us and, showing the black animals moving below, told that they were bears and that we were in danger.

Fear gripped all of us, but none could suggest any way out of the lurking danger. The forest was dense and fearsome, too. So it seemed to provide a good habitat for wild bears. It was only two days back that we had heard from the pilgrims who had been to Manasarovar two years back, about the terror of wild bears. Our fear began growing. The black bears were advancing towards us. Due to the thick fog the shape of the animals could not be seen clearly. The black color and their size, matching with that of the bears, in addition to the utterance “Bhalu, Bhalu” by the porter, left us in no doubt about the animals being bears. We then thought it proper to ask the porter himself as to what could be done. When we looked for him, he was not found to be with us. We concluded that he, sensing the danger, might have hidden himself somewhere or climbed on some tree for safety. We were left in a helpless situation, paralyzed by mortal fear. 

We all stood together close, two each facing the four directions, holding our lathis (sticks) with the sharp pointed nailed end out as if they were guns. The idea was to push the nailed end into the bears’ mouths and dealing them lathi-blows, in the event of attack. It was decided that all will stay together and none will run away, come what may. With this planned strategy, we began to move slowly. The bears that were earlier found coming up towards us, were now moving downwards. We doubled our speed. To get out of the danger zone as quickly as possible was our single-pointed aim. All were chanting God’s name. Fear had gripped us tightly. Running thus, we covered the distance of nearly a mile and a half.

Fog began to fade. It was about 8 o’clock in the morning. Direct sunlight started spreading. Dense part of the forest was also left behind. People grazing the sheep and goats were seen ahead. We heaved a sigh of relief. With the feeling of great relief, having come out of the danger, we sat down to take rest. By now the porter also arrived. Seeing us all frightened he enquired of the reason. The companion said, “God saved us from the bears you had shown us. But you simply deceived us. Instead of telling us what to do you hid yourself in safety.”

The porter stood bewildered. He sensed that there was some misunderstanding. When told about the Bhalu (Bear) he had indicated, he got the point which caused the confusion. He explained, “The Aloo (potato) grown in the village ‘Jhala’ are famous for its big size. Such crop is not grown in any of the villages here. This is what I had told you by sign of fingers. When I told of ‘Aloo of Jhala’ you heard it as Bhalu (bear). The black animals you saw are the black cows that graze here all the day. Due to the fog, they appeared to you like bears. There are no bears in this region. They are found on the higher mountains. I stayed behind for easing beside the stream. Else I would have been with you and there would have been no confusion. “

We laughed at our folly and were ashamed as well. We blamed and ridiculed the fellow-pilgrim who heard the porter wrong. Fear was transformed into humor. We kept chatting about it the whole day. Recalling what everyone said or did in the state of fear, there went on mutual teasing throughout the day. Everyone was keen to prove that others were more frightened. The journey passed joy­fully. The subject became a good entertainer. 

The imaginary existence of the bears which had become a reality and question of life and death for us an hour earlier, eventually turned out to be a mere phantom.

It made me think that there are many ghostly phantoms rooted in our life, due to which we remain constantly under unfounded fears of family, neighbors and society. Under the false notion that we will be looked upon as poor and ordinary fellows, if we do not indulge in pomp and show, many of us incur heavy expenditures beyond our means. It is appropriate to be conscious of public opinion when the question of morality and character arises, but not with regard to being forced by fear of social stigma to incur exorbitant expenses on social functions, marriages, post-death rites, etc. We must stand up firmly against such phantom fears. 

With all kinds of worries, troubles, dilemmas, provocations, desires and ill will staring at us from all sides, the world appears to be terribly evil and frightening. Everything here appears frightful like the bear. But when the light of the knowledge of Self dawns, when the fog of ignorance fades away, when mental weakness diminishes, we realize the folly of having assumed the cows to be bears. When the light of true knowledge dawns, we realize that those whom we thought to be enemies are in fact reflections of our inner states of deluded minds; basically all are sparks of the Spirit. If God is flawless, his creations too must be intrinsically auspicious and benevolent. It is like imagining a frightful “Bhalu” out of a nourishing “Aloo”.

The Weeping Mountain

On our way today we saw the weeping mountain. Its stone was soft. Some spring water was blocked above and had no means to pass through. The soft stone began to absorb it, but where will the absorbed water go? It was seeping through the mountain rock. This seepage, when accumulated, began to fall down in drops. People’s fertile imagination called them the drops of tears. At places where wetness accumulated, soil particles carried by wind got stuck and soft green moss began to grow there. Moss is called Kichada in the hilly language here. When the mountain weeps, its eyes must be aching as the result of which Kichada is excreted by its eyes. This is a simple imagination. We saw this weeping mountain today and wiped its tears, too. We felt the moss with our fingers. We could only do this much. Who would ask the mountain as to why it was weeping? And if asked, could it have replied?

But imagination is uncontrollable. Mind began to ask the mountain. . “Oh! Mountain King, you are blessed with so much of wild beauty and grandeur. You do not have to wander here and there. By simply sitting at a place you are enjoying your existence. Then what is it that worries you? Why do you weep?”

The rocky mountain stood silent. But the mountain’ in my imagination began to talk. “How can you understand the pain I feel in my heart? I am very high, am decorated with nature’s beauty and am living without any care and worries. Apparently I have everything, but can this inert, indolent, inactive life be called a life at all? The life devoid of movement, action, struggle, hope, enthusiasm, effort etc. is akin to lifelessness. The joy lies in action. To remain eternally rooted at one place is different from enjoying rest after activity. Mine is the peace of the graveyard. No sensible person will call it rest or happiness. Those who play on the playground of nature, feel more and more fresh and energized as they play on. Every moving life form in nature marches ahead like a valiant warrior, vanquishing one opponent after the other. On the contrary, here I am sitting pretty hoarding the wealth of natural resources and exhibiting splendor. Dear child of imagination, you may call me rich, wealthy and lucky but I am simply inactive. Others leave their indelible imprint on the pages of history, by serving others with their talents, earn eternal fame and feel proud on seeing others getting benefited by their deeds. But I have hoarded like a miser all the resources within myself. If I emit the mossy excretion through my eyes due to weeping out of self-pity, there is nothing to be wondered at.”

My little imagination conversed with the Mountain King and was satisfied with the imaginary explanation by it. But at the same time it was sad, too. The imagination wished how nice would it have been had it (mountain) made pieces of itself and offered these to be used for making roads, bridges, buildings etc. In that case it might not have looked high and huge or it would have even lost its identity as a mountain, but its life would have been fruitful and accomplished. Being deprived of the chance of such sharing, it is only natural that the Mountain king was weeping over its misfortune.

The Load Carrying Sheep

Sheep, which is a small animal, is indispensably benevolent Kamadhenu (the heavenly cow which fulfils all desires) for this mountainous region. It gives milk, wool, and lambs. It also carries loads. On the way today, a flock of sheep numbering about 100 to 125, having long wool, were seen loaded with goods. They were carrying goods like jaggery, rice, flour etc. to Gangotri. Depending on its height and capacity, each sheep was carrying load weighing about 10 to 15 pounds. Apart from mules, sheep is the only means for transporting goods in this hilly region. Other animals or vehicles are of no use on these hilly paths.

I began to think:  It is not necessary to stress on the availability of mega means to solve the basic problems of life. A man can live happily and peacefully with meager means. Limited industrialization is acceptable. But big industries would grab the livelihood of these sheep as well as the people who depend on them and all the wealth would be concentrated in the hands of a few industrialists. The root cause of all the war clouds hovering over the world today is the insatiable greed for capturing and monopolizing the markets for industries.

On seeing the line of sheep, I began to wonder why it is not possible to live peacefully by adopting simple life style with limited means like these simple innocent folks who tend the sheep and live on their limited earnings. In olden days, India followed the ideal of decentralization. Rishis and Munis (Saints and Sages) lived in hermitages forming a unit. Villages were integrated, interdependent, socially bonded units. They mostly fulfilled their requirements from within their own area, from their own society and lived happily in co­operation. There was little scope for corruption, criminality or inharmony. In today’s mad race of industrialization, villages are being uprooted; small portions of cities are flourishing; the poor are being trampled upon and the rich are growing richer through manipulative and foul tactics. The terrible machines roaring like demons are destroying the health, social relations, and morality. Unbridled industrialization, and capitalism, which are being called the pillars of modern developmental process, will eventually lead to violent social upheavals.

My thoughts are getting incoherent. So let me stop this discussion here. But the sheep cannot be forgotten, even if tried to. They remind me of the ancient social system prevailing in India. In the present culture, who will consider the utility and helpfulness of the poor sheep? These poor creatures will only be ridiculed as a symbol of old era. Yet truth will remain the truth. For actualizing humanity’s dream of universal peace and contentment, power and resources will have to be decentralized and in that system everyone will be living happily and contented by one’s own labor, just as the sheep-tending folks along with their bleating sheep are living here.