This is God - The Master of the entire Universe. The Creator of the bright burning star, the mighty expanding cosmos…. the soft unfolding flower, the little blade of grass. Thousands flock to Him, millions seek Him in prayer. The denizens of both Heaven and Earth sing His praise. Sages and seers, renunciants and blessed souls spend many lifetimes in His contemplation.
But to us, His own, His students, He is beyond even His Divinity. We see Him not as the many armed, haloed, resplendent demigod. No, He is our beloved, waiting in love by the shades of slow time, for us to return His love. We see not the thousand blazing suns that flash in His eyes; we see the glint of mischief that presses the signet of eternity upon many a fleeting moments of unsullied joy. We hear not the declarations that He makes; we hear His whispers that echo in the caves of our beings. We feel not His touch when He crowns us in glory; but we sense His touch in every scented evening breeze that caresses our face.
He wins the faith and belief of His devotees with His miracles: He wins our hearts with His little cares. Be it in teaching us how to groom our hair, or wear our neatly pressed clothes; be it in teaching us the dining etiquette, or how to conduct ourselves; He takes personal interest which dissolves any distance between us.
For Him each one of us is equally important, like His very own. It was Darshan time, and our Lord strolled out of His residence, welcomed by the first golden gleams of the morning sun, and the sweet twitter of the early birds. In those days boys used to stand lined up on either side of the path that led from Swami’s residence to the audience hall. As Bhagavan walked by He suddenly looked into the face of one of the boys, and without another word went back into His residence. A few minutes later He came out and went about as if nothing had happened. But as He passed that boy He threw to him a small white box of Vaseline and softly reproached him about his chapped lips. None of his classmates had even so much as noticed those fissures. The boy’s eyes welled with tears.
Avatars have blessed mankind in every Age. But none have come to find kinship so deep and so far spread. None has given so much of Himself and received so much from His loved ones. Often we hear people speak of Lord Rama and Lord Krishna, and the good fortune of the men and women who were their contemporaries. But here we are more blessed than they for we are closer and dearer to this Lord of ours.
As a little boy I used to wonder why God has to come down to earth to carry out His mission. Could He not sit in the Heavens and work wonders with a mere wave of His hand, like all the magicians I had come across? It was one of my elder brothers in the hostel who narrated a beautiful story about why God chooses to come down. The story goes as follows:
In a distant kingdom there lived a loving queen and her princes and princesses returned her love equally. The mother and her children were a happy lot. The children spent their days playing around in the palace gardens. They could play anywhere except in the garden; it was the strict instruction of the queen to her children, for the garden had upon it a spell - ‘anyone who entered it lost any faint remembrance of who they were’. Instead they would begin to believe that they were sheep and from then on lead the life of a sheep, taking the garden for their entire world.
But as in all stories with forbidden gardens or for that matter forbidden anything, the children on one fine evening lost track of where they were. All of a sudden they saw a beautiful garden and were instantly drawn towards it. The children entered the enchanted garden and began to live bovid lives.
When the queen came to know of the happenings she hastened to leave behind all the wealth and comforts of the royal palace and join her flock in the garden. Without a second thought she entered the enchanted garden to live like a sheep, for that was the only way she could now win kinship with her children who no longer recognized her, and the only way she could help them break the spell. Days chased months and months chased years, slowly the sheep came to love the queen as the mother of the flock. They would love to be by her side all day long. They knew she was special, but none thought beyond that, for they were now mere sheep. And to this day the queen strives to help her children break the spell one by one. She never tires. She does it all by herself for they are her children; she loves them and they love her.
So is it with this God of ours, too. Leaving the white heavens, He descends upon the dark earth to walk amidst us, desperately striving to tell us, His children, that we are no mortals but are His very own. He spares no efforts, He leaves no stone unturned. He holds no cares for Himself, save those of His children. For Him their joys are His, their welfare is His. But in His love He at times dons even unpleasant masks. He does it to ensure the well-being of his children.
It was in my first year of joining Bhagavan’s college at Brindavan. One week had passed and we were rejoicing in His company. All was well, when one fine morning as we assembled at the prayer hall in the Institute we received the shocking news that Swami was upset with the boys. Neither reasons nor explanations were given. We were left wondering what had gone wrong where. In the evening Swami did not call us to His residence. For the next three days He refused to even walk by the side where we sat for Darshan. Every heart bled. One day as we prepared to proceed to the Institute we received the message that Bhagavan was leaving for Puttaparthi and that too in a huff.
With searing agony and numbing senses we rushed to Trayee. We decided that as a last attempt to undo any wrong on our part we must surround Bhagavan and beg His forgiveness. And so we positioned ourselves at vantage points, meekly awaiting the right moment.
Soon the doors opened and Bhagavan came down the steps, not so much as casting a glance upon any one of us. As He walked into our ranks we broke loose and locked around Him in chains, crying in desperation asking for mercy and forgiveness. But to our horror, His heart instead of melting, seethed with greater anger. Scolding us in the harshest of tones, He turned towards our trembling Warden and told him that we were the most unruly set of boys that He had ever come across, and that we were not to be allowed to go to Parthi henceforth for any celebrations, especially the forthcoming Sports Meet. So saying He turned around and got into His car and sped away without even bidding us farewell.
Every face was tear-streaked. None had the strength to console the other. All were desolate and shattered. For the next few weeks the hostel had the eerie silence of a thousand graveyards. For days on end we heard no laughter. Boys forgot what it was to play games or enjoy their food. Many fasted; many more went through more unspeakable anguish. However, managing to muster sufficient hope we decided to prepare for the Sports Meet, though we were repeatedly told by the then Vice Chancellor that there was no sign of Bhagavan relenting.
The Eleventh of January drew close. And as we waited with fingers crossed, we were told that the Vice Chancellor had managed to convince Bhagavan to include us too in the Sports Meet. Delighted, we landed in Prasanthi Nilayam. Things went on fine; Swami seemed to be happy once again with us. The day of the Sports Meet dawned, each campus put up events and Swami sat through the whole programme. But unusually, during the programme He left the stage many times to use the makeshift washroom behind. This passed casually, and at the end of the day everyone was left happy.
Soon the preparations for the fourteenth of January began. It was a festive occasion, for Bhagavan had expressed His immense joy at the end of the Sports Meet. And finally the fourteenth too came. Swami was to bless us with His Divine Discourse. As is the custom, three speakers preceded Bhagavan; the Brindavan Warden, the Anantapur Warden and the Vice Chancellor. When the Warden of Brindavan began to speak, without a clue, he broke down in uncontrollable sobs. Shocked, the entire gathering waited for him to collect himself and then explain.
On the morning of Eleventh January as Swami came into the Hill View Stadium, due to a minor technical snag Bhagavan had tripped in His chariot. Though it appeared that He was unhurt, He had actually sustained a severe cut running along His back, from a protruding sheet of silver that decorated His chariot. He had also bruised His arms. And all along the day He had managed to hide it from all of us. He bore the pain (with a pleasant front all the while) hurrying to the washroom to soak up towels of blood that continued to wet His robe.
When asked why He had had to go through all this, He replied that one of the boys who had performed a difficult yogic stance on a moving truck was destined to fall and break his spine at multiple points. It was for the same reason that He had to enact a drama many months beforehand trying His level best to avoid the whole Sports Meet. But alas! Fools that we were, we failed to abide by His Providence. Left with no choice He took upon Himself the entire calamity.
What forces the mighty Divine Force to come down to earth to dance to our tunes and go through all this in the name of love? Even as we sat there, each sobbing like a little infant, men, women and children, young and old, He comforted us in His discourse and in front of our very eyes cured Himself of the painful injuries as a token of His love.
Let Thy love play upon my voice and rest on my silence.
Let it pass through my heart into all my movements.
Let Thy love like stars shine in the darkness
of my sleep and dawn in my awakening.
Let it burn in the flame of my desires
And flow in all currents of my own love.
Let me carry Thy love in my life as a harp does its music,
And give it back to Thee at last with my life.
- Karthik Prashanth
Student (1998-2005), Department of Maths and Computer Sciences
Sri Sathya Sai Institute of Higher Learning
No comments:
Post a Comment