Wisdom of the Sadhu. Sundar Singh

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ to eliminate all desire is still itself a desire. How can we find release and peace by replacing one desire with another? Surely we shall find peace not by eliminating desire, but by finding its fulfillment and satisfaction in the One who created it.

      The hermit closed our conversation, saying, “We shall see what we shall see.”

      maya • illusion

      The sunlight speckled with jungle shadows paints leopard spots on the hermit’s yellow robe. The hermit, the old sadhu, the holy man sits cross-legged on a leopard skin, one with the skin, one with the leopard, one with the jungle.

      At the feet of the sadhu sits Sundar, a boy fleeing maya – illusion – and hungry for certainty and knowledge – jnana. The boy is devout. He is a Sikh, a devout Sikh, a devout among the devout, a lion among the lions. But he is restless.

      Sikh priests have taught him all they know, but he is not satisfied. He can recite the entire Guru Granth Sahib, the holy book of the Sikhs, but it does not quench his thirst. He can recite the Upanishads, the Darsanas, the Bhagavad Gita and the Shastaras of the Hindus; the Qur’an and the Hadis of Islam are known to him by heart. His mother fears God and sees in him a pilgrim; she sees in him the making of a sadhu. His father is worried. He asks Sundar: “Why do you torment yourself over religious questions? You will twist your brain and ruin your sight.” The boy answers, “I must have santi. I must have peace.”

      In his quest, the boy has come to the old sadhu in the jungle:

      Sadhu-ji, you say my hunger and my thirst are illusion, tricks of maya. Only Brahma is truth. Brahma is the divine source of all things, you say; Brahma is God. You say I will see that I am part of Brahma, and that once I do, my needs will cease to concern me. Forgive me, Sadhu-ji, and do not be angry with me, but how can this be? If I am Brahma or have even a part of it, how then can I be deceived by maya? How can illusion have power over me? For if illusion has power over truth, then truth is itself illusion. Is then illusion stronger than truth? Is illusion stronger than truth?

      Sadhu-ji, you say I must wait. You say I will gain knowledge of spiritual things as I grow older. My thirst will be quenched. But can it be so? Is not food the answer to hunger? Is not water the answer to thirst? If a hungry boy asks for bread, can his father answer, “Go and play! When you are older, you will understand hunger and you will not need bread?” If you, Sadhu-ji, have found the understanding I seek, if you have found certainty and peace, please tell me how I can find it. If not, then tell me so, and I will continue my search. I cannot rest until I have found peace.

      Something is wrong. Why do the Shastaras no longer come alive before my eyes? Why does our holy book now seem so distant? Why do I return from the peace of yoga meditation to find my heart still burdened with unrest?

      An adolescent boy struggles to hold onto all that his mother taught him. It was so natural and so simple while she was alive, but since her death the spiritual exercises require so much effort. Faith has become clouded by doubt. The words of the old sadhu in the jungle sound like hollow promises, with boldness he questions the sadhu’s teaching. The words of the Vedas and of Guru Granth Sahib no longer answer his seeking. Instead, question after question stumbles over one another, and all is confusion. The lives of those around him seem fraught with hypocrisy. Where is the fire and clarity of the early Sikh believers? And now Christian missionaries bring still another truth, but their arrival brings Sundar only further, deeper confusion.

      This is not the truth of my mother, of our ancestors, of our culture. This is a foreign truth, one brought to us by outsiders who do not understand our ways. But why then does Father make me attend the Christian school? I would rather go to the state school at Sanewal. I am ready to walk the six miles through the desert. I am a Sikh. I will show them. I will show Father what I think of these colonialists and their western ways, their foreign faith…

      When the elders come to him, Sardar Sher Singh cannot believe his ears. There must be some mistake. Quiet, respectful Sundar throwing stones at his teachers, disrupting classes, and mocking the missionaries – impossible! When Sardar Sher Singh goes to see for himself, he cannot believe his eyes. Yet there, in the courtyard of his own house, a group of teenage boys gather around his son, who first tears the Christian’s holy book to shreds and then, in a frenzy of rage, hurls it into a fire. Never in the history of the village has anyone publicly burned a sacred book of any faith! And his own son! He rushes out in confusion and anger. He seizes Sundar:

      Are you insane? Why would you do such a thing? Is this the respect for sacred things you learned at your mother’s breast? Is this your thanks to those who teach you? You will not commit such blasphemy in my presence. As your father and head of this household, I command you to stop such insanity. There will be no more book burning here!

      Peace is gone. No one is left. Mother is dead. Father is shamed. The sadhu in the jungle has no more to say. The holy writings are remote and foreign. Meditation offers escape, but no resolution, no realization. The ritual bath cleanses the body, but all is still dark within. The familiar words of the scriptures whirl in his mind. There is Guru Nanak: “I cannot live for a moment without you, O God. When I have you, I have everything. You are the treasure of my heart.” And there is Guru Arjim: “We long only for you, O God. We thirst for you. We can only find rest and peace in you.” That is the only hope. If there is a God, then let him reveal the way to peace. If there is no God, then there is no point in living.

      The fifteen-year-old boy rises long before the sun. With solemn ritual he bathes and chants the ancient invocation as he has done every morning for as long as he can remember, just as his mother taught him. This morning will be the last time. He thinks of his mother and wonders if he will find her in the world beyond. At 5:00 a.m. the express train to Ludhiana will pass. It will pass over the tracks near the edge of Sardar Sher Singh’s property. It will pass over the body of a desperate, confused young man. It will crush all doubts and drive all questions from his heart and head.

      The prophecy of the Sikh priest nears fulfillment, for had he not said to Sardar Sher Singh: “Your son is not like the others. Either he will become a great man of God, or he will disgrace us all by going insane.”

      Parable

      the saint

      Many years ago there was a saint who after finishing his daily round of duties would go to a cave in a jungle to pray and meditate for hours. One day a philosopher happened to come across the cave. Finding the saint on his knees, he first stood there in amazement. Then he went up to the entrance of the cave and tapped, but the saint was so absorbed in contemplation that he did not respond. The philosopher waited at least half an hour and was on the point of leaving when the saint rose and called him in to sit down. Both remained silent for a few moments. Then the philosopher broke the silence.

      Philosopher: Do you know that this cave is known as a den of robbers?

      Saint: Yes, sir, I know it well. This cave is a meeting place for robbers but it is a shelter for me. When I am in the city in the midst of so many people, when I have done my work and want to pray and meditate, I find obstacles and impediments that disturb my worship and distract me so that neither I nor others receive any real benefit from my spiritual exercise. So I retire from the disturbances of city life to this quiet place and rest here in the presence of my God and worship him in the beauty of his holiness. Here I spend my time in prayer and offer intercessions on behalf of others. This spiritual exercise has done much good not only for me but for others as well.

      Thieves often visit this place, but they never trouble me. One of them once said to me, “See, honorable saint, we are not blind and stupid. We rob those people who, though not called robbers, yet rob others as much as we do.” I will not report them to the authorities, because I know a worldly government cannot reform them. It can only punish them СКАЧАТЬ