Rajessh M Iyer's Blog
May 1, 2018
A sword over your head
Once there lived a monk in ancient India. Every time the monk asked his guru to give him Bramha gyan (Ultimate Spiritual Knowledge), the guru would tell him to go and meet King Janak. This was baffling to the monk’s mind.
Here he was, a renunciate and disciple to a rishi, yet all his guru told him was go to a king, a worldly person, a bhogi. The monk had heard strange things but a yogi going to a bhogi was unheard of. But since the guru refused to be of any help beyond uttering the same instruction, the monk went half-heartedly.
As the monk trudged reluctantly towards Janak’s palace, his feet retreated many times. He was still undecided whether to follow his guru’s instruction or not. The idea of a king giving a renunciate spiritual knowledge was unpalatable. The indecision prolonged for the entire day. Before long it was evening and getting dark. The monk realised that since the nearest place he could stay was Janak’s palace, he reluctantly plodded towards it.
When he was taken to meet the king at the royal court, the opinion he had about the king only solidified. Before him was the crass display of wealth and senses. Men were making merry by drinking and enjoying a dance, which was vulgar to the monk’s eyes. Everything was revolting to him.
Even though Janak respectfully welcomed the monk, the latter hated every minute he stayed at that ‘crass’ environment. Soon, the dance was over and Janak led the monk to the guest room. He told the monk to have a hearty meal and sleep, promising to meet him in the morning.
The guest dining room was ornate and to the monk’s eyes everything seemed gaudy. First of the surprises awaited him. When he sat eating the dinner, he noticed that a sword was hanging above him from the ceiling. It was unnerving. He finished the food fast without noticing what was being served on the golden plate. He knew the king’s men had served him the best food, but he could not concentrate on the food what with the sword above his head.
The second shock awaited him when he slept. Exactly like in the dining room, the monk saw a similar sword above the bed. This time he noticed the sword clearly. It was tied to a thin thread and it seemed even a small flutter could snap the thread making the sword dive straight on to the monk’s heart, either piercing through it or injuring him grievously. He found it preposterous. Is this a way to welcome a guest? Forget giving him spiritual wisdom, it seemed the king needed some basic education to be a good host.
Next morning, the monk was ready to leave when King Janak met him. The monk had decided not to broach the subject of the previous night, but when the king enquired whether he had good food and rest, he could take it any more. He asked the king in a tongue in cheek fashion if ‘good food and rest’ meant enjoying naked swords dangling above one’s head.
Janak laughed and told him that’s how he himself lead his life. Janak asked him that despite all the comforts, wasn’t his mind always on the sword? The monk nodded. Janak said like the swords above him at the dining room and the bed, he was ever aware of death looming large over his head. He knew that everything around was momentary and would disappear the moment the sword named ‘death’ fell on him.
Janak said that if people lead their lives with such awareness, it would be the real ‘spiritual existence’. In that moment the monk understood why his guru kept insisting on him meeting King Janak.
Here he was, a renunciate and disciple to a rishi, yet all his guru told him was go to a king, a worldly person, a bhogi. The monk had heard strange things but a yogi going to a bhogi was unheard of. But since the guru refused to be of any help beyond uttering the same instruction, the monk went half-heartedly.
As the monk trudged reluctantly towards Janak’s palace, his feet retreated many times. He was still undecided whether to follow his guru’s instruction or not. The idea of a king giving a renunciate spiritual knowledge was unpalatable. The indecision prolonged for the entire day. Before long it was evening and getting dark. The monk realised that since the nearest place he could stay was Janak’s palace, he reluctantly plodded towards it.
When he was taken to meet the king at the royal court, the opinion he had about the king only solidified. Before him was the crass display of wealth and senses. Men were making merry by drinking and enjoying a dance, which was vulgar to the monk’s eyes. Everything was revolting to him.
Even though Janak respectfully welcomed the monk, the latter hated every minute he stayed at that ‘crass’ environment. Soon, the dance was over and Janak led the monk to the guest room. He told the monk to have a hearty meal and sleep, promising to meet him in the morning.
The guest dining room was ornate and to the monk’s eyes everything seemed gaudy. First of the surprises awaited him. When he sat eating the dinner, he noticed that a sword was hanging above him from the ceiling. It was unnerving. He finished the food fast without noticing what was being served on the golden plate. He knew the king’s men had served him the best food, but he could not concentrate on the food what with the sword above his head.
The second shock awaited him when he slept. Exactly like in the dining room, the monk saw a similar sword above the bed. This time he noticed the sword clearly. It was tied to a thin thread and it seemed even a small flutter could snap the thread making the sword dive straight on to the monk’s heart, either piercing through it or injuring him grievously. He found it preposterous. Is this a way to welcome a guest? Forget giving him spiritual wisdom, it seemed the king needed some basic education to be a good host.
Next morning, the monk was ready to leave when King Janak met him. The monk had decided not to broach the subject of the previous night, but when the king enquired whether he had good food and rest, he could take it any more. He asked the king in a tongue in cheek fashion if ‘good food and rest’ meant enjoying naked swords dangling above one’s head.
Janak laughed and told him that’s how he himself lead his life. Janak asked him that despite all the comforts, wasn’t his mind always on the sword? The monk nodded. Janak said like the swords above him at the dining room and the bed, he was ever aware of death looming large over his head. He knew that everything around was momentary and would disappear the moment the sword named ‘death’ fell on him.
Janak said that if people lead their lives with such awareness, it would be the real ‘spiritual existence’. In that moment the monk understood why his guru kept insisting on him meeting King Janak.
The Tricky Dream
Chuang Tse was a realised soul and a great zen master. Like other zen monks and masters, Chuang Tse helped many spiritual aspirants gain enlightenment.
But one morning when Chuang Tse came to deliver his sermon and discuss subjects based on questions raised by his disciples, he sat quiet. Initially, the disciples thought he was contemplating something and would soon start speaking. But when Chuang Tse doesn’t utter a word, they realised that he was contemplating something serious. They also saw his eyebrows furrowing, which was an odd sign. For, here was someone who dispelled doubts that not only his disciples raised, but answered the innumerable questions thousands came to him for.
‘Is something troubling you, master?’ one of the disciples broke the silence.
‘I am wondering…’ Chuang Tse began, still lost in thoughts. ‘Look, I had a dream last night. I saw I had become a beautiful butterfly, flying among the most beautiful of flowers…’
As Chuang Tse trailed off, his sentence sounding incomplete to the disciples, they wondered what he was aiming at by telling them about his dream.
‘But that’s natural,’ another disciple prodded him. ‘I have dreams every other night.’
‘Yes,’ Chuang Tse nodded. ‘But there’s a question that the dream raised which I’m unable to answer.’
Now this was a googly to the disciples. Chuang Tse unable to get an answer? This was unheard of.
‘The thing is I wanted this mystery solved,’ Chuang Tse began after a pause.
‘What’s the mystery in this dream, master?’ a disciple asked.
‘I was simply wondering,’ Chuang Tse looked at his disciples. ‘Am I Chuang Tse who became a butterfly in his dream?’
The disciples gaped at him. They had no clue what he was saying. They knew there must be something more coming from the master. They waited.
The master didn’t disappoint them, as he began, ‘Or am I the butterfly and in its dream it became Chuang Tse?’
But one morning when Chuang Tse came to deliver his sermon and discuss subjects based on questions raised by his disciples, he sat quiet. Initially, the disciples thought he was contemplating something and would soon start speaking. But when Chuang Tse doesn’t utter a word, they realised that he was contemplating something serious. They also saw his eyebrows furrowing, which was an odd sign. For, here was someone who dispelled doubts that not only his disciples raised, but answered the innumerable questions thousands came to him for.
‘Is something troubling you, master?’ one of the disciples broke the silence.
‘I am wondering…’ Chuang Tse began, still lost in thoughts. ‘Look, I had a dream last night. I saw I had become a beautiful butterfly, flying among the most beautiful of flowers…’
As Chuang Tse trailed off, his sentence sounding incomplete to the disciples, they wondered what he was aiming at by telling them about his dream.
‘But that’s natural,’ another disciple prodded him. ‘I have dreams every other night.’
‘Yes,’ Chuang Tse nodded. ‘But there’s a question that the dream raised which I’m unable to answer.’
Now this was a googly to the disciples. Chuang Tse unable to get an answer? This was unheard of.
‘The thing is I wanted this mystery solved,’ Chuang Tse began after a pause.
‘What’s the mystery in this dream, master?’ a disciple asked.
‘I was simply wondering,’ Chuang Tse looked at his disciples. ‘Am I Chuang Tse who became a butterfly in his dream?’
The disciples gaped at him. They had no clue what he was saying. They knew there must be something more coming from the master. They waited.
The master didn’t disappoint them, as he began, ‘Or am I the butterfly and in its dream it became Chuang Tse?’
May 18, 2016
In Mahabharata Was Arjun killed by his own son?
Yes. Arjun was actually killed by his son, though later revived. Here's the story... of Arjun and Babruvahan. Babruvahan was Arjun and Chitrangada's son. He was adopted by his maternal grandfather and reigned over the kingdom of Manipur. After the great war, when Yudhishthir performed Ashwamedha yagna, Arjun followed the horse let loose to roam over various kingdoms. The horse is stopped by Babruvahan and a battle ensues between father and son in which Babruvahan kills Arjun. Repenting his action, and wanting to kill himself for his heinous action, Babruvahan is stopped by his step mother Ulupi, the naga princess, who gives him a special gem which restores Arjun's life.
May 17, 2016
A Little Known Pandav; A Great Astrologer
Little is known to people about the fifth Pandav, Sahadev. A little known fact from the Mahabharata is that Sahadev was not only very intelligent, but was a great astrologer, as well. So much so that Krishna called him 'Trikaal Gyaani', one who knows the three aspects of time: past, present and future.
There are interesting stories of how Sahadev got this great boon of being able to see the future, not only through astrology but through a divine vision.
But, this boon puts Sahadev - and, the Pandavs - in more than a spot of bother many a time.
There are interesting stories of how Sahadev got this great boon of being able to see the future, not only through astrology but through a divine vision.
But, this boon puts Sahadev - and, the Pandavs - in more than a spot of bother many a time.
