Sri Ramakrishna Paramahamsa told many brief but deeply symbolic parables; I love expanding and retelling them. In one story, he talks of a child called Jatila who was afraid to cross the deep, dark woods (life) to get to school (knowledge, as in spiritual realisation). Swami Vivekananda’s American disciple Margaret Noble or Sister Nivedita charmingly expanded and narrated this 19th-century parable. It appeared as ‘Gopala and the Cowherd’in her book, Cradle Tales of Hinduism, in 1907. Amar Chitra Katha later presented the story in an illustrated version. While the Gopala version is well-known, Sri Ramakrishna’s original parable about Jatila is somewhat lost and forgotten. It is one of my favourites for the beautiful message it conveys for the life struggles of this millennium:
Jatila lived in a village across the forest from his school. The school was excellent fun, but going and coming back through the shadowy forest frightened him. He was only eight and had just begun to go to school. But he did not like to own that he was afraid of his schoolmates because his name meant ‘lion’. He was meant to be brave. He had not quite grown into his name; that was all.
“I won’t be afraid next year when I’m bigger or the year after that,” he thought sturdily. “Phee-yarn”, screeched a peacock nearby, making Jatila jump. “It’s only a silly old peacock,” he told himself stoutly. But the next instant, the sudden rustle of an animal breaking cover made him scream. It was a jackal with sharp teeth and eyes gleaming red in the rays of the setting sun that streaked through the forest. Jatila broke into a desperate run down the jungle path.
When he got home gasping, he threw himself at his widowed mother, who was going about her chores.
“Mother, I don’t want to go to school anymore,” he sobbed. “The forest frightens me. Get someone to take me there and bring me back, or I won’t go.”
“Men can be more dangerous than animals, Jatila,” said his mother sadly, “And we have nobody since your father died. It’s just the two of us, son. And God, I suppose.”
“You know God well, don’t you, Mother? You light a lamp to Him every evening and pray,” said Jatila curiously.
His mother laughed a strange laugh. “Yes, I know God well. He makes me remember Him a lot.”
“Does He know me, Mother?”
“You’ll know one day,” said his mother, still in that strange, sarcastic voice.
“But who will bring me back from school, Mother?”
His mother bit her lip and looked away. Jatila saw that she was looking hard at the prayer corner where the lamp was lit every evening. She seemed to be thinking something over. She gave a little nod suddenly and turned to look at Jatila.
“I didn’t remember Madhusudan,” she said with a rueful smile.
“Come here; let me dry your face. The next time you’re afraid, call Madhusudan. He’ll look after you.”
“Who is he, Mother?” asked Jatila.
“He is your elder brother,” said his mother laughing but nicely now.
Jatila was very excited.
“Why didn’t you tell me I had an elder brother? Why doesn’t he come home? What does he look like?” he asked eagerly.
“He likes to live in the forest, so I haven’t seen him for a long time,” said Jatila’s mother.
“He’s tall, dark, and quite strong.”
Jatila could hardly sleep that night thinking of his big brother. What a fine thing it was to have one; wait till he told the boys at school, he thought happily. He was very disappointed the next day when his mother warned him not to talk of Madhusudan to anyone in case he never showed up.
He trudged off bravely into the forest, his head full of thoughts about his big brother. These thoughts sustained him each day coming home, and it seemed he was finally getting over his fear of the forest.
However, One day, a big storm blew over the forest after Jatila entered it. The sky grew frighteningly dark. The wind whipped through the trees, which creaked and groaned alarmingly, and dust leaves and twigs hit Jatila in the face as he began to run in fear.
A broken branch fell suddenly across the narrow jungle path, barely missing Jatila, and he grew even more afraid. And then he remembered his elder brother.
“Brother Madhusudan!” he called loudly. But there was no answer, only the wicked wheeze of the forest creaking around him. Jatila called and called until he grew hoarse. “Come to me, Brother, I’m afraid. Where are you?” he wept aloud.
“Don’t be afraid. Here I am,” said a calm, strong voice from behind him.
Jatila spun around but saw no one.
“I can’t see you!” he cried pitifully. “Please come to me.”
“Keep walking, Jatila, I’m watching your back. Don’t be afraid,” said the voices.
Feeling comforted, Jatila began to walk on boldly. The storm died away after a while, and he found himself safely at the forest’s edge.
“Now let me see you,” he cried and whirled around, but nobody was there on the path.
Jatila heard a laugh close by from behind the trees.
“I could not keep away when you called, child,” he heard the voice say.
“I’ll take you through whenever you need me. Don’t be afraid, lion-heart. You are actually very brave. You just didn’t know it. But now you do. Go home now to Mother.”
Jatila called out a fond goodbye and raced home to tell his mother. How happy she would be that Madhusudan had appeared just as she said he would. It was wonderful to know that he had someone of his own to take him through the forest. Perhaps Madhusudan would show himself one day, after all?
It was something to look forward to now, every day.
Renuka Narayanan
shebaba09@gmail.com