Some troubles, alas, are self-created, by our own errors. How do we process that? This tale that I have expanded and retold is taken from several parables of Sri Ramakrishna Paramahamsa. Many of his parables are very short in length but vast and deep in content. It is up to the reader to make sense of them and find the possibilities of recovery after a painful mistake:
Haren was the poor relative of a rich landlord in Bengal. The landlord lived in Calcutta in a fine house. His wife was fond of society and they lived a busy life with parties and soirees. Haren’s mother, a distant cousin of the landlord’s, brought him to town to ask the landlord for a job for her son.
The landlord had an estate in the countryside. His old steward had recently died and he needed a replacement. He offered Haren the job and said that he could stay with him in Calcutta for a month to learn accounts from his munshi.
This proved to be Haren’s undoing. The glittering life he saw around him filled him with want. He gawked at the fine things in the mansion, the silver, the marble-topped tables, the silk curtains. He was too shy and too lowly to speak to the landlord’s family, staying as he did in the servants’ quarters at the back. But he observed from outside how society men behaved with the ladies, the courtesies and flourishes.
Haren wanted to be their equal but knew that it could not be. He was sent to the estate when his month was up, his head full of imaginings. All Haren owned, apart from two sets of dhotis and kurtas, were a few pots and pans. His mother had assembled them for him with some difficulty.
Haren found that he had a free hand at the estate. The other servants were even lowlier than he—the sweeper, the gardener and the cowherd. He chose a comfortable room, unpacked his dented utensils in the kitchen, and thoroughly explored the house. Finding a cupboard open, he discovered knotted bundles of the landlord’s clothes and helped himself to a number of fine kurtas, dhotis and shawls. He even found shoes that fit.
Haren strolled around grandly, telling the neighbours that he was the landlord’s nephew and the new owner of the estate. This continued for some months until the fateful day that Haren decided to catch a fish. There was an earthen pond on the estate stocked with ‘pabda’ or catfish. Haren was partial to ‘pabda macher jhol’, a spicy fish curry, and his mouth watered for it. He laid out the spices he would require and went out to catch a fish.
Stepping into the pond, Haren had just taken hold of a slippery pabda when he heard the sound of carriage wheels. It was the landlord who straightaway spotted Haren catching his fish in his pond, dressed in his clothes. The landlord leapt out of the carriage in fury.
“You thief!” he shouted. “I was coming to give you your wages. Now take this!”
He hauled Haren out roughly and began thrashing him with his cane. He drove him out of the gates and slammed them shut. That was it. Haren was out on the road without his wages, without even his dented pans, his only possession.
Haren wept in shame and humiliation as he stumbled along the road.
“It was just a fish! Why did he kick me out so cruelly?” he sobbed, still refusing to see the point. After a while, he stopped at a small roadside pavilion made by some charitable soul for travellers to rest in. An old sadhu sat there in monumental stillness. But his eyes were keen and bright as he took in Haren’s distraught face. Haren saluted him automatically and sat down in a morose heap.
“What is the matter, my boy?” said the sadhu after some time.
“Venerable sir, I am in big trouble,” blurted Haren, and poured out his sorry tale.
The sadhu did not say anything at first. After a while, he said gently, “Let me tell you a story.”
“Once, an ant discovered a heap of sugar. Just one grain filled its stomach. Carrying another grain, it set off towards its anthill. It thought triumphantly, ‘Next time, I will take away the whole sugar hill.’ Son, this is how ignorant minds think. They want everything they see whereas the real treasures are three. Firstly, self-respect. It does not come from material things but from honourable conduct and lack of greed. The second treasure is honest effort. Work hard to make something of yourself. You will not be left without even a pan.
Thirdly, seek and find God in everything and everyone around you. When you realise you are part of a Whole, you will not feel cheated and denied by things on the surface.” Haren looked on only half-comprehending, so the old sadhu told him another story.
“There was a sadhu once who lived above the naubat khana or music room of the temple at Dakshineshwar. He never spoke to anyone and spent all his time meditating on God. One day a big, black cloud suddenly darkened the sky. But after a few minutes, a strong wind blew away the cloud. The holy man came out of his room and began to sing and dance on the verandah.
When asked about this unusual merriment, the sadhu laughed and said, “Such is Maya, the illusion that covers life. First there is a clear sky, then there is a dark cloud and soon it’s a clear sky again, just as before.”
Haren understood this better. “So my misfortune is just a passing cloud, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Indeed it is, if you provide the strong wind of effort to blow it away, praying to God to ease your path,” said the old sadhu. Haren was finally consoled and took leave, resolving that he would go back to Calcutta and do better this time.
Renuka Narayanan