One
day a disciple, Kishor, offered me a book by Gandhi. I told him I wasn't
allowed to read any nonreligious books. Next morning as I walked through the
desert to find a place for my toilet, he followed and urged me to read the
book. He said, "This book is religious in a deep sense, and therefore it
is not wrong to read it."
What
Gandhi was saying was that religion is not religion if it does not help to
solve the problems of this world, here and now. If religion takes a person away
from this life and this society, then it is escapism. The search for truth is a
continuous daily experience. There is absolute or ultimate truth, and the
search for truth never ends. Every person's life is a kind of laboratory, and every
person should make experiments with truth.
Gandhi's
ideas were in contradiction with my guru's teaching that as monks we should
keep our backs to society and our faces toward God. According to the guru,
people like Gandhi who involved themselves in the world and in politics were
"living in darkness." Gandhi's words raised doubts in me about the
monk's life. For me the rituals had become monotonous. I was thirsty for the
joy of spiritual experience, but I wasn't achieving it.
When
I read Gandhi's ideas, it was an awakening. I talked about his ideas with
Mohan: whether it was possible for us to cut off totally from the outside
world. As long as we were in the body, as long as we needed clothes, food,
shelter, then we had to attend to these needs. It seemed that we were escaping
from a reality we could not deny, shutting our eyes and pretending the rest of
the world did not exist. I asked him if he was sure that we would reach heaven
or nirvana. Mohan said, "Once you are a monk, you are a monk forever.
There is no way out, we have to die as monks." "But when seedlings
are small and tender, a gardener keeps them in pots and raises them till they
have grown stronger. Then the plants have to be planted out in open fields for
them to grow fully into trees. In the same way, we are grateful to our guru that
he gave us guidance and training and laid a strong foundation for our growth,
but now it is time for us to stand on our own feet." Mohan said, "I
agree with you. I want to free my spirit and experience the world. But it would
be a great blow to our families, and ifwe do leave the monkhood, what can we do
and where can we go? Our parents are not going to take us back."
For
weeks we argued and pondered these questions, spending many sleepless nights.
Mohan and I were of one mind that nirvana could not be found by rigid adherence
to a particular path, and we had to take courage in our hands.
We
opened our minds to Monk Chandra. He had been a monk for a couple of years, and
we found that he too was disillusioned. We all knew that by leaving the
monkhood we would bring sorrow and pain to the guru, but we felt we could
remain monks no longer.
In
the town of ratangarh, there were two hundred families who were followers of
our religion, and they would be bound to make it impossible for us to break
from our monkhood. So we needed a way to escape secretly and quietly. There was
a woman living in the town who was beautiful, and a poet. She had a special
relationship with the guru. For many years she had come to see him. When they
talked together, I used to guard the door. So there was a strange bond between us,
and I felt that I could trust her. I suggested to Mohan that we ask her to help
us. We were afraid to speak to her openly, so we sat down and wrote her a
letter.
IN
THE TOWN OF RATANGARH, there were two hundred families who were followers of
our religion, and they would be bound to make it impossible for us to break
from our monkhood. So we needed a way to escape secretly and quietly. There was
a woman living in the town who was beautiful, and a poet. She had a special
relationship with the guru. For many years she had come to see him. When they
talked together, I used to guard the door. So there was a strange bond between us,
and I felt that I could trust her. I suggested to Mohan that we ask her to help
us. We were afraid to speak to her openly, so we sat down and wrote her a
letter.
Dear
Sister,
This
letter may upset you, but we are confident that you will understand our
predicament. Over the past few months we have been going through profound heart
searching. We have gained a great deal from the practice of Jain principles, but
we have grown more and more disillusioned by the way a monk's life puts
boundaries on the open search for truth. We wish to find nirvana in the midst
of the world, and therefore we have decided to discard our monastic robes.
We are
writing to seek your help. Will you be kind enough to give us clothes and some
money, which will enable us to take the train from Ratangarh to Madras?
Please
treat this letter in strict confidence. Yours with brotherly love . . .
I
gave the letter to the woman in the morning.
That
night I had a dream. I was standing upright in a yoga position on one leg. A
cobra came and bound itself tightly around the leg I was standing on, from
ankle to knee. Because I was standing in meditation with my eyes closed, I
didn't see the snake coming, nor did I even feel it wrapping itself around my
leg. Only when it started tightening its grip did I become aware of it. I
opened my eyes to see the snake with its body bound around my leg, its head
facing me. It opened its hood, swaying its head, ready to bite. Terrified, I
woke up covered in sweat.
The next afternoon the woman came.
---
An extract from 'Path Without Destination' by Satish Kumar
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