A Strange Experience
by
T.N. Dhar 'Kundan'
Sometimes I go through strange experiences. If I am
in a balcony and some birds are nearby chirping,
I begin understanding their conversation. If I am in a
garden I feel that the trees and other forms of
vegetation are talking to me. If I am on the bank of a
river the waves communicate with me. You will not
believe it but it is true. I myself do not believe all this
but only after the event. While I am in the company
of these, everything is clear to me but as soon as I
am on my own, it all baffles me as it does you. I do
not blame you for treating all this as a figment of my
imagination but please bear with me. Believe me as
a gentleman that I am not selling pure fiction. I am
narrating to you what all I usually go through while I
am with these friends (as I like to call them).
I am reminded of a poem in Kashmiri written by
that genius of a poet who was fondly called Master
ji. A sparrow came and sat on the sill of his window,
where he was seated with his eyes closed. As soon
as he opened his eyes, the sparrow flew away. The
sensitive poet was grieved; it touched his heart. At
once he addressed a few verses to the little bird. He
asked why it had flown away. He asked whether it
did not like his eyes because it had flown as soon
as he had opened his eyes. He lamented that men
devoured their eggs and flesh because of which they
were scared of humans. All the same the poet was
in conversation with the bird.
So am I, not only with birds, with flowers and
trees but also with other forms of nature. When I
look to the tall poplar tree with its up-stretched
branches I get an impression of a haughty arrogant
person. I hear the tree tell me, ‘be like me -headstrong and egoist. Walk with your head high
and do not bend before any one. See, however
strong and forceful the wind may be, I am shaken
momentarily but not bent. I prefer to break than bend.’ Then I turn to other side and see the mighty
Chinar. It tells me, ‘my dear! Be graceful like me. Help others. Give them shelter. Protect them from Sun and rain.
Service rendered to others makes you gracious,
magnanimous and splendid. It gives you prestige
and makes your life purposeful and meaningful.’ Likewise, when I come across a fruit tree laden
with apples, pears, pomegranates or any other fruit, and
approach it, the voice I hear says something like this,
‘if you have some worth and are capable of yielding anything worthwhile, you have to be humble and submissive. Humility is a virtue that
makes you great, worthy and
valuable.’ Many a time when I am in a flower garden, the tiny buds and
enchanting flowers talk to me. Once
I was brooding near a small flower
plant. Suddenly a little bud spoke
to me. It said, ‘do you know what Josh, the famous Urdu poet asked me one day? He questioned my
very existence, which aims at just a smile. I replied
to his query by asking a counter question as to how
many people are lucky enough to get even one smile
in their lives. He had no answer.’ Suddenly a flower resumed where the bud had left the conversation. It
said, ‘the bud is right. It is a bud only as long as it smiles. Once it smiles it becomes a full-fledged
flower like me. We attract people by our beauty,
patters on our petals, our multifarious hues and the
scent that we emit. If you have to be a symbol of
beauty, you must possess colours of virtue and
fragrance of goodness.’ Not that I am a silent listener. I also tell them what I feel. Sometimes I thank them
for their advice but whether I am intelligible to them
or not is not known. Even then I speak out my heart
to them.
Once I told a mango tree, ‘what use is your motto of service unto others? Are you not
hurt when people
climb on you and your delicate branches get broken?
Do you not get bruised when people throw stones
at you in order to have your fruit? Is it not humiliating
when someone curses you finding your fruit
tasteless or rotten?’ the tree replied in its magnanimity, ‘if you live only for yourself, your life
is wasted. If you live for others as well, your life is
virtuous. You should not bother about what others
do or how others behave. You do what you feel is
right and proper. Leave others free to decide for themselves what they consider right.’
I was reminded of a saint who was offering his prayers on the bank
of a river. He saw a scorpion drowning. He picked it
on his palm. As soon as it was out of water it stung
the palm of the saint with its pincers. The hand of
the saint shook and the poisonous creature fell in
the water and was about to get drowned. Again the
saint picked it from the water and again it stung his
hand. There was a tremour in his hand because of
which the scorpion again slipped off. Again the saint saved it from
drowning. The saint was doing its duty
and the cunning creature was at its dirty job, perhaps
helpless because of his nature.
One day while I was on the balcony of my
house, I was surrounded by a host of birds, small
and big, of a variety of patterns and speaking in
different tunes. A small budgerigar asked me in a
sweet tone, ‘may I sing for you?’ I gave a nod. It sang
a melodious tune. It lulled me to sleep and in my
dream I saw the bird as a small fairy moving around
me and singing a scintillating song. I was
mesmerized. Suddenly another bird hopped near it
and began scolding the poor bird, in these words,
‘why do you sing for him? You know they are called
human but in reality they are inhuman. They destroy
our nests and eat our flesh and eggs.’ The little
parakeet sided with me and replied, ‘do not blame
them. Some of our ilk also pounce upon us, injure
us and then devour our flesh. Moreover, this person
is a poet and poets by nature are humane, kind and
sensitive. They are sympathetic and are moved by
the grief and suffering of others.’ Then came a kite
swooping and sat at the railing. It complained to me,
‘Kashmiris would occasionally throw sinews of goat
and sheep flesh up in the sky from the roof of their
house for us to eat. We would hover around and
dancing would jump at these meat pieces. These
days they no longer feed us like that.’ I told it, ‘while
you are right, you must realize that they have been
uprooted from their hearth and home. It has become
well nigh impossible for themto follow their traditional
customs and continue with their habits.’ The kite
looked to the large black crow that was parching
nearby and gave a look of appreciation. The birds
also seem to understand human tragedies.
Many times I have had intimate conversations
with the flowing waters and the waves of a river. I
am very fond of sitting on the banks of a river for
hours on end. On one such occasion I was sitting
on the bank of a river. The water was flowing single-minded
and making a sweet sound. Waves after
waves were rising and then getting subsumed by
the river. Small whirlpools were dancing and I was
absorbed watching all this. Suddenly the water
whispered to me, ‘Do you observe me flowing
unhindered without resting? You should emulate me
in living your life. I try to flow within the parameters
of my two banks. When I transgress these there is
flood, inundation and destruction all round. Take a
lesson from it and never overstep the norms and
standards laid down by ethics and morality.’ I was
amazed to find how much there is to learn from this
mighty river. The whirlpools talked about turbulence
and turmoil but the most profound lesson came from
the waves. They taught me the secret of human
existence that further strengthened my belief in non-dualism
of Indian philosophy. One of them even
explained the reality in plain words. ‘Look at us,’ it
said, ‘we are born of the waters of this river and we
get merged in these waters. We are part of this
whole although we appear to be distinct. Our ebb
gives us a notion of being separate from the river
but our flow shows us the reality of being part and
parcel of the same river. We are witness to this
phenomenon where one gives rise to many and
many eventually become one.’ I was reminded of
these lines from the Upanishads, ‘Poornam-adah
poornam-idam poornat poornam-udachyate
poornasya poornam-adaya poornam-evaavashishyate
– Everything here is complete. Add
complete to complete or subtract complete from
complete, it still remains complete.’ We have to know
this whole, this perfect and this complete, of which
we are a part. Or is it that we appear to be a part but
in reality we are the whole, as explained by the wave?
Source: Har-Van
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