The Sacred Within the Ordinary

 

Premanand Ji Maharaj of Mathura tells a beautiful story. A story which, in its simplicity, tells you what real dharma means, what it means to stay rooted in dharma irrespective of whatever domain you are in.

And the story also proves that being a proponent of dharma is no copyright of just renunciates and ascetics.

The story goes like this.

There was a very strong-willed tapasvi who was doing his sadhana under a tree.

After a long session of meditation, suddenly he was jolted into the realisation that a bird sitting in the branches above had happened to drop its excrement on him.

Now, looking at the bird dropping on his saffron robe, he got very angry instinctively. He cursed the poor bird.

Since this tapasvi had built up a lot of energy because of his sadhanas, the curse materialised and the bird was turned to ashes instantly.

After some time, this tapasvi set out to ask for alms, as the ascetics used to do in older times.

Standing in front of a house, he spoke in a loud voice, asking for the attention of the household.

A young woman came out and, looking at the sannyasi with his bowl standing in front of their door, she very politely and courteously asked him to wait.

The sannyasi thought that she would straightaway go and fetch the alms.

But much to his surprise, she did not return for a few minutes.

In the meantime, the woman had gone to seek the permission of her husband, who was doing something in the inner courtyard.

And when she informed him that there was a sannyasi standing in front of the door asking for alms, he smiled and said, "What was the use of coming back and seeking permission for this? You should have straightaway gone on to give him something to eat or drink."

She smiled politely and said, "I am just fulfilling my patni dharma, the moral dharma of a wife."

This interaction had taken about a couple of minutes.

In the meantime, the ascetic standing in front of the house lost his patience.

And when the woman came out with some food after a couple of minutes, he got very angry, being impulsive and angry by nature.

He shouted, "This is not punya, this is sin! This is not virtue. You have made a sannyasi stand in front of your house for a long time, and you don't seem to be concerned about the virtue of serving the ascetic standing in front of your house."

And before he could go into a cursing spree, the young woman, confidently but with discipline, dignity and respect, and yet with firmness, said, "Stop. You being a sannyasi does not mean that you can go around cursing people like you cursed that poor bird this morning."

The sannyasi was very much taken aback.

How can this woman, this simple housewife who does not seem to have done any sadhana, know what happened this morning?

So, in surprise, he asked her, "How do you know what happened this morning?"

She said, "I know that I am not doing sadhana like you, but I am rooted in my dharma. That is the duty of my household affairs and my affection and faith in my husband as my partner.

"That is my dharma. I am rooted in it, and it is as good as performing a sadhana like you are doing.

"Now, if you want further elaboration on this, go..."

She mentioned a place nearby and told him, "Go to that place, and there you will find a man, a butcher selling meat. Go and ask him. He will tell you something more about it. I know you are curious about how I know what happened with you this morning."

So this ascetic was very much surprised, thinking, how can a person who is engaged in meat selling, who is a butcher by trade, elaborate on this?

He is not even in dharma!

At least this woman is rooted in dharma in her role as a housewife, in her duties to her house as well as in her trust and commitment to her husband.

But this butcher, I don't think he will have anything to elaborate on this.

Still, he was full of curiosity, and he walked in that direction.

He reached the place and saw that the butcher was not that old, just around forty, a very dignified, decent-looking fellow weighing meat, with customers standing around.

And when there was no customer, this ascetic approached him and asked him, "What kind of task is this? You are trading in meat?"

So instead of asking him something, he started preaching to him about the dharma of killing, of eating meat and all this.

The meat seller laughed.

He said, "Now don't just vent out your anger on me just because you happen to have been reprimanded by a young housewife just now."

The ascetic was taken aback.

How come this meat seller knows what happened just a few minutes ago?

It's quite something very surprising.

So he asked him, "How do you know that there was some incident between me and a young housewife just a few minutes ago?"

The young man, the meat seller, laughed.

He said, "I am not doing sadhana like you, but I do my sadhana in a very small and simple way.

"I am busy. This is my trade as a butcher. I have inherited this occupation to fulfil my responsibility as a householder.

"I take part in this trading, but I am not attached to it.

"Even while weighing meat, I am still engaged in remembrance of God.

"Whenever I get time, I fulfil my rituals. I do my bhajan. I sing in praise of the Lord.

"And even while I am holding my weighing scale, I am just looking at it to give it perfect balance in full equanimity.

"So I am into this job, but I am not this job. I am just playing this role.

"My dharma is to stay in remembrance of God as much as possible.

"So that is my dharma."

So the moral of the story is that it's not what you do, or the kind of job you are into, that alone decides your dharma.

Dharma is not just limited to those who go to the forest or perform rituals or are doing sadhanas.

It is for everybody, wherever you are, provided you are fulfilling your responsibilities and engaged in your activities that demand your attention and time because you are fulfilling a certain social role.

But alongside, if you are rooted in your full detachment from that activity, in remembrance of God, you are as good a tapasvi as any one of the sadhus meditating in remote caves.