Heaven

[ Fiction ]

He was running in some unknown place fleeing from something unknown. It was a late night probably in hell. He ran and ran and found himself panting at steps of a giant oval shaped dark hall. The doors were open and the guard didn't stop from entering. The floor was full of people sleeping in hapazard orientations. Outlines of their loose clothes and bodies were making the scene look like a medieval mythological picture painted on a ceiling of a European church albeit without any colors and detail.

He carefully waded through this pool of sleeping bodies and reached the opposite end of the hall with closed doors. A guard was protecting those doors.

"Open it."
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Yes. Open it."

And the guard pushed both doors outside with his hands and stepped aside for him. He stepped out of the hall onto the descending steps in blazing sunlight with a gust of cold wind hitting his face. As soon as this happened the dark hall and the guard behind vanished and a man appeared with a smile and expectant eyes on the steps. Though he didn't say a word to him he instinctively knew what to do. He fumbled his shirt pocket and extracted a bill of 10 and gave it to the man turning his face away from him and to the wind. He saw sunny fields and green mountain slopes. He saw snowed peaks and brightest almost forgotten sunshine. He saw the spiraling roads and cars climbing up those slopes in cool stillness. He saw a bicycle lying idle on the steps below and he knew what to do with it.

Speed

[ Fiction ]

He arrived at the shade with the car key in clutched fist and immediately settled in the drivers seat slamming the door.

Ignition turned full on and engine fired up; screeches of backing up turning tires tore up peace of the quiet neighborhood's night. By the time he arrived at the on-ramp to the freeway his harsh breaking and equally sudden accelerations would have made his mood clear to any onlookers but they were absent and he was oblivious. His mind didn't even register the fading profanities of a pick-up trucker when he merged in front of him being too close for comfort.

Once in lane with some breathing space ahead, he started moving again.

Tick tick.. a look behind...left
Tick tick.. left
Tick tick.. left...

He was now in the fastest lane with road on slight descent; in middle of dense traffic that was moving rapidly in both directions, oncoming yellows equally matched by the reds flowing ahead. 78-85-90-92-. And he found he can't go any further. Then he started weaving between the cars where space allowed and he felt he will soon leave this cloud of traffic behind. He thought, he was discovering a new mode of driving and started feeling better.

Suddenly he saw the image of the truck ahead blow up on his windshield in silence. For the next second he was not present but here is what happened. His foot pressed on the break pedal instinctively, then lifted itself, his right hand turned the power steering for a split second and restored it back. When he woke up from this second-long dream he was surrounded by deafening silence and then suddenly the noise of the freeway came back and he found he was seeing back fender of some car roll on the road and being left behind in the rear view mirror. For few seconds he was completely blank. Then he felt the hair rise on the arms and felt his heart beating with something gushing in his arms and shoulders. He realized he was still driving and he centered his car in the lane.

At the master's feet

-----
I am sitting just 4 feet away from where Ramana Maharshi used to sit and meet people in the old hall. It is morning and my fingers are touching the black stones of the floor, in an effort to ground myself to the vibrations of the place.

I sit motionless which is very easy to do in this atmosphere. I am able to see each and every thought arising in my mind with astounding detail and detachment along with being conscious of my breath. This has never happened before. Most of my thoughts are about self-importance and communication of this to others. How I am going to brag to others what experience did I have and entering into philosophical discussions about it. I can see my communication instinct so vividly. While mind is thinking about all this, I am fully aware and I try to gather and let my thoughtless self prevail. After few moments of success, it is same again.
----

Walls are decorated with big and small pictures of Maharshi's life. Floor is made up of red square tiles layed in offseted manner. Stones of the wall are painted in light yellow and all the woodwork in bottle green. There's plenty of light and air in the room. I am sitting on floor resting my back on the wall experiencing few precious moments of silence and clarity. Coming to the ashram and seeing all these pictures and artifacts feels like being in ancestral home of some loving great grandfather whom I have forgotten from ages. Unlike other places of ashram, there is no set purpose for this room. There is absolutely nothing to do and I don't have any problem with it. Time is flowing at it's own pace taking me in it. And I have lost resistance to it.
---
I am seated below the tree outside old hall in darkness. A hot summer day at Ashram is about to close and people are singing Ramana Sadhguru Rayane in the samadhi hall in tamil. Ladies' stanza is followed by gents' and slowly it goes on and on building up atmosphere of sincerity and devotion. Their singing is so harmonious that the collective accent of their language still emerges out of it and adds to the character of the song. Their singing is urging me to let the waves of devotion run over my anxious mind and close my day.

---
It is 5pm. Maharshi's samadhi mandap and its 16 carved stone pillers are ringing with veda chants. Everyone in samadhi hall is silently marvelling at these air-piercing pronouncements on the deep mystical existence of man. Throats are getting choked and tears are building up in eyes. These ancient sounds from forefathers are moving people exactly in a way they themselves would have been moved once.
----

In the shadow of Arunachala

It is about to be nine and the activities at the ashram are slowly drawing to a close. Most of the devotees and curious travellers of the day have left or are in process of leaving. The doors of the temple of the mother are closed and the most lights are off in new hall next to it. Only one electric bulb is on in the hall and its golden incandescence is making the outline of Maharshi's statue discernible. At the large samadhi hall too lights are getting off. The bhajans of regular householder devotees have concluded and their singing has left a trace of sincere devotional closure in the atmosphere of the ashram.

On the steps climbing up to the closed doors of the dining hall there hangs an electric bulb. The dim luminance of the bulb is illuminating large area around it; the straw shade, a line of water taps, the well and the tree in front of the old hall.

In the old hall an oil lamp is burning on a brass lamp stand hanging from the ceiling. Next to it lies Maharshi's sofa and on it lies his life sized portrait. Surrounding the sofa is a wooden fence and the floor is paved with black tiles made of stones. The very stones on which Maharshi himself would have walked once.

I along with last few of the devotees are seated in this dark and peacefully silent old hall. The tick-tock of the pendulum clock on the wall to the right is giving the mind something to latch onto amidst the usual noise of thoughts. Time is passing on. Finally the clock breaks its silence striking nine blows one by one reminding everyone the need to wake up. As I am trying to get up, I am feeling water at edges of my long closed eyes and my joined lips are resisting any movement to open up.

I stand up, do pranam and take his leave carrying a certain focus and solidity in my mind. I start walking in dark in deep thoughts with a huge shadow of Arunachala on my back. As I walk I think, the old man has left us in body seventy years back but the fragrance of his great soul is ever present here and it is drawing me here again and again where he dwellt in flesh and bones for a large part of his life.

As I am leaving and walking towards iron gate of the Ashram, I am feeling as if entering the physical world afresh with progressively increasing noises of the city and the road. And a grocery store board across the road reads in small fonts below its name: "All things available here".

I smile within, cross the road and stand waiting for a bus that will take me home.

On the mountain face

[ Fiction ]

The highness that was installed by the lord in minds of chosen few, he was witnessing it first hand when he reached near the top. The huge mountain face stood ahead of him with mist flying off it's top in brightest possible sunshine. He was exhausted and literally standing half way between life and death in a foot deep snow. He felt he had never breathed like this before. It would be wrong to call it a breath here for it was something so intimately tied with his existence and a large part of his existence was just that. Breathing. Though it was very near, death had become an illusion to him and he wanted to rest there.

હું કોણ (નિબંધ) ના અમુક ભાવાનુવાદિત અંશો

હું કોણ (નિબંધ) ના અમુક ભાવાનુવાદિત અંશો
----

વૃક્ષ નો છાંયો સુખપ્રદ છે અને બહાર નો તાપ આકરો। તાપ માં મજૂરી કરતો માણસ વૃક્ષ નો ઠંડો છાંયો શોધે છે અને ખુશ થાય છે. થોડી વાર ત્યાં રહ્યા પછી પાછો બહાર નીકળે છે પણ આકરો તાપ સહન નથી થતો અને પાછો છાંયો શોધે છે. આ રીતે એ તાપ માંથી છાંયા માં અને છાંયા માંથી તાપ માં ફર્યા કરે છે.

ફક્ત ગાંડો માણસ આવું કરે છે, જયારે ડાહ્યો માણસ છાંયા ની ઠંડક છોડતો જ નથી. એ જ રીતે આત્મસાક્ષાત્કારી જ્ઞાની નું મન નિરપેક્ષ બ્રહ્મ થી અલગ થતું જ નથી. જયારે અજ્ઞાની નું મન ભૌતિક દુનિયા માં આંટો મારી ને દુઃખ અને વ્યથા ભોગવે છે. અને પછી થોડી વાર માટે બ્રહ્માભિમુખ થાય છે ત્યારે સુખી થાય છે. અજ્ઞાની નું મન આવું છે.

આ ભૌતિક વિશ્વ જે આજુબાજુ દેખાય છે ફક્ત એક વિચાર છે. જયારે માણસ વિચાર થી મુક્ત હોય છે ત્યારે એ દેખાતું નથી. મન શાશ્વત આત્મા ની શાંતિ નો અનુભવ કરે છે. એથી ઉલટું જયારે વિચાર દ્વારા વિશ્વ જણાય છે ત્યારે મન પીડા ને વ્યથા અનુભવે છે.

કોઈ ઈચ્છા, વિચાર કે પ્રયત્ન વિના સૂર્ય સ્વયંભૂ રીતે ઉગે છે. એના પ્રકાશ થી બિલોરી કાચ ગરમી પેદા કરે છે, કમળ ખીલે છે, પાણી વરાળ બને છે અને લોકો પોતપોતાના કાર્યો  કરે છે. ચુંબક ની નજીક માં સોય ફરે છે એવી જ રીતે બંધાયેલો જીવ સર્જન, પાલન અને વિધ્વંસ એ ઘટમાળ માં પરોવાયેલો રહે છે. કોઈ સર્વોચ્ચ સત્તા ની ઉપસ્થિતિ ને કારણે પોતાના કર્મો અનુસાર કાર્યો કરે રાખે છે અને થોભતો નથી. એની શુદ્ધ નિષ્પક્ષતા અને નિરપેક્ષતા સૂર્ય ના જેવી છે જે દુન્યવી ક્રિયા ઓ થી અસ્પૃશ્ય છે.

એકેય અપવાદ સિવાય બધા શાસ્ત્રો કહે છે કે મુક્તિ માટે મન ને શાંત કરવું જોઈએ। અને જયારે એ ખબર પડે કે મન પર નિયંત્રણ એ આપણું ધ્યેય છે તો પછી મન ના વિષે ક્યારેય ના અંત ના પામનારા અભ્યાસો કર્યા કરવા એ વ્યર્થ છે. એના બદલે પોતાની અંદર રહેલા હું ની સાચી અને ખરી પૃચ્છા અને સ્વતપાસ જરૂરી છે. આ તપાસ ફક્ત શાસ્ત્રો ના અભ્યાસ થી કઈ રીતે થઇ શકે?

આપણે જ્ઞાનદ્રષ્ટિ થી સ્વ ને પામવું જોઈએ. શું રામ ને રામ તરીકે ઓળખાવવા માટે અરીસો જોઈએ? જે હું છે એ તો પાંચ પ્રકાર ના શરીરો માં રહેલો છે. જયારે શાસ્ત્રો એની બહાર છે. એથી શાસ્ત્રો ના અભ્યાસ થી એ સ્વ જે પાંચ શરીરો માં વ્યાપ્ત છે એને પામવાનો પ્રયત્ન વ્યર્થ છે. અને ખરેખર એને પામવા માટે એ પાંચ શરીરો ને પણ ફેંકી દેવાની જરૂર છે.

"હું કોણ છું જે બંધન માં છે?" એમ પૂછવું અને પોતાની જાત ને ઓળખવી એ જ મુક્તિ છે. મન ને સતત અંતરભિમુખ અને સ્વ માં સ્થિત રાખવું એનું નામ જ આત્મવિચાર (અંતઃપૃચ્છા) છે, જયારે ધ્યાન માં સ્વ ના સચ્ચિદાનંદ્દ સ્વરૂપ નો ઊંડો વિચાર કરવાનો હોય છે. ખરેખર, ક્યારેક તો જેણે  જ બધું શીખ્યું હોય તે ભૂલી જવું પડશે।

1000 Rs man

A man is seated in front of me in jam packed local to  Karjat. It is about 11pm and the city is about to catch a breather. It is a time where younger ones and young adults with clear minds usually go to sleep. And for anxious hawks, the night starts wearing on from that point until whatever time their cluttered psyches allow their fractured existence to hibernate.

An outstation train running parallelly is gaining momentum as it is entering a platform paved with smooth kotastones. All the dust of the day on the platform is being blown away by this entrance. In blue and bright interiors of sleeper coaches relaxed passengers are seen playing cards and leaving this crazy city. A circle of men is discussing something in a large vacant area of a coach with plastic containers and bags as their seats.

In my local, it's not so bright and airy. Tired and sweaty bodies wish to pop out of this tight box, but only at right station.

I can't stop observing the man who is one of the most ordinary grave-faced anonymous lower middle class city dwellers. He is so easy to forget. There is nothing flashy about him. Fiftyish, dark, thin and short with cheap but working shirt and pant and plastic slippers. Small dirty nails on toes and fingers. His head is full of coarse, dry and grayed hair which are well combed. Most striking feature of his personality is the grave eyes that are small and set deep inside. One could almost feel the cheekbones and sinking cheeks. One look at his serious face and eyes tells everything that man has went through. Yet he is so calm and agnostic that I feel a surge of pity and tears building up in me as I keep watching him.

How am I going to explain his existence to myself? Why is he living? What is his life? What is he living for? If he dies here and now there is nothing that can fetch more than 1000 Rs. A 1000 Rs packet of a man. What is the meaning of his life? I almost feel ashamed of my ambitions, extravagance and my ideals.

A day in life of a flinging window shutter

[ Fiction ]

Someone forgot to latch me before leaving home long long time back. They haven't come back in years and I am afraid myself and this entire home is abandoned. My young thought then was that they are going for a long vacation; now I think who has time for their rusty roofs and old windows in their country home?

The stopper is down, preventing me to fit in my place by chance either. Flinging between the outer wall and my own frame has been the only certainty of life ever since they've gone. Crying hinges, joint-loosening smacks and shakeups in merciless winds is my new existence. Dust and dirt make their way through me into their home and unsavory eyes and intensions glimpse through me onto the desolate floor of their home.

Someone watches me from the opposite balcony in every summer vacation. That is the only solace of silent summer afternoons while getting baked and seeing my paint layers curve and peel off.

But today...it is that time of year again. There is electricity in the atmosphere. The air has gotten wet and confused. After an afternoon of directionless weak turbulences, I am calling for a downpour full of conviction.

And it seems to have begun. The drops that started their journey from high above are caught in cunning surprise mid-air by opportunistic gusts of wind hijacking them for a wild ride down to earth. I see myself and the ground below smiling at this play. People are out in their balconies and evening plans are changing in homes around me.

The next morning:

Last few drops are running off my corner from the last night's rain. The dust has settled; there's mud on the house floor and I am calm. The air is steady and the star has risen and is on its way to midheaven making today what promises to be a glorious day with bright clouds floating in the sky.

Get-together

Sun seems to be rising fast today behind that abandoned house across the street. The morning is alive with anticipation. It is a new year day and soon the house will fill with loved ones, aunts, uncles, cousins and those who you don't know much about but they seem to know you very well. I am enjoying last few minutes of entire swing to myself and grandmother is preparing tea in a big vessel. Grandfather seems to be in good mood outside in drawing room; he is talking with someone in English and his forceful interjections are very new and awe-inspiring to my little ears.

Soon the house will ring with harmonious laughters and frolics of shared ancestry. Similar faces and exquisite cloths. Why that aunt cuddles me so hard? Why that uncle always scares me first and why that cousin fights with me all the time? I don't know, but I like them all. I like each and everyone of them in unique ways and they all love me very much.