શ્રી રમણ મહર્ષિએ ગીતા માંથી સારરૂપે તારવેલા બેતાલીસ શ્લોકો.

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ગુજરાતી સમશ્લોકી અનુવાદ - ગીતાધ્વનિ માંથી - કિશોરલાલ મશરૂવાળા

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સંજય બોલ્યા –

આમ તે રાંકભાવે ને, આંસુએ વ્યગ્ર દ્રષ્ટિથી.

શોચતા પાર્થને આવાં, વચનો માધવે કહ્યાં-…

શ્રી ભગવાન બોલ્યા –

ક્ષેત્ર એ નામથી જ્ઞાની, ઓળખે આ શરીરને,

ક્ષેત્રને જાણનારો જે, તેને ક્ષેત્રજ્ઞ તે કહે…

વળી મʼને જ ક્ષેત્રજ્ઞ, જાણજે સર્વ ક્ષેત્રમાં,

ક્ષેત્રક્ષેત્રનું જ્ઞાન, તેને હું જ્ઞાન માનું છું…

હું જ આત્મા રહ્યો સર્વે, ભૂતોનાં હ્રદયો વિષે,

આદિ, મધ્ય તથા અંત, હું જ છું ભૂતમાત્રનાં…

જન્મ્યાનું નિશ્ચયે મૃત્યુ, મૂઆનો જન્મ નિશ્ચયે,

માટે જે ન ટળે તેમાં, તને શોક ઘટે નહીં…

ન જન્મ પામે, ન કદાપિ મૃત્યુ,

ન્હોતો ન તે કે ન હશે ન પાછો.

અજન્મ, તે નિત્ય, સદા, પુરાણ,

હણ્યે શરીરે ન હણાય તે તો…

છેદાય ના, બળે ના તે, ન ભીંજાય, સુકાય ના,

સર્વવ્યાપક તે નિત્ય, સ્થિર, નિશ્ચળ, શાશ્વત…

જાણજે અવિનાશી તે, જેથી વિસ્તર્યું આ બધું,

તે અવ્યય તણો નાશ, કોઈએ ના કરી શકે…

અસત્યને ન અસ્તિત્વ, નથી નાશેય સત્યનો,

નિહાળ્યો તત્ત્વદર્શીએ, આવો સિદ્ધાંત બેઉનો…

સૂક્ષ્મતા કારણે વ્યોમ, સર્વવ્યાપી અલિપ્ત રહે,

આત્માયે તેમ સર્વત્ર, વસી દેહે અલિપ્ત રહે…

સૂર્ય તેને પ્રકાશે ના, ના ચંદ્ર, અગ્નિયે નહીં,

જ્યાં પોંʼચી ન ફરે પાછા, મારૂં તે ધામ ઉત્તમ…

કહ્યો અક્ષર, અવ્યક્ત, કહી તેને પરંગતિ,

જે પામ્યે ન ફરે ફેરા,-તે મારૂં ધામ છે પરં…

નિર્માન, નિર્મોહ, અસંગવૃત્તિ,

અધ્યાત્મનિષ્ઠા નિત, શાંતકામ.

છૂટેલ દ્વંદ્વ સુખદુઃખરૂપી,

અમૂઢ તે અવ્યય ધામ પામે…

છોડીને શાસ્ત્રનો માર્ગ, સ્વચ્છંદે વરતે નર,

તેને મળે નહિ સિદ્ધિ, ન સુખે, ન પરંગતિ…

સમાન સર્વ ભૂતોમાં, રહેલા પરમેશ્વર,

અવિનાશી વિનાશીમાં, તે દેખે તે જ દેખતો…

અનન્ય ભક્તિએ તોયે, આવી રીતે હું શક્ય છું,

તત્ત્વથી જાણવો જોવો, પ્રવેશે મુજમાં થવો…

જેવું જે જીવન સત્ત્વ, શ્રદ્ધા તેવી જ તે વિષે,

શ્રદ્ધાએ આ ઘડ્યો દેહી, જે શ્રદ્ધા તે જ તે બને…

મેળવે જ્ઞાન શ્રદ્ધાળુ, જે જિતેન્દ્રિય, તત્પર,

મેળવી જ્ઞાનને પામે, શીઘ્ર પરમ શાંતિને…

એવા અખંડયોગીને, ભજતા પ્રીતથી મʼને-

આપું તે બુદ્ધિનો યોગ, જેથી આવી મળે મʼને…

રહેલો આત્મભાવે હું, તેજસ્વી જ્ઞાનદીપથી,

કરૂણાભાવથી તેના, અજ્ઞાન-તમને હણું…

જેમનું આત્મ-અજ્ઞાન, જ્ઞાનથી નાશ પામીયું,

તેમનું સૂર્ય-શું જ્ઞાન, પ્રકાશે પરમાત્મને…

ઈંદ્રિયોને કહી સૂક્ષ્મ, સુક્ષ્મ ઈંદ્રિયથી મન,

મનથી સૂક્ષ્મ છે બુદ્ધિ, બુદ્ધિથી સૂક્ષ્મ તે રહ્યો…

એમ બુદ્ધિપરો જાણી, આપથી આપ નિગ્રહી,

દુર્જય કામરૂપી આ, વેરીનો કર નાશ તું…

જેમ ભભૂકતો અગ્નિ, કરે છે ભસ્મ કાષ્ટ સૌ,

તેમ ચેતેલ જ્ઞાનાગ્નિ, કરે છે ભસ્મ કર્મ સૌ…

જેના સર્વે સમારંભો, કામ-સંકલ્પ-હીન છે,

તે જ્ઞાનીનાં બળ્યાં કર્મો, જ્ઞાનાગ્નિથી બુધો કહે…

કામ ને ક્રોધથી મુક્ત, યતિ જે, આત્મનિગ્રહી,

રહે તે આત્મજ્ઞાનીને, બ્રહ્મનિર્વાણ પાસમાં…

ધીરે ધીરે થવું શાંત, ધૃતિને વશ બુદ્ધિથી,

આત્મામાં મનને રાખી, ચિંતવવું ન કાંઈયે…

જ્યાંથી જ્યાંથી ચળી જાય, મન ચંચળ, અસ્થિર,

ત્યાં ત્યાંથી નિયમે લાવી, આત્મામાં કરવું વશ…

વશેંદ્રિય મનોબુદ્ધિ, મુનિ મોક્ષપરાયણ,

ટાળ્યાં ઈચ્છા-ભય-ક્રોધ, તે મુનિ મુક્ત તો સદા…

યોગે થયેલ યુક્તાત્મા, સર્વત્ર સમદૃષ્ટિનો,

દેખે સૌ ભૂતમાં આત્મા, ને સૌ ભૂતોય આત્મમાં…

અનન્ય ચિત્તથી જેઓ, કરે મારી ઉપાસના,

તે નિત્યયુક્ત ભક્તોનો, યોગક્ષેમ ચલાવું હું…

તેમાં જ્ઞાની, સદાયોગી, અનન્ય ભક્ત, શ્રેષ્ઠ છે,

જ્ઞાનીને હું ઘણો વાʼલો, તેયે છે મુજને પ્રિય…

ઘણાયે જન્મને અંતે, જ્ઞાની લે શરણું મુજ,

ʼસર્વ આ બ્રહ્મʼ જાણે તે, મહાત્મા અતિ દુર્લભ…

મનની કામના સર્વે, છોડીને, આત્મમાં જ જે,

રહે સંતુષ્ટ આત્માથી, તે સ્થિતપ્રજ્ઞ જાણવો…

છોડીને કામના સર્વે, ફરે જે નર નિઃસ્પૃહ,

અહંતા-મમતા મૂકી, તે પામે શાંતિ, ભારત…

જેથી દુભાય ના લોકો, લોકથી જે દુભાય ના,

હર્ષ, ક્રોધ, ભય-ક્ષોભે, છૂટ્યો જે તે મʼને પ્રિય…

સમ માનાપમાને જે, સમ જે શત્રુમિત્રમાં,

સૌ કર્મારંભ છોડેલો, ગુણાતીત ગણાય તે…

આત્મામાં જ રમે જેઓ, આત્માથી તૃપ્ત જે રહે,

આત્મામાંહે જ સંતુષ્ટ, તેને કોʼ કાર્ય ના રહ્યું…

કરે કે ન કરે તેથી, તેને કોʼ હેતુ ના જગે,

કોઈયે ભૂતમાં તેને કશો, સ્વાર્થ રહ્યો નહીં…

સંતુષ્ટ જે મળે તેથી, ના દ્વંદ્વ નહીં મત્સર,

સિદ્ધિ અસિદ્ધિમાં તુલ્ય, તે ન બંધાય કર્મથી…

વસીને સર્વ ભૂતોનાં, હ્રદયે પરમેશ્વર,

માયાથી ફેરવે સૌને, જાણે યંત્ર પરે ધર્યાં…

તેને જ શરણે જા તું, સર્વભાવથી, ભારત,

તેના અનુગ્રહે લૈશ, શાંતિ ને શાશ્વત પદ…

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Major cultural elements of modern human life

I think major cultural elements of modern human life are nothing but diseases that have been forgotten because they are collective and originated long ago. So the current human crop has no idea about them. It has become their environment. These diseases are excessive love of food and taste, excessive love of beauty/idleness and excessive love of sensuality. And all this is considered part of "good life".

Just like an innocent boy who puffs his first smoke or takes his first drink thinking that what he is doing is bad and not required but he will be able to stop it when it really goes out of hand; but then he slowly watches these bad habits grow over him. Just like this, there would have been a point in human history when, we transitioned from "need" to "enjoyment" mode of these things. This could have been result of invention of agriculture, settling into homes, excess world population that was available to do various tasks to support others, concentration of wealth and power.

A morning

A long strand of spider web is swaying in the balcony and sunshine is traveling along its length. A bee has arrived on the scene from somewhere and starts hovering around it in sunshine. Just then a puppy barks from somewhere below; from the kitchen comes a short sound of pulses thrown in a vessel; and a boy is heard exchanging first greetings of the day with his mother. 

Machine

Believe me, your consciousness can be so differentiated that you can see your existence as just a summation of separate parts of huge machine  from 100ft above. The problem is most of the time, we believe that the machine has only one part and not only that we 'become' that part. And the machine no longer exists. Instead, if we go higher, we not only see other machines with their parts but find that all machines become parts of another big machine and so on... And then a time comes when you lose sight of which part you were because all looks the same everywhere. The part I am talking about is your ego and your life story. Believe me, it is not yours, it doesn't exist and you are not living it.

Excerpts from the book: Words of Grace

‘WHO AM I?’ I am not this physical body, nor am I the five organs of sense perception; I am not the five organs of external activity, nor am I the five vital forces, nor am I even the thinking mind. Neither am I that unconscious state of nescience which retains merely the subtle latencies of the mind, while being free from the functional activity of the sense-organs and the mind, and being unaware of the existence of the objects of sense-perception. 

Thus rejecting all the above-mentioned physical adjuncts and their functions, saying ‘I am not this: no, nor am I this, nor this’ — that which then remains separate and alone by itself, that pure Awareness is what I am. This Awareness self is by its very nature Sat-Chit-Ananda, (Existence-Consciousness-Bliss).

--

If the earnest seeker would only cultivate the constant and deep contemplative ‘remembrance’ of the true nature of the Self till he has realized it, that alone would suffice. 

--

God and the Guru are not really different; they are identical. He that has earned the Grace of the Guru shall undoubtedly be saved and never forsaken, just as the prey that has fallen into the tiger’s jaws will never be allowed to escape. But the disciple, for his part, should unswervingly follow the path shown by the Master.

--

The thought ‘I am not the doer; all actions are merely the reactions of the body, senses and mind,’ is an aid for turning the mind back to its primal state, nevertheless it is still a thought, but one which is necessary for those minds which are addicted to much thinking.

--

One should abide in the Self without the sense of being the doer, even when engaged in work born of destiny, like a madman. Have not many devotees achieved much with a detached attitude and firm devotion of this nature?

--

Mind will be cleared of its impurities only by a desireless performance of duties during several births, getting a worthy Master, learning from him and incessantly practising meditation on the Supreme. 

Death

One day you will die and will be hurriedly carried away straight to be burnt. Hours before that, you will fast degenerate from loving 'pappa' or 'mamma' into 'this' or 'that' and finally into 'it'.

Relatives and friends would have gathered at your place; some emotional ones will cry for you last time and forget you. Some will silently relish the space that you just freed up in their psyche.

At the funeral pire, it is your eldest son, who would do it. Gently but certainly giving you up  to fire. Your ghee-lotioned skin will start burning first. Just few hours before you used it and were so proud of it. Now, it is burning! It will start turning red and then to some dark color. First, all the water and moisture under your skin will start evaporating and then will be the turn of fat. Burning fat will make your skin expand with formed bubbles underneath that will ultimately burst and keep burning.

Your lips, your eyes and your nose that received so much affection and love will be up next. One giant flame will catch up with your face and start burning them together. In five minutes, it would have disfigured it so much that it will be hard to identify you. That may come as a relief to your son who can now get down to the business of finishing the whole thing, unabashedly. He will make sure you are being burnt properly.

'Burnt properly', until you are reduced to bones. Yes, just bones. Bones -- each separate from each other, broken, spread in rough shape of your body in the pile of ash. This is the destination of your body and everything associated with it. Then, what were you that lived on for 40-50-60-70-80 years? What was the meaning of your life?

Unreal world

Everyday I wake up in this unreal world carrying on with the unfinished dream called life, carrying on with unfinished tasks that are becoming as impersonal as my story to myself.

When silence starts communicating within, each word outside seems like a hyperbole, an exaggeration. Each spoken, written, thought-about word is a mistake that could be avoided.

Thread of peace is such a fine and delicate one, I struggle sometimes to find it. But I always finds it near me, protected by my faith. May I never lose that faith, may I never lose that peace.

Valley Dreams

Last night I had four dreams one after another (out of blue totally - I rarely have dreams and even then I don't remember the most). 

In the first dream, I am seated on leather couch in reception room of a silicon valley company M filled with sparkling golden lights. I along with some other people are discussing something technical about what a library function does. I ask the receptionist guy and he says it is not in his work area but says what he thinks of that function nevertheless. I am thinking his knowledge is quite impressive being just a receptionist and not an engineer.

In second dream I happen to chance upon A in some corridor somewhere. He was a VP at X. I introduce and remind him of myself and astonishingly he doesn't recognize me. I am baffled as we have met/talked many times before while I was working with him.

In third dream, I am driving my two wheeler to Bangalore airport to catch a very important flight and I am hard pressed for time. I am part of small traffic at a T junction and I want to take right but the signal is red. I along with others wait and wait. But to my frustration, the signal is not turning green. Crucial minutes are being wasted. I think there is some problem with the signal as there is no traffic on the road in front and still signal is not turning green. I am getting visibly agitated and impatient. To my amazement my fellow motorists are calmly waiting for signal to turn green. I think of breaking the signal but there is a policeman loitering farther down on that road. I take the chance and violate the signal and get going, but the policeman intercepts me and takes me to the left. I try to explain my situation and plead to let me go. He says I broke the signal and also the "Lockdown" and the punishment is flogging by stick. He asks me to remove my shirt and points me to go to a concrete electric pole and be ready. While I am removing the shirt and getting ready, he is practicing flogging with stick in air in midst of the road. The people are watching the scene. I am almost ready and go near the electric pole. I am worried how I will be able to explain the beating on my back to airport authorities or when I land in the US? I am just approaching the pole and getting ready and the dream breaks..

In the fourth and final dream it is a sunny day and I am driving a small-red-open convertible in Mountain View on Rengstorff Avenue somewhere between the Costco and Middlefield road. I just saw my ex-colleague C pass by waving her hand from her car from opposite direction, talking to somebody. 'Hey! I think I just saw Mrugesh there!' I hear her stretched voice fade past amidst the speed and noise. I am driving but something is wrong. My car has a U shaped driver protection bar that should come from above on me (as in roller coaster) but I see I have forced myself between the U to reach the breaks and accelerator and managing to drive the car. I take a right turn quickly into a small street to fix this. The street is blocked with a huge truck and there is only a narrow gap between that and the curb. I squeeze-in and trample on to the curb anyway and stop ultimately on a front lawn of a home. I smile and say sorry to the family for treading on their lawn a little bit; they are already standing talking among themselves on their ramp. They take it in good spirit and I jump out and back in the car after fixing the thing, seating properly. All is good and perfect now and I am back on Rengstorff waiting to take the left onto Middlefield.

Idli-sambar

When I think about Tiruvannamalai, the ashram and the mountain while sitting here at home it all looks so perfect, so divine. But when I am there, it feels slightly different. I think when I am there, the mind is expecting a miracle or a mystery any moment and in the procees does not recognize what it is going through fully. But once out of those surroundings it recognizes at once what it has missed. I feel I have never been able to fully immerse in that atmosphere the way I like. And yet there have been many significant experiences of my recent life in that area.

I feel an urge to write lot of things about my impressions there but it is a question of where to start and what to write. And it is also a question of doubt. I doubt that I will be unable to capture the full feelings of the atmosphere in words. Even if I attempt, I fear what I am going to describe might be discounted as merely my idealism for the place and my inclination for glorifying frivalous experiences. It will not carry the palpability of the situations the way I felt them and continuing to feel again and again.

For example, the tastes and sights of those idlis, sambar and chutneys on wet green banana leaf after walking 14km around the hill. Having entered the hustle-bustle of the town, tired and exhausted, I settle into one of those high-traffic mid-range south indian restaurants near the bus stand. The restaurant is full of people's chatter, full of air, flooded with white tubelights and fans running overhead. Once I sit down on one of those simple chairs fabricated from steel pipes and granite topped table, and loosen up extending my arm on next empty chair, I start to feel my breathing and exertion more clearly. Behind me there is continuous noise of vehicles on the road and in front of me, the scene of people eating which I admire so much. I silently observe their ways, their chatter and their food with my tired but calm gaze. At this point I am hungry and feel anything served quickly will taste like heaven, but when the idlis/plain dosa and sambar along with two chutneys arrive and I see them placed, poured and splashed on my green leaf one after another by one of many annas or ammas doing the rounds, I feel that, it is just a start of the gustational bliss that is going to last for next 15 minutes and then linger on my mind forever. 

Moksh

Each of us is essentially an idea, a desire, a thought, a feeling. Each of us is a unique mixture of these, creating a unique imprint on the collective. Moksh is erasure of these imprints. As long as a single one of them left, it will find an expression in universe by way of a mind and a body. Your liberation has nothing to do with yourself but it is about erasure of an idea, erasure of a story that is finding a perfect expression through you right now.

Is your idea ripe enough to fall off? Is your story lived enough to be erased from the face of the collective? That's the key question.

અદ્વૈત

અદ્વૈત નો અગ્નિ અરુણાચલે અરણ્યે બળતો, અસત્ ના આકર્ષણો છોડાવી ને સ્વ ને સત્ માં સ્થિત કરતો.

મોહ ના પોટલાં તવ ચરણો માં છોડાયા, સર્વશક્તિમાન ની સમક્ષ ઈચ્છાઓ ઓગળી જતી જેમ કપૂર ઓગળે હવા માં.

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.