The End of Sorrow

by Eknath Easwaran

  Once when Sri Krishna was playing on his flute, Radha eyed it with jealous eyes and asked, “What has your flute done to enjoy the blessing of being held to your lips while you play upon it hour after hour?” In answer, Sri Krishna took the flute from his lips and turned it so Radha could see inside, saying, “Look, it’s completely empty, so it is easy for me to fill it with the melody of my divine song.” We, too, can become full of the Lord’s infinite love and abiding joy when we empty ourselves of all that is selfish and separate.

  17–18. But they who have found the Atman are always satisfied. They have found the source of joy and fulfillment, and no longer seek happiness from the external world. They have nothing to gain or lose by any action; neither people nor things can affect their security.

  As long as we have a hankering for personal profit or power, we cannot act freely. Gandhi is the perfect model for us to follow in this respect, for he was able to work fifteen hours a day without any trace of tension or fatigue. Imagine the responsibility he had for the lives of millions of people in his satyagraha campaign, and for the state of peace or war between two countries. Yet because he had extinguished every desire for self-aggrandizement, he could always act in freedom. According to the Gita, all work motivated by selfish urges, no matter how subtle, is tainted. In order to follow in Gandhi’s footsteps, we need to embark on the exhilarating discipline of putting others first without any thought of whether or not we are going to be recognized or rewarded.

  As long as there is a desire for anything external to us, there is a vacuum in our consciousness. The person who thinks he will be happy if only he can get a million dollars is really claiming bankruptcy. The man who feels he will be happy if only he can become president of his country is really saying, “I am now completely vacant – an utter vacuum.” Even in the daily activities of life, we cannot escape feeling we would be happy “if only. . . .” But when we desire happiness conditioned by the possession of anything or anybody, we are likely to manipulate people and to work unconsciously at the expense of even our dear ones. Thus we should heed well Sri Krishna’s words: if you want to act in freedom, develop a sustained spiritual campaign to remove every vestige of self-will and separateness from your consciousness.

  19. Strive constantly to serve the welfare of the world; by devotion to selfless work a man attains the supreme goal of life.

  Sri Krishna tells us, through Arjuna, to detach ourselves from our ego, to escape from the grip of our self-will so that we can act for the welfare of all around us. As we gain this freedom in action, we will begin, ever so gradually, to realize we are only an instrument of which the Lord is the operator. This truth, no matter how dimly perceived, gives tremendous motivation for removing every trace of selfishness in order to be as perfect an instrument as is within our power.

  We like to think that we make big decisions and carry terrible responsibilities on our shoulders. Our shoulders are bent, our back gives us problems, and we are too tired to stand on our feet because of the weighty burdens we try to bear. Few of us realize there is somebody standing with arms outstretched, just waiting to carry our burdens for us.

  In Kerala, the state in South India from which I come, there are stone parapets along the roadside the height of a man’s head. When people need to rest from carrying heavy loads of rice or fruit on their heads, they stand next to the parapet and shift their load onto it. For us the Lord is the perennial parapet, standing at exactly the right height for each one of us. For those of us who are very selfish, he stands very tall to support an awesome load; for those of us who are average in selfishness, he stands about six feet high; and for the selfless, the parapet can hardly be seen because the burden is so light that almost no support is needed. Through the practice of meditation, we can gradually learn to shift our load into the Lord’s mighty arms. By developing this blessed capacity, we will be able to face the greatest of challenges, terrifying even to national leaders, with ease and equanimity.

  20. Keeping in mind the welfare of others, you should work in their service. It was by such action that Janaka attained perfection; others, too, have followed this path.

  Janaka appears in the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad as a great king, and he is also renowned as the father of Sita, wife of Rama. Janaka attained complete illumination while reigning as king; he had a wife, a family, and a kingdom to attend to, and yet he remained an ideal lover of the Lord. We can be a perfect professor and lover of the Lord, a perfect nurse and lover of the Lord, or a perfect lawyer and lover of the Lord. But we cannot be a manufacturer of weapons and a lover of the Lord; it is not possible to work at the expense of others and progress greatly on the spiritual path.

  The phrase lokasamgraham used in this verse is a famous one indicating the Lord sent us into the world to contribute to it. Whether we work on a large or a small scale does not matter, as long as we are doing the best within our power to make our parents, our partner, our children, our friends, and even our enemies happier. This means forgetting ourselves and reversing all the selfish inclinations we have followed. This going against what seems to be the grain of our nature is what makes the spiritual life seem so difficult. It is a hard thing to do, but by calling on the Lord, by repeating his Name, it is gradually possible to extinguish our self-will. When we start living for others, we come to life. All our deeper capacities flow into our hands; our security increases and our wisdom grows, as does our creative ability to solve the problems that confront the world. Living and acting selflessly, we will be constantly aware that all life is one – that all men are brothers, as Gandhi would say – and that throughout creation there is an underlying unity binding us all together.

  Today was smoggy, so we sought fresh air and freedom from the hurly-burly of city life by going to the Marina. We walked on the pier for a long distance, and from beginning to end it was a very depressing spectacle. I will describe it in some detail because it is good for us to know how our preoccupation with pleasure can blind us and make us callous, almost brutal. It is good for us to know this so that we can begin to transform these responses into the more positive ones of compassion and sensitivity to the welfare of all living creatures.

  The pier was crowded with hundreds of men, women, and children, all fishing. There were chairs, sleeping bags, and transistor radios all over the place contributing to the pandemonium. A man was sleeping, but he still had his fishing rod in hand. There were little children six and seven years old, beautiful boys and girls being taught to kill fish. When one little boy caught one, his father came up to him, patted him on the back, and congratulated him saying, “Chip off the old block.” A little girl came squealing, “Mommy, I’ve got another one.” Parents were giving instructions to their children and friends to their friends. But to me the saddest sight of all was when the fish were landed. Still alive, they were dashed against the wooden plank, and the hooks torn away.

  It is perhaps not fair to condemn or censure these people; we can only try to help them out of the situation by our own personal example. They were not really cruel, but insensitive. This can happen to all of us when we become preoccupied with our own pleasure and forget the unity underlying all life. When we were coming back from the end of the pier, we saw a big, broad, beautiful fish lying on the pier. As I don’t know much about fish, I asked my wife about it, and she said it was a sea fish that probably doesn’t often come close to shore. As I walked by, its eyes gazed at me in agony. It was almost telling me with its last breath, “Tell them about us.”

  We shouldn’t say we or our children don’t know about these things, for it is our duty in life to know about them. Ignorance of the law is not accepted as an excuse for crime. In the days of British rule, in an Indian court of law we couldn’t say we didn’t know Section XYZ of the Indian Penal Code by which we could be thrown into political prison. If we went to court and claimed we didn’t know about this section, the British judge used to say, “Two months in solitary,” and add some strong remarks. Similarly, when those
little children fishing on the pier grow up, they cannot hide behind the shield of ignorance, for it is no shield at all. The law of karma is an impersonal, relentless force that doggedly follows everybody. The Buddha tells us, “You can try to find shelter in the skies, or in the bowels of the earth; the law of karma will come after you.” Thus it is the duty of all parents to tell their children that all life is one. William Blake, who saw this unity of life, said:

  A robin red-breast in a cage

  Puts all heaven in a rage. . . .

  A dog starved at his master’s gate

  Predicts the ruin of the State.

  Even by putting a little robin into a cage, the cosmic order is violated; the law of karma is at work all the time in the smallest details of life. Everything is closely interwoven, and even a little hook causing pain in the smallest fish disturbs the consciousness of the Lord.

  It is our duty, particularly where children are concerned, to remind others, as my spiritual teacher, my Grandmother, reminded me, that we must respect our kinship with all living creatures. This can be conveyed in simple language like my Granny’s. She used to tell me, “Squirrels have grannies, and if you hurt a squirrel, it’ll go complain to its granny.” I had never thought about animals like that, and it really opened my eyes. Likewise our children can understand the simple story that little fish have grandmas and grandpas to whom they run complaining and crying when we hurt them.

  Although some biologists say that animals may not have any consciousness or emotions, we have to agree that as yet we do not know what animals do or do not feel. In fact, there may be some other mode of expressing their pain with which we are not acquainted. Two days ago, when we were coming back from Ramagiri, the conversation turned to cows. Someone who had grown up in Utah remarked, “We just leave them, even during the depths of the winter, and they thrive in the snow.” I would like to hear the Utah cow’s point of view. It may not know how to convey its feelings in the language with which we are accustomed, but if it could talk, I have an idea that it may not corroborate the statement that it is “thriving” in the snow. I have even come to suspect it is not advisable for children to have dogs, because even to have a pet you should have the capacity to put it first all of the time, and a little child is not capable of doing this unless guided by the parents.

  In India we have had cows for five thousand years. Cows have always been an important symbol in the rural economy. People count their wealth in cows; instead of saying “We have four cars in our garage,” we say “We have four cows in our cow shed.” One of our cows, called Shobha, had been born in our home on the Blue Mountain, and my mother and sister brought her up from the time she was just a baby. She became a big cow and served us very well, giving us a lot of milk, curds, and butter, and then, like a human being, she became old, decrepit, and developed rheumatism. Some of our animal husbandry experts used to come and look at our cows and approve of them, but then they would tell my mother, “Why don’t you sell that one? Let her go to the butcher.”

  My mother, who can get roused when we talk about her cows, said, “I have rheumatism just as that cow has, and do you think that I, too, should be discarded now that I am not able to serve people very well?”

  We should try to practice this awareness of the unity of life in every relationship. Ten years ago, when I would go to restaurants where my eating habits caused consternation, I used to explain, “I’m a vegetarian.” They would suggest fish: “You are a vegetarian; you will love fish.” I used to add, “I do love fish; that’s just why I don’t eat them.” This is the point of the Gita: you eat fish because you don’t love them, and when you love something, you cannot eat it. Once we saw a French movie, which you couldn’t say was influenced by the Hindu mystics, in which a little boy who had pet rabbits was served rabbit for dinner. He said, “I don’t eat my buddies.” This is the language of the Gita: “You don’t eat your buddies.” Cats, dogs, cows, and rabbits – these are all our buddies.

  Another way we can look at our deep kinship with all living creatures is in terms of the long story of evolution. According to this, our friend Garry was a little orchid long, long ago; that is why he likes them so much. He loves orchids and grows them and looks after them because of this faint memory that gives him a sense of unity with the orchid. There is a similar explanation, according to the theory of reincarnation, that today on the pier I remembered in a very dim way the days when I used to splash about in the water; and I remembered the joy and the sparkle of it and identified myself with the fish as if it were really I swimming about. This is what spiritual awareness means. The pain inflicted on the fish is in me. It was not the fish out there on the pier who were suffering, as separate beings; it was I who was suffering in them. This is how spiritual awareness shows itself in us; we begin to suffer in everything that is subjected to suffering. Until we become aware of this unity underlying all life, all talk of spiritual awareness is just playing games.

  21. What the outstanding person does, others will try to do. The standards such people create will be followed by the whole world.

  The more gifted we are intellectually, spiritually, and even physically, the greater is our responsibility to contribute to life. Through the practice of meditation our deeper resources will come into play, and we will have to be increasingly careful about not writing or speaking a word that adds to the agitation of others or tends to separate friends, families, communities, races, or countries.

  As householders we can begin to influence others beneficially right in our own home, starting with our children. Our idea of setting an example is to improvise a domestic pulpit and preach to our dear ones. I would say that all of us are preaching all the time through our actions, our words, and our thoughts. Little ones are ruthless observers. When I see a five-year-old watching me, I feel as though Sherlock Holmes is on my track. I can almost hear him saying, “Elementary, Dr. Watson. I can see the inconsistency between his word and deed quite clearly.” The way to make our children patient and loving is to be that way ourselves.

  There are innumerable opportunities every day to set a good example to others. I have been asking Meera and Geetha to take off their muddy shoes outside so as not to bring dirt into the house. They paid no heed to my request because they saw me walking inside wearing my shoes. So the next time we were going indoors together, I just sat on the steps, and without making any comments I took off my clean shoes and placed them near the door. They sat down next to me and followed my example. On the subject of patience, my pen disappears every day, and I used to show an unconscious trace of annoyance and ask, “Who has been taking my pen?” Today when it was missing, however, I put on my best smile, looked at Meera and Geetha, and asked, “Has anyone seen my pen?” One of them brought it to me. Whether or not the pen was returned was not so important as their knowing I am continually trying to be patient with them.

  Those who have children can become masters of patience, endurance, and steadfastness, because children will test you at every turn. When we are provoked, most of us get agitated, and it is on these occasions we can repeat the mantram. By continually calling on the Lord, who is the source of strength within us, we can make our lives an inspiring example to all those who come in contact with us.

  I have been reading, too, about the tragic tendency among young people to experiment with drugs and how easily it can lead to heroin addiction. Doctors are telling us that as parents we can help our children by not making them drug-conscious – by not depending on drugs to go to sleep, to change our moods, or to become more active. If we really love our children, we will give up smoking and drinking and the use of pep pills and tranquilizers. Our children will be strengthened if instead of drugs we use the most perfect tranquilizer we have, the name of the Lord.

  22. O Partha, there is nothing in the three worlds for me to gain, nor is there anything I do not have. I continue to act, but am not driven by any need of my own.

  23. If I ever refrained from this continuous work, e
veryone would immediately follow my example.

  24. If I ever stopped working, I would be the cause of cosmic chaos, and finally of the destruction of this world and these people.

  In these verses Sri Krishna is telling us how he, from whom the cosmos comes, in whom the cosmos exists, and to whom it returns, works incessantly for our welfare. Yesterday we saw a big spider’s web glistening in the light; it was perfectly woven and in the center sat a spider, having his siesta. The Upanishads tell us the Lord weaves the whole universe out of himself and sits in the midst of it, working hardest of all. It is difficult even to imagine the Lord’s labor. In a period of decline and dissent over twenty-five hundred years ago, he came as the Compassionate Buddha to toil for our enlightenment. He shed his Buddha body and no sooner got home when a call came from the shores of Galilee: “Trouble brewing – come quickly.” With hardly any rest, he went off again to look for suitable parents. He finally decided on Mary and Joseph, but there was no place in which to be born except a stable. With this humble birth the Lord came to us as Jesus and worked for us until his body was crucified. Then he went home only to hear another call of tribulation, this time from Arabia. He came again as an ordinary man who became united with Allah and gave us the Koran. Once again he returned home, but while he was recovering from the desert heat the call came for him to be born as Shankara in Kerala, then again in the nineteenth century as Sri Ramakrishna.

  Our age, called Kaliyuga or the Age of Anger, demands a chain of incarnations, one after the other. If we really love the Lord, we should be able to say, “We do not want you to be so overworked. We’ll be good; we’ll meditate every day, repeat your name all the time, restrain our senses at every opportunity, and always put everybody else first.” In India there is a festival called Shivaratri, Shiva’s Night, popular especially among devotees of Shiva. Shiva stays awake 364 nights of the year looking after us, but on this last night we tell him tenderly that we will be selfless so that he can rest in peace. If we truly love the Lord, our proof is not to cause him any problems by being self-willed. When the Lord does not have a dire need to come into the human context as an incarnation, it means that every one of us has become aware of him. Since the Lord has toiled so long for us, it is not unreasonable for us to try to follow his personal example of selfless living. When our own little tragedies are interfering with our capacity to contribute to the welfare of our family or friends, it is good to remind ourselves of how the Lord labors for everyone’s benefit, no matter how distressing the context into which he is called.