Friday, July 29, 2011
Whoosh ! The hanging roots swayed. Karan looked up in surprise. It was not a particularly windy day. Well, he was too tired to think too much now. He had run a long distance in search of his ball, which had fallen down the slope.
He hadn’t found the ball. His uncle would be mad at him for losing it again. And then, he would give him a lecture on how careful they had been as children.
It was a routine scene. Karan had been living with his uncle and aunt for as long as he could remember. His parents had died in a airplane crash when he was a baby. “If you were my son, I would have thrashed you”, he kept saying. Karan sometimes felt it would be better if he actually gave him a whack instead of going on like this. Fortunately his aunt, his father’s sister and Seema, his cousin, were different. So, life was not too bad.
He sat down under the tree. It was really nice and cool. Before he knew it, he was fast asleep.
Karan got up with a jolt. Something had fallen on him.
“Yuck! it was crow’s shit.”
He wiped it off, irritated at being woken up in such a manner.
His exciting dream had been disrupted. Oh well.. too bad, he thought and started to leave. His foot got caught in one of the roots coming down from the tree. He struggled hard, but was not able to break free.
“I hope you will be my friend “ a voice whispered.
Karan looked around. What was that ? Who was speaking to him ?
A little bird was sitting on the branches of the banyan tree, chirping sweetly. A whole group of ants had made a home of one of the hollows. The ants were working hard carrying food inside. Other than that, there was nobody to be seen.
“I must be going mad !” thought Karan.
He heard it again “My chosen friend” it said.
“What, where ?” said Karan, looking around.
“It is I, the tree”
“The… the.. tree ?” Karan asked, incredulously.
“Yes, me. “ he heard the voice speak distinctly.
Karan looked squarely at the tree. It seemed to be moving with the words. A little hollow in the trunk looked like the mouth. It looked quite friendly actually.
Friendly ? A tree ? What was happening to him? Was he going out of his mind? He wanted to run away but something made him stay on.
The voice continued speaking.
“People came and sat here. They talked and I also read their mind. They want a building. A big, tall building here. This land is protected forestland and they are not supposed to cut any trees. But they have somehow broken the law. They plan to kill me”
“Oh ..” said Karan, bewildered.
He remembered he had seen in the television news that many people had filed a petition in the court that the green area should remain protected.
Whoosh .. the tree swayed…
“But you can help me stop it”, it whispered.
“Me? Help you?” Karan asked, incredulously.
“Yes. You can help “ the tree answered, “please”, it said in a imploring voice.
“I need a friend to make things happen and I want to make you my friend.” It swayed again ” So will you be my friend? Please ? You can also transfer thoughts.”
Karan was feeling very queasy. But still, he did agree. Whoosh told him where to go and how to transfer the thought, by simply making sure they looked at him and transferring a thought. The person who was the builder happened to be Mr Parekh, his classmate Arnav’s father. Arnav was a conceited, arrogant fellow who Karan did not like at all. Magically, he was transported to his house. He was at the garden in his home. He mustered up the courage to walk up to him.
“Good evening, Mr Parekh”, he said.
“Yes, yes. Ok. I don’t know what’s good about this evening, though”, Mr Parekh, without looking at him.
What a disagreeable man.
“I am Karan. Remember we had met in our school annual day”
“Maybe. “ he replied, still not looking at him.
“Oh. Mr Parekh, be careful”, shouted Karan.
Mr Parekh turned “What ?”
Karan threw a rope from his bag in the grass.
“That was a snake. It could have harmed you.”, he said,
“A snake ? Here? What nonsense.”
“No, it is not nonsense. I actually saw a snake coming towards you.”
“Nowadays even tigers come to people’s buildings, you know. My aunt says its because we humans have taken away all the land from the animals.”
“Hey, you. You are not one of those environmentalists, are you? Don’t tell me about not cutting trees and destroying forests.” For the first time, Mr Parekh looked him in the eye. He blinked and rubbed his eye.
Great ! The thought was transferred now.
“No, no Mr Parekh. I don’t even know what “environ.. “ – what did you say ?”
“Never mind. It’s not important.”
“Ok. Get going now “ he said and turned in the key at the door.
The next day, he Arnav called out.
“Hey, Karan. “ called out Arnav. Saw a snake, did you ? Poooh.. nonsense. What were you doing near my house, anyway ? “
“Hey, I was on the road and that is public property “
“My father changed his mind about his grand building. He dreamt that the building would create too much pollution and then we would not be able to breathe. He even felt he would be blamed and people will not move in. As a result, our Singapore trip is now cancelled. “
He paused, sulking.
“Did you have anything to do with it ?” he asked, looking at Karan’s gleeful expression.
“Wow. You think your father would listen to me. That’s great.”
Arnav did not answer. Of course, his father would not listen to anyone, least of all, Karan. There was something weird in the whole affair, though. He shrugged and walked on.
Karan was greatly relieved. Whoosh was safe now. He went running to him. A sudden gush of wind blew across making Whoosh sway heavily. Karan hugged him tight in a warm embrace. “How wonderful if we could do this everywhere, Whoosh,” said Karan.
“We cannot go everywhere, Karan, but we could share our story so that others too realise how important it is to preserve the environment, “ Whoosh said, in a grave voice.
And this is what they are now doing.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
The boy was waiting with his little sister for their mother to turn up. Their mother had asked them to wait at the entrance to the temple while she went to finish some shopping.. It seemed ages since she went. Whatever could have happened ? Thankfully, his sister slept off on the steps otherwise she could have become very cranky. They had come to Srirangam, their home town for Grandpa’s 60th birthday which was to be celebrated in a grand way. His father, cousins and other relatives were to arrive after a couple of days. It was pretty boring here– he should have come with his father! he thought.
He sat down near the steps beside his sister and waited impatiently. “What are you doing here? “ a man asked sternly. “Just waiting” answered the boy, a little nervously. Another man passing by said , “Come on, relax. He is not doing any harm.”
Then, turning towards the boy, he asked “Are you waiting for someone ? You look a bit worried. ”
The man was tall and muscular, He was wearing a long kurta and churidar. The boy noticed he had put on very unusual slippers. The slippers were wooden with just a button like projection for holding the toes. The boy remembered seeing such slippers somewhere, but could not recollect exactly where..
“I’m waiting for my mother She went to a shop, asking me to wait here with my sister and said she will come back in ten minutes. It is now past half an hour” the boy answered worriedly.
“These shops are sometimes very crowded. Don’t worry she will soon be back. Till that time, I will wait with you” the man said and offered the boy some peanuts. The boy hesitated. He wasn’t sure whether he should accept these. “No thank you” he said.
“Hello Ramprasad”, a person called out and the man turned around and waved out. “Is your name Ramprasad ?” the boy asked “Yes, he smiled.. I am Ramprasad Sheikh and what is your name, young man ?” “Siddharth Iyengar” said the boy, pleased at being called “young man”. It suddenly struck Siddharth that the man’s name was very odd indeed. “What an odd name, uncle, a Hindu first name with a Muslim surname!” he exclaimed.
“Yes, it is odd, isn’t it? Well, there is a story associated with my life” said Ramprasad.
“ Do tell me” said Siddharth
Ramprasad smiled and began “Tell me, have you heard of Gandhiji ?” “Of course. Gandhiji is the father of our nation” said Siddharth, recollecting where he had seen those type of slippers “Hey, now I remember. The slippers you are wearing are just like Gandhiji’s. I saw this in a book” he told Ramprasad.
“Good observation. Gandhiji had very few belongings. One of which were these kind of slippers. My father was with Gandhiji when he went to Kolkatta after got divided into India and Pakistan. Hindus and Muslims were fighting with each other. A Hindu man came to Gandhiji and asked ‘You expect me to forgive the Muslims. My little boy has been killed by Muslims. Do you expect me to forget that ? How do I forget my pain ? ”Gandhiji said to him, ‘If you really wish to overcome your pain, find a young boy, just as young as your son was, a Muslim boy whose parents have been killed by Hindu mobs. Bring up that boy like you would your own son, but bring him up with the Muslim faith to which he was born. Only then will you find that you can heal your pain, your anger, and your longing for retribution.’”
“You see, Gandhiji knew that it was not any religion which was bad, but it was the evil in people which was bad
“My father was a great admirer of Gandhiji. He was thinking of adopting a child at that time as he was childless. My father was deeply moved by Gandhiji’s advice to the Hindu man and decided to adopt a Muslim child and raise him as a Muslim.”
Ramprasad paused for a while and then continued
“My original name was Iqbal Sheikh. My father stuck to his resolution to bring me up as a Muslim. He arranged for a tutor to teach me the Quran and I was made to recite my Namaz without fail. “My mother was a wonderfully loving person. She accepted me entirely. She called me Ramprasad or a gift given by Lord Rama.
“Naturally, I was part of the Hindu pujas at home. My mother used to sing melodious bhajans and told me many wonderful stories from the Ramayan and Mahabharat. “I really consider myself a Hindu and a Muslim. When I am required to fill in my religion in certain forms, I fill it as ‘Hindu and Muslim’ said Ramprasad.
“It must be hard, being both a Hindu and a Muslim ?” Siddharth said, fascinated at his story.
“There is no problem in following both the faiths. But I have had to answer, ‘Who am I?’ all through my life. You see, people want to classify everyone, on the basis of the language they happen to speak, the color of their skin and in their minds, the most important one, their ‘religion’. As I defy the normally accepted rules of this classification, most people have been uncomfortable with my name. It was frustrating to be viewed as an object of curiosity all the time. At one stage, I wanted to change back my name to either fully Muslim or fully Hindu “ Ramprasad said and became a bit pensive.. “And…??” Siddharth prompted. ”I still remember the day I told my parents about it. Both of them became very quiet when I told them I was not too happy as ‘Ramprasad Sheikh’
My mother said “Do what your heart tells you, my son. To me, you will be my Ramprasad. No one can stop me from calling you that.” My father said “Ramprasad, we in India greet everyone with Namaste. Do you know what it means ? I did not know then.
“My father explained that “Namaste means ‘the God in me welcomes the God in you’” ..
“Such a small word means so much?” Siddharth asked, astonished. “Yes, It’s funny how the words we use most frequently are the ones least understood” continued Ramprasad. “My father said ‘In India, we believe that there is God in each of us. All religions are to be equally respected. That is the tradition of this land, the heritage that we have inherited. You and your name are symbolic of this India. Do you have the courage to carry that on your shoulder or will you change your name because some people are confused about it ? “
“So, you decided to stick to Ramprasad Sheikh ?” Siddharth prompted, again.
“Yes, my father’s words hit home. Now, I am traveling through India, discovering her in my own way ”In doing so, I have realised that, in our country, it was the the act of worship that was considered sacred. It had never mattered who or how one chose to worship. ”A classic example of this is right here, in Srirangam. There is a goddess here “Thullukka Nachiyar” – have you heard of her ?” asked Ramprasad.
“No, but the name sounds as interesting as yours – Thulluka means Muslim and Nachiyar, Hindu Goddess in Tamil . I know that “ Srinvas replied.
“Smart fellow. Naturally, her name being what it is, this Muslim-Hindu Goddess is close to my heart !” Siddharth’s sister got up. “Where is Amma ?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. “She will come soon” said Ramprasad and kneeled down. “What is your name, my child ?” he asked her.
“Suchitra” she said. “Suchitra, would you like to know the story of a princess ?” “Yes, I love stories” she said “There once was a princess, whose father had taken away a Vishnu idol from the temple here” “This temple ?” Suchitra said, pointing to the dome. “Yes, this one. “ Ramprasad confirmed.
“Idol is something like a doll ?” asked Suchitra
“Yes, something like that”
“I guessed that – because Idol sounds like a doll. “ said Suchitra, happy that her guess was right.
Ramprasad smiled and continued “You are as smart as your brother.
“Now, the princess fell in love with the idol. Then the priests of the temple had a dream which told them where the idol was. “They came to take it away. The princess was very upset as did not want to part with it, b ut she had to give it away as the priests wanted it back. The princess could not live without the idol and so, came here, to the temple of Srirangam and “disappeared” into the image of Lord Vishnu. Since then, she is considered a great devotee and is worshipped here in this temple as Thullukka Nachiyar.” “Then I can see her ?” Suchitra asked.
”Of course” replied Ramprasad.
Almost immediately, the children’s mother arrived.”! I am so sorry , I got lost –in the maze of shops.. Are you okay “ she asked the children.
Both children replied at once.. “Amma, this uncle was sitting and talking with us. He has told us so many interesting things” said Siddharth. “Amma,. Amma, let us go to see Thullukka Nachiyar” said Suchitra. “Wait. one at a time” said the children’s mother.
She turned towards Ramprasad.
”Namaste” said Ramprasad folding his hands and the children’s mother did the same. Siddharth smiled.
The temple of Srirangam is situated near Trichnapalli, a town in Tamil Nadu, South India. It is one of the most important temples for Lord Vishnu.
The story of the Muslim Princess (Thullukka Nachiyar) is true and the temple still has a painting of that Princess on the wall in her honour.
Mahatma Gandhi is called the ‘father’ of modern India.
He was a deeply religious person believing that all religions lead to God. Rabindranath Tagore, the great poet first addressed him as “Mahatma” or great soul. He was also affectionately called ‘Bapu’ or father.
He protested against British rule through ‘satyagraha’ or non-violent protest. After India’s independence, he was shot by a militant in 1948 who did not agree with his principles. Gandhiji died uttering the words “Hey Ram” or “Oh God”.
Emboldned by the success of our first volume of Teaching Stories which is currently in its third edition, we at Life Positive Publications have brought out a second volume: More Teaching Stories
Stories are eternally popular. They remain the best way to convey a teaching. As the mind opens up to let in the story, the teaching slips in too. Working its way insidiously into the contents of our conciousness, it eventually contrives an understanding. The truths that lie at the heart of these stories help us understand ourselves, life and God. They give us tools to negotiate our way through life and to come to terms with its many challenges. Our collection of Teaching stories called from the wisdom traditions of the world include Sufi, Zen, Hindu, Folklore and other sources. Of special interest to the seeker, the trainer and the teacher, this collection will appeal to the child in all of us.
There are great truths and values to be gained from these stories.
- DADA VASWANI,
Head of the Sadhu Vaswani Mission, In his foreword
Life Positive chooses and interprets stories to demonstrate the oneness of wisdom in all Traditions.
- SWAMI AGNIVESH,
Activist and President, Sarvadeshik Arya Pratinidhi Sabha
(World Council of Arya Samaj)
A story means giving light doses where heavy doses will not work. A story makes a subject easily readable as well as easily understandable.
- MAULANA WAHIDUDIN KHAN ,
Founder Of The Centre For Peace And Spirituality
More Teaching Stories is the Stairway to reach Deep into the Mystic Mysteries of our Own Self
- SHRI SHRI NIMISHANANDA,
Founder, Shree public Charitable Trust
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Gandhi was not really perfect when he started the satyagraha movement.. So, why do we have so many people objecting and not supporting Anna Hazare, all because he is not seen as a perfect being?
Let us join hands in a worthy cause, and if India is rid of Corruption, we will have a new freedom movement...
Let us join hands in a worthy cause, and if India is rid of Corruption, we will have a new freedom movement...