Hariom, I have posted three stories — two are adaptations from the Mahabharata and one from the Zen tradition. The key ideas that filter through the stories are: life and death is a play-act of the immortal Self, and hence flow with it; minimise attachment as you roller-coaster along the ups and downs of relational life; spiritual life is more than repeating what others have said or done — it is always a new path, you make it as you walk it. Enjoy. — Swami Bodhananda, 21 August 2007
An old lady lived on the outskirts of the village. Beyond was endless forest. The lady had as her support only one son. Every day he would go to the forest to dig roots, pluck fruits and collect firewood. Sometimes he hunted small game. The old lady thanked God daily for giving her such a good son. She had nothing to complain about, though she was leading a meagre subsistence life. Hard life had taught her to be satisfied with minimal needs.
One day, out of the blue, ill luck struck her hard. She was sweeping the front yard of her hut after her son left for the forest. Then she heard a rustle in the woods and a shadow loomed over her bent frame. She looked up to see, to her utter horror, a hunter standing in front of her. Over his shoulder the hunter had her son slouched, and a snake swishing on the tip of his arrow, with his bow hanging on the other shoulder. The hunter conveyed the terrible, sad news of the death of her only son by snakebite.
The old lady was crestfallen and inconsolable. The hunter was furious. He wanted to deal the severest punishment to the evil, cruel snake. Consoling the old lady, he said that he intended to extract justice from the snake and mete out a fitting retribution.
“Tell me, old lady,” hollered the hunter, “what kind of punishment do you want me to give this wicked snake?”
The hunter breathed fire: “Should I cut this wily slitherer into pieces, or crush it under a heavy stone, or yet throw this cold-blooded viper into a burning fire?”
The old lady looked at the hunter pathetically and whispered in her feeble voice, “Son, will I get my dead son back by killing this snake?”
“Definitely not,” said the perplexed hunter.
“Then what is the point in killing this stupid snake?” sighed the old woman, looking in the other direction.
By then the hunter had laid the dead body on the ground and sat on the trunk of a fallen tree, pinning the snake down to the ground, saying, “My dear old lady, you are naive. You don't punish to correct an injustice, you punish to take revenge and get even with the criminal. Moreover, how do you know that this snake will not bite another innocent child? To prevent such a terrible incident at least, should you not kill this killer snake instantly?”
The old lady said between sobs, “My child, what makes you presume that this snake will again bite another unsuspecting victim? Maybe after seeing my sorrow he has felt remorseful and has vowed not to hurt even a fly. Don't you think that every sinner has a future and every saint a past?”
While they were thus discussing and debating, the snake, in its weak voice, to the surprise of the hunter and the old lady, opened its mouth, put out its forked tongue and talked. “Friends, you are barking up the wrong tree. I am not the one responsible for the death of this boy. I am only a junior orderly who just carries out orders under threat of punishment for disobedience.”
“Then if you are not responsible, tell us who is responsible for the untimely, tragic death of this boy,” demanded the hunter in his harsh voice. The old lady pricked up her ears to listen to the revelation of the snake.
“It is Lord Yama who ordered the death of this boy. I just carried out his orders — do I have a choice in the first place? Would you punish an instrument, for example a sword, which cuts and kills? Or would you punish the wielder of the sword? I am innocent, a helpless cog in a cosmic machine. Please leave me alone.” While saying this, the snake's shiny eyes floated in unshed tears.
This time the old lady became furious. “How could Lord Yama, Dharma Raja, the upholder of Dharma, cause my son to be killed? I don't believe this baloney. I need justice; I want my son back,” shouted the lady hysterically.
The hunter shivered in fear at the mention of Lord Yama and cast restless, furtive glances all around.
At that moment Lord Yama himself appeared. He walked towards the old lady with sure, steady steps, took her frail forearm in his big firm hand and said in a calm, deep voice, “Mother, don't blame me for the death of your son. I may be the one who signed his death warrant, but I am only an officer in a cosmic hierarchy, who just carries out orders efficiently and conscientiously. My choices are nil. In Dharma there are no choices, only duties. People say justice is blind, but, mother, I keep my eyes and ears open without sleep or rest. Pardon me, mother, would you want me to be influenced by partiality, sentiments, likes and dislikes in discharging my duty? I just carry out orders!”
“Whose orders?” This time both the hunter and the old lady shouted simultaneously. For they had no more fear of Lord Death, knowing that he was only a glorified functionary.
“I take my orders from Lord Kala, Time. Blame Kala if you must,” and saying thus Lord Death vanished in a trail of smoke.
Neither the hunter nor the old lady had any clue who Lord Time was. Their minds raced back and forth to the abysmal past and the endless future, like a pair of birds caught in a dark tunnel.
Then there was a welcome breeze and a white shaft of light crashed in front of them. From it emerged the Lord of Time, wearing a dhoti with black and white borders.
Lord Kala spoke in measured tones: “Lady, people accuse me of everything, good and bad. But let me tell you — listen carefully — I am not the direct cause of this boy's death. Actually, you won't believe it, it is his own karma that visited him in the form of death. We are all punished or rewarded by our karma for our karma. We are our own tormentors as well as benefactors. So relax. This boy just balanced his karmic account, that is all! Relax!”
Postscript
On the way, Kala meets Karma, who confronts Kala. “See, you were telling the old lady that karma was the ultimate cause of her son's death. Seriously, it is not me, but his own desire that commanded me to cause his death.”
Kala couldn't believe that outrageous statement. “How can one desire one's own death?” Kala asked in utter exasperation.
Karma said, “Because he is immortal, just as we all are immortal! The immortal, for a change, just for the heck of it, like a child's play, desires the pleasure of mortality. Only the deathless have the leisure and comfort to play-act death, the most creative act of the ever-existing. What else would the deathless wish for but death, to express and enjoy deathlessness?”
Swami Bodhananda