By Dr. Tilak Verma
Nachiketa, a young boy in search of knowledge and truth is in conversation with Yama, the god of death.
When a person dies, there exists a doubt:
“He still exists,” say some; “he doesn’t not,"
say others. I want you to teach me the truth.
Swami Yogatmananda-ji is speaking on this over two carefully crafted talks entitled, "Much Ado about Nothing" and "Choosing Wisely."
Yama is unmoved.
“This doubt haunted even the gods of old,” he says, adding, "Ask me something else.” He offers, instead, immense wealth, longevity, and even a kingdom to rule over--and all the pleasures of life one can ask for.
“These pleasures are just passing show; keep them for yourself."
And tell me, does a person live on?”
“Yama, impressed, relents and says there are two paths one can follow: the path of pleasure, which is deluded, temporary, impermanent and transient, or the path of Self Realization, which is one of illumination, enlightenment and knowledge that the Self is beyond just body and mind and lives on forever,” explains the saffron clad Swamiji, as he stands smiling.
Passing pleasure or perennial joy are the two options, he explains. The passing show, he says, is much ado about nothing and one must choose wisely.
Passing show, passing show? A decades-old memory is triggered.
Taking a break from the rigors of medical school, one evening, I head out for a leisurely stroll. Turning left from the house, I first pass the temple and recall that a visiting priest had come to dine with us. He had a saintly look, and I had asked what a student’s obligation was.
“Being focused on their studies” he replied instantly, but he offered no japas or mantras, no easy, God-assisted solutions.
Oh boy, okay!
I cross the main road and enter the sprawling neighborhood market. There are shops of all kinds--drugstores, clothing houses selling yarn to make shirts and pants, tailor shops located conveniently next door, with the men whom we call ‘tailor masters” busy on treadle-operated sewing machines. Provision stores are selling rice, wheat, all manner of lentils etc. out of bulging gunny sacks. Further on, is the inner square, the heart of the market, lined with tiny shops, like the kabob sellers. A cart lit with a gas lamp sells bunches of grapes and other fruits, fat flies buzzing overhead.
I pass the Stationary Mart and pause at the paan shop, which is a mere alcove built into a wall. The abundantly mustached paanwallah sits cross-legged amidst betel leaves, jars of nuts, pastes, and powders, deftly folding the concoction into neat triangles and doling them out to the waiting customers. He is rumored to be very wealthy …
But I am not here for the paan. The paanwallah is also a tobacconist and sells a variety of cigarettes, both local and the forbidden, expensive foreign brands. I am here for my first smoke. I scan the offerings and choose the cheapest one and place it on my lips. I pick the coiled length of rope that is lit at one end and glows red, serving as a lighter. I am ready to take the first-ever drag from my just-purchased "Passing Show" cigarette! And that’s when I spot him, or should I say, he spots me….
Source: Katha Upanishad
To be continued...
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