La Piedra de Toque

La historia de Fray Gómez y su milagroso escorpión nos cuenta cómo un hombre santo beneficia a un suplicante con un talismán mágico. Sridhar Mahārāja cuenta una historia similar aquí, pero con un final muy diferente.

La Piedra de Toque

Bhakti Rakṣak Śrīdhar dev Goswāmī

"Tú has venido a rendirte ante la belleza del ideal…

Es una aventura… para explorar el mundo espiritual, el mundo de la humildad. Hay muchas joyas ahí. Y qué joya puede encontrarse en la superficie? Queremos ser salvados te todo el encanto de la grandeza externa.

Hay una historia de la vida de Sanātana Goswāmī, la cual se halla en el Bhakta-mala, y también Rabindranath Ṭhākura escribió un poema conectado a ella. Había una villa, Mankore, y ahí vivía una rica familia brāhmaṇa, que hacía mucha adoración y festivales religiosos de varios tipos. Pero de pronto se empobrecieron, y el brāhmaṇa dijo, “Soy lo mejor de este linaje, soy pobre y no puedo realizar tantos festivales que solían realizarse aquí cada año.”

Entonces, él era un devoto de Mahādeva, Śiva, empezó a orar muy fervientemente al señor de su corazón, Śiva, “Por favor ayúdame para que pueda conservar la gloria, el nombre y la fama de mis ancestros.”

Entonces en un sueño le llegó una sugerencia, “Ve a Vṛndāvana, ahí está Sanātana Goswāmī, encuéntralo y tu deseo será satisfecho.”

En aquellos días, no había tren, ni autobús, sólo caminando miles de millas llegó el brāhmaṇa a encontrarse con Sanātana en Vṛndāvana.

Entonces de algún modo, en las orillas del Yamunā, halló a Sanātana en una choza pronunciando el Nombre de Kṛṣṇa. Se reunió con él y le contó su asunto.

Luego de escucharlo, Sanātana dijo “Brāhmaṇa, es cierto que anteriormente cuando fui Primer Ministro de Bengala, di muchas cosas a los brāhmaṇas, satisfaciéndolos. Pero ahora me hallas como un mendigo.”

“Sí, ya veo tu condición. Pero cómo puedo pensar que mi señor, Siva, me haya frustrado, engañado. No puedo pensar así.”

“¿Pero qué puedo hacer? Mírame”.

“Si, veo tu posición.” Entonces, desilusionado, el brāhmaṇa se aleja. Entonces, a Sanātana Goswāmī, recuerda algo de pronto, . “Oh brāhmaṇa, ven. Śiva no te ha desilusionado. Verás, ahí entre la pila de basura. Creo haber puesto ahí una piedra muy brillante que hallé un día. Tal vez sea esa la piedra de toque y si es, entonces Siva te ha dicho bien en el sueño”.

El brāhmaṇa removió la basura y halló la piedra brillante.

“Puede ser la piedra de toque. Tómala y todas tus dificultades desaparecerán”.

El brāhmaṇa la tomó. “Qué afortunado soy. Śiva, mi señor me ha guiado al sitio apropiado y ahora la tengo”.

Y al irse pensaba. “Tal vez sea un vidrio ordinario también, pero he de hallar algo de hierro para probarlo”. Y encontró una pequeña astilla de hierro y la tocó y quedó convertida en oro. “Oh, qué afortunado soy. Tengo una piedra de toque, Soy tan afortunado en el mundo, tengo la piedra de toque”.

Se iba, pero afortunadamente la reacción vino a su mente. “Esta es un verdadera piedra de toque, pero porqué ese hombre Sanātana Goswāmī, ha sido tan negligente de ponerla entre la basura? ¿Cómo es posible? No puedo creer que este objeto pueda ser tratada con tal negligencia, ¿por qué?”

Entonces, un segundo pensamiento llegó hasta él, en el corazón de ese afortunado brāhmaṇa, “Ha de tner algo mucho más grande, elevado, para poder desechar este objeto”. El segundo pensamiento en su mente “Ha de poseer alguna substancia más elevada”

Y entonces una tercera etapa, llegó a pensar, “He encontrado un santo tal y si sólo por esto retrocedo, me estoy engañando a mí mismo. Es una prueba de que él es un santo de la orden más elevada el hecho de que haya sido negligente de tal modo con esta piedra de toque, odiándola. He hallado esta clase de sādhu, un santo así y si le dejo cometo un grave error en mi vida. Será difícil hallar un santo así en el mundo”.

Entonces regresó, volvió sobre sí mismo y cuando llegó frente a la cabaña de Sanātana, llegó a su zenit. Tiró la piedra de toque al río y cayó a los pies de Sanātana. Y se menciona:

“Tú tienes, estás en posesión de una riqueza tal que no te preocupaste por la piedra de toque como por algo valioso. Quiero esa cosa valiosa de ti. No quiero ser engañado por el valor de esta piedra de toque”. La había tirado al río cayendo a sus pies.

Así las cosas externas, el encanto de las cosas preciosas externas puede conquistarse así. ¡Gaura Hari bol! Esa grandeza externa puede atraer a los auto-engañados.

Kṛṣṇa es tal, no tolera otra competencia, así que no hay alternativa. Kṛṣṇa es la única fortuna, todas las otras cosas de nuestra parafernalia han de ser muy, muy insignificantes. Debemos satisfacernos con eso. Sólo la adoración completa ha de gobernar nuestro corazón. Y no debe haber nada a nuestro alrededor que pueda atraernos, perturbar nuestra concentración hacia Él. Con la excepción de Sus devotos, aquellos que nos ayudaran a ir en la dirección correcta, en dirección a Kṛṣṇa."

Śrīla B.R. Sridhar Dev Goswāmī  Mahārāj

Traducido de la transcripción datada en Mayo del 83.

The Touchstone

The story of Fray Gomez and his miraculous scorpion tells of how a holy man benefits a supplicant with a magic talisman. Shridhar Mahārāja tells a similar story here, but one with a very different ending.

The Touchstone Jewel

You have come to surrender to the beauty of the ideal…

It is an adventure...to explore the spiritual world, the world of humility and humbleness. There is much jewel there. And what jewel we can find in the external surface? We want to be saved from that sort of charm of the external grandeur.

There is a story in Sanatana Goswami's life, which is found in Bhakta-mala, and also Rabindranatha Thakura has written a poem in that connection. There was a village, Mankore, and there was a rich brahmana family, who had many lineage of worship and festival of many religious types. But suddenly they became poor, and the brahmana says: "I am the best of this lineage, I'm so poor that I cannot perform so many festivals that used to be performed here every year."

So, he was a devotee of Mahadeva, Siva, he began to pray very fervently to his lord of heart, Siva, "Please help me that I can keep the glory, the name and fame of my ancestors."

Then in dream he got some suggestion, "Go to Vrndavana, there is Sanatana Goswami, meet him and your aim will be satisfied."

In those days, no train, no bus, only by walking the thousand miles the brahmana went to meet Sanatana in Vrndavana.

Then anyhow, on the banks of Yamuna, he found Sanatana in a hut and taking the Name of Krsna. He met him and told his own things.

Then after giving hearing to him, Sanatana told: "Brahmana, it was true that previously when I was Prime Minister to Bengal, I gave many things to many brahmanas, satisfied them. But now you find me I am a beggar."

"Yes, I see your condition. But how can I think that my lord, Siva, he has frustrated me, cheated me, I can't think like that."

"But what can I do? You see me."

"Yes, I see your position." Then, disappointed, the brahmana is coming away.

Then Sanatana Goswami suddenly, something came in his mind. "O brahmana, come, come. Siva has not disappointed you. You see there is some rubbish gathered together. I think that one very bright stone was found one day and I put it there. That may be the touchstone and if it is so then Siva has given you dream rightly."

The brahmana removing the rubbishes found a bright stone.

"It may be the touchstone. You take it and all your difficulty will be removed."

The brahmana took it. "How fortunate I am. Siva, my lord has guided me to a proper place and I have got it."

And now going he was always thinking, "It maybe ordinary glass also, but I must find some iron." And when searching he found a small iron nail and took it and touched and it converted into gold. "Oh, how fortunate I am, I have got a touchstone, I'm so fortunate in the world, I've got the touchstone."

He's going, but fortunately the reaction came in his mind. "This is really touchstone but why that man Sanatana Goswami, he so neglectfully put it in the rubbish? How is it possible? It can't be thought out that this thing should be so much neglectfully dealt, why?"

Then the next, second thought came to him, in the heart of that fortunate brahmana, "He must have something more greater, higher, then he could neglect this thing." The second thought came in his mind, "He's in possession of something higher, substance."

And then the third stage he came to think that, "I have found such a saint and if I go back only with this then I am deceiving myself. It is a proof that he's a saint of the highest order that he could neglect this touchstone in such a way, hatefully. I have found such a sadhu, such a saint, and if I leave him then I commit a great mistake in my life. It will be difficult to find such a saint in the world."

So he came back, retraced, and when came in the front of the cottage of Sanatana, then it came to its zenith. He threw away that touchstone into the river and fell on the feet of Sanatana. And it is mentioned:

"You have got, you are in possession of such a wealth that you did not care a touchstone to be a valuable thing. I want that valuable thing from you. I don't like to be deceived by this touchstone, valuable thing." He threw it to the water and fell at his feet.

So external things, the charm of the external precious things can be conquered in this way. Gaura Hari bol! The grandeur can attract the self-deceivers.

Krsna is such, He does not tolerate any second competition, so no alternative. Krsna is the only wealth, all other things in our paraphernalia should be very, very insignificant. We should be satisfied with that. Only the whole adoration He should command from our heart. And there should not be anything around us which may attract us, disturb our concentration towards Him. Only with the exception of His devotees, those that will help me towards right direction, towards the direction of Krsna.

Srila B.R. Sridhar Dev-Goswami Maharaj
Transcript dated as May 83

Milagros: El Alacran de Fray Gomez

TRADICION EL ALACRAN DE FRAY GOMEZ - Ricardo Palma

TRADICION EL ALACRAN DE FRAY GOMEZ 
Tradiciones Peruanas - Ricardo Palma

Cuando yo era muchacho escuchaba a las viejas exclamar, cuando una alhaja era de mucho precio:

—¡Esto vale tanto como el alacrán de fray Gómez!

Explicar este dicho de viejas es lo que me propongo con esta tradición.

I

Fray Gómez era un lego contemporáneo de San Francisco Solano que desempeñaba en el convento de los padres seráficos en Lima,la función de refitolero del hospital de los devotos frailes y a quien nunca se le conoció de otra manera que fray Gómez.

Fray Gómez hizo en Lima milagros en cantidades, como quien no quiere la cosa. Un día un caballo desbocado arrojó a su jinete. El desgraciado quedó patitieso, arrojando sangre por la nariz y la boca.

—Se descalabró —gritaba la gente, creyéndolo listo para la tumba.

Fray Gómez se acercó pausadamente al infeliz, le puso el cordón de su hábito en los labios, le echó tres bendiciones y el descalabrado se levantó tan fresco como si no hubiera recibido golpe alguno. Los fieles intentaron llevar en triunfo al lego pero el huyó a su celda. Aunque la versión franciscana cuenta que fray Gómez escapó volando de la multitud. Yo no lo afirmo ni lo niego, puede que sí y puede que no.

Ese mismo día estaba milagreo fray Gómez pues se encaminó a la enfermería y halló muy débil a San Francisco Solano, víctima de una jaqueca.

—Haría bien en tomar algún alimento —le dijo fray Gómez

El santo se negó, pero ante las insistencias de fray Gómez le pidió algo que sabía imposible de conseguir, por no ser la estación propicia:

—Pues mire, hermanito, solo comería con gusto un par de pejerreyes.

Fray Gómez metió la mano en el bolsillo y sacó dos pejerreyes, tan frescos como recién salidos del mar. Los guisó y quedó San Francisco curado como por ensalmo.

Dejo en el tintero otros milagritos de nuestro lego, porque no me he propuesto relatar su vida y milagros.

II

Estaba una mañana fray Gómez en su celda cuyo mobiliario eran cuatro sillones de vaqueta, una mesa mugrienta y una tarima sin colchón, con una piedra en lugar de almohada, cuando llamaron a su puerta con unos ligeros golpecitos y una voz quejumbrosa.

El recién llegado era un castellano agobiado por la pobreza pero con semblante de persona honrada.

—Soy buhonero —le dijo el castellano—, tengo familia y mi negocio no prospera; parece que Dios se ha olvidado de mí.

—No desespere hermano.

—El caso es que he tocado muchas puerta para pedir en préstamo un capital de quinientos duros y nada he conseguido. Y en mis cavilaciones pensé pedírselo a usted, que así pobre como es, encontrará una manera de sacarme del apuro.

—¿Cómo imagina, hijo mío, que en esta triste celda pueda tener esa cantidad?

—Tengo fe de que no me dejará ir desconsolado —respondió el castellano.

—La fe lo salvará, hermano. Espere un momento.

Y paseando los ojos por las desnudas paredes, vio un alacrán que caminaba por el marco de la ventana. Fray Gómez arrancó una página de un libro viejo y cogió a la sabandija, la envolvió y se la entregó al visitante.

—Tome, y procure devolverme esta alhajita en en seis meses.

El buhonero agradeció mucho y se encaminó de prisa a la tienda de un usurero. La joya era de una delicadeza incomparable, un prendedor con figura de alacrán; el cuerpo, una esmeralda engarzada sobre oro y la cabeza un grueso brillante con dos rubíes por ojos.

La empeñó por quinientos duros, aunque el usurero intentó convencerlo de que le venda la joya.

Con ese capital le fue tan bien en su negocio que al cabo de seis meses pudo desempeñar la alhaja y devolvérsela a fray Gómez. Este tomó el alacrán, lo puso en la ventana y dándole la bendición le dijo:

—Animalito de Dios, sigue tu camino.

Y el alacrán echó a andar libremente por las paredes de la celda. Por Alvaro felipe.

The Magic Scorpion

[Sometime ago I found this charming story in a collection of works by Peru's Ricardo Palma. The translation below is by Kenny Beechmount.] https://beachmount.wordpress.com/2011/04/07/el-alacrn-de-fray-gmez-by-ricardo-palma-translated-to-english/ 

 The Scorpion of Father Gomez

FOREWORD by the translator 

Ricardo Palma was born in Lima, Peru in 1833, and died there on October 6, 1919, at the age of 86. He was contemporary to the Mexican writer, Vicente Riva Palacio (1832-1896) with whom he had quite a few things in common. They were both university educated, had served in the armed forces and dabbled in politics. Palma began his writing career as a poet and published his first verses at the age of only 15. During his life, he published several additional volumes of verse, including Harmonies and Lyre in Paris during a visit there in 1864-65. From 1865 onward until he retired in 1912, he published a series of volumes called Tradiciones, with the first showing up in 1872. These essays, short stories and historical fiction pieces became the core of a six-volume set of the Complete PeruvianTraditions. Like Vicente Riva Palacio, many of his stories and amusing anecdotes are based on folklore and for Ricardo Palma, on Peruvian traditions. The following story about brother (friar) Gómez and the scorpion is an amusing little tale of fantasy that rivals that of Palacio’s El Buen Ejemplo.

When I was a boy I frequently heard the older people exclaiming, while pondering the value and price of a piece of jewelry “This is as valuable as Brother Gomez’s scorpion!” I propose to explain this adage of the old people with the following story.

Brother Gómez was a lay brother, contemporaneous with Don Juan de la Pipirindica, the valiant lancer and of San Francisco Solano, redeemer in Lima at the convent of the Seraphic Fathers, whose monks were in charge of the infirmary or hospital for old and frail devotees. Brother Gómez created miracles galore in my country, like someone who is not even trying. He was a natural-born miracle-maker, like the person who spoke in prose, not knowing that he did.

It happened one day; the lay brother arrived at a bridge, when a runaway horse threw its rider on the paving stones. The unfortunate soul remained, lifeless, with his battered head spurting blood from nose and mouth.

“He fractured his skull,-he fractured his skull!” shouted the people, “Will someone go to San Lorenzo and fetch some anointing oil?”

Everything was in an uproar and clamor.

Brother Gómez slowly approached the person lying on the ground and put the cord from his garment across the mouth of him, then said three blessings, and without neither doctor, nor medicine, he stood up, fresh, as if he if he never got hurt.

“Miracle, Miracle! Long live brother Gómez!” shouted all the spectators.

Enthusiastically they tried to carry the lay brother in victory. In order to get away from his applauders, he ran down the road to the convent and cloistered himself in his cell.

The Franciscan history explains the latter in a different way. They say that brother Gómez, in order to escape his applauders, lifted himself into the air and flew from the bridge to the tower of the convent. I neither confirm, nor deny this. Maybe he did, and maybe he didn’t. When dealing with miracles, I don’t waste my time nether defending or refuting them.

That day, brother Gómez was in the mood for making miracles, for when he left his cell, he walked to the infirmary, where he encountered San Francisco Solano, resting on a bed, suffering from a severe headache. The lay brother took his pulse and said: “Father, your health is fragile; you would do well to eat some food.”

“Brother, replied the saint, I have no appetite.

“Make an effort, reverent Father, have at least a mouthful.”

So insistent was the monk in charge of the dining hall, that the sick, in order to get rid of the demands that already bordered on nonsense, I got the idea to ask him what even for the viceroy would have been impossibly to obtain, because the season wasn’t right to satisfy his whim

“Look, little brother, if only he would eat a pair of tasty mackerels”

Fray Gómez put his right hand into his left sleeve and pulled out two mackerels as fresh as if they had just come out of the sea.

Here they are Father, and may they bring your good health back. I Am going to cook them.

And with the blessed mackerels San Francisco was cured as if by magic.

There was another morning, brother Gomez was lost in meditation in his cell, when there was some small, discrete knocks on the door and a tetchy voice said:

“Thanks be to God, Praised be the Lord”

“Forever and ever, Amen. Come in dear brother, answered brother Gómez.”

And into the very humble cell came a ragged individual, but in whose face one could perceive the proverbial honesty of an old Castilian.

The furniture in the cell consisted of four leather chairs, a greasy table, and a bunk without mattress, not even sheets, and with a stone for a pillow to rest his head.

Sit down, brother and tell me without detours what brings you here, said brother Gómez.

The fact is, Father that I am an honest man through and through.

That’s apparent and I want to persevere, so that I will deserve peace of conscience in this earthlyl life, and in other one, the blessed place.

The fact is that I’m a peddler with a family and my business does not grow for lack of means, or for idleness and shortage of industry in me.

I’m glad, brother, for God takes care of those who work honestly

But it is the problem, Father that till now God has turned a deaf ear on me, and is late in helping me.

“Don’t despair, brother, don’t despair!”

Well, the situation is that have knocked on many doors in solicitation of a loan for five hundred duros, and I found all of them locked up tight. And it happened that last night in my ponderings, I said to myself: “Hey, Jeromo, cheer up and go and ask for the money from brother Gómez, for if he wants to, beggar and poor as he is, he will find a way to extract me from my troubles.” And this is the reason that I am here, because I have come to ask and request that you, reverend Father, lend me this trifle amount for six months.

“How could you have imagined, son, that you, in this sad cell, would find such wealth?”

Frankly, father I couldn’t answer that; but I have faith that you will not let me leave distressed.

Your faith will save you, brother. Wait a minute!

Looking around the naked, whitewashed walls in the cell, he saw a scorpion tranquilly walking over the window frame. Brother Gómez tore a page from an old book and went over to the window took it cautiously to the bug, wrapped it in the paper and turning towards the old Castilian he said:

“Take this, my good man and pawn this little precious ornament; and don’t forget to bring it back within six month.”

The peddler was overcome with gratitude, and left brother Gómez with great haste and walked to the pawnshop.

The jewel was a splendid, real jewel worthy of a Moorish queen, to say the least. It was a brooch in the shape of a scorpion.

A magnificent emerald mounted in gold, formed the body and a wide brilliant with two rubies for eyes, formed the head.

The pawnshop owner, who was a connoisseur, looked at the jewel with greed and offered to begin with two thousand duros for it; but our Spaniard insisted on not accepting a loan for more than 500 duros for six month and with too much interest, he understood.  The lender gave him the money and signed the papers or promissory notes, expecting that, in the end, the owner of the article would come back for more money, which, with the added interest charges, would turn him into the owner of such a priceless jewel, with its intrinsic and artistic value.

But with this little capital, he became quite prosperous in his business and at the end of the time could discharge the loan, and, wrapped in the same paper he had received it in, he returned it to brother Gómez.

He took the scorpion and put it in the window sill, gave a blessing and said:

“Little animal of God, go find your way.”

And the scorpion walked freely on the walls of the cell.

Thanks to "Translated April 7, 2011 by Kenny Beechmount .

beachmount.wordpress.com/El Alecran  by Ricardo Palma, translated to English."

https://beachmount.wordpress.com/2011/04/07/el-alacrn-de-fray-gmez-by-ricardo-palma-translated-to-english/

The Monkey's Paw: a tale of karma

The Monkey's Paw

Retold by Michael Dolan/B.V. Mahāyogi

There are many cautionary tales about human greed. One of my favorites is the short story by Tolstoy, “How much land does one man need” about a landowner inspired by greed who finds in the end that he only needs enough land to be buried. I published this in my last post.

With the coming of October it is harvest time. Metaphorically the harvest represents death as we cut from the earth its bounty to sustain ourselves. Cultures all over the world honor October-November as a special time when the earth moves from Autumn to Winter. And so in the traditions of Mexico we celebrate the Day of the Dead and honor and remember all those who have passed to the other world.

As we near the Halloween season, I remembered another such story, one of my favorite “horror” stories. It’s called the “Monkey’s Paw.” The Monkey’s Paw is a classic tale of greed and karma, a supernatural short story written by W.W. Jacobs, a long forgotten author, but based on older sources. It is supposed to be a true story. It follows the old formula of the “three wishes” stories so popular among story-tellers and is a cautionary fable. The old Puranas of India are filled with instructive stories that advise us on the nature of karma; this story is a modern version of a moral fable.

I heard the story a long time ago from my father on a dark and stormy night. I remembered it well enough to tell it to my brothers when they were little. Later, I have told the tale in the classroom at this time of year to my English students.

I can’t remember all the details of the original story perfectly. I retell the story as best I can from memory.

THE MONKEY'S PAW

I

One rainy night a gypsy walks a lonely country road. He sees the light on in a farm house and goes to seek shelter. Mr. and Mrs. White, the couple who live there with their son Herman welcome him.

They offer the gypsy a hot bowl of soup and a bed for the night. The next day, after lunch, the gypsy wishes to repay their kind hospitality. He shows them a leather bag with a magic charm: the monkey’s paw. He explains the legend of the charm: It is the enchanted paw of a Hanuman monkey, thousands of years old, and has the power to grant three wishes.

After thanking them again, the gypsy leaves and walks down the country road into the sunset. Mr. and Mrs. White study the strange talisman. Spurred by his wife, Mr. White invokes the paw and wishes for money: they ask for 200 pounds, enough to pay their debts. No money appears before them. They try and try, but nothing happens. They conclude that the monkey's paw is a gypsy trick, a fraud.

II

Thinking nothing more of the hoax they turn in for the night. The next morning there is a knock at the door. It is the foreman of the factory where their son Herbert works. He is grim as he explains the accident at the factory. Late last night, Herbert slipped. His necktie was caught in the press.

He was mangled to death by the machine. The men at the factory took up a collection. He hands the couple an envelope.

Horrified, the couple sits at the kitchen table some time later. They count the money in the envelope. It is exactly 200 pounds, the amount they had wished for. They can understand that the monkey’s paw does indeed have some mystic power. Agonized by the death of their only son, they sit in silence and stare at the enchanted monkey’s paw.

Finally, Mrs. White has an idea. They will use their second wish to bring her son back from the grave. They join hands and raise the monkey paw. “Oh Monkey’s Paw,” they intone solemnly. “If you have any power left, bring our son home.”

They wait. Again, nothing happens. They turn in for the night. It is a dark and stormy night. The rain beats hard on the rook. Lightning flashes. They can’t sleep. Late at night they hear a sound.

Mr. White looks out the window. A flash of lightning illuminates a strange form. His shadow moves through the garden outside the window.

Mrs. White awakens. “Could it be... Herman?”

They hear something at the door. They hear a knock. And then a moan. “AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH.”

The knocking is insistent.

They thought “Could this be Herman?”

Mrs. White is frantic. She rushes to the door and begins to unlock the bolt. But Mr. White stops her.

“Wait,” he says. “Let me see what’s out there. It could be the gypsy.”

Mrs. White bites her lip.

Mr. White looks through the window. Another lightning flash lights up the strange form pounding on the door. It is a mangled monster. He’s banging on the door now. Soon he will break it down.

Mr. White finds the monkey’s paw. He holds it high and prays, “Monkey’s Paw! return this creature to the grave!”

A loud crack of thunder reverberates through the house. When its echoes fade, the pounding at the door has stopped.

Mrs. White can wait no longer. She opens the door and finds nothing but the rain dripping down from the roof, the dark empty night, and the lonely road.

The monkey’s paw grants  three wishes to its owner, but one can change one’s karma only at a heavy price. The story teaches that by trying to tamper with karma and extract more than one needs from the environment, one must pay the price.

Going for the Gold

Greed

By Michael Dolan/B.V. Mahāyogi

Greed and desire has led many a man to his demise.

The old story by Tolstoy is instructive. A peasant, determined to increase his fortune, hears that land is cheap in the East. He travels far from home where he finds vast plains of black farm-land presided over by a strange band of gypsies. Their warlord charges a special rate for land: One may have as much land as he can cross on foot in a day, measured from sunrise to sundown. 

He pays his entire fortune for a day's worth of land.  The money is placed in a sailor's cap,  marking the starting point. The warlord sits on a camp stool to watch. They wait for the sunrise to begin.

 At the first glint of sunrise the peasant begins to pace off his land. At first he walks quickly, then, overcome with greed, he runs to the horizon, covering as much land as he can. He turns at noon, calculating the far corner. Running and running, his chest bursting, he makes the far corner by late afternoon. Now he must sprint back to the starting point. 

The sun is low. It is setting. The peasant, exhausted now, thirsting for a drop of water, runs as fast as he his legs can carry him, staggering back to the spot where the warlord sits, laughing. As the sun dips below the horizon, the peasant drops dead a few feet from the starting spot.  The warlord scoops up the sailor's cap from the ground before the peasant, pockets the money, and puts the cap back on his head. He pauses for a moment over the fallen peasant and gives instructions to his men to bury him. He will need a piece of land six feet long, three feet wide and ten feet deep. 

The story is called, "How Much Land does a Man Need?" and the final line gives the answer: as much land as is necessary for burial.

In illustrating a point he had made about how greed destroys a man’s soul, Śrīla Śrīdhara Mahārāja once told me the story of a man who had drowned trying to save a bar of gold. During a flood, he packed his worldly goods and his fortune in gold on a boat and tried to cross the Ganges in a storm.

Shipwreck

His boat too was flooded. He began to sink. He filled his pockets with the gold and began to swim. The weight of the gold took him to a watery grave.

I was always struck by the image of a man filling his pockets with gold and trying to cross the Ganges. Śrīdhar Mahārāja often used examples drawn from a number of sources to illustrate his lectures. As editor of his printed works, I was responsible for filling in some of the details and running down the origin of some of his stories.

After many years of reflecting on the story of the drowning man with gold in his pockets, the other day I found a version of it in an essay by John Ruskin.

The story, of course, was not original with the discourse of my Guru Maharaja; it had probably been gleaned from a book written by Gandhi, a translation of John Ruskin’s Unto this Last. Śrīdhar Mahārāja may have read the Gandhi version of Ruskin or may have heard the story told in Gandhian circles in the early days of the mission. Certainly the Indian Independence Movement was prominent in Bengal during the early part of the 20th Century, and Śrīdhar Mahārāja may have heard the story in his conversations at the time.

Whether Śrīdhar Mahārāja was familiar with Gandhi’s or Ruskin’s version is immaterial. The point of the story is that greed and material attachments may cause us to lose our spiritual compass. I will take the image of the drowning man trying to swim with gold in his pockets to my grave.

Gandhi often preached on the vicissitudes of greed. He sincerely felt that a system based on exploitation and greed, i.e. capitalism was doomed to inevitable failure.

In a chapter in his Autobiography (Part IV, Chapter XVIII) entitled ‘The Magic Spell of a Book’ Gandhi tells us how he formed his views on capitalism and greed while reading John Ruskin’s Unto This Last on the twenty-four hours’ journey from Johannesburg to Durban. It made such an impression on him that he was struck by insomnia.

‘The train reached there in the evening. I could not get any sleep that night. I determined to change my life in accordance with the ideals of the book.…I translated it later into Gujarati, entitling it Sarvodaya.’

Gandhi was far more sophisticated than he appeared to be. Far from being the “half-naked” fakir of Winston Churchill’s fertile imagination Gandhi was quite well-read. Having been educated as a barrister before becoming a human-right’s advocate in South Africa he wore tails and a top-hat to work long before he adopted simple hand-weaved cotton cloth.

The story about “How much land does a man need?” fits nicely into the Gandhian point of view, a view that deeply influenced Gandhi. Since we began this article with a reference to Tolstoy, it is also interesting to note the relationship between Gandhi’s ideas and Tolstoy. Gandhi was hypnotized by Tolstoy’s later writings, especially his pacifist criticism of Church and State: The Kingdom of God is Within You. Gandhi went so far as to found a communal farm along Tolstoyan principles in South Africa. He admired and corresponded with Tolstoy whose ideas were later incorporated into the Independence Movement as nonviolent or passive resistance.

As he saw abuses against human rights in India and South Africa, Gandhi found solace in the writings of Ruskin and Tolstoy and was drawn to a life of simple living and high thinking. Ruskin’s critique of capitalism and Tolstoy’s principles had such an effect on him that he set up a farm at Phoenix near Durban where he and his friends could follow those “experiments in truth.” Later he founded “Tolstoy Farm” near Johannesburg; the basis for his more famous ashrams in India, at Sabarmati near Ahmedabad.

Gandhi found that greed is a destructive principle. If capitalism is based on greed, it must ultimately fail.

To get back to Śrīdhar Mahārāja’s cautionary tale of the man who tried to cross the Ganges with gold in his pockets, John Ruskin’s version involves a tale is told of a California miner whose fortune is in gold bars. He’s trapped on a wrecked steamboat on the Sacramento River. As the ship goes down, the passengers help him with his gold:

“I can still hear him shouting at me:

Lately in a wreck of a Californian ship, one of the passengers fastened a belt about him with two hundred pounds of gold in it, with which he was found afterwards at the bottom. Now, as he was sinking--had he the gold? Or the gold him?”

The title of Ruskin's essay, "Unto this Last" derives its title from  the Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard:
I will give unto this last, even as unto thee. Is it not lawful for me to do what I will with mine own? Is thine eye evil, because I am good? So the last shall be first, and the first last: for many be called, but few chosen.

— Matthew 20 (King James Version)

John Ruskin, Unto this Last https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unto_This_Last

You can read Ruskin’s entire essay here: http://dbanach.com/ruskin.html

For more information on John Ruskin: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Ruskin

John Ruskin painted by the Pre-Raphaelite artist John Everett Millais standing at Glenfinlas, Scotland, (1853–54).