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The Indian tradition of literature, unique for its content as well as chronological development, ran in two lines : Mythological and Pragmatic.
Beginning with the Vedas at the dawn of civilisation the first line branched out into the Upanishads, gave way to the epics and the Mahapuranas, followed by Upapuranas and the rest.
The second line consisted of the Brihat Katha (the precursor of the Kathasaritsagara), the Jatakas and the Panchatantra, etc. They shed light on different aspects of life, on its worldly and other worldly complexities, sometimes didactic (as in the Jatakas) but more often simply expository of the various possibilities of life.
Between these two lines quietly ran a third, the treasure of tales told by the hermits, mendicants, ascetics and other mystics. Profound for psychological studies, sharp with mystic experiences, these tales of light, wit and delight remained a oral tradition for the most part.
We propose to serialise some of them, "retold by a master story teller of our time - one of the best-loved writers of India" - as the India's National Academy of Letters introduces the author, Manoj Das.
The Guru and the Disciple
Manoj Das
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The great sage, Akash Dev, was no more. One of his disciples, Megh Dev, had succeeded him to the position of the guru.
According to the tradition that prevailed in that cult, those who had been initiated by the earlier guru looked upon his successor as their guru. Akash Dev had many disciples. Megh Dev commanded their allegiance. He was now out to initiate more people.
Mandarpur was the village, a prosperous one, where he planned to camp for a week. On behalf of the devotees at Mandarpur, Ramdas had come to him with a formal invitation. For some reason Megh Dev delayed his visit to Mandarpur and Ramdas was detained at the Math.
Someone came from Mandarpur with the bad news that Ramdas’s only child, a little boy, was down with severe fever. He had been summoned home urgently.
Ramdas, however, refused to go. “My sacred duty is to accompany the guru. How can I do otherwise?” was the message he sent home.
Another messenger met him the next day to inform him that his son was in a critical condition. But Ramdas was not disturbed. “I don’t worry and nobody else need worry either!” was his puzzling message.
Megh Dev set out for Mandarpur on the third day. While he rode a bullock cart, a number of his disciples walked keeping pace with the cart, led by Ramdas.
They were about to enter Mandarpur when a distraught cousin of Ramdas came running and informed him that he had been a bit too late. His son had died an hour ago.
“Don’t you worry!” was Ramdas’s cryptic comment. The guru reached the village temple where he was to camp. Ramdas saw to it that he had been comfortably lodged before going home.
An air of gloom pervaded the atmosphere of his house. His wife had fainted. Others were crying, seated around the child’s dead body.
Ramdas hardly looked at anybody. He picked his dead child and rushed out of the house.
Had he gone mad—wondered those who saw him doing this. Ramdas made a beeline for the guru’s camp. Megh Dev sat in a chair talking to several people. In fact, the villagers were reporting to him about Ramdas’ loss.
Ramdas laid the dead child at his feet, fetched some water in a vessel and obliged the guru to dip his toe in it. He then sprinkled the water on the child and sat down closing his eyes.
Suddenly someone noticed the child opening his eyes and looking at everybody. Exclamations of joy and wonder shook the camp. Dozens of men and women came rushing to see the miracle.
Ramdas alone showed no sign of excitement. “This is but natural!” he said, bowing to Megh Dev. “What is impossible for the guru’s Grace?”
Megh Dev’s powers became the talk of the region. Hundreds came to have a glimpse of the holy man who could resurrect the dead. The zamindar of the area, who was not a disciple of Megh Dev, personally met him and requested him to be his guest. Megh Dev, after some show of reluctance, agreed to oblige him.
Megh Dev’s camp shifted to the zamindar’s abode. He was much more comfortable there. The zamindar toyed with the idea of becoming formally his disciple.
Megh Dev sat in padmasana in the morning when the zamindar’s son, a toddler, crawled on to his lap. Megh Dev tried to ward off the disturbing element and concentrate again. But the naughty child gave a tuck to his beard and giggled.
That instantly drove Megh Dev into a state of rage. He hurled the child as if it was a cockroach and the child’s head dashed against the wall and it fainted.
A maid-servant who witnessed this alerted the zamindar’s wife. She came running and lifted the child and, as the child did not respond to her fond calls, gave out a wail. The zamindar himself and his entire household gathered on the spot. The physician lived next door. He was summoned. He examined the child and declared it dead!
Megh Dev who knew all that was happening but pretended to be in a trance, at last opened his eyes.
“Why this hullabaloo?” he asked.
The zamindar, with folded hands, said, “Sir, my naughty little son was duly punished for disturbing your meditation. But it is high time you restore him to life.”
“Hm! Bring a little water,” commanded Megh Dev.
The servants were ready with it.
A silver vessel was put before the holy man. He dipped his toe in it.
“Now, sprinkle it on the boy,” he instructed.
His instruction was followed.
Water was sprinkled on the boy not once but several times, but to no avail. Surprise was writ large on the faces of those waiting with bated breath to see the miracle.
Water was brought once again—and this time in a bigger vessel. Megh Dev sank both his feet in it. Then the vessel was emptied on the boy. But nothing happened.
The zamindar goggled his eyes and demanded of Megh Dev, “What’s the matter?”
Megh Dev hemmed and hawed.
“Revive my child, I say, or else ….,” the zamindar was assuming a fearful stance.
Out of the crowd emerged Ramdas. He stood between the zamindar and Megh Dev and next knelt down and, touching Megh Dev’s feet, said imploringly, “O Guru, please slacken the rigours of your test of ignorant people like us. Who can pass it without your Grace?”
Somebody brought another vessel full of water. Ramdas made Megh Dev’s toe touch it. He then sprinkled the water on the child, tears rolling down his cheeks. He shut his eyes and kept sitting. There was absolute silence. In a few moments the child’s heart resumed beating. He fluttered open his eyes. His mother took him to her breast and ran away from the scene.
The crowd that had collected again sang of Megh Dev’s glory. The zamindar alone was not sure. In any case he did not proceed to enroll himself as Megh Dev’s disciple.
But the one who was absolutely sure of Megh Dev’s worthlessness was Megh Dev himself.
(When the guru is a realized soul, the disciples are lucky. But the real guru is the Divine. He can work through a human guru even when the latter is quite unworthy of that position. What activates Grace is the devotee’s unqualified faith.)
(Manoj Das is an internationally known creative writer. He is the recipient of India’s national recognition, the Sahitya Akademi Award and the nation’s most prestigious literacy award, the Saraswati Samman. As a social commentator, his columns in India’s national dailies like The Times of India, The Hindustan Times, The Hindu and The Statesman, revealing the deeper truth and the untraced aspects behind current issues, have been highly appreciated.)
