Through Sorrow, the Self Awakens

Man desires happiness; he does not desire suffering. In the language of the scriptures: *Sukham bhavet, dukham ma bhavet*—"e;May there be happiness; may there be no suffering."e; Secondly, he does not desire death; he desires immortality. Every individual fears death. If we were to truly attain a firm, experiential realization of our own imperishable nature, then the illusion of death would vanish. Furthermore, if we were to realize that our very essence is Bliss (*Sukh-swaroop*), then the craving for external happiness would subside. Fear would dissipate—specifically, the fear of death and the fear of suffering. Moreover, a human being should not feel insignificant or inferior. Day and night—wherever they may be, and whatever their level of intellect—people are constantly striving to become "e;great"e;: some through physical strength, others through wealth, and still others through positions of authority. Our ceaseless endeavor—whether we possess true spiritual knowledge or not—is focused solely on elevating our own status. Yet, if one were to realize that there is absolutely no one greater than oneself, that obsessive thought would vanish. One would attain a state of true contentment. Now, suppose the urge to become "e;great"e; ceases to trouble you; that alone brings a great sense of peace. However, there remains a second aspect: no matter how great a person becomes—no matter how wealthy, or how high a position they attain—death remains an inescapable reality, present everywhere. The fear of death can be conquered only when we realize our true nature as the *Amrit* (the Immortal Essence)—as the Imperishable Self. Indeed, all our spiritual narratives and legends exist precisely to convey this truth. Among these, the most widely known and celebrated tale is that of the *Srimad Bhagavatam*. In the context of the *Bhagavatam*—as far as our current understanding goes—the primary listener (*Shrota*) was King Parikshit. And, at the very least, everyone is aware of the incident involving Parikshit wherein a snake was placed around his neck. He was a king of such immense righteousness and virtue; yet, it serves as a stark reminder of how one's state of mind—one's *mati*—can suddenly be compromised by circumstances. It happened when he encountered a saint who was sitting in deep meditation with his eyes closed. As was customary, the King approached to pay his respects—for kings were traditionally accorded great honor: "e;Welcome, please be seated."e; However, misinterpreting the situation, the King thought, "e;He has closed his eyes specifically to avoid looking at me; he must be a hypocritical charlatan (*Dhongi Baba*)."e; In a fit of pique, he picked up a dead snake lying nearby and placed it around the saint's neck. A photograph of a similar incident involving me is likely displayed here as well. I was once at the *Kumbh Mela* in Prayagraj when a snake charmer—who went around displaying his snakes to earn a livelihood—approached me. He, too, placed a snake around my neck. I had to steel my mind and suppress my reaction; I did not flinch or cry out in alarm. Although I, too, felt a sense of fear, I did not allow the people around me to perceive it. There are many such things—thoughts and emotions—that reside deep within our minds, yet remain hidden from the external world. Internally, we are often filled with feelings of inferiority and self-deprecation—feeling small and inadequate. One desires to become great—to grow in stature. Yet, in reality, one has not truly grown at all. Nevertheless, one remains entirely engrossed in this very pursuit. Consequently, a saint is compelled to conceal his own weaknesses; to eradicate them entirely is, after all, an immensely difficult task. Ideally, there should remain no fear, no anxiety, and no lingering desire or sense of lack.