Dama, Vyala, Kata

Rama asked, “Gurudev, what is ego? Is it good, or is it bad?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, ego (the sense of I) is neither good nor bad; it is only a construction. Listen to the story of three demons. Without ego they could not be defeated, then the gods gave them ego, and then they lost. After that they wandered through thousands of lifetimes, and at the end, as a sparrow, a mosquito, and a parrot, they heard their own story and were set free.”

Shambara

This happened many years ago. There was a demon-king, and his name was Shambara.

Shambara was a famous and powerful king of the demons, one who had won many wars in his lifetime. Lately, though, he had been losing.

This fight between the gods and the demons was not new; it had gone on for many years. This time, though, the gods were far stronger, because they had better weapons, better armies, and better strategy. Shambara was losing.

One night Shambara sat in his chamber, seething, deep in thought. My soldiers are losing because they carry the fear of death inside them, and that fear is what makes them weak. If I could make soldiers who felt no fear, they would never lose.

Three

Shambara held an ancient knowledge, one his father had taught him. With that knowledge a person could conjure new beings out of his own maya (the power of illusion).

But this knowledge had one limit. The beings it made carried no past lives, held no memory, owned no old story. That meant they had no ego, because ego is built from story, from old memories, from old experience.

Shambara decided he would make three such beings.

One night, with his knowledge, he conjured three demons.

The first was Dama, whose name meant control, and Shambara gave him great strength. The second was Vyala, whose name meant serpent, and Shambara gave him great speed. The third was Kata, whose name meant mat, and Shambara gave him great patience.

The three rose from the ground and stood before Shambara.

These three were unusual, because they had come from no past life at all; they were entirely new. Inside them there was nothing: no memory, no desire, no ego.

Shambara gave them their order. “Fight the gods.” And the three set off to fight.

Invincible

The gods were astonished.

No one could defeat these three.

The gods loosed arrows at them, and the arrows did no harm. This was because there was no fear inside them, and where there was no fear, an arrow left no wound. The arrows struck, certainly, but nothing reacted within; one of the three would pause, pull out the arrow, and go back to fighting. The gods stood amazed.

The gods swung swords at them, and the swords slid away, because inside them there was no wish to survive, and having no such wish, they paid the sword no attention. The blow landed, certainly, but none of the three flinched; the strike came, and their bodies simply absorbed it, because their bodies were not clenched with fear. The gods began to lose heart.

The gods brought out their greatest weapons as well. Even Indra’s vajra (his thunderbolt), his mightiest weapon, had no effect on the three.

The three kept advancing, and they kept winning every battle.

Gods were slain, their places fell empty, and the kingdom of the gods shrank little by little.

Brahma

In their distress the gods went to Brahma.

They folded their hands and said, “Lord, there are three demons who will not lose to anyone. What are we to do?”

Brahma said, “Gods, understand this. These demons cannot be beaten because they have no ego, no fear, no desire, no wish to save themselves. If they were to acquire ego, they would become ordinary like anyone else. So you must give them ego.”

The gods asked, “But how?”

Brahma said, “Gods, give them praise, cheer their names, tell them how remarkable they are. Then watch.”

The gods said, taken aback, “Lord, but that is…”

Brahma said, “Gods, this is the remedy. Ego is built from praise; without praise, no ego forms. When you praise someone, he begins to think himself great, and that is where ego begins.”

The gods bowed their heads to Brahma and turned back.

Praise

The next day the gods began to sing. “Dama, Vyala, Kata, the three unconquerable. Dama, Vyala, Kata, the three magnificent. Dama, Vyala, Kata, and none who can stand before them.”

The singing rose so loud that all three demons heard it. For the first time they heard their own names from outside themselves.

All three stopped.

Dama thought, my name is Dama, I am unconquerable, people know who I am.

Vyala thought, my name is Vyala, I am magnificent.

Kata thought, my name is Kata, no one can stand before me.

The thought settled deep inside them.

The Taste of Ego

The ego kept growing inside all three.

Dama changed first. Once he had fought without a single thought, and now, before every strike, he weighed whether the strike was right, what would happen if he faltered, and what people would say.

These measured, deliberate strikes of Dama’s grew slower, and that slowness was quietly making him weak.

Vyala gave the ego a different shape; he began to crave fame. “I am the greatest demon of all, and everyone should know it.” So after his battles Vyala took to telling wildly exaggerated tales.

Later, in a few battles, Vyala found himself in trouble, and still he would not accept defeat. “I cannot lose, what will people say?” And in that stubbornness Vyala neglected his own safety.

Kata gave the ego its subtlest shape; he seized on a new idea. “I am the bravest of all, so I should take on the most dangerous tasks.” So Kata began to choose reckless dangers on purpose.

Now the three began to drift apart from one another as well.

Once they had been like a single team, fighting every battle together, and now each went his own way. Dama would say, “I can go alone.” Vyala would say, “My war is mine.” And Kata would say, “I will listen to no one.”

The gods watched all this and said among themselves, “Brahma was right; ego has made them small.”

Defeat

Now, in the next battle, Dama was thinking, I have to stay alive, and if I lose, what will people call me.

Fear had entered him.

Vyala too was thinking, I have to win, and if I lose, what becomes of my reputation, people will not call me magnificent anymore. Desire had entered him.

Kata was thinking, I have to look like the bravest of all, no one can stand before me. A need to perform had entered him.

In the next battle all three slowed.

Dama, who once pressed forward at speed, now wondered whether to advance or hold, since advancing meant danger and holding meant defeat. Vyala, who once struck without thinking, now wondered whether the strike would succeed, and if it did not, what people would say. Kata, who once fought with patience, now fought in a rush, because he had to prove he was the bravest of all.

And all three lost.

The gods killed them.

Life After Life

The three had died, yet their souls went nowhere.

Because now they carried ego, and a soul that carries ego becomes bound.

They began to be born, one body after another, and they took many births.

Sometimes they became human, sometimes animal, sometimes bird; sometimes king, sometimes slave; sometimes man, sometimes woman.

In every life their name was different, their body was different, yet inside them remained the same ego they had gained in their original form; the same fear, the same desire, the same need to perform.

Dama was born a king many times, and every time the worry of his own survival clung to him, every time he spent himself guarding his throne. Vyala was born a warrior many times, and every time the hunger to win and the craving for prestige hemmed him in. Kata was born a rishi (a sage) many times, and every time he had to appear the bravest ascetic of all, every time he tangled himself in rivalry with other sages.

In this way many thousands of lives passed, and many generations went by.

But one thing kept happening: in every life the ego grew a little smaller, slowly.

This was because every life held pain, and pain wears the ego down. When a king’s kingdom is taken from him, his ego wears down; when a warrior loses, his ego wears down; and when a rishi’s austerity fails, his ego wears down.

So, as many lives went by, the egos of all three grew very light.

The Last Birth

In one life Dama became a sparrow. She was a very ordinary sparrow, who lived in a city, near a temple.

In one life Vyala became a mosquito in that same city.

In one life Kata became a parrot in that same city, on a nearby tree.

The three were in the same kingdom, without knowing one another.

One evening the minister to the king of that realm told a story.

The minister’s name was Vasudatta, and he was sixty-five years old. He had served long, through three kings, and an old scar marked his brow.

The prince was five years old, his name was Dhanya, and he was a great chatterbox.

It was the last hour of the evening, and the minister and the prince sat out on the balcony. Before the prince stood a bowl of warm milk with cream gathered on its surface; beside the minister lay a plate holding a few nuts.

Below the balcony lay the royal garden, and in it a pond, and near the pond stood an old neem tree. One of its branches leaned toward the balcony.

Picking up a nut, the prince said, “Uncle, tell me a new story tonight.”

The minister said, “Child, tonight I will tell you an old story, one you will not have heard. The story of three demons, whose names were Dama, Vyala, and Kata.”

A smile spread across the prince’s face. He folded his legs beneath him and settled down, cupping the bowl of milk in his hands.

The minister searched for the right words for the story and then began.

“Many years ago there were three demons, whose names were Dama, Vyala, and Kata. They were made from the maya of King Shambara, and they had no past life, and so no ego. Without ego they held no fear, no wish to survive, no craving for praise, and that is why they could not be beaten.”

Sipping his milk, the prince asked, “Uncle, unconquerable? No one could beat them?”

The minister said, “No, child. The gods loosed arrows, swung swords, hurled the vajra too, but none of the three carried any wish to survive, and so no blow could even touch them.”

On the broad parapet of the balcony perched a plain brown sparrow, who had flown in from near the temple, her eyes fixed on the minister.

On the neem branch sat a green parrot with a red beak, and it too was watching the minister.

In the air, near the prince’s head, a mosquito was humming, though against all its habit it had gone still.

The minister went on, “Then the gods grew troubled and asked Brahma. Brahma told them a remedy: give the demons ego, for without ego they were unconquerable, and with ego they would turn ordinary. The gods asked how, and Brahma said, sing their praises, extol them, tell them how remarkable they are.”

The prince asked in surprise, “Uncle, ego from praise?”

The minister said, “Yes, child.”

The sparrow went stiller still and did not so much as stir a feather. The parrot opened its beak a little, then closed it. And the mosquito could not hold back a faint tremor.

The minister went on, “The gods did exactly that. Every day they began to sing the praises of the three demons: Dama the magnificent, Vyala the magnificent, Kata the magnificent. On the first day the three demons heard it and nothing happened; the same on the second day, and on the third, nothing. But after a week something shifted. One day Dama thought, ‘People know who I am, I have a name.’ Vyala thought, ‘I am magnificent.’ And Kata thought, ‘No one can stand before me.’ And that, right there, was the beginning of ego.”

For a moment the sparrow closed her eyes. The parrot tightened its grip on the neem branch. And the mosquito stilled its tremor.

The minister went on, “Then, slowly, all three began to change. Dama took to fighting with calculation, where once he had fought without a thought. Vyala took to craving his own fame, where once he had not cared at all. Kata took to choosing dangers on purpose, where once he had fought with patience. And one more thing happened: the three began to separate from one another; once they had been a team, now each walked his own separate path.”

The prince said, “Uncle, hearing this, something struck me.”

The minister said, “What is it, child?”

The prince said, “Sometimes I feel this way too. When people praise me it feels good, and the next time I try to do something special.”

The minister said, “Child, are you understanding this?”

The prince said, “Yes.”

Something stirred inside the sparrow, and she bowed her head a little. The parrot moved one feather. And the mosquito shifted slightly from its place.

The minister went on, “Then they lost, child. All three lost. But after death they went nowhere, because now they carried ego, and a soul with ego goes nowhere; it takes birth again. The three took thousands of births, sometimes as humans, sometimes as animals, sometimes as birds. In every life the body was different, but inside was the same ego, the same fear, the same desire. Every life held pain, and every pain wore the ego down a little. Many thousands of lives passed like this.”

The sparrow shifted her feet on the parapet. The parrot’s beak opened a little. And the mosquito made a faint sound.

The minister went on, “Child, now the last part. Long afterward, after many thousands of lives, the three arrived in a single city. But now they were not demons; they were small creatures. Dama became a sparrow, Vyala a mosquito, and Kata a parrot. And all three were in that same city, without knowing one another.”

On the balcony, everything seemed to hold still.

The minister went on, “And one evening, on a balcony of a royal palace in that city, a minister told this very story to a prince. At that moment a sparrow was perched on the balcony, a mosquito hung in the air, and a parrot sat on the branch of a nearby tree. All three heard the story, and all three recognized it at once: my name was Dama, my name was Vyala, my name was Kata.”

The prince fell silent.

On the parapet the sparrow’s wings trembled. On the neem branch the parrot turned its head sharply to one side. And the mosquito near the prince went so still, as if it had held its breath, if a mosquito could hold a breath.

The prince looked at the minister and asked, “Uncle, is this a story of the past?”

The minister said, “Child, a story is always happening now. Every story happens in the time of the one who hears it. But look at one thing, child. Here, on the parapet, a sparrow.”

The prince looked and said, “Uncle, yes.”

The minister said, “And there on the neem, a parrot.”

The prince looked over and said, “Uncle, yes.”

The minister said, “And near your head, a mosquito.”

The prince said, laughing, “Uncle, yes. But there is always one of those.”

The minister said, “Not always, child. Today there is something special about this one.”

The prince looked at the mosquito.

In that same instant, all three creatures looked within themselves.

And everything came back to them.

Every body, every life, every fear, every desire, and behind all of it the ego they had been given.

Liberation

All three saw their ego.

The moment they saw it, it grew small.

The moment they saw it, it grew transparent.

And the moment they saw it, it vanished.

Because ego is precisely that which goes unseen; once it is seen, it does not remain.

The sparrow spread her wings, the mosquito went still, and the parrot spoke in a faint voice.

And all three were set free.

The sparrow was still a sparrow, yet inside her something had lightened. She spread her wings, but she did not fly; she simply stayed on the parapet.

The mosquito stopped in the air, the humming of its wings slowed and then ceased. It came down to the ground near the prince’s foot.

A change came into the parrot’s voice. Before, it used to say “Ram Ram,” because its old owner had taught it that; but now it gave a different sound, only “aah,” a soft breath.

The prince looked at the parrot and said, “Uncle, the parrot made a new sound today.”

The minister said, “Yes, child. This parrot is something different today.”

The prince looked at the mosquito near his foot and asked, “Uncle, has the mosquito died?”

The minister looked closely and said, “No, child, it is alive. It is simply not flying anymore.”

The prince looked at the sparrow and said, “Uncle, the sparrow is holding still too.”

The minister nodded in agreement.

The minister said, “Child, perhaps these three learned something today.”

The prince asked, “What?”

The minister said, “Child, that they too are part of their own story.”

Eyes wide, the prince asked, “Uncle, are these three the same demons?”

The minister said, “Perhaps, child, perhaps not. But one thing is certain: inside each being there is a story, and for every story there is some consciousness that listens.”

The prince nodded and stayed silent for a long while.

Then the prince smiled and said, “Uncle, one day I will hear my own story too.”

The minister nodded and said, “Perhaps, child. Perhaps you heard it today.”

The prince fell quiet again for a while.

The sparrow stayed on the parapet, the mosquito stayed on the ground, and the parrot did not leave its place on the neem.

For a long time the three stayed where they were.

Then, one by one, the three released their grip on their bodies.

The sparrow spread her wings and, with a faint sound, flew upward. The mosquito let go of its tiny body and dissolved into the air. And the parrot gave one last “aah,” then fell silent.

The prince looked at the minister and said, “Uncle, I feel that all three have gone.”

The minister nodded and said, “That was their freedom, child.”

The prince nodded.

Some of it he understood, some of it he did not, but inside him something came to rest.

Taking the prince’s hand, the minister said, “Come, child, it is time to sleep now.”

The prince rose to his feet.

Outside, the night had grown deep.

Afterward

Many days after this the sparrow died, and her soul departed in peace. The mosquito died, and its soul too departed in peace. The parrot died, and its soul too departed in peace.

The egos of all three were gone now, and so they were bound nowhere.

Long afterward, the rishis heard this story and said, smiling, “Three small creatures heard their own story and were set free. This is the true form of knowledge, that you hear your own story and become free. But for this the story must be heard in the right way, and heard many times over. For thousands of lives the three demons had heard their story without knowing it, and once they heard it knowingly, then they were set free.”

A Word from Vasistha

For many years I did not tell this story. Rama, an old rishi told it to me long ago, and he was the grandson of the very minister who had told this story to his prince. I thought then that it was a most curious story. We all keep our stories inside ourselves, and if one day someone were to tell us our own story, perhaps we too would be set free.

But there is one thing. The one who tells us that story must be someone else. We keep hearing our own story inside ourselves, yet that hearing happens through the ego itself, and it does not set us free. If someone from outside tells us our story, then perhaps it will work.

Rama, I am telling you this story because one day you too will hear your own story; perhaps another will tell it, perhaps you yourself. When that day comes, remember these three demons. They too found their liberation one day by hearing, and you can find yours as well.

Rama asked, “Gurudev, so the ego itself is bondage?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, the ego is bondage when you cling to it. When you look at it, it grows small. These three demons, by hearing their own story, were able to see their ego, and all of us can see our own ego by looking at our own story.”

Rama looked toward the water and asked, “Gurudev, and my story?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, your story will be very long, and one day someone will write it down. Many people will read that story for many years, and perhaps some of them, reading it, will be set free.”

Rama asked, “Who will write it?”

Vasistha said, “I do not know, some rishi. Perhaps his name will be Valmiki, perhaps someone else.”

Rama said, “Gurudev, the story of Dama, Vyala, and Kata has forced me into deep thought.”

Vasistha said, “Why?”

Rama said, “I had thought that ego belongs to all of us, and yet these three had no ego at first. So is ego not natural to all of us after all?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, ego is built from story, and those who have no story have no ego. We have a story because we have grown from birth, and we carry many memories and much experience. But these three demons were never born at all; Shambara had made them from maya, and so they had no story, and having no story, they had no ego either.”

Rama said, “Gurudev, this is a very deep thing. And my ego?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, your ego is built from your story. Being a prince, being the son of Dasharatha, belonging to a great lineage, all of this is your story, and from it comes your ego.”

Rama asked, “Gurudev, can I let go of my ego?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, you cannot let it go. You can see it, though.”

Rama asked, “What happens when I see it?”

Vasistha said, “When you see it, it grows small.”

Rama asked again, “There is one more question, Gurudev. When those three became a sparrow, a mosquito, and a parrot, they heard their own story and were set free. But how did that story reach them?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, this is the real mystery. The minister had told that story to his prince by chance, and yet the three were present in that same city, at that same time; the sparrow on the balcony, the mosquito in the air, and the parrot on the nearby tree. Their own consciousness had arranged all of it. None of this was mere chance.”

Rama asked, “Gurudev, what does that mean?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, when consciousness is ready for liberation, it fashions for itself the very circumstances that will grant that liberation. The three were ready for freedom, and so their consciousness placed them where they could hear their own story.”

Rama said, “Gurudev, this seems to me a very great thing. Is my consciousness fashioning circumstances for me too?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, yes. Why did you come to me? Your own consciousness has arranged this; there is no chance in it.”

Rama nodded and stayed silent for a long time.

Then Rama said, “Gurudev, there is one more thing in the demons’ story. Shambara made them, then the gods gave them ego; both played a game with them. Yet the three were never the masters of their own story.”

Vasistha said, “Rama, that is a fine thing you have said. Most people are not the masters of their own story. Their parents made them, society shaped them, the state constrained them. In their own story they are only characters, never the masters.”

Rama asked, “Gurudev, and I?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, most of the time you are the same. But you are asking questions, and to ask questions is the first step toward becoming the master.”

Rama said, “Gurudev, I will ask more questions.”

Vasistha said, “Very good.”

Rama looked toward the water and asked, “Gurudev, Dama, Vyala, Kata; what do these names mean?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, Dama means control, Vyala means serpent, and Kata means mat.”

Rama asked, “And their deeper meanings?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, behind each name there is a metaphor. Dama’s control stands for the control of desire, Vyala’s serpent stands for the length of desire, and Kata’s mat stands for the spreading of desire. Together the three are the three forms of desire.”

Rama said, “Gurudev, this is a very great thing.”

Vasistha said, “Yes.”

Rama was silent for a while. Outside, a light breeze was blowing.

Rama asked, “Gurudev, the Dama, Vyala, and Kata inside me; how am I to see them?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, every night close your eyes and watch your desires. The desire that wants to control you is Dama; the desire that is long, stretching across many years, is Vyala; and the desire that has spread into many places is Kata. Simply watch these three.”

Rama said, “Gurudev, I will.”

Vasistha said, “Very good.”

Rama looked toward the water. Outside, the night had grown deep.

Rama asked, “Gurudev, what is my greatest desire?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, that you must know for yourself.”

Rama said, “I do not know.”

Vasistha said, “Then dwell on it tonight.”

Rama nodded and thought on it all through the night.

By morning he knew that his greatest desire was to give happiness to everyone.

Rama smiled and said, “This too is an ego.”

Yet inside he knew that even if this was an ego, it did no harm; he had only to keep watching it.

For many years Rama did just this. Even while running his kingdom, he simply kept watching his own desires.

And Dama, Vyala, and Kata grew smaller inside him now, very small, though they never left entirely.