Karkati

Clouds lay over the Sarayu, thin ones, though behind them, from the direction of the mountains, heavier clouds were slowly gathering. The air held a waiting for rain, the kind of waiting that pulls at something inside you too.

Rama had been sitting on the same stone for a while. He turned to Vasishtha. “Gurudev, are hunger and desire the same thing?”

Vasishtha said, “Why do you ask, Rama?”

“This morning, when I sat down to eat, I felt that my hunger is not only the hunger of the body. There is something else inside me that is hungry, and what it is, I do not know. And when I finish eating, the hunger of the body grows quiet, but that other one stays hungry. Will it ever grow quiet too?”

Vasishtha looked toward the mountains and said, “Rama, many years ago there lived in these mountains a demoness named Karkati. Her hunger was so vast that beside it your hunger and mine would seem small. But hers is more than a story of hunger. It is the story of a change, the change that came when a demoness turned her hunger into a question. Hunger turned into a question comes to an end, while every other kind of hunger only grows.”

“In the far mountains, on a high peak of the Himalayas,” Vasishtha began, “Karkati lived. Her name was like a crab, and perhaps her nature was like a crab too. Whatever passed near her, she would seize, and the seizing brought her no peace.”

The mountain demoness

Karkati’s body was enormous. When she stood, her shadow could cover several trees at once. Her arms and legs were thick, and so long that even sitting she could touch the crown of a nearby tree. Her hair was black, tangled, and always moving in the wind. Her eyes were yellow, like a cat’s, and they gleamed in the dark.

She wore no cloth on her body. Her skin was thick, dark in color, shifting between sun and shade. The soles of her feet had grown broad and hard from walking the stony ground of the mountain. Her teeth were long, jutting out, and her ears too were large, one on each side of her head.

Her body was the least of it. Her belly was everything.

In her belly lived a hunger that never ended. Whatever she ate, she felt that something had been left wanting.

Once she had sat on the ground and eaten a whole elephant. The elephant was huge, but for Karkati it was like a single mouthful. She chewed the bones, chewed the hide, finished everything inside the elephant.

When the elephant was gone she chewed the leaves of a nearby tree, then put the soil of the ground into her mouth. Still the same old emptiness sat inside her belly.

At night she would look up at the sky. The moon was half. She thought, if I could reach the moon, then perhaps eating it would fill my belly. But the moon was very high.

She did not weep, because a demoness does not weep. But her eyes grew a little wet. A kind of anger rose in her that had no direction, only a general anger that turned toward everything and toward nothing in particular.

Karkati was alone. There were others in the clan of demons, but they kept away from her. Once her brother had asked, “Sister, will you ever stop eating?” In answer, Karkati had seized her brother and eaten him.

From that day she grew even more alone. Her family looked at her with fear, and then, slowly, they went away, to other mountains, to other forests. Karkati was left alone, and the loneliness made her hungrier still.

Becoming Vishuchika

One night a thought came to her. If my body became small, then perhaps I could go everywhere, inside every human being, inside every belly, inside every thought, and then I could devour the whole world.

The thought pleased her greatly. There was a way in it, a hope in it. She sat down on the peak of the mountain, crossed her legs, closed her eyes, and began her tapas, her austerity.

For the first many days her mind kept running. The old hunger returned to her, the old hunts returned. Now and then she felt that if she rose at once and went down the mountain, she could seize some old man or some lone traveler. But each time she stopped, kept her legs crossed, kept her eyes closed.

Slowly her mind grew quiet. Not fully, yet the thought became very clear. I must become Vishuchika, I must become Suchi, the needle, very fine, so small that I can enter every belly, sit in every breath. Then I will eat them from within.

For a thousand years she did tapas. Snow fell on the peak of the mountain, melted, then fell again. The seasons changed. Birds came and went. The nearby deodar trees grew old and fell, and new trees rose.

Karkati stayed seated. Snow gathered on her body, then melted. Rain came, water rested on her, then dried. Many times birds tried to build nests in her hair, but seeing her they took fright and left.

One day Brahma appeared.

He stood before her, ancient Brahma, four heads, and an age beyond all measure.

“Karkati.”

Karkati opened her eyes and saw Brahma. Her yellow eyes, seeing Brahma, softened for a moment.

“My lord.”

“I am pleased with your austerity. Ask, what do you want?”

Karkati ran her tongue over her lip. “I want to become Vishuchika, to become Suchi, the needle, so fine that I can enter within every body.”

Brahma looked at her for a long while, then said, “Daughter, I hesitate to grant this boon, but the fruit of austerity must be given, so I will give it. There is one condition.”

“Speak it.”

“As Suchi you may enter every body, and fill those bodies with disease. But there is a rule. Those who are righteous, who eat in the right way, who live in the right way, you cannot go near them. Only near the unrighteous, only near those who themselves ruin their bodies from within.”

Karkati thought, then asked, “My lord, are the unrighteous more, or the righteous?”

Brahma said, “Daughter, that you will learn for yourself.”

And Brahma departed.

Thousands of bellies

Karkati let go of her body. She grew smaller and smaller, so small that she was thinner than a splinter, and then she drifted away on the wind.

Vishuchika. Suchi.

She went inside a man with his breath. The man was an old man of a certain town, who did not sleep at the right hours of the night, who ate bad food, who drank. For many years he had made his own body a war against himself.

Karkati went into his belly, then into his intestines, then into his blood. The man wept all night, cramps rose in his belly, fire burned in his gut, and by morning he was dead.

Karkati laughed. She came out of his body, drifted on the wind, and moved on to the next man.

Many years she spent like this.

One town, then a second, then a third.

She went inside hundreds of thousands of people, she killed them, she drew their lives out of their bellies. Every body was a story, and so many stories had gathered in her that counting them was not possible.

One night she was inside an old woman.

The old woman’s body was very weak. She had a small child with her, her grandson, who was sleeping in her lap.

Karkati began to eat the old woman. The old woman looked once at the child. No tears came to her eyes, because she was very old. But she laid the child gently on a pillow, and put one of her hands on the child’s back.

Then she died. The child slept on, knowing nothing. Karkati came out.

But this time something strange happened inside her. She stopped in the air. She looked at the child, who was sleeping and who did not know that his grandmother was no longer there.

For the first time Karkati thought, what have I done? The thought was new; it had never come to her before.

One night

One night Karkati arrived in a town. The town was asleep, and she was floating in the air in the form of Suchi, the needle.

In one house there was an old man who had drunk all night. His body was weak and his gut was ruined.

Karkati went inside with his breath, first into his throat, then into his chest, then into his belly.

In the belly there was chaos, half-cooked food, liquor, and old wounds. Karkati made her home among all of this.

The old man writhed all night, as if a fire had been lit in his belly. He got up, drank water, but the water did nothing.

The old man’s wife was asleep. She heard her husband’s groan.

“What happened?”

“Pain in my belly.”

“What should I make you?”

“No. Just go to sleep.”

The wife went back to sleep. The old man writhed all night.

Karkati watched his pain, and it seemed strange to her that this pain brought her no pleasure. Before it had, but this night something was different.

She thought, why does this not feel good to me? But no answer came.

In the morning the old man died. His wife woke and saw her husband dead.

She made a low sound, but did not weep. She had been his wife for many years. She simply sat there.

Then the neighbors and the children came, and preparations began for the last rites.

Karkati watched all this for a long time. When the old man was cremated, the wife wept at last, for a long while, and a child held her steady.

Karkati looked at the wife’s face, and a new stirring rose inside her, something she had never known before. Compassion.

Karkati trembled in the air. She thought, what is this? But no answer came.

Karkati came out of that town and wandered for many days without entering any belly.

Empty

She went to the next man, but something had changed. When she began to eat that man, the old pleasure did not rise in her.

She went to the next one, then the next. Each time she ate, each time she killed, but inside her the same old emptiness of the belly remained.

Karkati stopped. She sat down beside a river. She was in her old vast body now, no longer the fine needle-form, and her eyes were different.

She touched her belly. “Will you ever be full?” The belly gave no answer. “I have eaten so much, and still?” The belly gave no answer.

Karkati thought for a long time. Perhaps this hunger is not the belly’s. Perhaps this hunger comes from somewhere else. Perhaps I am looking for the answer in the wrong place.

A new pain rose inside her. She remembered the face of that old woman, her child, and the old woman’s hand on the child’s back.

For the first time Karkati tried to weep, but she did not weep, because a demoness did not know how to weep. A kind of storm rose inside her and settled again.

The second austerity

Once again she began her austerity.

This time she did not call on Brahma, did not call on anyone. She simply sat with her legs crossed and began to look inside herself.

First she saw her old anger. Watching it, she asked, anger, where do you come from? The anger gave no answer, but slowly it grew less, because anger that is watched grows small.

Then she saw her hunger. Watching the hunger, she asked, hunger, what are you? The hunger gave no answer, but it too slowly changed, turning from the belly’s hunger into something else.

Then she saw her loneliness. Watching the loneliness, she asked, loneliness, where did you come from? The loneliness gave no answer, but it too changed.

Then she saw a new feeling. Compassion. This had not been inside her before. Perhaps it had come from the old woman’s death, perhaps from the hand laid on the child’s back, perhaps from the gathered weight of thousands of deaths.

Karkati looked at compassion. Compassion looked at her.

For many years she kept looking inside herself.

One day a question rose inside her. Who am I? The question was so plain that she laughed, then the laughter stopped.

I am a demoness, Karkati. But who is this Karkati? Is this body Karkati? But this body has changed many times, become fine, become large, then fine again, then large. So whatever changes, that is not me.

Is this hunger Karkati? But hunger comes and goes. Whatever comes and goes, that is not me. Is this anger Karkati? But anger too comes and goes, so that is not me either. And this compassion? It is new, but it too comes and goes.

So what am I?

For the first time Karkati grew still. Inside her was a light, very small, very old, that stood in the middle of every change yet did not change, that stood in the middle of every hunger yet was not hungry, that stood in the middle of every anger yet was not angry, that was before compassion and would remain after it.

Karkati looked at that light. The light looked at her.

When she rose, she was not the same Karkati. The body was the same, the yellow eyes were the same, the tangled hair was the same. But inside there was something else, a peace she had not known before. Her belly still asked for something now and then, but hearing it, she would only laugh now.

She thought, now I have a task. I will kill no one again, and yet I am hungry too. This body is large, it needs food. So I will ask the one who can tell me what to eat.

She came down the mountain.

The king and the minister

Below there was a small kingdom. The name of the kingdom does not appear in the story, and it was a middling kingdom, one king, one minister, one town and a few villages.

The king’s name does not appear in the story either, nor the minister’s, for names carry little weight here. What matters is what passed between them.

At night the king would sometimes go out alone, without guards, only with his minister.

They would go to the edge of the forest, sit there, talk a little, then return. It was an old habit of theirs. The talk was never very grand, matters of the kingdom, matters of the people, and now and then matters of philosophy, of darshan.

The minister was the king’s companion from childhood; the two had grown up in the same gurukul. One became a king, one a minister, but the talk between them always stayed like that of children.

That night when Karkati came down the mountain, the king and the minister were sitting at the edge of the forest. The minister had just said something. “Maharaj, do you ever think about what we are?”

The king said, “Minister, why this thought tonight?”

“No reason. It is a night, the stars are above, and I feel that if we do not ask this, we are losing a great deal.”

Just then Karkati arrived there.

Karkati looked at them.

Her body was enormous. When she stood between the king and the minister, her shadow fell over their heads. But the two of them were not afraid; they looked up.

The king bowed his head slightly and said, “Mother.”

Karkati looked at them in surprise. “Why do you call me mother? I am a demoness, I could eat you.”

The king said, “Mother, if you had come to eat me, I would already have been eaten by now. You want something else. Tell me, what is it?”

Karkati was quiet for a while. The minister looked toward the king and said, “Maharaj, I think Mother wishes to ask something.”

Karkati looked at the minister, then at the king. “Yes. I wish to ask.”

“Sit, Mother.”

Karkati sat. Even seated, her body was far larger than the king’s and the minister’s, but now their eyes were on one level.

“Speak.”

Karkati felt for the old question inside her, then chose one. “I will ask a question. If you answer it, I will not eat you. If you do not answer it, I will eat you.”

The king said, “Ask.”

The questions

“Who is the one that stands behind every breath, yet is not the breath? That stands behind every thought, yet is not the thought? That stands behind every hunger, yet is not hungry?”

The king looked at the minister, the minister at the king.

The king said, “Mother, it is consciousness, the atman, the self, which is the witness of every experience, yet is not the experience. It is the formless that stands behind every form. No one can grasp it, because it is itself inside every one who grasps.”

Karkati said, “The second question.”

“If consciousness stands behind every hunger, and consciousness itself is not hungry, then where does hunger come from?”

The minister answered, “Mother, hunger belongs to the body, and the body is a form of consciousness. When consciousness spreads into one of its bodies, it comes to know the body’s hunger too, yet it is not itself the hunger. As long as we take consciousness to be the body, hunger torments us. The moment we understand consciousness as consciousness, hunger remains, but it does not torment us.”

Karkati said, “The third question.”

“I have eaten thousands of people, and still my hunger has not been filled. Why?”

The king said gently, “Mother, because however great the body’s hunger, it cannot be filled by another body. It is your own inner self that is hungry, and the inner hunger is filled when you recognize it. You have already recognized it, and that is why you are asking this question. One who has not yet recognized it does not ask such questions.”

Karkati was quiet for a while, then said, “The fourth question.”

“If I am consciousness itself, then why did I not know this for so many years?”

The minister said, “Mother, consciousness does not see itself as long as it dwells in a place where seeing is not easy. You were a demoness, and there is much in being a demoness that keeps one far from knowledge. But once you looked within yourself, then consciousness recognized itself. This comes late, whether one is a demoness or a brahmin, but it does surely come.”

Karkati said, “The fifth.”

“If I killed so many people, will I be punished for it?”

The king and the minister looked at each other. The minister said, “Mother, punishment is bound up with karma. What you did, you did out of the hunger of your body, but now you are separate from that hunger, now it is no longer you. So you will not bear the punishment either.

“But this is not simple, because the body is the same, and the bond of karma is tied to the body too.

“Let me say one thing. For every living being you killed, you can now do one thing for them all, a prayer, a small yajna, a fire-rite. This will lighten your old karma, though not completely. The rest you will have to bear in your present body.”

Karkati said, “The sixth.”

“What should I eat now?”

The king said, “Mother, this is the best question of all. Now eat those whom it is in keeping with dharma to eat. In the mountains there are animals that die naturally, eat them. In the forests there are trees, fruits, roots, eat them. When a human body passes by natural death, that corpse serves no purpose, and if you wish you may take it too, in keeping with dharma. But do not eat one whose killing is by your own will. This is the rule.”

Karkati said, “The seventh.”

“Will the two of you stay with me, for a little while?”

The king and the minister looked at each other, then said, “Mother, we have a kingdom to run, we cannot stay every day. But you may come to us whenever you wish. And if you live here in the mountains, we can come to see you now and then.”

Karkati said, “I will stay right here.”

“And one more thing, Mother.”

“What?”

“If you ever come to our kingdom, please do not frighten our people. You are very large, and seeing you they will be afraid.”

Karkati said, “I can make my body small. I did a thousand years of tapas for exactly this. When I come to your kingdom, I will come small.”

The king said, “Mother, thank you.”

The king and the minister returned. Karkati returned to the mountain. But the mountain was different now, the wind was different, and inside her the old emptiness was gone.

More questions

Some months later the king and the minister came back. Karkati was sitting on the peak of the mountain, and the two of them came up to her.

“Mother.”

“King. Minister.”

“We have brought more questions.”

Karkati said, “Speak.”

The king said, “Mother, there is a problem in my kingdom. My people are very quick to anger, they fight among themselves. I have spoken to them many times, explained, but nothing takes hold.”

Karkati said, “King, what do you want from me?”

“Mother, you have looked within, tell us something.”

Karkati said, “King, anger is a form. Behind it there is a fear, behind the fear an emptiness, and behind the emptiness, consciousness.

“If your people are quick to anger, then there is some great lack in them. Address that lack, not the anger.”

The minister said, “Mother, how?”

“Minister, each one has his own path, but there are some simple things. Give them food, if they are hungry. Give them a home, if they are homeless. Give them love, if they are alone. Then the anger will lessen.”

The king said, “Mother, one more question.”

“Speak.”

“Mother, how will I know whether I am a good king?”

Karkati said, “King, this very question is the answer.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, the king who asks this question is on the path to being good. Bad kings do not ask this question.”

The minister asked a question too. “Mother, how will I know whether I am a good minister?”

Karkati said, “Minister, if you are telling your king the truth, whether the king likes it or not, then you are good.

“If you are telling the king only what he wants to hear, then you are bad.”

The minister bowed his head.

The king asked another question. “Mother, will someone like me one day come in my kingdom? Someone who is better than I am?”

Karkati said, “King, yes. This is the rule. In every generation someone comes who is better than before. If this did not happen, humanity would not move forward.

“But one thing.”

“What?”

“If your son or your grandson is better than you, then be glad. Do not think them small. Do not clutch at your own chair.”

The king bowed his head and said, “Mother, all this is teaching me a great deal.”

“King, I am not the one teaching. You are learning on your own. I am only a mirror held up before you.”

The three of them were quiet for a while.

The minister asked another question. “Mother, a last question.”

“Speak.”

“Were you ever greater than us?”

Karkati said, “Minister, what do you mean?”

“I mean, you were once a demoness, then an ascetic, then a yogini. You have seen everything. Are you greater than we are?”

Karkati was quiet for a while, then said, “Minister, the three of us are one.”

“How?”

“I mean, our bodies are different. My body large, both of yours small. My experience different, both of yours different.

“But within us is one and the same consciousness, and for consciousness there is no large and no small.

“So we are equal.”

The king and the minister bowed their heads.

More disciples

Slowly people began to come to Karkati. First some seekers, who had heard that a demoness sat on a mountain and spoke. Some were afraid, some were not.

One day a young man came, with a thirst in his eyes.

“Mother, I have a question to ask.”

“Ask.”

“Mother, there is a hunger inside me, but it is not the hunger of the body, it is something else.”

Karkati said, “Son, this is the same hunger that was inside me.”

“And then?”

“Then I looked at it within, and it changed.”

“How do I look at it?”

Karkati showed the young man a seat. “Sit. Close your eyes. Now watch your hunger. Do not try to push it away, just watch.”

The young man sat and closed his eyes.

The young man tried for a long time, then opened his eyes.

“Mother, I saw.”

“What did you see?”

“Hunger. Behind it an emptiness. Behind the emptiness a fear. Behind the fear…”

“Speak.”

The young man paused a moment, then said, “Mother, behind it, nothing.”

“And?”

“And in that nothing, there is something.”

Karkati said, “Son, you are coming close.”

The young man bowed his head and said, “Mother, I will come again.”

“Come.”

The young man came many times, for many years.

One day he came, and the old thirst was no longer in his eyes.

“Mother, I have found it.”

“What?”

“The one that stands behind every hunger.”

Karkati said, “Son, I taught you nothing.”

“Mother, you taught me to watch the hunger. That is all.”

“That alone, and nothing more.”

The young man bowed in pranam and left.

Many more disciples came, for many years. To each one Karkati taught the same thing. “Watch. Do not fight. Watch.”

A hungry eye

One day a woman came to Karkati. She was very thin, and there was a strange gleam in her eyes.

“Mother, I have something to tell you.”

“Speak.”

“Mother, I cannot hold myself back.”

“From what?”

“From eating.”

Karkati said, “Sit, daughter. Tell me.”

The woman sat and, with a sad laugh, said, “Mother, every day I eat a great deal, but my belly is never full.

“My husband is troubled, my children are frightened, my neighbors laugh at me.

“I hold myself back, but I cannot hold back.”

Karkati reached out and placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Daughter, I understand this very well.”

“Why?”

“Daughter, I was once that very thing.”

The woman startled. “Mother?”

“Yes. My hunger was very great. I would eat a whole elephant, and still my belly stayed empty.”

The woman said, “Mother, then how did you get well?”

Karkati said, “Daughter, listen. This is not a straight road, it takes many years.”

“Speak.”

“Daughter, first understand one thing. Your hunger is not the body’s.”

“But it feels to me like the body’s.”

“It feels so, though in truth it is not.”

“Then whose is it?”

Karkati said, “Daughter, your hunger belongs to an emptiness inside you.”

“An emptiness?”

“Yes.”

The woman said, “Mother, this does not settle in my understanding.”

“Daughter, it will settle with time. First do one thing.”

“What?”

“Daughter, the next time you feel hunger, stop for a moment. Then look inside yourself. Is it your body that is hungry, or is something else inside you empty?”

The woman said, “I will try.”

“Daughter, one more thing.”

“What?”

“If in this effort you need me, then come. I am here.”

The woman bowed in pranam and left.

Some weeks later she returned.

“Mother, I tried.”

“What did you find?”

The woman paused a while, then said, “Mother, I came to know one thing.”

“Speak.”

“Mother, there is an emptiness inside me, very large, of many years.

“My mother went long ago, my father went long ago, one of my children went from an illness.

“All of these make an emptiness inside me.

“And I try to fill that emptiness with food.

“But food cannot fill that emptiness.”

Karkati said, “Daughter, you have understood.”

“Mother, what should I do now?”

Karkati said, “Daughter, touch this emptiness.”

“Touch it?”

“Yes. Sit with that emptiness. Do not drive it away, do not try to fill it, just sit with it.”

The woman said, “Mother, this is hard.”

“Very.”

“But I will do it.”

The woman came many times, for many months.

One day she came, her body ordinary now and her eating under control.

“Mother, I have found it.”

“What?”

“My emptiness is small now.”

“Why?”

“Because I learned to sit with it. And as I sat, something began to grow inside it.”

“What grew?”

The woman said, “Mother, I do not know, but something grew. Perhaps that same steady consciousness you spoke of.”

Karkati said, “Daughter, this is it. It will keep growing.”

The woman bowed in pranam. “Mother, thank you.”

“Daughter, what need is there for thanks. You did it yourself.”

And the woman left.

Karkati remembered her own story of many years before. It was very much the same.

The yogini

Many years passed.

Karkati made a place there for herself. She ate creatures that had died a natural death, ate roots, ate the fruits of the trees.

Her body was still large, her eyes were still yellow, but inside her was such a peace that the animals of the forest did not fear her. Deer would come near her and drink water, birds would perch on her hair.

The king and the minister came from time to time. The three of them would sit, old questions would be asked, new answers would come, then they would return.

One day Karkati asked the minister, “Minister, what is this new life of mine? Is it austerity? Is it yoga? Does it have a name?”

The minister said, “Mother, its name is the life of a yogini. You have become a yogini now.”

Karkati was quiet for a while, then said, “Minister, one thing.”

“Speak.”

“What has been the hardest thing for me?”

The minister said, “Mother, you tell us.”

Karkati took a deep breath. “Minister, the hardest thing was forgetting that old woman’s face.”

“Which old woman?”

“The one I ate one night in a town. Her child was sleeping beside her.

“In her last moment the old woman put her hand on the child’s back, then she was gone.

“That moment stayed inside me for many years.”

The minister said, “Mother, you have not told this before.”

“No. This is a matter of the deep inside.”

The king said gently, “Mother, did you ask the old woman for forgiveness in your heart?”

Karkati said, “Yes.”

“And did the old woman hear?”

“Perhaps. It felt so to me.”

The minister thought for a while, then said, “Mother, this matter is greater still.”

“What?”

“Mother, the matter that a demoness found compassion inside herself, and addressed an old pain with forgiveness.

“This is a very great matter.”

Karkati said, “Minister, perhaps.”

The final years

Karkati said, “But I was a demoness.”

“Mother, you may be a demoness, but if you recognize the light within, that light does not ask about your body. The light makes no distinction between a demoness and a brahmin. It cares only for the eye that recognizes it.”

Karkati nodded slowly.

One night Karkati was sitting on the bank of a river. She remembered that old woman again, her child, and the old woman’s hand on the child’s back.

Karkati tried to weep now, and this time she wept, for a long while.

When she stopped, she felt a lightness inside. She said within herself, “Old woman, forgive me.” No answer came, but it seemed to Karkati that the old woman had heard.

For many years she stayed as she was. One day her body had grown very light, almost transparent, and had begun to merge into the air.

The king had grown old now, and the minister too, but they still came. One day they came, and Karkati was no longer there. In her place there was only a light breeze, a faint fragrance.

The king said to the minister, “Has Mother gone?”

“Perhaps.”

“But I feel she is still here.”

The minister said, “Perhaps.”

The two of them sat for a long time, then returned.

On the way back the king stopped and said, “Minister, I have something to tell you.”

“Speak.”

“Minister, we learned a great deal from Mother, but one thing I can say now.”

“What?”

“Mother learned something from us too.”

The minister said, “Maharaj, Mother said this herself, that the three of us are one.”

“Yes. But the meaning of it is coming clear to me only now.”

The king looked at the sky for a moment. “Minister, every true guru learns from his disciple too. This is the rule.”

The minister nodded.

Returning to the kingdom, the two of them made a new law, that any person of the demon class in the kingdom, if they followed dharma, would receive full rights.

This law held for many years, and many people of the demon class came to live lives of dignity.

The king and the minister passed away many years later, but their law remained.

Many generations later, in a small school, a rishi told this story. The children listened, and one child asked, “Gurudev, did this really happen?”

The rishi said, “Son, the real question lies elsewhere. The real question is whether there is a Karkati inside you.”

“Inside me?”

“Yes. In everyone. Only its form is different.”

The child thought about this all night.

When he woke in the morning, there was something different in his eyes. His mother noticed.

“Son, what happened?”

“Nothing, Mother. But one thing is becoming clear to me.”

“What?”

“Mother, there is a hunger inside me, and it is not for food.”

The mother paused and asked, “Son, what hunger is this?”

“I do not know. But I have learned now to watch it.”

The mother laughed. “Son, you are very small, and you are understanding this.”

“Mother, the rishi said there is a Karkati in everyone.”

The mother nodded for a long time.

And so the story went on.

Rama looked toward the water and said, “Gurudev, inside me too?”

Vasishtha said, “Rama, inside everyone. You too have come to know it.”

Rama was quiet for a long time, then said, “Gurudev, so the hunger that is inside me, it…”

“It is not bad in itself. It is a question, and its answer will not come from outside. However much you eat, however much you gain, that hunger will remain, because that hunger belongs to the light inside you that is asking you, recognize me. The day you recognize it, the hunger will remain but it will not torment you. You will eat, but food will not rule you.”

Rama asked, “And what became of Karkati afterward?”

“She is still on that same mountain, but no one can see her now. Her body has become very light, like the air. Go to some mountain, and if there is a faint trembling in the air, then perhaps it is Karkati.”

Rama looked toward the mountains. The clouds had grown darker now, and a spatter of rain fell on the water.