Kundadanta’s Hundred Questions

Rama asked, “Master, can questions themselves be answers?”

Vasishtha said, “Rama, a sage named Kundadanta once put a hundred questions to Vasishtha, and the answer to each one served the tradition of India that came after. A hundred questions is a great many, but I will tell you a few of them from that old conversation.”

The Meeting

Kundadanta was an old sage, with many years of tapas (austerity) behind him.

His hut stood on the bank of a river, very plain.

He had asked many questions in his life, and for many of them no answer had ever come.

One day he heard about me, that there was a sage who gave answers to questions.

So Kundadanta left his hut and came to me.

“Vasishtha.”

“Kundadanta.”

“I have come to ask you some questions. But let me say one thing first: I have many questions, perhaps a hundred.”

I said, “Sit. A hundred or a thousand, ask.”

Kundadanta sat down.

I looked carefully at Kundadanta’s body. He was very old, eighty years or perhaps more. There was a faint tremor in his left hand, a sign of his fatigue, or of some old illness; I did not rightly know which.

His hair was tied back in a knot, and his beard was of medium length and white. On his forehead was a tilak of ash.

He set his bundle to one side. I supposed there was some food in it, and perhaps a kamandalu (water pot) as well.

His eyes rested on me, and they were not tired eyes. Many years of tapas had not weakened him; they had given his eyes a light of a different kind.

For a while we were both silent, and I too said nothing.

Then the first question came.

The First Questions

“Vasishtha, what is consciousness?”

“Kundadanta, consciousness is that which witnesses every experience.”

“And how does it see itself?”

“It does not see itself. It is itself.”

Kundadanta asked, “Second question. What is the difference between mind and consciousness?”

“The mind is a form of consciousness. When consciousness flows into its own desires, that is called the mind.”

“Then how does one quiet the mind?”

“You do not quiet the mind. You go behind it.”

“Third. Is the world real or false?”

“Both.”

“How?”

“The world is a form of consciousness. Consciousness is real, so the world is real too. But the world does not hold still, so it is not the final truth.”

“Fourth. What is liberation?”

“The state in which you need nothing.”

“But what if I want liberation?”

“Then that too is a desire. Let it go first as well.”

“Fifth. What is death?”

“A change of the body. Not of consciousness.”

“Then why fear dying?”

“The body fears, because its story ends here. Consciousness does not fear.”

Meditation

Kundadanta said, “Vasishtha, your answers are short.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because the truth needs no long answer. The truth is small. What is large is whatever has to be proved.”

Kundadanta asked, “Sixth. How does one meditate?”

“Sit. Close your eyes. Watch the breath. Watch the thought. Do nothing. Only watch.”

“But my mind runs off.”

“Let it run. Do not stop it. Only keep watching.”

“Seventh. Will I see something in meditation?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

“And if I do?”

“Then look at it. But do not cling to it.”

“And if I do not?”

“That is fine too. The aim of meditation is not to be shown something. The aim of meditation is to see.”

“Are those two different?”

“Yes. Being shown is outward. Seeing is inward.”

The Guru

“Eighth. Is a guru necessary?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. It is different for each person.”

“Who is my guru?”

“Whoever points you toward the truth. It can be a person. It can be a book. It can be a river. It can be a single moment of silence.”

“Ninth. How do you know a good guru?”

“One who does not trade on his own name. One who lets his student grow greater than himself. One who does not fear his student’s questions.”

“Tenth. How do you know a bad guru?”

“One who trades on his own name. One who keeps his student smaller than himself. One who fears his student’s questions.”

Rest

Kundadanta took a fruit from his bundle.

“Vasishtha, will you eat?”

“No. You eat.”

Kundadanta broke the fruit slowly, set one half aside and ate the other.

His hands were shaking a little, and holding the fruit was hard for him.

I saw all of this, and said nothing.

As he ate, Kundadanta said, “Vasishtha, this fruit comes from a tree near my ashram. I planted it twenty years ago, and now it bears fruit every year.”

“Very good.”

“But the tree has grown taller than me now, and to pick the fruit I need my tallest student.”

“Old age.”

“Yes.”

Kundadanta said, “Vasishtha, the next question.”

Birth

“Eleventh. Can I remember my past lives?”

“You can. But it is not necessary.”

“Why is it not necessary?”

“Because the past lives are within this same story. Remembering them changes nothing. You have only to become steady in this life.”

“Twelfth. Then what is the use of remembering past lives?”

“None. But no harm either.”

“Thirteenth. Was I someone else in my past life?”

“Yes.”

“Am I of that same atman?”

“Yes.”

“Then is the story of the past body my story?”

“Yes and no.”

“Why both?”

“Because for consciousness the two are one. For the body they are separate.”

Desire

“Fourteenth. Can I kill my desires?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because desires are the nature of consciousness. To kill them is to kill a part of consciousness.”

“Then?”

“Only watch them. They will lessen on their own.”

“Fifteenth. Are some desires good?”

“No. But some bind less.”

“Which ones?”

“The ones that are for others. For instance, may I bring ease to the people. This desire binds, but less.”

“Sixteenth. Should I have no desire at all?”

“You should have desire, but a watched one. An unwatched desire binds.”

Life

“Seventeenth. How should I live my life?”

“Simply. But with attention.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, do ordinary work. But in every task, look within yourself as well.”

“Eighteenth. Should I marry?”

“If your heart wishes it, then yes.”

“Is there no bondage in marriage?”

“There can be bondage. But if you and your partner both keep looking within, then marriage can become a tapasya (spiritual discipline).”

“Nineteenth. Should I have children?”

“If your heart wishes it, then yes.”

“Is there no bondage in children?”

“There is bondage. But children are a lesson of their own. From them you learn what you cannot learn from anyone else.”

Karma

“Twentieth. What is karma?”

“Everything that you do.”

“And its fruit?”

“Every karma has a fruit. This is the law.”

“Twenty-first. Can I escape karma?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because karma comes with the body. Even when the body is left behind, consciousness carries its stream of karma onward.”

“Twenty-second. Then how is there liberation?”

“Not by escaping karma. By doing karma without the ego.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, stop thinking that you are the doer. Simply let the action happen. Remain only the witness.”

“Twenty-third. Is this difficult?”

“Very.”

“And possible?”

“Yes. Through practice.”

The World

“Twenty-fourth. Why does the world exist?”

“Because consciousness composes its own story.”

“Why does it compose it?”

“It is its nature.”

“Can it set the story aside?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are we caught?”

“Because we believe we are our story, and forget that we are consciousness.”

“Twenty-fifth. Can we ever become separate from the story?”

“Yes. Through knowledge.”

“Knowledge how?”

“By looking within yourself.”

“But the looking is also part of the story.”

“Yes. The one who looks is not.”

The River

Now and then Kundadanta would turn his eyes toward the river.

In front of my hut ran that small river I looked at every day. But Kundadanta’s way of looking was different.

He would look at the river for a moment, then turn his eyes back to me. There was something in that looking.

Once I asked, “Kundadanta, what is the river?”

Kundadanta said, “Vasishtha, the river answers one of my questions.”

“Which question?”

“When I grow tired, I look at the river. The river says to me, keep going, keep flowing, do not stop.”

I said, “So you ask your questions of the river as well.”

“Yes. But the river gives short answers, not in words.”

I said, “Then the next question.”

The Mind

“Twenty-sixth. How does one quiet the mind?”

“Give up trying to quiet the mind. Only watch it.”

“But it runs off.”

“Let it run. Keep watching, for many years.”

“Twenty-seventh. Is the mind itself consciousness?”

“No. The mind is a form.”

“Then?”

“Consciousness lies behind the mind.”

“Twenty-eighth. What happens without the mind?”

“Even without the mind, you will still be. But the mind will not remain. This is a plain matter.”

“But when we think, we think only with the mind.”

“Yes. Thinking is not everything, though. Something can be known without thinking too.”

“Twenty-ninth. What is knowing without thinking?”

“Direct knowledge.”

“An example?”

“When you eat a fruit, you know its taste without thinking. This is direct knowledge.”

“And the direct knowledge of darshan, of true seeing?”

“In the same way. Without thinking, consciousness knows its own self.”

“Thirtieth. When does this happen?”

“When the mind is quiet. When the thoughts come to rest. In that instant consciousness sees its own self.”

The Self

“Thirty-first. What is my self?”

“That which is behind every experience.”

“How do I come to know it?”

“By simply being. Not by thinking, not by searching. By simply being.”

“Thirty-second. This is difficult.”

“Yes. And very simple too.”

“How both?”

“Very simple, because there is nothing to do. Very difficult, because the mind wants to do.”

“Thirty-third. How does one stop the mind?”

“Do not stop it. The mind cannot be stopped. Only watch it. It will lessen on its own.”

The Long Afternoon

These questions had lived inside Kundadanta for many years, and now they were coming out one by one.

It was past noon now, and outside the sun was fierce.

In my hut the two of us sat on a small mat, with a pot of water between us.

Kundadanta drank some water once. His hands were still shaking.

I asked, “Kundadanta, are you growing tired?”

Kundadanta paused a moment, then said, “Vasishtha, shall I tell you the truth?”

“Yes.”

“I am very tired.”

I asked, “Will you stop?”

Kundadanta thought for a moment, then said, “No. I have carried these questions for so many years. Today I will finish them.”

“But?”

“But perhaps a little rest.”

Kundadanta lay down in a corner of my hut, his bundle beneath his head for a pillow.

For a long while he kept his eyes closed.

I watched him, his chest rising and falling faintly. I thought of how much story lives in the body of an old man.

After a while Kundadanta rose and said, “Vasishtha, more questions.”

“Speak.”

Onward

I gave him the answers to many questions, twenty, thirty, fifty, up to seventy. A small answer to each one.

At the hundredth question Kundadanta stopped.

“Vasishtha.”

“Speak.”

“No more questions come to me now.”

“Why?”

“Because I feel that I have found it.”

I said, “Kundadanta, that realization is itself the end of questions.”

Kundadanta said, “Vasishtha, one last question.”

“If I have found it, what lies ahead for me?”

I thought, then said, “Kundadanta, ahead lies life. But now your life will be different. Before, you were the one who asked questions; now, you are an answer.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, now people will come to you. You have the answers. Give them.”

Kundadanta bowed his head and said, “Vasishtha, I am not ready.”

“Kundadanta, no one is ever fully ready. Simply begin. The rest, the work will teach you.”

Kundadanta rose.

I bowed to him in pranam.

The Return

Kundadanta returned to his hut.

For many years he stayed there.

People came, and they too had their questions. Kundadanta would listen, then answer.

His answers were not like mine. Mine were short; Kundadanta’s answers were a little longer. But the core of them was one and the same.

One day a young man came to him.

“Maharaj.”

“Speak.”

“I have a question.”

“Ask.”

“Who am I?”

Kundadanta said, “Son, this is the greatest question. And no one can give you its answer.”

“Then?”

“Then sit. Close your eyes. Look within yourself, for a long time. It may take months, it may take years. But one day you will find it.”

The young man asked, “Maharaj, one more thing. Will you give me the answers to some other questions as well?”

Kundadanta said, “Son, I have the answers to a hundred questions. You ask, and I will give them.”

The young man sat down and began to ask his questions.

For a long time he went on doing just this.

For many years it went on this way.

Kundadanta grew older, and now he had many disciples.

One day he departed in peace.

His senior-most disciple took charge of the hut. Now people came to him and asked their questions.

For many generations the questions were asked and the answers were given.

This flow of question and answer went on.

Rama asked, “Master, may I too ask a hundred questions?”

Vasishtha said, “Rama, you are asking, and I am answering. One day you too will stop.”

Rama asked again, “Master, a small question. Do you ever grow tired, hearing so many questions?”

Vasishtha said, “Rama, no. Every question is a chance for me to look at my own understanding. Each time I give an answer, I too learn something new.

“Question and answer are a game. Two players. Both of them win.”

Above them were the stars, very still.