Shukra’s Journey Through Bodies

It was past midnight on the Sarayu, the moon going down, and only a faint light lingered on the water now, the rest darkness.

Rama asked, “Gurudev, if an ascetic holds even one small desire inside himself, can it bind him?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, the smallest desire can bind consciousness, if the whole of your life is poured into it. Listen to the story of Shukra. He was the son of the rishi Bhrigu. He only looked at an apsara, no more than that, and then he wandered through thousands of births.”

Father and Son

Shukra was the son of the rishi Bhrigu. Bhrigu was a great rishi, one of the seven Saptarshis. His ashram stood in the foothills of the Himalayas, where the air was thin and a nearby waterfall ran the whole year through. Shukra grew up in this ashram.

Shukra was slight of build, but sharp-eyed. His hair was black and thick, and his voice never rose high, yet it was clear. When he recited a mantra, the other students of the ashram would stop to listen.

His father had taught him tapas (austerity) from the very start.

“Son, what does it mean to be a rishi?”

“Father, a rishi is one who comes to know the truth within himself.”

“And where is that truth, and by what do you seek it?”

“Within, and through tapas.”

At the age of twenty-two, Shukra began his own solitary tapas. He took his father’s permission and left the ashram, then chose the summit of a very high mountain and settled there. He set his posture, closed his eyes, and drew the mantra down inside himself.

In the first year his mind ran wild. Memories of the old ashram, the talk of his friends, and that laugh of his mother’s that he had recalled so long ago, all of it kept returning. But each time Shukra brought his mind back to the mantra.

In the second year the mind grew calmer. Now he could stay in the mantra for long stretches, and when the mantra slipped away here and there, it came back easily.

In the middle of the third year, one afternoon Shukra was sitting as he always did, eyes closed, breath slow, the mantra within. Just then something passed overhead.

The Apsara

First Shukra caught a fragrance, very faint, the kind that never rode the dry mountain air. It was the scent of some flower he had never smelled before, sweet, though unlike the sweetness of any confection, light, and yet reaching all the way inside him. Shukra opened his eyes.

He looked up.

High in the sky above, not very high, an apsara was flying.

She was no ordinary mortal woman. Her body was translucent and weightless, as if made of air. Her long hair streamed loose behind her in the wind, and her garment was blue, though the color kept shifting, now pale, now deep, then pale again. A string of pearls was fastened at her waist. She was laughing with another apsara, and her laughter, brushing against the air, reached Shukra’s ears.

Shukra had never seen an apsara before. He had certainly heard of them, but he had never laid eyes on one. The apsara looked down, saw Shukra, yet she did not stop, she kept flying. Even so, for one instant her eyes met his.

That instant was very small, and it was enough.

The apsara vanished behind the clouds, and Shukra was left alone on his seat.

He closed his eyes again, but the mantra was no longer what it had been. In the middle of the mantra the apsara’s face would surface, then the mantra, then the apsara, then the mantra. The mind had found a new subject.

Shukra tried hard to push the thought away, but it would not go.

Night came. Shukra tried to meditate, but his mind kept pulling toward the apsara. I only want to meet her once, then I will return to my tapas.

Shukra halted his tapas. He separated his consciousness from his body. He had learned this through earlier practice, though he had never done it this way. His body stayed seated on the mountain summit, and his consciousness flew up very fast into the sky.

Heaven

He reached heaven, and heaven was vast. First there was light everywhere, a light unlike the sun’s, something else entirely. Then came the gardens, and in them flowers of every color, some of colors that do not exist on earth at all. Then there was music everywhere, and none of it noise, every sound in its own place. And then people appeared, and among the people, thousands of apsaras.

Shukra searched for that one apsara. He found her in a garden at the edge of a pool, her feet dipped lightly in the water, her friend sitting beside her.

Shukra drew close, and the apsara saw him.

“Who are you?”

“I am Shukra, son of the rishi Bhrigu.”

“The rishi Bhrigu? I have heard his name. Why have you come here?”

Shukra had no words.

“I saw you flying, and I followed.”

The apsara said, “You followed? But why?”

“I do not know.”

The apsara glanced at her friend, and the friend rose and walked away, leaving Shukra alone with her.

The apsara said, “Sit.”

Shukra sat.

“Shukra, do you know me?”

“No.”

“Then why did you follow?”

Shukra bowed his head. “Because you looked at me, and I felt I could go nowhere else.”

The apsara was quiet a while, then said, “Shukra, you are a rishi’s son, you should be a rishi. Why are you here?”

“I only needed to see you once.”

“And have you?”

“Yes.”

“And now?”

Shukra had no answer, he himself did not know what he wanted. The apsara looked at him. What was in his eyes, his father had never taught him, and now he would have to learn it on his own.

“Shukra, I can sit with you for a little while, only that.”

“Only that?”

“Yes. I am an apsara, I have my work, I am in Indra’s service.”

The two of them sat a long while. The apsara stirred her feet gently in the water, and ripples rose across it. Shukra watched the water at times, and at times the apsara.

Then the apsara stood.

“Shukra, I must go.”

“May I come too?”

“No, stay here.”

“But…”

“Shukra, this is not your world. You may stay here, certainly, but your staying will not belong to this place. You will not be able to hold yourself together.”

The apsara left, and Shukra was left alone by that pool.

Shukra looked at the water. The faint ripple raised by the apsara’s feet still trembled, then it too went still. He looked at his hands. These were changed from the hands that had done tapas on the mountain, a softness had come into them now, the effect of heaven’s air.

Shukra thought, I should return.

But a moment later another thought came. The apsara had said she would keep coming and going, perhaps she would come again today for a little while.

Shukra sat there a long time, but the apsara did not come.

Shukra thought, just one more night, then I will go back.

Night came, and night in heaven was beautiful too, wholly unlike the nights of earth.

Sleep would not come to Shukra, so he thought he would meditate. But even in meditation only the apsara’s face kept appearing.

In the morning the apsara came and saw Shukra.

“Shukra, are you still here?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I do not want to go back at all.”

The apsara said, “Shukra, you do not understand. This is heaven, this is not your world.”

“I can stay.”

“No.”

But Shukra would not hear a word of it.

He remained there for many years.

The Wandering

Shukra did not heed the apsara and stayed on in heaven. As he stayed, his body began to change, and he passed into a body as light and translucent as an apsara’s. But inside he was still a rishi’s son, and living in this body left him with a lasting discomfort.

The years passed in heaven, and the years of heaven are very long, a single night there does not equal even one year of earth. Shukra took a body and became the king of a great kingdom. In that kingdom he did many things, won many wars, and many women came to him. Then that king died.

Shukra took another body and became a prince. He was young, he grew up, but he carried no memory of the earlier body. Then that prince too died.

Shukra took yet another body and became a brahmin, then a fisherman, then a soldier, then a woman, then an elephant, and then a bird.

Many bodies, many births, and many deaths.

Now hear the story of one of these bodies.

In one birth Shukra was the king of a great empire, though there his name was not Shukra, it was a different name.

The king took the throne at the age of fifteen. First he cared for his ailing father, then the father died and the son took charge of the kingdom.

The king won great wars, subdued the neighboring kingdoms, and gained much land.

The king had many women, there were three queens, and children by each of them. The king was happy.

But one night the king sat on the balcony of his palace and looked at the sky. Somewhere inside him there was a kind of lack.

The king thought, I have everything, and still something feels missing.

The king wanted to attend to that lack, but his queens, his children, and his ministers came in, and the king was caught up in the middle of them. The lack remained, but it was buried.

Many years later the king grew old. He gave the throne to his son and went to live in a corner of his own palace.

As he was dying the king said one thing, “I feel that I was someone else.”

The son did not understand, he said, “Father, you were a king.”

The king said, “Perhaps.”

Then he was gone.

Shukra’s consciousness left that king.

Then another body, a woman’s.

The woman lived in a small village. She had loved her husband, and they had two children. But an illness took both children.

The woman wept a great deal.

The woman said to her husband, “I feel that I was someone else.”

The husband said, “Silly one, you are a woman, my wife.”

The woman fell silent, but inside her that same lack remained.

The woman had no more children in her life. The husband grew old and passed away, and the woman lived alone for many years.

As she was dying the woman said the same thing, “I feel that I was someone else.” But there was no one near to hear it.

Shukra’s consciousness left that woman.

Then another body, a mosquito’s.

The mosquito’s life was short, only a few days, but the mosquito lived every moment of its life without a single question. It was born, it flew, it drank blood, and it died. That was all.

Shukra’s consciousness left that mosquito.

After this many more bodies came, a great many.

In every body Shukra forgot that he was Shukra. In every body he had a new identity, and in every new identity no trace of the old one survived. All of this went on for many thousands of years.

A Prince’s Life

In one of Shukra’s bodies he was a prince.

The prince’s father was a very great king, and the prince had three brothers.

From childhood there was something set apart in the prince. He kept to himself; when the other children played, he read books; when the other children fought, he watched the sky.

His father asked him once, “Son, you are different, not like your brothers.”

The prince said, “Father, I feel that I was someone else.”

“What do you mean?”

“I do not know, I only feel it.”

The father reasoned with him, “Son, do not think such things. You are my son, you are a prince, you have your own life.”

The prince fell silent, but the thought stayed inside him.

The prince grew up, to fifteen years. His father found him a wife, but the prince refused.

“Father, not yet.”

“Why?”

“I am not ready yet.”

The father said, “Son, very well, three years, then it is settled.”

The prince agreed.

In those three years the prince watched his brothers marry and watched them have children. But he himself stayed the same, in a small chamber reading books and watching the sky.

After three years the father raised it again.

“Son, now?”

“Father, let me go.”

“Where?”

The prince said, “Father, I want to become an ascetic.”

The father stopped short. “Son, you are my son, you are a prince.”

“I am all of that, and inside I am something else.”

The father argued long, and the prince heard all of it, but he held firm to his decision.

At last the father yielded. “Go, son. But if you tire on the road, come back.”

The prince said, “Thank you, Father.”

The prince set out.

He came to a forest, found a cave there, and sat down in it.

But it was a strange thing, the prince could not settle into sitting at all. He kept getting up, walking, then sitting again.

One day a rishi passed that way and saw the prince.

“Son, you are not ready for tapasya.”

The prince was startled. “Why?”

“Because your body is a prince’s, your habits are royal, you cannot sit still.”

The prince asked, “Then what should I do?”

The rishi said, “Go home, son. First be a prince, then be a king, then grow old, then tapasya.”

The prince agreed and turned back.

He saw his father and bowed his head. “Father, I have come back.”

“Son.”

“Father, I want to marry.”

The father said, “Son, this was a day I was meant to see.”

The prince married and had children.

After his father he became king and reigned for many years.

As he was dying the king said one thing, “I feel that I was someone else.”

The son did not understand, he said, “Father, you were a king.”

The king said, “Perhaps.”

Then he was gone.

Shukra’s consciousness left that prince.

A Mother’s Life

In one of Shukra’s bodies he was a mother.

She lived in a small village, and her husband was a fisherman.

The woman gave birth to five children, three sons and two daughters.

The woman loved every child dearly. At night she told them stories, in the morning she cooked for them, and all day she tended to them.

The woman’s life was ordinary, but inside her a kind of restlessness remained.

One night the woman said to her husband, “Sometimes I feel that I am someone else.”

The husband was quiet a while, then said, “Silly one, you are a mother, my wife.”

The woman fell silent.

But inside her the thought remained.

Once the woman’s youngest son asked a question, “Mother, were you someone else before?”

The woman was startled. “Son, where does this come from?”

“Mother, that is how it feels to me. I feel you were some great figure before, someone else, and now you are my mother.”

The woman embraced the child. “Son, do not think about such things, I am your mother.”

The child fell silent, but he knew.

The woman grew old. The husband died first, and many years later her own body fell away.

As she was dying the woman had her youngest son beside her, who was now grown.

“Mother, who are you?”

The woman said, “Son, I am your mother.”

“But inside?”

The woman was quiet a while, then said, “Son, I do not know, but perhaps someone else.”

The son said, “Mother, go, to wherever your home is.”

The woman rested her hand on her son’s head a long while, then the hand slipped away.

Shukra’s consciousness left that mother.

An Ascetic’s Life

In one of Shukra’s bodies he was an ascetic.

On a mountain, many years of tapas.

The ascetic kept his eyes closed for a long time.

Now and then he caught a glimpse of the old births, sometimes the king’s, sometimes the mother’s, sometimes the fisherman’s, sometimes the bird’s.

The ascetic watched these glimpses, but he did not grasp at them.

One day something became clear inside the ascetic, “I am not made of all these forms, I am the one behind all these forms.”

The ascetic opened his eyes and wondered, “What is my name?”

First he recalled the name of his ascetic life, then that of his king’s life, then that of his mother-life.

But these were all forms, what was the real name?

The ascetic looked within himself a long while.

And from within came a faint voice, “Shukra.”

The ascetic stopped short. “Shukra?”

The voice said again, “Yes, Shukra. You are Shukra, the son of Bhrigu.”

Tears of many years spilled from the ascetic’s eyes.

“Shukra.”

The ascetic left this ascetic body of his, and his consciousness flew toward the Himalayas.

Bhrigu

Below, on the mountain, sat Shukra’s real body. The body was still there, eyes closed, breath so slow as to be almost nothing, and yet the body was alive. Out in the world many years had passed, and still no animal had touched it, because around it lay an invisible protection, made from his own tapasya.

Bhrigu had not seen his son for many years. At first he kept thinking the son was absorbed in tapas, let me not disturb him. Then one night he had a dream in which he saw his son with an apsara, and then he felt that something was wrong.

One day he went to the summit of that mountain and looked at his son’s body. The body was beautiful, but empty, the consciousness was not there.

Bhrigu called out, “Shukra.” But the body gave no answer. “Shukra.” Still no answer.

Bhrigu laid his hand on his son’s forehead. The body was there, but inside there was no one. His heart grew heavy, where is my son?

Bhrigu first tried to see with his own vidya (spiritual knowledge). He sat in meditation and searched for his son’s consciousness with his own. He did find the son’s consciousness, but it was with the apsara, then in the form of a king, then in the form of a brahmin. As Bhrigu looked closer he understood that his son was bound across many births.

Bhrigu’s heart grew heavy. He thought, should I bring him back myself? But how long can a father’s heart carry this weight alone? And Bhrigu could not even reach his son’s consciousness, because it was beyond his reach, with the apsara.

Then Bhrigu went to Yama.

Bhrigu’s Ordeal

Bhrigu returned to his hut. His son’s body was not there, it was still on the mountain.

Bhrigu said to his wife, “Wife, my son is lost.”

The wife shrank back. “He is dead?”

“No.”

“Then?”

Bhrigu was quiet a while, then said, “Wife, our son is wandering through thousands of births.”

The wife asked, “How?”

“After an apsara.”

The wife’s eyes filled. “My lord, what can we do?”

Bhrigu said, “Wife, there is nothing we can do, the son will have to return on his own.”

The wife broke into tears. “My lord, how am I to bring my son back?”

“Wife, we can only pray.”

The wife said, “I will pray.”

Then many years passed, and every day the wife prayed, “My son, wherever you are, remember yourself.”

Bhrigu prayed too, but his prayer was different, “Shukra, your body is ready here. When you are ready, come back.”

Many years passed this way.

One night the wife said to Bhrigu, “My lord, my body is leaving now.”

Bhrigu looked at his wife. “Wife, not yet.”

“My lord, my time has come.”

“But our son?”

“My lord, I will wait for him in the next birth, I cannot stay here any longer.”

Bhrigu fell silent.

The wife’s body fell away, and Bhrigu was left alone.

Many years passed, without his wife, without his son.

Bhrigu built a small hut and did tapas each day, remembering his son each day.

One day, when Bhrigu had grown very old, he thought, “My time too is coming now.”

Just then there was a sound outside, and Bhrigu opened his eyes.

Outside stood an ascetic, very old, thin, white-haired.

Bhrigu stopped short. “Son?”

The ascetic said, “Father.”

Bhrigu’s eyes filled. “Shukra, you have come back.”

“Yes, Father.”

The two were quiet a while.

“Son, your mother is gone.”

“I know.”

“How?”

“Father, Mother comes to me, every night, and keeps my body cared for.”

Bhrigu said, “Son, this is a great thing.”

The two kept looking at each other.

After a long while Bhrigu said, “Son, one thing now. My time is coming.”

Shukra said, “Father, I am here.”

Bhrigu laughed softly. “Son, now I am happy. You have come back, now I can go.”

Shukra held his father’s hand in his own for a long time.

In one watch of the night Bhrigu’s body fell away.

Shukra was left alone.

For a long time he looked at his father, then said softly, “Father, I too will come, after many years. But my work is not yet done.”

Yama

In Yama’s realm there was deep darkness, but the darkness was a calm one, without menace. Yama sat on his throne, and before him lay a ledger in which the name of every living being was recorded.

Bhrigu said, “Yama, where is my son?”

Yama looked at his ledger. “Bhrigu, your son is still alive, his body is on that same mountain.”

“But there is no one in the body.”

“Because his consciousness is elsewhere.”

“Where?”

Yama said, “Bhrigu, your son went after the apsara and has taken thousands of births, each time in a different body. His latest body just now is a prince’s.”

“Can I bring him back?”

“No, he will have to come on his own.”

“How?”

Yama said, “Bhrigu, your son has forgotten his old identity, but that identity is still somewhere within him. He will have to remember on his own that he is Shukra. This comes through tapasya, and tapasya comes only when he is born as a being fit for it. You must wait.”

“Wait? For how long?”

“Bhrigu, there is no counting of time here. But one thing I can tell you. Your son will one day become an ascetic, and in that tapasya he will remember his old body, and then he will return.”

“But until then, his body?”

“It will remain where it is. There is an invisible protection made from his own tapas, no animal will touch it, no bird will build a nest upon it.”

Bhrigu asked, “Yama, tell me one thing. Is this my fault?”

Yama was quiet a while, then said, “Bhrigu, every father is a witness to his son’s story; he is not its author. You taught him tapas, he did tapas, he saw an apsara, and he set his mind upon one small desire. This was his story, not yours.

“But it is also true that every father makes his son’s pain his own. That is natural. You grieve, because you love him.”

Bhrigu bowed his head. “Thank you, Yama.”

“Bhrigu, one more thing.”

“Speak.”

“When your son returns, do not scold him. His own desire has taught him this lesson. He will now understand better than even you what the smallest desire can do, and one day he will become a guru of these very truths.”

Bhrigu accepted this and turned back.

The Return

Thousands of years passed, and Shukra’s consciousness kept moving from one body to the next.

One day he was born into the body of an ascetic. From childhood something felt strange to him, as if he had come from some other place. He could not play like the other children, and at night he would keep watching the sky. Looking at the stars, something would begin to come back to him, though never completely.

When he grew up, he did tapas for many years.

In the tapas his old bodies began to return to him one after another, a king, a brahmin, a fisherman, a woman, an elephant, a bird, a great many memories.

Then he remembered the one that was earliest of all.

The apsara, in heaven.

Then one from even before that, tapas on a mountain.

Then one from even before that, a father, Bhrigu, a mother, and an ashram.

In this state Shukra opened his eyes. Before him was his present body, he was an ascetic, in some corner of Bharat. But inside he now knew that he was Shukra.

He looked at this ascetic body of his and thought, this is only an ascetic’s body, one more form, and not the real one. Where is my real body?

He knew, on that mountain, in the Himalayas.

Shukra left this body, and his consciousness flew toward the Himalayas, toward that mountain. The distance was many years wide, but for consciousness distance is nothing.

There sat the body, very old now, earth on the brow, leaves in the hair, the dust of thousands of years. But the body was alive, the breath running very faint. Shukra entered that body.

The body’s eyes opened.

Shukra looked at his hands, they were trembling, there was earth on the skin, leaves, the dust of thousands of years. He stirred slightly. But he was Shukra.

Father and Son

Word reached Bhrigu. How it reached him, no one knows, perhaps rishis have their own ways.

He came to the mountain. The son saw the father, and the father the son.

For a while neither spoke. Seeing Bhrigu, Shukra felt for an instant that his father had grown very old, then he thought, no, Father is a rishi, his body does not change so quickly. Then Shukra looked at his own body, his own body had grown very old, but strength was returning to it now.

“Father.”

“Son.”

“I have come back.”

Bhrigu laughed softly. “Son, where had you gone?”

Shukra said, “Father, I saw an apsara and went after her. I took thousands of births, then in an ascetic’s body I remembered who I was, and I came back.”

For a long time neither spoke.

Then Bhrigu sat down beside his son. “Son, forgive me.”

Shukra was startled. “Father, why?”

“I taught you tapas, but I did not teach you what the greatest danger in tapas is.”

“What?”

“Small desires. In tapas, when the mind grows calm, small desires grow large. One has to learn the art of recognizing them, and I did not teach you that.”

Shukra laughed softly. “Father, no one can teach this; it comes only through experience. I have lived it now, and now I know.”

Bhrigu looked at his son. “Son, never forget this. Even one small desire can pull you across thousands of births. In tapasya you must hold no desire, only keep watching the consciousness that comes before every desire.”

Shukra agreed.

Mrita Sanjivani

Many years passed, and Shukracharya became the guru of the danavas (demons). One day, in a great war, the son of a danava king was killed.

The king was stricken with grief and came to Shukracharya.

“Gurudev, my son is dead.”

Shukracharya was quiet a while, then said, “King, do you want him back?”

The king stopped short. “Gurudev, is this possible?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Shukracharya said, “King, I hold a vidya, the Mrita Sanjivani. I can bring the dead back to life.”

The king said, “Gurudev, this is a great vidya. My son too?”

Shukracharya was quiet a while, then said, “King, there is one thing. If I bring your son back to life, he will not be the same.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, his body will be the same, but inside something will have changed. He will carry the experience of his own dying, and that experience will change him.”

The king was quiet a while, then said, “Gurudev, even so, I want him back.”

Shukracharya agreed.

He went to the king’s son. The son’s corpse lay on the ground.

Shukracharya chanted his vidya, the vidya that had come from many years of experience.

After a while there was a stirring in the son’s body, then the breath returned, then the eyes opened.

The son sat up, and the king broke into tears.

“Son.”

“Father.”

But there was one thing, something in the son’s eyes was different.

The son looked at his father. “Father, I saw something.”

“What?”

The son was quiet a while, then said, “Father, I watched myself leaving my body. Then I was in an emptiness. Then…”

“Then?”

“Then I felt that I am nothing, and yet I am.”

The king said, “Son, I do not understand this.”

“Nor do I fully, Father. But inside there is a peace.”

The king looked at Shukracharya. “Gurudev, my son has changed.”

“Yes.”

“But I want him even so.”

“King, that is for you to decide.”

The king said, “Gurudev, thank you.”

“No, King, this is my vidya, my work.”

The king returned home with his son.

Shukracharya sat in silence a while.

He thought, “This Mrita Sanjivani vidya of mine, why did it come to me?”

The answer came within his own mind, “Because you yourself died and returned. You left your body and took thousands of births, and then you came back. This vidya is your own experience.”

Shukracharya laughed softly. “Yes, that is it.”

He remained the guru of the danavas for many years and brought many of the dead back to life.

Shukracharya

Shukra sat down for tapas again. This time he closed his eyes, began the mantra, and sank into it. When a desire arose, he watched it, neither stopping it nor taking it up, only watching. The desire came and went, and Shukra stayed steady where he was.

After many years he found that steady consciousness he had thirsted for from the very beginning.

Then one day a matter arose between the devas and the danavas. The danavas had no guru, their old guru had passed on, and they needed one. The danavas searched among the ascetics and their gaze fell upon Shukra.

“Shukra, become our guru.”

Shukra considered it.

Then he asked his father, “Father, the danavas want to make me their guru, should I become one?”

Bhrigu laughed softly. “Son, this is your decision. But let me say one thing. The experience you have gained is unlike that of an ordinary ascetic. You know what desire does, and perhaps this is the very knowledge the danavas need. The danavas live with desire, and if you teach them to govern it, then perhaps one day they too…”

Shukra said, “I will become their guru.”

Shukra became the guru of the danavas, and now his name became Shukracharya.

A siddhi (attained power) came to him as well. He was highly skilled in astrology (jyotisha), because across his journey through births he had looked behind so many planets. A wondrous vidya came into his keeping, the Mrita Sanjivani, the knowledge of restoring the dead to life. This vidya he guarded very much alone.

He remained the guru of the danavas for many years, and the danavas changed a little, not entirely, only a little. Shukra came to know that what he had learned through experience could not be taught easily, that each one has to undergo his own experience.

But he did not stop, he taught for many years. And one day he passed into the sky. Now his name became a star’s, Shukra-tara, the brightest in the sky, close to the sun. Those who saw it from afar had no idea that this star was once an ascetic, whose mind had come to rest upon a single apsara.

Rama asked, “Gurudev, so does every desire bind?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, every desire binds that you sink into completely. If you are watching a desire, it does not bind you, but if you are flowing along with the desire, it can pull you across thousands of births. The difference lies in watching and in flowing.”

Rama looked toward the water. “And that matter of the father and the son touched me deep within.”

Vasistha said, “Rama, every father worries over his son, and every father believes he will teach his son everything. But at a certain level every son has to undergo his own experience, and this is the very thing a father has to learn. Bhrigu had to learn it too.”

Rama was quiet a while, then said, “Gurudev, my father Dasharatha, will he too one day let me go?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, this question will come later in your life. But yes, every father must one day let his son go. Dasharatha too.”

“But he will grieve.”

“Yes, every father grieves. And this is a father’s dharma.”

Rama asked, “Gurudev, and the story of Shukra’s mother. That mother passed away waiting for her son, and thousands of years later the son returned, but the mother was gone. This weighed on me heavily.”

Vasistha said, “Rama, this is the story of many women. A mother remembers her son for many years, but the son stays absorbed in his own story, and very often he does not even see his mother’s waiting.”

“Gurudev, I will never do this to my mother.”

Vasistha said, “Rama, this is a hard promise.”

“Why?”

“Because your life will take you to many places, and you will often be far from your mother.”

Rama stopped short. “Then?”

“Rama, the best thing is this, when you are near your mother, be fully with her, and when you are far, keep her within you. Both of these together.”

Rama agreed.

Rama looked toward the sky. Above, a star was shining brightly, Shukra-tara.

“Gurudev, that star, does he still remember his father?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, yes. Every star remembers its own story.”

Rama kept looking at that star for a long time.

“Gurudev, will my story too one day become a star?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, every great story becomes a star. Yours will too.”

A wind stirred, and Rama’s hair moved lightly.

Rama said, “Gurudev, there is one more thing in Shukra’s story. He spent many years in many bodies, many women, many men, many birds, and inside he remained the same one.”

“Yes.”

“So are we all like this too?”

“Rama, all of us. We simply do not see it.”

Rama was quiet a while, then said, “Gurudev, this leads to something. One day I will have a wife, I will have children. They too were in some other body before.”

“Yes.”

“Then is our meeting a matter of chance?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, there is no such thing as chance. Every meeting arises from some old bond. Your wife will be an old relation of yours, perhaps from many births ago, and your children too.”

Rama said, “Gurudev, this is a profound truth. And the people who will bring me suffering in my life?”

“They too will be old relations. Perhaps in an earlier birth you brought suffering to them.”

Rama was quiet a while. “Gurudev, this thought is heavy.”

“Yes, and it is true.”

Rama looked toward the water for a long time.

“Gurudev, I will now look at everyone I meet differently.”

“Differently how?”

“I will understand that they are connected to me, from far back.”

Vasistha said, “Rama, this is a very good habit.”

A faint smile came to Rama’s face. Then he looked up, where a star was now shining in the sky, very bright, in the direction of the sun.