The Stone World: A Universe Within the Rock

Rama asked, “Gurudev, can a world exist inside a stone as well?”

Vasishtha said, “Rama, I once knew this for myself, on a small hill, beside a stone. There I met a woman whose husband was the king of a creation he had made himself, and he had no idea of it. Listen.”

The Hill

This happened many years ago, when I was wandering alone through hill country.

There was no man there, no animal, only stones and more stones scattered across the ground.

The hill was not tall, yet it was very strange. Nothing grew on it, no trees, no grass, only great boulders with a few small stones among them.

The air there was different too, holding a kind of echo, as though someone far away were speaking and the sound were striking the stones and returning.

I went and sat down beside a large stone. It stood twice my own height, and years of sun and shade had worn its surface smooth.

I leaned my back against one side of it, closed my eyes, and began to rest for a while.

Just then I heard a song.

The Song

It was a woman’s song, sweet, yet with a sadness dissolved into it.

I opened my eyes and looked all around, but there was no one there. The whole hill lay empty.

Still the song went on. When I paid attention, it seemed the song was coming from that very stone.

I touched the stone. My palm rested on its solid surface, yet the song was rising from within it.

I pressed my ear to the stone, and now the song came through clearly.

A woman was singing, and her song was set in some ancient raga, perhaps one that no longer survives anywhere on this earth.

There were words in it, but they were not clear. Only their sorrow was clear.

I resolved within myself that I had to see this.

I closed my eyes.

A stirring moved through my consciousness. It rose first from my body, then began to flow outward, and descended into the stone.

Within

Inside the stone there was a whole world.

At first I could make no sense of it. First a faint light appeared, like evening, though it was not evening. Then a wind blew, and it too was somehow different, though it was still wind.

Then ground came up beneath my feet, and I was standing on solid earth.

I looked around.

There were mountains, there were rivers, there were trees, there was a sky, a whole world spread out before me.

I began to walk. The ground beneath my feet was firm, and the touch of the soil felt entirely real.

I touched the leaf of a tree, and it was real. I picked up a stone from the ground, and it too was a real stone.

Yet I knew that this entire world lived inside the stone that lay outside.

I kept walking, for a long time. But time flowed here in some other manner. It felt to me that an hour had passed, though perhaps that was a full day in that place.

The Hut

Walking on, I came to a hut. It was small, a single mud wall with a roof of dry grass overhead.

Outside it a woman sat singing.

I stopped where I stood. The woman was beautiful, very beautiful, in a way that is rare among the women of earth. Her body was translucent and light, her eyes very large and without any floor to them, and her hair was gathered behind in a loose bun.

Looking at her, I felt she was a Vidyadhari, of the Vidyadhara race.

As I drew near, the woman stopped her song and raised her eyes to look at me.

I said, “Devi, who are you?”

“My name is Vasishtha, I am a rishi. But how did you come to be here?”

“How did you come here?”

“I heard your song, from outside the stone, and then I came in through it.”

The woman said, “It has been many years since anyone came here.”

“Many years?”

“Yes.”

When I looked at her, her eyes were filled with the solitude of years.

“Sit,” she said, and I sat down.

Solitude

I asked, “Devi, why are you alone here?”

The woman drew a deep breath and said, “My husband is right here.”

“Where is he?”

“Inside, in that hut.”

“Then call him.”

“He will not come.”

“Why?”

“Because he has been performing tapas for many years.”

“Devi, who is he?”

“My husband, a brahmin.”

“What is his name?”

The Vidyadhari said, “His name I am not to tell anyone, but I will say this much: he is Brahma.”

I froze for a moment. “Brahma?”

“Yes, though he himself does not know it. He takes himself for an ordinary brahmin, while in truth he is Brahma. He has made this world, without knowing, purely out of his own consciousness.”

I asked, “Devi, how can it be that someone is Brahma and does not himself know it?”

The Vidyadhari said, “Vasishtha, every Brahma is a character inside his own creation. He takes himself for a mere character, yet at one level he is the whole creation. His consciousness alone is everything.

“My husband does not know this. He thinks he is only a brahmin who must perform his tapas. But in truth this entire creation issues from his consciousness. I too have come out of him, and this mountain, this river, this sky, all of it from him.”

I said, “Devi, this is a great matter.”

“Yes.”

“And you are his wife, yet he does not even look at you?”

A trace of pain showed in the Vidyadhari’s smile.

“No.”

“Why?”

“He is sunk in his tapas. He has given up everything, and me along with it.”

“And you have been waiting for him? For how many years?”

“For many years. I no longer remember the count.”

I asked, “Devi, may I meet him?”

“Yes, though he will not speak with you.”

“Even so.”

The Vidyadhari said, “Come, I will take you to him.”

The Brahmin

The Vidyadhari led me toward the hut. It was small and very plain.

Inside it was dark, a small lamp burning faintly, and a brahmin sat there.

He was very old, his hair entirely white, his eyes shut, his breath so slow as to be almost none at all. His body was very thin, the bones showing clearly through it.

I went and sat beside him.

“Brahmin.” He did not open his eyes.

“Brahmin.” Still there was no movement.

I touched his wrist. It was cold, yet there was life in it.

I gazed at his body for a long while. I thought to myself that if this brahmin truly was the source of an entire creation, then how strange his body was, a thin old frame holding a whole world inside it.

From behind me the Vidyadhari said, “Vasishtha, have you seen?”

“Yes.”

“He will rise on his own, when his tapas is complete.”

“And then?”

“And then he will know that he made all of this, that I am his wife, and that this stone is his body.”

The Vidyadhari went on, “But there is one thing, Vasishtha.”

“What?”

“When he rises, his creation will become visible in an instant, and perhaps in that same instant it will also dissolve.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that when the creator recognizes his creation, the creation grows faint before his eyes. He comes to know that all of it is his own making, and then the creation begins to show its true nature, and maya begins to lift.”

“And you?”

The Vidyadhari said, “I too will pass away, for I am his creation as well.”

“But you know that you are a creation, and still you are here?”

“Yes. My being here is also part of his creation. I cannot remove myself. I will pass away only when he awakens.”

I stayed silent for a long time.

Then I asked, “Devi, are you able to hold yourself together in this solitude?”

The Vidyadhari said, “Vasishtha, my solitude is not so large. My husband is right beside me, only he does not see me. This is strange, certainly, yet for me it is bearable.

“Because I see him every single day. Unseen, I do his seva, I keep his hut clean, I set water beside him, I set out fruit.

“He eats it, and thinks it grows there on its own. That is his own dream.

“Yet my love keeps reaching him, only he does not know it.”

I said, “Devi, this is a very tender thing, a love that keeps giving even while it stays invisible.”

The Vidyadhari said, “Vasishtha, a great many loves are like this, only we do not see them.

“A mother’s love for her child often goes unseen by the child, yet it is by that very love that the child is growing.

“A husband’s love for his wife often goes unseen by the wife, yet it is that very love which holds her up.

“The greater part of love stays invisible.”

I asked, “Devi, I have one more question. Does my wife Arundhati watch over me in this same way?”

The Vidyadhari said, “Vasishtha, yes. Every wife watches over her husband in this same way. This is the nature of woman.”

Hearing this, I thought of my own wife. For many years she had lived at my side and given so much love, yet how many times had I truly recognized her?

The Vidyadhari looked at my face and said, “Vasishtha, now you know, and that is enough.”

The Question

I said, “Devi, I have one more question to ask.”

“Ask it.”

“This creation of my own, is it like this too?”

The Vidyadhari was silent a while, then said, “Vasishtha, the very fact that you are asking this question means the answer is already present within you.”

“But I am not Brahma.”

“At one level everyone is the Brahma of his own creation. You are the Brahma of your creation, I of mine, and my husband of his.

“Creations dwell one inside another, a second within the first, a third within the second.”

The Vidyadhari continued, “Vasishtha, the world you are seeing arises from your own consciousness. But you cannot see it that way, because you are a character inside your own creation. One day you will awaken, and then you will know this.”

“But in the way your husband will?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Every creator has his own way.”

Then I asked, “Devi, so what should I do now?”

“Vasishtha, simply go back. Your world is waiting for you, just as my husband’s world waits for him. This is the law.”

I rose to my feet.

I asked, “Devi, will I be able to come again?”

The Vidyadhari said, “Vasishtha, this stone will remain here for many years, and you may come whenever you wish. But once my husband awakens, none of this will remain.”

“You mean your solitude…”

“My solitude is in truth a waiting.”

I bowed to her in pranam, and the Vidyadhari raised her hand and sent me on my way.

I came back outside.

The Return

My eyes opened. I was still sitting beside that large stone, both my palm and my ear pressed to it.

The stone was as solid as ever, but the song had now stopped.

I rose and bowed to that stone in pranam. Now I knew it was far more than a stone. It was the body of a Brahma, and within it dwelled an entire creation.

As I made my way down, I thought that the Vidyadhari had spoken truly. Everyone is the Brahma of his own creation, I too of mine, only I do not yet know it. One day I too will awaken.

For many years I did not tell my wife Arundhati of this experience, because I felt she would be frightened.

But long afterward, when she herself had grown old, I told her this story.

Hearing it, Arundhati said, “Vasishtha, if everything is your creation, then am I as well?”

I said, “Yes.”

“But I am separate from you. I have my own desires, my own thoughts.”

“Yes, and are those yours, or mine?”

Arundhati laughed. “Vasishtha, let this matter rest now. I am happy that you created me, and I am happy that I have lived by your side.”

After this many years went by, and I never went to that hill again.

But every time I looked at a stone, it seemed to me that a world lived inside it, that some woman was singing there, that some brahmin was performing his tapas. And perhaps that is all of us.

Having said this, Vasishtha paused for a moment, then looked toward Rama.

Rama asked, “Gurudev, and what we are seeing right now, this Sarayu, these trees, this water?”

Vasishtha said, “Rama, this too exists within someone’s consciousness, perhaps our own, perhaps another’s. This katha is a vast one, but remember one thing. Inside every stone there is a world, inside every drop there is a world, behind every eye there is a world.”

Rama picked up a small stone and gazed at it for a long while.

Rama asked, “Gurudev, is there a world inside this one as well?”

Vasishtha said, “Perhaps.”

Rama held the stone in his hand for a long time, then said, “Gurudev, if there is a world inside it, then some woman will be singing there.”

“Perhaps.”

“Some brahmin will be performing his tapas.”

“Perhaps.”

“And we will never see them.”

Vasishtha said, “Rama, this is a thing to be known. We do not need to see them. We know that they can be there, and that is enough.”

Rama thought for a while, then said, “Gurudev, the Vidyadhari’s solitude has touched something very deep in me.”

“Why?”

“Because for many years she stayed close to her husband, and still he did not see her. At one level this is my own mother’s story too.”

Vasishtha said, “Rama, this is the story of a great many women, who live beside their husbands and yet are never seen.”

“Why?”

“Because a man stays so sunk in his tapas or his work that he assumes his wife will always be there.

“Then one day the wife is gone, and only then does the man realize that he never once truly saw his wife.”

Rama was silent a while, then said, “Gurudev, I will see my wife.”

“Very good, Rama.”

Rama gently set the stone back on the ground and said, “Gurudev, this stone has become a whole world to me now, and within it a woman is waiting.”

Vasishtha said, “Rama, every stone is like this.”

Rama gazed toward the water for a while.

Then Rama asked, “Gurudev, is there a world inside me as well?”

Vasishtha said, “Rama, of course. Inside you there is a whole world, your own thoughts, your own memories, your own desires.

“And within every thought a small world dwells.

“And behind every thought something still is seated.”

Rama asked, “And that which is still, who is that?”

“That is you.”

Rama sat in silence for a long time.

Outside, the night had grown deep, and Rama gave a soft yawn.

Rama asked, “Gurudev, may I take my leave now?”

“Go, Rama.”

The two of them rose to their feet.

On the way, Rama saw another stone, very ordinary, and stopped right there.

Rama said, “Gurudev, I will take this one with me.”

“Why?”

“Because it will remind me of the Vidyadhari.”

Vasishtha said, “Rama, take it, but remember one thing. This stone is only a sign, while the true Vidyadhari lives within you.”

Rama picked up that stone and kept it with him.

For many years that stone stayed with Rama. Now and then he would look at it, and then a faint sound would reach him.

It would be the Vidyadhari’s song, coming from very far away, yet entirely real.