Vipashchit: Four Directions

Rama asked, “Gurudev, how large is the world?”

Vasishtha said, “Rama, there was once a king named Vipashchit. He asked this very question, and to find its answer he divided himself into the four directions. Listen to his story.”

The Resolve

Vipashchit was a king, and he had everything: a great kingdom, a great army, a beloved wife, and promising children.

But one night he sat on his rooftop. Above him were the stars, and below him lay the whole city.

He wondered just how large his kingdom really was.

I have seen my borders. Mountains to the north, the sea to the east, forest to the south, and desert to the west.

But what lies beyond my borders, and beyond that, and beyond even that?

Vipashchit’s mind snagged on this one question.

The next morning he summoned his brahmins.

He asked, “Revered ones, where does the world end?”

The brahmins gave different answers.

One said, “Maharaj, the world has seven islands, and between each island an ocean. Farthest out lies the greatest ocean, beyond it heaven, and beyond even that Brahmaloka.”

Another said, “Maharaj, there are fourteen worlds, seven above and seven below. In the upper worlds dwell the gods, Brahma, and Vishnu; in the lower worlds the daityas, Yama, and, at the very bottom, Patala.”

The third said, “Maharaj, that is a small matter. There are thousands of universes, each with its own Brahma, and each holding fourteen worlds.”

Vipashchit listened to all of it, and something shifted inside him.

These are all things heard from others. Every brahmin says something different. How then can any one of them be the truth?

I will see for myself.

Tapas

Vipashchit undertook tapas. He handed the kingdom to his son and went to sit alone on a mountain peak. Many years passed this way.

One day Brahma, well pleased, appeared before him.

Brahma said, “Vipashchit, what do you want?”

“Bhagavan, I want to see where the world ends.”

Brahma said, “Vipashchit, that is a very hard thing.”

“Even so, I must do it.”

“Why?”

“Because my brahmins tell me different things, and I want to know for myself.”

Brahma said, “Vipashchit, the wish is a good one, but there is something you should know. You could spend your whole life searching for the end of the world and still never find it.”

“I am ready.”

“Then so be it. I grant you a boon. You may take four forms: one will go east, one west, one north, and one south. Each form can travel as far as your own power allows.”

Vipashchit bowed his head and accepted the boon.

Four Forms

And Vipashchit became four.

East

The eastern Vipashchit set out.

First he crossed his own borders, then a second kingdom, then a third, then a fourth. He crossed mountains, he crossed rivers, and he crossed an ocean too.

Crossing the ocean was the hardest part. It was so vast that from one shore the other could not be seen.

Vipashchit took a boat and set off with a single companion.

Many days and many nights passed on the sea, and they had to endure many storms.

Once his companion grew afraid and said, “Maharaj, we are going to die.”

Vipashchit said, “Friend, if we must die, we must die. But first let us at least reach the far shore of this sea.”

At last they reached the second continent.

The people there were altogether different. Their bodies differed a little from his own, their language was wholly different, their gods were different, and even their food and drink were different.

Vipashchit spoke with them as best he could, through gestures.

“What lies behind your kingdom?”

“More kingdoms, and more people.”

“And behind that?”

“We do not know. We have never gone there.”

He pressed on. After the sea a continent, then sea again, then continent again, and so many years slipped by.

On one continent he met people who had four arms, two on one side and two on the other.

Vipashchit asked their king, “Maharaj, what is the use of four arms?”

The king said, “King, with one hand we can hold our wife’s hand, with one our child’s, with one our food, and with one our work. All at once.”

Vipashchit asked, “But surely you lose something in this too?”

The king was silent a moment, then said, “Yes. We do not know how to choose, because for us everything comes at once. But your kind chooses. Having fewer hands, you are made to learn that.”

Vipashchit kept this close.

(That night, sitting in his moored boat, Vipashchit thought, “I have only two hands. All my life I have chosen, again and again. Wife or kingdom, austerity or my people, and now searching for the end or turning back. Choosing is what living is.”)

On one continent he met people who could fly through the air.

Their bodies were very light and their bones hollow like a bird’s. There was nothing like wings on their backs, yet by will alone they could hold themselves still in the air.

Vipashchit spent a night with them. They could not teach him to fly, since his own body was solid, but they helped carry him upward by seating him in a net.

From that height Vipashchit looked down.

Below lay the sea, the continents, trees and rivers, and where the horizon should have ended there was only land and more land spreading on.

Vipashchit held his breath a moment and thought, “This is only a tiny piece, and beyond it there is still more.”

The king of the flying people said, “King, from a height everything looks small. But even seen from above, the world does not end.”

Vipashchit heard this and took to the road again.

On one continent he met people who could live beneath the water. They said the same thing: “Behind us there are more worlds.”

Vipashchit kept moving forward, and many years passed this way.

He reached a place where even the sky was different. Different stars, a different sun. There too were a king and his people.

Vipashchit asked, “What lies ahead of you?”

The king said, “Ahead of us are more worlds.”

Hearing this, Vipashchit set out once more.

West

The western Vipashchit set out as well. First he crossed his own borders, then a second kingdom, then a third. He crossed deserts, he crossed mountains, and he reached another continent.

Crossing the desert was hard. The sand was fine and the color of ocher, and by day so hot that walking barefoot was impossible. Vipashchit traveled by camel, with one companion, an old guide, and three camels.

At midday they would halt, stretch a sheet overhead and lie beneath it, while a fine hiss of sand drifted on the wind.

At night the desert changed, turning cold, and so many stars rose in the sky that counting them was impossible.

The guide was old, and each night he would tell Vipashchit some tale of his ancestors.

One night he said, “King, whoever is lost in the desert becomes one with the sand. Later some traveler digs up his bones.”

Vipashchit asked, “And those who are not lost?”

“King, they too are lost, in a way. Only their bones turn up somewhere else.”

Vipashchit burst out laughing at this.

(That night Vipashchit watched the stars for a long time. It seemed to him that each star was a world, and in each world there was a king, and every king was searching for his own ending. The thought lightened his heart a little, that he was not alone in this search.)

And so more days passed.

Beyond the desert they saw a new world, where there was green land, rivers, and trees. The people there were beautiful, their bodies slender but strong, their eyes brown and their hair golden.

Vipashchit asked them, “What lies behind you?”

“More land, and more people.”

“And behind that?”

“More, and more.”

He moved on, and so more years passed.

At one place he met people who had four eyes, two in front and two behind.

Vipashchit asked in astonishment, “You can see behind you too? Is that a good thing?”

The people laughed and said, “Maharaj, it is two things at once. Because we can see behind us, no enemy can come at us from the back. But we also see everything behind us, good or bad, and that is a burden too.”

Vipashchit understood this and nodded.

He moved on.

North

The northern Vipashchit went into the lands of snow. First he crossed a Himalayan kingdom, and then snow began, nothing but snow.

Walking in snow was a thing all its own. At every step his feet gave a soft sound. As far as he could see, only white spread out, and the sky was now blue, now gray, now wholly covered with cloud.

For many years he walked in the snow. His body had been made strong by his austerity, so the cold touched him less, but again and again his feet sank into the snow.

Sounds are different in snow, very clear yet very faint. Somewhere far off a tree would crack, and the sound would arrive as if right beside his ear.

Vipashchit liked this cleanness, and yet it frightened him too, because in this cleanness everything grows large, every thought as well.

(One night Vipashchit had a dream. His wife stood on a balcony in the cold wind, and she said something. But even in that cleanness of snow her voice did not reach him; he only saw her lips move. Vipashchit woke and tried for a long while to remember what she had been saying, but it would not come back to him.)

In the midst of the snow there was an old kingdom. Its buildings were made of ice, and its people were very fair, their eyes blue and their hair white from childhood.

The king there was very old, his age in the thousands of years, because in the land of snow people grew very old.

Vipashchit asked, “Maharaj, what lies behind your kingdom?”

The king said, “I do not know, but surely something.”

“You have not seen it?”

“No. I have never once gone beyond my kingdom.”

“Why?”

“Because my being here is necessary. If I were to leave, my kingdom would fall apart.”

Vipashchit asked, “But you know that something lies outside?”

“Yes. Travelers come to me now and then, and they tell their stories.”

Vipashchit thought for a while and said, “Maharaj, then I will go myself.”

“Go. But you will never come back. Beyond the snow there is more snow, and beyond that more. It has no end.”

Vipashchit heard this warning.

And he moved on.

South

The southern Vipashchit went into the forests.

The forests were very dense, the trees so tall that light barely reached the ground.

The forest air was damp, and a sweet smell of earth and old leaves filled his nostrils. Both day and night seemed green, only at night the green grew deeper.

Here the animals were large and of many kinds, some he had never seen before.

One night Vipashchit sat by his fire beneath a tree. From far off came the low sound of a leopard, so Vipashchit built the fire up a little.

Just then a drop fell from a branch of the tree, and Vipashchit looked up. Above him was a frog, so transparent that even the bones inside its body showed through.

Vipashchit said, “Here everything is different.”

(That night it seemed to him that the forest was watching him closely, every tree and every leaf. It was not a frightening thing, though it did feel strange. Perhaps, he thought, the forest too is a consciousness, as awake as any human being.)

In the heart of the forest there was a small kingdom.

The people there lived in the trees, and their houses were built on the branches.

Their king said, laughing, “Beyond our forest there are more forests. So we have heard.”

Vipashchit heard this and moved on.

In the forest he came upon several more kingdoms, each with its own customs and its own language. In one kingdom the people could speak with birds, in another with trees, and in another with the earth.

Vipashchit saw all of this, and so many years passed.

Higher Still

All four Vipashchits went on seeing much more on their separate journeys.

The eastern one arrived one day in a land where the people were made of light. Their bodies were made of light. They had no flesh. They neither ate nor breathed, yet they lived, moved, and spoke.

The eastern one asked their king, “Maharaj, how do you live?”

The king said, “Friend, we do not live the way you do. We are. There is a difference between living and being.”

“Explain it to me.”

“To live means to breathe, to eat, to bring children into the world. To be means only to be. We simply are, without any of the body’s needs.”

Vipashchit fixed this in his mind.

The western one arrived at a place where the people had a rare power: they could make their dreams real.

The western one asked their king, “Maharaj, what kind of power is this?”

The king said, “Whatever we dream stays with us even when we wake. Our body carries the dream out into the world.”

“How very strange.”

“Yes, but there is a problem in it too.”

“What?”

“If we have a bad dream, that becomes real as well. It has happened many times. A woman saw her husband die in a dream, and in the morning he was truly found dead.”

Vipashchit asked, “Then how do you live?”

“We tend our dreams with great care, and we teach our children to dream good dreams.”

Vipashchit heard this and moved on.

The northern one found, amid the snow, a cave where echoes of thousands of years still lived. That is, whatever sound had ever been made in that cave was still present there.

The northern one heard one echo: “Where is my mother?” It was the very old voice of some child.

Vipashchit thought that this child had perhaps been searching for his mother thousands of years ago, and that his voice still echoed here. Vipashchit listened to that voice for a long time.

Then the northern one said a prayer: “Child, wherever you are, may you find your mother.”

Vipashchit thought his prayer might have no effect, yet at some level he felt the child had heard him.

The southern one reached a part of the forest where the trees spoke.

An old tree said to Vipashchit, “Friend.”

Vipashchit stopped short and said, “Tree.”

“I have seen you, and your forefathers too.”

“Me?”

“Yes. In past lives you have passed through this forest many times.”

Vipashchit asked, “Tree, tell me one thing. Does my journey have any end?”

The tree’s laughter was like the stirring of leaves. The tree said, “Friend, the end is not outside. The end is within.”

Vipashchit had heard this before, but hearing it from a tree was another thing altogether.

More Lands

And so more years passed.

The eastern Vipashchit reached an island where the people lived in the water. Their bodies were made for water: gills instead of a nose, a tail and thin legs.

Vipashchit stopped on a shore and watched. The people came out of the water for a little while and then went back. Just then a woman came out, water dripping from her body, her eyes large and round.

Seeing Vipashchit, the woman asked, “Who are you?”

“I am Vipashchit, a king. I am searching for the end of the world.”

The woman laughed and said, “King, the world has no end.”

“But I must search for it.”

“Then search. Behind our island there are many more islands.”

The woman returned to the water, and Vipashchit moved on.

The western Vipashchit reached a land where night never came. The sun stayed always in the sky, but fixed in one place; it did not move.

Vipashchit asked a citizen, “Brother, when does night fall here?”

“King, night never falls here.”

“Then how do you sleep?”

“We sleep in turns. Each of us has a small hut that keeps the light out, and in it we sleep.”

Vipashchit said, “This is very strange.”

“King, it does not seem strange to us. This is all we have ever known.”

Vipashchit thought that whatever exists in a place is ordinary for that place. Strange to me, ordinary to them. The world has no single definition.

Vipashchit moved on.

The northern Vipashchit, beyond the snow, reached a land where there was nothing at all. No tree, no animal, no man, no building. Only white ground and a yellow sky.

Vipashchit thought there was nothing here at all. But just then came a faint stir, right beside him, as if something were moving.

When Vipashchit looked, there was a small transparent creature rising from the ground. Vipashchit studied it closely, and the creature studied him too.

The creature said, “King.”

Vipashchit said, startled, “You can speak?”

“Yes. Here we are all an unseen people. We are transparent, but we exist.”

“And your land?”

“This whole land belongs to transparent creatures. You see nothing, but there is a great deal here.”

Vipashchit asked, “Then how are my eyes seeing you?”

“Because you too, at some level, are transparent. You simply do not know it.”

Vipashchit looked at his hands, which were solid, and said, “You are lying.”

“King, your body feels solid to you, but at some level you too are transparent. Consciousness is never solid.”

Having said this, the creature vanished from sight.

Vipashchit searched for it but could not find it. Yet the creature had not disappeared; it was right there, only Vipashchit’s eyes could no longer see it.

Vipashchit laughed and said, “Today I have learned one thing: that what cannot be seen can still exist.”

And Vipashchit moved on.

The southern Vipashchit, beyond the forest, reached a mountain. The mountain was very high, and on its peak stood a small temple.

Vipashchit climbed for many days, and reaching the top he entered the temple.

In the temple stood a very old stone statue, the figure of a man. It was no god.

When Vipashchit looked closely, the statue looked just like him.

Vipashchit stopped short and said, “Who is this?”

Just then an old priest came.

Vipashchit asked, “Priest, whose statue is this?”

The priest said, “Maharaj, this is the statue of an ancient king.”

“Which king?”

“His name was Vipashchit.”

Hearing this, Vipashchit went still.

Vipashchit asked, “Priest, who was this king?”

“Maharaj, it is a very old story. A king was searching for the end of the world. He went in all four directions, wandered for many years, and at last came to this very mountain, had this statue of himself made, and set it here.”

“And the king himself?”

“He moved on. After that no one ever saw him again.”

Vipashchit gazed at the statue for a long time.

The statue was like Vipashchit, but a little different; its eyes were somewhat more tired.

Vipashchit wondered: is this some past life of mine, or some life to come?

Vipashchit bowed to the statue and said to the priest, “Priest, my name too is Vipashchit.”

The priest paused a few moments and said, “Maharaj, that is no wonder. In every generation a Vipashchit comes, and in every generation one goes searching for the end of the world. None ever finds it, but each leaves behind a record of his own.”

Vipashchit asked, “Priest, should I too have my statue made?”

“No, Maharaj. Your statue already exists. You have only just seen it.”

Vipashchit fell silent at this answer.

Then Vipashchit stepped out of the temple and moved on.

Thousands of Years

And so many years passed, and all four Vipashchits kept walking. Each of them, on his journey, saw thousands of kingdoms, thousands of peoples, and thousands of customs.

Each of them thought that surely there would be an end somewhere, surely some edge. But the end never came.

However far they went, there was always more ahead. Whatever people they met, there were more people behind them. Whatever sky they saw, there was another sky behind it.

One day all four Vipashchits grew weary at once.

They could not speak to one another, for the four were in four different directions, but the same thought rose in each of them: the world has no end.

The eastern Vipashchit sat on a shore. He looked at the sea, and beyond the sea more continents, and he thought, how much farther now?

The western one sat in the middle of a desert. He looked at the sand, and beyond the sand more sand, and he thought, how much farther now?

The northern one sat amid the snow. He looked at the snow, and beyond the snow more snow, and he thought, how much farther now?

The southern one sat in the middle of the forest. He looked at the trees, and beyond the trees more trees, and he thought, how much farther now?

And all four called out to Brahma at once.

The Final Moment

After many years, all four Vipashchits felt one thing at the same moment.

The four were in four different places: the eastern one in a desert, the western one on a hill, the northern one amid the snow, and the southern one on the bank of a river.

But all four stopped at the same instant and sat down at the same instant.

In the mind of each was the same thought: I am walking, walking, walking, but I am arriving nowhere. Because there is nowhere to arrive.

The eastern one looked at the desert sand. In the sand were his own footprints, footprints of many years, but now they were growing faint in the sand.

The western one looked down from the hill. Far below was a city. Vipashchit thought, “That city too is a world, and it too holds thousands of stories.”

The northern one looked at the snow. There was nothing in the snow, and yet everything was there. Vipashchit thought, “What is nothing is also something. This snow too is a form of consciousness.”

The southern one looked at the river. The river flowed as it always did. Vipashchit thought, “Where this river begins, there it also ends. Beginning and ending are one and the same.”

All four raised their hands at once, a prayer without words.

Then all four called out to Brahma.

Reunion

All four forms returned to Brahma together.

“Bhagavan.”

Brahma said, “Speak, Vipashchit.”

“Bhagavan, we walked in the four directions for thousands of years, but we found no end. Everywhere there was only more ahead.”

Brahma said, “Vipashchit, do you understand now?”

“No, Bhagavan. Now I am more amazed than ever.”

“Amazed at what?”

“Bhagavan, how in the end can the world be so vast?”

Brahma said, “Vipashchit, the world is exactly as vast as consciousness. Consciousness has no limit, and the world is only the outer form of consciousness, so the world too has no limit.

“You went outside to search for the end. Outside there is no end at all. The end lies within consciousness itself.

“Within consciousness, the end you find is the end of the very idea of an end. Once you understand that everything is consciousness, you no longer have any need for an end.”

Vipashchit bowed his head and said, “Bhagavan, one more question.”

“Ask.”

“Then what was gained by all this journeying of mine?”

Brahma said, “Vipashchit, had you not made this journey, you would never have known. To know, the walking was necessary. Now you know, and this knowing is your own.

“And one more thing. What you saw is no small matter either. You saw thousands of people, thousands of customs, and thousands of stories. All this knowledge will stay with you.”

Vipashchit accepted this.

Then Vipashchit’s four forms became one, and Vipashchit returned to his kingdom.

One More Thing

Before Brahma, Vipashchit asked one more question.

“Bhagavan.”

“Speak.”

“Does my wife remember me?”

Brahma was silent for a few moments, then said, “Vipashchit, your wife’s body left the world many years ago. But her consciousness remains, and that consciousness remembers you.”

Vipashchit stopped short and said, “My wife’s body?”

“Yes. You have been walking for many years, more than a hundred years on earth. Your wife could not have lived so long.”

Something stirred within Vipashchit, and many years turned before his eyes.

“And my children?”

“Their bodies too have gone. Their children have grown old as well, and their children after them.”

“And my kingdom?”

“The kingdom went on. Your descendants ruled, but the line has changed by now.”

Vipashchit asked, “Bhagavan, then my home?”

“Vipashchit, your home is gone now. But at some level you can make a home anywhere. The home of consciousness is not bound to the body.”

With a light laugh Vipashchit asked, “Bhagavan, why in the end did I make this journey?”

“Vipashchit, because your thirst brought you all this way. Now you know that outside there is no end, and now you can look within.”

Vipashchit asked, “Bhagavan, can I meet my wife’s consciousness?”

Brahma said, “Vipashchit, meet her, of course. Just close your eyes.”

Vipashchit closed his eyes and thought of his wife, her face, her laugh.

And within him there was a faint stirring.

“Wife?”

“Husband.”

Vipashchit opened his eyes. Brahma was laughing.

Brahma said, “Vipashchit, did you meet her?”

“Yes, Bhagavan.”

“That is all. Now you can meet her whenever you wish. Just close your eyes.”

Vipashchit bowed his head in reverence.

Along the Way

Vipashchit now began to make his way back toward his kingdom, but at some level he was no longer the old Vipashchit.

On the way he saw a very small village, a few huts and a river.

Vipashchit stopped near a hut where a woman sat outside, nursing her child.

Seeing Vipashchit, the woman said, “Sit, baba.”

Vipashchit sat, and the woman gave him water.

The woman asked, “Baba, where do you come from?”

“From very far away.”

“How far?”

“Just, very far away.”

The woman said, “Baba, everyone comes from somewhere, and everyone goes somewhere.”

Vipashchit kept looking at her.

Vipashchit said, “Daughter, your village is small, but you seem very happy.”

The woman said, “Baba, I am in my own place. I have my husband, I have my child, I have my hut, I have my river. What more is needed?”

Vipashchit was silent a few moments, then said, “Daughter, have you never wished to see more? More villages, more cities, more of the world?”

The woman said, “Baba, the wish came many times, but I never thought of going.”

“Why?”

“Because my place is right here. And I have learned one thing.”

“What?”

“Baba, what you cannot see in one place, you cannot see anywhere. And what you can see in one place, you can see everywhere. Seeing belongs to what is within. The eyes have little to do with it.”

Vipashchit kept looking at her in silence for a long time.

Then he said, “Daughter, you have taught me something very great.”

“Baba, I have taught you nothing.”

“No. You have taught me.”

Vipashchit bowed to the woman, and she was left astonished.

“Baba, what is this?”

“Daughter, you are my guru.”

The woman laughed and said, “Baba, I am only an ordinary village woman.”

“And I searched many years for an answer that you gave in a single moment.”

Vipashchit paused a few moments and said, “Daughter, if you ever need the help of a king, tell me.”

“Baba, you are a king?”

“Many years ago I was.”

The woman shook her head and said, “Baba, I need nothing.”

Vipashchit said, “Daughter, that answer is better still.”

Vipashchit looked at the woman’s child, sleeping in its mother’s lap.

Vipashchit remembered that many years ago his own wife had nursed their children just like this.

Vipashchit closed his eyes and thought of his wife.

“Wife.”

“Husband.”

Vipashchit opened his eyes, and the woman laughed and said, “Baba, is all well?”

“Yes, all is well.”

Vipashchit rose and said, “Daughter, I will go now.”

“Baba, come again whenever you feel like it.”

“Perhaps I will.”

And Vipashchit moved on.

The Return

Vipashchit reached his palace. His son was now an old man, and his grandsons were running the kingdom. Vipashchit looked at his old throne, but no one there knew him.

Just then a small child came, perhaps his great-grandson.

“Grandfather?”

Vipashchit said, “Child, I am your great-grandfather.”

The child looked at him in surprise. “Great-grandfather? But he went away many years ago.”

“I have come back.”

The child ran inside, and many people came out, all astonished.

At last Vipashchit was recognized, and his son embraced him.

“Father.”

“Son.”

“Where were you?”

“Very far away.”

“And what did you find?”

Vipashchit said, “Son, I found a great deal, and I found nothing at all. Both.”

The son said, “Father, the kingdom is yours.”

“No, son. The kingdom is yours now. I will only stay here a little while.”

Vipashchit lived a few years in his old palace.

He did not run the kingdom; he only told his stories, and people listened in wonder.

“Maharaj, you saw so many places?”

“Yes.”

“And nowhere did you find an end?”

“No.”

Many years later Vipashchit gave up his body in that same old palace. But one thing remained: his stories survived, and for many generations people went on saying, “There was a king, Vipashchit. He searched for the end of the world, but he found no end, because the world has no end at all.”

Hearing this, Rama asked, “Gurudev, so behind our kingdom too?”

“There are more worlds, Rama. Always.”

“And behind those?”

“More.”

“And behind those?”

Vasishtha said, “Rama, this question never stops. But when the truth settles within you that everything is inside your own consciousness, this question will end of its own accord.”

Rama gazed at the water for a while.

Then Rama asked, “Gurudev, in the end, what did Vipashchit find?”

Vasishtha said, “Rama, Vipashchit found one thing that no one else could have found. Through his own experience he came to know that the world is infinite. To know this by hearing is one thing; to know it through experience is a very great thing.

“And a second thing. He honored his original curiosity. Many people crush it, but Vipashchit did not. He set out to find its end, and what he found was his own.”

Rama fixed this in his mind.