| Weekly | Gaudya Vaishnavism | Authentic Meditation | Sacred Initiation | Guru | Life-Style | Purification | Dharma | Karma | Bhakti |
| Home | Philosophy | Vegetarianism | Reincarnation | Secrets | Vedic Literature | Ekadasi | Links | Contact Us | Donations |
| Two Anecdotes of Karma |
Garuda and the bird
High in the reaches of Mount Kailasha is the abode of Shiva. One evening Vishnu came to see Shiva. He left
behind at the entrance Garuda, the half-man, half-eagle composite, who served as His vehicle.Garuda sat alone,
marveling at the natural splendor of the place. Suddenly his eyes fell on a beautiful creature, a little bird seated
on the arch crowning the entrance to Shiva's place. Garuda wondered aloud: "How marvelous is this creation!
One who has created these lofty mountains has also made this tiny bird - and both seem equally wonderful."
Just then Yama, the god of death who rides a buffalo, came passing by with the intention of meeting Shiva. As
he crossed the arch, his eyes went over to the bird and he raised his brows in a questioning expression. Then
he took his eyes off the bird and disappeared inside.
Now, in the ancient thought of India, even a slight glance of Yama is said to be the harbinger of death. Garuda,
who had observed Yama's action, told himself, "Yama looking intently at the bird can mean only one thing - the
bird's time is up. Perhaps on his way back he will carry away the bird's soul with him." Garuda's heart was filled
with pity for the helpless creature. That it was oblivious of its own impending doom further agonized Garuda and
he resolved to save the bird from the clutches of death. He swooped it up in his mighty talons, rushed to a
forest thousands of miles away and left the bird on a rock beside a brook. Then he returned to Kailasha and
regained his position at the entrance gate.
Soon after, Yama emerged from inside, and nodded to Garuda in recognition. Garuda greeted the god of death
and said: "May I put a question to you? While going in, you saw a bird and for a moment you became
thoughtful, why?"
Yama answered him thus: "Well, when my eyes fell on the little bird, I saw that it was to die in a few minutes,
swallowed by a python, far away from here in a forest near a brook. I wondered how this tiny creature would
traverse the thousand of miles separating it from its destiny in such a short time. Then I forgot. Surely it must
have happened somehow."
Saying this, Yama smiled and went away. Did he know about Garuda' s specific role in the matter? Nobody can
know for sure. Garuda sat perplexed, mulling over the surprising turn events had taken.
Karma, and its Consequences:
The word karma is derived from the Sanskrit root 'kri,' meaning 'to do,' implying that all action is karma.
Technically, the term incorporates both an action and its consequence. Thus Garuda's karma consisted of the act
of carrying away the bird and also its consequent snatching by the cruel hands of destiny. Hence, a deed, pure
in its content, led to an apparently unfavorable outcome. Through this subtle tale, we are made to confront a
dilemma which constantly recurs in our own lives, namely, the relative impurity and purity of an action. Is an
action to be deemed positive or negative solely on the basis of the result it generates? Or, is there some other
criterion? Indeed there is. What determines the nature of the karma is the will or intention behind an act.
Indeed, an action is right or wrong as the motive is right or wrong:
"One who acts with the best of intentions, does not get the sin of the outward consequence of his action."
(Yoga Sikha). For example, a doctor is not responsible for murder, if the operation per chance ends in the death
of his patient. In the above tale, Garuda's duty was not to protect the bird, but rather to try and protect it.
"Even if a man does not succeed, he gets all the merit of doing his duty, if he strives the utmost to his capacity."
(Mahabharata: Udyoga Parva 93.6)
"Some undertakings succeed and others fail. That is due to the divine order of things. If a man does his part of
the work, no sin touches him." (Mahabharata: Santi Parva 24.30)
It is the psychological impulse behind an action that is 'karma,' that which sets going a chain of causes
culminating in karmic fruits. Actions then must be intentional if they are to generate karmic fruits. Thinking of
doing some bad action is a bad karma, however, especially when one gives energy to such a thought, rather
than just letting it pass. Deliberately putting down such a thought down is a good karma. In the same vein
regretting a past bad action, and resolving not to do it again lessens its karmic result as it reduces the
psychological impetus behind the act. One of the most significant instructional references to karma comes from
the Bhagavad Gita (2.47) which says:
karmany evadhikaras te
ma phalesu kadacana
ma karma-phala-hetur bhur
ma te sango ‘stv akarmani
“You have the right to perform your prescribed duty, but you are not entitled to the fruits of action. Never
consider yourself the cause of the results of your activities, and never be attached to not doing your duty.”
Significant here is the fact that we are entitled only to act, and have 'no right' over the ensuing results. This
profound assertion is not mere discourse, but rather loaded with sound practical advice, which can act as a
sensible strategy for whatever we set out to achieve. This is because the outcome of any enterprise is not
solely dependent on our individual efforts but is bound to numerous other factors over which we may or may not
have influence. Thus why worry over something on which we do not have control? Also, detaching ourselves
from the burden of anxiety over the impending result frees us from mental stress, and enables us to devote
ourselves with calm concentration to the matter at hand.
High in the reaches of Mount Kailasha is the abode of Shiva. One evening Vishnu came to see Shiva. He left
behind at the entrance Garuda, the half-man, half-eagle composite, who served as His vehicle.Garuda sat alone,
marveling at the natural splendor of the place. Suddenly his eyes fell on a beautiful creature, a little bird seated
on the arch crowning the entrance to Shiva's place. Garuda wondered aloud: "How marvelous is this creation!
One who has created these lofty mountains has also made this tiny bird - and both seem equally wonderful."
Just then Yama, the god of death who rides a buffalo, came passing by with the intention of meeting Shiva. As
he crossed the arch, his eyes went over to the bird and he raised his brows in a questioning expression. Then
he took his eyes off the bird and disappeared inside.
Now, in the ancient thought of India, even a slight glance of Yama is said to be the harbinger of death. Garuda,
who had observed Yama's action, told himself, "Yama looking intently at the bird can mean only one thing - the
bird's time is up. Perhaps on his way back he will carry away the bird's soul with him." Garuda's heart was filled
with pity for the helpless creature. That it was oblivious of its own impending doom further agonized Garuda and
he resolved to save the bird from the clutches of death. He swooped it up in his mighty talons, rushed to a
forest thousands of miles away and left the bird on a rock beside a brook. Then he returned to Kailasha and
regained his position at the entrance gate.
Soon after, Yama emerged from inside, and nodded to Garuda in recognition. Garuda greeted the god of death
and said: "May I put a question to you? While going in, you saw a bird and for a moment you became
thoughtful, why?"
Yama answered him thus: "Well, when my eyes fell on the little bird, I saw that it was to die in a few minutes,
swallowed by a python, far away from here in a forest near a brook. I wondered how this tiny creature would
traverse the thousand of miles separating it from its destiny in such a short time. Then I forgot. Surely it must
have happened somehow."
Saying this, Yama smiled and went away. Did he know about Garuda' s specific role in the matter? Nobody can
know for sure. Garuda sat perplexed, mulling over the surprising turn events had taken.
Karma, and its Consequences:
The word karma is derived from the Sanskrit root 'kri,' meaning 'to do,' implying that all action is karma.
Technically, the term incorporates both an action and its consequence. Thus Garuda's karma consisted of the act
of carrying away the bird and also its consequent snatching by the cruel hands of destiny. Hence, a deed, pure
in its content, led to an apparently unfavorable outcome. Through this subtle tale, we are made to confront a
dilemma which constantly recurs in our own lives, namely, the relative impurity and purity of an action. Is an
action to be deemed positive or negative solely on the basis of the result it generates? Or, is there some other
criterion? Indeed there is. What determines the nature of the karma is the will or intention behind an act.
Indeed, an action is right or wrong as the motive is right or wrong:
"One who acts with the best of intentions, does not get the sin of the outward consequence of his action."
(Yoga Sikha). For example, a doctor is not responsible for murder, if the operation per chance ends in the death
of his patient. In the above tale, Garuda's duty was not to protect the bird, but rather to try and protect it.
"Even if a man does not succeed, he gets all the merit of doing his duty, if he strives the utmost to his capacity."
(Mahabharata: Udyoga Parva 93.6)
"Some undertakings succeed and others fail. That is due to the divine order of things. If a man does his part of
the work, no sin touches him." (Mahabharata: Santi Parva 24.30)
It is the psychological impulse behind an action that is 'karma,' that which sets going a chain of causes
culminating in karmic fruits. Actions then must be intentional if they are to generate karmic fruits. Thinking of
doing some bad action is a bad karma, however, especially when one gives energy to such a thought, rather
than just letting it pass. Deliberately putting down such a thought down is a good karma. In the same vein
regretting a past bad action, and resolving not to do it again lessens its karmic result as it reduces the
psychological impetus behind the act. One of the most significant instructional references to karma comes from
the Bhagavad Gita (2.47) which says:
karmany evadhikaras te
ma phalesu kadacana
ma karma-phala-hetur bhur
ma te sango ‘stv akarmani
“You have the right to perform your prescribed duty, but you are not entitled to the fruits of action. Never
consider yourself the cause of the results of your activities, and never be attached to not doing your duty.”
Significant here is the fact that we are entitled only to act, and have 'no right' over the ensuing results. This
profound assertion is not mere discourse, but rather loaded with sound practical advice, which can act as a
sensible strategy for whatever we set out to achieve. This is because the outcome of any enterprise is not
solely dependent on our individual efforts but is bound to numerous other factors over which we may or may not
have influence. Thus why worry over something on which we do not have control? Also, detaching ourselves
from the burden of anxiety over the impending result frees us from mental stress, and enables us to devote
ourselves with calm concentration to the matter at hand.
The Question of Good versus Evil:
In medieval China there once lived an old farmer, who had a weak, ailing horse for plowing his field. One day,
the sickly horse ran away to the hills.
The farmer's neighbors offered their sympathy to him: "Such bad luck!" they exclaimed.
"Bad luck? Good luck? Who knows?" said the farmer.
A week later, the old horse returned, bringing with it a herd of wild horses from the hills. This time, the
neighbors swarmed around the farmer and congratulated him on his good luck. His reply however was the
same: "Good luck? Bad luck? Who can tell?"
Sometime later, while trying to tame one of the wild horses, the farmer's only son fell off its back and broke his
leg. Everyone thought this was bad luck. "Bad luck? Good luck? I don't know," said the farmer.
A few weeks later, the king's army marched into the village and conscripted every able-bodied young man living
there. The farmer's son, who was laid up with a broken leg was let off, for he was thought to be of no use to
them.
Now what was this? Good luck or bad luck? Who can tell?
Things that seem adverse on the surface may actually be good in disguise. And something that seems to be
attractive and 'lucky' may actually be harmful to our best interests. The learned ones often leave it to a higher
power beyond the material world to decide what is best for them.
Good and evil are not constant - they change according to time and circumstance. For example, an arrow is good
if it penetrates its object; armor is good if it is impenetrable by an arrow. In the heat of summer, coolness is
good; while in winter, heat is beneficial. In every good there can be evil, and in every evil there can be good. A
thief can become a devotee and a devotee can become a thief.
Kahlil Gibran puts it thus:
The selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow
that is giving you joy.
Some of you say, "joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable. Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board,
remember that the other is asleep upon your bed. You cannot separate the just from the unjust and the good
from the wicked for they stand together before the face of the sun even as the black thread and the white are
woven together. And when the black thread breaks, the weaver shall look into the whole cloth, and he shall
examine the loom also.
Verily all things move within your being in constant half embrace, the desired and the dreaded, the repugnant
and the cherished, the pursued and that which you would escape. These things move within you as lights and
shadows in pairs that cling. And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain
would not seem less wondrous than your joy. You would know the secret of death. But how shall you find it
unless you seek it in the heart of life? If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto
the body of life. For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.
We read in the Bhagavad Gita again and again that we must all work incessantly. There it is also mentioned that
all work by nature is composed of good and evil. We cannot do any work that will not do some good somewhere
and indeed there cannot be any action that will be free of any harmful residue. Every work is thus necessarily a
mixture of good and evil; yet we are commanded to work incessantly.
TOP
In medieval China there once lived an old farmer, who had a weak, ailing horse for plowing his field. One day,
the sickly horse ran away to the hills.
The farmer's neighbors offered their sympathy to him: "Such bad luck!" they exclaimed.
"Bad luck? Good luck? Who knows?" said the farmer.
A week later, the old horse returned, bringing with it a herd of wild horses from the hills. This time, the
neighbors swarmed around the farmer and congratulated him on his good luck. His reply however was the
same: "Good luck? Bad luck? Who can tell?"
Sometime later, while trying to tame one of the wild horses, the farmer's only son fell off its back and broke his
leg. Everyone thought this was bad luck. "Bad luck? Good luck? I don't know," said the farmer.
A few weeks later, the king's army marched into the village and conscripted every able-bodied young man living
there. The farmer's son, who was laid up with a broken leg was let off, for he was thought to be of no use to
them.
Now what was this? Good luck or bad luck? Who can tell?
Things that seem adverse on the surface may actually be good in disguise. And something that seems to be
attractive and 'lucky' may actually be harmful to our best interests. The learned ones often leave it to a higher
power beyond the material world to decide what is best for them.
Good and evil are not constant - they change according to time and circumstance. For example, an arrow is good
if it penetrates its object; armor is good if it is impenetrable by an arrow. In the heat of summer, coolness is
good; while in winter, heat is beneficial. In every good there can be evil, and in every evil there can be good. A
thief can become a devotee and a devotee can become a thief.
Kahlil Gibran puts it thus:
The selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow
that is giving you joy.
Some of you say, "joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable. Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board,
remember that the other is asleep upon your bed. You cannot separate the just from the unjust and the good
from the wicked for they stand together before the face of the sun even as the black thread and the white are
woven together. And when the black thread breaks, the weaver shall look into the whole cloth, and he shall
examine the loom also.
Verily all things move within your being in constant half embrace, the desired and the dreaded, the repugnant
and the cherished, the pursued and that which you would escape. These things move within you as lights and
shadows in pairs that cling. And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain
would not seem less wondrous than your joy. You would know the secret of death. But how shall you find it
unless you seek it in the heart of life? If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto
the body of life. For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.
We read in the Bhagavad Gita again and again that we must all work incessantly. There it is also mentioned that
all work by nature is composed of good and evil. We cannot do any work that will not do some good somewhere
and indeed there cannot be any action that will be free of any harmful residue. Every work is thus necessarily a
mixture of good and evil; yet we are commanded to work incessantly.
TOP
