The Healer’s Path: A Journey Beyond Senses And The Self
Doership is the burden, not the doing
Sanyas, the Sanskrit word has almost no easy translation and no equivalent in English. The word, like most Sanskrit words, has lost real meaning and is frequently misinterpreted to state — a sense of loss, giving up, and abdication. If you tell a mother, her son is considering taking sanyas, she will be devastated and will think her son is lost to society — a recluse who is under self-banishment. This is completely untrue.
Let us look at this simple story set in India in the late 1800s. A Buddhist monk was walking the streets of downtown Ujjain. Ujjain in northern India was the commercial, trade, knowledge, and spiritual capital of India at that time. The place was a bustling city with people from different faiths, practices, and occupations.
Ujjain was the spiritual capital with its famous Mahakaleshwar temple -whose temple bells and conch sounds reverberated through the city. The reverberations of the sublime presence shone everywhere.
Downtown Ujjain's main thoroughfare ran parallel to the market road on one side of which was the flight of long broad stairs that led to the temple precincts. Ashoka trees lined the granite stairs with plenty of room to rest amongst soft grass and gentle boulders.
The monk walked the thoroughfare as it descended into the old town, which was made up of narrow lanes but crowded with merchants, visitors, and civil workers. The old town streets were storefronts in the front and the houses behind with a staircase that led to the top, which typically had private rooms of the landlord or house owners.
The balcony of these homes overlooked the narrow street. It was common to have the women and family members spend the evenings chatting on the balconies, or watching life moving on the streets.
A musician would play string and walk along singing the glory of Lord Shiva, and a small group of devotees from distant lands sing as they walked:
“Why should I live any longer oh Lord Shiva, now that you have brought me to your abode the great Ujjain Mahalakaleshwar and your sacred darshan? It is time for me to die for there is no greater deed to do on this planet”.
Clad in his ochre clothing, and a bag slung across his shoulder, the monk is a sea of calm. His firm steps, a steady demeanor make him stand out in the crowded narrow lanes.
As he continues toward the end of the lane, just before it takes a turn, he hears a woman calling out from one of the terraces. “Hey handsome young monk, why don’t you rest for some time before going onward? You will feel refreshed and energized if you can rest. You will also have a delicious meal”, she waved her hand.
The monk knew instantly the famous pleasure balconies were beckoning him, but nonchalantly he walked on. In a few steps, he heard her calling again — this time almost wailing.
He paused and looked up. The evening lamps were being lit and he could hear the jingling of anklets, as the balconies were being prepared for the evening of pleasure. The scent of fresh jasmine flowers floated from the wooden pillars on the balcony as someone wrapped the outward-facing pillars with garlands. A parrot flew by tweeting some sweet mutterings and landed on the lady’s shoulder momentarily. She flashed a most radiant smile as she looked straight into the monk’s eyes.
The monk paused and looked at her: “I cannot come as I have work to do. I need to help the distressed and sick. You give people pleasure and I give them health. We each have our thing to do”.
She bounced back: “Of course handsome young sir. Who is asking you to stop your work? Your work will be a pleasure too after some rest. That is all. So why don't you come along?”.
She was angry: “The whole town comes to me with their riches and wealth. But I am calling you — one who has nothing to give me. And you still say no to me?”.
The monk started walking again: “I will certainly come by but not today. Some other day”, as he waved back a goodbye.
Many years passed.
The monk was back in Ujjain and walked the same street again. It was the evening hour as the temple lights were being lit. The street had a crowd and the usual activity. As the narrow lane turned the corner, the monk paused as he remembered the terrace and the woman who beckoned him many years ago.
There was a single light, no flowers, no music, and no jingling sound of bangles. There was no great activity and the woman was sitting on the terrace wooden bench, quiet and weak. The monk’s unmistakable smile woke her up with a jolt. She suddenly seemed alive again.
The monk waved and walked toward her. She seemed too weak to stand up. He walked up the creaky wooden stairs and stood in front of her. She was a picture of a ravaged life — spent in pleasure and joy but burnt out and exhausted. She was debilitated and sick with leprosy.
The monk washed her and nursed her, caring for her as he would a mother. Over the next several days she slowly recovered under the monk’s care. He cooked, gave her medication, and taught her the mudras to cure her illness. He chanted verses and did his prayers for her. She eventually recovered fully.
Before leaving, the monk said: “I am a trained ayurvedic vaidya (doctor) who now am a fully renunciate monk. I still practice healing. When you called me many years ago on these streets, I was on the way to helping others. Today it is my turn to help you”.
“I am a sanyasi — which means I do all that I have to do with no sense of doership. Not that I do nothing at all. Giving up the sense of doership allows me to be light and easy as a higher power takes over the activity ”.
Sanyas is when you continue to do the work with no sense of doership.
About me: I write about life, tech, societies, and startups. I help startup founders get clarity, grow, and scale. I write regularly here, and many thanks, ILLUMINATION editors, for creating a writer’s profile for me.
You can contact me via email: stpai2001@gmail.com, LinkedIn, Twitter, and YouTube. Subscribe to my daily AI nugget.
