Agony and Ecstacy of Eman - I

May I  speak?
...

I am an Eman from my village,

Offering my prayers to enable me to express only that which truly resides within me,

Offering my prayers to be free of:

ERRORS OF THE FIRST KIND

arising from nondiscrimination of the inner world of truth and the outer world of ignorance, and

ERRORS OF THE SECOND KIND

arising from identifications of the inner world into the forms of the outer world

Wish to express only that which I am urged to by my own conduct in this world,

Wish to pay my respects to the countless beings

Who have experienced the freedom they were born with,

Prefer to speak...

On the nature of the things I gathered

During those watchful hours

Of the restful darkness of night,

Having witnessed...

The origin and dissolution of fear,

The coming and going of thieves and bandits,

The rising and falling of the trembling leaf,

The rising and ebbing of the cry of a new-born,

The rising and falling of the lonely wave,

The rising and falling of the living breath,

The beginning and ending of a thunderbolt,

The appearing and disappearing of a chain of words,

The appearing and disappearing of a tribe of men and women,

The arising of space from non-space and life from non-life,

...........................

Verily desire to express that which seem self evident

And that which seem to be present in all.

Agony and Ecstacy of Eman - II

I am in search of words to state the higher law subjecting the fate of men, women and their communities, the law that conquers the lower law, the principle of growth, decay and long life, which has assumed the status of the law of rational scientific enterprise of the modern age.

Why? Because, a time comes in the life of a every Eman, when either he rediscovers this higher law or succumbs to the lower law. The lower law focuses on the means to stay alive as long as possible, we as individuals, we as communities and as one of the large part of humanity on this earth. Even that may not be possible in the present circumstances when the lower law has assumed such awesome vitality in the hands of the captains, the pirates and the mercenaries, the masters of colonialism and industrial revolution and their new sworn followers.

Once the law is accepted as fate there is no escape; one can only strive to lengthen the suffering. Those who do not accept this as the highest law find darkness spreading every corner of the mind, be it the mind reflecting the meaning of life, be it the mind living in comfort after conveniently rationalizing the bits and pieces of meanings drawn from here and there, often giving it the sanction of tradition or that of modernity, but mainly decided by the source and extent of their successes; or, the mind engaged in the day to day struggle to stay alive, the struggle in which all meanings have got mixed up with hunger of one type or another.

Eman calls on the Chief, who spoke with a calmness : "I have to meet the doctor, I have to stay alive long. Who will do these after I am gone? This forest will disappear. The spirits will take flight and so also the songs of my folk. He took a handful of mud in hand and shouted: This earth would disappear along with me!"

When a man, tribe or community is reduced to process day and night the methods of staying alive, searching for food, cloth and shelter of the lower variety or the higher variety, it gets trapped and its own intuition of the world appears meaningless and unreal. If the individual soul is sensitive enough either he will commit suicide unmindful of the public law or turn neurotic. Even a tribe may turn neurotic gripped by the fear of impending extinction or yield by

becoming slaves!

A country may yield and say alive under some form of oppression or slavery. Or, it will regenerate some active principle within its psyche, by comprehending its potentialities and seek and realize some expression of it in order to gain some space to answer the problem of staying, and in the process achieve something more significant - find the means of subjecting the law of growth and decay to a higher law.

Is it inevitable that this active principle must result in a new synthesis characteristic of the age and the people who express it ? Is it inevitable that it is in continuity with the syntheses attempted by his forefathers, marked by a comprehension of the meaning of immortality ?

In the following pages Eman expresses this possibility of the rediscovery of the higher law, for members of his tribe express their desire to do so. He is determined to meet one and all, and alas, each one rekindles the same desire! For, he is waking up the friend of every one in his own self, the emotional man, the dual of the rational scientific man who is his sworn enemy.

The Eman finds his words always failing him in expressing the fire burning in the hearts of his friends, and is frustrated to find that he is often repeating revelations known to his enemy as facts, ideas and theories. But he is not worried; for, he is hopeful that there is somewhere in it a lucid note which will play on all the lips of his kind to become part of the great melodious song.

So, he is used to make the mistake of mixing up time and space and mixing up all names. He knows only too well that it is unlikely that any soul, whose name he finds written, found the meaning of those words first!

Agony and Ecstacy of Eman - III

Thus, the Eman has become a symbol, a symbol of the man trampled upon and kicked about by his counterpart, the rational scientific man and his enterprise. The emotional man is the irreducible being or its immediately self-evident form residing in all men and who is perennially yearning to evolve beyond the what his counterpart defines his territory to be. The emotional man is the most familiar abstract thing that we know. Abstract indeed, for the relativity of abstract and concrete belongs to the realm of the rational man. But he is also the most fearless companion!

Listen to one of his tunes:

    I long to open the window to your freedom!

    But, alas! my limbs are tied in knots,

    I am locked up in a little black box like a genie;

    But, I am ready to swallow your fear, Sir!

    For, I am the slave of this Spirit of Quest.

Thus goes the humble song of the emotional man, facing the perennial aggression of the rational scientific man. Beyond the present context, the Eman is visible as the prehistoric man, primitive man, village man, religious man, eastern man, and ... mad man, singing other songs in other places.

Eman is at the village fair, at the marriage of his friend's daughter, at the funeral of the

headman, the pundit and at the tearful naming ceremony of the first daughter in a hundred years. He is particular in attending all the rituals and listening to all the murmurs and chants in the courtyard as well as the inner dark cellars. He is listening to the silent tears, bewilderment and pathos on that fateful night when all the newborn fell to the plague one after the other. He was at the riverside after the body of the last boy of the village went up in flames.

He had shared the deep depression from utter poverty and desolation and faced the wind of helplessness that was blowing during that summer or during that whole month of Aashad when not a hearth was burning for days together and no one was willing to speak.

Which country, whose country, ... who are we? By now he had witnessed the profound mystery on these faces, the mystery of being alive as human beings. And he found that he could not speak!

    Listen and Understand!

    What goes into a man's mouth,

    does not make him unclean;

    It's what comes out of his mouth,

    that makes him unclean.

And, when he spoke of the tragedy, Eman was in the company of the deaf and mute, the turmoil on their faces expressed it all. They told him : you can speak and listen to your own words, look at me! Eman was in the city zoo, and he saw the far away look in the eyes of the animals kept in the cages, piercing the treetops in the far away forest. He had just witnessed the same gaze in the eyes of the outsiders sitting huddled in pouring rain in the tents by the side of the filthy nala. He saw the cruel fate and unsurpassed tragedy of the native men being plundered by the aggressive man. He saw them aimlessly wandering, aimlessly? saw them returning to their shanties at sundown - not unlike the birds flying in file to make it before it gets dark. It is a long way winding round and round. His enemy has filled his fertile land with an awesome junk : power plants, playgrounds, cities and factories and airports.

Eman was at the theater. He had met his friends from innumerable tribes and natives telling the stories of being wiped out, their endless travails under conquests of the owners of the timber marts and factories. He found them speaking a line or two which meant : Is it worth the salt to live like this, unable to fulfill for certain even one of the promises I gave my mother? Eman met countless friends who repeated the same lines : "I have to pull on somehow ... for the sake of the children, for the sake of my sick parents, live somehow until, until,... we disappear!

Agony and Ecstacy of Eman - IV

Eman was by now used to being addressed as the irrational man by his enemy. He heard his friends mutter to themselves : Why should my fate be so? He knows the answer lies beyond his words, his description and has to keep the secret in his heart as the only thing of real value. He comes across descriptions more and more unsatisfactory and incomplete. He finds his brothers keeping the same secret in moments of grief and despair, on lonely lanes in the tranquility of dawn and twilight of dusk. He had spoken to the countless ones who reached the very end!... who found life was not worth living, simply found it not meaningful, not necessary - the martyrs among his tribe. He had spoken to the countess ones who were locked up in asylums for they were too friendly with him. How does he repay his feeling of gratitude for their friendship? When will he speak out to the enemy on their behalf?

Eman grew up babysitting and overheard the mother's prayer : "My lord,let the right thoughts come to my child on all occasions!". Since then, he struggled to know if he had the right thoughts when he woke up and saw the sun pouring though the tall trees, through the trembling leaves in the morning breeze, through the tiny spider web. He often wondered if he had the right thoughts when he first touched water in the morning, when he met the first bird, the first dog , the very first man, the first woman. And later in the day when he saw the leaf falling, the bird flying, the flower blooming, when he looked up and saw the saw the clouds moving against the motionless blue! Later on the same day, the clouds had gathered in bright dresses to send off the sun and Eman watched, without batting an eyelid, the colorful departure. Did he have the right thoughts?, he wondered. He was in a trance when darkness descended, owls screeched and he heard the drumbeats of the approaching ghosts riding the roar of the seashore. He was still wondering if he had the right thoughts about all of them, now that they are all asleep; if he had the right thoughts when they were awake. Or, if he had the right thoughts about their waking up, about the rising of the sun and moon, about the movement of the leaves and branches, about the falling of the leaves and the meteors,..., the doings, the actions Oh! the endless doings of the beings, gods and ghosts?

The trance lasted a considerable long period at the end of which,'as it was to a person, who is energetic,strenuous and resolute,' discovered the meaning of the mother's prayer! Alas, not from endless arguments with himself or with his friends, but when at the end of it all asked himself thus : "What if I use the principle that made my mother pray for something she did not know what it is, which she did not want for herself, which she did not receive by hours of wandering, austerities and renunciations?"

At once, Eman was sure he felt the agony of the mother and the agony of the creator in himself. He shivered from the intense jolts as if he was the sea shore and the waves charging him up and down. Eman heard a bird singing within him:

    Acindyam_avyaktam_anantaroopam sivam
    prasantam_amrutam brahma_yonim
    Tath_adi_madhy_anta_viheenam_ekam vibhum
    cidanandam_aroopam_adbhutam!!!

Eman felt energised. He jumped out. He found himself by the side of a beautifull lake. The moon was up and suddenly ... He saw the determination to be immortal and a readiness for rebirth in the body of that huge tree standing tall with a few yellow leaves. Eman sat down and waited. He wanted to see the tree taking a rebirth. It seemed a very long wait indeed. The tree was deliberately shedding the very last leaf and seemed to take a bath in the moonlight all night long. Eman was patient and did not fall asleep. But he was not looking at the tree in focus. He was not seeing anything. Beyond he saw countless beings being born again and again. And, when he woke up at last free from the currents flowing up and down within him, he saw the tree spontaneously dressing in tender green.

He prayed that his friend was there to witness a rebirth.

    My dear friend,
    You knew all the sages by instinct,
    Knew all the symbolism by heart,
    Verified the art of discrimination till the source,
    And the synthesis of all the known till we met.

Eman thought:"I should write to my friend, now. Right now. He is locked up in the dungeon. He will read this and will get out of the asylum in a moment of great glory."

Eman was sure he had the right thoughts now, for he was seeing the rebirths of countless friends, he was seeing the rebirth of his country. He began to write:

    My friend,...
    You thought wisdom natural,
    lurking behind the ideas and opinions,
    striving for achieving goals no one has set!

    You often said : Things are not so difficult!
    It's not difficult to see, to feel to accompany;
    but few woke up early enough in the morning.
    When we have been together,
    with the endless dialog outside.
    Feeling the noise inside growing rich and greedy,
    eating up every lucid line,
    every handsome stroke of your brush.
    Now, you do not venture to sing;
    my friend, when you had the richest voice!

    You were not wrong to say:
    What evolution, my foot!
    None of you feel the Dinosaur's bulk
    standing on this mountain of sand.
    Knowledge, like the castles,
    are built for the kings to rule.
    See, how words have rendered meaningless
    more things than they described.

    You saw the power of twilight spreading from the west,
    saw the despair descending on the east,
    knew how natural to feel scared of the night!
    You often told me:
    We are truely the most blessed,
    if only the press was not invented!
    Colors are made from leaves and seeds,
    Sounds and pictures drawn by hand.

    You thought it cruel
    the bomb was being described
    more affectionately than the seed;
    the rocket described as more fantastic than the bird.
    You often sang the song:
    The seed was sown as the season came,
    the bird flies the way it saw,
    quiet bundles of awareness,
    Suchness indeed!

    You told me countless times
    Stories could be short and sweet,
    if only drawn countless times
    in the mind's eye.
    characters grow fewer in number,
    relations grow to be perfect.
    the world is small indeed
    when things are being conveyed.

    In the mustard seed garden manual of painting,
    Bamboo singing in the wind is drawn
    with a few essential strokes;
    You knew what it is to see the essential,
    what it is to make the diamond cut.

    It is pure soot hardened
    into stones of charm and desire.
    the essential of the knife meeting,
    the essential of the stone.
    What a beautiful way to discover!

    Now I know why you often told me
    I would rather be my own ancestor
    singing one lucid note in the monsoon wind,
    before the pond is full.
    And now the frogs have taken over!

    We were fond of telling each other
    this discussion is endless
    'It is plain simple, if only...
    Categories from within
    are not mixed up with those from without!
    These thinkers are honorable men,
    only, ...mindless to the essentials.

    You were apt to say
    too much needs to be said to be heard
    But surely, surely,...
    Beyond the clamor outside
    there is the still wait for the essential voice
    that comes not too often.

    I know now, my friend,
    why you could not contain it,
    and was forced into the dark dungeons.
    You were truly riding free in the open
    strong winds blowing day and night.
    You were seeing more clearly
    when things were not clear themselves
    Life, like the immediate past
    was pressing to be hasty
    On...Now... Say it!

    I am still aware of the winds of change,
    I am listening to your cry:
    "Soon a civilization will grow;
    Aware, aware like a crystal ball!"

Agony and Ecstacy of Eman - V

The Eman knows that all around him all the energy, indeed the whole energy and vitality of the intelligence of the being is directed to solve the problem of living. It is as if the problem of meaning had already been solved by the ancestors long long ago , when there was neither scarcity nor plenty. Today, the world appears distinctly divided into those haunted by scarcity and those troubled by plenty. The Eman suffers for the return of the problem of meaning, when there will neither be poverty nor plenty. That will have to wait!

    The Harvest is plentiful!

    And, workers are few.

Eman was listening to dissertations of the learned, specialties he soon found have acquired unlimited sophistication, unlimited power to construct. He shakes his head in disbelief 'Not this, Not this,...'

Eman has become experienced in this marketplace of descriptions. He can now smell the significant things happening around him. Endowed with a passionate zeal for grasping the true significance of the works of the times, finds to his utter disbelief that less and less,... and now almost nothing, touches even remotely the center of his being...beyond his labor, beyond his responsibilities, his customs and rituals, beyond just keeping himself alive. And slowly he senses the stirrings originating within him, freedom, immortality, rebirth, fate and host of significant realities unpleasant to his rational counterpart.

But, mostly, in the face of the uncaring might of his present master, he has to withdraw muttering to himself :'after all, the meanings have been nicely expressed here,..., there, by the ancestors, illuminated and elaborated by our masters in our sastras'. Our masters?, our sastras?, who are we?

And, thus does he postpone indefinitely the crucial task of the rediscovery of meanings, discovery of new meanings. Instead, he gets busy with the problem of living.

Thus, the men who starved and suffered, braved all obstacles in the path, sustaining the struggle with a vision characteristic of the Eman, now forsakes it all; just as the hero of the vital man searching for the beautiful princess of his dreams, wanders across continents of forests, mountains beyond the seven seas, braving the winds and ghosts, finally releasing all his vital energy at the altar of a living princess whom he finds!

The Eman does not crave for food, shelter and clothing! 'oh, the rains shall soon come, we'll sow and reap enough,... this mud hut, thatch here, the tree there or the cave beyond would be fine, and stitch our clothes in all the fall colors. Shall I weep or laugh when the King and his durbar advise us to apply the whole mind to fulfill the three cravings and starve like this?

Eman then sings his song about keeping oneself alive:

    When there is wealth in the sky, air, earth and water

    Trees in my countryside eat their food,

    Build their houses and dress up;

    All on their own...effortlessly,

    Responding to the cosmic moods.

    And, the animals and and birds?, you would ask.

    They find a shade and keep their skins clean,

    Eat their fill and keep busy,...almost effortlessly.

    Then sit and contemplate a thousand things,

    Are quick to know the change in light ,

    the roar of thunder and fall of rain as well.

    The men in my countryside,

    Spend all day eating their meals,

    Spend all their nights dreaming of the food to be eaten!

    Something within me tells:

    To be free from hunger is infinite blessing,

    and also infinite ignorance!

    The former leads to the desire to forsake wealth,

    the latter leads to the desire to seek it!

Agony and Ecstacy of Eman - VI

The rational man draws his sustenance from the world-as-it-is, as it appears to him, his 'real world'. Eman draws his sustenance from the world-as-it-always-was, the world-as-it-will-be and progressively... the world-as-it-can-only-be! In short, the world that he does not know, the potential world. No wonder, the rational man often describes Eman as his true complement.

The rational man interprets religion, defines the good man and moral man, lays down the rules of conduct for his race, distinguishes one race from another. Eman prays from his heart, searches his innermost heart for the right and wrong. And in so learning to see directly, to be free of

rationality, mixes up the gods, races and men. The gods whisper in his ears:

    I am neither in the temple nor in the mosque,

    I am neither in Kaaba nor in Kailash,

    Neither am I in rites and ceremonies,

    Nor in Yoga and renunciation.

Eman lets out a loud shriek:

    None tells me of this bird,

    That sings within me!

The rational man writes prose, strives to explain to the whole world the logic of his constructions, the order of his deductions, the complexity of the relationships. Eman writes poetry and forever tries to transcend the narrative. In doing so, his descriptions often acquires esoteric dimensions, a mystical air diffuse from his verses, and symbolic become his words. He sings his songs and recites his verses; but really he is forever perfecting his sruti, creating an ambience of divine sounds resonating the vibrant transmission to his own self, as he surrenders to his guru, his deities and gods residing in his heart. He fixes his gaze on the horizon, the limit of his universe bordering the infinite, the source of his life, the end of his journey, the unknown.

    There is a land where no doubt or sorrow have rule

    Where terror of death is no more!

Eman has to struggle to find words; his own words, he finds, are swallowed by the silence of eternity,' where the sounds of unstruck drums are not yet heard'. He cries out :

    My Friend, my beloved Lord is within

    There are no words to tell that which he is!

    The Guru is great beyond words,

    And great indeed is the fortune of the disciple.

Eman started his prayers long before the rational man began his ceremonies. When did his vocation begin? When did his love have its rise?

    When he...

    Whose forms are manifold' had not begun his day,

    When there was no Guru and disciple,

    When the world was not spread out,

    When the supreme one was alone!

    Then...

He exclaims: What a beautiful beginning that was! He then bursts into drumming a song:

    In the plains and mountains of my countryside,

    The sun's brilliance is beyond words!

    He who is the creator and preserver is also the destroyer.

    In the fields,...alas,

    Not a single tree is dressed well

    To receive the light of the matchless one,

    The landmarks lie buried in heaps of dust.

    To clothe my trees in tresses ,

    to sweep the earth of the fallen leaves,

    when will the storm come?

Agony and Ecstacy of Eman - VII

Eman knows that the true strength of the rulers and the ruled. He knows it is foolish to match the might of the rulers with the same weapons. That will be trying to match knowledge with ignorance; for, the rulers who wield their weapons every day knows their power. He murmurs:' how do I know I'll wield the same weapons differently? Or, that I will not attack from behind to usurp the throne? No, No, this is not my aim!'. If that be the aim, he will have to make his sword, if not today, tomorrow. But this prospect does not inspire him.

Eman declares : That will be my last resort, for I'd have destroyed myself in doing so. I know the truth of the wars : wars have been fought for survival of the aggressor, when he hits upon the idea that that is the only way to survive, live longer to achieve immortality. Aha, if this war is being fought for survival, then I should stop it before it is too late. I must arrest this tide of progress. I should destroy systematically the whole and watch from other worlds the act of creation once again. And if the war is for an idea, that idea is of the market place driving men to draw the sword first. Ideas do not constitute men, life is above all ideas.

Thus, while the rational man goes about managing the affairs of the day, with sure belief in the books of the times, determined to wield the power he has inherited, Eman disappears underground, finding fault with his own fate, but not his neighbor, not his country, not his rulers.

    This law is not of me, by me, for me...,

    when we discover, we discover new laws.

    those now forsaken by the gods

    rediscover the gods in new shapes,

    those now forsaken by the machines

    will find new machines in new forms!

Eman exlaims: Ha..Ha, if only I could forget myself. In the process of preparing for the harmonious action of neighbors and brothers, he discovers the ecstasy of all. He starts drumming:

    You do not start by living,

    start searching for what you can learn,

    see inside where the mind gets set.

    Sustain only that mind, heart and hand,

    till you have perceived your own forms.

    Then, create them wrought in silver or gold,

    marble , sand, snow or silk.

    Till such time you suffer and see ;

    your life maintained by your brothers far and near,

    until you are aware your are alive,

    until you know you possess a little fire.

    In the month of Aashad,

    the mother huddles her hearth and cooks her grains.

    In the fire raw twigs and leaves burn,

    kindled by the least little that readily burn.

    Oh, man, burn the infinite raw within you

    with the least little fire

    that is kindled in your heart,

    do not let the little just burn away.

    Burn, burn all the raw,

    that you may know

    the little bit of true value.

    Then listen to the song of the new epoch:

    The sword is wrought in burning coals,
    The mind is wrought in burning the infinite.

    Hey, burn it down with courage,

    search out the pure nugget in the ashes;

    read words in the firelight of the leaping flames

    and warm your hearts,

    that you may weave your own epic.

    For,...

    the lover does not sell the letters of his love,

    he burns them in the winter night,

    watching the flames spread from word to word,

    and reads them once again at last.

    To realize the meaning of it all

    in one last sweep to let his mind resolve.

    Oh, my brother ,

    you cast away the resolutions of early youth

    or carry them as the most unfinished deed?

    Oh my brother, would you curse

    the innocent prayers of early youth

    as a lie to be buried in the temptations?

    But, did you not challenge the gods?

    To lift the father from bondage,

    to free the mother from tears?

    'Times have changed' is a lie!

    Your time forever waits for you to change it.