The Story of Jada Bharata

[Guest guest]

Posted by: " Bhakta Dhruva " bhakta_dhruva

 

The Story of Jada Bharata

 

There was a great monarch named Bharata. The land which is called India by

foreigners is known to her children as Bhârata Varsha. Now, it is enjoined on

every Hindu when he becomes old, to give up all worldly pursuits — to leave the

cares of the world, its wealth, happiness, and enjoyments to his son — and

retire into the forest, there to meditate upon the Self which is the only

reality in him, and thus break the bonds which bind him to life. King or priest,

peasant or servant, man or woman, none is exempt from this duty: for all the

duties of the householder — of the son, the brother, the husband, the father,

the wife, the daughter, the mother, the sister — are but preparations towards

that one stage, when all the bonds which bind the soul to matter are severed

asunder for ever.

 

The great king Bharata in his old age gave over his throne to his son, and

retired into the forest. He who had been ruler over millions and millions of

subjects, who had lived in marble palaces, inlaid with gold and silver, who had

drunk out of jewelled cups — this king built a little cottage with his own

hands, made of reeds and grass, on the banks of a river in the Himalayan

forests. There he lived on roots and wild herbs, collected by his own hands, and

constantly meditated upon Him who is always present in the soul of man. Days,

months, and years passed. One day, a deer came to drink water near by where the

royal sage was meditating. At the same moment, a lion roared at a little

distance off. The deer was so terrified that she, without satisfying her thirst,

made a big jump to cross the river. The deer was with young, and this extreme

exertion and sudden fright made her give birth to a little fawn, and immediately

after she fell dead. The fawn fell into the water and was being carried rapidly

away by the foaming stream, when it caught the eyes of the king. The king rose

from his position of meditation and rescuing the fawn from the water, took it to

his cottage, made a fire, and with care and attention fondled the little thing

back to life. Then the kindly sage took the fawn under his protection, bringing

it up on soft grass and fruits. The fawn thrived under the paternal care of the

retired monarch, and grew into a beautiful deer. Then, he whose mind had been

strong enough to break away from lifelong attachment to power, position, and

family, became attached to the deer which he had saved from the stream. And as

he became fonder and fonder of the deer, the less and less he could concentrate

his mind upon the Lord. When the deer went out to graze in the forest, if it

were late in returning, the mind of the royal sage would become anxious and

worried. He would think, " Perhaps my little one has been attacked by some tiger

— or perhaps some other danger has befallen it; otherwise, why is it late? "

 

Some years passed in this way, but one day death came, and the royal sage laid

himself down to die. But his mind, instead of being intent upon the Self, was

thinking about the deer; and with his eyes fixed upon the sad looks of his

beloved deer, his soul left the body. As the result of this, in the next birth

he was born as a deer. But no Karma is lost, and all the great and good deeds

done by him as a king and sage bore their fruit. This deer was a born Jâtismara,

and remembered his past birth, though he was bereft of speech and was living in

an animal body. He always left his companions and was instinctively drawn to

graze near hermitages where oblations were offered and the Upanishads were

preached.

 

After the usual years of a deer's life had been spent, it died and was next born

as the youngest son of a rich Brahmin. And in that life also, he remembered all

his past, and even in his childhood was determined no more to get entangled in

the good and evil of life. The child, as it grew up, was strong and healthy, but

would not speak a word, and lived as one inert and insane, for fear of getting

mixed up with worldly affairs. His thoughts were always on the Infinite, and he

lived only to wear out his past Prârabdha Karma. In course of time the father

died, and the sons divided the property among themselves; and thinking that the

youngest was a dumb, good-for-nothing man, they seized his share. Their charity,

however, extended only so far as to give him enough food to live upon. The wives

of the brothers were often very harsh to him, putting him to do all the hard

work; and if he was unable to do everything they wanted, they would treat him

very

unkindly. But he showed neither vexation nor fear, and neither did he speak a

word. When they persecuted him very much, he would stroll out of the house and

sit under a tree, by the hour, until their wrath was appeased, and then he would

quietly go home again.

 

One day; when the wives of the brothers had treated him with more than usual

unkindness, Bharata went out of the house, seated himself under the shadow of a

tree and rested. Now it happened that the king of the country was passing by,

carried in a palanquin on the shoulders of bearers. One of the bearers had

unexpectedly fallen ill, and so his attendants were looking about for a man to

replace him. They came upon Bharata seated under a tree; and seeing he was a

strong young man, they asked him if he would take the place of the sick man in

bearing the king's palanquin. But Bharata did not reply. Seeing that he was so

able-bodied, the king's servants caught hold of him and placed the pole on his

shoulders. Without speaking a word, Bharata went on. Very soon after this, the

king remarked that the palanquin was not being evenly carried, and looking out

of the palanquin addressed the new bearer, saying " Fool, rest a while; if thy

shoulders pain thee, rest a while. " Then Bharata laying the pole of the

palanquin down, opened his lips for the first time in his life, and spoke, " Whom

dost thou, O King, call a fool? Whom dost thou ask to lay down the palanquin?

Who dost thou say is weary? Whom dost thou address as 'thou'? If thou meanest, O

King, by the word 'thee' this mass of flesh, it is composed of the same matter

as thine; it is unconscious, and it knoweth no weariness, it knoweth no pain. If

it is the mind, the mind is the same as thine; it is universal. But if the word

'thee' is applied to something beyond that, then it is the Self, the Reality in

me, which is the same as in thee, and it is the One in the universe. Dost thou

mean, O King, that the Self can ever be weary, that It can ever be tired, that

It can ever be hurt? I did not want, O King — this body did not want — to

trample upon the poor worms crawling on the road, and therefore, in trying to

avoid them, the palanquin moved unevenly. But the Self was never tired; It was

never weak; It never bore the pole of the palanquin: for It is omnipotent and

omnipresent. " And so he dwelt eloquently on the nature of the soul, and on the

highest knowledge, etc. The king, who was proud of his learning, knowledge, and

philosophy, alighted from the palanquin, and fell at the feet of Bharata,

saying, " I ask thy pardon, O mighty one, I did not know that thou wast a sage,

when I asked thee to carry me. " Bharata blessed him and departed. He then

resumed the even tenor of his previous life. When Bharata left the body, he was

freed for ever from the bondage of birth.

 

(Lecture Delivered in California)

-From Complete Works Of Swami Vivekananda.