This is not patriotism. This is not a geographical identification. This is a spiritual identification. This is the land that gave me the light of my life. This is the land, that from time immemorial fixed its sight on the divine. It saw poverty. It saw famine. It saw war. It saw vengeance and blood. Yet, standing out like a shining star, on the under current lies its glorious connection with Infinity! It saw seers and sages, who by their sheer presence raised the consciousness of the planet. Yet, some did more. They stepped down, stretched out their hand, and pulled the willing ones as part of themselves. It is unbridled love, unabashed compassion, life encompassing life, that this land gave in the form of the One who knew. The Guru. The One who is limited and unlimited at once. This land that saw them walking on its sacred ground every other day - to this day.
Yet, is India, the space that is confined by three oceans on its sides and the mighty Himalayas on its crown? No! It is more. In fact, one of the Ones said as much as this: That he who strived for divinity itself is an Indian. And he who was born on this geographical space, yet knew nothing of the divine is not an Indian. Yes, such is the space this hallowed land created. As much impact as this has, that any man who awakens within, whereever on this planet, would have his roots in this space. India, my love. My land that gave me my light. Blessed are those who had the privilege of trodding this space.
On this day, the Guru Poornima, I know not how to pay my tributes to the Ones who awakened, or the Ones who did more - that to reach out to the clueless. I know not what to say. The One, and this space called India - so intertwined inseperably - please bless us all to be on the path. I need not ask, we already are!
Note: Was I blabbering above? I probably was. The insufficiency of words for something that is so beyond words. Anyway, I have this poem of Paramahansa Yogananda with me, which I reproduce below. It tells about this space called India, which so much of us have no clue about. On this day, it is a privilege to even think about this land and the Ones who trod this space.
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My India
Not where the musk of happiness blows,
Not where darkness and fears never tread;
Not in the homes of perpetual smiles,
Nor in the heaven of a land of prosperity
Would I be born
If I must put on mortal garb once more.
Dread famine may prowl and tear my flesh,
Yet would I love to be again
In my Hindustan.
A million thieves of disease
May try to steal the body's fleeting health;
And clouds of fate
May shower scalding drops of searing sorrow -
Yet would I there, in India,
Love to reappear!
Is this love of mine blind sentiment
That sees not the pathways of reason?
Ah, no! I love India,
For there I learned first to love God
and all things beautiful.
Some teach to seize the fickle dewdrop, life,
Sliding down the lotus leaf of time;
Stubborn hopes are built
Around the gilded, brittle body-bubble.
But India taught me to love
The soul of deathless beauty in the dewdrop
and the bubble -
Not their fragile frames.
Her sages taught me to find my Self,
Buried beneath the ash heaps
Of incarnations of ignorance.
Though many a land of power, plenty, and science
My soul, garbed sometimes as an Oriental,
Sometimes as an Occidental,
Travelled far and wide,
Seeking Itself;
At last, in India, to find Itself.
Though mortal fires raze all her homes
and golden paddy fields,
Yet to sleep on her ashes and dream immortality,
O India, I will be there!
The guns of science and matter
Have boomed on her shores
Yet she is unconquered.
Her soul is free evermore!
Her soldier saints are away,
To rout with realization's ray
The bandits of hate, prejudice, and patriotic selfishness;
And to burn the walls of separation dark
Between children of the One, One Father.
The Western brothers by matter's might
have conquered my land;
Blow, blow aloud, her conch shells all!
India now invades with love,
To conquer their souls.
Better than Heaven or Arcadia
I love Thee, O my India!
And thy love I shall give
To every brother nation that lives.
God made the earth;
Man made confining countries
And their fancy-frozen boundaries.
But with newfound boundless love
I behold the borderland of my India
Expanding into the world.
Hail, mother of religions, lotus, scenic beauty,
And sages!
Thy wide doors are open,
Welcoming God's true sons through all ages.
Where Ganges, woods, Himalayan caves, and men dream God -
I am hallowed; my body touched that sod.
- P.Yogananda
- From Songs of The Soul
Note 2: Osho has talked about India. The title of the book is the title of the post above.
