Chapter 54Sixteen: Sympathy

Sixteen Sympathy

WHEN is sorrow accompanied by sorrow?

When one heart feels it and our heart feels it at the same time.

Duryodhana, the famous warrior, fell on the plain of Ku-rukshetra and his friends were so full of grief that when he lay on the ground and died, all Nature seemed in disorder. Headless creatures with many arms and legs danced dreadful dances over the earth; in lakes and wells the water was turned to blood; rivers flowed upstream instead of downstream; women looked like men, and men like women.

Here the poet teaches us that the suffering undergone by one being spreads through a wide, wide world. There was sympathy between the fallen king and thousands of living creatures.

Is this sympathy shown only in sorrow? No, it is shown both in joy and suffering.

Listen to the story of Nandiya the deer who was kind to his parents in times of peace and contentment and also in times of darkness and peril.

The King of Kosala often used to hunt in the forest where Nandiya lived with his father and mother in peace and mutual love. When he hunted, the King galloped through a wide stretch of country and many people from Kosala had to follow him as attendants; so many people were taken away from their work and they murmured at the loss they suffered.

Therefore they made a park with fences and gates and a pool in the middle, and went into the jungle to drive the deer into the park so that the King might have all the game at hand and would not need to go hunting with so many followers.

Nandiya saw the people coming, armed with sticks, as he was feeding with his parents in a little wood.

“Stay here,” he said to his parents. “I shall go and meet these people.”

He came out of the wood alone and the people, assuming that there were no more deer beneath the trees, took him away and passed on.

All the deer, except the two old ones who had stayed in the wood, were now gathered in the park. The King was pleased, and from time to time he shot one of the herd with his bow and arrow. Nandiya’s turn, however, did not come for a very long time.

When at last it did come, Nandiya stood still before the king and did not try to run away.

The King was so struck by this unusual behaviour that he did not shoot. Lowering his bow, he paused.

“Shoot, O King,” said Nandiya. “I cannot. There is merit in you, O deer. I grant you your life.”

“Will you not, O King, give freedom to the rest of the deer in this park?”

“I will.” “And will you not, O King, show your favour to the birds of the air and the fish in the water?”

“I will.” This deer, the old story says, was the Lord Buddha; he spoke to the King and taught him the Law of Mercy for all living things. And afterwards the King sent a messenger with a drum throughout the country to proclaim his protection for deer, birds and fish.

You will readily agree that Nandiya was right to protect his parents. It would also be good to help a brother or a sister. But you will notice in the next story that a noble Arab spoke of a man as his brother, even though he was not really his brother.

*

* * A caravan was crossing the desert, and water ran short. The Arab travellers were compelled to measure out the water so that each might have a small but equal share.

For measuring they used a cup with a stone in it. They poured the water from a water-skin until it covered the stone. This was the share of each one.

Only the chief men in the caravan had a share of water. The first time that the water was measured out like this, Kab-ibn-Mamah was about to take the cup when he saw a man of the Namir tribe looking at him longingly. Kab said to the man who was giving out the water, “Give my share to this brother,” and pointed to the man of Namir.

The man drank eagerly. Kab had no water. The next day, the time came again to share the water. Once more the man of Namir looked on with longing. Once more Kab gave the cup to the “brother” as he called him.

But when the caravan was about to move on, Kab no longer had the strength to mount his camel.

He remained lying on the sand. The others dared not stay lest they should all die of thirst. They covered him with blankets to protect him from beasts of prey and left him to die.

*

* * You will have noticed that when sorrow is felt, it is soon felt by the heart of someone near. When Duryodhana fell, at once Nature grieved. When danger threatened his parents, Nandiya went out to protect them. When the man of Namir looked on in his thirst, the noble Arab chief immediately offered him his water.

Sorrow quickly follows sorrow and joy goes with joy. When sympathy is slow to arise we do not value it so highly. The famous poet Firdausi wrote the history of the kings of Persia and recited it to Sultan Mahmud; the Sultan was delighted and for some time he held the poet in great favour. The poem Shah-Namah was the work of thirty years, and the Sultan had promised to give the poet 60,000 pieces of gold on its completion.

Firdausi was disliked by the Sultan’s Vizier. This man persuaded his master that the treasury was depleted and that it would be only sensible to give the poet silver instead of gold. Mahmud heeded this advice and sent Firdausi some bags con-taining 60,000 pieces of silver.

Firdausi was at the bath when the bags arrived. He was so infuriated by the Sultan’s avarice that he would not even take the gift. He gave 20,000 pieces to the messenger who had brought the money, 20,000 to the proprietor of the baths, and 20,000 to a beer-seller who happened to be there.

Mahmud was informed of this insult and ordered the poet to be trampled to death by elephants. Firdausi was warned and fled to a distant city; at last he settled at Tus, his birth-place.

Soon the Sultan felt sorry that he had treated Firdausi so shamefully and wished to regain the poet’s respect. He sent a messenger to Tus, bearing him many presents: 60,000 pieces of gold, silks, brocades, velvets....

Alas! The presents arrived too late. As the king’s messenger passed through one of the gates of the city, leading camels laden with Mahmud’s costly gifts, a bier with the remains of the poet passed out of another gate, carrying them to the resting-place of the dead.

*

* * “Our Emperor is a just man,” said the people of China, “for he is always ready to lend an ear to the complaints of the poor.”

But a day came when the ear could hear no more. The Emperor suddenly became deaf. He could no longer listen to the song of the birds, the murmur of the wind or the voices of men.

The Emperor wept, and the nobles and officers who met with him in council made signs to him and wrote him words of consolation begging him not to be so sad.

“Do not think,” he told them, “that I am sad for myself or for any trouble that this infirmity will cause me. I am sad because now I shall no longer be able to hear the prayers of the afflicted.”

There was silence, for no one knew how to comfort him. “Ah,” he exclaimed suddenly, “I have found a way. Order my people to stop wearing red clothes unless they have need of my help. So whenever I see a man or a woman dressed in red, I shall know that it is an appeal to me; my deaf ears will hear it and I shall take care that help is given to the distressed.”

The kind-hearted Emperor did not cease to do his work when he became deaf. He immediately thought of a new way of seeking out the poor and the needy. To seek them out — for the noble man does not wait for suffering to come to him, he tries to seek it out.

*

* * A number of Hindus formed the Dev Samaj Association in order to do good works. In their monthly journal, things like these were reported:

From Peshawar: Two ladies taught Hindi to women and children two hours a day. Some men looked after sick people at home or in hospital, took care of cows and picked up pieces of broken glass from the road.

From Moga: Two ladies taught Hindi to girls. Men fed animals and planted trees. One member of the Samaj gave free lessons to a poor working-man.

From Ferozepore: Eight ladies cared for the sick. Boys went about helping old and crippled cows, guided the blind, and watered plants. Another member found a friendless man lying in the road, seriously hurt in a carriage accident. He took him to the hospital. Another member visited villages and taught poor people of low caste how to be more clean.

From Sialkot: A widow visited another widow who had lost her only son, read to her and spoke comforting words.

You will notice that in some of these cases kindness took the form of teaching. The heart of a teacher is moved by ignorance: another being needs knowledge and he is ready to give it. And knowledge, like bread or water or clothing, is a gift that can be transmitted from man to man.

*

* * Lord Rama was strong and skilful in hunting, and strong and skilful in the art of teaching. When he set out to hunt animals in the jungle, he took one of his brothers with him as a companion. When he rested and ate, his younger brother sat at his side and shared the meal. When the hero went to the house of his Guru to study, he learnt the four Vedas as others might learn a game or a song. Having filled his mind with the Vedas and the Puranas, he had no wish to keep the sacred words in the secrecy of his heart. He taught them to his brother.

Just as kindness loves to share good knowledge, it also loves to share good news. For example, how great was Hanuman’s joy when he could give joy to others. Listen:

Noble Bharata, Lord Rama’s brother, waited fourteen years while Rama was in exile from the city of Ayodhya. Rama, the all-beautiful, wandered in the forest and knew the perils of war. But Bharata did not know his brother’s fate. As the end of the fourteenth year drew near, he pined in grief, fearing that he would never see Rama’s face again, for he had no news of him.

One day more and the fourteen years would have passed. Bharata was sitting on a seat of sacred grass, his hair was braided, his body was thin, and he was sighing to himself:

“O Rama, Rama, Raghupati!” Then there stood before him the monkey-king Hanuman, noble Hanuman who had served the hero Rama so faithfully in the wars.

He brought good news, and he was so happy to bring it that his eyes were full of tears and in his heart he felt a world of joy at being able to change Bharata’s sorrow into joy. He said:

“The one for whom you mourn day and night has returned safe and sound. He has conquered his enemy in battle and heard the gods singing hymns in his praise, and now the Lord is on his way home with Sita and his brother.”

Bharata thought no more of his past sorrow. “Who are you, who bring me such glad tidings?” “I am Hanuman, the son of the Wind, and though I am a monkey, I am a servant of Raghupati, of Rama.”

Bharata embraced Hanuman. “Tell me more,” he said, “yes, tell me all.” And Hanuman told him all, and he was happy beyond words to be the bearer of good news, and to see the life come back to the haggard face of the once sorrowful Bharata.

*

* * Does the human heart show mercy only to human beings? No, it feels sorrow for the sorrow of an animal and joy for its joy.

People passed by a certain woman in scorn. They called her a sinner.

This sinner saw a dog whose tongue hung out in terrible thirst. It was dying. Without a cry, the poor creature was begging for something to drink.

The sinner took off her boot and let it down into a nearby well; in this way she brought up a little water and gave it to the dog, and so its life was saved.

People changed their minds about her. “The Lord,” they said, “has forgiven this woman’s sins.” She may have been a sinner, but she understood the meaning of human kindness.

*

* * And again:

A man came to the Prophet Mohammed and showed him a nest full of young birds wrapped up in a piece of carpet.

“I found these birds, my Lord,” he said, “as I came through the wood. Hearing the chirps of the nestlings, I looked into a tree and found this nest.”

“Put the nest on the ground,” said the Prophet. Then the mother bird swooped down and perched on the edge of the nest, delighted to have found her children.

“Put the family back where you found them,” said Mo-hammed. And he added:

“Be kind to animals. Ride them when they are strong enough to carry you. Dismount from them when they are tired. Give them to drink when they are thirsty.”

In the records of Islam it is said that one day the angels of heaven said to God:

“O God, is there anything in the world stronger than rock?” “Yes,” God replied, “iron is stronger, for it breaks rock.” “Is there anything stronger than iron?” “Yes, fire, for it melts iron.” “And is there anything stronger than fire?” “Water, for it quenches fire.” “And what is stronger than water?” “Wind, for it can move the waves.” “And is there anything even stronger?” “Yes, the kind heart that gives alms in secret, not letting the left hand know what the right hand is doing.”

Not that today giving alms is the chief way of being kind. Of course, we may help our neighbour with a kind-hearted gift. But the story means that, by a gift or in any other way, the power of kindness is the greatest power in the world for winning the affection and friendship of others.

Suffering is aroused by the suffering of others, and joy by their joy.

Such is the glorious nature of sympathy.

Note on the Texts This volume contains all the writings of the Mother from the period before 1920, the year she settled in Pondicherry, with the exception cording to the nature and date of the material. Most of the pieces were written originally in French and appear here in English translation. The texts of this (second) edition are the same as those of the first edition, which was published in 1978 as Volume 2 of the Collected Works of the Mother (Centenary Edition). Details about the texts and their publication follow.

Part 1. The essays and stories in this part were written by the Mother between 1893 and 1912. All the texts were written in French. All but two were first published in 1946 in the first part of a book enti-tled Paroles d’autrefois. This book was reprinted in 1955. An English reprinted in 1952 and 1974. In the 1978 edition of Words of Long Ago, the contents of Part 1 of the previous editions were rearranged according to date and two new pieces added: “A Sapphire Tale” and an unpublished note related to “On Thought”. “A Sapphire Tale” was first published in the original French and in English translation in the monthly journal Mother India in February 1957. At the time of its publication the Mother remarked to the journal’s editor that the story expressed “the ideal of the overmind creation”. The original translations of all the contents of Part 1 were revised for publication in Mother. The same contents were brought out in the original French in 1983 in Paroles d’autrefois, the French counterpart of Volume 2 of the Collected Works.

Part 2. The essays in this part were written by the Mother for the meetings of “a small group of seekers” in 1912. All the texts were written in French. All but one were published in 1946 in the second part of Paroles d’autrefois. This book was reprinted in 1955. An English and reprinted in 1952 and 1974. In the 1978 edition of Words of Long Ago, one new piece was added: the essay for the meeting of 7 May 1914. This essay, which was restored to its original position in the series, was first published in 1939 in Quelques paroles, quelques pri`eres and in English translation as the Foreword to the 1940 edition taken from the Mother’s handwritten manuscript, was published for translations of all the contents of Part 2 were revised for publication in that edition. The same contents were brought out in the original French in 1983 in Paroles d’autrefois.

Part 3. Between 1911 and 1913 the Mother gave a number of talks to different groups in Paris. Two of these talks, “On Thought” and “On Dreams”, appear in Part 1 of this book. Several other talks never published in the Mother’s lifetime are published here as Part 3. The Mother sometimes presented the same talk to different groups, with suitable additions and alterations. These variants, if significant and non-repetitive, have been given here in footnotes. A note relating to the Mother’s talks, which was found among her manuscripts, has been placed before the other items. The talks, notes and reflections in this part, all from the period 1912-13, were first published in English French texts were first brought out in 1983 as Part 3 of Paroles d’autrefois.

Part 4. The writings in this part, similar to Prayers and Meditations, were not published in the Mother’s lifetime. Several of the pieces are dated between 1914 and 1916; the remainder seem clearly to belong to the period before 1920. These writings first appeared in English French texts were first brought out in 1983 as Part 4 of Paroles d’autrefois.

Part 5. This part comprises several short essays and notes entitled by the Mother “Notes and Reflections”, and a few related writings. Several of the pieces are dated between 1914 and 1915; the rest appear to have been written around the same time. None of the writings were published during the Mother’s lifetime. They first appeared in original French texts were first brought out in 1983 as Part 5 of Paroles d’autrefois.

Part 6. The letters, essays, etc. comprising this part were written in Japan between 1916 and 1920. “Woman and the War”, written originally in French, was published in an English translation seen and revised by the Mother, in the Fujoshimbun on 7 July 1916. “Woman and Man”, written in French around the same time and translated into English by the Mother, was never published in either language during her lifetime. “Reminiscences” also appears to have been written first in French and translated subsequently into English, very likely by the Mother herself. The other pieces in this part appear to have been written originally in English. They are among the Mother’s first com-positions in the English language. “Impressions of Japan”, dated 9 July 1915, was written in Akakura and published in the form reproduced here in the Modern Review (Calcutta) in January 1918. “The Children of Japan”, an incomplete letter, was written shortly after “Impressions of Japan”. “Myself and My Creed” was written in February 1920. “To the Women of Japan” is undated. It exists in several versions, one of which has been chosen as the principal text; to this, passages from other versions have been added. Part of this talk was published as “To the Women of the World” in the annual Sri Aurobindo Circle of 1947. Some revisions, made by the Mother for this publication, have been included in the present text. A greater portion of the talk was published as “Talk to the Women of Japan” in 1967. The last part of “To the Women of Japan” incorporated passages from Sri Aurobindo’s Human Cycle, Synthesis of Yoga, etc. The pieces in this part were published together were brought out in French in 1983 as Part 6 of Paroles d’autrefois.

J. Gould which had been published in his Youth’s Noble Path in 1911. the title Belles Histoires in 1946. English translations of the stories were first brought out in 1951 under the title Tales of All Times. These translations were revised for inclusion in Part 7 of the 1978 were translated and added as an appendix to that volume. All the stories were published in the original French in 1983 in Part 7 of Paroles d’autrefois and its appendix.