Vedantic Tales : I Carry

The world was quiet, as though nothing could move or speak in the heat. The twitter of the birds had a muffled quality, and the distant cry. of hawkers was toneless and mechanical. Who would buy beads or spices with famine close at hand? Who would sing with a full heart? Prema busied herself in the cooking shed that adjoined the hut, preparing a small meal of boiled rice. There was barely enough to fill one bowl, and nothing at all to season it with. Loosening the last grains that stuck in the bottom of the rice jar, she shook them into the boiling water. God willing, she thought, we will eat again. When the rice had cooked, she went outside to call her husband to his meal. But Niranjan scarcely heard her; he looked up from his manuscript, his face flushed and stern.

Whoever made this copy, he said, tapping the page on which the Sanskrit was written, has committed a serious blunder.

Prema sighed, knowing that her husband wanted to expound some intricacy of his learning. How so? she asked patiently. It was amazing to her that his brain could work so clearly in such heat and at a time when drought threatened.

He has written here, Niranjan continued, translating from the Sanskrit, "Persons who meditating on Me as non separate, worship Me in all beings, to them thus ever zealously engaged, I carry what they lack and preserve what they already have." What is meant, of course is, "I give", not, "I carry". It is an absurdity to suppose that the Supreme Lord of the universe would carry anything to his devotees.

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