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Hinduism    
Karma : Electable,
Immutable, Inexorable

In tragic life, God wot, no villain need be;
Passions spin the plot. We are betrayed
By what is false within. ¹ 

Noble blood is of little help
Deluded by passions, the best
of men turn wicked, and reap
the evil that they sow. ²

The Doctrine

Whether it is Meredith writing in “Modern Love” in England of the 1860s, or Vyasa dictating to Ganesha in India’s mythic past, the finger points unwaveringly not outwards at the other, but inwards at oneself. The moving finger writes and having writ moves on, but it is the individual who is responsible for making that choice, thinking that thought, feeling that emotion, doing that act which sets off the inexorable chakra of karma, and not just blind nemesis that visits unjustified calamity on his head. The Indian insight into this law was voiced memorably by Robert Frost:

“Two roads diverged in a wood
And I took the one less travelled by
And that has made all the difference.”¹

Whether it is Sri Aurobindo choosing to turn away from comfortable employment with the Maharaja of Baroda to leading the revolutionary movement for India’s freedom, and on to the sadhana of the Supramental, or Mahatma Gandhi choosing non-violence to challenge the brutal might of white dominance, or Lincoln choosing to face the spectre of civil war to wipe out slavery, in each case it is the choice of the road less travelled that has made all the difference, not just for the individual taking the option but for society in general. That difference in the consequences may not necessarily be evident immediately. The anguished cry may well ring out:

“The best lack all conviction. While the worst
Are full of a passionate intensity.”²

Christianity overcame the Roman Empire centuries after Jesus was crucified. Indeed, that is why we bemoan the unjustified misery suffered by the good while the evil enjoy the best of times. Sri Aurobindo’s short story, “Svapna” (Dream) slices through this Gordian knot at one fell stroke: the external appearances are deceptive; the mind of the evildoer—who seems to be floating in a lake of bliss—is full of scorpions; the righteous person mired in poverty enjoys a far higher quality of being-- the ineffable wealth of a mind at peace with itself. 

In both cases, the condition of being—whether it is lack of conviction or passionate intensity—is a function of conscious choice, with its inevitable consequences to be borne. Surely, it is critically significant that of all creatures man alone has the option of making choices instead of compulsively following instinct. As Krishna tells Arjuna after all the advice of the Gita—yatha icchasi tatha kuru: “Act as you wish.” Given that undeniable fact, how is one to make sure--as the Pepsi jingle has it, “Yehi hai right choice, baby--aha!” - that the correct choice is being made? As Professor Albus Dumbledore tells the novitiate wizard Harry Potter, “As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all—the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things which are the worst for them.”³ Ravana and Vibhishana, both are sons of the sage Vishravas and the rakshashi Kaikesi; yet, how different are their ends, in each case the consequence of individual decisions regarding the way of life adopted. Ravana is the egotist par excellence who conquers the world but is a slave of his passions; Vibhishana’s unclouded vision clearly distinguishes between right and wrong. Surya is the deity upholding Rita, truth, while Dharma is the god of righteousness. Both sire sons on Kunti—Karna and Yudhishthira—who make choices that differ radically in motive and in implementation. Yudhishthira perceives truth and grapples it to his heart with hoops of steel; Karna, knowing what is righteous, elects to oppose it. The law of karma can provide an invaluable guide in choosing the road to take.

Karmic law is quite plainly stated: every act has a reaction, a result. This consequence may not, however, be immediate. So when, on occasion, it appears long after the act, the chooser is unable to connect and complains of unjustified, inexplicable misery being visited upon him, as King Lear does:

“As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods,
They kill us for their sport.”

Arnold Toynbee, the great historian, even spoke of a national karmic effect, citing the examples of England, France, and Russia. We could add Italy. Great empires all, fallen to the dust and today living in the shadow of a super power. The lesson: before making the choice be aware that it is bound to produce not just a result but also a reaction. A corollary is that “good” acts do not wipe out the reactions produced by “bad” acts. The consequences flow along their own individual paths; they do not cancel one another. The only exception is the path of yoga which, when adopted, is said to wipe the past slate clean:⁴

“How many births have I known
Without knowing the builder of this body!
How many births have I looked for him.
It is painful to be born again and again.
But now I have seen you, O builder of this body!
All desire is extinct, Nirvana is attained!
The rafters have crumbled the ridge pole is smashed!
You will not build them again.”—Buddha, Dhammapada (the P.Lal transcreation)

The Wish-fulfilling Tree

One way of gaining insight into this cosmic doctrine is through a parable that sets forth the existential predicament of humankind in the universe: the parable of the Kalpataru, the wish-fulfilling tree, narrated by Sri Ramakrishna.⁵

Into a room full of children at play walks the proverbial uncle, back from the city, who, of course, knows better. Laughing at their preoccupation with make-believe games, he asks them to lift up their eyes and go out to the massive banyan tree, which will grant them whatever they wish—the real stuff! The children do not believe him and remain busy with their toys. The uncle shrugs and leaves. And then they rush out, stand under the branches of this huge tree that cover the sky and ask for what all children crave: toys and sweets. In a flash they get what they want, but along with an unexpected bonus: the built-in opposite of what they wished for. With toys they get boredom; with sweets tummy-ache. Sure that something has gone wrong with their wishing, the children ask for bigger toys and sweeter sweets. The tree grants them their wishes and along with them bigger boredom and bigger tummy-ache. Time passes. They are now young men and women and their wishes change, for they know more. They ask for wealth, power, fame, sexual pleasure—and they get these, but also cupidity, insomnia, anxiety, and frustration/disease. Time passes. The wishers are now old and gather in three groups under the all-encompassing branches. The first group exclaims, “All this is an illusion!” Fools, they have learnt nothing. The second group says, “We are wiser and will wish better next time.” Greater fools, they have learnt less than nothing. The third group, disgusted with everything, decides to cop out and asks for death. They are the most foolish of all. The tree grants them their desire and, with it, its opposite: rebirth, under the same tree. For, where can one be born, or reborn, but within this cosmos! 

All this while one child has been unable to move out of the room. Being lame, he was pushed down in the scramble and when he dragged himself to the window, he was transfixed watching his friends make their wishes, get them with their built-in opposites and suffer, yet compulsively continue to make more wishes. Riveted by this utterly engrossing lila of desire and its fruits, a profound swell of compassion welled up in the heart of this lame child, reaching out to his companions. In that process, he forgot to wish for anything for himself. In that moment of spontaneous compassion for others, he sliced through the roots of the cosmic tree with the sword of non-attachment, of nishkama karma. He is the liberated one, the mukta purusha.

This wondrous kama-vriksha, tree of desire, is portrayed in a marvellously eidetic image by Vyasa in the Mahabharata (Shanti Parva 254. 1-8):

A wondrous kamavriksha grows in the heart,
            a tree of desire, born of attachment. 
Anger and arrogance its trunk, 
            impulse to act its irrigating channel.
Ignorance its root; negligence nourishes it.
            fault-finding its leaves, past misdeeds its pith.
Grief, worry and delusion its branches,
            fear its seed.
Vines of craving clasp it around
            creating delusion.
All around this fruit-giving mighty tree of desire 
            sit greedy men, 
shackled in iron chains of desire,
            craving its fruit.
He who snaps these bonds of desire
            slices this tree
with the sword of non-attachment.

He transcends grief-giving age and death.

But the fool who climbs this tree
            greedy for fruit,
it destroys him;
           even as poison pills destroy the sick.
The roots of this tree reach far and wide.

Only the wise can hew it down
            with the yoga-gifted
sword of equanimity.

Who knows how to rein in desires
            and knows the study of desire itself binds,
He transcends all sorrow.” (my transcreation)

The cosmic fig tree itself is figured forth by Krishna in the Gita (15.1-3) thus:

“Mention is made of a cosmic fig-tree
            rooted above,
whose leaves are said to be the Vedas;
            the knower of this fig-tree
is the knower of the Vedas.

Its branches reach out below and above,
            its flowers are the objects of the senses;
below the ground flourish more roots
            giving birth to action.

You may not see its real shape,
            nor its end, birth and existence.
Slice this fig-tree with non-attachment.”⁶

MAYA: The Unanswered Question⁷

Another way of approaching an understanding of this predicament is through trying to answer, what is Maya? This the question put by the wandering sage Narada to Vishnu. The story that follows was retold--curiously but typically Indian in happenstance--to Andre Malraux in Varanasi by a passer-by. In Anti-Memoirs Malraux writes that suddenly an Indian came up to him and said, “Mr. Malraux Sahib, would you like to listen to a story?” Taken aback, Malraux muttered that he was going to an official meeting. “But this is a very good story,” was the insistent reply. Malraux, perforce, agreed and here is the story he heard:

Narada, the itinerant divine sage roaming the three worlds, sowing seeds of discord and inveterate experimenter, goes up to Vishnu and demands that Maya be explained to him. Vishnu is silent. Narada is not one to be denied. He insists so persistently that the god has to answer him. “Maya cannot be explained, it has to be experienced,” he says. “If you can’t explain what you create, then I won’t believe in you,” retorts the never-say-die sage. Quickly deserting his serpent couch—for the fate of gods in whom humans do not believe is shrouded in uncertainty--Vishnu beckons him to follow. Walking together, they reach a desert where Vishnu sits down under a tree and exclaims, “I am so tired, Narada! Take this lota and get me some water from that oasis. When you return I will explain Maya to you.” Eager to plumb the mystery, Narada speeds off to the oasis and finds a well there beside a hut. He calls out, and a lovely girl opens the door. Looking into her eyes, Narada is reminded of the compelling eyes of Vishnu. She invites him in and disappears indoors. Her parents come out and greet the guest, requesting him to rest and eat after his journey through the burning sands before he returns with the lota of water. Thinking of the lovely girl, Narada agrees. Night falls, and they urge him to leave in the cool morning. Awakening in the morning, Narada looks out and sees the girl bathing beside the well. He forgets about the lota of water. He stays on. The parents offer him their daughter’s hand in marriage. Narada accepts, and settles down here. Children arrive; the parents-in-law die; Narada inherits the property. 12 years go by. Suddenly the floods arrive--floods in the desert! —His house is washed away. His wife is swept away. Reaching out to clutch her, he loses hold of his children who disappear in the waters. Narada is submerged in the floods and loses consciousness. Narada awakens, his head pillowed in someone’s lap. Opening his eyes he gazes into the eyes of Vishnu, seated at the desert’s edge under that same tree, those eyes that remind him of his wife’s. “Narada,” asks Vishnu, “where is the lota of water?” Narada asked, “You mean, all that happened to me did not happen to me?” Vishnu smiled his enigmatic smile.

Is the karmic law real? Who experiences what happens? Shankaracharya entered a dead king’s body, experienced a royal life of luxury with queens, courtesans, retainers, war—the lot. And he returned to answer the riddle put to him by a wise woman. Which of these was real? Do we dream or live? Certain things remain an enigma. It is said that the path of yoga shatters the adamantine shackles of karma. That is why the Buddha exclaimed that he had seen through the labyrinth of creation--the rafters are shattered, the edifice has crumbled, and never again will he be in the clutches of birth and rebirth.

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