09 – The Warrior
The devotee who walks with God is not only gentle, like a flower; he is also strong and enduring, like an oak. Mukunda’s heart could melt in tenderness at the thought of Divine Mother; it could also be inflexible for the right, as became a bold leader and warrior. He used his power of leadership to guide countless devotees to the path toward God; he employed his warlike valor to slay the demon of ignorance – first in himself and then in those who had asked his help in attaining the Divine.
His intrepidity was demonstrated in a difficult situation that arose in his early teens.
His family had moved to a new city. The children of the neighbourhood were wild and coarse. Mukunda, whose soul was wrapped in blissful visions, felt little outer kinship with the new boys. He spent most of his time by himself.
One day he went out into the sunshine to meditate. It had been raining for several days. Now the sun, in fury, had burned away the clouds that had been hiding it; the countryside was scorched, the tall crass withered. The branches hung on the trees, too tired to sway with the wind. Or was the wind too tired to blow? For fatigue was everywhere. The animals lowered their heads and sought shelter near the ponds, or lay in the streams to let the water lap their bodies, or dozed in the shade of the trees, too weary to move. Few men ventured outdoors. But young Mukunda, his heart on God, went for mediation into a sunlit spot.
“The sun is my brother,” he thought. “Its fire is needed to keep the earth alive. And I need the fire of self-control to keep alive my constant devotion to the Lord.”
Seating himself on a sun-baked rock, he remained there all day, protected by God’s presence. Oblivious of the sun’s fire, he was wrapped in flames of divine ardor.
At nightfall Mukunda rose and started home. He crossed a field; save for a cow bestirring herself languidly to chew the grass, the field was empty. Exulting in God’s nearness, Mukunda drank in the solitude.
Suddenly he saw coming toward him a group of about fifteen boys. Wrath was in their eyes.
“We’ve caught you at last!” they cried as they neared him. “So you think you’re too good for us, do you? Now we’ll see who’s too good! Sissy! Coward!”
“You call me a coward?” Mukunda said disdainfully. “There are fifteen of you.”
“Yes, fifteen,” they shouted, “and we can kill you if we like.” Their leader pushed Mukunda roughly.
Mukunda backed against at tree. Fire leaped into his eyes. “Right!” he thundered, “you can kill me. But who among you will be the first to try it?” He glowered at them fiercely, like the scorching sun.
There was a pause. Faltering the leader answered him at last, “We spoke in jest, Mukunda. You know we didn’t mean what we said.”
Mukunda relented then; no scorn remained in his voice as he replied, “If you want to be friends, then friends let us be.”
“Let us be friends,” they answered. As Mukunda walked toward home with them the fire in his eyes was replaced by kindness. But that fire was in his bosom nonetheless – a flame that later spread a message of truth across the world.
(Once an American student of Paramhansaji’s, hearing this story, asked, “Master, would you have hurt any of those boys?” Paramhansaji chuckled. “I knew it would not come to that,” he replied. “But even a person of nonviolence has a right to a warning hiss!”)
