Ma Matangi's Guidance

“Oh Mother! Your chants are so difficult to pronounce, your mantras for yagna so complex, and your sadhana… it all seems to go above my head,” I whispered in silent prayer. “Guide me instead to help someone who is forgotten by the world—someone isolated, unheard. As you, O Mother, embrace such souls, let me bring even a little happiness into one such life. Show me the way.” With folded hands, I prayed to Ma Matangi. And then, like a soft ripple in still water, an image appeared in my mind—an old man. Fragile. Silent. Alone. Sitting in a park. His words unclear, his presence unnoticed. A man living in his own world, as if the world had quietly forgotten him.

Days passed, and soon the sacred festival of Navratri approached. With devotion in my heart, I picked up a bundle of Nav Durga booklets from Gita Press Gorakhpur to distribute among security guards, housekeeping staff, and anyone willing to receive them.

As I walked, handing out the small tokens of faith, I reached the spot where I had last seen that old man. But he wasn’t there. A quiet disappointment settled within me. Had I misunderstood the Mother’s sanket (signal)? Still, I continued my path, trusting something unseen.

On my way back, I chose a different route. And there he was. Sitting quietly on a chair near the entrance of a building—just as I had remembered him. Time seemed to pause.

I walked up to him gently and offered the booklet. He looked at it, then at me, and a soft smile spread across his face. With trembling hands, he bowed slightly to the image of Ma Durga printed on the cover.

“Can you read?” I asked softly, unsure of his condition.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice faint yet steady, “I will read it when I go home… my spectacles are not with me right now.”

In that simple moment, something profound unfolded. No grand ritual, no complex mantra—just a small act of kindness. I realized then, perhaps this was the Mother’s true teaching. Not in difficult chants or rituals, but in quiet compassion. In seeing those whom the world overlooks.

With the blessings of the Divine Mother, I had not performed a mahan sadhana (great spiritual practice), but I had touched a human heart.

And maybe… that was enough.

Pic : AI Generated

From Carelessness to Compassion

“How cruelly they are plucking the tiny blooming flowers from a tender plant of Jatropha integerrima?” I thought, as my eyes fell upon four young girls, their hands moving quickly, almost restlessly, as they gathered the bright red blossoms.

I was walking along the quiet pavement of the park, absorbed in the deep thoughts of Gita Rahasya by Bal Gangadhar Tilak, listening in noise-cancellation mode. The calmness of philosophy and the harshness of the scene before me clashed within my mind. I instinctively quickened my pace, hoping to reach them in time.

But I was late.

Before I could intervene, a tender branch snapped. The plant seemed to shudder in silence. The girls, startled perhaps by their own act, hurried away before anyone could question them.

I slowed down again, my heart slightly heavy. As Albert Schweitzer once said, “Until he extends his circle of compassion to all living things, man will not himself find peace.”

After completing another round, I approached the same spot. The little plant stood there—wounded, yet quietly enduring. But something had changed.

The same four girls stood near it again.

This time, their hands were folded, their eyes gently closed, lips whispering something inaudible—perhaps an apology, perhaps a prayer. It felt as though their innocent hearts had awakened to a deeper understanding. Whether guided by an elder or stirred by their own conscience, I could not tell. But the transformation was undeniable.

I paused, watching from a distance.

In my next round, I saw them again. But now, they were different—not in appearance, but in action. They were gently collecting fallen twigs, flowers, and leaves from the ground. No force, no harm—only care. Their laughter had returned, but now it carried a softness, a kindness.

They had found a way to play without hurting.

The tender plant still stood there, perhaps in pain, but also as a silent teacher. And those four young girls, once careless, had now become its quiet protectors. “Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better.” — Albert Einstein

As I walked on, I realized that sometimes, the smallest moments teach the greatest lessons—not just to children, but to all of us. 

Pic : Pixabay