Of birds, rain and one’s true nature

                                                           Of birds, rain and one’s true nature

The Mundaka Upanisad, one amongst the many sublime philosophical texts written by the illumined seers of India describes two birds perched upon branches of a tree. The first engaged in all that the tree has to offer, pecks at the fruits with much vigor and fails to notice the other, higher seated bird. The other, free from worldly compulsions sits with majestic stillness, silently observing but not partaking in mundane activities. While scholars have interpreted this description in several ways, one understanding is thus – the lower bird, represents the jiva or the living being, immersed in enjoying the fruits of its karma through its daily activities, ignorant of its innate divinity. This divinity is symbolized by the other bird, free from want and suffering. The two are perched atop the tree of life, which from Earth springs up to the expansive sky.

The image provided for poetic inspiration reminds one of this deep metaphor. The little boy, despite the ravishes of poverty and disease, is engaged in selfless service to a pair of fledgling birds.  His umbrella is not made of some complex polymer, but of an earthly leaf, blending ever smoothly with the mud and the surrounding environ. Rain which is both an agent of rejuvenation and a fore bringer of destruction dominates the picture. By pouring without bounds it sets the stage for our protagonists - a blissful pair of birds – rekindling the description of the Mundaka.

But the point of focus is the pair of birds. What is it about birds that strikes a chord with us? Both poets and their close companies, little children have derived much inspiration from these winged friends of humanity. It was a flock of birds that drove Sri Ramakrishna to his earliest spiritual experiences. Emily Dickinson describes hope as the bird that never dies. Samuel Coleridge Taylor, in his ‘Rime of an Ancient Mariner’, uses the death of an innocent albatross as a metaphor for the sacrifice of Christ – a pure and uncontaminated spirit. It seems as if each ascribes to the stock of birds, his best and highest virtues.

But the realization of these virtues is what our boy is engaged in - through his utter surrender and devotion to those tiny fledglings of life. While he faces the vagaries of rain, accepting with submission what is has to offer, the birds and their well being is his primary concern. Indeed, he serves as a reminder of the ideal of non-attachment, exemplified by the superior bird of the Upanisad. And what can one say about the precious earth, ever a companion to the rain? Indeed, the smell of Earth evokes a fresh sense of homeliness and a playful return to childhood for the Earth is one strongest association. It is from the Earth that the most precious objects of humankind arise, the flowers of gardens, the fruits of sunny orchids and the of course, magical characters of song – Sita sprung from the ground, and on the lands of humankind did Krishna perform his lilas.

Water too has practical and mystical symbolism. It was on the banks of rivers that the oldest civilizations were founded – the Indus, the Nile, and the Tiber to name a few. Rain, connecting mankind to the skies, both spiritually and literally, is the object of much veneration. But it is not difficult to discover the deleterious effects of water. Not un often one hears of flood and deluge, bringing devastation and suffering – the Yangtze is the sorrow of China, and the Damodar is the sorrow of Bengal.  Water can thus be called the limiting element of life, and the umbrella above the birds denotes this quality. The umbrella itself, akin to the canopies of forests of yore, protects all underneath like a mother her young ones. Indeed, for the couple of birds, this tiny leaf means more than the entire Amazon rainforest. Leaves are where the skies above, and the Earth below meet. The budding of leaves portends the dawn of spring after the long winter, coming to rejuvenate us with feasts of song and dance.

The wise have always held that all life sprung from a common source and will eventually find itself back to this common wellspring. Like the leaves of the Banyan tree, we are mere reflections of each other. And so, a little boy, sat shirtless, serving his own spirit in the form of birds nestled on Earth precious, through a leaven umbrella under a terrific downpour.  Amidst this great play of elements, why are the birds flightless - can they not spread their wings and fly? Perhaps, they do not do so in a bid to point us towards our own rejection of all that is innately beautiful, in favour of what is common and easily available. While the boy holds his Sylvan umbrella with no expectation of encomiums or awards, the message of the two birds is lost to humanity. Yet, by silent introspection, we too can see the divine meaning they hold for us, and propels us to greater heights. And thus, it was and will still remain; for flight needs inspiration, poetic inspiration.