The principle of non-possessiveness is the life-breath of
Jainism and the core of all religions.
In the journey of our life, we don’t travel empty-handed. We
travel with possessions – things that we have accumulated for
our comfort, for our happiness, sometimes for no reason at all.
One important question in our journey through life is - should
we travel with maximum weight or with minimum baggage?
Which of these is better for us? Will the journey be more joyous
with more belongings or will it be easier with less?
Look at this familiar scene. We pack our bags before a
journey, taking along whatever we think we need. You think,“If I fall sick on the way, isn’t it better to carry medicines?”
Not knowing which disease might infl ict you, you carry an
entire medical kit. Similarly, you carry eatables and utensils far
beyond your needs. Then your mind turns to clothing and you
think, “Should I not to be prepared for changes in weather?”
You pack in cotton clothes for warm weather, and thick blankets
and woollens in case of cold weather.
Then the thought occurs, “What if something gets stolen?
Better to pack one more of each thing.” In the process everything
is duplicated.
Thus, uncontrolled imagination increases the baggage of
life. You justify your possessiveness by believing that you are
preparing yourself for the most unpredictable of situations,
be it regarding food, medicine or clothes. Now, if you embark
on your journey carrying all these belongings, can you have a
pleasant trip? Will your steps be heavy or light? Obviously they
will be heavy. You will soon be soaked in sweat and panting
for breath. In all probability, you will unburden your weight on
somebody else’s shoulders.
Contrary to this, there is that other traveller who carries
nothing but bare necessities. He does not imagine needs nor carry
more than what is required. His steps are therefore lighter, and
his journey pleasant. He reaches his destination easily enough.
Life is a journey too. Having come into this world, we do
realize that life is not stagnant but ever fl owing from the fi rst
breath. The question is, during the transition from childhood to
youth, does the traveller of life carry the burden of his desires or
does he travel light? And in this question lies the essence of the
vow of non-possessiveness.
What we impose upon ourselves beyond our bare necessities
adds to the burden of life. This is true of religious norms, rules
and vows also. Austerities are burdensome if they are adopted
more due to external pressures rather than out of a natural
inclination to do so. No doubt, vows such as those of nonviolence
and truthfulness benefi t our lives greatly and help in
resolving life’s problems. But they have to evolve from within. If
imposed, they will only hinder one’s spiritual evolution. Instead
of travelling higher and higher, one is weighed down by them
as if tied to a stone in water.
If a stone is dropped into water, it sinks to the bottom and
remains there for years without ever dissolving in the water. It
remains a separate entity from the very water in which it lies.
On the other hand, if you put a lump of sugar in water, it will
instantly dissolve and lend its own sweetness to the water.
The same is true of austerities in life. Those vows of selfdiscipline
which weigh down on life like the stone in water
without enhancing or enriching the inner self are not true
austerities. In ancient times, many such austerities were
practiced, but Jainism rebelled against them for they were
believed to be modes of bodily punishment, rather than means
of achieving true happiness and joy.
True strength of character must be cultivated and until that
happens, man’s liberation is not possible. We have to weave
truth, non-violence and non-possessiveness into the fi bre of our
being. The aspirant who will limit his needs will stay away from
deceit, untruth and violence. The vow of non-possessiveness is
therefore mandatory for an aspirant.
In nurturing this vow, we nurture the true meaning of life.
We have to be conscious of two factors regarding possessions;
the fi rst being the reason for acquiring material comforts and
the second being limiting them within one’s needs. When we
forget these two factors and accumulate out of sheer greed, life
becomes a burden. Then, the only aim that remains in life is
material accumulation. And I ask you - of what use is it to life?
How does it enhance the quality of life?
Mohammed Ghazni came to India, plundered and looted
her wealth but was so busy accumulating that he was never able
to enjoy it. When during the last hours of his life, he asked for
the plunder to be brought before him, one question tormented
him. “Why did I plunder and destroy to acquire this heap of
wealth? Of what use is it to me?”
Indeed, these are pertinent questions and in them lie
the answers to salvation. And fortunate are those who ask
themselves such questions early in their lives.
One who does not question the aim of accumulation ends
up losing focus and becomes oblivious to all other aspects of
life. He neglects his family, society, nation and himself as well.
He is hungry, but does not eat. He is tired, but does not rest. He
earns more and more; earning becomes an obsession with him.
He has no idea where his goal lies. He loses himself in the maze
of possessions. Can such a man take care of others? Can he ever
take time to tend to the needs of his family? To such a man, can
the community and nation ever matter?
Once during caturmāsa, we set up residence next to a mansion.
The owner of that mansion lived abroad and a watchman was
appointed to take care of the mansion. He was paid well and it
was said that he also had some personal wealth. But he always
projected an image of poverty. He would eat just roasted gram
in front of us, trying to evoke our sympathy by saying that he
could afford no more.
We were obviously sorry to see his torn clothes, his meagre
meals and his ageing condition. Much later we realized that
the reason for his pathetic appearance was not poverty, but his
thrifty nature.
It is not poverty, but miserliness which is dreadful.
Some days later, the watchman fell ill. He took no
medicines neither did he consult a physician. Often he remained
unconscious. The people said, “Looks like his end is near. Let us
make arrangements for him to be laid to rest.”
But there were some wise people in the town who believed
that the authorities should be informed about his condition. They
were concerned that the townsfolk would be questioned regarding
the personal property of the man in the event of his demise.
So, the local government body was informed. To the utter
shock of the Tahsildar himself, a sum of rupees fi ve thousand
along with some jewels was found locked in the old man’s
possession. So much of wealth and yet such a piteous state?
So the Tahsildar advised him, “Give away how much ever
of your wealth you wish towards charity. Whatever remains will
become government property and will be put to good use.”
All those who were gathered around him encouraged him
to follow the advice of the good Tahsildar. They said to him
lovingly, “Brother! Since you have no inheritors and your end is
near, don’t lose this golden opportunity to do some good.”
But this only aggravated him. He questioned with irritation,“Why do you want to kill me before my time? What if I do
survive? What will I eat then?”
The people exclaimed, “Oh! What have you eaten so far?
All you have done is accumulate money. You have hardly ever
eaten a complete meal!”
When the Tahsildar tried to place a rupee in his hand to
motivate him, he simply pocketed it. Some days later when he
died, his wealth was made government property. Of what use
was all his accumulation?
Some people alienate themselves from society and nation
and stay isolated. And some are worse than that. They remain
aloof even from their own selves, not even bothering to fulfi l
their bodily needs. Great thinkers propound that even if the
boundary of desires is not set, one must give away all extra
possessions as charity. They believe that to earn all the wealth in
the world and give it away as charity is a meritorious deed.
But Lord Mahāvīra had a much larger vision. According to
him, such a vision of charity is not a sublime one. To accumulate
on one hand and then give back on the other can only fan the
ego, nothing else. In other words, to fi rst take from people
and then return it back to them, is not to give of oneself. And
furthermore, the ratio between what is taken and what is given
is always an unfair one. This does not qualify as charity.
Jainism has placed great emphasis on charity, but the
primary emphasis is on non-possessiveness. Charity is to wash
away the grime that has stuck to the feet, but non-possessiveness
is not to allow the grime to stick to the feet at all.
The moralists say that if grime has stuck to the feet, it
should be washed away immediately. Do not let it remain. But
the better thing is to avoid such a situation. Likewise, to control
one’s desires and to adopt the vow of non-possessiveness is the
best path. But until one is ready for that path, it is at least better
to wash away the grime of accumulation by doing charity. Of
course, in charity, the risk of becoming arrogant is high since
one is revered so much. In non-possessiveness, there is no such
risk because it arises only from simplicity.
Therefore, Jainism propounds that one must put a brake on
desires. One must learn to stop or at the very least, regulate the
vehicle of life, which meanders aimlessly and without limits,
crushing others in its way. However, one can cause injury to
others and then condone that act by applying balm on their
wounds. But this is not life’s ideal.
Do you know that in olden days, a special medicine known
as mimāi was made from human blood? A man would be tied
and hung upside-down. A wound would then be infl icted on
his head so that his blood dropped into a container below.
After the required amount of blood was collected for the
mimāi, the man would be untied, fed well and nurtured back to
good health. And then the process would be repeated for more
blood.
The above example is to illustrate that hurting people and
then bandaging them cannot be a part of sādhanā. Nor is it correct
to fi rst cheat others, deprive them and then do charity to pat one’s
ego. It is far superior to adopt the vow of non-possessiveness, to
give up all that is dear, to stop deceit, theft and exploitation.
Sacrifi ce has always been considered superior to charity.
If your mind has not yet evolved to the extent that you can
completely ignore all of life’s needs, you can at least begin by
short-listing them. It would indeed be tragic if you spent most
of your life only chasing material wealth without realizing any
sublime goals in life. Does it ever happen that a person goes to the
market without knowing what he wants to buy? Do we not make
a list of what we require from the market?
Such a list of one’s needs and an organized method should
be adopted even in life. Whether Lord Mahāvīra was approached
by an aspirant, a king or a beggar, his simple message was the
same to all - to understand one’s needs. This is the vow of nonpossessiveness
for an aspirant - icchā parimāṇa vrata. However,
even up to this day, we have not understood how to list out our
needs and so we go about in circles as though blindfolded.
Once needs are listed, greed will be harnessed and
exploitation will come to an end. Those who walk such a path
live a life of enrichment. On the other hand, those who do not
harness their needs spend their lives trying to fulfi l them, very
much like a blindfolded man without direction.
Think of a man who starts a cloth store. When he profi ts
from it, he thinks of investing his money in another venture in
order to earn more money. He opens another shop; this time
a provision store. He begins to earn a lot more and is drawn
into the vicious cycle of greed. The more he earns, the more he
wants. And thus, one day, the person who began with a humble
store becomes the owner of the entire market. He is now like
Kubera, the Lord of wealth.
There are many such people who tell me about their ventures.
I listen to all of them. They think that they are exhibiting their
brilliance, and I am always left wondering that if they have
acquired so much, what have they left for others? Such is the
greed of man that he cannot see beyond his own desires.
Have you ever pondered why this is so? It is because man
believes that his worldly possessions are the yardstick by which
he will be gauged in society. A liar is ashamed when his lies are
exposed; a thief is aware that he is a criminal; a pleasure-seeking
person is always trying to hide his hedonism. But a possessive
person does not consider himself a sinner, nor does he hide
his possessive tendencies. On the other hand, he is proud of
himself. Society also looks up to such people and reveres them.
Great respect is given to those who exhibit their riches and the
splendour of their lives. At any gathering, those who exhibit their
possessions are treated with more respect. What an irony! Our
ascetics who have renounced all possessions are also impressed
and infl uenced by such people. In their lectures and talks, they
do not hesitate to praise their wealthy patrons. In fact, they refer
to them as blessed souls!
When the spiritual masters themselves place the sin of
possessiveness on the throne of virtue, how can they direct the
common man away from possessiveness? When leaders are
trapped in such weaknesses, how can one expect any better from
their followers? No wonder then, that the masses cannot even
comprehend that possessiveness is a sin and non-possessiveness
a virtue.
By excluding possessiveness from the category of sin, we
are reducing to mere slogans the words of Lord Mahāvīra and
all that the scriptures say. If the vow of possessiveness can be
violated and not considered a sin, then what about the other four
vows of non-violence, truthfulness, chastity and non-stealing?
Can they be violated as well? If possessiveness has been masked
with an aura of virtue in the present day, then isn’t it time we
stopped using words such as ‘virtue’ and ‘vice’ since we do not
truly believe in their distinction?
I think that in this manner, to consider a vice as a merit is
detrimental to humanity at large. It becomes the cause of man’s
decline. It is the root cause of revolts and confl icts. Until man
does not accept possessiveness as a sin, he cannot be liberated,
he cannot evolve, and there will be no end to the unrest that
seizes him.
So where was I before I digressed? Ah, yes! I was telling you
about people who talk to me about their wealth and possessions
with great pride. They boast about the expanse of their business,
the number of shops they own etc. Once they gain control over
the local market, they spread their business to other cities. They
subsequently open their shops and fi rms in large metros like
Bombay and Calcutta. Obviously then, if every small merchant
begins to accumulate at such a large level, the tendency towards
economic exploitation is bound to increase.
To curtail this tendency, we have to adopt Mahāvīra’s vow
of limitations. It teaches that one’s best interest lies in setting a
limit on the expansion of one’s business and the extent of energy
one must invest in it.
Some of you may ask, “How do we decide when we can
make an exception to these vows and rules?”
Take for example, the diśā parimāṇa vrata - the vow of
restricting distance for travel. A person who has completed the
maximum distance that his vow has permitted for the day sees
a woman being molested about ten steps ahead. What should
he do in such a critical situation? Should he cross his limit or
remain an on-looker? This is not a new question.
I remember an incident about the gatekeeper of a bungalow.
On the door of the bungalow was a signboard that read: Do not
enter without permission.
One night a gang of thieves slipped past the gate and
made for the house. On seeing this, the guard ran after them.
But before he could nab them, the thieves had broken in. As he
reached the door, he saw the signboard and stood transfi xed,
not daring to go inside, thereby allowing the thieves to escape
with their loot.
The vows of limitation described in the scriptures are not
meant to be adopted in such a senseless manner. Once you take
the vow you are prohibited from crossing your limits with regard
to the fi ve āśravas.2 But if crossing it for the welfare of another is
necessary, then the vow of restricting distance should not become
an obstacle. For the welfare of humanity, one must exercise one’s
discretion and wisdom with regard to these vows.
The purpose of the vow of restricting distance is for man
to set physical limits on himself so that he can mark out the
boundaries of his material existence. This is to create a state of
readiness in him for a higher spiritual purpose.
Today the world is in turmoil as the increasing greed for
power among nations has swept all sense and sensitivity away.
Every nation is trying to take advantage of the smallest of wars
between other countries to fi ll its own coffers. This is the ugly
face of possessiveness.
In the past, greed was not as unleashed as it is nowadays. If
a country discovers an oil well, or another a diamond mine, all
other nations immediately wish to take possession of it. Trade
and accumulation are the chief aims of all wars today.
It is in these tumultuous days that the message of Lord
Mahāvīra brings a ray of hope. His message clearly states that
you must put the brakes on your needs. In doing so you will
never breach the territory of another and cause havoc. This
is an important point and it is from this that the vow of nonpossessiveness
springs forth. Unless you stop accumulating
beyond your needs, how can you adopt this great vow?
The next step is that of charity. Charity is the repentance for
accumulation of wealth. In the context of charity, I stress on the
word ‘repentance’. When you give charity, do not think of it as
a favour. If charity is done either for fame, or to gain respect, it
is not praiseworthy. Such charity does not foster goodwill. It is
a noteworthy act only if it is an act of renouncing any particular
object. Moreover, charity given from a kind and empathetic
heart works as an antidote to hatred and nurtures goodwill.
Selfl ess charities help uplift societies and nations.
There once lived a king who had an able minister to assist
him in the affairs of the state. They were content in most walks
of their individual lives, yet they shared one common sorrow.
Both of them had no children. The king often remarked to his
minister that a home without a child was no home at all. They
prayed fervently for a child, but to no avail.
Once, a monk arrived in their city. His wisdom and intuition
inspired the people and they fl ocked in thousands to seek his
blessings. When the king heard about the saint, his hopes were
kindled. He was sure the holy man would help him beget a son.
The minister was hopeful too. So they decided to visit the monk.
The king bowed before him and solicited his blessings. “Oh
Master!” he said. “Bless our homes with sons so that we may
fi nd joy. Without a child, all the wealth of this world gives us
no pleasure. There is darkness in our hearts, our homes seem
gloomy and so does this entire kingdom.”
The monk said, “If you want a son, then fi rst you must fi nd
the father within yourself; for what use is a son to you if you do
not possess paternal feelings?”
The king was baffled. He exclaimed, “Master! How can
one be a father in the absence of a child? Until I don’t become a
father, how can I feel like one?”
Now the holy one asked gently, “Are all your subjects not
your children? All through your reign as king, have you not
been addressed as a parent by your subjects? Yet, you have not
endeared yourself to them as a parent would to his offspring.
Therefore, fi rst instill a feeling of affection in your heart. I
promise you will fi nd a son who will illumine your name.”
He continued, “Make an announcement throughout the
kingdom that beggars will be given alms tomorrow.”
The next day, all the beggars of the town waited to be fed.
When the king and his minister arrived to give away alms
in all their fi nery, the monk said, “If you both set aside your
royalty and go before them as ordinary mortals, you will truly
understand them and their needs.”
Thus, the charity began. But instead of gold and riches, the
beggars were given bits of stale roṭī as suggested by the wise
man. They were astounded. Such meagre charity after such a
big announcement! That too from a king? They could not make
sense of it. But knowing that they could not argue with the king,
they accepted what was given to them as their fate.
As they returned with their meagre alms, the monk awaited
them at the gates of the palace. He told them to give him their
roṭī and in return he would make them king. When none of them
believed him, he asked for half their roṭī in return for which he
promised to make them a minister.
The beggars said, “Master, why do you make fun of us?”
And they moved on, none parting with his roṭī, not even with a
bit of it. Many beggars later, a young boy passed him. There was
a strange light in the boy’s eyes.
As he was leaving the gate, he was asked, “What did you
get? Are you satisfi ed with whatever you received?” The boy
answered, “This roṭī is what I have received and I humbly accept
it. After all, what else can befi t a beggar’s destiny?”
The monk thought, “There is the essence of renunciation in
this boy’s voice. Misfortune may have made him a beggar but
his tone implies that he is not a pessimist. I am sure he has faith
in the future but at present he is living within the confi nes of his
circumstance.” Thus thinking, the holy man said, “Alright son,
give me this rotī. I will make you the king.”
The boy said innocently, “Whether you make me a king or
not, please take this rotī. I came here with great hopes, but I am
content with what I have received. However, I will gladly part
with it if you need it.” The monk asked him to stand aside and
wait awhile, while he continued his search among the beggars
for another one who would be generous with his rotī. At last,
another boy passed by who tore his rotī into half and gave it to
the monk.
Happy at the end of his search, the monk said to the king
and the minister, “Here are the two capable sons that I promised
you would have. A king should be large-hearted, and willing
to sacrifi ce his all. These qualities are evident in the fi rst boy.
The roṭī was important to him, it was all he had, but unlike the
others, he relinquished it without any hesitation. Therefore, he
is worthy of being groomed to become the heir-apparent.“The other boy may not have such generosity; nevertheless
he parted with half of his rotī. It is a minister’s role to be cautious
and practical in the affairs of the state. Therefore, the second boy
is worthy of being the minister’s son.”
In this story, the king and the minister are analogous to a
saint and an aspirant. The message of the holy man is that the
temptations of this world are like the pieces of bread. If you
relinquish them completely, you will get the saint’s throne. If
you relinquish even half your desires, you will at least get to be
an aspirant, if not a saint.
The spiritual aspirant should be watchful of two factors. First,
one must set a limit on material accumulation and secondly, one
must nurture the spirit of sharing. One’s wealth should be spent
in the development of society. Only such an attitude can bring
about peace and contentment not just at an individual level, but
at a universal level as well.
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