Very many saffron-robed Sannyasis in India don their clothes with motives unconnected with true spiritual interests. Sometimes it is for the gain of material objects; at other times, it is for success in some undertaking—mostly a selfish, utilitarian goal. Whereas religion and spirituality command total disinterest towards worldly objects, these men remain grounded in them all the time.
We are not against truly pious men who are disinterested in worldly gains. On the contrary, the author believes that attaining such a state of simplicity and disinterestedness is the only solution to our modern problems. We want more and more of such highly evolved persons. Unfortunately, society is not moving in this direction; instead, pseudo-spiritualists are on the rampage.
At the edge of a forest, in a small village, lived a hermit. Among his possessions, he owned a beautiful mare. In fact, the mare was so much admired by people all around that there were offers of various kinds to purchase the animal. The sadhu personally tended the pet, fed her green grass, took the mare to the river for bathing and for quenching her thirst. He was not prepared to entrust the mare to anybody for fear of her being stolen. A strong attachment had grown in the mind of the hermit for the mare. He remained quite engrossed and anxious about her upkeep.
In a nearby village lived a man who developed a keen desire to possess this mare. Knowing full well that the hermit would not part with her under any consideration, he approached the hermit as a loyal student who would look after him and attend to all his needs.
The hermit accepted the student and all his services, with the exception that he would not permit the newly found disciple to attend to the mare. Even though the disciple gradually won the great affection of the hermit, the latter would not entrust the mare to him.
The disciple realized, for the first time, the difficulty in his mission to gain possession of the mare.
However, it so happened that the hermit fell sick. Strangely, although the hermit lay in his bed most of the time, whenever it came to tending the mare, he would rise and attend to the animal himself. The hermit’s sickness took a serious turn. One day he was unable to get up from his bed.
That day he called the disciple and asked him to lead the mare to the river to quench her thirst. The disciple jumped at the opportunity. He led the mare to the gate and asked permission to place his belongings on her back, saying that he was afraid to ride her otherwise. The hermit, in a delirium, agreed.
The disciple mounted the mare and sped away. He finally succeeded.
Such deep-rooted is the attachment to worldly objects—even in so-called hermits and men of God.