Krishna says, "Look at Me, Arjuna! If I stop from work for one moment, the
whole universe will die. I have nothing to gain from work; I am the one Lord,
but why do I work? Because I love the world." God is unattached because He
loves; that real love makes us unattached. Wherever there is attachment, the
clinging to the things of the world, you must know that it is all physical
attraction between sets of particles of matter - something that attracts two
bodies nearer and nearer all the time and, if they cannot get near enough,
produces pain; but where there is real love, it does not rest on physical
attachment at all. Such lovers may be a thousand miles away from one another,
but their love will be all the same; it does not die, and will never produce any
painful reaction.
To attain this unattachment is almost a life-work, but as soon as we have
reached this point, we have attained the goal of love and become free; the
bondage of nature falls from us, and we see nature as she is; she forges no more
chains for us; we stand entirely free and take not the results of work into
consideration; who then cares for what the results may be?
Do you ask anything from your children in return for what you have given
them? It is your duty to work for them, and there the matter ends. In whatever
you do for a particular person, a city, or a state, assume the same attitude
towards it as you have towards your children — expect nothing in return. If you
can invariably take the position of a giver, in which everything given by you is
a free offering to the world, without any thought of return, then will your work
bring you no attachment. Attachment comes only where we expect a return.
If working like slaves results in selfishness and attachment, working as master
of our own mind gives rise to the bliss of non-attachment. We often talk of right
and justice, but we find that in the world right and justice are mere baby's talk.
There are two things which guide the conduct of men: might and mercy. The
exercise of might is invariably the exercise of selfishness. All men and women
try to make the most of whatever power or advantage they have. Mercy is
heaven itself; to be good, we have all to be merciful. Even justice and right
should stand on mercy. All thought of obtaining return for the work we do
hinders our spiritual progress; nay, in the end it brings misery. There is another
way in which this idea of mercy and selfless charity can be put into practice;
that is, by looking upon work as "worship" in case we believe in a Personal
God. Here we give up all the fruits our work unto the Lord, and worshipping
Him thus, we have no right to expect anything from man kind for the work we
do. The Lord Himself works incessantly and is ever without attachment. Just as
water cannot wet the lotus leaf, so work cannot bind the unselfish man by
giving rise to attachment to results. The selfless and unattached man may live in
the very heart of a crowded and sinful city; he will not be touched by sin.
This idea of complete self-sacrifice is illustrated in the following story: After
the battle of Kurukshetra the five Pândava brothers performed a great sacrifice
and made very large gifts to the poor. All people expressed amazement at the
greatness and richness of the sacrifice, and said that such a sacrifice the world
had never seen before. But, after the ceremony, there came a little mongoose,
half of whose body was golden, and the other half brown; and he began to roll
on the floor of the sacrificial hall. He said to those around, "You are all liars;
this is no sacrifice." "What!" they exclaimed, "you say this is no sacrifice; do
you not know how money and jewels were poured out to the poor and every one
became rich and happy? This was the most wonderful sacrifice any man ever
performed." But the mongoose said, "There was once a little village, and in it
there dwelt a poor Brahmin with his wife, his son, and his son's wife. They were
very poor and lived on small gifts made to them for preaching and teaching.
There came in that land a three years' famine, and the poor Brahmin suffered
more than ever. At last when the family had starved for days, the father brought
home one morning a little barley flour, which he had been fortunate enough to
obtain, and he divided it into four parts, one for each member of the family.
They prepared it for their meal, and just as they were about to eat, there was a
knock at the door. The father opened it, and there stood a guest. Now in India a
guest is a sacred person; he is as a god for the time being, and must be treated as
such. So the poor Brahmin said, 'Come in, sir; you are welcome,' He set before
the guest his own portion of the food, which the guest quickly ate and said, 'Oh,
sir, you have killed me; I have been starving for ten days, and this little bit has
but increased my hunger.' Then the wife said to her husband, 'Give him my
share,' but the husband said, 'Not so.' The wife however insisted, saying, 'Here
is a poor man, and it is our duty as householders to see that he is fed, and it is
my duty as a wife to give him my portion, seeing that you have no more to offer
him.' Then she gave her share to the guest, which he ate, and said he was still
burning with hunger. So the son said, 'Take my portion also; it is the duty of a
son to help his father to fulfil his obligations.' The guest ate that, but remained
still unsatisfied; so the son's wife gave him her portion also. That was sufficient,
and the guest departed, blessing them. That night those four people died of
starvation. A few granules of that flour had fallen on the floor; and when I
rolled my body on them, half of it became golden, as you see. Since then I have
been travelling all over the world, hoping to find another sacrifice like that, but
nowhere have I found one; nowhere else has the other half of my body been
turned into gold. That is why I say this is no sacrifice."
