By Dhirasanta dasa
The mountains were cold at night and the young travellers still had several days to go before reaching the source of the sacred Ganges River. Like fallen leaves blown together in the wind, the travellers were a mixed bunch. They often discussed the teachings of their various gurus (spiritual teachers).
One evening, as they were getting ready for bed, a pilgrim named Shivaraj said, “My guru says that everything is one. There is no difference between God and the world, or between God and the soul.”
Ramdas could not agree. “Not according to my teacher. He says that even though everything comes from God, it doesn't mean that everything is God. The soul always remains separate from the Lord.”
“That's your illusion!” retorted Shivaraj. “When drops of water enter the ocean they merge into the ocean. The separate drops exist no more. When you become liberated you will realise that you are God”.
“On the contrary,” replied Ramadas, “when the soul enters the spiritual nature it may appear to merge, but actually it never does. It is like a green parrot entering a green tree. It appears to merge but both the bird and the tree remain separate. Similarly, even after liberation the soul remains distinct from God.”
In this way the discussion went on for over an hour. “I still say that everything is God,” Shivaraj said. Then pointing to the clothing beside their beds, he added, “Just as we call all our clothes by different names – shirts, pyjamas, sarees – but actually all that really exists is the thread.”
Ramdas shook his head. He did not believe this.
Out to prove his point, Shivaraj pointed to his bedding. “See this blanket? It's nothing but thread going both this way and that way. There is no difference between the thread and the blanket.”
Smiling broadly, Ramdas tugged at a length of loose thread on his own blanket. Then he quietly asked, “You say there is no difference between the thread and the blanket?” “Of course,” returned Shivraj, with an air of confidence, “My guru often gives this example.”
“Very well,” laughed Ramdas. “Let's trade. I'll take your blanket tonight. You should be quite happy with this thread, because for you it's the same as the blanket.”
Shivaraj somewhat reluctantly handed over his only blanket.
But in the middle of the night, Ramdas was awakened by a tap on his shoulder. It was Shivaraj. “I'm freezing, could I please have my blanket back?”
“Of course,” Ramdas said. “But do you still believe that everything is one?”
The Thread and the Blanket
