Narada Teaches About True Devotion

The robber blocked the path, spear raised.

HUNTER: "Stop, traveler. Give me everything you have."

Narada looked at the fierce man—muscled, scarred, eyes dead to compassion.

Narada: "I have only my veena and my clothes. Take them if you wish."

HUNTER: "I will. You're not afraid."

Narada: "Should I be? You'll kill me or you won't. Either way, I continue on my journey—just in a different direction."

HUNTER: "You believe that? Truly?"

Narada: "I know it. But I have a question for you, robber. Why do you do this?"

HUNTER: "To feed my family. I have a wife, children, parents. They depend on me."

Narada: "And they share in the fruits of your labor. Do they share in the sin as well?"

Ratnakar frowned.

HUNTER: "What do you mean?"

Narada: "Every person you rob, every traveler you harm—you commit sin for their sake. Will they share the karma when you face judgment? Will your wife take part of your punishment? Your children? Your parents?"

HUNTER: "Of course they will. They benefit from—"

He stopped. The certainty in his voice wavered.

Narada: "Ask them. Before you rob me, go home and ask. Will they share your sin as they share your wealth? I'll wait here."

The robber tied Narada to a tree—just in case—and went home.

HUNTER: "I rob and kill for our family. When I'm punished for these sins, will you share my burden?"

She looked at him as if he'd gone mad.

His wife replied: "Why would I? You're the one who commits the crimes. My duty is to care for the home. Your sins are your own."

He asked his parents. His children. Each one said the same: the sins were his alone. The fruits they would share; the punishment, never.

He returned to Narada, shattered.

HUNTER: "They refused. All of them. I suffer and kill for them, and they won't share a moment of my karma."

Narada: "Now you know. The bonds we think hold us often exist only in our minds. You chose robbery. You can choose something else."

HUNTER: "What else is there for a man like me? This is all I know."

Narada: "Then learn something new. Sit here and repeat the name of Rama. Don't move. Don't eat. Don't sleep. Just repeat it until everything you were falls away and only what you are remains."

HUNTER: "How long?"

Narada: "As long as it takes. Years, probably. Decades, possibly."

HUNTER: "And if I fail?"

Narada: "Then you fail. But you'll fail trying to become something better rather than succeeding at staying something worse."

Ratnakar sat. He repeated the word. Years passed. Anthills grew over him—hence his new name: Valmiki, one from the anthill.

When he finally rose, he was no longer a robber. He was a sage. And he would write the greatest epic ever told.

Narada watched from afar, smiling. The lesson had taken root: Who else is responsible for your choices? The answer was always the same: no one.