Chitragupta’s Judgment: The Selfie-Taker Became a Monkey

 

He died. His soul traveled through a path of light and arrived at the court of Chitragupta. Before him stood a grand throne of justice, upon which Chitragupta was seated. He was dressed in white robes, radiant and serene. In front of him lay countless scriptures, containing the records of all human’s sins and virtues on Earth.

Chitragupta asked, “Where do you wish to go?”

The soul replied, “I made many mistakes in life, but in the end, I went to see the Lord. I sought forgiveness at His feet. My sins were erased. I deserve heaven.”

Chitragupta opened a heavy tome. Its pages recorded the soul’s entire life—every action, every thought. Looking at the book, Chitragupta said, “But there’s no mention of your plea for forgiveness in my records.”

The soul was shocked. “How can that be? I went to the temple. Took photos, selfies, made reels. There’s proof!”

Chitragupta smiled slightly. “Yes, there is proof. You took a selfie at the temple’s entrance. There are photos with the idols around. Videos of the rituals too. Even a reel of you seeking forgiveness before the deity. But…”

Chitragupta paused. “Your focus was only on the camera. While asking for forgiveness, your heart was silent. There was no devotion in your eyes, only framing. No remorse in your mind, only the rush to post. Hence, your sins were not erased.”

The soul fell silent. Crestfallen.

Chitragupta said, “I won’t send you to hell. I’ll send you back to Earth—as a monkey in Delhi Zoo.”

“A monkey?” The soul was stunned.

“Yes. There, you’ll perform monkey antics. People will take selfies with you, click photos, make reels. Just like you did before the deity. But now, you’ll be in their frame. People will see humor, compassion, and irony in your form.

You’ll remember your past life— ‘I too once did this, and now I bear its consequences.’ Then, if you truly seek forgiveness from the heart, you’ll attain heaven in your next birth.” The soul was now quiet.

He understood—photos aren’t proof, feelings are.

The Farmer and the Mathematics of Zero

Even though our ancestors discovered zero, today we have forgotten its true meaning. The entire system of the world runs on the mathematics of zero.

So, what is this mathematics of zero?

If we borrow ₹100 from someone, the account isn’t complete until we repay it. Only when we subtract 100 from 100 do we get zero. Without reaching zero, the equation remains incomplete. Those who fail to reach zero remain in debt.

This is exactly the situation of farmers today. Instead of repaying the debt of water taken from Mother Earth, they spend lakhs on borewells. Yet, the water level keeps falling. One day, there will be no water left in the account. Fertile land will turn into desert.

Farmers harvest crops from the soil but often burn stubble, leaves, and organic waste instead of returning them to the soil as natural fertilizer. They don’t return animal and human waste to the soil as fertilizer. As a result, the debt taken from the earth is never repaid. The mathematics of zero fails. And when zero fails, wealth does not emerge from farming. The farmer falls into debt, poverty, and sometimes even suicide.

How do we repay water to the land?

In the Dwapar era, Krishna showed the way by creating 99 lakes in Brij to repay the earth’s debt. To make people understand the importance of lakes, ancient sages-built pilgrimage sites near them and gave them religious significance.

Earlier, every village had a lake. Even Delhi had over 500 lakes before 1947 for a population of just 4 lakh. The Gond kings of Bhandara district built more than 10,000 lakes. In the past, there was a complete system to repay the water debt. People understood the mathematics of zero.

Now is the time for the government to act. Farmers who burn stubble and waste must face strict action. Urban waste can be turned into compost and returned to the soil. The government can easily provide subsidies for this. Instead of chemical fertilizers, subsidies should be given for organic manure.

In Buldhana district, the village of Hiwre Bazaar built more than 40 lakes through collective effort and solved the water crisis. Farming, livestock, and living conditions improved. They understood the mathematics of zero.

If other villages follow this model, we won’t need massive dams in the mountains.

 

The Bound Soul – Samarth’s Warning (Be the Master, Not the Dog)

Samarth Ramdas says — in this world there are countless living beings, but they fall into four groups: Bound, Seeker of Liberation, Practitioner, and Liberated. The first question is: What is a bound soul? A bound soul is one who is tied down.

 

I am giving the example of a man with his dog to elaborate the baddh situation described by Samarth. The man ties the dog with a chain and takes him for a walk. If the dog is trained, it quietly follows the master. But usually, the dog runs ahead, and the master struggles to keep up, holding the chain tightly. Sometimes the dog breaks free, bites someone, and then the master faces quarrels, fights, medical expenses, even court cases. Instead of enjoying the joy of keeping a pet, the master suffers. In truth, it is the master who has become bound by the dog’s attraction.

 

In the same way, our senses — eyes, ears, nose, tongue, touch, hands, feet — are like dogs. If we become slaves to them, we lose control and they rule over us. Samarth describes the bound soul:

 

Now know the bound one

as Blind among the blind.

Without vision in all directions,

Lost in emptiness.

 

Such a person cannot think clearly. He does not understand duty, charity, devotion, knowledge, detachment, meditation, or liberation. He is drowned in anger, pride, jealousy, and selfish desires.

 

Just like a student who gets so caught up in mobile games that he forgets to study, a bound soul loses sight of the true purpose of life.

 

Samarth says such a person is busy with wealth in body, speech, and mind. For selfish gain he cheats, corrupts, and even harms others. In the end, he suffers through courts, prisons, and diseases. By overindulging in pleasures, his body and mind become sick.

 

Samarth’s description from 350 years ago is still true today. We decorate our homes not for living, but for ACs, TVs, and fridges. We bathe not for cleanliness, but for beauty. We eat not for nourishment, but for taste — pizza, burgers, chocolates. We buy cars for status. Parents and children feel like burdens, while pets are kept for show.

Today many people chase “likes” on social media. But instead of peace, they end up with stress. This too is a sign of bondage.

 

 Once we become slaves of our senses, the results strike both body and mind. Skin diseases, asthma, diabetes, heart problems, cancer, liver and kidney failure, blindness — life collapses, and hard-earned money sinks into medicines. The mind suffers depression, anxiety, sleeplessness, addictions; some even take the path of suicide. The growing number of old-age homes shows broken family ties.

 

Overconsumption destroys the environment — air and water turn poisonous, forests vanish, seasons lose balance. From this greed arise imperialist tendencies in governments, wars for resources, and humanity faces ruin.

 

 A bound soul fails in worldly life and cannot achieve spiritual liberation. His condition is like “the washerman’s dog — neither of the house nor of the riverbank.” Samarth warned us with nearly 100 signs of bondage. We must not become slaves to our senses. We must remain masters — not dogs.

 

Serpent’s Bite – Decisions and Consequences

 

First Story: A Firm Decision

A venomous snake has taken the lives of many citizens across the kingdom. The soldiers capture it and present it before the king.

They ask, “Your Majesty, this snake has killed many. What should we do?”

Without hesitation, the king replies, “What’s there to think? Crush it.”

The soldiers obey command and kill the snake.

Second Story: A Clash of Ideas

Again, the same snake, the same crime. But this time, the king doesn’t decide immediately. He seeks advice from his ministers.

First Minister:

“Your Majesty, the snake is dangerous. Keeping it alive invites future trouble. It must be killed.”

Second Minister:

“Your Majesty, the snake’s nature is venomous. It bites—that’s instinct. We are civilized. Taking a life without reflection is unjust.” The king is thoughtful. He consults a committee of respected citizens—wise, artistic, and progressive thinkers.

Committee’s Advice:

“The snake is not guilty. It acted according to its nature. Punishing it is denying its existence. Instead, keep it in a golden cage and offer milk on Nag Panchami.” The king agrees. The snake is caged in gold. Every year, milk is offered. One day, during Nag Panchami, the snake bites the king. The king dies.

Now the question arises—who is responsible for the king’s death? The snake? Or the committee that advised mercy? 

Sheltering a venomous enemy within the kingdom leads to consequences borne by the king and the entire populace.

“Dhoomraksha: The Invisible Devourer”

The human sage struck stones together and lit a fire. To please the fire, he prayed: “O Agni, grant us prosperity and victory over our enemies.” He chanted: “Agnaye Swaha. Idam Agnaye Idam Na Mama.”

Suddenly, from the sacrificial fire emerged a smoky, bodiless figure. Standing with folded hands, it said, “I am Dhoomraksha, son of Agni. Smoke is my food. Fulfilling human desires is my sacred duty.”

The sage asked for honey from a beehive. Dhoomraksha created smoke; the bees flew away. The sage coughed, but tasted the sweet honey. Dhoomraksha stood again, awaiting the next command.

Time passed. Arjuna ordered Dhoomraksha to burn down the Khandava forest. With the help of fire, Dhoomraksha devoured the forest’s creatures and plants. As life struggled, some forest dwellers fled and surrendered to Arjuna. They became the world’s first displaced people. On the ashes of Khandava, Indraprastha was built. Today, cities like Mumbai and Noida etc.  stand—thanks to Dhoomraksha.

Fulfilling every human desire, Dhoomraksha kept consuming smoke and grew so vast that his bodiless form now covers the entire Earth.

Yesterday evening, I stood on the terrace. I saw Dhoomraksha. I said, “Because of you, I have asthma.”

He calmly replied, “Master, I grew from your desires. Without smoke, cars, buildings, and air conditioners cannot exist. The smoke spreads, and you must bear its consequences.”

I fell silent. Went to my room. Turned on the AC. But sleep eluded me.

Finally, a thought struck me—during a ritual, we say “Idam Na Mama” (this is not mine), but in truth, we ask for everything for ourselves. From this contradiction, Dhoomraksha is born.

Perhaps, in fulfilling humanity’s endless desires, one day Dhoomraksha will consume humanity itself.

My Kamdhenu

Married and brought home a woman I considered mine by right. I placed fodder before her. In return, she gave plenty of milk.

She fulfilled her duties sincerely. I thought—where is love in this? That was my low, narrow-minded thinking.

I was lying on a hospital bed, fighting death. My body was trembling. She held me with both hands and helped me sit up. I looked into her eyes. There, I saw pure, innocent love.

A thought struck me—why had I never recognized her love?

I felt ashamed of myself. I held her hand tightly and said in a trembling voice, “I’m scared.”

In a firm voice, she replied, “Nothing will happen to you. I’m here.”

At that moment, she seemed to me like Savitri— the one who fought Yama for her husband’s life. She was someone who gave everything for the ones she loved, who filled our life with colors of joy.

Truly, she was my Kamadhenu.

* Yama: God of Death 

Divali of Chinyaa :The Joy of Fireworks

 On one side of the road were big bungalows, and on the other side, a slum. A common sight in any big city. Ten-year-old Chinya lived in one such slum. Like other children, he too wished to burst crackers like anar, chakri, and rockets during Diwali.

His father had bought him a small toy pistol. After bursting small crackers all day, Chinya got bored. In the evening, he saw rockets flying in the sky and felt sad—his father couldn’t afford fancy crackers like anar. “We are poor,” he thought, and that feeling hurt him.

“Chinya, why are you sitting inside? Come out! The bungalow guy is going to burst a big anar!” his father called out. Chinya came out. A man in front of the bungalow lit an anar. A tall, colorful fountain sparkled in the sky.

“Wasn’t that fun?” his father asked.

“What fun? I didn’t burst it,” Chinya replied.

“Look at those kids clapping and jumping. They didn’t burst it either,” his father explained.

“They didn’t, but their servant did!” Chinya said.

“If that were true, only the servant would be happy—not the kids,” his father said gently.

Chinya stayed silent.

“Look, Chinya,” his father continued, “Big people—kings, rich men—they don’t do things themselves. Their servants do it for them. Imagine this servant is bursting crackers for you. See how fun it feels!”

“So we should think he’s our servant?” Chinya asked.

Just then, Chinya noticed, “Papa! That servant is going to burst another anar!” he shouted excitedly.

Looking at the servant, Chinya yelled, “Hey Bhaiya! Burst one for us!”

The servant looked up and saw the little Chinya in front of his shack.  He was reminded of his own son in the village- his wistful little face lit with excitement.  The servant picked up a big, fat anar waved it to Chinya and ignited it.  And Lo! The sparks- red and blue and golden danced high and lit up the sky.  .  Red, blue, and white sparks lit up the sky.

Chinya clapped and jumped with joy.  A cheerful smile greeted the servant across the road. The servant gave back a broad smiled- the sad smile of a helpless father.

Seeing that smile, his father’s eyes filled with tears. The tears of powerless fathers.