A Sweet Parable

Image Credit: Grok.com

My father was an intelligent man. Simplicity and pragmatism he could readily appreciate; not so much, verbiage and intellectualism. He thus particularly liked simple stories which could nonetheless deliver a deep message. One such parable he used to narrate most impressively, something I too grew up liking considerably. Here it is:

Once upon a time, lived a small boy who loved eating mithai. As fate would have it, he developed some disease which required him to quit sugar altogether. “Otherwise, the child will soon leave us all forever,” the doctor had coldly served an ultimatum. The boy’s mother grew terribly worried as he would simply not relent and continued eating all sort of sweet stuff, with reckless abandon. Pleas, perks, plots or punishments – nothing would keep the boy away from the poison. The mother employed the services of all her acquaintances – relatives, teachers, friends, the young, the old – warning the boy to abandon sweets, but to no avail. Oh the pain of the mother’s heart – the boy was inching towards death. And the poor woman herself was losing hope.

One fine day, a relative of hers heard of the mother’s misery and blurted, “Hey, why don’t you visit the Yogi ji who lives in the mountains – he has remedies to all the problems under the Sun. Yes, he is indeed a maharshi!” The lady was overjoyed. “Finally, a glimmer of hope!” she thought, and the very next morning she took the boy on a long journey to see the said Yogi and explained to him her predicament. He heard with patience and intently observed the enfant terrible, who had been playing around with thorough unconcern, amused by the simplicity and abundance of nature in the ashram. The Yogi understood that the woman had exhausted all the tricks of the trade and that the matter, though simple, was tough. He went silent for a few tense minutes as the lady waited anxiously for a miracle to happen. “I note the problem, Maa,” finally the Yogi broke his silence, while still being pensive. “Bring the boy back to me in 3 weeks,” and with these words, the meeting ended abruptly.

In the days that followed, the mother waited impatiently for the scheduled meeting. A strange mix of curiosity, anxiety, sadness and hope dominated her mind. Finally came the day and she found herself and her son in front of the Yogi again. He could see the expectant look in the mother’s eyes. Without further ado, he proceeded: he got the boy to sit opposite him, looked him in the eye and said softly and lovingly, “Beta, from this moment on, give up eating anything sweet!” He then turned to the mother. “You may leave now, Maa,” he said, ending the meeting even more abruptly this time. “That’s it?” thought the woman, clueless, “where’s the miracle?” However, she was too dumbfounded and awed to seek clarification or to complain, and hurriedly left confused.

Miracle of miracles! From the very next day, the boy gave up everything sweet. The mother was shocked at the instant transformation. Even milk he would drink sugarless. It was as if he was suddenly allergic to the taste of sweetness. Within weeks, the boy’s health was nearing normalcy and even the doctors were surprised at the patient’s newfound diligence. There was no explanation as to what had happened. The whole village would talk about the boy with a sense of wonderment. Even after months, the boy continued with his resolve unabated and his illness started to fade from memory.

The mother however had not forgotten anything. And time failed to douse her curiosity. The day finally came when she decided to confront the Yogi and seek explanation. “Pranam Yogi ji Maharaj!” bowed the woman before the maharshi, “I must ask you to explain two things: First, Why did my son choose to respect your instruction, while we had all – dozens of us – failed to convince him even the slightest bit? And secondly, if all you had to do was tell him to stop eating sugar, pray why did you not do it in the very first meeting and instead made me visit a second time? I am consumed with curiosity; please help me Yogi ji Maharaj.”

The Yogi’s face acquired a subtle smile, as if amused. “The physical is just manifestation, Maa," he started to explain, "it is the subliminal, the subconscious where the real action takes place. Physical words carry no weight; character does. You and all else employed mere words; the boy was thus unmoved.

“Now to your queries,” continued the Yogi, “Maa, when you came to me first, I too was excessively fond of mithai and other sweet things and regularly treated me with them. Upon learning of your crisis, I mentally resolved never to eat sugar for the rest of my life and in the three intervening weeks, I practised this resolve absolutely, never touching sugar even once. By the end, I had so completely erased the fondness that even the sight of anything sweet was repulsive to me. I thus remoulded and restrengthened my character. It was not mere words; it was the strength of the character they expressed that transformed the boy.

“Months have passed since and years will pass hence, but nothing sweet shall ever touch this tongue again. Such a negligible cost for the life of your lovely child!

“Now leave, Maa, before the Sun starts to set. You have far to go.”