Phalashruti : The Atainment - Mahesh Sowni

I was on my way home from my morning swim. As I passed under the railway bridge, I saw the same two transgender individuals begging. A little further on, the same tea stalls stood in a row, with the same men sitting at the counters, selling the same tea from dawn till night. The same daily routine. Don't they ever get bored? Not them, nor most other people, it seems. Sometimes I think they are the ones who have understood life. They have realized that a large part of it is bound to be tedious and bleak. So why do I insist that my own life must be something extraordinary? In truth, what could be more extraordinary than self-realization? It is the ultimate goal of human existence, as written in all the scriptures. But nowhere is there an answer to how one should live attaining it. And that is why I am confused. You’re probably thinking, You might have felt just as incredible when you scored well in your tenth-grade exams. Or when you got your first job. Or when you bought your first house. Those tenth-grade marks led to further education, which led to a job, which in turn led to the house I now live in. But I don't feel incredible about any of it anymore. Not the marks, not the job, not the house. Like a child’s new toy, played with for four days and then left forgotten in a corner, so too has my self-realization become. That once-extraordinary experience now lies discarded, and the old me remains just as he was. Perhaps that is what troubles me. I don’t know anyone else who has attained self-realization—at least, no one who is still in their body. So, there is no one I can ask, no authority I can consult. This only adds to my confusion. My ancestors didn’t leave me so much as an inch of land, forcing me to find a non-existent contentment in this cramped flat. Sometimes I wish they had left me just one plot of land. In the same way, I wish there was at least one other enlightened person around. “How long do you meditate each day?” many people ask me. When I give them the honest answer, “I don’t meditate at all these days,” they don’t believe me. They expect me to say I meditate for three hours at dawn and another three at night. But I don't give them that answer. Their disappointment is visible on their faces, and I can't bear to see it. When a man attains self-realization, he becomes as soft as butter. So, I tell them, “Look, after meditating for a long time, you reach a state where your everyday life itself becomes a meditation. The state of awareness and tranquility from that one hour of meditation extends into everything you do throughout the day.” Hearing this, they feel they've heard something profound. They are satisfied. And in the end, satisfaction is what matters, even if it’s pure deception. It’s not what you say, but how you say it that’s important. My mother always used to tell me that. Looking back, I feel she was indirectly teaching me to lie, to be dishonest. But I don’t blame her. For one, I never became dishonest. I never lied. Now you’ll ask, what about what I just said above? Well, for one, it wasn’t a lie, and for another, once you attain self-realization, all your sins are forgiven. This isn't my claim; it's written in the scriptures, in many places. Which, of course, has only deepened my confusion. The other reason I don’t blame my mother is that the entire world behaves dishonestly in the name of diplomacy. Such behavior is not only socially acceptable but expected. What a strange understanding, what a strange morality. Some might say, if you want to live in society, this is how you must live. If you can't, go live in the Himalayas. Well, I’ve already been there and done that! There are people there, too. Saints, ascetics, and others. Wherever there are people, this behavior follows. As long as self-interest isn't involved, everything is wonderful. Relationships are perfect. But sooner or later, in every relationship, that hidden self-interest rears its head and severs the bond. Then the real fun begins. True faces, true forms, are revealed. All morality gone. All values gone. Man appears in his primal form. I believe this, too, is a kind of self-realization. But it doesn't last long, because even after one stumble, the give-and-take continues in the next relationship, veiled by the same mask of morality. But it’s not like that for me. I am perpetually in a state of self-realization, and that is why I suffer. If I weren’t constantly in this state, life would be simpler. A blindfold of illusion would cover my eyes, and I would have lived like any ordinary person, laughing and crying. But that is not my destiny. Now, you will all want me to tell you about my self-realization. My guru… yes, I had a guru, but we were on the same level. When my mother passed away, someone asked me her age. I said, “My mother was the same age as me.” He didn’t understand. I explained, “Before me, my mother was just a woman. She became a mother only after I was born.” He seemed to get it, but with a hint of doubt. You probably have your doubts too. My guru, you see, was not a guru until he met me. When the disciple appeared, he became the guru. Thus, our relationship was one of equals. I told him in one of our first meetings that neither was superior nor inferior. This shook him to his core, but he was also delighted to have found a true disciple. As for my self-realisation, my guru used to say that one’s experiences in the bedroom and in spirituality are not to be shared. Nevertheless, at the right time, I will tell you about that sublime experience, because after enlightenment, such distinctions cease to exist. This story, however, is not about my self-realisation. It is about my state it. I returned home from my swim. As I opened the door, two flies greeted me. My wife and daughter were at my wife's brother's wedding. I had stopped attending such functions years ago. I took my tea and biscuits to the chair in the veranda. The two flies returned. I don't know if they were the same ones, but they were there. “Would you like some tea?” I asked, flicking a spoonful onto the ground. The flies vanished. I dipped a biscuit into my cup. It dissolved and fell. I finished the tea and ate the remnants of the disintegrated biscuit-dream with a spoon. All that was left was the hollow cup. Does something always remain even after everything is over, like this despair? For a moment, the biscuit felt like the mortal soul () and the tea felt like the divine (). The biscuit dissolving in the tea was the union of the two. Now the soul had no independent existence. Just like me. More than a decade has passed since that event, but the question of what I have truly gained still haunts me. It’s not that I abandoned my work to pursue religion. I never got entangled in rituals. Would it have been better if I had? Perhaps I wouldn't have been so stuck. We do many things in life out of habit. Good habits are ingrained in us during childhood. We wake up early, fold our blankets, brush our teeth, bathe, and similarly, we perform our daily prayers. That’s all the importance it holds. I was restless twelve years ago. I am restless today. So what did I gain from following all these saints and sages? The one good thing is that I never became anyone’s blind devotee. I didn't abandon my life to follow them or lay my entire salary at their feet. Perhaps that's why I'm disappointed? Because I did that, I saw their true forms. Otherwise, how would they have been revealed? We pay a price for every moment. If a student shirks his studies for pleasure, failing the exam is the price of that pleasure. If he only studies, missing out on pleasure is his price. And if he tries to balance both, the constant conflict of is the price. Nothing in life is free, and no matter what you do, you get trapped. Yet, one must do something, one must make a choice. Like the decision I made today to let Akshay come over. When you deny people or desires, they become more insistent. If you accept them and grant them a reasonable resolution, they no longer torment you. Then they go their separate ways—both people and desires. It shouldn't have happened in front of Akshay, but it did. There’s no point in dwelling on what’s done. Even though I am enlightened, I am no exception. The thought bothers me, but only for a short while. What's done is done. The priority is to salvage what remains. I don’t cry like I used to. What does it mean to cry? It’s when our expectations of others are not met, we get angry. Then, realizing we cannot change the situation, we become dejected and cry. We cry out of despair, don’t we? And what is despair, if not the feeling that things didn’t go my way? When a loved one dies, what is the expectation? That they shouldn't have died—that everything should happen as I wish. Not only that they shouldn't have died, but also the feeling of, The expectation was that the deceased person would have fulfilled my needs—physical, emotional, or otherwise. The anger, acceptance, and then despair over the fact that those needs will no longer be met. Today, for some reason, I remembered my father, who passed away twelve years ago. I had no expectations of him when he was alive, and none after he was gone. I pushed the steel glass of tea aside and lay down on the mat. I drink tea from a steel glass. It holds more, and it won't break like a ceramic cup if it's pushed around or topples over. From my house, I can hear the train announcements, the engine’s horn, and a thrill for unseen, distant lands fills me. A little later, the monotonous, lonely drone of a single engine passing by——dampens my spirits. “Living so close to the station, you must have memorized all the announcements,” visitors say. “No. We are hardly ever listening. We are always talking—sometimes with our mouths, and at other times, inside our heads.” That’s the kind of answer I used to give. Nowadays, I mostly stay quiet, though my old nature sometimes rears its head. I have no complaints about anyone now, not even myself. Sleep is nature's most beautiful invention for forgetting life's sorrows and worries. “Let her sleep. Children grow in their sleep,” my mother used to say about my daughter, Niva, when she was little. Do we grow in our sleep, or do we forget that with every passing moment, time is wearing us away? Even if I haven't slept at night, I can't sleep now. I just lie on the mat with my eyes closed. I clasped my hands behind my head and wiggled my toes. It felt as if I had sprouted wings. The dreams of flying had stopped recently. I used to have those incredible dreams so often. A crowded marketplace, vendors with their stalls set up under cloth canopies. I would be flying above it all. Flying freely in the air, as if I had wings. I watched the spectacle from above, not bothering anyone, just flying—free, untethered. Now, even that flying has stopped. To be honest, another dream used to haunt me. My cruel aunt would appear and scold me. I would wake up with a start, drenched in sweat, my heart pounding, my throat dry. But now, that dream too had ceased. Age—I’m not that old, thirty-eight is nothing—has taught me one thing for sure: our head is a cassette player with the same eight or ten tapes playing on a loop. Mostly tapes of the past. Perhaps one of the future. But the themes are always the same eight or ten that are dear to us or that have us trapped. An insult suffered, poverty witnessed, the death of a loved one, unfulfilled desires. And so on. A fly buzzed near my ear, and I remembered that Akshay would be here in an hour. It was as if the fly had come to remind me. I got up, pulled aside the thick curtains, and a sliver of sunlight pierced the room. I went to the basin, turned on the tap, and splashed cold water on my eyes until the water from the pipe ran out and the warmer water from the tank began to flow. I knew what he wanted to talk about, and that was why I didn't want to meet him. But the meeting was unavoidable. I decided that even if he came, I would not speak of that subject. Akshay was thirty, about ten years younger than me. Well-built, bearded, articulate, and determined. A man who gets what he wants. I barely knew him, having seen him only once or twice at Tatya Maharaj's ashram. But even in those fleeting encounters, his personality was striking. He managed all of the Maharaj's affairs, both when he was alive and now after his passing. He had even called me a couple of times for donations. The doorbell rang. Akshay stood at the door. “I had some work nearby, so I thought I’d visit you since I was in the area,” Akshay said, placing the glass of water down. I didn’t say anything like, “How nice of you to come.” After enlightenment, I couldn't even manage a polite lie. I was beyond the social contract of . Akshay began to speak. “True saints are rare now. It’s our duty to document the ones that exist. Spirituality is a science; it must be presented to the world as such. If we don’t create a record, all that’s left are myths and legends. I know you share these views.” “How can I help?” I asked. “Should I write an article on Tati Baba? Some financial assistance?” “Neither of those. Tati Baba was a monk, certainly, but not a saint. He hadn’t attained self-realization or anything of the sort. He had the same worldly attachments as any householder, just without a wife and children. He fulfilled his responsibilities, but he had no spiritual knowledge to offer the world. He was honest about that. Not like the so-called saints on YouTube and TV today who charge lakhs to tell people there is no value in money! But the truly realized soul remains hidden from all this. Maharaj was in the ICU for his last three days. I was with him. He told me, ‘That man is highly advanced. Don’t let him go.’ That’s why I’ve come.” “I’ll get some tea,” I said, ending the conversation right there. A little later, I returned with tea and biscuits and placed them before him. Neither of us spoke until the tea was finished. Placing his cup down, Akshay said, “There are so many fraudulent babas already. Isn’t it our responsibility to tell people the truth, to give them this supreme knowledge?” “Even though everyone uses tea powder, sugar, water, and milk, each person’s tea is different. Some boil the tea and water separately. Some boil everything together. Some add the powder after the water boils, others before. Self-realization is like that. Besides, no matter how many times you tell people tea is unhealthy, how many can actually quit? As for knowledge, he who is destined to receive it, will. I don't need to do anything. The scriptures themselves say that one person may study for years and not attain supreme knowledge, while another may receive it in a fleeting moment. Moreover, I am confused myself. I don't know what I've gained by acquiring this knowledge. My life has only become more complicated. It would be highly irresponsible for me to say or write anything at this time.” “I saw you levitating that night,” Akshay said. “Fine. You may have. But what does that prove? A pilot can fly, and he can take many others with him. But in the end, he’s just doing a job. He doesn’t own the plane, does he?” “One could learn the art of verbal acrobatics from you.” “It's the truth. People have the misconception that after enlightenment, the world will dance to their tune. I had it too. Fortunately, it was shattered. What are miracles, anyway? They are just an insistence that things happen my way.” The man wants what he does not have, and even when he gets it, his begging bowl remains empty for something else. An unquenchable thirst that lasts until death. There was no point telling this to Akshay. He wouldn't have understood, or believed it if he did. I gave Akshay what he wanted and sent him on his way. It was true that I had levitated that night, but otherwise, there was no great change in my life or my nature. And this bothered me. “Daddy, can you fly?” my daughter, studying in third grade, asked me one day, and I froze. Children have an innate knowledge of certain things. A tiny infant smiles in its sleep. Its perception is different. Does it see things others cannot? They say that until the age of five, children even retain memories of past lives. She then asked a question about Harry Potter, and I could breathe again. Later, I saw a BTS Army app on my phone. “Did you use my phone?” I asked her. “Yes.” “What have you downloaded?” Without giving her a chance to answer, I kept yelling at her. Finally, I said, “If you touch my phone again, you’ll see.” My beloved daughter ran to her mother’s arms, sobbing. She was at fault, so she was quiet. Otherwise, she would have created a scene. Within ten minutes, everything was back to normal. I felt I had needlessly shouted at my little girl. She was eating. I took her on my lap and began to feed her. Even in third grade, she loved being fed. I used to joke, “One day I’m coming to your school to ask your teacher if she also feeds you.” But that day, I was feeding her, and she was eating happily. Then I said to her, “Even if I get angry with you sometimes, don’t you get angry with me, okay?” She burst into tears. “And on Sunday, you can take my tablet. I don’t mind,” I said. “No, what if I press something by mistake?” “It’s okay. Everything can be fixed.” That night, I held her close. “I’m sorry I got angry with you,” I said. “Oh, Daddy, I forgot about that a long time ago. Why are you still holding on to it?” she replied. , I thought then, and I had started trying to live that way. Today, after Akshay left, I remembered that incident and missed her terribly. “Sorry,” the word escaped my lips. A fly started buzzing near me again. Fearing it would fly into my mouth, I quickly shut it. Lying in bed that night, a thought crossed my mind. My father lived his life as he pleased. He took no responsibility for us. My mother worked and managed the household. My father was detached from everything. He smoked, drank, and lived life on his own terms for a good 64 years. My devout mother, on the other hand, was bedridden for a decade. Such sentences were thrown around. I wondered. My father was an addict and irresponsible, but he wasn’t attached. Was it because he fulfilled his duties that my mother became entangled? But I've seen many people who drink and yet fulfill their family responsibilities perfectly. Has religion become an addiction like that? Renunciation means no responsibility. True sacrifice, true selfless action, is to perform one's duty every moment, offering up all expectations. Then I reasoned with myself. As long as there is a mind, there are thoughts. Thoughts and thinking are two different things. Thoughts arise in everyone’s mind, but not everyone thinks about them. When negative thoughts come, not everyone holds their hand and follows them down a path. They treat them like an unwelcome relative. Then these thoughts don't stay long. I had a math teacher in twelfth grade named Mr. Parchure. Once, while he was teaching, I asked him, “But what is the use of subtracting this from that?” He replied, “Profit and loss exist in business, not in mathematics.” But I later understood that the mathematics of life is calculated entirely in terms of profit and loss. Sir is no longer alive. Otherwise, I would have told him, “Sir, I was right.” The doorbell rang, breaking my reverie. It was bright daylight outside. The clock on the wall read ten in the morning. I had slept so long! I opened the door. Two policemen stood there. “Can we come in?” Inspector Pradhan asked. I knew his name and rank from his nameplate. He was around fifty, dark and lean. The constable with him, Potey, had a potbelly, true to his name, and looked somewhat bewildered. “Do you know Akshay?” Inspector Pradhan asked as soon as he sat on the sofa. “Yes.” “He came to your place yesterday?” “Yes.” “What did you talk about?” “Nothing much. The usual—ashram, babaji. Nothing special.” “Are you sure?” Pradhan asked, stroking his sharp mustache. “Yes.” “You’re not hiding anything?” “What is there to hide?” “I think you need to come to the station for questioning.” “Are you arresting me?” “Not yet. Just for questioning. But I can’t say what will happen next.” “Let’s go.” “Why did you smile?” “In such situations, people usually say they need to call their lawyer.” “It seems you haven’t heard the saying, ‘He who has done no wrong has no reason to fear,’” I said. The police station was a new, gleaming RCC building. Computers everywhere. Inspector Pradhan took me to his cabin, offered me a seat respectfully, and gave me tea. Then, placing a hand on my shoulder, he said, “I know.” “Know what?” “What you are trying to hide from the world.” “I haven’t committed a murder.” “I know that too. We’ve been keeping an eye on Akshay for a long time. You are one of the very few people in the world…” “There is no connection between those two sentences.” “Tell me the secret.” “Of what? The murder?” I asked. “You have a good sense of humor.” He walked behind me and sat in his chair. “Tell me the secret of the universe.” “Is it that easy to understand?” He leaned forward. “No. That’s why I am asking you. To obtain anything, one must either work very hard for it, or buy it from someone who has, or…” “Or?” “Or take it by force, by theft. Of course, if it’s given and taken amicably, it’s convenient for everyone,” Pradhan said with a smile. I stood up to leave. “Yes, but come back tomorrow.” “Again?” “Yes. We’ll have tea, chat.” I returned home from the station. The desire to eat was gone. I put pieces of watermelon in the blender and turned it on. The red chunks instantly turned into a liquid pulp, dancing in a vortex. For some reason, watching it made me feel nauseous. Then the events of yesterday flashed before my eyes. I had told Akshay, “Look, whatever happened that night, whatever you saw, you must forget it. It’s for the good of us both.” “Sir… how is it possible to forget? I had only heard about it, read a little. But that day…” “No one knows about this. Not at my company. Not my friends. Not even my wife and daughter. I don’t want this discussed. My life will become impossible. I beg you, do not speak of what happened.” “Yes, sir. I understand. I consider myself fortunate to have witnessed that experience with my own eyes. My respect for you has grown a hundredfold since that night. But call it my curiosity or something else… I have only two requests. Please grant them. I promise I will never contact you again, nor will I speak of this to anyone.” “Speak.” “The first is a question. Have you attained self-realization?” “Yes,” I said. The reverence on his face deepened. He joined his hands in respect. “My second request is… I want to see what happened that night one more time.” “Alright. Turn off your mobile and give it to me. I trust you won’t record it. I know you have that much respect for me. But I can’t take any risks. I want to live my life as peacefully as possible, away from the public eye.” “But if you reveal yourself, won’t it be for the welfare of the world?” “One doesn't always have to be in the spotlight. Many things can be done from behind the curtain. Besides, isn’t it up to each individual’s nature and desire whether to come forward or stay back?” “Yes. I respect your feelings, your decision,” he said, handing me his phone. I told him I would change my clothes and be back. I opened the cupboard, placed his phone inside, and took out my red dhoti. I spread my meditation mat on the floor. I closed all the curtains, lit an oil lamp, and an incense stick. The room filled with its gentle fragrance and smoke. Those two flies were still buzzing around. I told them to go outside. Then I called Akshay in. “Whatever happens, stay calm. Don’t even let out a gasp. For your sake and mine. You will see again what you have already seen. But if you insist on seeing it repeatedly, I will not be responsible for the consequences.” The last sentence had its effect; I saw a flicker of fear on his face. Sometimes, even a man on the spiritual path has to lie. I sat in the lotus posture. I gently closed my eyes. I relaxed every part of my body, from head to toe. After three rounds of this, I chanted eleven times. from the navel, from the heart, and from the mind. After that… did Akshay leave? Or did he vanish? Why can't I remember? “What proof do you have that I harmed Akshay?” I asked Inspector Pradhan the next day at the station. “An expected question,” he said, spinning a green glass paperweight on his desk. “Here, have some tea. You are still a suspect, and I do have respect for you. What you have achieved is not possible for everyone. So, you were asking about proof? Honestly, I have no proof against you for murder or anything like that. But… he was last seen with you. No one knows where he went after that. It’s natural to assume you know something. And it’s clear you’re hiding something.” A moment of silence, broken only by the whirring of the ceiling fan. Then Pradhan’s voice dropped. “Of course, not all secrets can be shared with everyone. You are right in your own way. Akshay is not at his ashram, not at his home. His phone was recovered from Gorakhpur. Someone probably threw it on a train.” “Or Akshay forgot it on a train,” I suggested. “No. That’s not possible.” “Why?” “Because I have checked all the CCTVs. He never entered the railway station.” Pradhan’s voice suddenly hardened. “Do you practice black magic?” “No,” I said. A fly buzzed in front of my face. The thought that it might have followed me from home made me smile even in that situation. I brought my hand to my mouth and made a fist. The fly was inside. Pradhan remained grim. “You stayed at a tantric monastery for a long time. I have the details of when and where.” “That doesn't prove I practice black magic. I went for spiritual practice.” “I know that too. But there is proof you were there. Right now, even without proof of murder, that is enough for me to frame you for practicing black magic.” “What exactly do you want?” “You know what I want.” “And can it be obtained by force?” “I know it can’t. That’s why I am being civil with you. Guruji, we have plenty of time. There’s no rush. Gaikwad, drop Guruji home in the car.” “Guruji?” “From now on, you are our Guruji.” Pradhan said, smiling with folded hands. As I reached the door, I turned and asked, “And what about Akshay?” “This is the world's most populous country. People disappear every day. Not all of them are found. We keep these cases open. Sometimes, while investigating a minor case, an entirely different, unknown crime comes to light. Something like that has happened here.” “I haven't committed any crime.” “Guruji, I know that too. You have reached a state where no karma can bind you. I am a seeker myself. I have wandered for years, but never found a true guru. They are all charlatans, after money. But they say a strong desire is always fulfilled. This Akshay was a petty criminal. Tracking him led me to this jackpot.” I sat quietly. Pradhan told me I could go home, that he would call if needed, and to cooperate. He then left for some meeting. I started for home. The buzzing of flies accompanied me. When I got home, my phone rang. It was the bank that handles my salary, offering me a credit card. I get angry that they use my number illegally like this, but not as much as I used to. I thought about turning off my phone, but then, what if there was an emergency? Yesterday, an apprentice inspector had met me at the station. “Inspector Pradhan is not in yet, but you can go,” he had said. “Are you sure?” “Yes. You were troubled for no reason. I apologize on behalf of our department. We have closed Akshay’s file.” As I stepped out of the station, Potey ran after me. He fell at my feet. “Forgive me. We junior officers are helpless before our superiors. From day one, I told Saheb not to mess with saints, but he didn’t listen…” I placed a hand on his head and started to leave. “Your blessings,” he said. I just smiled. I came home. I was a self-realized man, was that why I hadn’t been arrested? Anyone else in my place would have been rotting in jail. I opened the lock. Two flies flew into the house. “Come in,” I said to them. “Sorry. It took a little longer. The thing is, the theory was all memorized, but there was some confusion during the practical. It won’t happen again.” I washed up and sat for meditation. A deep darkness was before my eyes. Upon that canvas, I drew patterns with my will. The front door opened. The voices of my wife and daughter filled the house. “Daddy, where were you?” my daughter asked, running to me. “I was right here.” “Do you know what a terrible dream I had? I had become a fly.” “If you were a fly, you must have eaten lots of sweets.” “I did! But I missed you so much.” “Don’t worry. You will not become a fly again. Not even in a dream,” I said. “Meaning?” “Meaning… meaning… tiger’s paws!” I said, lifting her into my arms. The next day, as I was packing a bag to leave, my wife said, “Please be careful. You keep wandering into forests for your spiritual practice.” “What happened?” “They say people have started disappearing.” “What?” “There was a policeman named Pradhan. He was searching for a missing person.” “And?” “While searching, he himself disappeared.” “Look, people don't just disappear like that. There are reasons. Some are in debt. Some are depressed. And some are in search of the unknown, ultimate truth. Nothing of that sort will happen to me. I will return safely. That is my word.” I spent two months in the forest in arduous practice. On my return, I met that same apprentice inspector at the railway station. He told me the official stories. Pradhan was buried in debt from chasing gurus and babas. He had absconded, taken monastic vows, and was now living in some sadhu encampment with a long beard. And Akshay, the boy whose disappearance he was investigating, was the successor to some Maharaj. After the Maharaj’s death, he had embezzled a fortune and fled. I took my leave from him. I now understood all the secrets of creation. The practical, too. The whole world, everything in it, was one. Through the power of austerity, any object, any person, could be transformed into anything else, but in the end, the entire cosmos was one. This was the fruit of my practice. This was my attainment. -Mahesh Sowni  (This article is the translated version of the original story फलश्रुती  written byMahesh Sownipublished in the Sahitya Chaprak Diwali Ank 2025 )   https://youtu.be/hi9a3O6oOfQ