Pujya Gurudev’s Travelogue of the Pilgrimage to the Himalayas
The weeping mountain
On our way today we saw the weeping mountain. Its stone was soft. Some spring water was blocked above and had no means to pass through. The soft stone began to absorb it, but where will the absorbed water go? It was seeping through the mountain rock. This seepage, when accumulated, began to fall down in drops. People’s fertile imagination called them the drops of tears. At places where wetness accumulated, soil particles carried by wind got stuck and soft green moss began to grow there. Moss is called KicaĂa in the hilly language here. When the mountain weeps, its eyes must be aching as the result of which KicaĂa is excreted by its eyes. This is a simple imagination. We saw this weeping mountain today and wiped its tears, too. We felt the moss with our fingers. We could only do this much. Who would ask the mountain as to why it was weeping? And if asked, could it have replied?
But imagination is uncontrollable. Mind began to ask the mountain. . "Oh! Mountain King, you are blessed with so much of wild beauty and grandeur. You do not have to wander here and there. By simply sitting at a place you are enjoying your existence. Then what is it that worries you? Why do you weep?"
The rocky mountain stood silent. But the mountain’ in my imagination began to talk. "How can you understand the pain I feel in my heart? I am very high, am decorated with nature’s beauty and am living without any care and worries. Apparently I have everything, but can this inert, indolent, inactive life be called a life at all? The life devoid of movement, action, struggle, hope, enthusiasm, effort etc. is akin to lifelessness. The joy lies in action. To remain eternally rooted at one place is different from enjoying rest after activity. Mine is the peace of the graveyard. No sensible person will call it rest or happiness. Those who play on the playground of nature, feel more and more fresh and energized as they play on. Every moving life form in nature marches ahead like a valiant warrior, vanquishing one opponent after the other. On the contrary, here I am sitting pretty hoarding the wealth of natural resources and exhibiting splendor. Dear child of imagination, you may call me rich, wealthy and lucky but I am simply inactive. Others leave their indelible imprint on the pages of history, by serving others with their talents, earn eternal fame and feel proud on seeing others getting benefited by their deeds. But I have hoarded like a miser all the resources within myself. If I emit the mossy excretion through my eyes due to weeping out of self-pity, there is nothing to be wondered at."