There was a small village in Japan. A monk, a young monk, came to that village. Very handsome, very healthy, very glorious. The light of his brilliance soon spread far and wide. His fragrance captivated many people. He became the village's beloved. A year passed, two years passed, and he became the lifeblood of the village. He was worshipped.
But one day, everything changed. The entire village was filled with condemnation towards him. It was early morning, winter. The entire village marched towards the fakir's hut. They went and set fire to it. The fakir was sitting outside, sunbathing. He began to ask, "What's wrong? What's the matter? So many people this morning, so early in the morning, why set this hut on fire? What's the matter? What's the matter?"
A man from the crowd came forward, brought a small child, threw him into the monk's lap, and said, "Are you asking me what's wrong? Recognize this child!"
The monk looked closely and said, "I don't even recognize myself, so how can I recognize this child? I don't know who this child is!"
But the crowd laughed and threw stones, saying, "You're acting so naive and innocent. This child's mother said this child was born to you, and that's why we all the villagers have gathered. The statue we made of you has been broken. We take back the worship we offered you, and we don't want to see your face in this town again."
The monk looked at them. Eyes filled with so much love—his eyes were always filled with love, but that day his love was worth seeing. But they couldn't recognize that love that day because they were so filled with anger that the news of love couldn't reach their hearts. They couldn't recognize those eyes that overflowed with compassion that day, because how can the blind see the sun? The sun stands at the door, and the blind remain deprived. That day they were blinded by anger, by condemnation. The monk's light was not visible that day.
The monk started laughing. Then the child who had fallen into his lap started crying. He tried to console the child. And they asked: Tell me, is this your child? Isn't it?
The monk simply said: "Is it so? Is that so? If you say so, you must be right." Then the villagers returned.
Then in the afternoon, the monk went out into the village to beg. But who would give him alms? Those who longed to touch his feet, those who used to pick up the dust from his feet and apply it to their foreheads, closed their doors upon seeing him. People spat on him, threw stones and peels of flesh. And the monk began shouting to the village, "It may be my fault, but this innocent child is not. At least let him get milk." But this village had become very harsh. There was no one in that village to even give milk to that child. Then he stood in front of the house where the girl had said the child was born to a monk. He began shouting, "At least this child should get milk."
The girl came out and fell at her father's feet, saying, "Forgive me! I have no relation to this monk. I just used the monk's false name to save the boy's real father." A crowd gathered. The father fell at the monk's feet and said, "Return this child. No, no, this child is not yours."
The monk asked, "Is it so? It's not mine? Is it so? This child is not mine?"
They said, "How crazy are you! Why didn't you say this morning that this child is not mine?"
The monk said, "What difference does it make? The child must be someone's. What difference does it make whose child it is? The child is a child; that's clear enough, that's enough." And what difference would it have made? You had already burned down one hut and abused one man. Now, if I had said it wasn't mine, you might have burned down another hut and abused one more man. What difference would it have made?
But they said, "What a fool you are! All your honor was destroyed, and you remained silent, even though the child wasn't yours."
The monk said, "If we cared about that honor, we would have stopped at the fourth door. No, that honor is of no concern, there is no expectation of it. The respect you gave us was not asked for, nor was it desired. You took it away; it was your own honor, it was in your hands; we didn't ask for it, nor did we have the right to stop it when you took it away." No, he said, "We would have stopped at the fourth door." The villagers asked, "Which fourth door?"
I'm talking to you about that fourth door (the first door of the Lord's temple: compassion, the second door: friendship, the third door: joy). Written on that fourth door is neglect, indifference. Neglect towards all that is meaningless in life. That monk displayed remarkable indifference. No, he didn't even bother about what people would say, what public opinion, what public opinion would say!
A person who constantly thinks about public opinion never reaches God; remember this. What will people say? There is no attitude more weak, more impotent than worrying about what people will say. Those who become preoccupied with what people will say live and die in the falsehoods of the crowd; they never discover the truth.
Read more : - The Blind Prisoner
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