It was a ray of the sun- proud and arrogant like a chaste girl. It danced upon the leafy roof of a tree, danced in the intoxication of youthful gaiety and adventure- but tumbled down – very much alas !- as Badshah Humayun once did and did for the last time. It got buried into a thick pile of dust- an unceremonious burial.

The other rays laughed, burst out laughing at the unromantic end of a romantic thing. They spread upon earth like locusts. They ate up greenery, drank out wells and ponds and other water bodies and excreted waste. Famine and desolation came in its wake.

The sun was indifferent , stoical. It was none of its business to care for the doings of his progenies. He was a karmyogi ; the vicissitudes of the cosmos did not put wrinkles upon his ever radiant face.

The earth groaned with the pangs of hunger. Her youth looked wasted, her visage emaciated. Gods did no more seem enamoured of her. They had forsaken her.

Hundreds of thousands of eyes- dry like oyster shells- were stuck upon the sky. They did not need the sun, the cruel sun, the karmyogi of the sun. They needed clouds, dark and dank and devilish clouds.

The clouds came and deluged the earth. The clouds came again with thunder and lightning , like an invading army, and deluged the earth. The bounty of the rain god Indra was as unbearable as was the splendour of the sun.

The earth from that time onwards- become wiser of the experience- wears an agonized look, a pensive smile upon her rugged yet beautiful face, like a careworn woman, who is ever anxious as to how her weakly progenies shall manage to remain happy in the world of dualities. The duality of existence puts her offsprings in a fix. They do not know wither they should career their rudderless boat in this vast, abysmal ocean that life is. Some drift aimlessly, some swim against the current, some keep looking for a lighthouse. A few of her enlightened souls may be able to course their way to the otherwise unknown destination safely and successfully , but how will the sprawlling, staggering mass of humanity ever know the right path. Is ignorance really a bliss ? Is not this inability to answer the question- that what purpose this life has, what is its end, which way are we to go and why- that existentialist thinking has evolved.

Should we cease thinking then, for thinking is so abortive. How free is free will ? Should we not let ourselves go then, dancing to the meaningless tune -jazz like. The West has not purposelessly gone wild. THE PURPOSE IS PURPOSELESSNESS ITSELF.

Who was it that called life an exercise in futility, chasing of chimeras, ” A tale told by an idiot ; full of sound and fury ; signifying nothing “?

I have , however, found an answer to these perplexing questions in the Bhagvad Gita. I consider that the Bhagvad Gita, which though reflects Hindu view of life, is yet relevant to all persons of all religious faiths as it transcends the religious bounds. It is a practical and spiritual guide to good, uprighteous and successful living even while engaged in mundane affairs. Its main emphasis is on doing one’s duty well, unruffled by the euphoria and arrogance of success or anxieties and depression of failure and surrendering the results to God.