I am forwarding this with the permission of the author, Nitin Kumar

Exploring Karma - Tales of a Universal Principle
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High in the reaches of Mount Kailasha is the abode of Shiva, the
Hindu god of destruction. One evening Vishnu, the god responsible
for preserving the cosmic order, came to see Shiva. He left
behind at the entrance Garuda, the half-man, half-eagle
composite, who served as his vehicle.

Illustration: http://www.exoticindia.com/artimages/ea11.jpg

Garuda sat alone, marveling at the natural splendor of the place.
Suddenly his eyes fell on a beautiful creature, a little bird
seated on the arch crowning the entrance to Shiva's place. Garuda
wondered aloud: "How marvelous is this creation! One who has
created these lofty mountains has also made this tiny bird - and
both seem equally wonderful."

Just then Yama, the god of death who rides a buffalo, came
passing by with the intention of meeting Shiva. As he crossed the
arch, his eyes went over to the bird and he raised his brows in a
quizzical _expression. Then he took his eyes off the bird and
disappeared inside.

Illustration: http://www.exoticindia.com/artimages/ea35.jpg

Now, in the ancient thought of India, even a slight glance of
Yama is said to be the harbinger of death. Garuda, who had
observed Yama's action, told himself, "Yama looking intently at
the bird can mean only one thing - the bird's time is up. Perhaps
on his way back he will carry away the bird's soul with him."
Garuda's heart was filled with pity for the helpless creature.
That it was oblivious of its own impending doom further agonized
Garuda and he resolved to save the bird from the clutches of
death. He swooped it up in his mighty talons, rushed to a forest
thousands of miles away and left the bird on a rock beside a
brook. Then he returned to Kailasha and regained his position at
the entrance gate.

Soon after, Yama emerged from inside, and nodded to Garuda in
recognition. Garuda greeted the god of death and said: "May I put
a question to you? While going in, you saw a bird and for a
moment you became pensive, why?"

Yama answered him thus: "Well, when my eyes fell on the little
bird, I saw that it was to die in a few minutes, swallowed by a
python, far away from here in a forest near a brook. I wondered
how this tiny creature would traverse the thousand of miles
separating it from its destiny in such a short time. Then I
forgot. Surely it must have happened somehow."

Saying this, Yama smiled and went away. Did he know about Garuda'
s specific role in the matter? Nobody can know for sure. Garuda
sat perplexed, mulling over the surprising turn events had taken.


Karma, and its Consequences:

The word karma is derived from the Sanskrit root 'kri,' meaning
'to do,' implying that all action is karma. Technically, the term
incorporates both an action and its consequence. Thus Garuda's
karma consisted of the act of carrying away the bird and also its
consequent snatching by the cruel hands of destiny. Hence, a
deed, pure in its content, led to an apparently unfavorable
outcome. Through this subtle tale, we are made to confront a
dilemma which constantly recurs in our own lives, namely, the
relative impurity and purity of an action. Is an action to be
deemed positive or negative solely on the basis of the result it
generates? Or, is there some other criterion? Indeed there is.
What determines the nature of the karma is the will or intention
behind an act. As is mentioned in the Buddhist text Anguttara
Nikaya, published by the Pali Text Society, "It is will
(chetana), that I call karma; having willed, one acts through
body, speech or mind."

Indeed, an action is right or wrong as the motive is right or
wrong:

"One who acts with the best of intentions, does not get the sin
of the outward consequence of his action." (Yoga Sikha). For
example, a doctor is not responsible for murder, if the operation
per chance ends in the death of his patient. In the above tale,
Garuda's duty was not to protect the bird, but rather to try and
protect it.

"Even if a man does not succeed, he gets all the merit of doing
his duty, if he strives the utmost to his capacity."
(Mahabharata: Udyoga Parva 93.6)

"Some undertakings succeed and others fail. That is due to the
divine order of things. If a man does his part of the work, no
sin touches him." (Mahabharata: Santi Parva 24.30)

It is the psychological impulse behind an action that is 'karma,'
that which sets going a chain of causes culminating in karmic
fruits. Actions then must be intentional if they are to generate
karmic fruits. This Buddhist belief is slightly at variance from
that of the Jains, and for the Buddhists, accidentally treading
on an insect does not have such an effect as the latter believe.
Thinking of doing some bad action is a bad karma, however,
especially when one gives energy to such a thought, rather than
just letting it pass. Deliberately putting down such a thought
down is a good karma. In the same vein regretting a past bad
action, and resolving not to do it again lessens its karmic
result as it reduces the psychological impetus behind the act.

One of the most significant instructional references to karma
comes from the Bhagavad Gita, which says:

"You have the right only to work, but not to the fruits thereof."
(2.47)

Significant here is the fact that we are entitled only to act,
and have 'no right' over the ensuing results. This profound
assertion is not mere discourse, but rather loaded with sound
practical advice, which can act as a sensible strategy for
whatever we set out to achieve. This is because the outcome of
any enterprise is not solely dependent on our individual efforts
but is bound to numerous other factors over which we may or may
not have influence. Thus why worry over something on which we do
not have control? Also, detaching ourselves from the burden of
anxiety over the impending result frees us from mental stress,
and enables us to devote ourselves with calm concentration to the
matter at hand.

Mill has very forcibly pointed out that the best way of getting
happiness is to forget it: "The conscious ability to do without
happiness gives the best prospect of realizing such happiness as
is attainable."


The Question of Good versus Evil:

In medieval China there once lived an old farmer, who had a weak,
ailing horse for ploughing his field. One day, the sickly horse
ran away to the hills.

The farmer's neighbors offered their sympathy to him: "Such
rotten luck!" they exclaimed.

"Bad luck? Good luck? Who knows?" mused the farmer.

A week later, the old horse returned, bringing with it a herd of
wild horses from the hills. This time, the neighbors swarmed
around the farmer and congratulated him on his good luck. His
reply however was the same: "Good luck? Bad luck? Who can tell?"

Sometime later, while trying to tame one of the wild horses, the
farmer's only son fell off its back and broke his leg. Everyone
thought this was bad luck. "Bad luck? Good luck? I don't know,"
said the farmer.

A few weeks later, the king's army marched into the village and
conscripted every able-bodied young man living there. The farmer'
s son, who was laid up with a broken leg was let off, for he was
thought to be of no use to them.

Now what was this? Good luck or bad luck? Who can tell?

Things that seem adverse on the surface may actually be good in
disguise. And something that seems to be attractive and 'lucky'
may actually be harmful to our best interests. The learned ones
often leave it to a higher power beyond the material world to
decide what is best for them.

Good and evil are not constant - they change according to time
and circumstance. For example, an arrow is good if it penetrates
its object; an armor is good if it is impenetrable by an arrow.
In the heat of summer, coolness is good; while in winter, heat is
beneficial According to Zen, saying that what is evil includes
the good is not to assert that there is no difference between
evil and good, just that the traditional dualisms need to be
replaced with an understanding of the unity of being According to
Zen master Suzuki: "All forms of evil must be said somehow to be
embodying what is true and good and beautiful, and to a
contribution to the perfection of Reality. To state it more
concretely, bad is good, ugly is beautiful, false is true,
imperfect is perfect, and also conversely. This is, indeed, the
kind of reasoning in which indulge who conceive the God-nature to
be immanent in all things."

Kahlil Gibran puts it thus:

The selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes
filled with your tears.

And how else can it be?

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you
can contain.

Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned
in the potter's oven?

And is not the lute that soothes your spirit the very wood that
was hollowed with knives?

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find
it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you
joy.

Some of you say, "joy is greater than sorrow," and others say,
"Nay sorrow is the greater."

But I say unto you, they are inseparable. Together they come, and
when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the
other is asleep upon your bed.

You cannot separate the just from the unjust and the good from
the wicked;

For they stand together before the face of the sun even as the
black thread and the white are woven together.

And when the black thread breaks, the weaver shall look into the
whole cloth, and he shall examine the loom also.

Verily all things move within your being in constant half
embrace, the desired and the dreaded, the repugnant and the
cherished, the pursued and that which you would escape.

These things move within you as lights and shadows in pairs that
cling.

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of
your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy.

You would know the secret of death. But how shall you find it
unless you seek it in the heart of life?

If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart
wide unto the body of life. For life and death are one, even as
the river and the sea are one.

We read in the Bhagavad Gita again and again that we must all
work incessantly. There it is also mentioned that all work by
nature is composed of good and evil. We cannot do any work that
will not do some good somewhere and indeed there cannot be any
action that will be free of any harmful residue. Every work is
thus necessarily a mixture of good and evil; yet we are commanded
to work incessantly.

Swami Vivekananda puts it succinctly:

"There is a thorn in my finger and I use another to take the
first one out. When I have taken out the first, I throw both of
them aside; I have no necessity for keeping the second thorn
because both are thorns after all. So any negative tendencies
plaguing our minds have to be counteracted by the good ones. But
what after that? Even the good tendencies have now to be
restrained. The idea is to renounce attachment to any ideal -
good or bad - and work, but let not the mind be unduly anxious
about the results. Let the ripples come and go, let huge actions
proceed from us, but let them not make a too-deep an impression
on our souls. Work as if we are a stranger in this land, a
sojourner, this is the amount of detachment that is required.
Doing the duty, which is ours at any particular time is the best
thing we can do in this world, and such a karma is our dharma.
Never will unhappiness or misery come through work done without
attachment. Work incessantly, but give up all attachment to work.
Do not identify yourself with anything. In the ocean we cannot
raise a wave without causing a hollow somewhere else."

If we want the reward we must also have the punishment. The only
way to get out of the punishment is to give up the reward. The
only way of getting out of misery is by giving up the idea of
happiness, because they are but two sides of the same coin. On
one side there is life and on the other death. The only way to
get beyond death is to give up the love of life. Life and death
are the same things looked at from different points. This ebb and
flow, this rising and falling, is the world's very nature. It
would be as logical to hold otherwise as to say that we may have
life without death. Such an assertion is unjustifiable, because
the very idea of life implies death and that of pleasure pain.
The lamp is constantly burning out, and that is its life. If we
want to have life we have to die every moment for it.


Emerson's Law of Compensation - Or Why Welcome Hardships in Your Life?

After a grueling five days, you are looking forward to a peaceful
weekend. On Saturday night you set out with your loving wife
seated next to you and your adorable kids lodged comfortably in
the back seat. The family is all set to dine out in their
favorite restaurant. You have been starving yourself the whole
day preparing for the impending feast. Suddenly, the car starts
swinging to one side and you realize that you have a flat.
Swearing, you get down and open the boot. Shockingly it dawns
upon you that the spare wheel too is punctured. Ruing your fate,
you realize that the much-awaited dinner is now not possible.
Then suddenly you compose yourself and thank god for the small
inconvenience he has subjected you to. Your family stares at you,
wide-eyed in astonishment.

There is a harmonious law of adjustment and compensation to which
all natural processes are subject. It plays a balancing role in
our lives. This is an order in which, according to Emerson,
"Every excess causes a defect, every defect an excess, and all
seem governed by the deep remedial force that underlies all
facts." Indeed, it all works out with absolute exactness. Every
sweet hath its sour, every evil its good. Every faculty, which is
a receiver of pleasure has an equal penalty put on it. As a
Danish proverb has it, "After pleasant scratching comes
unpleasant smarting." Every advantage has its tax. For everything
you gain, you lose something, and for everything you have missed
you gain something else.

Emerson's doctrine that every thing has its price - and that it
is impossible to get anything without paying a price for it - is
not less sublime in the columns of a ledger than in the budgets
of states, in the laws of light and darkness, in all the action
and reaction of nature. Indeed, punishment is a fruit that ripens
unsuspected within the flower of pleasure, which conceals it. If
we escape one part we are tormented in another more vital part.
Hence, let us all welcome the small trials, tribulations and
discomforts which life offers us during our everyday existence.
Totaled they will amount to much, and hence save us from the
single, more damaging stroke which nature would otherwise subject
us to.