`Vechara we haven't got any money, I cant' buy any food, the children need new clothes and I want a holiday' nagged his wife. Young, foolish Vechara Singh said, `Dont worry dear, as soon as the harvesting is over we'll sell the grain and have more money than we know what to do with'. But the next few weeks were terrible, the winds blew ferociously, the clouds poured rain without mercy, the fields were flooded, the crops were sunk - a whole years effort was washed away. Vechara drowned his sorrows in a bottle of whiskey. He had no money to feed the kids, clothe his wife nor to buy grain to plant for the next year.
That night Vechara had a dream. It was a strange indoor arena with white faced people wearing clothes he didn't recognise, waving banners and flags and singing the praises of a god called Clinton. His face was looking down at them from huge, huge walls around the arena this god was truly omnipresent. Later he saw Clinton sitting in a metal carriage with wheels but no Bulls were pulling it, yet he was travelling extremely fast. Then he saw Clinton inside the belly of a mighty bird of the sky, roaring like an earthquake as it rose from the ground. He saw Clinton talking to a piece of plastic in his hand. And the dream went on, he saw miracle after miracle, magic and mystery filled him completely. He woke up in a cold sweat he said to his wife `I've seen the Supreme Being, the Super Power...and I know how to make you rich'.
Next morning Vechara donned the saffron robes of a holy saint and with a rosary in one hand and a prayer book in the other he travelled around the villages near and far filling the simple folks' heads with stories of metal carriages and mighty birds and a god called Clinton, the SuperPower. The crowds increased, so did their donations. He sent the money back to his wife and kids. His wife kept nagging for more and more money, so Vechara started making up more and more wild stories. Then one day Vechara realised when he told stories of impending death and destruction people gave him more money...they figured they didn't need it so giving to a holy man would help them in their next life. Vechara's imagination had no end, he went back to his home and turned the bedroom where he had the dream into a shrine and people pressed their foreheads against the bedsheets (leaving a few rupees on their way out). But before entering they had to promise torepeat the Name Clinton five hundred times a day for 10 days and his SuperPower would protect them from the war that was about to happen.
Vechara's fame spread far and wide, he bagan building an orchard (which required donations of course) and said this is where the God Clinton would come riding inside his mighty bird of the sky. Vechara read old Hindu holy texts and twisted the meanings to agree with his prophecies. Vechara's imagination had no end. He told people to give up their jobs and families and to work for free on his farm, they would be protected when the war came. After a while Vechara's disciples did all the talking and Vechara sat quietly like a wise, wise man in deep contemplation.
Vechara was rich. He reached a state of Wonder, he kept saying Wow! Wow! Wow! The wonderful things were the money in his pocket, the disciples at his feet and the lovely stone idol of God Clinton that he'd had constructed in the lovely pond. People became more and more fearful of the future, they stopped living their own lives and hung on every word uttered by the Wise Vechara Singh. Day after day they asked to know when the war would start and when would God Clinton come to them. Vechara foolishly gave them a date ...it will happen in three weeks from today. Everyone else believed what Vechara was saying and he too started believing his own words.
Four weeks later....the sun was still shining, God Clinton was nowhere to be seen and 500 disciples of the SuprePower came out from the bedroom shine having said Clinton Clinton all month long. They looked around - their were no soldiers riding on horses burning their villages and raping their daughters. There was no might bird of the sky roaring like an earthquake in the orchard. Vechara came out, the disciples looked at him waiting for his words of wisdom. He spoke like a true leader `Beloved children of Clinton...your prayers have been heard....Clinton's SuperPower has erased the writ of death and destruction and we will live in peace!!!!! 499 disciples jumped up and cheered, they carried Vechara on their shoulders like a king around the town. Disciple number 500 went home and got his shotgun. Disciple number 500 had given up his 40,000 rupee day job up and donated his life savings to Vechara. Disciple number 500 had stopped his children from going to school and to sit at home singing Clinton Clnton all the time. Disciple number 500 shot Vechara Singh in the Bum! All the followers scattered - they didn't want no violence. Vechara hobbled as best as he could - hiding in the jungle, living like a beggar and hence beginning his life as a homeless nobody.
MORAL OF THE STORY:
Guru Amar Das ji says in Anand Sahib `This family which you see shall not go along with you. They shall not go along with you, so why do you focus your attention on them? Don't do anything that you will regret in the end.' Poor old Vechara Singh wanted to please his family and turned into a crooked holy man. fooling all the people with his prophpecies of the future. In the end he regretted what he did and the Bullet in his Bum is still there to remind him. In the same way, we would do anything for a loved one even if it meant lying, cheating and decieving others. That is not acceptable. The focus of life is to sing Waheguru ji's praises and not to have family as the be all and end all of your existance. Just because someone can predict the future doesn't mean they are holy, nor does it mean they are close to Waheguru ji. The true devotees are devoted to loving and repeating the true name of Waheguru and not any other name, no matter how much their SuperPower is.
Posted by Harjit Singh Lakhan