You must have heard or read about Saint Dadhichi. He is mentioned in mythological texts of Vedic India. He gave his body to lord of heaven, Indra, so that a weapon could be made our of his bones, which would kill the daemon attacking the heaven.
Having detachment with one's body to such a level has not been heard of in today's world, but not very long ago, I came across one such incident, although it is only based on people's superstition.
There was a man in a tribal village in Chhattisgarh. His name was Hari. Being a man with his left hand paralysed, he worked hard, often harder than other 'normal' men to earn his daily bread. He would earn a little more as well as save a little more than others because of his dedication and self control. He wanted to get married so that he could have kids and could see them grow, unparalysed. That their left hand also could have power as much as their right.
With the help of elders of his family, he got married to a woman from another tribe. They gave birth to a child. But soon the child died. Though the tribals were expert in having babies in their families delivered without hospitals' aid, in this case, the trend continued and three babies had died, none living for more than 4 days.
Their tribal guru, the eldest one among them, said that the problem is with Hari. As long as he is alive, his kids won't be able to live for long. Hari wanted to see his children grow but his elder had prophesied that this will never happen. He thought of leaving the tribe but that would mean losing his identity forever. But he could do it for his kids. He left the tribe and went to a health center in Raipur. All health parameters were fine, but his fourth child again died in 4 days.
Hari had begun having faith in his elder's words. He returned to his tribe, worked hard to gain his trust back and served his elders even with his weak hand. But his elders won't budge from their warning. The only hint they gave was that the kid would have Hari's remaining life as well if Hari gave up his life for any child.
Another kid. This time, Hari had a pretty child. She was uniquely smiling and had glow on her face. He didn't want her face lose the glow ever.
In the night of her birth, he kissed his wife's head, wiped her tears and and tied his alm on his child's neck. He gave himself up to the adjoining river waters, never to be found again. The elders immediately blew a trumpet at his silent sacrifice. No one except the elders knew about his sacrifice before the morning emerged and his story reached the world.
This is how Hari, my father ended his life, so that I could live and tell his tale. I am proud of my father and I know he is watching me grow.
Having detachment with one's body to such a level has not been heard of in today's world, but not very long ago, I came across one such incident, although it is only based on people's superstition.
There was a man in a tribal village in Chhattisgarh. His name was Hari. Being a man with his left hand paralysed, he worked hard, often harder than other 'normal' men to earn his daily bread. He would earn a little more as well as save a little more than others because of his dedication and self control. He wanted to get married so that he could have kids and could see them grow, unparalysed. That their left hand also could have power as much as their right.
With the help of elders of his family, he got married to a woman from another tribe. They gave birth to a child. But soon the child died. Though the tribals were expert in having babies in their families delivered without hospitals' aid, in this case, the trend continued and three babies had died, none living for more than 4 days.
Their tribal guru, the eldest one among them, said that the problem is with Hari. As long as he is alive, his kids won't be able to live for long. Hari wanted to see his children grow but his elder had prophesied that this will never happen. He thought of leaving the tribe but that would mean losing his identity forever. But he could do it for his kids. He left the tribe and went to a health center in Raipur. All health parameters were fine, but his fourth child again died in 4 days.Hari had begun having faith in his elder's words. He returned to his tribe, worked hard to gain his trust back and served his elders even with his weak hand. But his elders won't budge from their warning. The only hint they gave was that the kid would have Hari's remaining life as well if Hari gave up his life for any child.
Another kid. This time, Hari had a pretty child. She was uniquely smiling and had glow on her face. He didn't want her face lose the glow ever.
In the night of her birth, he kissed his wife's head, wiped her tears and and tied his alm on his child's neck. He gave himself up to the adjoining river waters, never to be found again. The elders immediately blew a trumpet at his silent sacrifice. No one except the elders knew about his sacrifice before the morning emerged and his story reached the world.
This is how Hari, my father ended his life, so that I could live and tell his tale. I am proud of my father and I know he is watching me grow.
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