Refusing the Baubles: A Lesson from the Katha Upanishad

Refusing the Baubles: A Lesson from the Katha Upanishad

Think about what you most enjoy in life. Good food, beautiful music, the pleasure of good company, the comfort of familiar routines. Now imagine being offered all of it — in abundance, without limit — and being asked to trade it for something you cannot see, cannot taste, and cannot easily describe. Would that be a hard choice? For most of us, if we are honest, the answer is yes. The Katha Upanishad opens with exactly this moment.

It is the story of a young boy named Nachiketa who has an argument with his father. His father yells, "I'm going to give you to death!" And the young boy says, "Fine — I'm just going to go." So he goes to the home of the lord of death, Lord Yama. When he arrives, Yama is out doing his work — taking people from their bodies. He's gone for three days. When he returns, his servant tells him: this boy has been sitting here patiently the whole time. Yama says, "I'm so sorry. I'm such a terrible host. Let me give you three boons. Ask."

The first thing Nachiketa asks is that his father will forgive him and be happy when he gets back home. Granted. The second: he wants to know the fire sacrifice that will allow him to experience heaven. Fine, no problem. But the third — he says, "I want to know the secret of death. Some people say that when you die, there's nothing left. Others say you go to heaven or hell. Others say there's something left, but it's not clear what. So what really happens?"

Yama says, "You can ask anything else — but not that."

Nachiketa says, "No. That's what I want. You told me you'd give me whatever I ask." He's a teenager — not easily gotten off his topic.

So Yama tries another approach: "Look, you don't really want that. I'll give you the celestial maidens, all the riches you could ever imagine, as long a life as you want. Take these things and forget about this other thing."

And without hesitation, Nachiketa replies: "Those things are worth nothing to me. What is the point of having a long life that will end? It still ends. It's going to be just as painful at the end of a thousand years as at the end of a hundred — maybe more. You can keep all of it — the dancing girls, the riches, the titles, the long life. I want to know the secret of life and death."

Seeing that Nachiketa is genuinely sincere, that he won't be bought off with baubles, Yama relents: "Okay. I'll teach you."

This story sounds awfully familiar. It reminds me of the temptations the Buddha faced before his enlightenment — when Mara, the destroyer, came to him with offerings of pleasure, fear, and illusion, trying to lure him away from his meditation under the Bodhi tree. The ego offering all these things. And indeed, I have heard from Swami Veda that when someone approaches the moment of enlightenment — when they are on the very verge of passing over that barrier into their true self — the worst possible tests come to them. Things happen that would cause most people to run away. Only someone who can sit through that without stirring actually makes it through.

Now let's look at this in ourselves. Think about your life. Think about what you have, what you enjoy. Good food? Sensual pleasures, beautiful clothes, a beautiful sunrise? Swimming, dancing? If you were given a choice between the very things you most desire and treasure, and the ultimate freedom that Nachiketa is asking for — would that be a hard choice? Be honest with yourself. We're not trying to shame anybody here.

Take a moment and really think about it, because this is a question we all face every day whether we realize it or not. The choices we make each day are this choice. Are we going toward Self-realization, or are we going toward enjoying ourselves?

This is the teaching of shreyas and preyas. Shreyas means that which takes us toward the sacred — it comes from the root shri. Preyas means that which is pleasing to us. The first lesson Yama gives Nachiketa — before any other teaching, before the secret of life and death itself — is this one: learn to choose what is truly beneficial over what is merely pleasant.

Now, I am not sitting here saying we must give up all pleasures. Even Swami Veda loved delicious food. There is a difference between enjoying something and being addicted to it — between savoring and having no real choice. That is what we have to watch carefully.

I have this roasted ground carob from Australia — I can't eat chocolate, I'm allergic to it. But this carob tastes a lot like chocolate, and I easily get addicted to it. Five times a day, I'll want it. Last night I wanted it, and I said: no, I'll have something else. The desire was strong — but it didn't take force. I just made a choice. And the grip of the desire released.

Another thing I'm really gripped by is my addiction to looking at my cell phone — the latest news. It's not changing that much moment by moment, but the pull is strong. When I sit at dinner with my wife, she doesn't want me looking at my phone. And it's insidious — it sneaks in. But can I not go for an hour without looking at it? Is that the way I want to be?

We can watch ourselves and ask: what are the things my mind is gripping most tightly? Where is my desire hardest to release? And can I begin to make different choices there?

The key word is begin. Don't try to do everything at once. Don't try to be a hero — don't try to break yourself in two. Mahatma Gandhi, in the end, wore nothing but a lungi. But that was a step grown into gradually over a lifetime. He didn't go from being a lawyer in a fancy house to wearing a lungi overnight. And neither can we.

Swami Rama always said: you have to be practical. Take practical steps in a way that actually works, not in a way that's going to break you. So many people try to take too big a step, it doesn't work out, and they give it up altogether.

When I wanted to change the time I woke up, I used to get up at eight in the morning — too late for good meditation. I tried jumping way earlier and it never worked. Finally, living at an ashram run by Baba Hari Dass — a mouni (silent) yogi who communicated by writing on a tiny chalkboard — he wrote one day that the way to change the time you get up is by taking very small steps. Start getting up ten minutes earlier. Stay at that until it's comfortable. Then ten minutes earlier again. And gradually, over time, you get there. I followed that path. Now I get up at four-thirty in the morning and it's not a problem. But when I tried to jump straight there, I just went back to sleep.

This same principle applies anywhere we are trying to loosen the grip of preyas. What is your chief preyas — the thing you are most pulled by, most attached to? Start watching it carefully. Pick one. Make small choices. Even just once: I'll skip it tonight. And if you can make progress with one, you learn how to do it. Then you can do others.

And remember, the real danger is weakening the strength of our will. If we always give in to our desires and never say no, our will becomes weaker and weaker, so that we come to believe we can't say no. We need a strong will that will enable us to sit still and meditate instead of watching TV or reading the news or any of the infinite preyas that we are pulled toward. We need a strong will to hold the mind still on the mantra and not let our mind wander into daydreams. We need a strong will to say no to preyas and yes to shreyas.

For us it's a slog, a daily recommitment until the will and habits are firm and strong. Nachiketa standing firm against Yama's ploys shows us our own potential strength. We can see ourselves in that upright and determined young man.

I wish to express gratitude to Moriah Wells for her editorial suggestions.