The Charioteer's Dilemma

It was a bright sunny morning of wintry December. The cool breeze, with sun rays escaping through the shredded autumn leaves, made the weather overtly pleasant as I rode my motorcycle through the countryside. My mission being to visit a colleague who lived far from the hustle and bustle of the city in a small village on the outskirts. As I reached his house, there were no doorbells, but an announcement by the kids playing around, "Kaki, there is someone on a Splendor."

"Tell him, no one's home. Sharma Ji is in the fields," shouted a voice from inside, as if reluctant to face me. As I was about to kick-start my motorcycle, a bit disheartened, thinking how foolish I was for not calling Sharma Ji before starting from the city, a man in his late thirties approached, eyeing my new motorcycle from front to back, perhaps hoping for a ride.

"Sahib, I can take you to Sharma Ji. He is watering his fields," he offered. I agreed without a second thought, though I missed the courteous cup of tea very badly.

The fields were not far. Soon, I spotted Sharma Ji, clad in a white kurta, along with his two sons, anxiously looking at something down the kutcha road berm.

As I approached, I saw a black cobra, shrunk from the intense winter night, trying to warm its body in the sun. Despite its efforts, it could not wriggle over the berm to the road, its body weakened by the chilly night.

Sharma Ji, noticing my arrival, turned to me with a worried expression. "This snake has been here all morning. I don't want my sons to be bitten by it when they are in the fields."

The man who had accompanied me started making futile efforts to kill the snake with mud clods from the field. The snake, being attacked, gathered all its strength and shot up its fangs with a loud hiss, trying to attack the man. I, being a spectator, advised him that snakes could only CGbe effectively killed with sticks. In no time, the man rushed to a nearby bamboo growth and brought back a stick. He began beating the snake with it. The snake, trying to save itself, started to wriggle slowly into the soft soil of the field.

Believing the snake to be dead, we started moving away from it. I couldn't help but comment that snakes could only be killed with a stick when lying on a hard surface. Hearing this, the man ran back and used the stick, he was still holding, to bring the snake to the kutcha road and pounded its head with severe blows. He picked up its bloodied body and flung it into a nearby ditch.

After the incident, we moved on to Sharma Ji's house for tea and snacks. The warm tea did little to soothe the unease that had settled in my mind. Sharma Ji and his family seemed relieved, but I couldn't shake the feeling of having participated in an act of violence.

As I rode back to the city, the entire incident flashed before my eyes like a movie. Thoughts of being an accomplice to the murder of a creature that had simply sought warmth in the sun weighed heavily on my conscience. The beauty of the countryside, which had seemed so inviting in the morning, now felt tainted by the memory of the snake's death.

The sad thoughts compelled me to stop my motorcycle at a temple. Seeking solace, I stepped inside and sat in the quiet sanctity of the temple, reflecting deeply. A picture of a chariot, in the Mahabharata epic, on a wall, caught my attention. The charioteer, while being an integral part of the battle, did not engage directly in the act of killing. His primary responsibility was to skillfully navigate the chariot, maneuvering through the chaos of the battlefield, and ensuring the safety and strategic positioning of the warrior he accompanied. This task required immense skill, concentration, and knowledge of the terrain, as well as the ability to remain calm under pressure.

It was there, in the tranquil presence of the divine, I began to see the situation in a different light. In this narrative, I saw myself as a charioteer, guiding the man who accompanied me, akin to a warrior, in making a difficult decision for the greater good. The cobra, representing evil, symbolized a threat to the safety and peace of Sharma Ji's family, much like the the one posed in the Mahabharata. I had merely provided guidance and clarity in a moment of crisis. The act, though violent and unsettling, was necessary to protect innocent lives from a potential danger. This perspective helped me to shake off the guilt, understanding that sometimes difficult decisions must be made to safeguard the greater good.

As I sat in the temple, reflecting on this realization, I understood that sometimes, our roles in life may not involve direct action or confrontation. Instead, we might be there to guide, support, and enable others to face their battles.

With this realization, the weight on my heart lightened. I rode on, the cool breeze and warm sun rays once again feeling like a balm to my soul. The countryside stretched out before me, beautiful and serene, a testament to the complex but ultimately harmonious balance of life.