I have a nine-year-old dog at home. Baashha, named after a blockbuster Rajnikanth character and movie by the same name, is nothing like the Mumbai don portrayed by the hero in the movie. Baashha is silent, soft, playful and friendly. More than anything, he faithfully participates in all activities at home, just by ‘being’ there! He wakes up earlier than any of us, goes for a walk, sits by the kitchen while my mother prepares meals, watches her intently when she’s out in the garden plucking flowers for the daily pooja, then again at her feet when she is doing her rituals and by her desk side, when she is attending various online classes and sessions on Bhagavad Geeta, Narayaneeyam, Siva Puranam, and more.
Baashha has been a homebody mostly. During the COVID lockdown years, he would be lounging with my brother during the latter’s office Teams calls. Baashha would also sneak beneath my desk and lie there for hours during my weekly classes on Kathopanishad, Narada Bhakti Sutra and Bhaja Govindam with Chyks. It has become a running joke in my home that Baashha is more satvic and saintly than any of us, constantly exposed to chants and spiritual talks! Baashha was born a bhakt, my mother says.
The more I think about it, the more I wonder about the nature of our births. It may be ironic to think that a dog could be absorbing spiritual knowledge that even humans fail to grasp. But there must be some cosmic math in Baashha being fostered in our household, and we too following these sadhanas in our daily lives.
My mind runs to the several dogs, cats and monkeys I have seen in our Chinmaya Mission ashrams. One favourite amongst them was Yogabhrashta, a dog at Sidhabhari. While he would lounge outside the satsang halls and the dining halls during regular hours, one could always see him troop in front of all the campers and devotees, from Ram Mandir to Hanuman ji’s statue to Swamiji’s memorial—in that order—to attend the arti during the morning and evening hours.
It was endearing. It was astonishing. Probably habituated, but surely, he could have been a devotee in his previous birth, just as he is one now. Albeit on four legs and without the intellect to seek as we humans do. Maybe he would be a human in his next birth, I thought then.
What must be the long, long, looooong journey of our atma to be born as a human? To be able to seek this knowledge, to be able to find God in His many forms in this lifetime?
‘As grass, as herb, as worm, as tree, as various beasts, as bird, as snake,
As stone, as man, as demon, as goblin, as mighty Asuras, as sages, as gods,
Within this immovable and movable order of creation,
I have been born in all these various births, and I am weary,
O my Lord! In truth, having seen Thy golden feet today, I have attained liberation!’
– Verses from Thiruvasagam, a Tamil Shaivite treatise by Saint Manikkavasakar
Through Baashha and Dharmabhrashta, I come back to a crucial reminder. This human birth is extremely rare. Even rarer is our intention to seek. Rarer than the rarest is both of these qualities coming together with the grace of a Guru. The concept of birth, death and rebirth is essential to understanding our role as a Hindu, as seekers wanting liberation.
The idea that we could be reborn again should not push us into complacency and allow us to slip into a less evolved life form. It should motivate us to evolve in this lifetime, to be born in more conducive circumstances. And ultimately, to never be born again. From grass to gods, there is but one purpose for our birth: to seek Him. Let not this human birth lull us into laxity.
