There is a story about how the Amla tree came into the world that almost no one tells, and it is the one that changes everything about how you look at this small, sour fruit.
Brahma ji was born from the navel of Shree Hari to create the universe. He did it. He set the worlds in motion, placed the sun and moon in their positions, breathed life into every form of being, and then one day found himself sitting in the middle of everything he had made, wondering who he truly was. Not what he had created. Not what role he performed. But who, beneath the act of creation, he actually was.
He began to meditate on Shree Hari, with every faculty directed toward the one from whom he had emerged. Shree Hari was so moved by Brahma ji's devotion that he appeared before him. And Brahma ji, upon seeing Shree Hari, wept. The tears that fell from Brahma ji's eyes on that Ekadashi day fell upon the earth and became the first Amla tree.
Shree Hari looked at this tree, born from the tears of a god who had paused in the middle of creation to ask who he was, and declared it the most sacred of trees. He said that whatever sins a person carries, the mere touch of the Amla fruit would destroy them. He placed himself within its roots, Mahadeva within its stem, and Brahma ji above. The Padma Purana records that the fruit of the Amla is supremely sacred and ever dear to Shree Hari, and that by its mere touch, millions of sins are destroyed.
And there is more. According to later tradition, Maa Lakshmi, Shree Hari's own consort, once expressed her desire to worship Mahadeva. Maa Parvati, Mahadeva's consort, simultaneously wished to worship Shree Hari. Moved by each other's piety, both goddesses wept, and their tears also fell on the earth and became Amla trees. Which means this fruit carries within it the tears of three of the most beloved figures in all of Hindu devotion. Brahma ji in his moment of existential longing. Maa Lakshmi and Maa Parvati in their mutual reverence for each other's lord.
The Amla tree holds the entire Trimurti in its structure. Brahma ji in the roots, Shree Hari in the trunk, Mahadeva in the branches. And sages, Vasus, Marudganas, and all the creators are said to dwell in its leaves, flowers and fruit respectively. The Brahmanda Purana, the Skanda Purana, and the Vishnu Purana all describe it as the Amalaki, the one who nourishes, and declare that worshipping it on Amalaki Ekadashi in the month of Phalguna is equivalent to worshipping the entire cosmic order simultaneously.
This is a fruit so small it fits in the palm of a child's hand. Sour enough to make you wince. Rich in Vitamin C beyond almost any food available in the ancient Indian climate, which the Sushruta Samhita documented as a supreme rasayana, a rejuvenator capable of enhancing immunity, digestion, vitality and longevity. The Vedas called it Amrit Phala, the fruit of immortality. They were not speaking in metaphor. Drop by drop, this fruit carries what fell not from the churned ocean of creation but from something rarer still. The tears of gods who loved each other enough to weep.
Shree Hari, you who were so moved by Brahma ji's devotion that you appeared before him, and who then chose to dwell in the very tree born from his tears, I come to you today in my own moment of not knowing who I am beneath everything I do. Let me sit with that question the way Brahma ji sat with his, not in anxiety but in genuine wondering, the kind of wondering that becomes devotion. Let me be nourished by what is small and sour and easily overlooked, the way this fruit has nourished a civilisation for thousands of years without ever needing to be magnificent. You dwell here, in this ordinary fruit, in this ordinary life. Let me touch you there. Om Namo Bhagavate Vasudevaya.
A quiet moment: When did you last pause in the middle of everything you are doing to ask who you actually are beneath it all? What did you find when you asked?
No comments:
Post a Comment