Hari Uncle's old bullock-cart rattled down the dirt track to the paddy
fields, and Aarav sat up on the wooden seat beside him, holding on tight.
The two bullocks plodded ahead, swishing their tails. The big wooden wheels
creaked and bounced over every rut and root in the road. Thunk. Thunk. A
deep pothole sent Aarav nearly off the seat, and he yelped and laughed.
"Ow! Uncle, this cart is trying to throw me off!"
Hari Uncle chuckled and steadied him. "Tell me something, Aarav. When we hit
that big hole just now — who felt the bump?"
"I did!" said Aarav, rubbing his side. "And you too."
"And the cart? Did the cart feel it?"
Aarav looked down at the rough wooden boards, the spinning wheels, the
creaking axle. "No. The cart doesn't feel anything. It just... bumps. It does
the bumping. But the bumping doesn't hurt the cart."
"Right," said Hari Uncle, guiding the bullocks around a stone. "And who does
the moving? Do you move this heavy cart with your wishing?"
"No, the wheels do that. And the bullocks. The cart and the wheels do all the
moving and the carrying."
"There it is," said Hari Uncle warmly. "The cart, the wheels, the bullocks —
that is nature, prakriti. It does all the work. It rolls, it carries, it
bumps along the road. It's the doer. But it doesn't feel the breeze or the
jolts or the warmth of the sun. You do. The one sitting on top, awake — that's
the rider. The rider feels everything: the bumps that hurt, the smooth
stretches that are nice, the cool wind. The rider is purusha — the one who
feels."
They came out of the trees, and the paddy fields opened wide and green and
glittering before them. A heron lifted off a flooded patch.
"So," said Aarav slowly, "my body is like the cart. My hands do the work, my
legs do the walking, my eyes do the looking. But the real me — the one who's
happy right now looking at these fields — that's the rider."
"And here is the secret," said Hari Uncle, stopping the cart at the field's
edge. "When you remember you are the rider, not the cart, the bumps still
come — but they don't throw you off. The cart can be old and creaky. The
rider sits steady, watching the green fields go by."
Aarav looked out at the shining paddy and felt, for a moment, exactly like
that steady rider, light and unworried, while the tired old cart cooled and
ticked beneath him.