Deep in a forest, beside a slow green river, lived an old sage in a hut of
leaves. He kept no gold, owned no land, and wanted nothing from anyone. Each
morning he watered a small tulsi plant, ate whatever fruit the trees let
fall, and sat very still beneath a banyan, his eyes soft and quiet.
Two kings ruled the lands on either side of that forest, and the two kings
hated each other.
One day the first king came riding through, his soldiers crashing through the
ferns. He had heard the sage was holy, and he wanted the sage on his side. He
bowed low and laid garlands and gold coins at the old man's feet. "Great one!"
he cried. "Bless my army! Curse my enemy! Be my friend and you shall live in
a palace!"
The sage looked at him kindly. "May you be at peace," he said, and he did not
touch the gold, and he did not curse anyone.
The king, angry to be refused, kicked over the basket of coins and stormed
away, shouting insults. "Foolish old beggar! Useless hermit!" The sage
watched him go, and his face did not change at all — not when the gold came,
not when the insults came.
The very next morning the *second* king arrived, the first king's great
enemy. He too bowed and begged: "Be my friend! Curse that other king who
troubles you!"
And the sage smiled at him with the very same warmth he had shown the first
one. "May you be at peace," he said again. "I have no enemy here. The king who
shouted at me yesterday is no less dear to me than you are today."
The second king blinked. "You would not even curse the man who insulted you?"
"Why would I?" said the sage. "Honour and insult are like the river's sound —
they come, they go, they do not wet the one who sits on the bank. Friend and
foe are two words people throw at each other; in my heart there is no 'my
side' and 'their side.' I want nothing from either of you, so neither of you
can pull me. That is the only freedom I have, and it is the only thing I would
ever wish for you both."
The two kings, on different days, rode away from that same hut puzzled and
strangely quieted. Behind them the old sage went back to watering his tulsi,
as steady as the banyan tree, having crossed long ago beyond honour and shame,
friend and foe, wanting and not-wanting.