When I Began to Understand What a Vaiṣṇava Should Be
The stories of our Āchāryas have been doing something strange to me.
I began this journey thinking I was going to learn about them.
Slowly, I am discovering that they are making me look at myself.
Yesterday, the story of Nampiḷḷai and Piḷḷai Āthan made me think about ego.
How easily we can feel that we deserve respect.
How difficult it can be to bow when our mind starts comparing age, knowledge, position and status.
And then I began wondering:
If I remove the ego, what should remain?
What does it really mean to become a Vaiṣhṇava?
I have called myself one all my life.
But perhaps I had never seriously asked myself what that actually means.
During one of my Yāthirais,
I heard a beautiful story connected with Swamy Ananthāḻvān.
It was simple. Almost playful.
But the more I thought about it, the deeper it became.
The disciple who went to Ananthāḻvān
A disciple from Srirangam was sent to Tirumala to meet Ananthāḻvān.
He had been given a very important question to ask:
“What are the qualities of a Śrī Vaiṣṇava?”
The disciple reached Tirumala and waited to meet Ananthāḻvān.
But there was something very ordinary standing between him and the answer.
He was hungry. He had to wait for prasādam.
And he waited. He did not say,
“I have come from Srirangam.”
He did not demand,
“I have come with an important question.”
He simply waited for prasādam.
Eventually, Swamy Ananthāḻvān met him and asked him whether he had prasadam
He said Yes as he was the last one taking the prasadam .
He moved near him and asked about the qualities of a Śrī Vaiṣṇava,
And he gave four very unusual comparisons.
He said:
“Kokkaippōl iruppān.
Kozhiyaippōl iruppān.
Uppaippōl iruppān.
Ummaippōl iruppān.”
Like a crane.
Like a hen.
Like salt.
And like you.
At first, I wondered what kind of answer this was!
What could a crane, a hen, salt and a hungry disciple possibly have to do with being a Vaiṣṇava?
Then the meaning began to unfold.
Like a crane
A crane stands patiently in the water.
It does not pick up everything it sees.
It waits.
It chooses what is useful.
The lesson I understood was that a Vaiṣṇava should learn to distinguish what is worth accepting and what should be left aside.
How much I need that lesson.
My mind picks up everything.
Praise. Criticism. Comparisons. Small hurts.
Unnecessary arguments.
Things that should have been forgotten years ago.
And I carry them around as though they are precious possessions.
Perhaps I need to learn from the crane.
Take what is valuable. Leave the rest.
Like a hen
A hen scratches the ground and finds whatever food is useful.
It does not collect everything.
It knows what it needs.
Again, I found myself thinking about my own life.
I have read so many things.
Listened to so many talks. Collected so many stories. Visited so many sacred places.
But am I actually taking the essence?
Or am I simply collecting information?
There is a difference between knowing about the
Āchāryas and allowing their lives to change us.
Perhaps the hen was telling me:
Take the essence. Do not merely accumulate.
Like salt
This one touched me even more.
Salt dissolves. You don’t see it.
But its presence changes the entire dish.
And salt tastes the same wherever it is.
The lesson I heard was about the consistency of a Vaiṣṇava.
What we are inside should not be completely different from what we display outside.
Our devotion should not be something reserved only for the temple.
Our humility should not appear only when an Āchārya is watching.
Our kindness should not depend on who is standing before us.
If I put on the appearance of a Vaiṣṇava outside but remain full of anger, pride and judgement within, what have I really changed?
Perhaps a true Vaiṣṇava becomes like salt.
Quietly present.
Not demanding recognition.
But making everything around him better.
And then… “like you”
The fourth quality surprised me.
“Ummaippōl iruppān.” Like you.
Why the disciple himself?
Because he had been waiting patiently for prasādam.
He had the opportunity to tell Ananthāḻvān who he was and why he had come.
He could have asserted his importance.
Instead, he simply waited.
There was humility in that waiting.
And perhaps Ananthāḻvān was telling him:
That humility itself is a quality of a Vaiṣṇava.
I found this particularly beautiful.
Because sometimes we imagine that great spirituality must look dramatic.
Long prayers. Deep knowledge. Extraordinary experiences.
But here was a hungry disciple quietly waiting for prasādam.
And that simple act revealed something about him.
What am I really becoming?
That question stayed with me.
I have been blessed beyond what I deserve.
I have travelled to Divya Desams.
I have had darshan of Perumals. I have sat before Āchāryas.
I have heard stories of extraordinary devotees.
I have received so many opportunities to learn.
But after all these years, can I say that I have become the person these stories are asking me to become?
I am not sure. Perhaps this is the uncomfortable truth of my journey.
**I have been collecting the signposts for many years.
I am only now learning to walk in the direction they point.**
The crane tells me to choose wisely.
The hen tells me to take the essence.
The salt tells me to become the same person within and without.
And the disciple reminds me to wait quietly without assuming that I deserve anything.
These are not difficult teachings to understand.
But living them?
That is another matter.
Perhaps the journey is becoming clearer
Yesterday, Nampiḷḷai made me look at my ego.
Today, Ananthāḻvān made me ask what should replace that ego.
Perhaps humility.
Perhaps discernment.
Perhaps quiet service.
Perhaps consistency between what I say and how I live.
Perhaps the willingness to remain a small person before Perumāḷ and His devotees.
I began this Yāthirai wanting to see the places where our Āchāryas lived.
Now I am beginning to understand why.
Every Thirumaligai has another lesson.
Every story seems to hold another mirror.
And every mirror shows me how much remains unfinished within me.
A small prayer
My Saviour Lord Sreenivasaaa Perumāḷ…
Teach me to be like the crane.
Let me know what to accept and what to quietly leave behind.
Teach me to be like the hen.
Let me take the essence of what my Āchāryas teach me instead of merely collecting knowledge.
Teach me to be like salt.
Let my inner life and outer life slowly become one.
And give me the humility of that disciple who simply waited for prasādam.
Let me stop thinking about how important I am.
Let me become useful. Let me become gentle.
Let me become a servant of Your devotees.
I know I have a very long way to go.
But perhaps, for the first time, I am beginning to understand where the road is pointing.
Let me not merely call myself a Śrī Vaiṣṇava.
Let me slowly become one. to be continued
Previous blog posts in the series appended below
Śrīmate Rāmānujāya Namaḥ
Adiyen Rāmānujadāsan
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