Once upon a time there lived a confectioner in a certain village of Northern India. He had his home in the outskirts of the village, and next to it was his shop of sweetmeats-the best of all the shops in the village. It was the principal source of his income, some of which, after defraying the expenses of his family consisting of his wife and two little children, he laid by day by day without the least knowledge of any one.

One day, as he was sitting in his shop a little before noon, a good- looking Sannyasin dressed in a tattered cloak came in to find shelter for a while from the scorching sun. After taking a little rest, he wanted to drink some water, and the confectioner offered him a cup of cool water, together with some sweets. The Sannyasin, after being refreshed, again asked of him to mend his clothing, saying he could not sleep in the night because of the sting of mosquitoes that found entrance through the many holes of his garment. This also the confectioner did; for he was a very good man. After three hours' labour he was able to give a definite shape to the garment, which was in a pitiably shapeless condition before. That night the Sannyasin slept very soundly.

Next morning, when the confectioner was in his shop, the Sannyasin appeared before him, now not to ask anything of him, but to requite him for the good he had done him the previous day. He could not do this in the shape of money, of course, for he had altogether forsaken both 'wealth and woman', 'but he offered him something higher than the world, as he had a great power in him, having realised his oneness with the Higher Self or Brahman. Such holy men, although they have no attractions in the world and do not like to play a part here any longer, still stay here to guide and help other men. Now he saw that the confectioner had a great desire to enjoy the things of the world, and so would not forsake the pleasures of life to realise the Higher Self. He wanted him therefore to go to Goloka where he would find enjoyments in abundance. But the confectioner mused for a while and then implored the anchorite thus: "O Master, who will not go to that blessed land? Men give up all wealth and honour, and lead a strictly ascetic life in the forests for years and years with the hope of going to that abode after their departure from this world. O large-hearted saint, your munificence is without any parallel. But as you know all, you have of course seen, these two little boys who have no friend here in this world save me. It will make them altogether miserable if I leave them thus helpless. If you will kindly wait a few years, say eight, till they can earn at least a pittance for themselves, you will do me the highest favour."

The Sannyasin heard this, and finding his attraction towards his children to be more than that towards God and heaven, took compassion upon him, and agreed to come to him after eight years.

On the appointed day the anchorite came again, but, the confectioner pleaded most piteously "Revered sir, what an unbearable load of misfortune the Lord of the Universe has hoarded for me. Look at my two boys. How wicked they have become! They have spent through liquor and bad company nearly all that I had laid by. Now I am bent upon getting them married, and this may abate their thriftlessness by tying them to the family. As I require money for this purpose, I request your holiness to wait for another eight years."

The good Sannyasin heard all this silently. He knew that the confectioner's love for his family was greater than his love for anything else, and felt much. pity for him. He departed, again promising to return on the same day after another eight years.

The years fled away, and on the appointed day the Sadhu reappeared to see in the place of the good confectioner's shop a wretched ill- thatched grocery, where the eldest son of the man was selling things of small value to the poorer class, of the village. He approached him and inquired about the father. "Alas! revered sir, "replied the son, "he" is dead these seven years, leaving us in a sea of troubles. We are altogether impoverished. We have no more that fine shop. I keep this poor grocery, and you can see my younger brother there in the field at work, with the plough."

The hermit heard all this silently. Then, as he could know all things if he willed, he understood that the father had again been born as one of the bullocks which were ploughing the field, guided by the younger son. He, therefore, waited till the husbandman unyoked the bullocks at noon. He then seized the opportunity, when no one was near, to enter into the bullock-shed, and taking a little holy water out of his begging bowl, sprinkled it over the head of the ox, to remind him of his former birth, as well as of the contract between them. At this the ox bowed his head and began to complain: "Yes, sir, this is the appointed day. Since nothing is hidden from your view, you can easily see the marks of poverty all round. All has been spent by those two fools, my luckless sons. A year or two more, and they are sure to be starved to death. Sir, won't you allow me, at this juncture, to plough for them a few years to see if they can improve their condition, once more?"

The hermit heard this in silence. He found that no amount of lecturing could make him give up his clinging to life. Full of pity for him, he again agreed to appear after some years. After the lapse of the period, he returned, and began to search for the shop, but could not find it. He then proceeded to the house of the old confectioner, but at the door he was attacked by a lean and hungry cur. He began to call aloud to the inmates of the house, and when the eldest son appeared, inquired about the welfare of his family, and at last, about the bullock too. The man answered, "Ah! sir, the poor creature died a year ago. What a fine animal he was! He ate but little and laboured from morning till night. Another ox of that kind is hard to get." Hearing this, the hermit, by his all- knowing power, came to know that the cur was no other than the old confectioner himself, and was therefore, so assiduous in guarding the remaining small property that he furiously barked at any stranger lest he should take even a straw from the dear home. So he waited for an opportunity to remind him of his former self and the contract between them."

Then the dog bowed down his head and began to weep at his feet for his great misfortune and concluded by saying: "Revered sir, allow me even a few years more to see my unfortunate sons rally and guard the remnant of my property from the clutches of the thieves that infest this neighbourhood. I laboured much in my days to collect the little I have, and now I cannot leave it to be a prey to thieves." The hermit heard his words in silence, but finding it use less to argue with him, again promised to return after some years.

The term elapsed. He again appeared there, and found, in the place of the confectioner's home, two huts lately erected. On inquiring, he learned that the two brothers had taken to litigation against each other, and had been almost reduced to poverty. Slowly he proceeded to one of the huts, where the sons now lived. But he did not find the dog there. Then he came to know by his all-knowing power that the confectioner had become a serpent and was living in a subterranean cave just below the site of his former room, coiling himself round a brazen jug which contained all the money he had secreted there. At this time the two brothers came out of one of the huts, quarrelling. When they saw the Sannyasin, one of them exclaimed: "Lo brother, all our misfortunes have been brought about by this ill-omened vagabond; for ever since he has been visiting us, we have been becoming poorer and poorer. "And turning to the Sannyasin, he exclaimed "Now get away, you infernal messenger of misfortune, or it will be a very bad day for you." On hearing this, the Sannyasin said, quite calm and unruffled, "Dear friends, have you become so poor? Do you want money? Then go and dig out the site of the room where your parents used to sleep formerly, and whatever money you will find there, divide equally among yourselves."

On hearing this, the two brothers were exceedingly happy and began to dig with all their. Might. When they approached the jug, the viper darted against them. They now thought that the Sadhu was a veritable rogue who wanted to see them die of snakebite, and accordingly they resolved to belabour him right and left. Knowing their purpose, the hermit said to them, "Do you think that I am a liar? Don't you see, the rim of the brazen jug there? It contains all the money you want. Kill the serpent and it is yours." On hearing this, they inspected the hole from a distance and saw the rusty rim of a jug therein. So desisting from their fell purpose, they directed all their anger against the snake and killed it at once.

The spirit of the confectioner, thus finally set free from the last remnant of his earthly property, was in-course of time raised to Goloka by the Sannyasin's spiritual power.

Such is the tenacity with which we cling to the world and life in it. This clinging is of man's own choosing. Even death cannot wrench him from it; on the contrary death only strengthens his attachment to life and the world by giving him a new and vigorous body. Death is only changing a worn-out body for a fresh one. Even when a man is disgusted with the world through misery, and feels a strong inclination to give it up et once and for ever, it is often the feeling of utter helplessness and inability to mend his fortune that prompts him, rather than any conviction of his inherent Divinity.

There may be no clinging for the time being. But if he can mend his fortune, will he not be glad to stay on here and enjoy all the bliss that this life can give? Even when he wants to die, his desire to play with Nescience and his clinging to life still lurk within him.