The Crazy Race

Once upon a time, there was a group of sincere, loyal, and honest men who cared about nothing but finding the best in every human being to share it with the world.

They united for this noble purpose and worked tirelessly. Together, they created a system to govern themselves, setting lofty and seemingly unattainable goals, even for their own standards.

To achieve these dreams, they prepared rigorously and worked so hard that they began to emulate the rigid ways of old warriors.

In their relentless pursuit of their goal, they left many behind —the weak, the inadequate, and those who strayed from the path. Isolated, they pressed forward, advancing steadily, passing the torch from those who fell to those who carried on.

At last, as they neared the end of their grueling climb up the mountain, they realized only a few remained. Looking back, they saw a trail littered with corpses and wounded companions.

One of the remaining men turned to the leader and asked:

“Were not those we left behind the closest to us? Couldn’t we have helped them pass on even a small spark of what we sought to share with humanity?”

The leader paused, thoughtful. Then he remembered a story: the tale of an old monk and his young disciple.

—***—

"Every day, unperturbed, the old monk would leave the monastery and walk to the nearby villages in his saffron robes, carrying a simple bowl. He sought alms, which were given willingly. But in his ascetic pride, he never asked for anything.

Afterward, weary, he would slowly return to the monastery, immersed in meditation. Sometimes, he glimpsed flashes of transcendence, a sanctified version of himself freed from the burdens of flesh and bone. Yet, again and again, he would return to his frail, earthly body—his bent back, bony fingers, and the bitter expression etched on his face. His lofty goal always seemed beyond reach.

In the monastery, he was known for his cold detachment and austerity. Even the hungry dogs that roamed the grounds avoided him, sensing his unyielding demeanor.

One day, however, the abbot, perhaps moved by compassion, assigned a young novice to accompany the monk on his daily rounds. The boy, though clumsy, had bright and innocent eyes.

The next morning, under a blazing sun, the old monk reluctantly gestured for the novice to follow him.

They walked through villages, the old monk stoic and silent, neither speaking to anyone nor accepting food or shelter. Observing the boy’s growing exhaustion, he decided to teach him a lesson. That day, the monk walked farther than usual.

As they began the arduous climb back to the monastery, the novice’s lips were parched, his sweat dripping in the heat. They passed a fountain of fresh, clear water, but the old monk ignored it, quickening his pace. He watched from the corner of his eye as the boy’s suffering grew.

This harsh routine repeated day after day. The monk’s soul grew drier, and his hope of reaching enlightenment seemed even more distant.

One especially grueling day, as they returned to the monastery, the old monk noticed the novice’s eyes for the first time. For the first time, he realized he was not alone in his suffering.

When they reached the fountain, the novice, trying to suppress his thirst, avoided looking at it. To his surprise, the monk paused, filled his bowl with water, and drank. The act broke the monk’s rigid vows, but he didn’t stop there—he gestured for the boy to drink too.

The novice approached, trembling, and drank deeply, refreshing his parched throat. Then, something extraordinary happened: the boy began to glow with golden light, his radiant eyes and immense smile filling the monk’s heart with awe. Celestial music seemed to fill the air.

It was Shiva, the Master of Ascetics, who blessed the old monk, saying:

—“There is no greater austerity than to love and help those who need it.”

—***—

The leader, reflecting on the story, ordered the group to stop their race. After all, humanity was not atop the mountain but among the fallen and wounded below. Turning back, they helped the weak rise again and breathed life into the “corpses” left behind. Together, they built the world they had dreamed of, right there in the midst of the suffering.

That is my ideal. I do not wish to climb mountains but to help, with goodwill, those I can around me.

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