Jābāli

Among the Sama Veda-based Upaniṣads, the Jābāli Upaniṣad holds a unique place. It is a sacred text that speaks about the glory of vibhūti (sacred ash) and rudrākṣa beads, elaborating their significance in spiritual practice. Unlike many other Upaniṣads that focus solely on metaphysical knowledge, the Jābāli Upaniṣad combines spiritual wisdom with dharmic guidelines for everyday life. The teachings of Jābāli Maharṣi form the very basis of this Upaniṣad. He is also one of the gurus mentioned in Rāma’s lineage, being among the teachers chosen by Daśaratha Mahārāja.

The birth and life narratives of great ṛṣis and rivers are often complex and difficult to comprehend. When asked about their origins, most of these sages do not provide straightforward answers. Their life stories transcend ordinary understanding. Even if answers are given, they tend to raise many more questions due to their mystical nature. This is why the lives of ṛṣis remain beyond the grasp of common intellect.

Birth and Early Life

Jābāli was born to a brahman woman named Jābālā as a result of divine grace while she was still in her maidenhood. Because his mother’s name was Jābālā, he came to be known as Jābāli. In ancient Bhārata, it was common practice for children to carry their mother’s name when the father’s identity was unknown or not relevant to their life’s purpose. For instance, Gautamīputra Śātakarṇi and Vasiṣṭhiputra Pulumāyi, the Andhra Sātavāhana kings, carried their mother’s names though they belonged to the Vasiṣṭha gotra. This tradition was not due to lineage neglect but was a part of cultural norms of the time. Similarly, Jābāli is also known as Satyakāma Jābāli for reasons tied to his life’s truthfulness.

As Jābāli grew older, his mother took him to the sage Haridrumata Gautama, requesting him to educate her son. Haridrumata observed the boy carefully and realized that he was no ordinary child. He decided that Jābāli deserved to learn not just the Vedas but the highest spiritual wisdom—brahma-vidyā. One day, the guru called Jābāli and told him, “My son, your mother brought you to me for education. I have taught you basic knowledge, but I wish to initiate you into brahma-vidyā. For that, we must perform the necessary initiations starting with upanayana. Go to your mother and ask about your gotra and lineage so that we may proceed properly.”

Jābāli went to his mother and asked about his lineage. Without any hesitation or concealment, his mother told him the truth. She said, “My son, I have served in many households. I do not know who your father is.” This stark confession became an essential part of Jābāli’s story. Unperturbed, the boy returned to his guru and narrated the same truth to him directly and without shame. Such courage to speak the unvarnished truth earned him the name Satyakāma, meaning “lover of truth.”

Haridrumata was deeply impressed by this honesty. He said, “My child, you do not need to know your lineage. You possess truthfulness, and that alone makes you eligible for brahma-jñāna. You are destined for greatness, and your origin is of no consequence to me.” He then initiated Jābāli into the Gāyatrī Mantra, setting him on the path of spiritual realization.

As part of his training, Jābāli requested a task from his guru to engage his mind while practicing Gāyatrī. The guru assigned him to go-sevā, service to cows, instructing him to daily take the cows for grazing, clean them, feed them, and look after their welfare with dedication.

Jābāli served the cows with intense devotion and humility. Over time, the number of cows increased manifold, far beyond what his guru had anticipated. Yet Jābāli continued his service without distraction or personal desire. He remained fully immersed in guru-smaraṇa, remembering his teacher constantly, free from any other thoughts, desires, or worldly concerns. His mind was as calm as the still wind and as steady as a mountain tree, unaffected by external disturbances.

Devās themselves watched over Jābāli’s tapas. They observed his niṣkāma karma, action without desire for fruits. His body performed go-sevā, but his mind remained steadfast in spiritual contemplation. This state of pure actionless awareness brought him divine grace, and through such service, he grew into a brahma-jñānī, attaining knowledge beyond ordinary comprehension.

Attainment of Supreme Stillness and Communion with Nature

In the path of spiritual experience, the most essential state is nirīkṣaṇa, the silent waiting for liberation. This waiting is not mere patience but a deep inner state where the mind ceases to strive, expecting nothing but the blossoming of self-realization in its own time. During tapas, or austerity, the seeker must become like nature itself—untouched, impartial, and unmoved by inner or outer disturbances. There should be no active effort with the senses or the mind, for true tapas is not about doing, but about non-doing, about resting in pure awareness.

A person may sit with eyes tightly shut, trying to force some inner vision or experience, but that is not tapas; it is the restlessness of rajoguṇa. The Ātman is self-luminous and needs no new light or revelation. What veils it is avidyā, ignorance—not the absence of spiritual practice but the wrong kind of effort. Realization comes when the seeker drops all action and simply is.

Once the seeker experiences saṁsāra-bhīti (fear of worldly existence), dispassion, and an intense longing for liberation, true sādhana begins—not as effort, but as effortless being. In this niṣkriyatva, the seeker becomes so still that no external force can disturb them. No matter if someone calls them, throws stones at them, or pours cold water on them in winter—they remain unmoved, absorbed in their inner state.

This is the very condition described in the life of Satyakāma Jābāli. Like Bhagavān Ramana Maharṣi in recent centuries, who at the age of fourteen sat in Arunācala temple unmoved by external events, Jābāli too entered deep nirvikalpa samādhi, becoming like a rock. Villagers would mock him, throw mud and stones at him, pour cold water on him during winter, but he would not react. His mind was so withdrawn from the world that he needed no further guru, no new teachings, no yogic techniques. All the inner doors had opened, and he sat in ekānta, supreme solitude—not by physically escaping to a forest, but by remaining inwardly alone even amidst people.

Mouna, true silence, is not just refraining from speech but from inner disturbance. Jābāli reached this state naturally. In that stillness, nature itself—prakṛti—spoke to him.

One day, Vāyu Deva, the wind deity, entered into a bull in the cow-pen and addressed Jābāli, saying, “O noble one! Because of your compassionate and careful protection, we have multiplied into thousands. Please now take us back to your guru’s ashram. We wish to offer you our service.”

In truth, it was not just the bull speaking—it was prakṛti itself communicating with him. The pañca-bhūtas—earth, air, fire, water, and space—can speak to one who attains mouna and ekānta. These elements have a language of their own, a way of conveying the tattva (the truth of existence). Since time immemorial, they have witnessed the comings and goings of innumerable beings. The trees, the rivers, the mountains—all observe life’s transient nature. They see seeds sprouting and perishing, and they know the movements of all living beings.

The ākāśa (space), the agni (fire), the nakṣatras (stars)—all are conscious witnesses. They too can be taken as teachers if the seeker is ready to listen. Jābāli reached a state where the very air, the trees, and the sky whispered to him the brahma-jñāna that no human guru could fully convey.

There is no need to search for a guru in a distant place. The universe itself is the teacher. The pañca-bhūtas, the sun, the moon, the elements, and the cosmic energies are all in a state of sākṣitva—witnessing existence without attachment. They do not experience pleasure or pain but continue their divine functions, supporting life in countless ways.

Jābāli understood this truth deeply. His state of mind was so refined that prakṛti (nature) itself revealed the highest wisdom to him. No longer seeking instruction, no longer striving, he attained realization by simply being—silent, still, and merged with the flow of existence.

When Vāyu Deva spoke through the bull in the cow-pen, it was not merely symbolic; it was literal. The wind deity had indeed entered the form of the vṛṣabha and communicated directly with Jābāli. To the words of the bull, Jābāli responded with pure obedience, without a trace of ego or hesitation. He humbly agreed to lead the cows back to his guru’s āśrama. For Jābāli, go-sevā meant complete surrender to the cows’ will—he would follow wherever they grazed, protect them patiently, and bring them home only when they desired. His service was not one of dominance but of reverence, just as Sudakṣiṇā Devī and Dilīpa Mahārāja had once served the divine cow Nandinī under the guidance of Vasiṣṭha Maharṣi. In the Raghuvaṁśa, Kālidāsa beautifully describes how Dilīpa followed Nandinī, never imposing his will, watching her every move with humility and devotion. Jābāli practiced the same level of dedication.

As Jābāli led the cows back, a profound event occurred. From the very bull that Vāyu Deva had entered, he heard a mantra-pāda, a sacred half-verse teaching brahma-jñāna. In another bull, Agni had taken residence and delivered the second pāda. From a third bull, Sūrya revealed the third part of the mantra. Finally, a bird named Madhyama imparted the final quarter of the divine utterance. Through this extraordinary initiation, Jābāli became brahma-jñāna-sampanna, a knower of the supreme truth, and his entire being radiated with divine brilliance.

The deeper meaning of this event is profound. In this universe, permeated by Īśvara, the pañca-bhūtas—the five great elements—are fully capable of delivering spiritual instruction. The world is not inert or unconscious. We ignorantly perceive wind as just air, trees as mere wood, and earth as lifeless matter. But the elements possess knowledge and silently witness the entire play of life and death. When the seeker attains true mouna and ekānta, the elements themselves can become guru, bestowing spiritual insight in their own way. The pañca-bhūtas are eternally present, unbothered by pleasure or pain, merely observing and sustaining life. Their knowledge is deep and silent, and they remain untouched by worldly turmoil.

Jābāli reached this same level of niṣkriyatva, merging into the rhythm of the cosmos. His mouna (practice of silence), his service to the cows, his dispassion, and his single-pointed ekāgratā (focus) led him to a realization where the paramātma tattva residing in all creation directly taught him the highest wisdom. By the time he returned to his guru’s āśrama, he was already a brahma-jñānī.

Jābāli’s Humility

When he reached his guru Haridrumata, the guru immediately noticed the transformation. Jābāli’s face radiated divya-tejas, the light of realization. Haridrumata said, “My son, your face reveals your attainment. You have become one with the supreme truth. There is nothing more I can teach you. Go wherever you wish, live as you please, build your āśrama, and continue your divine life.”

But Jābāli, despite being enlightened, remained humble and devoted. He said, “Gurudeva! Though the gods themselves have secretly imparted brahma-jñāna to me, I fear that unless I receive it directly from you, through guru-mukha, this knowledge may not remain stable. Please teach me again, so that this realization becomes eternal and unshakable.”

Such was Jābāli’s humility. Even after receiving the highest truths directly from the elements, he sought to formalize his realization through the proper lineage of guru-paramparā, valuing guru-kata-akṣa (the grace of the teacher) above all.

Even after attaining brahma-jñāna, Jābāli did not deviate from guru-paraṁparā or traditional etiquette. He firmly believed that unless knowledge is received through the guru-mukha, it does not become stable or lasting. This humility and guru-bhakti were inseparable from his nature. His guru, Haridrumata, was immensely pleased with Jābāli’s attitude. Smiling, the guru blessed him, saying, “I am only a nimitta in your journey. You are already a brahma-jñānī. There is nothing more for me to teach you. You need not learn from anyone else in this world. Go freely, perform tapas, build your āśrama, and live a divine life.”

Jābāli, however, still requested, “Gurudeva, though the devatas have blessed me with knowledge, unless I hear it formally from you, I fear my realization may not become permanent. Please give me direct upadeśa.”

His guru agreed, offered him the formal instruction, and sent him forth with blessings.

Establishment at Citrakūṭa and Worship of Subrahmaṇya

Jābāli then proceeded to Citrakūṭa Parvata, where he established his āśrama. Immersed in japa, tapas, svādhyāya, and pravacana, he lived as a radiant sage. In time, he became a devoted worshiper of Subrahmaṇya Svāmi. His deep bhakti and meditative focus resulted in Subrahmaṇya’s divya-darśana, where the Bhagavān revealed to him profound secrets of paratattva.

Transmission of Jñāna to Pippalāda

Once, Pippalāda Maharṣi’s son (himself a great ṛṣi) came to Jābāli’s āśrama. Recognizing Jābāli’s greatness, he humbly requested to learn the highest brahma-jñāna. Jābāli shared the knowledge he had received, and these teachings later became known as the Jābāli Upaniṣad. The lesson here is clear: even after realization, one must repeatedly pray to Bhagavān and seek clarity from the wise. As the Vedic maxim says:

एकं सद्विप्रा बहुधा वदन्ति
Ekaṁ sat viprā bahudhā vadanti

Truth is one, but the wise express it in many ways.

A true brahma-jñānī will learn from anyone, even a child, if the message is of tattva-jñāna. His hallmark is vinaya—humility. He treats everyone as superior in some way, and his default attitude is namaskāra to all beings, recognizing the divinity in everything, even a stone or a tree.

Jābāli’s Dialogue with Pippalāda

When Pippalāda asked Jābāli about the secrets of paratattva, Jābāli responded, “My son, your question is excellent. I will teach you as I have learned from my elders.”

The conversation unfolded as follows:

• Pippalāda: “From whom did you learn this knowledge?”
• Jābāli: “I learned it from Subrahmaṇya Svāmi.”
• Pippalāda: “From whom did Subrahmaṇya learn it?”
• Jābāli: “From Īśāna, the supreme bhagavān, the sṛṣṭi-sthiti-laya-kartā, the pati of all paśus.”
• Pippalāda: “How did Īśāna learn it?”
• Jābāli: “Through Īśāna-upāsana, for the paramātma is svayam-prakāśa (self-revealing).”
• Jābāli then elaborated on paśupatya tattva:
  • The jīva caught in ahaṅkāra becomes bound like a paśu.
  • The paśupati is Īśvara, the bhagavān who liberates beings.
  • The five acts—sṛṣṭi, sthiti, laya, tirobhāva, and anugraha—are all His play.
  • The jīvas are bound by pāśa (bondage), just as animals are tethered.
  • Liberation comes from recognizing Īśvara as the supreme pati.
• Jābāli further explained: “I realized this truth when I saw Īśvara adorned with vibhūti. The sacred ash reveals the nature of paśupati and paśu, binding and liberation.”

The Importance of Vibhūti and Rudrākṣa

Jābāli also taught about the glory of vibhūti and rudrākṣa, as preserved in the Jābāli Upaniṣad.

• Take sacred ash while chanting Sadyōjātaādi pañcabrāhma mantras.
• Mix it with water, chanting Agniḥ iti bhasma and Mānastoke tanaye mantras.
• Apply three horizontal lines on the forehead, chest, and arms using Tryāyuṣaṁ Jamadagniḥ and Tryambakaṁ yajāmahe mantras. This is known as Śāmbhava-vrata.

Jābāli emphasized that even if one has no knowledge of Veda or Vedāṅga, but wears vibhūti and remembers Śiva, he attains mokṣa. Wearing the tripuṇḍra symbolizes union with the three fires—Gārhapatya, Dakṣiṇāgni, and Āhavanīya—and the three gunas: rajas, sattva, and tamas.

He taught that:

• Tripuṇḍra dhāraṇa removes all sins, including upapātakas.
• It equals bathing in all tīrthas and chanting all Rudra mantras.
• It grants freedom from rebirth and the miseries of saṁsāra.

Thus, Jābāli stood as a beacon of humility, śiva-bhakti, and brahma-jñāna, transmitting his knowledge to generations to come.

Śrī Rāma in Citrakūṭa

During Rāma’s vanavāsa, after reaching Citrakūṭa, Bharata, Śatrughna, and Vasiṣṭha Maharṣi came to meet him. Bharata, overwhelmed with emotion, fell at Rāma’s feet and pleaded with him to return to Ayodhyā and take back the kingdom. But Rāma firmly refused. He said, “I cannot accept the kingdom. You rule in my stead, Bharata.” At that moment, Jābāli Maharṣi was present. His intention was to make the inner purity of Rāma evident to the world. He wanted to demonstrate publicly that Rāma’s mind was free from any blemish of desire or attachment.

So Jābāli approached Rāma and said:

“Rāma! For the welfare of the world, why don’t you return to Ayodhyā and rule? Your father is no more, your mothers, your brother Bharata, and all the ministers are requesting you to come back. What harm is there if you return and assume the kingdom? There is no sin in this. Who belongs to whom in this world? What is the ultimate importance of parental commands when larger lokakṣema (public welfare) is at stake?”

Rāma, astonished at Jābāli’s unusual argument, responded:

“Maharṣi! You are a great tapasvī and wise sage. How can you speak like an ordinary materialistic person?”

Jābāli replied:

“Rāma! You grieve because your father died. But what is the true relationship between you and your father? Is the body your father? Which jīva is he? What is this bondage you perceive? You are grieving over one who has departed, thinking his commands still bind you. You speak like an ignorant person clinging to what is no longer real. Why follow rituals like śrāddha, offering food to ancestors? Is there any ultimate purpose in that? Instead of leaving aside direct happiness for indirect gains, accept the kingdom and serve the world.”

Rāma calmly and firmly replied:

“O sage! What you say appears beneficial but is not truly auspicious. That path leads to sorrow. Noble people do not accept honors or kingdoms unjustly. A person’s worth is shown by his actions, not his arguments. Your advice resembles Cārvāka-vāda (materialistic philosophy). I cannot accept that.

I came to the forest with a vow of vanavāsa. If I abandon my vow because someone tells me another dharma is higher, I would be rejecting my own svadharma for someone else’s command. How can that be right?
A king sets an example: yathā rājā tathā prajā—as the king acts, so do the people. If I compromise on my duty, I become a guide to adharma.”

Hearing this, Jābāli rejoiced and revealed his purpose:

“Rāma! Satyam (Truth) is the highest dharma. You are a satyavādī (truthful person). I needed no further proof. I deliberately argued in this way to test and reveal your unwavering commitment to truth and dharma. I am not a nāstika (atheist). I am an āstika, a believer in dharma. I only played this role to make your greatness known.”

Rāma looked toward Vasiṣṭha Maharṣi for confirmation. Vasiṣṭha reassured him:

Jābāli is a great soul, a supreme dhārmika and a brahma-jñānī.

Rāma smiled, understanding Jābāli’s intent. Jābāli then respectfully saluted Rāma, took leave, and returned to his āśrama.

This episode is narrated in Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, revealing Jābāli’s role in affirming Rāma’s commitment to dharma and the supremacy of truth over expediency.

Ṛtambhara

In the ancient city called Tejahpura, there ruled a king named Ṛtambhara. He was a man of immense dharma, righteousness, and boundless prosperity. His kingdom was a land of charity where annadāna—free feeding of the poor and seekers—was an everyday sight. The yogis, brāhmaṇas, and brahmacārīs found comforts easily in his reign, wherever they went. His administration upheld dharma at every level, but despite his noble life and immense merit, the king had no offspring.

Burdened by this sorrow, King Ṛtambhara sought the counsel of Jābāli Maharṣi. Approaching him with reverence, offering arghya and pādya, he humbly prayed for the blessing of progeny. Jābāli, with compassion, responded with the wisdom of the ages. He explained that there were only three time-tested ways to obtain children when fate denies them naturally—worship of Vāsudeva, worship of Vāmadeva, and service to cows. He recalled the example of Dilīpa Chakravarti, who, under the guidance of Vasiṣṭha, engaged in cow service to beget a child. Even the greatest sins or the absence of merit could be overcome by these acts. Among them, cow service, or go-sevā, was paramount, for the cow embodies all the deities. By feeding and tending cows daily, the pitṛs, the ancestral deities, are pleased, and in turn, they bestow the boon of children.

Jābāli further instructed the king in dharma. He said that three things destroy the merit accumulated by even the most virtuous: when a young maiden of marriageable age remains unmarried, when a cow in the cowshed is left hungry, and when sacred worship to deities is performed neglectfully or without removing old offerings. These actions erode virtue. Hence, one must ensure that cows are fed well, and temple deities are worshipped with utmost purity and sincerity.

Jābāli likened the service of cows to the highest form of worship. He warned that anyone who prevents a cow from eating grass is committing a sin equivalent to obstructing the ancestors themselves. A person who beats a cow or kicks it with their feet is destined for Yamaloka—the world of punishment after death. Thus, go-sevā is not just an act of charity but an essential pillar of dharma.

Reflecting on these teachings, Jābāli mourned the decline of dharma in Bhāratavarṣa. In his time, and even more so today, he lamented, the slaughter of cows, the killing of animals, and acts of extreme violence against living beings have become rampant. Yet, by the merit of the great sages and seers of the past, India still breathes with some measure of well-being. Without their blessings, even the basic necessities like food and clothing would be scarce, for the collective sin of this age would have long since destroyed the land.

Jābāli pointed to Dwārakā itself, once the city of Śrī Kṛṣṇa, where today cows are neglected and mistreated. Festivals like Kṛṣṇāṣṭamī are celebrated outwardly, but no one remembers the sacredness of the cow, the symbol of dharma, the living embodiment of Kṛṣṇa’s grace. Such festivals have become occasions for feasting, not for spiritual remembrance. This, he said, is the height of hypocrisy and ignorance.

In India today, said Jābāli, countless creatures are bred only to be killed. Chickens, fish, cows—they are not merely consumed when naturally available, but entire industries are dedicated to breeding them solely for slaughter. This is not simple livelihood but a mass production of death. It is commerce in cruelty.

Why does humanity engage in such horror? The answer is greed—unquenchable greed. Even those who have more than enough food and wealth continue to chase after more. Their lives are not driven by need but by endless avarice. This greed has displaced dharma from the hearts of the people. Where there is greed, there can be no devas; where there are demons of desire, divinity cannot reside. The sages and noble traditions retreat from such minds, leaving a vacuum filled with spiritual weakness and moral collapse.

This, said Jābāli, is why the state of the world has declined. The loss of dharma is not accidental—it is the consequence of forgetting the sacred balance between life and duty, between wealth and righteousness. In this narrative, Jābāli’s teachings serve not just as a guide for King Ṛtambhara but as a timeless warning to all future generations.

Śrī Mahāviṣṇu and the King

In the world of dharma, it is said that the more sincerely one worships the deities, the more vividly they manifest their presence. There once lived a king who built a grand temple dedicated to Śrī Mahāviṣṇu. He consecrated a beautiful idol and appointed a devoted and learned priest to perform the daily worship. The priest conducted the rituals with meticulous care, offering abhisheka, chanting Vedic mantras, and performing archana with devotion. Devotees visited the temple in large numbers, and the king was pleased with the arrangements.

One night, Viṣṇu appeared to the king in a dream. He said, “My child, the worship is indeed going well, but seek an even more dedicated priest. I will be happier.” The next morning, the king conveyed this dream to his minister. The minister, respecting the king’s vision, brought in another learned priest, reputed to be even more virtuous and steadfast. The new priest performed the rituals with greater rigor, with additional Vedic chanting and ceremonial care.

Time passed. After a month, Viṣṇu again appeared in the king’s dream, saying, “Look for someone even better. There might still be one more fit for this worship. I will be even more pleased.” The minister then sought out another scholar, someone regarded as the best in the kingdom. This priest too performed the duties impeccably, maintaining the highest standards of devotion and purity.

Yet again, after another month, the king received the same message in his dream. Viṣṇu said, “I still seek someone superior. Find him, and I shall be more pleased.” By now, the minister grew weary of this endless pursuit. Ministers, being worldly and practical, do not always understand the depths of spiritual instruction. However, bound by the king’s command, the minister decided to teach a lesson of his own.

He found a man who lived a life of vice—one who was drunk every night, given to pleasures of the flesh, a man of no morals. But this man knew how to speak sweetly and maintain the appearance of piety. The minister dressed him in sacred robes, adorned him properly, and declared, “Here is the greatest priest in our kingdom! There is none better. I appoint him as the temple’s chief priest. Now surely Viṣṇu will be satisfied!” The king, being a simple devotee, accepted this decision, unaware of the deception.

The new priest entered the temple, locked the doors, and instead of worshipping Viṣṇu, sat down and ate a sumptuous meal. When asked about the offerings, he boldly claimed, “Bhagavān Himself has eaten.” From that day on, Viṣṇu ceased to appear in the king’s dreams.

The people of the town, including the brāhmaṇas and ordinary folk, observed this strange development. They whispered under the shade of trees outside the temple, wondering why the king no longer received divine visions. Fear gripped them, for they knew the king might punish the minister if the deity remained silent. Meanwhile, the impostor priest continued to thrive, enjoying comfort and luxury without any divine consequence. The town’s scholars and devotees, despite their learning, were unable to grasp the subtlety of the situation.

One day, a great sage arrived in the town—a knower of the past, present, and future. The people approached him with their confusion and explained the sequence of events. They asked him, “O Mahānubhāva! We are tormented by a doubt. Our king, on the advice of his minister, has replaced three virtuous priests with a fourth, who is a man of vice. Since then, for six months now, Viṣṇu has not appeared in the king’s dreams. What is the reason? Please clarify this mystery for us.”

The sage closed his eyes and, through his yogic vision, understood the truth. He replied, “In the earlier days, Viṣṇu did indeed reside in the temple, receiving the offerings and the worship. When the first priest performed the rituals with devotion, Viṣṇu desired even more sincerity and thus encouraged the king to find a superior devotee. This was not a rejection but an invitation for deeper devotion and a greater bond between the king and the divine.”

The sage continued, “But when the minister appointed this false priest, one who did not embody any spiritual discipline, Viṣṇu quietly departed from the temple. He is no longer there. Naturally, the king no longer sees Viṣṇu in his dreams, for the Bhagavān is not present. How can He appear when He has left?”

This tale reveals a profound truth about karma and divine response. When a person’s life is a mixture of merit and sin, the divine may still communicate, offering warnings or guidance in dreams. But when one becomes immersed fully in adharma, completely abandoning virtue, no such messages come. The silence of the divine is the most severe punishment. It reflects complete disconnection from the sacred.

This, the sage explained, is the condition of the world today. We live in an age where virtue is vanishing, where piety is mocked, and where spiritual integrity is often replaced by outward show. In such times, no one knows when or how calamity may strike. When dharma weakens, the entire fabric of society becomes unstable, and the world moves closer to its own destruction.

In the sacred narratives passed from seer to disciple, Maharṣi Jābāli shared with Bhagavān Śrī Rāma profound teachings drawn from his vast experience and inner vision. He narrated to Rāma the account of King Janaka’s descent into Naraka, the world of suffering, and how the sinners there implored Janaka to remain with them, hoping his presence would lessen their torment. Jābāli also expounded to Rāma the glory of go-sevā, the service of cows, emphasizing its unique power in purifying karma and invoking divine grace. He described the significance of wearing sacred vibhūti in tripuṇḍra lines, the greatness of Śiva’s worship, and the sacredness of Rudrākṣa beads. Through these teachings, Jābāli guided his disciples towards liberation.

In the same vein, Jābāli once instructed King Ṛtambhara on the importance of go-sevā. The king, a righteous monarch, followed this counsel with utmost sincerity. One day, as he was tending to the cows, a lion appeared from the forest and killed one of the cows in his care. This incident mirrored the ancient test faced by King Dilīpa, who was similarly tried in his service to Nandinī, the divine cow. Grief-stricken and feeling burdened by guilt, Ṛtambhara approached Jābāli at his hermitage. With humility and distress, the king confessed, “O revered sage! As you instructed, I have been serving the cows with devotion. But today, while I was protecting them, a lion came and killed one. I failed in my duty and feel that I have committed a great sin. How can I find redemption for this?”

At that moment, the sage Ṛtuparṇa was also present. Jābāli advised the king, “Go to Ṛtuparṇa; he will guide you on the path of atonement.” Ṛtambhara approached the sage and expressed his sorrow. Ṛtuparṇa compassionately instructed him, “Chant the holy name of Rāma. Rāma-nāma-smaraṇa will destroy all sins. Even the thought, ‘I have committed a sin,’ when combined with sincere remembrance of Rāma, is sufficient for purification. Additionally, adorn the most excellent cows with ornaments and donate them to the worthy.”

Following this counsel, Ṛtambhara performed Rāma-smaraṇa with deep repentance and gave away decorated cows in charity. That very night, he received a divine vision in his dream. The celestial beings appeared to him and revealed the truth: “We created the lion incident as a test of your sincerity. It was not a real sin but a divine play to observe your humility and remorse. Now that you have expressed genuine contrition, the burden has been lifted. By this atonement, you have earned great merit. Soon, you will be blessed with progeny.”

True to this divine promise, King Ṛtambhara’s lineage was continued with the birth of a son named Satyavanta. This son became renowned as a devotee of Rāma and a lover of dharma, upholding righteousness in his kingdom. The episode stands recorded in the Pātāla Khaṇḍa of the Padma Purāṇa, a testament to the power of humility, repentance, and sincere devotion as the paths to divine grace and liberation.