The World is a Bridge
Regrettably, having come to this earth, walking across the bridge that is life, we have forgotten our identity. The fetters of our desires have enchained us. But go back we must; we do not even know when the appointed hour of our return will come upon us
All thinking individuals find themselves reflecting on one particular question over and over again in the course of their lives: What is the meaning of this life that we lead? Where is it leading us? What is the purpose for which we have come here?
We are born into this world, and we grow up with so many hopes, aspirations, dreams and desires. And then, all of a sudden, we hear the call of Death; Yama, the Lord of Death, bids us depart from here without prior intimation, in many cases: “Dear brother/sister, it is time that you left.” All our dreams, desires and hopes are left behind, as Man returns to the unseen realm where he came from. What then is the meaning of life? What is the nature of the world we live in?
Saints and wise men have given us a variety of answers to these queries. One such response tells us: The world is a bridge. No one stops on a bridge. We simply have to cross the bridge and get to the other shore. “The world is a bridge, pass over it, but build no houses upon it. He who hopes for a day, may hope for eternity; but the World endures but an hour. Spend it in prayer for the rest is unseen.” Such is the inscription engraved on the Bulund Darwaza, the magnificent gateway to the deserted city of Fatehpur Sikri, built by Emperor Akbar.
In real life, we cross over bridges. On huge flyovers and expressway bridges, we actually have warning signs telling us not to stop our vehicles, but to drive through. And yet we seek to build our dreams on the bridge that is earthly life!
There lived a saint, who began his padyatra early every morning. He moved on from hamlet to hamlet, village to village, city to city, never stopping anywhere for long. Many of his disciples followed him, wherever he went. One day, as they went on their way, they came across a river in spate. There seemed to be no way of crossing the river-no boats or ferries were available. Far ahead, in the dim distance, they could see an old wooden bridge. They made their way to this bridge, and crossed the river. As they walked across the bridge, the saint said to his disciples, “My dear ones, always remember, the world is very much like this bridge that we are crossing now. We cannot halt here; we must not stop, we have to keep moving onward, forward, till we get to the other shore.”
“The world is a bridge,” he repeated. “Pass over it, and build not thereon.”
Of deep significance are these words. We must pass over the bridge of life-and not attempt to build on it. Of course, this does not mean that we stop building homes for ourselves. By all means, let us build homes; but let us not get attached to these homes and regard them as permanent. Our flats and bungalows and villas will have to be left behind us. For this world is a bridge-and we are birds from a distant land. We walk across the bridge for a short while, but our true home is afar-it is the land where shines the eternal lamp of the divine; the land where flows the Ganga of true knowledge, and the Jamuna of Yoga. Regrettably, having come to this earth, walking across the bridge that is life, we have forgotten our true identity. We have been enchained by the fetters of our desires. But go back we must-and we do not even know when the appointed hour of our return will come upon us.