Rodevra Republic

I was delighted when I was granted an appointment with Money.

He did not seem to have an official name. People, it appeared, addressed him as they pleased. When I introduced myself, he smiled and said, “I don’t have a particular name. You may call me whatever you like.”

I thought for a moment and asked if I could call him Daulat. He agreed at once. “That suits me,” he said.

He was tall, well-built, and carried himself with quiet grace. Clean-shaven, with a clear and gentle expression, he was casually but neatly dressed—in chinos and a checked shirt. There was a pleasant fragrance about him, and yes, he wore a mask. By our definitions, he would fit what we call a metrosexual individual. His manner was expressive and engaging, yet there was a softness to it. But what stayed with me were his eyes—deep and penetrating, as if they could see through everything.

Wasting no time, I asked the question that is on everyone’s mind.

“Daulatji, why are you so elusive? Everyone seeks you. You seem to rule the world, yet only a few are blessed by your presence. Some appear to have you in abundance, while others live without you.”

He nodded, as if he had heard this many times before.

“That is a good question,” he said. “Let me begin by saying this—humans give me far more importance than I deserve. I am, in essence, an idea. A concept created for your convenience. What I truly represent is a universal principle—the principle of abundance.

“In a broader sense, I stand for what you may call the eight forms of wealth—prosperity, health, knowledge, strength, good fortune, fertility, progeny, and power. I am present everywhere and available to all. In human life, I express myself as contentment.

“If you are able to experience me as contentment, then I am always with you—in my complete and universal form.”

I paused to reflect.

“So you are always with us,” I said slowly, “but we fail to recognise you. We look for you in the wrong places, or in a very limited way.”

“Exactly,” he replied. “What you call money is only a small and often distorted part of what I truly am. You seek me in that narrow form, and naturally, you remain dissatisfied.

“You believe you can buy happiness with me. But I am capable of giving you far more—if only you understand me correctly.”

He continued, his tone now a little more serious.

“The difficulty is that you see yourselves as separate from one another. Each person seeks me for himself, often in excess of what is needed, and often in comparison with others. But I am a universal principle—I cannot belong to a few.

“I do not like being confined. And I certainly withdraw when people try to acquire me through unfair means.”

I could not resist asking, “But then why do such people seem to have you?”

He smiled faintly. “They have what you call money. But they do not have me in my true sense. They do not have contentment—and that is where I truly reside.

“I was meant to bring abundance into human life. But I am often misunderstood.”

I hesitated, and then asked a more pointed question.

“What about people like the Ambanis of the world? They seem to have an extraordinary share of you, while so many others struggle. Does that not seem unfair?”

He considered this for a moment.

“People like them are, in a way, instruments,” he said. “Through them, I flow outward. Think of the number of livelihoods they support, the scale at which they create opportunities. I need such channels.

“That said, I am not untouched by how I am acquired. The means matter.

“But consider this—however much one has, the desire for more often remains. Has it ended for them? Contentment is the greatest wealth. When you realise that nothing is lacking, you experience my abundance fully. In that state, the whole world belongs to you.”

There was a quiet clarity in what he said.

“This has changed the way I think,” I told him. “What would you advise us?”

He smiled again, gently.

“Do not run after me,” he said. “Do your work well—honestly and sincerely. You may not even notice when I come to you.

“I am drawn to such people. And I stay longer where I am shared, where I am used for a good purpose. I like to move, to circulate—do not try to hold me too tightly.

“You cannot command me. I come of my own accord, to those who understand and respect me.

“Take care of me, and I will take care of you.

“And remember,” he added, with a hint of warmth in his voice, “there is a saying—the joy of a monk in his wind-torn robe. That captures my essence.”

I thanked him. “This has been most revealing. I hope I can come back to you if I have more questions.”

He winked.

“I am always with you.”

Perhaps the question, then, is not where to find money, but how to understand it—and what follows when that understanding begins to change.

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