There are two important verses in Mukti Vani:
Let each one carry her own burden.
Carry one another’s burden.
The real art of living lies in knowing when each verse applies.
Most people have little difficulty understanding either principle in isolation. The challenge begins when the two appear to contradict one another. How much of our burden should we carry ourselves, and how much should we allow others to share? Likewise, when we see someone struggling, at what point does helping become interference?
There are no universal formulas for answering such questions.
One person may feel that excessive help weakens independence. Another may feel that refusing help in the name of self-reliance is merely pride in disguise. A post-modern attitude may declare, “I will stand on my own feet and never allow anyone to share my struggles.”
What the post-modern spirit often suggests is: “If you want to go fast, go alone.” Traditional wisdom, however, offers a different perspective: “If you want to go far, go together.”
Humanly speaking, complete self-sufficiency is nearly impossible. Even an island that appears completely isolated depends upon the waters surrounding it for its very identity as an island. Yet those same waters remain connected to other lands and distant shores. Thus, what appears to be complete independence is often sustained by relationships that are less visible, but no less real.
The same principle applies to helping others.
In the name of carrying another’s burden, one can easily bite off more than one can chew. Initial enthusiasm, sentiment, or compassion may lead a person to make commitments beyond her actual capacity. Then the helper ends up becoming another burden for the very person she intended to help.
For this reason, no fixed set of rules can govern every situation. Both the person offering help and the person receiving it must decide according to what Indian tradition calls desh, kal, and varthaman—place, time, and circumstance.
Yet there are situations in which waiting for an invitation may itself become a form of negligence. In genuine emergencies, one should not always wait for an SOS call before acting.
The difficulty lies in knowing the difference.
The Emergency Story
Recently, I watched a real-life story on a Tamil television program hosted by Ayudai Appan.
A father who had already lost one child was desperately trying to save his second child. The child required an urgent operation costing approximately one lakh rupees. The father had managed to arrange half the amount himself and was seeking assistance for the remaining fifty thousand rupees.
Friends and relatives sympathized but were unable to help.
Then an unexpected person entered the picture.
A friend of a friend, who had never previously met the father, learned about the situation and immediately stepped forward. Before doing so, he consulted several mutual acquaintances. Most advised him, “Don’t bite off more than you can chew. This is too much responsibility.”
Yet he chose otherwise.
Remembering his mother’s advice—along with the gold chain she had once given him for emergencies—he pawned the chain and provided the remaining amount.
The child survived.
Today both father and son are alive because someone decided not to wait for a formal request directed personally to him.
This story illustrates one side of the principle. Sometimes carrying another’s burden requires stepping forward even when one has not been explicitly invited.
But can this become a universal rule?
Certainly not.
When Help Feels Like Interference
The opposite problem can arise when help is offered where it is neither requested nor welcomed.
This reflection comes from my own experience.
Some time ago, I wrote an article inspired by a conversation with someone facing personal difficulties. I removed every identifying detail and gave no clue whatsoever about the person’s identity. For convenience, let us call her Sita.
However, a mutual acquaintance apparently inferred that Sita might be the person behind the article. Out of genuine concern, he contacted her and offered help and advice.
His intention was unquestionably compassionate.
Yet from Sita’s perspective, the situation appeared very differently. What she experienced was not burden-sharing but intrusion. She felt hurt that a private struggle had suddenly become a topic others were discussing.
Later she wrote to me expressing that concern.
I understood her point.
At the same time, I also understood the perspective of the mutual friend. He was not acting maliciously. He sincerely believed he was helping.
That is precisely why these situations are so difficult.
The line between compassion and interference is often visible only in hindsight.
When I responded to her, I explained that had I been in that friend’s position, I would probably not have intervened unless approached directly. My general principle is simple: unless someone personally seeks my advice, I prefer not to involve myself on the basis of secondhand information.
The exception is a genuine emergency where immediate action is required to prevent serious harm.
Yet even here I hesitate to turn my personal preference into a universal rule.
If everyone became excessively cautious and refused to reach out unless formally invited, we might miss opportunities to carry one another’s burdens when it truly matters.
Thus the dilemma remains unresolved.
And perhaps it should remain unresolved.
Human relationships rarely fit neatly into rules.
The same action that one person experiences as compassion may be experienced by another as intrusion. The same intervention that saves one situation may worsen another. That is why discernment is often more important than rules.
Knowing whether to help is important.
Knowing when to help is equally important.
Knowing how far to help may be the most difficult task of all.
A Lighter Example
Since every serious article deserves a lighter ending, let me conclude with another real-life example.
A woman from a traditional family had entered into a love marriage across both community and religious lines. As often happens, her elderly father was deeply upset—not so much by the marriage itself as by the fact that it had taken place without his knowledge or participation, while other relatives from both families had attended the ceremony. He came to know about the marriage only afterward. Since her mother had already passed away, the daughter felt it would be easier to inform him later with the support of other family members, and that is what she did.
Eventually she decided to perform a small ritual according to her family tradition in order to restore harmony with her father.
Her husband readily agreed.
Being highly educated and liberal, neither husband nor wife was given to public displays of religiosity. Yet both respected their traditions, and her husband was happy to accommodate her decision.
The real problem emerged elsewhere.
Immediately after the ritual, she needed to leave for another important engagement, which meant leaving her husband and father alone together in the same house for three days—for the first time.
She asked for my advice.
Since advice was actually requested, I felt reasonably safe in offering it.
My response was:
“Never leave Ramesh alone with your father for the first time in your absence. From what I know of their temperaments, that experiment may create difficulties for both of them. Your husband appears far more introverted than you are. Until both of them have been gently trained through repeated exposure to one another, it is wiser not to leave them together unsupervised.”
I then added:
“It is like tying a puppy and a kitten to the same rope and leaving them alone to enjoy each other’s company. The theory sounds wonderful. The practical outcome may be less inspiring. Left unattended, they may spend the day debating territorial rights, ownership of the food bowl, and the correct interpretation of household law. The owner may then receive an urgent SOS call and be forced to abandon all other plans.”
Fortunately, she appreciated the advice.
When I later informed her that I intended to use the story in this article, she replied:
“🙏 It’s an honour that I am going to be your subject. 😃”
At this point, I should perhaps confess my own weakness.
Over the years, I have developed a peculiar habit. Whenever I read something, hear something, witness something, or experience something, I feel an almost irresistible temptation to convert it into an article. Every new article feels like adding one more feather to my cap.
The difficulty is that feathers may look light individually, but after enough of them accumulate, even a cap becomes a burden to carry.
Unfortunately, while many people are willing to provide me with fresh feathers, very few volunteer to help unload them. Thus I continue carrying this self-created burden, occasionally disguising it as spiritual reflection, social commentary, or harmless entertainment for my readers.
So if anyone feels that I have turned yet another real-life episode into an article, I can only plead guilty. The burden of writing is one that I keep adding to myself, and so far I have found no volunteers willing to share it.
Now suppose another mutual friend, thinking that a single sannyasi like me knows little about the practical art of handling human relationships, decides to reach out to her and offer what he believes is better advice or a more practical solution. If she then becomes upset that her situation has been discussed further—even though neither her name nor her husband’s name has been mentioned—who should be held responsible for that? Me, for writing the article, or the well-intentioned friend for stepping in?
And that perhaps brings us back to where we began.
Some burdens should be carried alone.
Some burdens should be shared.
Some situations require us to rush forward before being invited.
Others require us to remain respectfully at a distance.
Wisdom lies not in turning either approach into a rigid rule, but in discerning which one the moment requires—and perhaps, in my case, also discerning whether that real-life incident should become yet another article.
Or, if you want a slightly more playful ending:
And that perhaps brings us back to where we began.
Some burdens should be carried alone.
Some burdens should be shared.
Some situations require us to rush forward before being invited.
Others require us to remain respectfully at a distance.
Wisdom lies not in turning either approach into a rigid rule, but in discerning which one the moment requires—and, for habitual article writers like me, whether the incident itself should be carried quietly or converted into yet another article.
Ashram, June 7, 2026
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