His family members, in their affection and reluctance, continuously put him off, hoping to delay the inevitable. "Wait until we are gone," they pleaded, each finding a reason to keep him tethered. Yet, after much time had passed, they approached him with a poignant realization: "You are already gone. We have only held back your body; since you have already departed, you might as well leave." This statement held a deeper wisdom than they perhaps knew. They were clinging to the Mahavir they could see, touch, and attempt to confine – the physical form.
But how do you cage a spirit that declares, "I am unchained, I am unfettered"? You cannot. A bird can be imprisoned in a cage, but its very essence, its life force, cannot be trapped. When a bird is caged, its wings may be bound, but its "pran pakheru" – its breath, its soul, its very being – remains free. It flies beyond the bars, untouchable, uncapturable. Your attempts at captivity are often futile; you cannot truly imprison the soul. This profound truth reminds us of the human paradox: while we might know little of true freedom, our attempts at captivity are just as limited, utterly powerless against a spirit that has already chosen to soar.
