The One Good Hour

There was once a hard-hearted moneylender who always charged his debtors exorbitant interest. One day, to collect a debt from a poor farmer, he went to the farmer’s village.

“The time has come to pay me,” the moneylender told him roughly. “Give me the money I lent you, plus all the interest.”

When the unfair interest was added, the sum was so large that the farmer could not possibly pay it.

“Reduce the interest,” he requested.” It is unjust and far too much. Reduce it to a normal charge, and then I can repay you.”

To his arguments the moneylender turned a deaf ear. Compassion and pity were things that had no place in his avaricious life.

“I see you will not pay me,” he told the farmer. “You force me then, to appropriate all your cattle and your store of grain as interest. This I shall do at once.”

“Take your luggage and leave my home this very minute!” the outraged farmer shouted.” You have a heart of stone.”

In a small village such as the one the farmer lived in there were no porters to carry luggage, and the farmer had no wish to try and find someone who would be willing to carry the luggage for the moneylender. Far too proud to carry it himself, the moneylender stood looking at the ground and wondering what to do. As it happened, a holy man was sitting nearby in meditation. He had heard all that had gone on, and now spoke to the purse-proud moneylender.

“Sir,” he said humbly, “I will be glad to carry your luggage for you. But it would please me if you would agree to one condition. This condition is that either you will talk to me in praise of the Lord, or you will listen to me as I speak of love and devotion to the Lord.”

To this, the moneylender agreed at once, for it would be easy enough to go on listening to the saint, and would cost him nothing. The saint thereupon picked up the luggage, and as they walked to the moneylender’s village and house, he spoke all the way of the Lord and his goodness.

When they arrived at the moneylender’s village, the holy man gave him his luggage and got ready to leave. But before leaving, he thought to himself, “The moneylender is not going to forget this encounter with a man of God. Perhaps I should tell him what I know.”

Addressing the moneylender, he said, “You are to die in eight days. Except for this one hour, you have nothing good to your credit. After your death, the angels of death will ask you if you want the merit of this one hour first or later. Tell them you want it first, and request them to bring you to the holy man who gave you the discourse. The rest you will see for yourself.”

A few days later the moneylender died. The angels of death took him to the lord of judgment who commanded the chief accountant of deeds to produce his account, and the record of his good and bad deeds was examined. The one and only good deed was the hour during which he had listened to the saint. The lord of judgment asked if he would like to enjoy the fruit of this good deed at once or later on.

“I would like to enjoy the fruit at once,” said the moneylender, remembering the saint’s advice. “Please take me to the saint with whom I spent the one good hour.”

Now, the bodies of saints reside in the world but their souls live in the higher spiritual planes. The moneylender was taken to the holy man who was meditating on the goodness of the Lord.

The saint saw him, “Brother, so there you are!” he said.

“Yes sir, with your grace I have arrived,” said the moneylender, “but the angels of death are waiting for me outside.”

Now, the angels of death cannot come near the Word. Both saint and moneylender sat for a long time in intense bliss, until at last the fruit of the one good hour came to an end. When that came about, the death angels called to the moneylender to leave the saint and come to them. But he did not move, for as long as the saint was one with the Word, the angels could not come near. Discomfited, the angels went back to the lord of judgment and complained about what had happened.

“Give up the moneylender as lost to us,” the lord of judgment said in solemn tones, “for neither you nor I can now approach him. When a saint meditates on the Word, it is so powerful that none of us can overcome it.”

The complaint of the lord of judgment is recorded in the Adi Granth:

Listen, you messengers of death: do not go anywhere near a saint. They are always absorbed in meditation, singing the song of God’s praise. Neither you nor even I can escape, once we enter their sphere.

Saints tell us that even a moment of satsang is more valuable than anything in this world.
_{Tales of the Mystic East}