There was a sâdhaka [denomination for all entertaining a spiritual discipline] once who was initiated by a yogî into some manthram; he wanted to meditate on it undisturbed and he found his home too full of distraction. He fled to the forest and discovered a convenient tree under which he could meditate.
Before long, the birds roosting on its branches started to clamor aloud and they showered on his head their droppings. He was greatly incensed. "Have I no place where I can commune with God?" he cried. "Children at home, birds and bats in the jungle! I shall immolate myself, get born under better auspices and then start sâdhana afresh", he decided.
So, he collected a pile of fuel and making a pyre out of it, lit it and was about to ascend it, when he was interrupted by an old man who accosted him. He said: "By all means, carry out your decision; but just now, the wind blows from here towards those huts where we live; so, please wait until the wind turns its direction, for, the smell of burning human flesh does not agree with us. Or, if you are in hot haste, you can shift to some other place and avoid being a nuisance to us poor folk".
The sâdhaka felt he had no freedom even to die. So, he returned home and decided to brave it all there itself.
He understood that karma has to be carried through in the objective world itself and there is no use trying to shake it off in a huff.
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