Money is Fear
- Madhukar Dama
- 4 hours ago
- 9 min read
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Prologue
Every age creates its own chains.
In old times, it was kings and armies.
Today, it is money.
Money looks harmless—just paper, metal, or numbers.
But behind it hides the oldest fear of all.
The fear of not getting.
The fear of not getting enough.
The fear of losing.
Money is not a friend. It is a mirror of our fear.
We chase it, bow to it, quarrel for it, and even kill for it.
And in that chase, life itself is lost.
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The Root of Fear
Inside every human being live three basic fears:
1. Fear of not getting.
The newborn cries for milk. The adult fears no job, no land, no food.
2. Fear of not getting enough.
Even when food is there, we fear shortage tomorrow. We store, hoard, save.
3. Fear of losing what we have.
A house, a crop, gold, savings—all carry fear of loss.
These three fears—not getting, not getting enough, losing—are natural in the mind. But society gave them a form. That form is money.
Money is the outer face of our inner fear.
Money exists because fear exists.
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What Money Really Is
Money looks like wealth, power, and safety. But it is not.
Money itself is not rice, not dal, not shelter, not medicine, not love.
It is only a tool created to measure, store, and exchange fear.
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Fear in Daily Indian Life
The Farmer borrows for seeds, fearing no rain. When the crop fails, he fears the moneylender more than hunger.
The Shopkeeper fears losing customers, so he sells on credit.
The Worker fears losing his wage, so he accepts insults and overwork.
Parents fear for children’s future. They pay heavy school and college fees, coaching centres, donations. They borrow for weddings, fearing “what will people say.”
Youth fear unemployment. They chase degrees, pay bribes for jobs, migrate to cities.
The Old fear sickness. They save for hospitals. Many are left in homes because of money fears.
The Rich fear losing status. They buy gold, hire guards, insure everything, but sleep in fear.
Even in death, fear of money remains. Families spend huge sums on funerals—not for peace, but for fear of social judgment and bad omen.
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Money as a Tool of Rule
Money is not only personal fear. It is a tool used to rule.
Taxes: Paid by farmer, worker, trader—reminding them they are not free.
Inflation: Prices rise every year. People run faster, but stay in the same place.
Loans: Offered easily, but bind generations.
Subsidies: Small reliefs given, not to free people, but to keep them calm.
Governments and banks create money, control money, and in this way control people.
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Usury: Debt as Fear
The strongest chain is interest on money.
Farmers commit suicide in Vidarbha, Telangana, Karnataka—not from hunger, but from interest they cannot pay.
Urban families also live in fear of EMIs for houses, cars, education, and health.
Debt ensures that a person works not for life, but only for money.
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Consequences of Not Realising the Truth
When we mistake money for wealth, fear spreads everywhere:
Health breaks: long hours, junk food, no rest, sickness.
Families break: quarrels, neglect, abandonment of parents.
Villages break: youth leave for cities, culture dies.
Minds break: depression, suicides.
Nations break: wars for oil, land, and resources.
A person who chases money all his life dies with fear still in his throat.
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Freedom in Seeing Clearly
The moment we see that money is only fear’s mask, life changes:
Work becomes lighter.
Food becomes simpler.
Sleep becomes deeper.
Love becomes sharing.
Community becomes strong.
Time—the real wealth—returns.
Money is then used as a tool, not worshipped as a god.
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Who Has Seen This Clearly
Many groups already live with less fear of money:
Voluntary simplicity seekers who choose less, not out of poverty but out of freedom.
Off-grid homesteaders who grow food and depend less on cash.
Minimalists who cut down possessions.
Homeschoolers who free children from costly schooling.
FIRE movement who step out of the race early.
Sadhus and monks who renounce money.
Tribal communities who barter and share.
Natural farmers who grow without loans or chemicals.
Craftspeople who sustain with dignity.
Ordinary families who garden, cook at home, and share.
They still use money, but without fear.
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Real Indian Examples of Breaking Free
Barter in villages: In parts of Tamil Nadu and Odisha, people still exchange grain, labour, and cattle without money.
Women’s self-help groups (SHGs): In Andhra and Karnataka, women pool savings, lend without high interest, and reduce fear of moneylenders.
Seed banks: Farmers in Telangana and Maharashtra exchange native seeds freely, avoiding the cost and debt of hybrid seeds.
Community kitchens: In Kerala, Tamil Nadu temples, and gurudwaras, free food is served daily. Fear of hunger is removed.
Anna Satras (feeding houses): Traditional practice in Gujarat and Karnataka—travellers fed without cost.
Ashrams and Gurukuls: Children taught freely, food and shelter provided, learning without fear of fees.
Cooperative farming: In Maharashtra sugar cooperatives or Kerala dairy co-ops, profits are shared, reducing individual risk.
Urban gardening groups: In Bengaluru and Pune, families grow food on terraces, reducing market dependence.
Community festivals: In villages of Maharashtra and Karnataka, every family contributes grain and labour; no one spends alone.
These practices cut money’s fear by building trust, sharing, and common strength.
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The Timeless Lesson
Indian wisdom has always said:
“Food is the greatest gift.”
“Knowledge is the greatest wealth.”
“Contentment is the greatest strength.”
None of these depend on money.
If we keep believing money is wealth, fear will rule us forever.
If we see that money is only fear’s face, freedom begins.
When fear ends, money loses power.
When fear ends, life begins.
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Epilogue
A river does not count its drops.
A tree does not count its fruits.
The cow gives milk without a ledger.
The sun rises without demanding rent.
Only man counts, hoards, and fears.
And so money was born.
But the moment we see money for what it is—
just the outer face of our fear—
a door opens.
We can live simple.
We can live free.
We can live as our ancestors once did—
with food, knowledge, and contentment as true wealth.
When fear ends, money ends.
When fear ends, life begins.
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Money is Fear
-- a dialogue with Madhukar
The sun was still soft over Yelmadagi.
Birds were louder than men.
Madhukar sat on a mud bench under a neem tree, pouring black tea into steel cups.
One by one, people gathered.
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1. The Farmer
A lean man with cracked feet, smelling of soil.
Farmer:
“I do not fear the rain. Sometimes it comes, sometimes it doesn’t. I can live with that.
What I fear is the loan book.
What I fear is the moneylender’s smile.
When the seed does not sprout, the fear in my chest grows faster than any crop.
It is not hunger that kills a farmer. It is the interest written on paper.”
Madhukar nodded.
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2. The Worker
Hands calloused from bricks, eyes red from cement dust.
Worker:
“I work twelve hours. I don’t mind sweat. What burns is not sweat.
It is fear.
If I don’t show up tomorrow, I don’t eat. My children don’t eat.
My life is a rope pulled by someone else’s hand.
Money is not my wage. It is my leash.”
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3. The Housewife / Mother
A woman in a faded sari, carrying a cloth purse with knots.
Mother:
“Every day I divide the rice. I cut vegetables thin. I stretch the oil.
But the real cutting is here—” (she taps her chest).
“It is fear that cuts me. School fees, doctor visits, marriage expenses.
I do not sleep thinking of numbers.
Even while feeding my child, I taste fear more than salt.”
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4. The Youth / Student
A boy in a cheap shirt, books tucked under his arm.
Youth:
“I stand in queues. Coaching classes. Job interviews. Exams.
Always queues.
Money is at the front of every line.
I am told: study harder, pay fees, pass, get placed, earn.
But the truth is—fear studies with me, writes exams with me, waits with me for a call letter.
I am not chasing dreams. I am running from fear.”
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5. The Old Man / Pensioner
A thin figure, walking with a stick, veins raised like roots.
Old Man:
“I counted my whole life. Saved coins, hid notes, built a house.
Now the body breaks down. Medicines cost more than food.
My fear is not death. My fear is the hospital bill.
Money sits at my bedside like a second disease.
Even in old age, fear does not leave.”
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6. The Rich Man
Fat rings on fingers, gold chain around the neck.
Rich Man:
“You think I am free? I am more afraid than you.
I fear thieves. I fear income tax raids. I fear rivals.
I hire guards but cannot guard my sleep.
My stomach is full, but my nights are empty.
I have money, but money has me.”
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7. The Monk / Sadhu
Barefoot, saffron cloth, eyes quiet.
Monk:
“I carry no purse. No bank. No insurance.
People ask, how do you live?
I tell them—I live because fear has left me.
When there is rice, I eat. When there is none, I wait.
Without fear, life becomes simple.
Without money, hands are still strong, feet are still steady, and the heart is light.”
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8. The Tribal Elder
Skin wrinkled like old bark, voice slow.
Elder:
“In our forest, we share. One hunts, one gathers, one cooks.
No one says—this much is mine, that much is yours.
We give, we take, we live.
Money entered our village and brought quarrels.
Now people count. They say, this is not enough.
Before money, we feared only the tiger.
Now, we fear each other.”
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9. The Simplicity Seeker
A middle-aged man in cotton kurta, carrying a basket of homegrown vegetables.
Seeker:
“I once ran in the city, chasing cars, promotions, gadgets.
My heart raced faster than my legs.
Then I stopped. I planted a garden.
I learnt to live slow.
Now my cupboard is small, my plate is simple, but my day is wide.
Fear still knocks sometimes, but I do not open the door.”
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10. The Teacher / Philosopher
An old teacher with chalk stains on his shirt.
Teacher:
“Look around. All of you spoke of the same thing.
Farmer, worker, mother, youth, old man, rich man, monk, elder, seeker—
different lives, same wound.
Money has only one root. Fear.
Fear of not getting. Fear of not getting enough. Fear of losing.
Break this root, and money falls like a dead tree.”
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Closing
The neem leaves shook gently.
No one spoke for a while.
Tea had gone cold in the cups.
Madhukar looked at each face—the lines of fear, the silence of truth.
He said softly:
“Fear has worn many masks through history.
Today, its mask is money.
When we tear the mask, fear is exposed.
When fear is exposed, it can die.
And when fear dies, life returns.”
The wind carried the words into the fields.
Nobody moved.
For the first time, fear sat outside the circle.
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Money is Fear
money is not in the notes
not in the coins
not in the plastic card
not in the screen
it is in the eyes of the man
who wakes before sunrise
and runs before he can breathe.
money is fear.
you see it
when the farmer walks to the bank,
wearing his only shirt,
folding the paper loan form
like it is a funeral cloth.
you see it
when the mason waits at the gate of a construction site,
begging for one more day of work,
not because he loves bricks
but because his children
stand hungry in a rented room.
you see it
when a mother cuts onions thinner,
measures rice with her palm,
keeps a small jar of oil
as if it were a temple lamp,
praying it lasts till payday.
you see it
in the eyes of students
standing in queues
outside coaching centres,
their fathers already borrowing,
their futures already mortgaged.
you see it
in the old man’s cupboard,
plastic covers full of medicine bills,
his fear heavier
than his weak bones.
money is fear.
it is not wealth.
it is not joy.
it is the cold sweat
on a wedding night
when the father signs a cheque
he cannot afford,
because society will spit
if he spends less.
it is the sleeplessness
of the businessman
who locks his gold,
counts it again,
calls the watchman twice,
then lies awake
wondering who will betray him first.
it is the breathless chase
of men in ties,
running through airports,
phones glued to ears,
talking deals,
while their children
grow strangers in another city.
money is fear.
fear runs the government,
printed in notes,
collected in taxes,
hidden in inflation charts.
fear runs the banks,
numbers climbing with interest,
families falling with debt.
fear runs the hospitals,
where each pill
has a price,
and life itself
is sold in units of blood and oxygen.
fear runs the schools,
where knowledge is traded
like cattle,
and a child’s worth
is measured in fees paid
and marks earned.
fear runs the temples,
where god receives
coins, flowers, notes—
and priests count donations
with more care
than prayers.
money is fear.
but fear is not the end.
there are cracks.
a woman plants spinach
in old paint buckets
on her roof.
a family cooks together
instead of eating packaged lies.
a group of farmers
save seeds in clay pots
and pass them like blessings.
a temple serves food
to strangers without asking.
an old monk walks barefoot,
a begging bowl in his hand,
with no lock, no key,
no fear.
there are people
who slow down.
who leave jobs,
leave malls,
leave loans.
they cycle instead of drive.
they teach their own children.
they make do with less,
and find it is more.
money is fear.
but it is also a mirror.
when you see it clear,
you see your chains.
when you see your chains,
you can break them.
fear ends not in banks,
not in markets,
not in governments.
fear ends
in the kitchen garden,
in the shared meal,
in the village square,
in the open hand
that gives without counting.
when fear ends,
money is nothing.
when fear ends,
life begins again—
like rain falling on dry earth,
like a child laughing without reason,
like a river flowing without banks,
like a man finally breathing
without debt.
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