Anahad Mein Bisram #10

Vandana!
Whatever Shri Dattabal has said is worth thinking over.
First, Mangala Bharti has sent some information regarding Shri Dattabal; keep it in mind.
First, that a year ago, when Shri Dattabal and his companions, drunk to the hilt, entered the Mahalakshmi temple in Kolhapur, the temple priest forbade them from going near the idol. But they beat that priest and created a brawl. Matters went so far that the police arrived and these people were taken into custody.
Mangala has also written that Shri Dattabal not only drinks alcohol, he is a meat-eater as well. And he is so puffed up with pride in Hinduism that he wished to prove himself the successor to Vivekananda and to fly Hinduism’s victory-banner across the earth. For this purpose he established an organization called the Dattabal Mission, but no one comes or goes there! His condition has now become very pitiable. He has become a complete failure. Now, to bring his name back into the limelight, it is as if he has found support in your talks on Vivekananda. For ten or twelve years he has been burning with jealousy toward you. And now he is even inciting the people of Poona. Being a wrestler, instead of using any intelligence, he is making utterly childish and foolish statements against you. It has proved impossible for him to answer any of your points with evidence. So now he has descended to his true colors!
Mangala Bharti has also written: Osho, an incident about the same person comes to mind. Ten or twelve years ago Dattabal’s discourses were held in Poona. He was giving his talk sitting on a sofa, but he was so drowned in drink that he had no awareness even of himself. It was quite a sight! He kept swaying from his place, now to the left, now to the right, again and again—and his fidgeting was so quick that even the two drawstrings of his pajama, which were hanging down, were swaying too! We had a good laugh then, and even now. Because those who have no awareness of themselves were explaining awareness to an awakened one like you! Now even stupidity has crossed its limits!
Man often sees in others what he has hidden within himself. When have I told anyone to smoke ganja, charas, or bhang? I certainly drown people in an intoxication, but that intoxication is not of this world! I want ecstasy to spread among people, that songs sprout, that there is joy and celebration. But all that is a shower of nectar descending from the sky. I prepare people for that. Certainly, this is a tavern. But a tavern in the sense that Buddha’s sangha was a tavern, Krishna’s satsang was a tavern. Only revelers gather here! But this wine does not make you unconscious; it brings you to awareness.

People have come to explain.
How many mad ones there are.
If peace were found in temple and mosque,
why would people go to the tavern?
Knowing, yet knowing nothing—
how many unknowing people there are.
At the right time they are of no use,
these familiar faces.
Now that I have no awareness,
people have come to explain.

There is a kind of unconsciousness that is not unconsciousness at all. There is a kind of ecstasy that is not found in the wine of grapes, but in the wine of the soul.

What lies suppressed within Dattabal must have appeared in my mirror.
And you have asked, Vandana, “It seems they were personally burned up with you.”
Naturally, anyone blinded by the bigotry of any religion—and under the delusion that they must hoist the banner of Hinduism over the whole world—will certainly find me an obstacle.
And then this gathering of so many “madmen” here, this festival of seekers coming from the far corners of the earth—who knows how many people’s chests have felt snakes slithering over them with jealousy! What have they to do with Vivekananda anyway?
Four or five years ago he wanted to come to meet me personally—alone. I sent word: I do not meet anyone in private. I can meet you exactly as I meet everyone. You are most welcome. But he wanted special treatment, privacy! That hurt him badly. He fumed and fretted. Since then he has had a thorn in his side.

Who weeps for another’s sake, my friend?
Everyone weeps only over some hurt of their own.

Who cares a fig for Vivekananda?
Who weeps for another’s sake, my friend? Everyone weeps only over some hurt of their own.

But even when a man weeps, he looks for a covering for it—masks and excuses.

Why meet such people at all whose nature stays concealed?
A fake face appears; the real visage stays hidden.
Those who hide even from themselves—how to recognize them?
How to cling to their hems, how to cherish hopes in them?
Whose intention half shows and half remains concealed.

People full of masks! And under the name of religion this is exactly what has gone on—and still goes on.
And it’s not only the banner-bearers of one religion who will have trouble with me; all banner-bearers of all religions will. Because I have no attachment to any religion; I love religiosity. In my view, one who is truly religious cannot be a Hindu, cannot be a Muslim, cannot be a Christian. To be religious is enough. No adjectives are needed, nor can they be meaningfully added. Add adjectives and you spoil the whole thing. Adjectives draw boundaries; they confine. That which is like the open sky becomes a little walled courtyard.
Here with me people of all religions have gathered. Perhaps such a thing has never happened before in human history. For the first time a singular event is happening: people of every religion together. But they have laid aside their adjectives the way one throws out the morning trash from the house. Now they have only one religion: meditation. Now they have only one religion: love. Meditation for oneself; love for all. Meditation—the inner journey; love—the outer journey.
These are the two facets, the two wheels; and the cart of religion begins to move—on an endless journey. With these two wings—love and meditation—even the infinite can be traversed.
Of all the points you have written, each one deserves consideration.

First, Vivekananda died without the experience of samadhi. His own diary is evidence. Even three days before his death he wrote in his diary: “I have still not attained that which was to be attained; the light has not yet happened.” He kept repeating Ramakrishna’s words—and he repeated them well. He was a scholar, a profound scholar; brilliant, talented. But brilliance and talent are not samadhi. And erudition is not wisdom.
But there was the swagger of Hinduism. Because of that swagger Vivekananda was honored in India. There was no other reason. The only reason was that the injured ego of Hinduism found in Vivekananda an aggressive voice.
And his statement that whoever speaks against Hinduism will be picked up and thrown into the ocean—this is not the voice of a religious person. It is the voice of an irreligious mind. If there is freedom to speak in support of Hinduism, there must also be freedom to speak against it. Otherwise how will truth be inquired into?
Among Hindus only two turned “Muslim” in their mentality: Dayananda and Vivekananda! Both had a Muslim-style mind—unyielding. Neither had tolerance nor generosity. Sri Dattabal himself noted this. And so he cannot compare me with Vivekananda. I do not want it either. Even if he agreed to do so, I would refuse.

Dattabal wrote: On the one hand Vivekananda, who said that whoever opposes Hinduism I will pick up and throw into the ocean! And on the other, Acharya Rajneesh, who sleeps on soft mattresses!
I fail to see any connection between the two! And what irreligion is there in sleeping on a soft mattress? Yes, picking someone up and throwing them into the ocean is certainly irreligious. And Lord Vishnu himself is resting in the ocean of milk! Where will you find a softer mattress than that?
I had many capable people around me, but I said, “Lakshmi, you take charge as secretary!” She asked, “Why?” I said, “Because you are Lakshmi. I have to rest in the Kshira-sagara.” I had very capable people. Poor Lakshmi had little idea of the world’s work! But I said, “This will be just right. The old story will come alive again!”
This is the old way. Resting in the ocean of milk poses no problem. But I have never heard of picking someone up and throwing him into the ocean of milk!
No, there can be no comparison between me and him.

Dattabal has mentioned—and such stories have deeply impressed Hindu minds—that Vivekananda was traveling first class. Two Englishmen sat on either side. One Englishman said, “There’s a piglet sitting next to me!” The other said, “There’s a donkey sitting next to me!” And Vivekananda said, “And I am sitting between the two.”
Hindus liked this very much. But I ask: Sitting between a donkey and a piglet—was Vivekananda practicing the Upanishads? He should have stood up and left. Should one sit in such “holy company”? But the Hindu ego felt gratified.
And another question arises… If I travel first class, I can; in fact I should. Because I say what I do, and I do what I say. I am not opposed to prosperity. But Vivekananda was ready to sell his monastery to serve the famine-stricken poor. Then what was he doing traveling first class? He should have been traveling third class! Otherwise it is hypocrisy. I can travel first class; no one can call that hypocrisy. If I travel third class, that would be hypocrisy—because it goes against my own principles: saying one thing, doing another. I do exactly what I say. What was Vivekananda doing in first class?
And if those two men were fools, Vivekananda did not show much intelligence either. He displayed foolishness along with them! Having found a donkey on one side and a piglet on the other, he should have stood up: “How long should I sit in such company?”
But no, stories like these give great relish to the Hindu ego.

Dattabal says Vivekananda took the initiative, “I am ready to sell my ashram for the famine-stricken.”
I ask: Did he sell it? He said he would; he declared it. The question is: Did he sell it? Did that declaration end the famine? And was the ashram even his to sell? If it is your own thing, you can sell it. They ask me if I can do the same. I have no ashram! I am a guest here. I am neither a trustee nor do I hold any post. Everyone here, except me, has some right! I have none. I have no legal standing.
If the trustees of this ashram—Falibhai, Lakshmi, Lheru—say to me, “Now please go,” I will say to Sant, “Sant, let’s go!” Sant I must take along—he can make two tandoor rotis, chhole, a glass of lassi; that’s enough!
The day they tell me, I will have to go, because I have no rights here! How can I talk of selling this ashram? If it were mine, I could sell it; but nothing here is mine. And that is the fun of it. Since nothing here is mine, there is no worry! If it remains—fine; if it goes—fine.
I have never even toured the whole ashram. Someone who comes for an hour sees the entire place. It’s been seven years for me; I’ve not seen it all! Forget the ashram; even in Lao Tzu House, where I live, I have not been to all the rooms! Apart from my own room, I go nowhere.
From the outside it may look as if I move about in Rolls! Forget others—just recently a friend met Krishnamurti, and even Krishnamurti had to say—this I did not expect of him!—“Do you also go to that dangerous man who keeps the most expensive car in India?”
That car isn’t mine, brother! If you sit in a car, does it become yours? Today little Siddharth sat with me—did the car become Siddharth’s? The car is Sheela’s. I am only a guest. And this is only the most expensive car in India. Sheela has gone to America to bring back the most expensive car in the world!
Now what am I to do! If it were my car, I’d sell it. But it is not my car—nor my house, nor my ashram. Perhaps Vivekananda’s was his. So he could announce he would sell. Though he did not! That is the fun: in this country people are masters of words!
Nothing is mine—so the question of selling does not arise. Nor of buying—because I have nothing to buy with either. And that is why there is no one more carefree in this world than I. Whoever comes, whoever goes—it’s all the same. Nothing of mine goes, nothing of mine comes!

But consider these questions.

First. This question arises in many minds—and deserves reflection.
Vandana, Sri Dattabal has said, “Acharya Rajneesh is a self-proclaimed God!”
This criticism is raised from many sides. The question is: Has there ever been any other kind of God in the world? Do you think some municipal committee declared Krishna to be God? That some village council certified Buddha? Did the Jewish clergy certify Jesus? Did the public vote Mahavira into Godhood? They were all self-declared. What is my fault? There is simply no other way. Apart from self-declaration, there is no way. The proclamation of Godhood is self-experience.
Yet this criticism keeps resurfacing. Those who raise it never consider: Jesus, Mohammed, Zarathustra, Krishna, Rama, Buddha, Mahavira—who among them was not self-declared? Who had a certificate? And the very people who regard them as divine criticize me for being self-declared!
Such is the nature of the experience; what else but self-declaration can there be? Should I take a vote from the ignorant? Then, as with presidential elections, ten or fifteen “gods” would stand for office! The election would happen. Whoever won, won; whoever lost, lost. Sometimes Carter would be God, sometimes Reagan—whoever wins! A year or two in office; then defeated—finished!
This is a matter of realization. I declare that I am God, because there is no other way. When Buddha attained the ultimate samadhi, his very first declaration was: “I have attained the ultimate truth. I have attained supreme enlightenment. I have reached the state called perfectly awakened. I have destroyed all enemies within—I am an arihant.” Jesus declared: “I and the Father who created the world are one.” That was his offense; that is why he was crucified. People asked him too, “You are making the declaration yourself!”
But if I have a headache, who will announce that I have a headache? I myself must say so. And if my headache is cured, I must say it is cured! Who else can announce it? If there is darkness within me, I know it; and if there is light, I know it. And those who are themselves blind—how will they see that my eyes have opened!
The experience of divinity can only be self-declared. In the Upanishad, the rishi who said, “Aham Brahmasmi—I am Brahman,” on what basis did he say it? And al-Hallaj Mansur who cried, “Ana’l-Haqq—I am the Truth!”—on what basis? On the basis of self-experience. There has never been any other basis; there never will be. This is not decided by elections, nor by committees!
Therefore I accept: I am a self-declared God—because everyone who has realized divinity has been self-declared. If you want to deny it, deny all. But do not be dishonest by applying one rule to me and another to the rest.

Second, he said, “Acharya Rajneesh is ignorant.”
That is true! I accept it. I am ignorant—because I hold to the Upanishadic dictum that the “knowers” wander in the greatest darkness.
Socrates at least said: “I know only this much—that I know nothing.” But even that much he claimed to know! I say to you: I do not even know that I know nothing. I am supremely ignorant; utterly ignorant. I don’t do small things—if one must do, do big! If ignorance, then let it be supreme ignorance. I know nothing at all. Kabir said, “Ink and paper I have not touched.” He never touched them. I did touch them, yet I still say to you: Do not touch ink and paper! Not touching—is that a big deal? Touching them and yet remaining untouched—that is something! To wade into water and not get wet—that is something! Kabir never went in; he sat on the bank. He himself has said:

“Those who sought, found, by diving into the depths.
I, foolish, went seeking and sat upon the shore.”

If you sit on the shore, sir, how will you seek? I dove—and did not get wet. So I say: Do not touch ink and paper. I am utterly ignorant.
But since when has ignorance been an obstacle to knowing God? The obstacle is knowledge.
Kabir says: “This is not a matter of writing and reading; it is a matter of seeing.”
It is not writing-reading. What can knowledge do? It is a matter of vision.
So I accept: I am ignorant. And it is through ignorance that I have known divinity. Ignorance means I have discarded all that is knowledge; I have shaken it off. And when I was free of all knowledge, what remained is divinity.

He said, “Acharya Rajneesh’s personality is utterly insignificant.”
That too is true. First of all, I have no personality. Personality is a false thing. Those who lack a soul need to drape themselves in a personality. Those who have a soul—what need have they of a persona? And insignificant—true again. Only the wretched crave significance.
The great Western psychologist Adler has said: those who are ambitious are precisely the ones afflicted with inferiority. This ambition to plant one’s flag on the world is a symptom of an inferiority complex. “May our flag fly high!” These are marks of a childish mind. What flag it is does not matter—as long as it flies high! Because the inner hole begins to show; by raising the flag high one tries to forget it.

Dattabal’s legs are short and his upper body large… Mangala wrote that he sat on a sofa speaking, and his pajama-string dangled and swung! Was it a pajama, Mangala? Does he need a pajama? It was a long loincloth-string! For a pajama you also need legs!
Those who have psychoanalyzed Lenin say he had the same trouble: short legs. He had chairs made that were tall; his feet would not touch the ground. He had tables made to hide his legs. He kept them concealed. Psychologists say he had only one obsession: to prove somehow that he was significant. The poverty of his legs tormented him.
Those who analyzed Adolf Hitler say one of his testicles was small and the other large. Because of that he was disturbed! It was his lifelong pain. He had to prove to the world that he was somebody.
Dattabal too has some inferiority complex! He is afflicted by the same.

One who has attained Buddhahood is ordinary; he has no personality. He becomes utterly normal, spontaneous, simple. Hungry—he eats; sleepy—he sleeps. Morning—he rises; evening—he lies down. His life becomes simple, spontaneous. Where is the extraordinariness? What specialness?
This obsession with being special, this yearning to be extraordinary—these are but other names for the ego, nothing more.

He also said, “Acharya Rajneesh has insulted Hinduism by calling Hindu gods lustful and pleasure-seeking.”
What am I to do? Your Puranas say so. Open your Puranas. They are filled with lust, craving, indulgence attributed to your gods. Your chief god Indra—whenever he sees some seer practicing austerities—panics; his throne shakes; the Indra-seat trembles! He fears a challenger. Immediately he dispatches Urvashis and Menakas to corrupt him; he himself is not far behind in corrupting others!
And what a joke! What Puranas! What dishonest writers! Indra seduced Ahalya, yet the punishment fell on poor Ahalya! She had to become a stone, while the fault was Indra’s! Is there any justice? Any sense of fairness?

I was reading a satire by Sharad Joshi yesterday, and I liked it. He writes: When I first heard the verse, “Where women are worshiped, there the gods rejoice,” I began to doubt the character of the gods. I thought: If in some place women are being worshiped, why are the gods circling there? That’s hardly decent! While other men are paying for their own wives and daughters to enjoy themselves—swinging in gardens, shopping, watching TV; their beauty, charm, and health casting their spell at home and outside… Who knows how many are singing ghazals, trying to get poems published, all to win those girls! The whole atmosphere is full of worship!
Beautiful girls are passing in and out of men’s dreams. Healthy young men are walking past the windows of respectable homes hoping to catch a glimpse. A thoroughly “women-are-worshiped” atmosphere.
Editors are enthralled, printing half-open photos of women on their covers! But since the printing is Indian and poor, the moralists are upset: the pictures aren’t clear; the dignity of women is being violated!
Husbands are waving arti lamps before their wives. They have to! Every husband has to do it!
In such a divine atmosphere, what exactly do the gods come to “rejoice” about? Why “rejoice,” yaar? What for? Can’t things go on without this “rejoicing”? Don’t they have mothers and sisters at home to “rejoice” with? It’s always rejoicing! Rejoicing here, rejoicing there! And doing nothing else! Can’t a man quietly worship his own wife? Rejoicing here, rejoicing there—are these gods or college loafers? Better to change the aphorism: “Where women are violated, there the gods rejoice!” Where there is rape—rejoice, brothers!
Where women are being worshiped—like people worship Hema Malini—right there the gods rejoice! Why rejoice? Don’t they have any other work? No home and hearth? Always rejoicing in Bombay! Why? Just rejoicing and rejoicing!

What am I to do? Your Puranas are full of such stories. It is not my fault. I did not write your Puranas. I would never make that mistake. I will not write such trash. If your Puranas make your Hinduism seem insulted, consign the Puranas to the Holi fire.

Sri Dattabal said, “Sri Ramakrishna Paramahamsa said that in his next birth he would clean the hut of a Harijan. Can Acharya Rajneesh say the same?”
I do not know whether Sri Ramakrishna said this or not. But since Dattabal says so, let me grant that he did.
Now the question is: Was there no Harijan available to Ramakrishna in this very life—that he postponed it to the next? Is there any shortage of Harijans? Any shortage of their huts? In this life he was worshiping Mother Kali! Worshiping a stone image! Waving lamps and ringing bells! He did that all his life. And cleaning a Harijan’s hut—he will do it in the next life! What tricks! Who stops you from doing it now? And if it is only one hut—then go and clean it! Why push it into the next life?
Six hours, eight hours a day worshiping Mother Kali! The same Mother Kali for whom goats are slaughtered; blood flows! In front of Calcutta’s Kali more blood has flowed than in any temple in the world. As much violence for Kali as nowhere else. And that very meat and blood is distributed as prasad! Great is the glory of prasad!
What prasad do these Dongreji Maharaj types distribute! Lassi and boondi! Is that prasad? Real prasad is distributed in Calcutta’s Kali temple!
Was no Shudra available to Ramakrishna? Not far, either. The patron of the very temple where he served as priest, Rani Rashmoni—she herself was a Shudra! It was her temple. Ramakrishna served there as a priest for fourteen rupees a month. There was no shortage of Shudras!
The truth is, Vivekananda himself was a Shudra. Where else will you place the Kayasths? In the varna scheme, Kayasths are Shudra. In fact the word “Kayasth” itself is a synonym for Shudra—one settled in the body (kaya-stha)! One established in the Self is a Brahmin; one established in the body is a Shudra. What more is needed? Simple arithmetic.
Ramakrishna will clean a hut in the next life! What an amazing statement! All life worshiped a stone image—he could have done it here and now, cleaned a hut or two. Why involve the next birth!
And they ask me, “Can Acharya Rajneesh do this?”
First of all, I don’t even clean my own hut! If I haven’t cleaned a Brahmin’s hut, what will I do with a Harijan’s! Each of you—clean your own hut!
When I was a university student I kept my bed right by the door so I could jump straight into it—no need to clean the room! Why bother! Clean daily, the dust gathers again. Clean again, more dust. I don’t even have time to finish the inner cleansing—who will get into outer tidying! And what’s the profit? What will you gain? A little more or less dust—the room remains a room! Is anything there yours? Today here, tomorrow there! A hostel is an inn. So I placed my bed by the door, right at the door: jump from the door into bed and from bed out the door. See nothing inside; get into no hassles.
My professors felt sorry. Fellow students felt sorry. Two girls who studied with me felt sorry. They would say, “Give us permission to come clean your room—at least once a week!”
I said, “Why trouble yourselves needlessly! You’ll clean it and dust will gather again. I don’t even go into those corners where dust collects! What is the use of cleaning?” Still someone would come and clean. “As you wish! If you hope to gain liberation through service—go ahead! I am already liberated on my bed!”

And as for the next birth—that’s a big difficulty. I am not going to have a next birth! If Ramakrishna will, then let him do it next time! As for me, this is my last birth, Dattabal! I have no further birth. You manage, and your Ramakrishna manages! He will have another birth.
If Ramakrishna did say it, then it proves he was not yet liberated. For after liberation, where is birth? What kind of birth after freedom? It simply means he was still bound. And this too was a desire: to clean a Harijan’s hut. Such a small desire! He could have done it and been done with it; the trouble of a next birth would be over. Now he will be born somewhere, cleaning some Harijan’s hut!
What a fall! This is called falling from yoga. From worshiping Mother Kali to cleaning a Harijan’s hut!
As for me, I have no next birth. My work is complete. I am not returning. So how can I promise, Dattabal, that “in my next birth I will clean a Harijan’s hut”!
And secondly, I do not accept the division of Brahmin and Shudra. Those who accept it may stew in such worries. For me, using the word “Harijan” for a Shudra is wrong. Harijan is he who knows Hari.
What madness! Without knowing Brahman, people sit as Brahmins; and without knowing Hari, people sit as Harijans! He who knows Brahman is a Brahmin; he who knows Hari is a Harijan. The meaning is one—whether you say Hari or Brahman. For me, all these people, until they have known Brahman, are not Harijan, not Brahmin—they are Shudra. And it is their huts I am engaged in cleaning. But for me the huts are inner, not outer. What will I do cleaning the outer hut! I am engaged in the real cleansing.
Let your inner soul be bathed—that I call meditation. Be clean within—that I call health. Be blissful within—let celebration arise, lamps upon lamps be lit, flowers upon flowers bloom—then you have known, you have lived, you have recognized. That I call sannyas. In that work I am engaged.

Driven by a wondrous passion for the journey, I had set out from home;
I’ve no idea from where the sun rose.
Who is it that has left them once again standing at the crossroads?
Just now they had escaped the torment of the road.
This arrow lodged in my heart is not without cause—
Some word had fallen from the healer’s lips.
That Qais whom they now call “Majnun,” Faraz—
A madman like you once set out from home.

I am a madman. And madmen gather around me.

That Qais whom they now call “Majnun,” Faraz—
A madman like you once set out from home.

Do not ask me about accounts and arithmetic. Here there is no accounting, no mathematics. Here love is a scripture, and meditation the only religion.

Dayanand!
All this is possible. But there are a thousand obstacles. And the obstacles are not from the so‑called bad people. The obstacles come from those you consider good, whom you call sadhus, saints, mahatmas. The obstacles come from your pundits, your priests, your imams, your pastors. The obstacles come from those who set your moral codes, from your leaders.
So it’s a tough matter. Because they are the ones who have fashioned your mind. They are the ones who have stamped your conscience. They stand outside—gun in hand—and they also stand within as your conscience. They have squeezed you from both sides: chains on the outside, chains on the inside.
Even so, revolution can happen; it must happen. The time has come that it happens.

Throw away—
the shrouds of your old fantasies,
O poet!
Before the eclipse you must raise
a new sun, now.
Enough has been your love—for the lamp,
for the moth,
for the stars,
for the sky,
for the moon,
for the frisky lotus;
as for the love‑drowned beloved,
let the royal chariot come or not;
let the bud’s prayer
please the beehive or not.
Put away those tattered metaphors
woven from rags.
Do not send tear‑soaked Yaksha‑letters
into the cloud garland.
Come, bring new garments, a fresh voice, new festivals.
Come, don new glasses—see a new light,
now seek a new alignment, a new goal.
Throw away—
the shrouds of your old fantasies,
O poet!
Before the eclipse you must raise
a new sun, now.

We will have to throw away the shrouds we’ve been wrapped in. But we think it’s a bridal veil! We think it’s precious—not a shroud.

So first it is necessary to understand why India is so impoverished and abject. What is the reason? Whose hand is in it? What misfortune has swallowed it? What boulders lie on its chest that it is being crushed and dying under their weight? Who made it hungry, hypocritical, slothful? Who filled its life with stench?

First the root causes must be sought, Dayanand! And the roots go deep—centuries deep. As long as the wrong interpretation of the doctrine of karma prevails in this country, poverty and abasement cannot be erased. Because you have wrapped your poverty and abasement in the beautiful garments of consolation.

For centuries you have taught people: you are poor because you sinned in your past life! You are rich because you did virtuous deeds in your past life! Whether the scriptures are Hindu, Jain, or Buddhist—they agree on this: Mahavira was born in a royal household—thousands of elephants, thousands of horses, chariots! Why? Because in his past life he did many meritorious deeds. Buddha was born in a royal house—the fruit of past merits! Krishna, Rama—sons of kings! Not a single Tirthankara born in a poor home! Not a single avatar born in a poor home! Not a single Buddha born in a poor home! How could it be? If you are poor, it clearly means you committed many evil deeds in the past! You sinned! How will you attain buddhahood? How will you become a Tirthankara?

This is dreadful. This is the poison that destroyed India’s soul and filled it with rot. In my understanding, the principle of karma itself is not wrong, but the interpretation given to it is wrong. To me the principle of karma is scientific: put your hand in fire and it will burn. But now! Not in the next life. You put your hand in fire now and it burns in the next life? You cut someone’s throat now and it is cut in the next life?

Karma and its fruit are joined. Like the two sides of a coin, karma and result are two aspects of the same coin. On this side action, on that side fruit. There is no delay here. You’ve heard the saying: “In God’s court there may be delay, but there is no darkness.” That proverb must have been coined by the dishonest. I tell you, there is neither delay nor darkness. In the law of nature, in the law of the divine, what delay and what darkness! If there is delay, that itself is injustice. And if there is a little delay, it can be extended further. Files can then lie pending for births upon births! Then you keep doing rituals, reading the Satyanarayan Katha, conducting yajnas and havans—and the file will keep lying there! That would be darkness indeed.

No—there is no delay. When you become angry, the venom that spreads within you with that anger, the fire that ignites within you—that is the fruit. Not in the next birth; it is immediate, cash in hand.

For me, religion is cash; you have been taught that religion is credit! If you love now, the flower of your life will blossom now. If you play the flute now, the flute will sing now, the song will arise now. If you hurl abuse now, you will be abused now. If you share love now, you will receive love now.

I want the doctrine of karma to be understood in this scientific way. What we do, we receive immediately, this very moment. There is no “tomorrow” in it.

But why did the talk of “tomorrow,” of next lives, have to be invented? Priests invented it because there were too many things they couldn’t explain. They saw the dishonest amassing wealth and the honest dying of hunger. They were in a bind: what to do? How to whitewash this? Because the dishonest sat on their chests, were bullying them; and those same bullies sat on the chests of the honest! How to explain?

There was only one trick—to defer everything to past lives. Those perched upon your chest, with wealth, status, prestige—they do not have these because of their wrongdoing in this life. They have them because of their goodness in past lives. The fruits of their wrongdoing in this life will be reaped in the next life! And the crushing of your chest in this life is not the result of your honesty now; it is the fruit of dishonesty in your past lives. The reward for your present honesty—you will get that in the next life.

Thus a device was found to keep the social order as it is, with the support of argument. It is the invention of capitalists; it is the invention of vested interests.

This country’s poverty can be erased. There is no reason it cannot. If it can be erased in America, why not in India? India’s soil is no less fertile. India has everything. Only India’s intelligence has been distorted, deranged. If we free ourselves from this derangement, poverty and abasement can change today.

So first, Dayanand, throw out from your being the distorted version of karma that has entered your very breath. Fatalism has seated itself on your head—“What can we do? The Creator has written it!”

The Creator has written nothing. When you come, you come like a blank page. Then you write your destiny yourself. No one else has written it.

But we have been made to believe God writes our fate: if He has written poverty in your life, you will remain poor; if He has written wealth, you will remain wealthy.

Absolutely false. Utterly meaningless. It nourishes the status quo. For the arrangements of vested interests, fatalism is the greatest security.

That is why no revolution has ever been possible in India. Because the basic grounds for revolution are not allowed. This fatalism extinguishes our revolutionary fire.

There is no fate. We create fate.

You have been taught unnatural notions of morality, hence hypocrisy. What does hypocrisy mean? If you are asked to do something unnatural, hypocrisy will be inevitable. Hypocrisy simply means you are trying to walk against nature, not with it. You will not be able to walk. And not being able to walk, you’ll have to arrange at least to show that you are walking. Then your life will split into two: something inside, something outside. Outside you’ll worship in the temple, read the Gita. And inside? Inside the webs of all kinds of desires will be spinning on.

This country must be freed from its impossible values; then hypocrisy will vanish.

Accept the spontaneity of man. Whatever nature has given to man—transform it, yes; but do not repress it. We have been taught repression. So everything has become bizarre! One thing turned into another! People wear masks; you cannot recognize anyone’s real face—who is who.

Chandulal’s friend scolded him. “Arre, Chandulal! Aren’t you ashamed—old age, hair gone white, teeth fallen out—and last evening who was that slim‑waisted one, tight jeans, long wavy hair, with whom you were walking and sweet‑talking?”

“Hush! What girl?” said Chandulal. “That was my son‑in‑law.”

The friend was stunned. “Forgive me, brother Chandulal—my mistake! And that other one—the boy in the spotted bush‑shirt—who was he?”

“That? That was my youngest one—my daughter!”

Everything is mixed up. You cannot tell who is who—who is the daughter, who the son‑in‑law! Who is man, who is woman! Nothing is clear.

Here, a real sadhu could blend among rogues, but not among sadhus! Among “sadhus” there is a web of hypocrites—every kind of dishonest person, every kind of thief, every kind of morally corrupt person. But if he has draped himself in the blanket of “Ram‑nam,” that is enough!

When lies are propagated on a mass scale, people live by advertisement; the human mind is filled by advertising.

If day after day you read that Lux Toilet Soap bestows beauty, who does not want to be beautiful! And every actress you see says: Lux Toilet Soap! You read—Lux Toilet! You watch a film—Lux Toilet! You pass along the road—Lux Toilet! Then whenever you see a beauty, you don’t see her face—you see Lux Toilet Soap! Every beautiful face is printed alongside Lux Soap; the two get paired.

Pavlov researched this—his theory of conditioned association. He would feed his dog while ringing a bell. When the food was placed, the dog salivated—natural—and he rang the bell. After fifteen days, he did not place the food; he only rang the bell—and the dog salivated! There is no relation between a bell and a dog’s saliva. The dog is neither a devotee nor God! You ring the bell, and he drools!

This is the theory of association: saliva flowed when the bell rang and bread was seen; seeing the bread, the bell rang; an association formed between bread and bell. Now ringing the bell is enough; the saliva flows.

If you want to sell anything, place a beautiful woman first! Sell any nonsense—put a beautiful woman there, and the drool will start! First naturally for the beautiful woman, then for Lux Toilet Soap. Then you go to the market to buy soap; the shopkeeper asks, which soap? Immediately you blurt out: Lux Toilet! You don’t even think why. You imagine you’ve decided after much thought. But those ads are working—they have created the association.

In the early days of electric signage, the letters stood still: Lux Toilet written steady. Psychologists said it would work even better if they were made to flash on and off. Experiments showed they were right; it worked more. If Lux Toilet is written in steady electric letters and you pass by, you read it once and that’s it. If it lights, then goes dark; lights, then goes dark—each time it lights and darkens, you have to read again! You are no Buddha, to walk with eyes four feet down, refusing to look at what’s happening overhead! “Let it be; let Lux Soap sell!”

No—who looks down! Everyone’s eyes are up. As many times as it flashes, that many times—Lux Toilet Soap! Lux Toilet Soap! Drop by drop it enters within. Gradually, your soul is filled with Lux Toilet Soap!

So the moral notions hammered into you for a thousand years—however impossible, however foolish…

Now Dattabal has written in his essay that there is a profound method for making semen rise upward.

This is foolish. Semen cannot be made to go upward—because the body has no arrangement for that. There is no channel, no network of nerves for it. You cannot make semen rise upward, however much headstand you do; do a hundred thousand headstands. There is no faucet inside for semen to flow upward! There would have to be a tap, and a network inside.

D. H. Lawrence wrote that he once took some friends—Bedouin Arabs—to see the Paris Exhibition. In Arabia the greatest hardship is water. In a Paris hotel, nothing delighted them—neither Paris nor the exhibition. They spent the whole day in the bathroom! Sitting under the shower, lying in the tub—this was bliss for those desert folk!

On the day of departure, all luggage was loaded into the cars, but these Bedouins were missing! Lawrence waited awhile, then asked, “Where have they gone?” “All of them are in the bathrooms!”

He ran upstairs—“We’ll miss the train! Open the door!” When they opened, he was shocked: each one was trying to unscrew the water taps! “What are you doing?”

“We won’t leave these taps behind! Never mind the cost—these taps are miraculous! We’ll take them home and install them—turn them on, and water, water everywhere!”

Lawrence said, “You fools! Behind these taps is a whole network of pipes. Even if you carry off the taps, they’ll be useless. I’ll buy you taps from the market—don’t bother with these. But those taps will give nothing. Behind them is a net of pipes, and behind those pipes, distant reservoirs. There’s a long system; you can’t see it; you only see the tap!”

Raising semen upward! Have you all gone mad? Ask any anatomist! Ask our Ajit Saraswati—he’s a gynecologist. He’ll tell you how semen can go up?

Dattabal is teaching people the technique of raising semen! But these are centuries‑old sayings, so people believe.

These are stupidities. Semen and the like don’t climb up. Yes, sexual energy is transformable; kama can become Rama. But semen doesn’t literally rise. And if it did, your skull would be filthy!

Imagine someone’s skull filled with semen! Then he’s finished. If semen climbs into the skull, it will ooze from the nose, from the eyes, from the ears. His condition will be pathetic! Flies will buzz around him! Forget gods—even ghosts will avoid him. Whoever sees him will run away! He’ll reek!

But if foolish notions are preached long enough, they take hold. And those who preach have no shame!

An Englishman traveling in the Himalayas heard the great fame of a sadhu said to be seven hundred years old. Crowds thronged him. The Englishman saw: at most he could be seventy—at most. Seven hundred? Outrageous! And he was selling herbs—“Whoever takes this herb will also live seven hundred years. This herb guarantees at least seven hundred years—more if fortune smiles. I am the proof.”

The Englishman thought, I must investigate! Indians were buying, because investigating is not their habit—faith is. “If he says so, he’s old; must be true.” They bought the herb.

But the Englishman couldn’t muster faith so easily. He saw a boy helping the sadhu sell—measuring out herbs, collecting money. He called the boy aside, gave him a five‑rupee note, and asked, “Tell me the truth: how old is your guru really?”

The boy said, “Oh, I can’t say. My own age is only three hundred years! I’ve been with him for three hundred years. How old he is, he knows!”

The boy was twelve or thirteen! The Englishman smacked his forehead: “This brat too is a scoundrel! He says he’s been with the guru three hundred years! If the guru says seven hundred, he must be—surely! And there go my five rupees! The boy’s a rogue!”

“Can you guarantee that rubbing this medicine will make hair grow on the head?” Chandulal asked the drug peddler.

“Guarantee? Sir, last week a gentleman used it. Yesterday evening husband and wife got into a shoe‑throwing brawl. Neighbors grabbed them by the hair to pull them apart and were left wondering—which head belonged to the husband and which to the wife! In seven days!”

There is hypocrisy because you have made the impossible into your values. In this country we have never given people the chance to be normal. We have not allowed them the space to be ordinary, natural. We have not accepted what was natural in them. We imposed values—impossible values. The poor guy cannot fulfill them—what should he do? If he admits he cannot, people mock him: “Are you a man or a beast? We are fulfilling them, why can’t you?”

So he too has to say, “I am fulfilling them—completely.” “The principles are lofty; they prove absolutely true!” He has to keep up that face. And inside he must do what he must. Thus hypocrisy is born—one life through the back door, another through the front.

Sardar Bichittar Singh was buying a comb for his hair in Amritsar’s Mai Seva Bazaar. The shopkeeper quoted twenty‑five paise for one comb and fifty for another that looked the same. Bichittar Singh asked, “Why is the other comb fifty?” The shopkeeper showed the top of the comb and said, “Look, a tiny kirpan is fitted here.”

Pleased, Bichittar Singh said, “Yaar, take one rupee and give me that comb which also has a kachha fitted! Then it’ll be fun!”

To be a Sikh you need only five things—the five K’s. A comb—and you’re one‑fifth Sikh! Add the kachha, and another element is in place! Add the kirpan—what to say—third element done! Add the kara—what to say—four done! Now what remains? Hair. And when you already have the comb, what difficulty in growing hair! Five K’s done—you’re a Sikh!

What a simple trick! Poor Bichittar Singh asked nothing wrong. He said, “That’s delightful. Three things in one comb—only two left. Grow a couple locks, and the fourth is done! Slip a kara onto the comb as well—what remains! Keep the comb in your pocket and everything is complete—full Sardari!”

When you start honoring the trivial and denying the meaningful, natural life, hypocrisy is born.

Now you ask, Dayanand: “How will hypocrisy go?”

It can go today; it can go right now. But you will need courage with it. You will have to accept the simplicity of life.

And you say: “There is so much laziness—how will it go?”

This laziness is taught to you. You’ve been told, “Not a leaf moves without God’s nod!” Then why should you move! If a leaf cannot move, and He will move it when He wants—till then, however you try, you cannot move it! Then why try at all? Leave everything to God and sit—and thus you are lazy.

Life is action. And we have taught renunciation of action! We say sannyas means leave action! And the sannyasin is a great soul. I say to you: yoke action with awareness—and sannyas is complete. Do not drop action; join it with meditation. Then laziness will vanish.

And this stench you see everywhere is for this reason: when the lotus fails to become a lotus, only mud remains. If the mud becomes lotus—fragrance; if the lotus fails to become lotus and only mud remains—stench.

This country remained mud. And in keeping this country muddy, your mahatmas have a hand, your religions have a hand, your so‑called moral gurus have a hand. And until you free yourself from all this bondage, the sunrise of this country’s destiny cannot happen.

But everything is in your hands. The sunrise can happen. That is what we are engaged in here.

Noise—only noise all around;
the pain grows more and more brazen.
So astray has man become,
dangling in the void is man.
Life remains as a single straw,
the thread of breath has grown weak.
How every direction has changed its ways,
youth in rebellion now so restrained.
The heart has turned to stone;
only the corners of the eyes still moisten.

Not a leaf truly our own,
fields and barns are but a dream.
One day, light will surely come—
today the dawn is wrapped in fog.

Today is surely night, but morning can come.
Enough for today.