Anahad Mein Bisram #9

Nirmal Ghosh!
First thing: merely being thoughtful will do nothing. If there is darkness, it does not vanish by thinking of light. You need light! If there is disease, no amount of contemplating health will help. Medicine is needed! Thought is impotent. Mere thoughtfulness is not a very important thing. Meditation is needed!

Meditation is an extraordinary energy. And through meditation the lamp within can be lit. In that light you will be able to see within, and you will be able to see without. From meditation comes vision, seeing. Thought is a blind man groping in the dark. The thinker has no great value.

Philosophy has been defined as: on a dark night, in a dark room, a blind man searching for a black cat that isn’t there!

First of all you need eyes; otherwise you won’t even understand the problems. And if you set out to find solutions, the problems will remain where they are—and your solutions will bring brand-new problems.

Among this country’s many disturbances, the deepest is precisely this: it has thought too much! There has been no lack of thinking. In thought, who are we behind? No race in the world can claim to be as “thinking” as we can. Five thousand years of a solid, logically rigorous tradition. But what has come of it? Nothing comes from thought—five thousand years or fifty thousand. Thought is an accumulation of empty words. Transformation comes from meditation.

So the first thing I will say to you, Nirmal Ghosh: being thoughtful is not enough. Being young is not enough either. For in youth, blood boils anyway. It needs no special reasons. If there are reasons, fine; if not, fine. In the rainy season there is rain, in winter there is cold, in summer there is heat; in youth blood boils; in old age the blood congeals and grows cold like a block of ice.

Nor is there any glory in the old man. If an old man says, “Now I am peaceful, cool,” that coolness and peace have no value; they are merely the signs of autumn, the approaching footfall of death.

And in the same way, if a young man’s blood boils, don’t think it any great virtue. It just looks for excuses; it wants to boil. In the season of youth, blood’s boiling is utterly natural. The reason can be anything. The reason has no value at all. If there is no reason, you will invent one.

The blood will boil—but what will happen from your blood alone boiling? Only that you will be a little troubled, a little restless. If you do something very clever, pour a little tea over it—then the tea will boil too! You’ll get a little taste of youth, what else will happen! Sugar isn’t to be found; otherwise I’d say, add a bit of sugar! So drink your tea without sugar! Since the blood is boiling, use it as fuel. Fuel too is scarce—no gas, no coal, no kerosene! Good that at least your blood boils; put the kettle on it before it cools. And when it starts cooling, freeze some kulfi! It will grow cold too. Don’t give it too much value.

But every young person falls for this delusion—just as every child gets intoxicated with catching butterflies, as if catching butterflies will achieve something! He gathers colored pebbles as if they were jewels; he conducts weddings for his dolls. All that is fine—those are signs of childhood. In the same way, in youth the blood boils. At the smallest things the young are ready to kill and die! They just need any excuse—to be politics, religion, nation, caste—any excuse will do, and they are ready to kill and die! And it isn’t only small people; even those whom you call great are in the same boat.

I was just reading a statement of Vivekananda’s: “Whoever speaks against Hinduism, I will pick him up and throw him into the sea!”

This language, this manner, could only be that of a bigoted Hindu. These are the signs of aggressive communalism; neither of culture nor of saintliness. And if you throw someone into the sea, what will that do? If the man is clever, he will line up the entire sea against Hinduism!

And the Muslims are ready for the same! And the Christians too! Will you let anyone remain on land, or are you going to throw everyone into the sea? Because the Jains have been speaking against Hinduism for thousands of years. What did Vivekananda do? How many Jains did he throw into the sea? And the Buddhists have been speaking against Hinduism for twenty-five hundred years. How many Buddhists did Vivekananda throw into the sea? And the Muslims, and the Christians, and countless schools of atheists—not new ones either, from Charvaka to Karl Marx—how many did Vivekananda throw into the sea?

But in youth there is a pleasure in making inflammatory statements. Youth is a kind of madness, a kind of stupidity. If a young man does not act foolishly—that would be the surprise! Some foolishness will happen. So thought alone is impotent, and youth alone is blind. To bring both onto the path, there is no way except meditation, Nirmal Ghosh! Meditation will give life to your thought and understanding to your youth.

So the first work: enter meditation, so that you can see the problems precisely. The problems are real, certainly. But the very question you have asked shows that the problems are not yet clear to you.

For example, you say, “I am a thoughtful young man.”
This too is the language of ego. What thinking could you have done yet? And already you are under the delusion of being thoughtful.

Socrates, in the last moments of his life, says, “I know only this much—that I know nothing!”

That is thoughtfulness. If you must call someone thoughtful, then Socrates is thoughtful. He is a seer. After a lifetime of reflection and contemplation comes this proclamation: “I know nothing!” Life’s mystery is so vast—who has ever known it?

The Upanishads say: he who says, “I know,” know that he does not know; he who says, “I do not know,” perhaps he knows! The Upanishads also say: the ignorant wander in darkness—but the “knowers” wander in a great darkness.

Drop this delusion. This is your first duty—toward yourself. And before you go to do any duty toward others, before you start serving the country, do a little service to yourself! Otherwise, it often happens that those whose own lamps are not lit go out to light others’ lamps! How will they light them? If you have your own flame, you can share it. If you do not have your own flame, then anger arises: “Why doesn’t this other lamp light up?” Annoyance arises. The blood keeps boiling and boiling! Then for the smallest of things the blood boils. And the compulsion is not understood—that the real point is that your inner flame is not yet there, and you are setting out to pour light into another’s lamp! What can the poor other lamp do? Where is his fault?
First, drop this ego. Have you even reflected yet? The question you have asked does not show much thoughtfulness. I will discuss it limb by limb; then it will dawn on you.
You say, “I am a thoughtful young man who does not like the present condition of my country at all.”

That alone shows you have no sense of the country’s past. “I don’t like the present condition!”—which implies that earlier the conditions were better; that once upon a time all was well, it was the age of truth, the golden age, and now everything has gone awry. “I don’t like the present condition!” Is this thoughtfulness? This is what every hollow, empty pundit in this country keeps mouthing daily: “We don’t like the present condition!”

And do you know—was the present condition ever liked by anyone?

In China, a six-thousand-year-old statement was found written on human skin: “I don’t like the present state of the country.” Six thousand years ago! In Babylon, on a brick almost as old, there’s a statement that if you read it you would think it is this morning’s Poona Herald editorial: “We don’t like the present condition. Students don’t listen to teachers; discipline is corrupt. Children don’t heed their parents. The very foundation of family has broken. Love has vanished from the world; hatred and enmity reign!”

Six thousand years ago, the same complaint! And today, the same! When were conditions ever good? All the scriptures claim they were good before—but when was this “before”?

There never was such a “before.” Conditions used to be worse.

You call Rama’s time “Ram-rajya,” the rule of Rama. The conditions were worse than today. Don’t ever make the mistake of bringing Ram-rajya back! A mistake once made is enough; don’t repeat it.

In Rama’s kingdom people were sold in the market as slaves. At least today people are not being sold like slaves in the market! And when people are being sold like slaves, desperate poverty must be widespread—otherwise who would sell themselves, and why? Only the destitute sell themselves. No rich man goes to the marketplace to be sold; no Tata, Birla, or Dalmia will stand there to be auctioned.

Women were sold in the market! And those women were the poor men’s women, their daughters. No Sita was ever sold in the market—she had a swayamvara. So whose daughters were being sold?

The conditions must have been horrendous. Because those women and men being sold—men and women both, but especially women—were being bought not only by kings and the wealthy but even by those you call rishis and munis! What a world! The rishis and munis too would buy women from the marketplace!

We have forgotten the original meaning of the word vadhu. Today when a marriage takes place we go to bless the “var-vadhu,” the groom and the bride; we don’t even know whom we are blessing! In Rama’s time—and earlier too—vadhu meant a purchased woman—one you had the right to treat as a wife, but whose children would have no claim on your property. That was the difference between patni (wife) and vadhu. Not all wives were vadhus, and not all vadhus were wives. A vadhu was like a number-two wife, like the “second ledger” where all the off-the-books entries are kept—the illicit accounts!

Rishis and munis also kept vadhus! And you are under the delusion that rishis and munis were extraordinary beings. Nothing so special! You can still find rishis and munis today.

A mother said to her little boy, “Son, you get up at nine! You are the offspring of rishis and munis; you should rise during brahma-muhurt! Rishis and munis always got up in brahma-muhurt!”

The boy said, “No, Ma. Rishis never get up before eight; I know. And munis never get up before nine.”

The mother asked, “What on earth are you saying?”

He replied, “I know. Rishi Kapoor gets up at eight, and Dadamuni Ashok Kumar gets up at nine!”

Don’t imagine too great a difference between those rishis and munis and your ancient ones. At least today’s don’t keep vadhus! At least they don’t buy women from the market! Today you will hardly find a man so degraded that he would buy a woman. Today it would feel inhuman! But that was the norm then.

In Ram-rajya a Shudra had no right to read the Vedas! Could you even imagine a Shudra like Dr. Ambedkar in Rama’s time becoming the architect of India’s constitution? Impossible. Rama himself had molten lead poured into a Shudra’s ears—boiling lead!—because he had secretly overheard Vedic mantras being recited. That was his sin, his crime. And Rama is your Maryada Purushottam! You call Rama an avatar! And Mahatma Gandhi wanted to bring back Ram-rajya. For what? To pour molten lead into Shudras’ ears again? His ears must have burst. Perhaps his brain was damaged. Who cared what happened to that poor man! Perhaps his eyes too were harmed; the ears, eyes, nose, brain—these are all connected. Boiling lead in both ears…!

And you say, “The present condition is bad!”

Yudhishthira gambles and still is called Dharmaraj! And you say the present is bad! Would you dare call a gambler today “the king of righteousness”? And not a small-time gambler—he stakes everything, even his wife!

It is shameful in itself, because a wife is not property. But in those days, that is exactly what a woman was considered: property. Even today, in the same spirit, when a father marries off his daughter, it is called kanyadaan—the gifting of a maiden! What an outrage! Donate a cow or a buffalo—at least that makes some sense. But a daughter? Is a woman an object? Such uncivil, coarse, inhuman words should disappear from our usage.

Yet Yudhishthira remained Dharmaraj. He even staked his wife. He must have been a consummate gambler, madness at its limit—no sense left at all. Still, he remained Dharmaraj; his honor was intact; his prestige continued.

Bhishma Pitamaha was considered a knower of Brahman. Yet this “knower of Brahman” fought on the side of the Kauravas! Guru Drona too was considered illumined; he also fought for the Kauravas! If the Kauravas were unrighteous and wicked, Bhishma should at least have had the courage to refuse. And he was a lifelong celibate—yet had not even that much courage? Then what was that brahmacharya worth? What greed held him to the wrong side? And Drona was Arjuna’s guru, he loved Arjuna, but the wealth, position, prestige—those were with the Kauravas. The likelihood was that they would win. The kingdom was theirs. The Pandavas had become beggars. The Kauravas would not give them an inch of land.

And truthfully, how were the Kauravas at fault in that instance? You staked everything and lost; with what face did you then ask for it back? Asking was wrong. When you lose, you lose. You lost—why then ask?

But Drona did not stand with Arjuna; he stood with those who were wrong.

This same Drona made Ekalavya cut off his thumb—just to protect Arjuna’s interests—because then it seemed likely that Arjuna would become emperor. Drona had refused Ekalavya instruction—why? Because he was a Shudra.

And you say, “I don’t like the present condition at all!”

Nirmal Ghosh, would Ekalavya have liked the “present condition” of his time? What was that poor boy’s fault, if he begged to be accepted as a disciple, to be given an opportunity to learn? But no—how could a Shudra be allowed to learn!

Yet Ekalavya must have been an extraordinary youth. I call him extraordinary because his blood did not boil. If it had boiled, he would have been ordinary—like any other hot-blooded youth. Everyone’s blood boils; that’s nothing special. His did not. He accepted it calmly. He went alone into the forest, made a statue of Drona, and practiced archery before it. He practiced day after day, before the very image of the guru who had rejected him because he was a Shudra. He did not take it as a personal insult. His ego must have been hurt, but he swallowed it with equanimity.

Gradually news spread that he had become a master. Drona grew anxious because reports said that Arjuna was no match for him. And all Drona’s hopes were pinned on Arjuna: if Arjuna became emperor and the greatest archer on earth, Drona’s prestige would rise with him. His vested interest was in Arjuna. If Ekalavya surpassed Arjuna, it was alarming.

So this shameless man—called a knower of Brahman—this Guru Drona who had refused to teach Ekalavya, went to collect his guru-dakshina! The guru who had refused to initiate him went to claim a fee! The times must have been very strange. Shame is a thing, is it not? Honor matters, does it not? A man has a face to save, does he not? This Guru Drona must have been utterly shameless. With what face—having spurned him—did he go to collect dakshina?

And still I say, Ekalavya was an extraordinary youth: he agreed to pay. To the guru who had never given him initiation! Just think of it—the guru who had spurned him, saying, “You are a Shudra; I cannot accept you as a disciple.”

What a joke! You cannot accept a Shudra as a disciple, but you can accept his dakshina! But there was a plot behind it.

Ekalavya fell at his feet and said, “Whatever you ask. I am poor; I have nothing to give. But whatever I do have, I will give. I am even ready to give my life.”

What did Drona ask for? “Cut off the thumb of your right hand and give it to me.”

Even cheating has a limit! Inhumanity has a limit! Deceit and intrigue have a limit! And this, a so-called knower of Brahman! He asked for that poor Ekalavya’s thumb. And, Nirmal Ghosh, he must have been extraordinary indeed—Ekalavya cut off his thumb on the spot and gave it. Knowing full well that losing the right thumb meant the end of his archery—the end of his future. This man took his entire future. He gave no instruction, and in “dakshina” destroyed all that the boy had taught himself.

He cut off his thumb for Arjuna’s sake! Conditions were not good; they have never been good. In truth they were very bad; that is why they are bad today. Otherwise how would today be bad? Today is the result of all those yesterdays. The present is the fruit of the past; a tree is known by its fruit, a father by his son. From your present, your past is known—there is no other basis. Your present declares that your past was worse.

So first, if you go into meditation, you will see the condition has always been sick. The matter is not simple, not shallow. The disease is not of today; it is infectious, deep-rooted, it has penetrated to the bones. If you do not diagnose it rightly, you will keep applying superficial plasters and poultices. Cancer does not get cured by poultices. Before treatment, one must know it is cancer. Diagnosis precedes therapy. And without meditation there is no diagnosis.

Your saying, “I do not like today’s condition at all…”

Your liking or disliking is not the issue, because many like it. If it is to be decided by likes and dislikes, the matter becomes impossible. Those whose vested interests lie in the present setup—the priest, the pundit, the politician, the wealthy—like it very much, it suits them perfectly. You may not like it. But your dislike cannot be decisive. The question is: what is the condition in truth—beyond like and dislike? Only if you look impartially can you diagnose.

It is not a question of the doctor liking your disease. The issue is: your disease is devouring you. Whether the doctor likes or dislikes it is irrelevant. The disease is lethal; it must be seen dispassionately.

You say, “Our India, crushed under superstitions and antiquated ideas, has become pure hell.”

That is why I wanted to put meditation first. As long as it is “our India” for you, you are part of the same disease; you cannot cure it.

The world has shrunk; now the mine-and-thine cannot work. This me-and-mine has become foolishness. It is no longer the age of the bullock cart. The earth is so small—drink tea in New York, have breakfast in London, and by evening arrive in Poona to suffer indigestion! So close now! In such a small world—“our India”! Where will you draw the boundaries? Then the Maharashtrian feels “our Maharashtra!” And our country is unique—inside the nation a Maharashtra! Nowhere else in the world: a bigger box inside a smaller one! In a nation, a sub-nation! What people! How strange! And where will you stop breaking it? Where will you set the last boundary? It keeps fragmenting.

Science has made the world one. As long as this “my India” remains, the disease cannot be cured. If India is yours, why should America be troubled? Why should America reduce its own affluence to remove your poverty? Why? And the irony is: even if it reduces its wealth to help your destitution, you will still remain an enemy; your jealousy will still burn.

The envy toward America across the world is due to its affluence. And the irony is that America helps the world’s poor more than anyone—milk, medicines, clothes, blankets; relief for famine and earthquake. Not only to its friends; if even Russia needed wheat, America sent it! We help everybody, yet we are everybody’s enemy—no one harbors goodwill toward America, not even those who call themselves its friends.

There is so much envy toward prosperity—jealousy boils. The more destitute a person, the more he seethes with envy. Give him anything—he will never forgive you. No one forgives America; no one can.

So why should America bother—give aid and be abused! Send help everywhere and see its flags burned, embassies torched! What’s the point?

This mine-and-thine must go. Science has brought us to a place where we could make the earth a paradise—if we declare the earth one. But the earth cannot become a paradise as long as we do not proclaim its oneness. Inside us are so many divisions: the Hindu worries about Hindus; let the Muslim die! Why should a Hindu care? The Muslim worries about Muslims; let the Hindu die! Why should a Muslim care? And it doesn’t stop there. If a Shudra dies, so what—why should a Brahmin care! It keeps splintering. This way there is no solution.

There is only one way to solve this vast problem: abolish nations from the earth. Seventy percent of our energy is spent protecting one another from one another—when there is no need for protection at all. What’s the point? Seventy percent of our strength goes into war, though war is utterly useless.

But how would the politician live? If there are no borders, the politician is finished. If there are no wars, what will happen to generals and armies? If there are no wars, what about military experts, the factories making bombs and weapons, and the wealthy who forge them?

Today we have the Nobel Prize. About twenty lakhs of rupees with each prize. Given every year in every field. But the man who created the Nobel Prize was the world’s biggest industrialist in bomb-making. He amassed his wealth by manufacturing bombs. The first world war was fought with Nobel’s bombs. Millions died by his bombs. And now the Nobel Prize is given for peace! What a world! The money came from violence, blood; it is blood-smeared. Neither the givers nor the takers feel any compunction.

These crores of rupees given annually in Nobel Prizes—that man left so much money that the interest alone funds the prizes. The principal remains intact. And that principal was amassed through bayonets, bombs, weapons. The principal remains. For eternity, from the interest alone, Nobel Prizes will be handed out—crores each year—for literature, for peace, concord, service. And no one asks where the money came from! Nor did Nobel close his factories after announcing the prize; his factories continued. War material kept being made, and the peace prize kept being awarded!

There are vast vested interests. Boundaries feed them. And the strange thing is: what need is there for boundaries? Can land not exist without borders? The earth has no natural borders; all borders are on paper maps. What difference does it make if a district is in India or Pakistan? Let the people of that district be happy—wherever they are. India or Pakistan—what difference? Yet for every inch there is an uproar. No one cares whether people live in joy; only whose boundary it falls under. And seventy percent of energy is wasted on this!

So first, drop this language—“our India.” India, China, Japan—either all are ours or none is. The whole earth is ours: that should be the proclamation.

I am against nations. I am against nationalism. I want an international society. Then that seventy percent each country squanders on war… And even that squandering is absurd.

Your neighbor is doing push-ups. You peep through the window and see him doing push-ups—you panic. Your wife says, “What are you doing, Munna’s father! The neighbor is doing push-ups! You too do push-ups! Drink lassi, eat jalebis; I’ll make boondi right away! This wretch harbors dangerous intentions; they are not good.” So you start doing push-ups. The neighbor sees, “Ah, Munna’s father is doing push-ups too! Something’s amiss.” He sees you drinking lassi; Lala is drinking lassi! His life is in danger; he too must make boondi. Boond inside samund—the whole world appears as motichoor laddus! Now the gambits begin. Each keeps watch on the other. And each knows that the other is watching. He peeps when I drink lassi! The other sees, “Whenever boondi is made in my house, he climbs on the roof to look!” Spying! He surely has evil intentions! Now forget everything—there’s only one task: do as many push-ups as possible; digest as many laddus as you can—before danger strikes!

That is what’s happening. One country keeps watch on another. Pakistan gets so many weapons from America; India is in a panic, shouting that Pakistan is preparing! Its soldiers are doing push-ups; its troops patrol the borders with bayonets, shouting “Allahu Akbar!”

And what should they do? They see Hanuman Chalisa being recited on this side, arms flexed, cries of “Bam Bam Bhole!” That seems dangerous too.

So India prostrates before Russia: “Send weapons quickly!” Pakistan hears that weapons are arriving from Russia—danger! They fall at America’s feet. And the madness goes on. Small countries like Nepal worry—India swallowed Sikkim, what if it swallows Nepal? So Nepal keeps flattering China. And for big powers, these small countries are business opportunities: keep them suspicious of each other so weapons sell; otherwise how will weapons be sold? The whole industry would collapse! This is not economics; it is mis-economics.

Until this mine-and-thine goes, we cannot free the earth from stupidity. So drop this idea—“our India.” India, China, Japan—either all are ours or none. The entire earth is ours—that should be our declaration.

I am against nations; I am against nationality. I want one international society. Then the seventy percent every country wastes on warfare… And that waste is grotesque.

This morning I saw a statement. Dattabal has issued a statement against me: “This land of Chhatrapati Shivaji…”

Now what have I to do with Chhatrapati Shivaji? And what is so special about being a “Chhatrapati”? Put up any umbrella, you become a chhatra-pati! Umbrellas are abundant; the rains have just ended—buy as many as you wish, cheap! What’s the great virtue? “The land of Chhatrapati Shivaji”—as if that were profound! It is mere ego.

“The land of Chhatrapati Shivaji,” Dattabal says. And about himself: “Lions like me still exist on this land! People with lion-like chests exist! I challenge Acharya Rajneesh to a debate!”

I have never seen Dattabal, but years ago Darshan had heard him. I asked her, “How did he seem?” She said, “If he sits, perfectly fine. If he stands, everything goes wrong!” I asked, “What do you mean?” She said, “He has a big chest, but very short legs! So if he sits, he’s fine; the moment he stands, it’s all a mess!”

So he writes: “With a chest like a lion…”

That’s fine—but remember the legs too! And a lion’s chest—what great thing is that? Every Tom, Dick, and Harry lion has one. Circus lions too, jungle lions too—what’s special? To be a man and compare yourself to lions—that is degeneration, nothing else. Better join a Lions Club—why make such a racket?

And is truth decided by debate? Truth is known, not argued. Truth has no scholastic disputation. What decision will come from debating me? I have known the truth. If you have known it too, so much the better; what is there to debate? And if you have not known, will debate make you know? For that you need discipleship, not debate. Debate will not help. What debate will you do!

Why is he restless? Because I criticized Vivekananda a little; that upset him. He says, “Vivekananda is my very life!”

Remember: whoever’s life is in another has no life of his own. Your life is in Vivekananda? He died long ago; you are carrying a corpse. Life in another? Then what is in you? You are a cage without a bird.

What obstructs such people?

A little criticism of Vivekananda, and their glorious past, the glory of India, the land of Shivaji—all get hurt in one stroke.

As long as this “our India” remains your stance, you will never free yourself or anyone else from superstitions and antiquated ideas. “Ours” is the root of it. Even if wrong, it is “ours.” Your mother may be ugly, but you won’t call her ugly! Your father may be a donkey, but you won’t call him a donkey! In a pinch, people will call a donkey father—but however pressured, they won’t call their father a donkey! Whether you say it or not—what difference does it make?

You need the eye of meditation to see. The question is not of yours and others’. The right is right, even if it belongs to another. The wrong is wrong, even if it is your own.

I lived as a guest in a house for five to seven years when I was a student. They had a quarrel with the neighbor. They were a bit scared—Jains. The more cowardly, the more they accept “Ahimsa paramo dharmah”—nonviolence is the supreme religion. For the fearful it is a shield: we can’t do violence, and you too must not—because nonviolence is supreme! Let us all observe it!

They were Jains, a little frightened. A quarrel with the neighbor. I was living in their house, so they said, “We’ll have to do something.” I said, “I’m with the neighbor.”

They said, “What are you saying? You live with us, in our house, and you will side with the neighbor?”

I said, “He is right. I stand with what is right. Should I care for your house or for the truth?”

They looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. They fell silent, dumbfounded. “It never occurred to me,” he said, “that you would betray your own!”

I said, “There is no question of ‘own.’ You are wrong. I will not support you. If it comes to blows, I will beat you. And I do not consider nonviolence the supreme religion. And since you brought it up—fine. The neighbor hasn’t asked me yet, but I’ll tell him I’m with him.”

He said, “I can’t even imagine such a thing!”

I said, “Then think it over. Take a day or two. You are wrong; I am willing to explain. But if you insist on your wrong, I’m with the neighbor—whether this house remains yours or not. And it is not necessary that you lose the house—because whoever wins will live here!”

He said, “You mean I’ll have to leave the house?”

Whose stick, his buffalo! If the neighbor and I win, then both of us will live here—and you can think of it as yours!

He said, “This is not a joke.”

I said, “I don’t joke. I take everything seriously. When the time comes, you will see.”

Seeing this, he never let it come to that. He settled with the neighbor—because a man ready to fight you inside your house…! But from that day he became suspicious of me; he never opened up with me again, kept a distance.

I said, “As you wish. But know you were wrong; then you will feel grateful toward me. The quarrel ended; no one got beaten; and I ended it. If you both understand, you both should be obliged. If I had stood with you, think—there would have been a fight.”

Learn to stand with truth. Truth has no “ours” and “theirs.” It is not Hindu or Muslim or Jain or Christian. Truth is just truth—without adjectives. It has no debate either; it requires a way of seeing, a single eye.

Superstitions are indeed rampant. But all beliefs are blind. Don’t be misled by the term “blind belief,” as if some beliefs are not blind. The phrase creates the illusion that certain beliefs can have eyes. No belief has eyes.

What does belief mean? Accepting what you have not known—that is blindness. What you have known needs no belief. What is known—is known. Only what is unknown needs belief.

The sun rises—do you think the world is divided between those who believe it rises and those who believe it doesn’t? There is no sect of sun-believers and sun-disbelievers. Trees are green—there is no dispute.

But whether God exists—that is disputed. Wherever there is dispute, know belief is at work, not knowing. Dispute itself proves the matter is hazy.

Don’t think “blind belief” implies some beliefs are sighted. All beliefs are blind. Whether in Rama, Krishna, Buddha, Mohammed, Jesus—it makes no difference. If you believe, you are blind.

Now this Dattabal believes in Vivekananda.

That is blindness. One must have one’s own experience. I am speaking from my own strength. I need no testimony from any Vivekananda, Ramakrishna, Raman, Krishna, Buddha, or Mahavira. What I say is my experience. If it resonates, good—but then you must experiment, not believe.

Hence my sannyasin is not my follower—remember this. My sannyasin is only one who is willing to experiment with me. My sannyasin is a scientist.

Science has a word: hypothesis. It is a beautiful word. It does not mean belief; it means a provisional acceptance for the sake of inquiry. For inquiry we assume that two and two make four; then we investigate. We have not “believed” it; we have only adopted a working hypothesis: let’s proceed as if two and two make four, and test whether this holds. Decision will come from experiment.

As science decides by experiment, so religion decides by yoga. Experiment is the outer yoga; yoga is the inner experiment. Religion too is testable—science is experience-dependent; religion is realization-dependent.

My life is not in anyone else. Dattabal says he wants to debate me, to challenge me. What debate can I have with lifeless men? One must have one’s own life-breath—one’s own experience!

Not even Vivekananda had his own life-breath—his was in Ramakrishna! He himself said, “I do not know, but I know a person who knows.”

That is borrowed talk. Vivekananda’s life was in Ramakrishna; Dattabal’s life is in Vivekananda! This is too much—borrowed from the borrowed—nothing remains.

My sannyasin does not place his life in me. He is with me to find his own life. I cannot be his life; no one can be anyone else’s life.

Belief means: the search is over. Hypothesis means: the search begins. Let us adopt, provisionally, that God is. Now we will search. We are not theists; we are not atheists—both have believed. The theist is blind, the atheist is blind. Their conclusions are opposite—but what difference does that make if two blind men stand back-to-back? Do they gain sight thereby? Both are blind.

In Russia, the majority are atheists because the state teaches atheism; schools teach it; parents teach it; theism is dangerous. In India people are theists because parents, schools, universities, pundits, priests, saints—all teach theism. Theism is the easy course; atheism is dangerous.

Before 1917, Russia was as theistic as you are. Ten years after the revolution, it was atheistic. You too would not take more than ten years; if a communist revolution occurred here, the same people who carried the Gita would tuck Das Kapital under their arms. The same Dattabals whose life today is in Vivekananda would suddenly shift their life into Karl Marx—because being with the prestigious is enjoyable; there is power there.

To be with me requires courage. It demands the audacity of experiment, because I give you no beliefs. I only give you hints: these are the paths I explored; you too try. Perhaps… Note that I say “perhaps.” Because what was the right path for me need not be right for you. Perhaps you too will find. There is no harm in trying. Even if you don’t find, the effort benefits you—the exercise of walking, the discipline of seeking, the mathematics of testing. You will learn at least this much: this path is not my truth; let me search another.

Edison was experimenting with electricity. Seven hundred experiments failed. Three years passed. His students and colleagues were exhausted; he had no fatigue. Every morning he reported for work, again till midnight. One day his colleagues said, “Forgive us now! Three years; seven hundred experiments—we keep failing. What more is needed? Failure is certain.”

Edison was startled. “Failure certain? You are mad! Success is nearing. We have knocked on seven hundred doors. If there are a thousand, only three hundred remain. If there are seven hundred and one, only one remains! We are getting close. We are not failing.”

In science no one ever really fails. Lose—and still it is a win. Win—and it is a win. If you lose, you have established that this path is not yours—so try another. One path eliminated. If you arrive—good. Only winning. If you don’t—one path is gone; fewer remain. Cutting off the wrong ones, the right one is found.

And here I make all paths available—something never before on earth. All methods of meditation are available here. If one doesn’t take you there, I give you a second; if not the second, a third.

Believers have no business here; all belief is blind. Here we must open the eyes—and for that, testing, experiment, experience.

You say, “This India crushed under superstitions and antiquated ideas…”

All ideas are antiquated; and all beliefs are blind. The very nature of “idea” is antiquation. An idea is never original; it cannot be. How can a blind man, however much he thinks about light, have an original thought? He cannot. He cannot think anything original even about darkness. A blind man can only memorize what others have said about light and darkness and repeat it. He can be scholastic, pedantic.

But even if you know a million facts about light, knowing light is another matter.

This country is crushed by antiquated ideas because it is crushed by ideas. And all ideas are antiquated. Read Dattabal’s statement; you will understand how ideas are antiquated.

You have called Vivekananda a paper rose. But Ramakrishna himself used to call him, in comparison with Keshav Chandra and Raja Rammohan Roy, a thousand-petaled lotus.
I have no objection to that. Because in comparison with Keshav Chandra and Raja Rammohan Roy, Vivekananda certainly was a thousand-petaled lotus.
This is what I call foolish talk—thoughts without even the sense to think.
I said: in comparison to Ramakrishna, Vivekananda was a paper flower. Understand the small difference! In comparison to Ramakrishna, Vivekananda was a paper flower. If Ramakrishna is a real lotus, then Vivekananda is only a paper lotus. And Ramakrishna said that in comparison with Keshav Chandra and Raja Rammohan Roy, Vivekananda was a thousand-petaled lotus. I agree with that too. But that is a different matter altogether.
I cannot even call Keshav Chandra a paper flower. Keshav Chandra was only a logician—just a logician. And logic is like a prostitute. Logic has no loyalty—just as a prostitute has no loyalty. Whoever pays, she goes with; whoever buys, she belongs to.
Keshav Chandra was a logician. Vivekananda at least sat at the feet of Ramakrishna! At least he kept company with the lotus! And even if you walk out of a garden without touching the flowers, a little of their fragrance clings to your clothes. And if you actually touch a flower, naturally some fragrance remains on your hands. The hands don’t become a flower, but the fragrance does come.
Vivekananda was with Ramakrishna, close to him. So a little fragrance of Ramakrishna flowed through him. For that reason I gave him so much respect as to call him at least a paper lotus! Keshav Chandra I will not even call a paper lotus. Keshav Chandra has no connection with the lotus at all—neither has he seen it nor has he heard it.
And poor Raja Rammohan Roy was merely a social reformer. And I consider social reformers to be troublemakers. If there were no social reformers in the world, society would live in great peace! But these social reformers won’t let it live in peace. They keep creating new disturbances. For your own good they remain riding on your chest. They say, “We will serve!”
I was returning from Jaipur. It must have been around midnight when the train stopped at a station. A man rushed in and immediately began pressing my feet! My sleep broke. I said, “Brother, what are you doing?”
He said, “You please sleep. I am serving you. I had come to Jaipur as well, but people didn’t let me serve you. They wouldn’t let me in! So I said, All right. We’ll see!”
I said, “You deal with them, brother! I didn’t stop you. Why are you harassing me?”
He said, “You please don’t interfere at all. There isn’t much time either; the train will start again. You sleep peacefully. I will serve! I will serve no matter what!”
I said, “If you want to let me sleep, then you’ll have to stop serving. Because you are pressing my feet so hard—and I am not used to having my feet pressed—how can I sleep?”
He said, “That’s your lookout! I cannot let this opportunity for merit slip by.”
This is what they call people who do service! They don’t want to miss the opportunity for merit!
Karpatri is a very famous Hindu mahatma. He wrote a book, Socialism and Ram Rajya. Among the many things he says against socialism is one very amusing point: socialism should never come, because if socialism comes what will happen to religion? The foundation of religion is charity. It is said there is no greater merit than giving and no greater sin than greed. Religion rests on charity. When there is neither rich nor poor, who will give and who will receive?
You see how neat the logic is! Therefore socialism should never be—otherwise religion will be destroyed! To save religion it is necessary that the poor survive. Otherwise to whom will you give charity? The point does appeal. The argument is logical. If religion is to be through charity, then the poor must be kept. Protect them; save them. Do not let poverty be eradicated. We need orphans, beggars, the hungry, the sick, the old, widows. They are absolutely essential; without them religion itself will perish! By climbing on them the great mahatmas reach heaven. They are the steps to liberation. And you are removing the steps! Socialism means the steps are finished—no one to give, no one to receive! Then religion will be destroyed. These are the social reformers! They say there must be service.
I would like a world where there is no need for service—where no one needs service. I would like a world where these social reformers are not needed.
It is a very strange situation! It is like this: one social reformer does a job, and later it turns out to have become a disease. Then a second social reformer comes to fix it—and he creates another disease. Then a third comes. It is a conspiracy.
Two men were partners in a business. Although the business was one, their work was very different. One’s job was to go to a village at night when people were asleep and smear tar on their windows. The other’s job was, the next morning, to go around calling out in the village, “Brothers, does anyone need tar cleaned off?”
Naturally, those who woke up and saw tar on their windows would call out, “Brother, you came at the right moment! What a coincidence—this tar needs cleaning!”
Then all day that man would clean tar and earn money. Meanwhile the other fellow would go to the next village and smear tar! In this way their business ran very well. One smeared the tar; the other cleaned it off.
Manu Maharaj explained: sati should be. And Raja Rammohan Roy explains: sati should not be. One smears tar; one cleans tar! One teaches that there must be shudras—because shudras were born from the feet of Brahma; otherwise the order will be destroyed. These four are the pillars of society. If one pillar falls, the whole temple will fall. And another teaches that the shudra must be freed from shudrahood. They are Harijans, Daridra Narayan. And so the business goes on.
For centuries social reformers have kept coming. One fixes something; another comes to fix that! A third comes to fix that! Meanwhile the person remains where he is, pushed and shoved about.
Raja Rammohan Roy is a social reformer. Keshav Chandra is only a logical pandit. Neither has any value—not worth two pennies. Therefore I agree with Dattabal. But he didn’t understand me. I was making a comparison with Ramakrishna, and he changed the comparison altogether.
“Further,” he said, “only on the strength of money you create the impression of being an intellectual, an ascetic, and God. And you have hatred toward Vivekananda. Vivekananda used to give samadhi to people by touching them with his hand, whereas you don’t even possess any occult power like Rasputin had!”
This is something to think about. If, on the strength of money, one can become an intellectual, then the Tatas and Birlas would be intellectuals—how would I ever be one! And, to tell the truth, I don’t have a single coin! I don’t even have a pocket! Even if I had money, where would I keep it? Empty-handed I came; empty-handed I am; empty-handed I will go!
Who told him that I am an intellectual on the strength of money?
And if money could make people intellectuals, then many who have lots of money should be intellectuals! And when did I ever say I am an intellectual? I am an enemy of the intellect! Wiping out the intellect—that is my work! The intellect is a disease. How people can be free of thought, of intellect, of mind—that is my only endeavor.
Which madman gave Dattabal this news! Or what kind of madness has arisen within him!
And who said I am an ascetic? Not even a blind man could say that I am an ascetic! Do ascetics ride in Rolls-Royces? Do they live in palaces? Do they live in air-conditioned rooms? Me—an ascetic? Why, if I put my foot in one place, I don’t even jiggle it! And you talk of an ascetic? Forget Angad’s foot being shaken—my foot won’t budge! Who will call me an ascetic? I don’t stand on my head; I don’t practice yoga; I don’t fast; I keep no vows, no rules. Who will call me an ascetic? As for corrupting ascetics, I make all the arrangements—for shaking the ascetics!
What strange notions have possessed him—that I am an ascetic and create the impression of being God!
Why would I create an impression? I am that. One creates an impression who is not. And I alone am God? Not at all—Dattabal doesn’t know, he is too. Let him think he is a lion; not a lion—he is God! Everyone is God. Wherever there is consciousness, there is divinity.
Yes, some gods are asleep, like Dattabal. Some awaken. Between sleeping and waking there is no qualitative difference. One who is asleep can awaken. One who was asleep just now, just now has awakened! One who is still asleep can awaken a little later. One who has the capacity to sleep has the capacity to awaken. The one asleep is also God; the one awake is also God. The one asleep does not know it—like Dattabal he thinks, “My life-breath is in Vivekananda!” Vivekananda thinks, “My life-breath is in Ramakrishna!” These are the signs of the asleep. The signs of the awake are that he knows: my life-breath is within me. My soul is within me. My supreme soul is within me. God is only the purest experience of the soul—nothing else.
This is no special privilege. When will this delusion leave this country! For centuries the rishis have repeated: aham brahmasmi! And not only “I am Brahman,” they have also repeated, tat tvam asi! You too are That! And yet these custodians of Hinduism, these custodians of Indian culture, these custodians of Vivekananda, do not understand even this much: no one has to become God. We already are God. Try as you may to forget it, you cannot forget it. Try as you may to erase it, you cannot erase it. To be God is our nature, our very being.
And he says that within me there is hatred toward Vivekananda.
Vivekananda! What do the poor fellow have for me to hate? I see nothing in him to hate! I see no such dignity, no such majesty. I do not see any deep Buddhahood in Vivekananda’s ideas. All is borrowed! All is stale!
And Vivekananda himself has admitted that whatever he is saying is Ramakrishna’s experience, not his own. When someone in America said to Vivekananda, “What you say is very impressive!” he replied—he had this humility—“If only you could have seen the one whose words I am repeating! Then you would know that I am nothing—I am only an echo.”
So what is there in Vivekananda for me to hate? When I have no hatred for Buddha, no hatred for Lao Tzu, no hatred for Jesus, no hatred for Zarathustra, no hatred for Mahavira—those who have something. No hatred for Ramakrishna, for Raman, for Krishnamurti—those who have something. Then what hatred could there be for poor Vivekananda! Vivekananda is daridra-narayan, Harijan!
He said that Vivekananda used to give samadhi to people by touching them with his hand!
Samadhi that is given by touch is not samadhi. Otherwise Buddha was mad—he could have touched anyone! Ramakrishna was mad—he struggled all his life; he could have touched anyone!
And by touching, how many people did Vivekananda give samadhi to? Did Vivekananda himself receive samadhi? Till the very end, at the time of death, he was afflicted and troubled, restless, anxious, tormented!
Can samadhi be given by touching? And if samadhi can be given by touch, then samadhi is worth two pennies. Samadhi is an experience; it is not obtained by someone’s touch. It is not a contagious disease! And if by touch it were obtained, someone else might snatch it away by touch as well! Someone gave it by touch, and along came another mahatma, touched you and took it away—“Off you go! Mind your business!”
There is no question of giving and taking. Samadhi is neither taken nor given.
But all this empty babble arises in those whom you call so-called thinkers.
All beliefs are blind. All ideologies are obsolete. And certainly, because of them India has become hell. Nothing will happen by boiling blood. Be free of the intellect; descend into meditation. Certainly, Nirmal Ghosh, then you can become a medium of the divine. His music can flow through you. His voice can descend through you. His fragrance can come through you; it can bring spring into people’s lives.
That’s all for today.