Deepak Bara Naam Ka #10

Satya Vedant! First, Shri Morarji Desai is under the delusion that Gujarat is some ancestral property of his. A few days ago he said, “As long as I am alive, the prohibition laws in Gujarat cannot be relaxed.” As if one man’s fixation must be imposed on an entire people! Who is Morarji Desai to declare that I cannot be permitted to come to Kutch? And who is asking his permission anyway? Self-congratulatory trumpeting! Why on earth would I need his permission to come to Kutch!

And this very language is pure fascism. It shows no respect for democracy, no respect for freedom. It is the language of dictatorship.

He said Acharya Rajneesh’s movement is extremely dangerous. That is true. It is dangerous—and that is why the obscurantists feel their roots shaking. Of course it is dangerous! Because there is no other movement breaking India’s ancient inertia the way this one does. It is “dangerous” in the way medicine is dangerous to the germs that cause disease—but for the person it is healing, it is the very possibility of life.

So, for India’s religious bosses, ritualists, and reactionary traditionalists—for these “germs”—what I say is certainly dangerous. But these very germs have been eating away India’s life. They are the cancer of this country. They have made this nation so poor, weak, degraded—insulted and disregarded in the eyes of the world. Naturally, they will band together to oppose me. That opposition is understandable. But they are few—people with vested interests who feel threatened. If what I say is true, then the death of darkness is certain.

He says my work not only is dangerous and deadly, it also maligns “Indian” religion and “Indian” culture—as if religion could be Indian! If religion is Indian, then irreligion must be non‑Indian. Then whatever isn’t in India is irreligious, and whatever is in India is religious. As if culture could be Indian!

Civilization can be divided geographically because it is an outer arrangement of behavior—dress, food, manners, etiquette. The very word “sabhya” (civil) means fit to sit in an assembly. Civilization is an outer relation. Culture is inner refinement.

Only a few have been truly cultured: Buddha, Mahavira, Krishna, Mohammed, Nanak, Kabir, Jesus, Zarathustra, Lao Tzu. The earth has not yet been so blessed that culture is widespread. It can be—but people like Morarji Desai are obstacles.

Understand the distinction clearly:
- Civilization is geographical.
- Culture is spiritual. Spirituality recognizes no lines on a map. Spirit has no map, no politics. In India people greet with folded hands; in the West they shake hands; in an African tribe they touch tongues; in Burma there is a tribe that rubs noses. These are civilizational forms—no spiritual value attaches to whether you shake hands, wave, touch tongues, or rub noses. When we meet we must begin somewhere; the form is decided by geography, climate, surroundings, tradition.

But culture is another matter. Seat Buddha with Nanak, Kabir with Bahauddin, Saint Francis with Eckhart—they will be of one kind. The inner lotus has blossomed in all of them; the same fragrance of the divine wafts from within. That fragrance is culture. It is not Indian or non‑Indian. And the process and science of attaining that culture is called religion. Therefore religion is neither Hindu, nor Muslim, nor Christian. Religion is simply religion—just as science is simply science.

Heat water to a hundred degrees and it turns to steam; that is a scientific law without exceptions. Whether a Sikh heats it, a Jain heats it, a Buddhist heats it—no difference. Whether a brahmin, a shudra, a kshatriya or a vaishya heats it, the law does not change. Nature’s law does not flatter your foolish categories.

Science discovers nature’s laws; religion discovers the law of the soul. If even matter’s law is one, do you think the laws of consciousness are many? Impossible. If the truth of matter is one, how can the truth of God be many? Yes, the language may differ. Jesus speaks in Aramaic, Buddha in Pali, Mahavira in Prakrit, Yajnavalkya in Sanskrit; Nanak and Kabir in their tongues. But what is being said is one. Fingers differ, the moon indicated is one. Ik Onkar Satnam—there is no division in that.

So remember: a truly religious person is not Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, or Christian. His religiosity suffices; all adjectives become meaningless. They are left far behind; they are mere social tags. In the inner being who is Hindu, who is Muslim, who is Christian? When you descend into the depth of samadhi and the lamp of meditation is lit within, what “Indian” remains? Or Japanese? Or Chinese?

I speak of religion; that is why people like Shri Morarji Desai feel threatened—their minds are bound to the outer; they know nothing within. Their lives have been squandered chasing coins and power. They have no experience of the supreme inner state. What will they understand of religion, of culture! Parrot the words—anyone can; parrots do! They will chant Gayatri, Namokar, Japji—teach a parrot and it will repeat anything.

And Morarji Desai is no more than a parrot. He has no experience of meditation.

Only a few days ago he admitted that he had asked me for a meditation technique. Only one who knows nothing of meditation asks for technique. He also admitted he could not practice what I suggested, because his age was advanced. But for becoming prime minister his age is not advanced! He is ready again for the prime minister’s chair! For meditation, age is the excuse. How clever we are with our excuses!

Tell the young, and they say, “Meditation is for old age; the scriptures say the fourth ashram, after seventy-five.” When Morarji spoke to me he was seventy-five; I told him, “This is exactly the time.” The young hide behind “later,” the old hide behind “too late.” Those who truly want to meditate never ask the question of age.

If Morarji Desai were lying in his grave and got word that he could be prime minister again, he would leap up, pull on his churidar, set his Gandhi cap, pick up the spinning wheel—“I’m ready!” But for meditation—suddenly age prevents it. If you don’t know meditation, how will you know religion? The ultimate experience of meditation is religion—the inner realization of one’s own life. Religion is not in the scriptures; it is within. It is your intrinsic nature; to know it is to be cultured. Then a revolution happens: conduct takes care of itself. One no longer calculates what is right or wrong; whatever he does is right, and there is no remorse.

Understand this Upanishadic utterance—from the Taittiriya Upanishad:
यतो वाचो निवर्तन्ते अप्राप्य मनसा सह।
आनन्दं ब्रह्मणो विद्वान् न बिभेति कुतश्चन।।
एत हि वाव न तपेति ‘किम् अहम् साधु नाकरवम्।
किम् अहं पापम् अकरवम्’ इति।।

There is a realm of religion from which mind and speech return, not having attained it. In meditation one leaves mind behind; no‑mind is meditation. When silence comes, mind and speech fall away. Later, having realized Brahman, mind and speech return, because what has been known seeks expression, communication. Mind gets a new master—the self—and a new employment. Before, mind was the master and dragged you; now you are the master. Mind will no longer create a world; it will proclaim truth. Thoughts will not bring distraction; they will hum your freedom.

When one knows the bliss of Brahman, he fears nothing. Why do we fear? Because we take ourselves to be the body—which can die. We take ourselves to be the mind—which we cannot trust; a thousand vows and still anger comes; vows of celibacy shatter. With no mastery over mind and no taste of the deathless, fear is inevitable. Death is approaching every moment.

A Sufi story: A king’s beloved servant came running, terrified. “In the market a dark figure touched my shoulder. I asked, ‘Who are you?’ She said, ‘I am your death. Be ready at sunset; I am coming.’ Lend me your fastest horse; I must get far from the city.” The king gave his swiftest steed. The servant rode without food or water, reaching hundreds of miles away by dusk. He tied the horse in a garden, patted it: “You are marvelous!” And the same dark figure touched his shoulder: “I, too, thank your horse. I was worried whether you would reach this very bush on time—because here is where you were to die.”

Run as fast as you like—there is no escape. As long as there is death, there is fear. But one who knows the immortal—fear disappears. He has no opportunity for remorse either. You act and regret; you don’t act and regret. If you don’t get angry, you regret being thought weak; if you do, you regret your madness. Whatever you do, remorse comes. But for the knower there is no remorse—no notion of “I did good” or “I did bad,” no anxiety about sin or pride in virtue. In the supreme light, the ego dissolves—who is there to be afraid? Only God remains; let His will be done. What He does through you is done in joy; you are no longer the doer.

For Morarji Desai to say that my work maligns Indian religion and culture is sheer nonsense. Religion and culture are not Indian. And whatever is merely “Indian” is best let go quickly. I want a humanity beyond India and Pakistan, China and Germany and America—enough of these labels. I want religiosity without religions. I want a man who can relish the Quran and the Gita and the Guru Granth with equal love; who can hum the Upanishads, understand Lao Tzu and the Zend‑Avesta; within whom Buddha, Mahavira, and Krishna can all speak without conflict.

So whatever is “Indian” in the divisive sense should indeed fall. I champion no kind of division. I stand for an indivisible humanity, for one unbroken earth. Until then there will be wars and jihads.

And what strange people we have! The Jain muni of Kutch—Kachchh‑Kesari Achal Gachchhadhipati—uses the word “jihad” in a statement: “Launch a jihad against me.” A Jain monk speaking of jihad! He calls youth to shed blood—this from those who chant “ahimsa paramo dharmah”! Religious labels have long been used as cover for madness. It will continue as long as we divide people into temple and mosque, church and gurdwara. For the religious, wherever they sit becomes a shrine; wherever they become silent becomes a temple.

So in one sense Desai is right—my movement is dangerous and deadly: dangerous to those who want to preserve the old insanity; deadly to vested interests. But not to those who want a bright future, who want the dawn. Yes, for owls and their offspring the sun is deadly; their night ends. For others it is day. Anyone with a little taste of life will rejoice to hear me; I am saying what the knowers have always said.

He attacked Solanki’s defense of freedom to build an ashram anywhere, saying freedom cannot be used to promote evil deeds. Who decides what is evil and what is good? Morarji Desai? Then urine‑drinking becomes a good deed. See our brother Morarji, the modern Krishna—lord of urine and bearer of dung! If he judges, his own way of life becomes holy and all else unholy?

Who decides? Ask Jains—they say eating at night is sin. But the whole world, except Jains, eats at night. If Jains decided, then those who dine at night have no right to live in India—throw seventy crores into the Indian Ocean to save thirty-five lakhs of Jains! If meat‑eaters decide, meat is holy—God made animals to be eaten by man; their scriptures say all exists for man. If Christians decide, wine isn’t sin—Jesus himself drank. Then what right has Morarji to prohibit alcohol?

The very meaning of freedom is this: in areas where no absolute decision is possible, each person has the right to live according to his own light, so long as he does not impose himself on others. I impose on no one. I don’t even step beyond my ashram gate; only those curious come to me. I don’t go to preach; those who wish to hear must even pay a fee. After hearing me, there is no distribution of prasad. You must meet certain conditions to listen. I impose on no one. Whoever wishes may listen—and live!

If we nominate a single decider, freedom remains only for him; for all others it becomes bondage.

To say I cannot be permitted in Kutch is coercion—against me and against the people of Kutch. If the people of Kutch want me, who is Morarji? And they do want me—his own wording betrays it: he said, “Acharya Rajneesh will never be able to establish his ashram in Kutch if the people of Kutch... if the people gather courage to oppose him.” Note the “if.” The people are united and courageous—but their opposition will be to you, Morarji. Evidence is abundant. People come daily from Kutch begging me to hurry.

Sixty‑five bodies have opposed me before the Gujarat government; three hundred sixty have supported me. Who decides then? Of the sixty‑five in “opposition,” only twenty are actual organizations—eighteen of them Jain. The remaining forty‑five are letters from individuals—and many have since said those letters were sent without their knowledge by a handful of political hoodlums from Bombay. When these hoodlums reached Mandvi, the townspeople thrashed them and threw them out.

If the people of Kutch wish to oppose me, let them. Why is Morarji hovering around Kutch these three months? Feeling uneasy? He also used a provocative Gujarati phrase—“if the people of Kutch have the guts...” Now, no one is opposing, so he tries to manufacture opposition.

Why hide behind the people? You oppose me. You are adept at hunger strikes—go on a fast unto death against me! Know this: I am no Gandhian to be perturbed. Fast unto death—and if you die, we will celebrate. No one from my side will bring you orange juice. If someone tries, my sannyasins will circle you with bhajans to prevent covert juice or glucose. Gandhi drank glucose in water during his fasts—what kind of fast is that?

Forget the “guts” of Kutch; if you have any, fast unto death—your time is near anyway; at least your name will remain.

And he says, “During my tenure I ordered an inquiry into Acharya Rajneesh’s activities.” You did—and filed many cases. What came of it? You had three years of power and left no stone unturned to drag me into court—and got nothing. An inquiry order can be issued against anyone. You found nothing.

I am not in power. But without any inquiry I have “learned” many things about you...

...What did you gain by investigating me? For three years as prime minister you tried to haul me into court—you couldn’t. And finally he says, “Acharya Rajneesh calls me sexually repressed and keeps criticizing me, but I accept his criticism as a blessing.” Even lies should have some restraint. You won’t become a saint so cheaply. If you truly take my criticism as blessing, why oppose my coming to Kutch? One who blesses should be welcomed with open arms—flowers if not, at least petals, as Gujaratis say. You should stand with a flag to receive me—if I am showering blessings on you.

But here people try to look saintly on the cheap. You won’t fool me. If you feel blessed by my words, invite me to Gujarat—closer I am, more blessings you’ll receive. Sit here—I’ll bless you daily.

As for “sexually repressed”—that is simply a fact, not a criticism. I have no interest in criticizing such donkeys.

A politician scolded a potter who was holding his donkey so tightly it writhed; the potter too was sweating. “Release him, you fool! He can’t cross the road like this. Think of your brother!” The potter said, “Sir, I’m gripping him tight lest he enlist in politics. In your presence—good company has its effect—and a donkey has no brains! If he joins politics my pottery is ruined; all the donkeys have gone to Delhi.”

Another politician fell in the river. Mulla Nasruddin risked his life to save him. The politician pulled out a two‑rupee note with great effort: “Here—one rupee for you for saving me; return one rupee to me.” Nasruddin said, “Sir, there’s no shop here to change your note; keep it. Next time you drown, give me the two‑rupee note then. Frankly, your value isn’t more than eight annas—I can save you four times for two rupees.”

What use is it to criticize such men? But the facts must be put before the country. Two‑penny politicians are sitting on the nation’s chest, grinding it underfoot, ruining it. By their foolishness no real problem gets solved; they keep the national mind entangled in irrelevancies—prohibition! as if that will end poverty; the spinning wheel and khadi—as if that will bring prosperity.

Give life science—for outer prosperity; give religion—for inner richness. I favor both. You deprive the nation of science by preaching unscientific nonsense...

Recently, in a medical conference, Morarji said cancer can be cured within six weeks by drinking only grape juice. Doctors were startled: “Explain—if you have solved cancer in six weeks, it’s a revolution.” “Yes,” he said, “for six weeks—no water either—only grape juice.” “The patient will survive?” “No, he won’t—but he will die very peacefully.” He will indeed die peacefully—he’ll be dead in six weeks anyway! What “cure” is this?

If you listen to our leaders, you will dig mountains and not even find a mouse.

The simple truth behind all their lies is this: my coming to Gujarat terrifies those who hold fiefdoms—religious or political. They know their old franchises will be uprooted. They won’t say that; instead: “religion and culture are in danger!” They try to incite the public. This is hooliganism—Gandhian or otherwise. If you are true, why so afraid? I will come; let there be a face‑to‑face. You speak your truth; I will speak mine—from my seat. If your words have any strength, people will accept them. Why tremble? I am not afraid of you. I will continue to say what I have to say.

And do you think Pune is outside India and Kutch inside? If I had to “destroy your culture,” I could do it from here. If I had to uproot your religion, I could do it from here; why must I come to Kutch? But these contractors have staked claims to their own territories; within those limits they feel the threat. Beyond them, what do they care? The fear is that I might come to Gujarat—because Gujarat has the most intelligent people in the country. I have traveled all over India; I love Gujarat for a reason: I found the most thoughtful minds there. My arrival would create a wind of revolution—and these counterfeit coins will go out of circulation. To hide that, they talk big.

On one side politicians; on the other, religious heads. The second question will make this clear:

A news item says Shri Shambhu Maharaj has challenged you to come to Gujarat and have an open debate with him. “Why don’t you come out before the public?” He says, “The condition of India’s sixty percent is like the condition of distressed, hungry cows. So, according to Rajneeshji’s principle, should we kill the people the way he proposes cows be killed?” He also said that when he was giving seven days of discourses at Geeta Bharati Ashram, you came to Ahmedabad and, under Swami Atulanand’s lead, sadhus gathered and invited you to a discussion, but you didn’t come. Therefore, Shambhu Maharaj says, your pride of knowledge looks like madness. “King Ravana too was destroyed by pride of knowledge. When a man’s fall is near, such delusion seizes him.” He also said, “When Vinoba Bhave fasted to stop cow slaughter, was he a fool?” Please comment on Shri Shambhu Maharaj’s statement.

Chaitanya Sagar! First, when one challenges, he should come. If Shambhu Maharaj challenges me, he should come here. That is the simple rule of a challenge. Why should I go? You challenge and I take the trouble to travel! Let him show the courage to come; he is welcome—we will have fun!

He asks why I don’t come out before the public. I am not a politician. I have nothing to do with “the public.” Whoever has something to take from me can come to me. The well does not go to the thirsty; the thirsty come to the well.

And I give no value to “the public.” The public is a herd of sheep. I value the individual soul, not the crowd. Only those who lack individuality stand in crowds. Lions do not travel in herds; sheep do—because alone they are afraid.

A teacher asked a boy who kept sheep at home: “If ten sheep are in a pen and one jumps out, how many remain?” “None,” the boy answered. “Use your brains! If one jumps out, how many are left?” “I know sheep, sir. If one jumps, the other nine will follow. Ask someone who doesn’t keep sheep; he’ll give you the arithmetic answer—nine.”

The public is full of sheep. What have I to do with a crowd! I speak to individuals. The crowd is reactionary; it understands only ready‑made clichés.

In another statement he said he could accept me as his guru if I proved myself Gopal, proved myself Krishna. He doesn’t even know what he is saying. Will he accept me if, like Krishna, I abduct the wives of others and gather sixteen thousand women? For one disciple should I create such havoc? One wife is enough to make hell—sixteen thousand! Will you become my disciple then? And then I will have to make you do the same—what the guru does, he makes the disciple do: “Go steal women’s clothes from the bushes!”

Krishna instigated the Mahabharata war; scholars estimate between one and one and a quarter billion were killed. And this Shambhu Maharaj runs a movement against cow slaughter. He once told me he could be my disciple if I too took up agitation against cow slaughter. If I join his foolishness, then I can be his guru!

I have bigger questions before me. Whether cow slaughter happens or not is not a central question. Who are you to force the government? Convince people not to eat beef—that makes sense. But to force with state power—no. If you are right, spread understanding; change hearts. But no Muslim will agree. And in India do you think all are vegetarians? Hardly 2–3 percent are. Most are non‑vegetarian. The whole world subsists on meat; if meat‑eating stopped, humanity would starve.

Krishna persuaded Arjuna with the argument: the soul does not die when the body dies. Then understand this much also: the cow’s soul does not die when her body dies—your argument ends, and you have understood the Gita! Krishna also says: whom God wants to kill are already dead; you are merely an instrument, Arjuna. Then the poor butchers are merely instruments too. When God does not will it, will they kill? You yourself say not a leaf moves without His will. If cow slaughter is occurring, it must be His intention; otherwise how would the leaf stir?

First change this Gita if you want to stop cow slaughter! And you want me to become a Gopal like Krishna so that you can become my disciple!

I have no interest in the “public.” I am not one of those who call the public “God incarnate.” That’s political trickery to gather votes. I speak my truth—what I have known and lived—only to those who have the capacity to understand. I have no use for crowds.

And you challenge me—and I should come to Gujarat! I am coming anyway; then what is the fuss? We will settle your challenge there. I will be in Gujarat; I will stay there. Come to my commune and debate all you like.

People like this utter absurdities. He argues: since the condition of India’s sixty percent is like the condition of hungry cows, should, according to Rajneesh’s principle, the people also be slaughtered like cows? If you apply such logic, then you must stop killing mosquitoes, bedbugs, rats. When sickness comes—TB, malaria—don’t take injections or medicines; germs will die. In truth, stop breathing—each breath kills a hundred thousand microbes. What greater butchery is there? Your body holds about seven billion microbes; millions die daily—becoming your hair and nails, your excreta. Stop medicines; stop breathing—because microbes die. Oppose life itself—if anyone lives, someone dies.

I follow Chandidas: “Above all is the truth of man—there is nothing above it.” If man must be saved, we will even kill microbes. We will kill rats, bugs, mosquitoes—because man is the highest flowering of consciousness. To save the higher, the lower must at times be surrendered. If the lower can be saved without harming the higher, I have no objection.

India alone worships the cow—not even all India: only Hindus; not Christians, Sikhs, Jains, Muslims, Parsis. Hindus are 200 million; 500 million are others. By what right do you impose Hindu beliefs on the others?

As for Vinoba’s fast, I call it violence—coercion. Then Jinnah was right: in a united India, Hindus would coerce. That coercion is evident. Then Jinnah was right and Gandhi wrong; good he created Pakistan. Then Sikhs too are right to ask for Khalistan; Christians could demand their own; Jains their own; Parsis could claim Bombay! Let Hindus go protect their cows.

This country belongs to all; Hindu notions cannot be forced on others. If Hindus want to save cows, let them—who forbids it? Tomorrow Muslims may say: everyone must be circumcised. They will produce “benefits” and cite statistics and Nobel Prizes and the shift of energy to the brain—people can justify any stupidity. If we begin to impose such foolishness on one another, we are finished.

“Do not slaughter cows because of compassion.” Then why do you kill mosquitoes? What compassion is this? If you want compassion, show it to mosquitoes—because you exploit the cow. You drink the milk meant for her calves and call her mother! Shambhu Maharaj drinks the milk while Nandi, the real son, goes hungry. If your cow‑devotion is so great, feed your wives’ milk to the calves—then I will acknowledge your devotion. This “devotion” where you only take is hypocrisy.

Ask the cows what you have done to them. Nowhere in the world are cows as pitiable as in India—skin and bones, milk squeezed out. In Sweden one cow yields as much milk as forty cows in India; in Switzerland too. My sannyasin Vivek keeps telling me: if you once drink Western cow’s milk, you won’t consider Indian milk drinkable—no sweetness, no richness. These aren’t cow‑devotee countries. The reason is: they keep only as many cows as they can nourish and care for properly.

What do you give your cows? You talk of compassion! It would be more compassionate to free these dying animals from rotting on the roads and in gaushalas—release them from their decaying bodies! That is what I said. It disturbed him. I said: India should keep only as many cows as it can properly maintain. When we can care for more, we will. That is compassion.

He twists it: “Then, if sixty percent of Indians are poor and hungry, should we kill them too?” I don’t say kill them. But if you insist on saving cows instead of people, nature will kill them—through famines, floods, diseases. By the end of this century you will see the greatest famine in India; scientists around the world are saying so. By century’s end India will surpass China, crossing a billion. You are half‑dead already—then there will be epidemics and famine. Nature will kill; I need not say anything.

If before that you can do anything, try to understand. Don’t entangle India’s mind in trivialities: cow slaughter, prohibition, spinning wheels. Build great industries; bring in science; don’t get stuck on the spindle. Save as many cows as you can right now; when you can save more, do so. First save man. Above all is the truth of man—if everything else must be sacrificed to save man, I am ready. If man survives, all else can be revived. If man dies, who will save your cows, your buffaloes, your “culture,” your Vedas, Upanishads, Guru Granth? These madnesses I call madness—hence they burst into flames.

And such men feel no shame in lying! It is a blatant lie. I had not even heard of Shambhu Maharaj three months ago. I came to know his name only because he began opposing my going to Kutch. I never received any invitation from either Atulanand or Shambhu Maharaj in Ahmedabad. To say sadhus gathered under Atulanand and invited me to a debate—and I did not come—is outright falsehood. Yet these so‑called religious men have no qualms about lying.

He says my “pride of knowledge” looks like madness. I have no knowledge—wherefrom pride? I am utterly ignorant. That is why I can say such “ignorant” things—who among the “knowers” will say them? I dropped knowledge like trash; who boasts of garbage? Like Socrates, I know only this: that I know nothing. Therefore I speak my heart openly—when you know nothing, what is there to fear?

You heard the Upanishadic line: “Having realized, for him nothing is right or wrong.” For me too nothing is right or wrong. I am not—who will repent or worry? Let God speak and do what He will through me.

He says Ravana too was destroyed by pride of knowledge. I know nothing about that—I am no scholar. If you ask me in ignorance, I will say: Ravana was destroyed by the traitor Vibhishana. Ram won by treachery; he richly rewarded the traitor with the whole of Lanka. Not one of Rama’s devotees condemns Vibhishana as a traitor—if Ravana had won, Vibhishana would have been cursed for centuries.

Ravana was not arrogant—drop that misconception. Rama cheated him. When Sita’s swayamvara was to be held, it was obvious that mighty Ravana would break Shiva’s bow and take Sita. A trick was played: a false message—“Ravana, your Lanka is on fire; hurry!” He rushed back; it was a lie. When he returned the swayamvara was over; Rama had wedded Sita. To avenge this deceit—a political conspiracy—he abducted Sita. Yet he treated her with respect—never touched her—kept her not in a prison but in his most beautiful Ashok grove. Rama, on the other hand, humiliated Sita—first the fire ordeal. Where there is love, there is trust. If Rama doubted, there was no love. And even after she passed the fire, suspicion remained; later, at a washerman’s remark, he banished a pregnant Sita to the forest without even telling her.

Rama had molten lead poured into the ears of the shudra Shambuka for hearing Vedic mantras. I cannot accept Rama as an avatar of God. An avatar for whom “shudra” and “brahmin” differ, who cannot see Sita’s purity, and yet treasures his throne while discarding his wife—this is politics, not religion.

He says, “When a man’s fall is near, such delusion seizes him.” I am not—what fall? What delusion? I died the day the ego died; twenty‑five years have passed. Since then I am only a bamboo flute—whatever song He wishes to play, let Him.

And if Shambhu Maharaj wishes to come—welcome! But he will have to come here; I do not travel. I have no interest in Shambhu Maharaj or in cows. I am no cow‑devotee, nor eager to be Gopal. I am utterly content being what I am.

Enough for today.