Deepak Bara Naam Ka #6

Sahajanand! This aphorism may appear strange; it is not strange. It only appears so because it states a few fundamental truths about existence that are beyond ordinary logic.

First: whatever we know through the mind does not make us one with it. The knower and the known remain separate. That is the mind’s way of knowing: a relationship between a subject and an object, each distinct. If mere knowing made one identical with the known, then the one who knows a flower would become a flower, the one who knows a stone would become a stone—and nothing would be left of the knower. Hence the statement sounds odd.

But there is another dimension of knowing beyond the mind. Trans-mental. The door to that dimension is meditation. There the knower and the known are not two; they are two faces of one coin. Because there is no “other” there, no second, the knower comes to know himself.

Bring meditation into the picture and the sutra becomes simple; leave meditation out and it remains opaque. All these sutras are about meditation. The Upanishads were born at the source-spring of meditation. They are the realizations of seers who slipped out of the ceaseless chain of thought. Meditation means: the stream of thinking comes to a halt. Ordinarily thoughts move in an unbroken procession—daytime thoughts, nighttime dreams; sometimes memories, sometimes desires, sometimes ambitions, sometimes fantasies—no beginning, no end. Because of this unremitting traffic you forget that you are separate from it.

Imagine a mirror before which, day and night, faces keep passing; the mirror would never get a chance to learn that it is other than the reflections. One image fades and another replaces it before it can truly disappear; the mirror is always covered. How will the mirror know it is distinct? Hence the discovery of meditation. Meditation is giving the mirror a little time with no reflection upon it, so the mirror can know, “I am separate, and this stream of images passing before me is other.” The moment nothing passes before the mirror, the mirror knows itself.

Your consciousness is the mirror, and thoughts are the scenes passing before it. Your consciousness is the seer, the knower; what passes is the known. When a deep, silent state of meditation arises within—as Rajjab says, “The one who knows the knack lets it all be, still as it was”—when everything is stilled, no ripple, no emotion, the mind like a waveless lake, then for the first time you experience that you are separate from thoughts. And the energy of knowing, which had been entangled in thoughts, returns to its source. Now the knower knows himself. Knower and known are no longer two. The same one is knowing and is known. This experience is called Brahman-realization.

The sutra is beautiful; profound, esoteric:
sa yo ha vai tat paramaṁ brahma veda, brahmaiva bhavati.
He who knows Brahman becomes Brahman.
Or, he who recognizes himself becomes Brahman. This is the Veda—the real knowing. Knowing the other is also a kind of knowing, but what will you do with it? If the inside remains dark, what use is it if the whole world is lit outside? If you remain empty within, what use are heaps of wealth, rank, and fame? Soon death will come and strip it all away. A lifetime’s scramble proves to be loss, not gain. You gather pebbles and miss the diamonds; you collect trash while a vast empire of treasure lies within, and your back is turned to it.

When someone turns inward, what he knows is none other than his own being. There knower and known are not two. Hence the sutra is right: he who knows the Supreme Brahman becomes Brahman. This is religion’s pinnacle. Very few religions have dared to rise this high.

Christians did not truly understand Jesus. Jesus says, “I and my Father are one.” Christians took it to mean only Jesus is one with God, no one else. But Jesus is not talking about Joseph and Mary’s son; he speaks of the supreme consciousness within. That supreme consciousness is our real “I,” our true being, our very soul. The word “I” points to that. The blind mis-hear the language of light; the deaf mis-hear the language of music. Christians thought Jesus meant himself alone. He speaks of all who have known. But Christianity could not rise to that altitude; the flower did not blossom there.

Islam met the same fate. Al-Hallaj Mansur was crucified because he declared “Ana’l-Haqq”—“I am the Truth.” They called it blasphemy: how can anyone claim equality with God? But Hallaj was not claiming equality. He was saying, “I am not; only God is.” Equality arises only if there are two. “Ana’l-Haqq” means there are not two—“I am the Truth.” He was not making an egoic proclamation. In meditation the ego is dissolved; what remains is the Divine.

Hallaj’s master was Junnaid. He pleaded with Hallaj again and again, “Keep this within; I know it too, but don’t say it aloud.” Junnaid was old, seasoned by life’s sweetness and bitterness; Hallaj was young. Junnaid warned him, “You will get into trouble, and you will drag me into trouble too—people will blame the master for the disciple’s declaration.” Hallaj would promise to be quiet, but whenever he sat in meditation he would forget. When “I” is no more, who remembers the promise that “I” gave? The promiser is gone and what appears again bursts into the same chant, the same inner music of “Ana’l-Haqq.”

At last Hallaj said, “I won’t promise anymore. The truth is, the one who promises is not present, and the One who is present never promised. I am not there, and the One who is there proclaims. How can I stop it?” Junnaid said, “Then go on pilgrimage to the Kaaba.” In those days it was on foot; it took years. He hoped time would pass and perhaps understanding would dawn. What did Hallaj do? He stood up, bowed, and said, “If you command, I will go.” He then circumambulated Junnaid three times and sat down. Junnaid asked, “What is this?” Hallaj replied, “You are my Kaaba. Where else is there a Kaaba for me? Having found a living master, why should I go worship a stone? I have completed the pilgrimage around you. Where else to go?” And again the chant of Ana’l-Haqq.

That chant was not about Mansur; the Muslims misunderstood and crucified him in vain.

In this land, the highest peaks of religion were touched. Those days are gone. Today’s India is not in the Upanishadic mood; it is pitiable, crawling on the ground, its wings clipped. Even today to declare “I am Brahman” is not without danger. But one who knows cannot remain silent.

First steady the tremor in your voice…
First steady the tremor in your voice—
Then the words of love will flow of themselves from your lips.
Once the trembling voice grows still, love speaks by itself; nothing needs to be said.

Then the words of love will flow of themselves from your lips…
Only one thing is needed: still the inner quiver—

First steady the tremor in your voice…
Then nothing needs to be said; what is worth saying speaks on its own and cannot be stopped. The sayings of the Upanishads were not contrived; they burst forth. They are spontaneous utterances.

He who knows that Supreme Brahman becomes Brahman.
sa yo ha vai tat paramaṁ brahma veda…
And this is the Veda.

“Veda” is a lovely word. It means “knowing.” It comes from the root vid, “to know”—from which also comes “vidvan,” the learned one. The Veda did not end with four collections—Rig, Sama, Yajur, Atharva. Whenever anyone has realized the Divine within, the Veda is born again. With every Buddha, the Veda reappears—whether that Buddha is Mohammed, Jesus, Zarathustra, Lao Tzu, Mahavira, Krishna, Kabir, or Nanak. Whoever has known himself—Veda pours from his lips. Because he himself has become Brahman.

In truth, to say “he becomes Brahman” is a fault of language. You already are Brahman—only unknowing, asleep. You are Brahman asleep; a Buddha is Brahman awake. The difference is not of kind. Just turn a little, awaken—and the difference dissolves. What the Upanishadic rishi declares is as true of you as of himself; you just don’t know it. Until you know, the sutra naturally seems odd—how can one become one with what one knows? You already are one.

Understand it this way: that which knows within you is Brahman. The capacity to know is Brahman. The awareness within you is Buddhahood. Your consciousness is the only proof of God.

The second part of the sutra, Sahajanand, must also have troubled you. “In his lineage no one is born who does not know Brahman.” If taken literally, it sounds absurd. Buddha’s son Rahul was not enlightened by birth. There is no mention of Mahavira’s daughter being enlightened. Krishna had sixteen thousand wives—who knows how many children! If thousands of jnanis were born from one man, India would not be in such decline. Where are Krishna’s thousands of enlightened children?

Do not take this literally; it is symbolic. Buddha said consciousness is a flow, like a river. He used the word “continuity,” “succession”—santati. Why is your son called your son? Because he arises from your flow. His son, then his son—flow, succession.

Buddha gave a beautiful example: you light a lamp at dusk and extinguish it at dawn. If someone asks, “Is the same flame you lit at dusk the one you put out at dawn?”—you are in a quandary. It is not the same; each moment the old flame dies away into smoke and a new flame takes its place so swiftly your eye cannot catch the gap. If it were literally the same, oil and wick would not be consumed. The flame is fleeing every instant.

So what will you say? That it is the same flame? You cannot. A different flame? Also no—the lamp is the same. Buddha coined a new term: it is the lamp’s santati—its continuity. The lamp’s individual flames perish, but the succession continues, the series, the continuum. Science today also accepts this truth and speaks of a continuum.

Keep this in mind and the Upanishadic sutra becomes clear: “In his lineage no one is born who does not know Brahman.” Once Brahman is known, then whatever new leaves and flowers unfold in that continuity of consciousness will all be knowing of Brahman. Do not think it means his physical sons will be enlightened. The body does not know Brahman; consciousness does. In the continuity of consciousness, knowing will continue. The one who knew in youth will know in old age—though much water has flowed in the Ganges between. The one who knew while living will know at the moment of death—he lived in bliss and will die in bliss. His death will be an extraordinary celebration, the final summit of that intoxication.

An ordinary person dies and we cremate him; what else can we do? He goes weeping, and we weep. But when a Buddha departs, do not weep—for he did not go in tears. Do not do him that injustice. He went laughing, radiant; bid him farewell dancing and rejoicing. That is why I have said: if any of my sannyasins dies, do not weep, do not shed tears—that would be unjust—dance, be exhilarated. There is nothing to mourn. That which cannot die, does not die; that which is to perish, perishes.

You preen yourself on the body’s bright garments,
Poor fool, I see the soul begging for a shroud.
We would have asked the world about their celebration,
But the world went there and stayed behind…
Someone comes, someone goes—
What is this spectacle?
Look—someone comes, someone goes—what is this spectacle?
One understands nothing of what this world is.
The eyes have only just opened from sleep—
What have you seen yet?
Wait a little and you will see
What this world is.
The moment the breath is gone,
The body becomes a burden to all—
“Quick, take it away!
What remains in this heap now?”
Sand or brick or stone or clay,
What trust can you place in the shadow of a wall?
If you must count, count your deeds, my friend,
Why count this wealth?
They wound—and then offer consolation…
Little by little, everyone will come; what is there to fear?
Some, in their cleverness, think they understand this world—
But what is there in your hands
Except a few lines?

This life will not be understood until you look within. Keep looking outside and nothing will make sense. Look within and everything becomes clear—because the seer becomes seen, the knower becomes known. After that, no one can rob you of your knowing. Having reached Buddhahood, one does not fall. It is impossible; Buddhahood is not other than you—it is your own ultimate flowering. How can you fall from yourself?

nāsyābrahmavit kule bhavati.
In his lineage, in his continuity, in his flow, in his river of consciousness, ignorance never arises again. Each coming day brings more clarity; each moment, new blossoms. Then his life is an unending spring; hymns arise, songs burst forth, dance awakens.

tarati śokaṁ…
He goes beyond sorrow.
What is sorrow’s root? Our unfamiliarity with ourselves. To be a stranger to oneself is sorrow; to be acquainted with oneself is joy.

tarati śokaṁ, tarati pāpmānam.
And what is sin? Whatever the self-unaware person does is sin.
Understand this well.
Even what he does thinking it is virtue will be sin. Without self-knowledge, virtue is impossible. How? Out of inner darkness, how will rays of light arise? From unconsciousness, do not expect consciousness. He may put on a show…

I once taught for a while in Raipur. A colleague in the English department drank. He would pretend he had not. His very pretence betrayed him. All drunkards try to conceal; their effort trips them up.
One day he came to see me, drunk, and said at once, “Please don’t think I’ve been drinking.” I said, “You are too much! Why should I think that?” He said, “Some people think I’m always drunk. I drink only on festivals, not daily.” I said, “But why have you put your cap on backward?” He quickly straightened it. “Plainly,” I said, “you are perfectly sober—but why is your coat inside-out?” He looked—“Oh!” As he began to fix it I said, “Stop. Don’t trouble yourself. Whom are you deceiving?”

One’s effort to show “I am not drunk” gives one away—walking carefully, speaking carefully. In sobriety there is no such carefulness.

One without self-knowledge may build a temple and it will still be sin—he cannot build it for God, of whom he has no sense. You see how many Birla temples there are. Jugal Kishore Birla once told me proudly, “You will be happy to know how many temples I’ve built.” I said, “Not one of them is God’s temple; they are all Birla temples. This is a novelty—you have invented the Birla temple! We used to have Krishna temples, Rama temples, but a Birla temple is a new thing.” He said, “No one pointed this out. Why should a temple be called by the builder’s name?” For centuries, temples were named for the deity installed. But here the stone of ego with the builder’s name is what is really being worshiped. Even alms are given out of greed—scriptures and priests promise: donate a penny here and you will receive a crore-fold in heaven. A lottery! Put in a little here and reap ten million there. If so, those who don’t do this business are fools. But it is business—desire for reward.

And what is hidden beneath heaven? The fantasy of wish-fulfilling trees. Desires unfulfilled here will be fulfilled there—by merely wishing! People fast and perform austerities on the outside while inside smolders the fire of craving: “A few days of hardship now, and then heaven’s delights forever.” Those who do not perform austerities—see how the ascetics view them: as worms bound for hell. The very inventors of hell were violent, perverse minds—heaven for themselves, hell for the rest.

Know this: without self-knowledge no one can be free of sin. One can cover sin for a while, but it returns.
What is sin? Actions born of darkness. What is virtue? Actions born of light. That is why I do not tell you, “Avoid sin, do virtue.” I say: break ignorance, awaken knowing; remove sleep, awaken awareness. After awareness, whatever you do is virtue; in unawareness, whatever you do is sin. My definition is simple.

If you start deciding which act is sin and which is virtue, you will be tangled. Is killing mosquitoes a sin? Is using DDT? Is a mosquito net a sin—starving mosquitoes to death? Even Jains use mosquito nets; they should not—what a sin to starve the poor creatures!

I saw a statement against me by a “Jiva-Daya Mandal” (Society for Compassion to Living Beings) in Bombay: have compassion for living beings; therefore ban cow slaughter. They should rename themselves “Society for Exploitation of Living Beings.” If you have compassion, show it to mosquitoes and bedbugs! Why only the cow? You milk the cow—is the milk for you? It is for the calf; you drink it and call it compassion! You castrate the calves to make oxen—this is compassion?

They praise the cow because she benefits you—milk, dung, gas, fertilizer, oxen, plowing, carts. Is that your compassion—or the cow’s? Ask the cow whether she wishes to be compassionate or whether you coerce it. If truly compassionate, oppose mosquito nets, oppose DDT; do not kill bedbugs; lie down like Mahavira, naked, and invite them: “Brothers and sisters, drink to your fill!” Invite mosquitoes; do not kill them. Collect cockroaches, rats—why only the cow? You call the cow “mother,” but not the bull “father”—what kind of logic is this? If you must have compassion, accept your own sacrifice; compassion means you renounce something. You suck the cow and preach compassion—whom are you fooling?

How will you decide what is sin and what is virtue? Which vegetable is sinful, which virtuous? Jains say vegetables grown underground are sinful—poor, harmless potatoes become sinners because they grow in darkness. Were you born in light? You too spent nine months in the dark womb.

During Paryushan, Jains avoid green vegetables but dry them beforehand and then eat them—once dried, they are no longer green! In a Shvetambar home during Paryushan I saw them eating bananas. “How so?” I asked. “But these aren’t green—they’re yellow. The injunction is against ‘green’ vegetables.”

Thus begins cunning, loopholes, cleverness.

Buddha said eating the meat of an animal you did not kill is not sin. Loophole found—Buddhists became non-killers who eat meat. In Buddhist lands, restaurants proclaim: “Only animals that died naturally are served.” So many animals die “naturally” only in Buddhist countries! And why then are there slaughterhouses there? The sign is like the ones here: “Pure ghee sweets sold.” Now even “pure dalda” claims are suspect; nothing is pure, not even medicines—people get injections of water.

Man is dishonest until there is inner light. He will find arguments to justify anything.

Meat eaters find their logic: “We liberate the animal’s soul from its prison.” A pig’s body is a jail; by killing we free the soul to be born higher. Whose argument is true? On what basis will you decide?

In India milk is considered the purest, sattvic food; among Christians, the Quakers refuse milk because it is an animal product like blood—manufactured in the body. Who is right—the rishis or the Quakers?

If you sit to decide sin and virtue from the outside, you will be lost; every thread will tangle. There is nothing that some religion has not called sin, and nothing that some religion has not called virtue. Whom will you follow, and why?

Jesus drank wine. Is wine sin or virtue? If Jesus drank, how can it be sin? Ramakrishna ate fish. Is fish sin or virtue? If Ramakrishna ate it, how can it be sin? Mahavira went nude. Is nudity sin or virtue? If nudity is sin, then Mahavira sinned—impossible.

The other can never be the final authority. The criterion must arise within you. Each person must find the lamp for his own life within.

That is why I do not give you conduct; I give you meditation. Conduct without meditation is worthless. Conduct born of inner transformation has a different aura, beauty, and flavor.

That is exactly what the sutra says:
tarati śokaṁ, tarati pāpmānam.
Notice its wonder: ordinarily saints tell you—“Be free of sin and then you will know Brahman.” This sutra says—“Know Brahman and then you will be free of sin.” And this is the truth.

guhāgranthi-bhyo vimukto ’mṛto bhavati.
Freed from the knots of the heart, he becomes immortal.
One who has known the inner knower, the seer, has all knots cut. No more tangles. His life becomes straight, clear, simple. Not a forced simplicity—not a made-up sainthood—but a natural, spontaneous simplicity like flowers, like the moon and stars, like the eyes of a child.

Kamal Bharati!... Kamal has just returned from traveling around the whole world. Naturally this question must have arisen for him again and again: why are Indians rejected and disrespected?...
We must look for the reasons. Are there reasons?

First: the Indian ego—the claim that we are a holy land, a land of merit; that we are religious people, that we are virtuous—creates disrespect in the world. These proclamations of yours have become hollow. Ages have passed; long ago they turned hollow. Yes, once there were a few people in this country who, realizing the divine, became radiant; who had known the nectar. But because of a few people, no land called India becomes holy. Are lands anywhere holy or unholy? The earth is one. Even the land is not really separate. It’s not as if India and China are cut apart. It’s not as if India and Pakistan are truly divided. The division exists only on maps.

And what a joke! Until just a few days ago—in other words, before 1947—Pakistan was a holy land; Lahore and Dhaka too. And now? Now Lahore and Dhaka are no longer holy land. What happened suddenly? How did a land holy for centuries become impure overnight? And whom do you call holy land? On what basis do you call it holy?

So this haughtiness of yours becomes the cause of disrespect. This swagger must be dropped. Indians are very vain—and there is no strength behind the conceit. Even if there were strength, that would be one thing. Even if there were some reason for pride, that would be one thing. Even then, pride would be wrong—and here it is baseless conceit! For twenty-two hundred years you remained enslaved, and even now you keep saying that the gods long to be born in India! After twenty-two hundred years of slavery you still do not understand that you are cowardly, that you have become impotent, that you no longer have the capacity to accept challenges in life. But you take even this as a matter of pride! You think perhaps it too was God’s gift that we were made slaves—because not even a leaf moves without his will. “Ah, he must have willed it; only then did we become slaves. And when he willed it, who are we to will otherwise? We are always in agreement with him. We are devout people, religious people.”

Your religion teaches you that the soul is immortal—and there is no people in the world more afraid of death than you. On what basis do you ask for respect? You yourselves are the greatest refutation of your scriptures. The scriptures say, “He who knows Brahman becomes Brahman.”... We have just tried to understand this saying from the Mundaka Upanishad.... And how many here are there who know Brahman? But there are plenty of Brahmins. Only he deserves to call himself a Brahmin who has known Brahman. One who has not known Brahman is no Brahmin at all! A Brahmin without knowing Brahman! How can anyone be a Brahmin without knowing Brahman! And knowing Brahman is not a matter of scholarship—that you have memorized the Vedas, that you have learned the Upanishads by heart, that you have started parroting the Gita. And you take this parroting to be knowledge! You cannot deceive the world.

Therefore, Kamal, there is rejection of you, and disrespect too. And it is absolutely natural—because of you yourselves. At this time there is no country on earth with a more hypocritical personality than India. India’s political leaders are hypocrites; India’s religious leaders are hypocrites. They say one thing and do another—the exact opposite of what they say. Because of these two, the entire image of India has been shattered. Just look at your sadhus and saints! What they say, and what they do!...

First of all, just gauge the misfortune of this country! “Kachchh-Kesari!” Villages, neighborhoods, lanes, alleys—everywhere there are “kesaris”! If someone were at least a “Bharat-Kesari,” one could understand—but “Kachchh-Kesari”! I had never even heard of these Kachchh-Kesaris before. Who knows in what cave they were hiding! All of a sudden they have let out a lion’s roar. And what a lion’s roar! The same hypocrisy, the same pretension. “Kachchh-Kesari!” Even monks and sadhus speak the language of ego! At the very least a monk should say, “I am a human being, not a lion.” Leave that to the Lions Club! Those who have nothing in their lives, who enter their homes with their tails between their legs, become members of the Lions Club. At least then they can feel, “We are lions!” That is why such fancy names are chosen. At home they are drenched cats, and in the Lions Club—look—tie knotted, perfume sprinkled, they stand there and convince their minds.

But at least a monk should say, “I have set out in search of God.” To call oneself a lion is to fall even below being human. Is a lion above a human being? If some sardar, some Rajput, some soldier speaks in the language of lions, one can understand: “All right, he’s fallen below humanity.” But to be a monk and a “Kachchh-Kesari”! And “Achal Gacchadhipati”—the immovable head of the Achal Gacch! Where everything in this world is moving, where is this immovability you claim? Achal! Even the Himalayas are not achal. We call the mountains immovable, but they are not. The Himalayas are moving; they are still rising. There is no mention of the Himalayas in the Rig Veda. On this basis Lokmanya Tilak argued that the Vedas—at least the Rig Veda—are ninety thousand years old. And it is a significant point: since the Himalayas are not mentioned, the hymns must have been composed when the Himalayas were not yet there. And the Himalayas are indeed the youngest mountains. The Vindhyas are older, more ancient. The Vindhyas are the oldest mountains in the world, and that is why the poor things have bent—stooped with age. Don’t think some rishi went south and commanded, “Remain bowed until I return,” and then never came back, so the poor mountain is still bowed. It’s simply old age; in old age anyone bends. Mountains too.

The Himalayas are new. They are still rising—every year at least a foot higher. They too are not immovable. Even the Himalayas are formed and reformed. And those who tell the whole world that everything is moving, impermanent, they themselves sit as “Achal Gacchadhipati”—immovable!

And what are these “gacchs” of theirs? Flocks of sheep—that’s what “gacch” means. And how many gacchs are there among the Jains? The number is not great—some three to three-and-a-half million Jains. Two main sects: Digambar and Shvetambar. Then smaller subsects. And among those, still smaller gacchs… a web of politics spread everywhere.

And what does their statement say? “The sacred soil of Kutch.” These people who talk of the soul, they place their trust in dirt. They talk of the soul but rely on mud. Mud is mud—whether it is of Kutch or Cuttack, Calcutta or Coimbatore; mud is mud! Whether of Constantinople or California—what difference does it make? On what basis will you prove that Kutch’s soil is sacred? Can you give some chemical, some scientific basis for sacredness? But no—mindless talk! And because of such mindless talk the whole world laughs, mocks.

The Indian has become a laughingstock.

And they say that my going there will put Kutch on the path of immorality. So, O Kachchh-Kesari, what are you doing there? For thousands of years your kind of kesaris have been entrenched there, and you still haven’t managed to put Kutch on the path of morality… Fourteen saints and mahants have issued a joint statement that Kutch will drown in immorality if I go there. You fourteen, I alone! You lead it to morality; I will lead it to immorality—then let Kutch decide! Who are you to force morality onto people? Have you taken a contract for morality? Why are you so alarmed? Why is the ground slipping from under your feet?

The alarm is this: in the face of the truth I speak, you will turn pale. You are fireflies of the night, not Kachchh-Kesaris or anything of the sort! In the daylight people will see what the firefly really is. That is what frightens you. Otherwise, what have you to worry about? Does the sun fear the darkness? If anything fears, it is the darkness. I am not afraid. I am ready to come anywhere! If Kashi invites, I will settle in Kashi. I will “defile” Kashi’s sacred soil! If Rishikesh calls, I will settle in Rishikesh and corrupt all the rishis! I am ready!

If anyone should be afraid, it is I—since, according to you, I teach immorality while you teach morality; I teach irreligion, you religion; I lead people into darkness, you into light. I should be afraid—yet you are the ones afraid! And I am alone, while with you stand all the sadhus, saints, and mahants of India. What is there for you to fear! Your Sanatan Dharma, your age-old Vedas, your Upanishads, your Gita—why are you so terrified of one single man? Surely you are rotten within. There is nothing inside—only chaff.

These are the people because of whom India is disrespected. They no longer have the capacity to accept a challenge. They should have rejoiced that I am coming: “Good, there will be a challenge! Good, a dialogue will arise! Kutch will awaken; a breeze will blow!” And why fear if truth is with you—satyameva jayate. And if the truth is with me, then too truth should win. Truth alone must win—this should be the wish of us all. But they are afraid about their “truth.” They don’t trust it. They know their hypocrisy.

Now they say Kutch will move onto the path of immorality. You couldn’t lead it to morality in centuries, and I will lead it to immorality in five or ten years? Then obviously the people of Kutch are sitting fully prepared to go the immoral way—just waiting for a signal, someone to wave a little flag! Who are you to stop them? Are you their owners? Is Kutch your father’s property?

They say, “The children of Kutch.” And they have become monks, yet are still “children of Kutch”! What tiny circles! They have not been freed even from Kutch—how will they be freed from the body? The body is made of earth. The soul is part of the divine. The soul is not a child of mud; it is not earthen. Proclaim the element of consciousness within you—why this talk of soil! But these are lions of the mud! They tremble that if a little rain falls, the paint will run off! They are false lions.

I have heard: A politician lost an election. After losing, it became hard to make ends meet. And he had no other smarts; not educated either. Only one profession requires no qualifications—politician. Even to be a peon they ask for at least fourth-standard Hindi, at least middle-school pass. He didn’t have even that. He didn’t sign; he was a thumb-impresser. So he was in great trouble: how to earn bread?
Someone said there was a vacancy at the circus. He rushed to the manager. The manager said, “There is a vacancy, but can you do the job?” “What can I not do!” he said. “I’ve done all sorts of things—minister of this department, minister of that; I have experience—just tell me the job.” The manager said, “It’s not hard. Our lion died. We have its skin. You just have to get inside it and pace the cage, so people think the lion is alive. During the two or three hours the circus runs, you keep circling, so people don’t suspect. We even have the lion’s roar on tape; every now and then we’ll play it and people will be happy.” “That’s no hard thing,” said the leader.
That very night he got into the lion’s skin. The tape recorder roared mightily—and the leader enjoyed it! He enjoys frightening the public! He enjoys grinding his heel on another’s chest! He would press the button from inside, the roar would erupt—children would cry, women would faint—his heart would be delighted. “This is better than being a leader!”
Just then the door opened and another lion was brought in. Seeing the other lion, he leapt up on two legs and shouted, “Save me! Save me!” He forgot he was a lion. “Save me! Save me!” He panicked: “That other lion is coming—now I’m done for! It’s easy to deceive humans; can you deceive a lion? In two swats he’ll set me right!” When the audience saw him stand on two legs, they too jumped up: “A miracle! The lion is standing on two legs and speaking human language—‘Save me! I’m finished!’” The other lion said, “Don’t panic. Do you think you’re the only leader who lost an election? I lost too!”
Then the secret was out—both were in skins from above!

These Kachchh-Kesaris, these Achal Gacchadhipatis—they are all defeated politicians! Their language is still political. And now they say they are the “policymakers” of Kutch! Who appointed you policymakers? Who gave you that right? Praising yourselves with your own mouths! And if you are policymakers, then face me—I will come! You lay down your policy; I will refute it. Then let the one who wins, win. Give the people the chance to choose; they will choose what they wish. If your policy is so sweet, so nectar-giving, the people will surely choose it. I will be happy, because people should always choose what is wholesome. But why are you so scared? Why are you standing on two legs yelling, “Save us! We’re finished!”

They say, “How can we watch this with a cool heart?” Even as monks the heart is hot! As monks at least cool your hearts! This heat of heart does not befit a monk! The heart is hot—go bathe and wash! Jain monks do not bathe—the heart will certainly get hot. Drink cold water at night! If you pass the night without drinking, your heart will get hot. They are full of sweat; the hairs, the pores, all have become clogged. And that is why they say their thirty million hairs will stand on end. No, they won’t! Because your pores must have clogged long ago. Sweat and Kutch’s dust and whirlwinds—what is there in Kutch except desert? This is the body of a Jain monk—sticky with sweat; and then Kutch’s dust; and your body hair will stand? They must have forgotten how! Your pores are long closed, dead; that is why the heart is hot. Cool air enters through the hairs.

Remember, a person does not breathe only through the nose; he breathes through his hairs too. Scientists say that if all the hairs of a person are completely sealed and the nose left open, and the whole body painted—layer upon layer of tar—he will die in three hours. Even if he breathes through the nose, he will die in three hours, because each hair breathes. Each hair is a tiny opening through which air enters, keeping your blood fresh and cool. Now your heart is hot—what can I do? Your heart is hot—bathe, wash, change your underwear! Who knows since when you have been wearing the same kachcha! The Kachchis have this bad habit: once they put on a kachcha, they keep wearing it; they don’t change it.

Now they say that behind God’s name an obscene drama is going on, in which the modesty of women—mothers and sisters included—is being looted. How delightful! I did not write Vatsyayana’s Kama Sutra. Maharshi Vatsyayana wrote it. Nor did I write Pandit Koka’s Kokashastra. Pandit Koka wrote it—he was a great pandit, a Kashmiri Brahmin. And I did not carve the nude figures on the temples of Khajuraho, Konark, and Puri. At least don’t put that burden on me. And you accuse me of obscenity! There is no country more “obscene” than India—because here the first treatises on sex were written. Here Kokashastra was composed. The first temples like Konark and Khajuraho were built here. Nowhere else in the world are there such temples. Nowhere else were such books written in ancient times. And you lay the blame on me! I had no hand in any of it.

And you, being Jain monks—when Mahavira walked naked, did mothers and sisters not feel ashamed? Did they not pull down their veils? Mahavira stood stark naked—think at least of mothers and sisters! And you are Jain monks! Your twenty-four tirthankaras remained nude. And they were handsome, well-built men—your idols testify to it; strong, beautiful bodies. When they roamed naked, what must have happened to the women? Think at least of that! And you impose obscenity on me! There should be at least some fidelity to truth, some honesty!

You say, “Will our thirty million hairs not stand on end seeing this naked scene?” Let them, if they will! There is no naked scene here. But if your heart so desires, we can arrange a naked scene too—just so your hairs may stand. Let life happen once! Let there be something! In Kutch, nothing has happened for centuries—let something happen! That is why I chose Kutch—it is utterly dead! I haven’t even gone yet, and the stir has begun; a great to-do is on; statement upon statement is being issued; there is an uproar—and I haven’t gone anywhere yet. Whether I go or not is not even certain. Who can predict me! Perhaps I am simply making fools of you all: “O wise ones of Kutch, you make your noise!” Then if I feel like it, I will provoke the pundits of Kashi. Who can predict me! I could even go to the Kaaba. There is no obstacle for me. Just think how much fun I am having sitting right here! Life is returning into one dung-idol after another! I call it life-giving—that those long dead begin to breathe again.

They have called upon all the youth of Kutch and Gujarat to be alert. Why are you after the youth? If the old are offended, let the old be alert! The youth are with me. And whoever is not with me—what kind of youth is he! If he has even a little youthfulness, a little energy of youth, he will be with me. Only these rotten corpses and old people can be with you. With me, even the old become young; with you, even the young become old. Only those who are not truly young can be with you.

But it’s delightful. Yesterday I saw another statement: the president of the Great Kutch Conference has called upon the youth to be ready to donate blood. Donate blood yourselves! Why trap the youth! If blood must be donated, let the old do it. They have to go anyway—let them go by this route; donate blood and take leave; there’s too much crowd—let a little space open up. But what will these gentlemen do? They will watch the spectacle; they will incite the youth.

All these hypocrites who have gathered in this country in the name of religion, in the name of politics, and who are spreading every kind of stupidity—because of them, Kamal, India is disreputed. I want to free you from them. If you are freed from hypocrisy, India can again be respected, can again reach the summits of glory. But without being freed from hypocrisy, it will not happen.

Your politicians are hypocrites; it is necessary to be free of them.

Chandamal says to Thakur Alamgir:
“They reached the moon—but what arrow did they shoot?
What arrow did they shoot? They returned to earth again—
Crores were spent; they brought back pebbles and dust.
A leader’s trade is a million times better:
Without going to the moon he digests the ‘chanda’—the donations.”

The leader said to Kishmish Lal from Akhrot:
“Huzoor, please solve one question of mine.
One question—there’s something I don’t grasp:
Why does a hen sit on her eggs?”
The leader replied, “We’ll arrange it right away—
We’ll have a chair installed in the hen’s room.”

This gang of hypocrites that has gathered, this herd of fools sitting on your chest—that is the reason for the insult and disrespect. Otherwise, there is no other cause.

That’s all for today.