Geeta Darshan #2

Now, the sutra:
O Bharata, Krishna said: The faith of all men conforms to their inner nature, and man is made of faith. As a man’s faith is, so is he. Men of sattva worship the gods; men of rajas worship yakshas and rakshasas; and those of tamas worship ghosts and spirits.

The faith of human beings matches their inner state.

If your inner being is full of tamas, your faith cannot be sattvic. Faith sprouts within you; the seed breaks open in the soil of your heart; your soil nourishes and strengthens it; that plant is yours. So the nature of your inner being determines your faith. Knowing your inner being accurately becomes knowing your faith.

In this sutra Krishna is saying very important things for the seeker. First, you must know the condition of your inner being. Don’t imagine that tamasic people are purely tamasic. A purely tamasic person cannot exist. A person of purely tamasic disposition cannot exist—because without a mixture of the three no one can exist.

So when we say tamasic, we mean it relatively. We mean tamas is more, rajas less, sattva less—the proportion of tamas is higher, that’s all. No one can be totally tamasic; he would fall apart. To be, all three are necessary.

So if a person is tamasic, understand: perhaps seventy percent tamas, twenty-nine percent rajas, one percent sattva. But even one percent sattva is necessary. Otherwise, remove one leg of a three-legged stool and it collapses immediately; a person whose one leg is gone cannot live.

You are a tripod; you need all three legs. The proportions may vary. One leg may be extremely thin, thread-like—but it is still necessary. Another leg may be very thick, elephantine—that can be. But there will be three legs. Your chicken walks on three legs; with less it won’t walk!

A tamasic person is filled with deep inertia, but the other elements are present.

First understand this: no one is purely tamasic; no one purely rajasic; no one purely sattvic. Even in the purest, in a Buddha, until the body is dropped, the leg of tamas remains. It keeps thinning; the ratio reverses. Your tamas leg is elephant-foot; Buddha’s tamas leg is like a mosquito’s leg—yet it remains. As long as there is a body, the three remain.

Hence Buddha spoke of two nirvanas. The first nirvana is when samadhi is attained but the body remains—this is not complete nirvana. The person is liberated while alive—the chains are broken, but the prison stands. The prisoner is no more; the shackles are gone; it may even be that the jailer is pleased with this person’s sattva and has made him a kind of supervisor over other prisoners. He remains within the prison; the walls still exist. The jailer might be so pleased that he allows him to go in and out to buy vegetables; there is no fear he will run away. Still, he must return. Sometimes he even goes home and chats with family—but still he must return.

For now his boat remains tied to the bank of the body. His freedom has increased—a lot. He is almost as free as those outside the prison—but almost. A little thing is still pending: he is tethered to the body. We call him jivanmukta, liberated in life, because he is ninety-nine percent free. Nothing remains—everything is done. Only the falling of the body is left.

Therefore Buddha said: when the body falls, then comes the great parinirvana, the great samadhi. The jivanmukta then attains moksha; freedom becomes his nature. Now the walls have fallen, the prison is no more; the chains are shattered.

In a rajasic person too there is tamas and sattva. All three are present in everyone. That all three are present is precisely what makes transformation possible. Otherwise it would be difficult. If someone were one hundred percent tamasic—twenty-four carat tamas—then nothing could be done. He would lie like a corpse, in a coma, unconscious—because even awareness requires some rajas. He wouldn’t move his limbs; he wouldn’t open his eyes; his living would not be living—he would be like a living corpse. There would be no possibility of revolution.

The presence of the other elements opens the door to transformation; on their support one can go from one to another. Like sitting in a dark room where a thin ray of sunlight slips in through a crack in the tiles. Thick darkness everywhere, but a tiny ray enters the dark. That is the doorway. If you wish, you can travel along that ray to the sun itself, even if it is millions of miles away. If you catch hold of that one ray, you can reach the source of the sun. The deep darkness can be left behind; the journey is possible. So all three elements are present in everyone—this is the first thing to grasp.

The second thing: the proportion of the three is never static. At night tamas increases; during the day rajas increases; at twilight sattva increases. Hence Hindus understood twilight to be the time for prayer.

In the morning, when the night has gone and the sun has not yet risen—that is the brahmamuhurta. It is called brahmamuhurta because of the inner economy of the gunas. Night has passed, the earth is awakening, birds have begun to call, trees have risen, people are emerging from sleep; the net of tamas is shrinking across the earth. The sun is near the horizon; soon its net of rays will spread; soon everything will rise—rajas will be born. With sunrise, the world of work commences. The sun has not yet risen—rajas is about to arise. Night has gone—tamas has departed. This small middle interval is sandhya, the juncture.

Sandhya means the in-between time, the middle moment. In that middle moment the quotient of sattva is higher—it is the junction of the two. Therefore you should use that time for meditation. If meditation is born of sattva, it will be far-reaching. If you make that sattva into meditation, gradually sattva within you will increase.

Likewise in the evening, the sun has set, the rajas-business is closing down; the sun has folded up shop, closing doors. Night is coming; the first footfalls of night are audible. There is a small middle hour—that is sandhya.

All religions have chosen the middle times. Because at that juncture, when the two are briefly conjoined, the sattva-moment is significant.

Within you it may be that fifty or sixty percent is tamas, thirty or forty percent rajas, one percent sattva—at that middle time that one percent becomes dominant. And if you use it, you have used the brahmamuhurta.

Hence for Hindus the very word “prayer” became synonymous with sandhya. When they pray they say, “We are doing sandhya.” They have forgotten what it meant!

In Islam too there is a rule—at sunrise, at sunset, when the sun is at the zenith—five solar times were chosen. But two are there as well: morning and evening. In those hours sattva is intense. At night tamas grows; in the day rajas grows.

So within you the proportion does not remain the same through twenty-four hours. That is why beggars come to ask in the early morning. At that time there is a little shade of sattva—you might give. Beggars don’t come to beg late in the day. They know a man tired from rajas becomes irritable, angry. At the mere sight of a beggar he’ll be enraged—he’ll want to snatch rather than give.

Early morning you wake and a beggar arrives at your door—saying no is a bit difficult. It is still you; in the evening it will still be you; at noon still you. But in the morning refusal sticks in your throat—an emphatic no feels wrong. Something inside says, “Give something.” Sattva is deep.

One who is intelligent will structure his life to take precise advantage of these gunas. If you want to do something auspicious, choose the twilight; your progress will be greater. If something inauspicious, choose midnight; your momentum will be greater. Murderers, thieves, all choose midnight.

At dawn even a thief will find it difficult to steal; a murderer will find it hard to kill—the current of his life will be different. At high noon the world’s offices and shops open—eleven o’clock—the business of rajas. The market is in full swing when the sun is high. Then it all wanes. At night people gather in clubs, to drink, to dance. They knock at the doors of prostitutes—tamas is dense.

Sometimes you are astonished: a man you saw praying at dawn, the same man you see at noon cheating people at the market, and at night you find him in a brothel drinking. You’re amazed—“What’s going on? Is this the same man?”

You think his prayer is false. Not necessary. The prayer may have been true. You think the tilak and sandal paste he applies in his shop is all humbug. When he put it on, the feeling of tilak-sandal may have been genuine; don’t assume it was always false. The tilak does not fade—because the tilak is on the skin; what changes is the inner play of tamas, rajas, sattva.

So he sits in the shop saying “Hari bol, Hari bol” while he picks your pocket. It is not necessary that his “Hari bol” is always false; sometimes, in certain moments, it is utterly true. And the same man goes to the brothel at night.

You cannot trust it because you don’t know: a person is not one, he is three. In every person there are at least three persons. If there are thirteen, that’s another matter. But three there are at minimum. There’s a saying: when a person becomes completely corrupt, people say, “Three became thirteen.” Three are there, but now they’ve become thirteen—now the matter is bad; it’s all fragmented.

If you observe your life carefully, you will understand many things. Anyone who wants to live consciously should continually observe his life and note in which moments the auspicious becomes strong. Use those moments for the auspicious—and lengthen them as much as possible. Let your dawn be as long as possible; let your twilight be as long as possible. And the fragrance you gain in auspicious moments—try to draw it into the other hours too. Only then will transformation happen; otherwise it will not.

This change of proportion happens not only across a day; it happens across life. In a child sattva is greater—because it is life’s dawn. In youth rajas is greater—because it is the bustle, the marketplace of life. In old age both rajas and sattva wane and tamas increases—because death approaches. Death means falling into complete tamas.

Now, a curious fact—yet all old people like to instruct others. They even try to direct children. It should be the other way around: the old should follow the children. Evening should follow the dawn. The world is upside down. Here the river sits on the boat instead of the boat on the river. The old drive the children—this is wrong. Evening directing morning is wrong. The old should follow the children, because children are innocent.

Jesus said: Only those who are as simple and guileless as children will enter my Father’s kingdom.

An old person becomes cunning—how could he not? A lifetime of experience—ploys, arts, politics, tricks—deceptions given and received—so much experience. For an old person to be guileless is difficult; if he is, he is a saint.

A child is innocent, but not a saint. All children are innocent—naturally so. That is no earned virtue. A child’s saintliness will be lost. At fourteen sex will awaken; rajas will arise; all will be forgotten; the innocence of childhood will be lost.

Have you noticed? All babies look beautiful when they are born—not one is ugly. And almost everyone becomes ugly growing up—it is rare for someone to remain beautiful. What is the matter?

Children are in sattva; they have just come straight from God’s house. That fragrance still envelops their body. Freshly born—the dawn moment, the brahmamuhurta. Children are a brahmamuhurta. The prayer is still ringing; the temple bells are still sounding; the tilak is fresh; the sandalwood’s fragrance is on the hands—they have just come from the source. Tomorrow it will be lost.

If ever the world becomes wise, the old will follow the children and learn from them. Their childlikeness is the alchemy of sainthood. And when an old person becomes childlike again, a unique event happens in this world. When an old person becomes like a child, an incomparable beauty dawns.

No youthful beauty compares to the beauty of such an old person. Because youth carries tension, restlessness, running, commotion, hustle. How can a young person be that beautiful? There is a storm, a gale. In old age all becomes quiet—the storm has passed; the gale has bid farewell. These are the moments after the storm, when everything is still and a deep silence pervades.

If an old person reanimates childhood, he becomes a saint. Otherwise he becomes profoundly tamasic. That is why old people become very tamasic. Their lives become almost corpse-like—irritable, angry, demanding that everything be done for them, unwilling to do anything themselves! Expectation from everything and complaint about everything. Nothing satisfies. The whole world seems insubstantial, futile. Desire does not die; ambition remains lit. The demand endures; the doing is gone.

So within life, the hours change and the proportions shift. And not only across life—the proportions shift day by day. Circumstances also change the proportions.

At noon you were in a great rush. Suddenly someone brings you good news—at once the inner proportions change. A happy message halts your rush; joy arises; the inner ratio shifts. You were very sattvic at dawn; someone informs you that someone died—sadness descends, and tamas envelops.

So at every moment circumstances alter things. You should study all this within yourself carefully so that you can use it rightly. And the person who does not allow his inner ratio to be determined by circumstance, or by the flow of time, or by the stages of life—that person is a seeker.

That is why sadhana seems so difficult: one who is in blazing noon as if in brahmamuhurta; who is in old age as if in childhood—that is where sadhana begins.

First observe correctly. Then, thinking it through, change the rhythm of your life. And change it in such a way that there is no excess. Let the three proportions become equal.

One-third tamas—necessary. Therefore in twenty-four hours, eight hours of sleep are necessary—that is one-third tamas. Sleep less and there will be harm; sleep more and there will be harm. Eight hours are needed. Eight hours are needed for the hustle of life—rajas; running, striving; the expansion of ambition. That too must be experienced—because if unexperienced, you will not ripen; you will not go beyond. Eight hours for trade, work, bustle. Eight hours for sattva—prayer, worship, meditation. Divide your life into one-third, one-third, one-third.

If your whole time is divided in that proportion, gradually you will find the ratio stabilizes. Then it won’t swing with night or day, with youth or old age. This steadiness is what I call the attainment of sattva. Because when all three balance, a music begins in you—unknown, never heard before.

Therefore I say: don’t run to the Himalayas—because that is an attempt to live twenty-four hours in sattva. That too is an excess. So I tell the sannyasin as well: live at home. Eight hours a sannyasin, eight hours a shopkeeper. Eight hours in sleep—neither sannyasin nor shopkeeper. Rest is needed—from sannyas too, from the shop too!

In trying to be a sannyasin for twenty-four hours, India has lost much. Those sannyasins did not become true sannyasins—because they cannot. They tried to break off two legs of the tripod and stand on one—and became lame. India’s sannyas became badly crippled and fell in the dust; grandeur did not arise; the sannyasin lost balance.

And you cannot break the other two legs—because they are essential for living. They sneak back in by the back door. The sannyasin shows outwardly that he has no interest in wealth, while inwardly he hoards money. Outwardly he shows no ambition, but the mind remains stretched on expansion. Outwardly he shows there is no tamas in his life, but inside a terrible inertia gathers.

You cannot run away; you cannot go against the law of life. Use the law. The wise one uses the law of life to rise beyond life. The foolish one tries to break the law to get out—and only gets more entangled.

Sannyas is an art of balance.

O Bharata: The faith of all human beings accords with their inner being. Man is made of faith; therefore, as a person’s faith is, so is he.

Your faith is you. If your faith is in laziness, your life will be a story of laziness. If your faith is in rajas, in ambition and running, your life will be rush and race. If your faith is in sattva, in peace, in emptiness, in the auspicious, your life will carry a fragrance of heaven—not of this earth. Your faith is you.

Recognize your faith rightly, because not recognizing it creates great complexity. A man may be lazy at heart, yet crave the pleasures that come to the rajasic—then you’ll be in trouble. Your faith is you. Or a man may be rajasic, caught in hustle, yet want the peace that comes to the sattvic—this cannot be.

A politician comes to me sometimes. He says, “I want peace.” You cannot have peace. It’s nobody’s fault. In the frenzy of politics, how will you be peaceful? And if you do become peaceful, who will do the very running you are now obsessed with—how to become a minister, a chief minister, how to get this and that? If you become peaceful, that too will become peaceful.

So I said to him, “Choose between the two. I can make you peaceful—but then politics will go; this madness will go.” And if you want to complete this madness, don’t talk of peace. Don’t come to me.” He said, “I’ll do this: give me two years. Let me try two more years.”

He has become a minister in a state; now he wants to become chief minister. “Two years! After that I must be peaceful!”

He is unlikely ever to become peaceful. In two years is it certain he will be chief minister? And having become chief minister, will no ambition arise to enter the central cabinet? For running, the running remains; for “more,” the desire remains “more.”

He will never come. One who is going to come, comes now. One who understands, comes now. He who says “tomorrow,” does not understand—that’s why he postpones. Who knows about tomorrow? And the one who postpones to tomorrow will postpone tomorrow to tomorrow. He will form the habit of postponing to tomorrow.

Know your faith rightly; and do not ask contrary to your faith. If you must ask for something different, then transform your faith. Otherwise you will be badly tangled inside; you will become a riddle to yourself.

People have become riddles. They want pleasures that belong to the rajasic; peace that belongs to the sattvic; and rest that belongs to the lazy—all at once. Impossible; nothing gets attained.

Know your inside rightly—because your faith is your life.

“As a person’s faith is, so is he.” And once you truly see within, you will quickly understand that fulfillment cannot come from just one; the confluence of all three is required. Only in the union of the three does contentment flower; only then does satisfaction rain down. And from the union of the three, the sense of the One begins to dawn. This threefold harmony slowly leads you to the One who is beyond the gunas.

What you have to attain is That which is beyond the three. That One is to be sought. Make the three legs equal in proportion and strength, and you will find the tripod has steadied. When the tripod is steady, all is steady. Now you can place your foot on the tripod and begin the journey to the One.

“Those who are sattvic worship the gods.”

These are symbols—keep them in mind. One whose inclination is sattvic naturally venerates what is sattvic. You respect what you are and what you wish to become.

If you go to the station to welcome a politician, even if you’re not in politics, the fact you go to welcome him shows you are rajasic. You may have had no chance to plunge into that turmoil—wife, children, livelihood prevent it—but you go to have the darshan of the politician—your faith! Or a film star comes and you throng—your faith. Or a sannyasin arrives and you go for darshan—your faith. Your faith moves you.

The sattvic worship the devas—the divine.

Divinity means those in whose lives the music of the three in harmony has begun. They have not yet attained the One; the journey remains; but a great milestone has been reached—the tripod is steady. In their life the music of heaven sounds. The rest is symbolic: that the gods dwell in heaven. There is no such heaven somewhere else. They live right here around you. But you will see them only if you have the eye of sattva. Without that eye you will not see—because faith is the eye.

Right next to you, perhaps your neighbor; perhaps in your own house; perhaps in your wife; perhaps in your husband. If you have the eye of sattva, you will see. If not, you won’t. If a husband becomes sattvic and the wife lacks that eye, she will see something else entirely.

Many women come to complain: “Don’t ruin our husbands; don’t entangle them in meditation. The children are still growing. Livelihood has just started. If he gets absorbed in meditation, what will happen?”

If sattva is arising in the husband, the wife doesn’t see it. Her faith is still rajasic—“We need a few more ornaments.” She is ready to sacrifice the husband’s meditation, not her ornaments. “The house is still too small—let it get bigger. There is hardly any balance in the bank—what will happen in old age? If something happens to him tomorrow, what will we do?”

No concern with the husband’s soul, no concern with his life. Only worry if something happens to him—so there must be a bank balance, whether the husband remains or goes. Faith in rajas.

So when a husband sits to meditate, wives obstruct. If the wife begins to develop faith in sattva, husbands become restless. They come to me and say, “What have you done! You’ve created upheaval. Now my wife has less interest in sex—she sits in meditation! What should I do? My sexuality hasn’t died! Please help. I’m still young.” These are old-age things, they say. “Better to teach her meditation after fifty.”

You see only in accordance with your faith. Even when an event like meditation is happening, you don’t feel blessed. The wife is becoming peaceful and the husband feels pain.

You’ll be astonished—people have told me, wives have said, “My husband doesn’t get angry anymore—it unsettles me. Earlier when he used to get angry, it was fine. Now it seems he’s become indifferent. In his non-anger we feel neglected.” They don’t see that a flower has blossomed in this man’s life—we should rejoice. They see only that “Now he doesn’t care; even if we abuse him he listens because nothing matters to him. He has become indifferent.”

Remember, people don’t like indifference. They would rather you abuse them—at least there is enough interest to abuse! Indifference hurts. “He’s out of my hands now. Becoming so detached, one day he’ll run away from home—what will I do?” She prefers that he be angry, quarrel, even beat her—just don’t meditate.

Only with the eye of sattva does sattva become visible.

Deva means one whose life is balanced; one in whom sattva has given the fragrance of equilibrium so that he now stands on the shore of liberation. Heaven is that boundary from where one can leap into moksha. He’s held back a little—the hold is that he has fallen in love with the music itself; he must dare to let go even of that. It is a golden chain—very sweet.

Hence we do not call the gods liberated. And whenever a Buddha is born, our stories say the gods come to listen—asking for the path to liberation. They must come—now they are bound by the joy of sattva. Heaven too is bondage—sweet bondage, but a thorn nonetheless. However sweet the pain, it must be plucked out.

Those whose faith is sattvic worship the devas. Wherever they encounter divinity, their heads bow.

“Those whose faith is rajasic worship yakshas and rakshasas.”

Rakshasa means one in whom rajas has become intense—sattva and tamas have been suppressed, only rajas is powerful.

Great politicians are rakshasas. You don’t think in those symbols anymore because you’ve forgotten their meanings. You think Ravana was a rakshasa. Why? He was the most successful politician! He built a golden Lanka. What more does a successful politician want? Your successful politicians can’t even provide mud huts for the people; society starves. But he built a city of gold. How much more successful can a politician be?

Ravana was the consummate politician; a cunning strategist; immensely powerful. His drive was vast. The story goes that had he not been removed from Sita’s swayamvara, he would have won her; Rama would have returned empty-handed. He was removed. There was fear—because he was such a master politician, and so powerful, that he did not have one head but ten! All politicians have ten heads. Not one face—ten.

All politicians are Dashanan. You can never be sure which face they are showing you. As needed, they show that face. When they need votes, they smile—one face. When the votes are won, they act as if they don’t even recognize you—another face. In power—one face; out of power—another: hands folded, head bowed, “We are your servants.” Ten faces! Cut one off and another springs up. That is why killing the politician is difficult.

At the swayamvara, the story says, seeing that Ravana might carry the day… There were many reasons: he was also a devotee of Shiva.

You will always find politicians as someone’s devotee. If not someone, then at least many astrologers in Delhi—they devote themselves there. Reciting Hanuman Chalisa—because they must win elections!

This Ravana had even propitiated Shiva by offering his heads, they say. He was a devotee of Shiva, and that bow was Shiva’s. He would break it. And he was a strong man.

So the gods, seeing this, conspired. “This will be dangerous. Rama is a humble person; he won’t step forward. Ravana will leap up and break the bow. Rama may not even get a chance; perhaps no one will ask if Rama had come. Rama, by his very being, stands behind; he does not push to the front; he is not ambitious.”

Lakshmana was more ambitious than Rama. He jumped up a couple of times. “Brother, if you permit, I’ll break that bow right now.” He had to be restrained: “Sit! Wait a bit.” He too was eager to break it. He too was ambitious—he was a politician.

Ravana was removed. The gods made a loud racket around the swayamvara: “Ravana, what are you doing here? Lanka is on fire!” When Lanka is burning…

This too is worth pondering. A politician can sacrifice love, but not his capital. He ran to Lanka—forgot Sita, love, all the show. A politician can sacrifice love, but not his post. That’s why you will find politicians ready to abandon their wives; even ready to never marry. Their real swayamvara is with power.

Otherwise Ravana should have said, “Let Lanka burn.” If he truly loved Sita. But a politician has no heart—where would love come from! He had come to win. This too was a conquest—to add another trophy to his thousand wins: “I won Sita.” Like people bring home trophies—Sita was a trophy he would parade to Lanka: “Look, I won this too.” He had many queens already—no shortage. It’s not that they were less beautiful than Sita. A full harem. Sita was nothing in particular to him. Otherwise he would have said, “Fine.”

He ran. It was a divine conspiracy—a sattvic plot—to remove this rajasic man. Sita was worthy of Rama, meant for Rama. Let sattva unite with sattva—the gods arranged it.

This Ravana is a rakshasa. Don’t think rakshasa is some species of human. Rakshasa is a quality; the name of the politician; one mad for position.

“Men of rajas worship yakshas and rakshasas.”

They worship those who have power—or position—or wealth. Kubera is a yaksha. Kubera means the one who has the greatest wealth in the world—the treasurer of the gods. So either worship of wealth or worship of post. But behind both is worship of power.

Even if such a person worships gods and goddesses, he does it for power. He asks for more power. “Give me such power that I defeat everyone! Let me be unassailable!”

“And others, who are tamasic, worship ghosts and spirits.”

The third category—those filled with tamas. Their ambition is simply that their laziness remain undisturbed. No one should awaken them; their desires should be fulfilled by others; they should lie there. Let them remain in their stupor—drunk, asleep, negligent; let someone else fulfill their needs. Hence ghosts and spirits.

Ghosts and spirits means entities themselves tamas-predominant. They keep fulfilling these people’s cravings. Such types exist. The agent who takes you to the brothel is a ghost-spirit. The one who hooks you on money and gambling. The one who sells you lottery tickets, exciting you to wager. They increase your laziness. “We’ll do it for you—just give a little support and all will be well.”

A similar economy exists among disembodied souls too. As soon as souls leave the body… there are three kinds—because there are three gunas. You can propitiate spirits.

Many of you are eager to propitiate spirits. Someone should give you a talisman so that your illness goes away; someone should give you sacred ash so that a treasure appears. Your desire is to do nothing, to remain lazy while treasures move toward you. Spirits seduce such people. They exist in bodies—and outside bodies too.

Your faith takes you. You go to sadhus and saints—but it may be you’re not going to them at all. It depends on your faith. You might be going to a sadhu in the hope that going to him will make money rain down.

A man met me on a flight from Delhi to Bombay—he sat next to me. “Great grace, what a chance encounter! Just need your blessing.” I said, “Fine; blessing costs nothing.”

Fifteen days later he came to Jabalpur to see me. Fell at my feet. “Amazing! By your blessing—” I said, “What happened? Don’t implicate me. I’m not even sure I blessed you. I kept quiet only to avoid rudeness. What happened?”

“I won my court case. I will get ten lakh rupees. And truth is I shouldn’t have won; by law I should have lost. My claim was false. But your grace!” I said, “Don’t entangle me!”

This man is asking for blessing for a false case—to win. Such a person cannot reach a saint. Wherever he goes, his faith will corrupt his going.

Now when people ask me for blessings, I first ask, “Tell me your intention. Are you looking for a ghost or a spirit? Otherwise later you’ll implicate me.”

What do you seek? The ask emerges from your inner faith.

Krishna says there are three types. Search and see which you are.

If you want to see India’s tamasic people gathered in one place—go to Sathya Sai Baba. You will find them there. No need to search separately. You never go anywhere without cause. Your faith takes you.

Enough for today.