Geeta Darshan #10

Now the sutras:
“And, O Partha, by the steadfastness (dhriti) born of meditation-yoga, by which a person sustains the functions of mind, vital force and senses without wavering—that dhriti is sattvic.
“The dhriti by which, through strong attachment and desire for fruits, a person clings to duty, wealth and pleasures—that dhriti is rajasic.
“And, O Partha, the dhriti by which a person of perverted understanding does not abandon sleep, fear, grief and despondency, and even frenzy, but holds to them—that dhriti is tamasic.”

Dhriti is the power of holding—of dharana. These sutras are very precious; you will need them at every step. So if anyone has dozed off, please shake it off for a moment.

Our finding is this: in a person’s life, what occurs is what his dharana is. Dharana is the fundamental formula and foundation of your life. As you hold, so you become.

No one else torments you, nor does anyone else give you joy. Your dharana gives you joy and gives you sorrow. No one has bound you, nor will anyone else free you. Your dharana binds you and frees you. Therefore dharana is invaluable.

Buddha has said in the Dhammapada: as you think, so you become. Be careful while thinking, for right then you are laying the foundation of your future. Later the building is raised and then you weep.

What is happening in your life today is the fruit of dharanas formed yesterday, in the past. You wanted this; therefore it is happening. And what you hold today will manifest tomorrow.

The great difficulty is that you do not connect between dharana and its fruit, hence you get into trouble. You think someone else is giving you pain. It is the outcome of your own dharanas. You think others are persecuting you. No one is. Why would anyone bother? You are harried by the net of your own dharanas.

I had a friend when I was a professor in a college. He too was a professor. On Holi he drank bhang. He had never taken it—he was a simple man. He drank too much; people made a joke of him. He created a ruckus at a crossroads, hit a few people, and ran naked. The police caught him and locked him up for the night.

He lived with me. I waited till two o’clock; then I began to worry. This had never happened. Being straight is why he got into trouble. If he had been a bit crooked, even bhang wouldn’t have hit so hard. With experience, there would have been no mess. He had never drunk, so drank too much; lost his senses.

I went searching and found the police had taken him. After much effort I got him out at about three in the morning. I brought him home, but from that day he was seized by a dharana: that the police were against him; that the whole government was against him. That dharana deepened and deepened.

At first everyone took it as a joke—“in two or four days he’ll be fine; the bhang will wear off.” The bhang wore off, but the dharana did not. If he saw a policeman on the road he would turn back: “He’s standing there—he’ll catch me.”

Then it became real trouble. He made my life difficult too. At night if he heard a policeman’s whistle, he would quickly climb into my bed: “He’s whistling—they’ve come. Until now you wouldn’t believe me. Now listen to the footsteps, the shoes.” If a car stopped, anything at all—night after night it was a misery.

Then he began to tell me, spinning a web: “The police have a thick file on me; everything I’ve ever done is recorded there. They will catch me; this time they won’t let me go. Last time, somehow I was let off; this time they won’t.” He had to take leave from college; even going there became difficult. He walked startled, peering day and night through the window—mind utterly terrified.

Finally, left with no way out, I approached a police inspector I knew. I explained: “Now do something. Bring a file—any junk, any trash, since there is nothing against him except the one ‘crime’ of drinking bhang, which isn’t much of a crime. And don’t release him too quickly, or he’ll think I fixed it. Slap him a couple of times, show the whip, put handcuffs on his hands and feet so he is convinced that what he has been saying is absolutely right. Then I will plead with you. I’ll give you ten thousand rupees in front of him—then return them to me—and in my presence set fire to that file right there. Perhaps then a path will open.”

We had to do the whole drama. When he was beaten, he became very pleased. He said to me, “See, no one would believe me—now it’s happening. You are a witness! You are seeing it!” The file was tucked under the officer’s arm; he was beaten and handcuffed. Then he became somewhat peaceful, because his dharana had been fulfilled—he was right.

Even when a person is wrong, the ego is so eager to be right that he will go to hell rather than have his dharana proved wrong.

The inspector insulted him a good deal, beat him; I paid; with difficulty he agreed. He set the file on fire. From the next day my friend was fine.

But thereafter he stopped meeting me—because I alone was witness to his whole crime, to the bribe, to the file, to his being beaten. I alone had seen. He left the room he was living in near mine. So be it.

You too have woven countless webs of dharanas over many lives. And the strange thing is that you strive to prove them right, even if they bring you great suffering.

Krishna says: “O Partha, the dhriti (holding) by which a person of perverted understanding does not give up sleep, fear, anxiety, sorrow—even frenzy—but clings to them, that dhriti is tamasic.”

So there are three kinds of dharanas, three kinds of meditations, three kinds of dhritis.

Tamasic: you cling to that which is your hell. Even if someone is ready to pull you out of hell, you are not ready to go—because you have become accustomed to it. You say, “This is my home.”

Last year in America a man died. When he was twenty, in a moment of passion he committed a murder. He was not a criminal by nature; it just happened in an emotional storm. He was sentenced to fifty years. His conduct in prison was so good that after twenty-five years he was pardoned and released.

He wandered a while and returned to the prison village: “I don’t want to go out.” When he had been jailed there were no cars on the roads, no buses; the world was different. In twenty-five years everything had changed. He couldn’t understand what was happening, what people were saying. The language had changed, people’s ways and customs had changed. He was utterly bewildered. No family member remained—father dead, mother dead, he had never married.

He came back: “I don’t want to go.” The authorities insisted: “You have to go; your term is over—you cannot stay inside.” He said, “I will live outside—but I’ll stay here.” He lived thirty-five more years, but outside the prison—working in the garden, fed by the officers, sleeping by the prison wall. Gradually they arranged a small room for him: “Where else will he go? He doesn’t want to.” He never left the prison perimeter for thirty-five years more.

In your life too you have built such prisons. They cause suffering, provoke anger, breed fear and pain—yet you are habituated to them and cling to those dharanas; you do not want to drop them.

Clinging even to the false gives a feeling that at least something is in hand. Clinging even to the bad gives a sense that the hand is not empty. This is tamasic dhriti. Knowing that “I am suffering,” you still do not drop the dharana. Knowing that laziness gives pain, that life is becoming a burden—you do not drop it. You do not see that this is the fruit of your dharana.

“The man who desires fruits, through strong attachment, holds to dhriti by which he clings to righteousness, wealth and pleasure—that dhriti is rajasic.”

The man of fruit-desire...
He performs religion, prayer, worship—but for the sake of result. He performs sacrifice and charity—but with an eye to the fruit. He does everything, but the longing is for results—though knowing that no one ever attains happiness through craving results.

Craving for fruit leads to sorrow, to despondency. In ninety-nine out of a hundred cases your craving is never fulfilled—so you suffer. And even if it is fulfilled, there is no happiness, because as soon as it is fulfilled, craving moves ahead. It is like the horizon—you can never touch it. It always recedes; you can never arrive.

However much wealth you have, poverty does not vanish. However high the position, ambition does not end. However many comforts you acquire, the race for more does not stop. The proportion remains the same.

A beggar has one coin and longs for ten. A millionaire has one crore and longs for ten crore. The ratio is the same; the sorrow is the same. The one who has one longs for ten—nine are lacking. The beggar dies in as much misery as the millionaire.

That a beggar dies miserable is understandable—but why the millionaire? Because the proportion is the same. People’s wealth increases, but poverty does not end; wretchedness does not end.

Fruit-craving yields sorrow. All fruit-cravings finally lead to despondency; nothing comes into the hand—the hand remains empty; yet the rajasic person clings to it.

“And, O Partha, by dhyana-yoga, through unswerving dhriti (steadfastness), by which one sustains the functions of mind, prana and senses—that dhriti is sattvic.”

Where unswerving attention or dhriti arises...

Even when you sit silently, the mind’s adultery goes on. You sit quiet, yet the mind travels a thousand journeys. You want to be silent; the mind keeps talking. You want to stop; the mind does not stop. This is the mind’s adultery—its violation. And you endure it—and not only endure, you cooperate.

Withdraw this cooperation. The mind’s violation will not stop all at once. This adultery is ancient, of many births; its knots are deep; channels have formed. Water flows where the riverbed already is. But those channels break. And a moment comes when virginal consciousness is born.

Mind is an adulterous state—how many thoughts! How much promiscuity! The mind is like a bazaar, a madhouse, with a thousand voices echoing together!

Krishna says: by dhyana-yoga one attains unswerving dhriti—

A holding that is pure, virginal, unadulterated by thought—thought-free. Where there is no ripple of thought there is no stain; there is virginity; the state of the purest consciousness.

Such dharana sustains the functions of mind, prana and senses yet is not adulterated by them. Such dhriti moves the mind; it is not moved by the mind. It moves hands, feet, senses; it is not moved by the senses. The senses stop being the masters. This virginal dhriti becomes the master. This is sovereignty.

That is why we call a sannyasin “swami”—master. That is the state of sattva; it is the sannyasin’s goal: to attain mastery, to attain virginal dharana. Hence so much emphasis on meditation. The non-meditative state is the world; meditation is sannyas.

And the day you become master of your mind, body and prana, that day you are qualified, a fit vessel. Now the Divine can descend within you.

Therefore I say again and again: if you would meet That, go to its door as an emperor, not as a beggar. If you are a slave of mind, you cannot approach that door. It is not for slaves; it is for the free.

Attain at least so much freedom that the mind becomes unstained, consciousness silent and virginal. Then your work is done. You have taken your step; now it is God’s turn to take his.

That’s all for today.