Jin Sutra #40

Today's first sutra — 'Ahimsa is the heart of all ashrams, the secret of all scriptures, and the compact essence of all vows and virtues.'

Savvesi māsamāṇaṁ, hidayaṁ gabho va savvasatthāṇaṁ.
Savvesiṁ vada-guṇāṇaṁ, piṇḍo sāro ahiṁsā hu.

The entire teaching of Mahavira is gathered into this one sutra. If you understand the meaning of Ahimsa, the whole Jina-shastra is understood. Man is energy, pure energy. That energy has two dimensions. Either it can turn destructive — begin erasing, breaking — or it can become creative — build, plant, create. Energy is in our hands. How we will use it depends on our awareness, our mindfulness, our understanding. Nature has placed a sword in our hands. Whether we kill or protect depends on us. Nature has placed a lamp in our hands. Whether we break the darkness or set houses on fire — that is up to us.

When energy becomes creative, it turns to nectar. When energy becomes destructive, it turns to poison. Dictionaries say nectar and poison are two different things. The lexicon of life does not say so. In the lexicon of life it is written: poison is the distorted form of nectar; nectar is the refined form of poison.

There is an ancient Hindu tale — the churning of the ocean. From the single churning, poison emerged; from the same churning, nectar emerged. From the same source both came forth. The source is one.

Do not search for nectar elsewhere. From the very place in your life where today there is poison, from there the nectar will also arise — a little churning is needed. Understand it so: nectar is the clarified butter of poison.

It is recorded in Adolf Hitler's life that he wanted to be a painter. He wanted to create something beautiful, but he did not get admission to the art school. He failed the entrance exam. From that day the nectar that could have been in his life began turning into poison. The urge to build turned into the urge to demolish. Adolf Hitler wrought enormous destruction. If Mahavira knew the science of Ahimsa, Hitler knew the science of violence. No more ghastly and monstrous scene was ever presented by any human being. And yet — he had wanted to be a painter.

More thought-provoking still: amidst such vast destruction, violence and ruin, his original yearning did not completely die. Whenever he got a free moment he would sketch little drawings on paper. Till his last breath some energy within him continued to search for a creative outlet. He who had wanted to sing a song — only abuse came out of him.

Remember, the same words, the same sound can turn into abuse; the same words, the same sounds can become a song. Man is creative energy. If creation does not happen, then life explodes into hatred, violence, enmity.

The essence of Mahavira's religion is the art of being creative. A Jain monk will not tell you this — because he himself does not really know what the essential sutra of Ahimsa is. He thinks the essence of Ahimsa is to strain water before drinking, to avoid eating at night, to not eat meat. These are peripheral — secondary matters. By practicing these, Ahimsa does not happen; but if Ahimsa happens, these certainly follow. By practicing them alone, Ahimsa does not happen. Violence is not so cheap that you strain water and it disappears. What creativity is there in straining water? If refraining from meat removed violence — oh, if only it were so simple!

Violence is within you. It does not come from eating meat. You can stop meat; violence will open new doors. Violence is within you. Until you become creative — until you begin humming a song — abuse will keep arising. Until you begin to climb the summits of life, you will fall and keep falling into abyss after abyss. Energy needs to do something. Either you sculpt images — or else you will break images. There is no resting midway.

Hence history sometimes becomes astonishingly strange — Hindus kept making images, Buddhists and Jains kept making images, and Muslims kept breaking them. Now, think a little. If the image was of no use to you, why take the trouble to break it? You had nothing to do with it! If the image was pointless, why the bother even to destroy it? Does anyone take such trouble for the useless? But no — when creation is denied, the urge to destroy begins. These were precisely the people who could have been image-worshipers; their potential was the same. But when image-worship was closed, the very worship that could have been became the destruction of the image. Then you must break the images. One has to do something. You cannot drop relationship with the image; if not friendship, then enmity — but some bond will be formed.

Notice: we also have relationships with our enemies. Sometimes they are more intimate than those with our friends. Without a friend you may manage to live; without an enemy you will find yourself terribly alone. If your enemy dies, that same day something within you also dies — that which was alive only because of him. You will have to find a new enemy. Energy cannot remain static. Energy is movement — like the ocean, like rivers, like the winds.

If the right direction is not found, your life's energy will wander into wrong directions like ghosts — screaming in dark caverns, crying out, calling. If it cannot become a smile, you will weep — fill yourself with the tears of sorrow. If flowers cannot bloom, you will become thorns.

Mahavira has grasped the sutra in Ahimsa. Ahimsa means: wherever there is destruction, rise above it. To be free of the tendency to destroy is Ahimsa. To drop the impulse to break is Ahimsa. Let there be no direction in your life where any relish remains in destroying. Let the relish be in joining, and the relish be lost in breaking; do not waste even a grain of your energy in erasing — devote it to making, to creating. If you must demolish, let it be only for creation. If you pull down an old building, let it be to raise a new one. The destructive person — even if he creates — creates only to destroy. He makes bombs, sharpens swords. Creation he does too — bomb-making is creative — but he makes only so that he can erase.

Understand this well: the destructive creates only for destruction. And creative energy, if it sometimes erases, erases for creation. If this is seen, the essential sutra of Mahavira's vision can be grasped. Mahavira says: whenever you are filled with anger, whenever you burn to annihilate the other — whether the other will be destroyed or not, leave that aside. In this universe, where is destruction? Who has ever been annihilated? Who has ever managed to annihilate another? Here, what is — is eternal. The Atman cannot be killed; the Atman is immortal, timeless. But the very moment you are filled with the urge to kill, you have begun to lose the direction of your life. You have strayed, you have lost, you have taken the wrong road.

Look at life in such a way that whatever sattva you were born with within you, it may be crafted, gradually, into deeper and deeper creation. I tell you, straining water is not enough. Hum a song, sculpt an image, arrange a painting, make the world beautiful, spread the fragrance of life all around, enflame life. Whoever comes to you, let him leave a little more alive. Do not kill. And this is very subtle. If you go to a Jain monk, you will return a little more dead. He does not kill with a sword. He carries no weapon. But he will kill you through condemnation. A Jain monk looks at you as if you are a sinner, despicable, worms and insects, not a man. He looks at you as if you are wrong. There is violence in his gaze.

Had you gone to Mahavira, you would have known. As their eyes fell upon you, joy would surge within you. In their presence you would find yourself becoming fresh, new — a resurrection happening. You would return carrying the message of life. You would return dancing. Going you may have limped; returning, you would dance — the cripple climbs the mountain. From them you would return blessed with the glory of life, with benediction. Wherever you are condemned — there, violence is afoot. All condemnation is violent. By putting fingers into your sins and scratching your wounds, Ahimsa does not happen. By awakening the virtue sleeping within your sin, by uncovering the light hidden in your darkness, Ahimsa happens. By reminding you of your Paramatman within, Ahimsa happens. Wherever your inner divine is accepted, invoked; wherever you are helped to forget your littleness and you are given the vision of your vastness — there is Ahimsa. Life — creativity, wonder, blessedness!

And as you fill with the majesty of life, you will find the tendency to sin growing thin — because it is the same energy; the same that was becoming poison now finds a path, freedom, an opportunity to express. If you cannot take the energy of life upward, it will go downward — it is inevitable. Mahavira's emphasis is on taking it upward. The moment it moves upward, the downward journey ceases on its own. Think a little: you go to the market with some money. With that same money you can buy pebbles and stones, or diamonds and jewels. Who will buy pebbles? You will bring home jewels.

The energy you have is your wealth. With that same energy pebbles and stones are bought, and with that same energy diamonds and jewels. That very energy becomes lust; that very energy becomes Samadhi. That very energy becomes violence; that very energy becomes Ahimsa. That very energy becomes hatred; that very energy becomes love. Once you know that with this energy love can be purchased, Samadhi can be purchased — with this energy the heavens of truth can be created — you will stop traveling toward hell. Into hell you go out of helplessness, because the way to heaven is not found. Everyone is seeking heaven. The path is not found. In seeking heaven, people reach hell. Who is seeking hell? Who seeks sorrow? Who seeks poison? Who seeks death? But the way is not found.

Mahavira has given that way. Therefore he could say: in days to come people will ask, Where are the Jinas now? Where are the Mahaviras now? Then you will repent, Gautam! Right now the current flows close to you — bathe, drown in it. Later, nothing will come of repentance. Later, nothing will come of crying. Right now the stream passes near. Not even for a moment be negligent, Gautam! Do not be lazy, do not postpone to tomorrow. Do not say, We will do it tomorrow — for who knows about tomorrow! Whether the stream will remain — or not.

What can be done today, do it today. Postpone sin to tomorrow, do virtue today. Say, We will be angry tomorrow, we will meditate today. Say, We will do the world tomorrow, we will take sannyas today. Say, If we must lie, we will lie tomorrow — what is the hurry? We will speak truth today. And he who speaks truth today — how will he be able to lie tomorrow? And he who lies today — how will he speak truth tomorrow? For tomorrow is born of today.

What you are today — that is the construction of your tomorrow. Today you lay the bricks of tomorrow's house. Today you build the house — tomorrow you will live in it.

Mahavira could say, The stream flows by, Gautam! Why do you sit? Arise — because he had the total vision. And what he has said, he has said with knowing. He is a shasta. He is a scripture — a living scripture. What he has said is pure science. Not a single link is wrong. He says, 'Ahimsa is the heart of all ashrams, the secret of all scriptures, and the compact essence of all vows and virtues.'

If we take Ahimsa out of the language of religion and place it in the simple language of man, Ahimsa means love. If we free the word Ahimsa from Jain scriptures, from their technical net, Ahimsa means love. Love is creative. Hatred is destructive.

What love will that man give to God,
What love will he give to truth,
He who, having been born in the lap of humankind,
Could not love man?

Wherever you can learn the lesson of love, do not miss it. Wherever you find the lesson of love, tie it into your knot like a diamond. Gathering such lessons of love, one day you will find — the scripture of Ahimsa has been formed. As the experiences of love accumulate, consider it as if many flowers have been pressed to extract perfume; thus the very essence of many experiences of love becomes Ahimsa. Now, there are people who renounce the flowers and yet desire the perfume. They are mad. If you abandon the flowers, from where will the perfume come?

Therefore I say: those who walk behind Mahavira have completely forgotten Mahavira. Only rutted lines remain with them; they go on repeating them. But the sap of those lines is lost. Words remain — bare, empty, like spent cartridges that they go on carrying burdenlessly. If you wish to re-enthrone the life of Ahimsa, it is in the word love that its life resides. Ahimsa is not opposed to love. Ahimsa is opposed to attachment. Love itself is opposed to attachment. You have taken attachment to be love. Hence the mistake. Love does not even know attachment. Love has no acquaintance with attachment. When you love someone, you neither bind him to yourself, nor are you bound to him. Love is free — like a gust of wind — it comes, it goes. Love does not bind anywhere. It is like the clouds. Love has no roots. Love is freedom. Love is liberation. Love flows, it does not stop. If it stops, it becomes a stagnant pool — attachment. Wherever love stops, there it becomes attachment.

Mahavira has said a unique thing: that which keeps on flowing, moving — that is dharma. And that which stops, stands still — that is adharma. You will be surprised to hear this definition. Mahavira says: that which is continuously dynamic is dharma; that which becomes static, inert is adharma. Notice: when love stops, settles, gets stuck on one person so that it cannot move further — that is attachment. If love keeps spreading — does not stop on anyone; flows over the love-object and spreads to others; keeps on widening, widening — until a moment comes when in the whole world no being remains who is not your love-object — that is Ahimsa. The ultimate expanse of love, the supreme expansion of love, is Ahimsa. Then not a single particle remains in existence which is not your love-object. Then you have become non-violent.

Certainly then, you will strain water. You will not eat meat. These things will happen — because in your mind there is no destructive feeling toward anything, any being, even to objects; only a rain of love is falling, so you will be careful. As far as possible you will save, you will protect. Ahimsa is the supreme expansion of love. But the logician, the pundit, the witless cleverness of the wise — reaches conclusions that Mahavira could not have even imagined.

Among Jains there is a sect — Terapanth, the sect of Acharya Tulsi. There, the exposition of Ahimsa has gone exactly opposite to Ahimsa. Logic has its amusements. Things can be stretched so far that they turn into their opposites. Terapanth says: if you are walking on the road and a man on the side is dying, crying out of thirst — water, water — do not give him water. Why? Because that man is suffering the fruit of his karma. He must have done some sin for which he is dying. Your Ahimsa lies in not obstructing his reaping of karma. Because by interfering you will create a hindrance for him. You go on your way silently.

This Ahimsa has become the exact opposite of love! And it appears logical. They have found a logic: if the man is dying of thirst, it is due to some sin; let him undergo his karmic fruit. Do not interfere.

If a man has fallen into a well, do not pull him out — for he fell because of his karmas. If you pull him out and tomorrow he murders someone, then the share of that murder will also be upon you. Had you not pulled him out, he could not have killed anyone. If there were no bamboo, there would be no flute. Now that the flute has played, your hand is in the bamboo. Unknowingly perhaps — not deliberately — but the result turned bad! Therefore, to remain free of consequences, go your way — aloof, separate. This is exactly opposite to love.

Love will say: Even if tomorrow this man commits murder, still I will save him; even if by saving him I must go to hell, I will still save him. Love will say: I will suffer hell, but the man who is dying in front of my eyes — I will save him. Love does not calculate.

Love is creative. Wherever it sees destruction, it stops it. Wherever it sees something dying, with a simple, spontaneous heart — without any calculation, arithmetic — it runs. If someone’s house is on fire and a child remains inside, the Terapanthi will think: he is reaping his karma. May the world be empty of such ahimsaks — better so! Better the violent ones who eat at night, who eat meat, who drink unfiltered water — at least if a house catches fire they will rush to save; if someone is drowning they will jump; if someone is dying of thirst, they will give a few sips of water.

I give these examples so that you may see how dangerous logic can be. Even when logic looks clear, it can be dangerous.

Ahimsa is not logic. Ahimsa is not mathematics. Ahimsa is a pure feeling of love. Ahimsa means: the whole universe is the abode of Paramatman; my very nature pervades this entire universe; I am in the other too; the same thing that I wish for myself, I should wish for the other. If I were dying of thirst, I would want someone to give me water — the same I should want for another. If I have fallen into a well, am crying out, wishing someone would pull me out, that some hand might stretch out, some courage arise — what I wish for myself, the same I should do for another. If a thorn is lodged in my foot, as I would want someone to remove it, I should do the same for another.

Jesus has the famous saying: What you wish for yourself, wish for the other; what you do not wish for yourself, do not wish for the other.

Compared to the Terapanthis, Jesus stands far closer to Mahavira. The outer wrapping is one thing; the inner soul is another — greater. And if the individual becomes creative, the individual is the very brick of society. When the individual changes, the collective changes. Because the individual is full of violence, the collective is full of wars.

The entire history of humankind is a history of wars. People have kept fighting. We cannot even imagine how much energy has been spent in fighting. Had this energy been creative, where would man be now? Perhaps there would be no need of any heaven elsewhere — we would have made it here. We would have arrived in heaven long ago. Nearly ninety percent of human energy has been spent in war. Even now the same condition persists. Even now the defense departments of nations devour the wealth of their countries. Seventy percent, seventy-five percent, eighty percent goes into the preparation of battlefields.

Politicians keep talking of peace, they release doves of peace — and build atom and hydrogen bombs. On the one hand they release doves, on the other the bomb factories run. On the one hand they talk of peace, on the other they prepare for war. All talk of peace seems like nonsense. If there is truth in the talk of peace, then prepare for peace. And if you prepare for peace, you will have to listen to Mahavira. But there is no hindrance in talking peace. Talking peace becomes an easy way to cover war and the tendency to war. Standing upon heaps of bombs — they release doves.

War itself is a problem — what solution will it give to problems?

Therefore, O gentle human beings,
Let war be kept at bay — better so.
In the courtyards of you and me,
Let a lamp keep burning — better so.

Which lamp? The lamp of Mahavira. The lamp of Ahimsa. The lamp of love.

In the courtyards of you and me,
Let a lamp keep burning — better so.
To prove superiority,
Is the shedding of blood necessary?
To dispel the darkness of the house,
Is it necessary to burn the house?

Yes, the house is dark — granted. But to remove the darkness of the house, is it necessary to burn the entire house? And —

To prove superiority,
To proclaim greatness, the ego, the 'I am great',
Is the shedding of blood necessary?
Is there no other way?

There are other fields of battle besides the field of bloodshed.

The harvest of life is also wisdom,
Not only frenzy.

The aim of life is not to go insane; the aim is to attain prajna. If you must struggle, then struggle for prajna. If you must fight, then fight the darkness, fight anger, fight violence. The enemy is within. Do not create a Kurukshetra outside — create it within.

The Gita begins by saying: Kurukshetra is the field of dharma. A profound pointer. Kurukshetra is not outside — the field of dharma is within.

Come, in this world full of pain,
Let us make the light of contemplation common,
Let us arrange such battles
From which peace gains strength.

Come, in this ill-fated world,
Let us light the lamp of reflection — of dhyana, of contemplation, of svadhyaya.
Let us arrange battles from which peace may gain nourishment, strength, power.

It is to this very battle that Mahavira points. By winning this battle he became Mahavira. That war is within. It is not with another; it is with your own descending tendencies. It is with those desires that drag you downward, with those habits that lead you into darkness, with your own unconsciousness and swoon. Man has fought so much — and always finds good excuses to fight. Do not go by the excuses! Man has a deep eagerness to fight. He fights in politics — he fights even for religion. 'Islam is in danger' — as if religion could ever be in danger! 'Hindu dharma is in danger.' All such cries are voices that inflame violence within man. Temples and mosques fight. The situation has come to such a pass — last night I was reading a poet's lines:

May the fire of malice, the flames of hatred,
Not reach the wine-drinkers;
Why is this crop of temples and mosques
Sown in the soil of taverns?

Keep the fire of malice — the flames of hate — from reaching even the drunkards. Let them remain among the so-called respectable, among the saints and sadhus!

May the fire of malice, the flames of hatred,
Not reach the wine-drinkers —
Let this crop remain in temples and mosques,
Why should it be in the fields of taverns?

The tavern fears the fire of temples may reach here! Could there be a greater fall of temples than this — that drunkards fear the riot of saints and sadhus might arrive? Could there be a greater degeneration of saints than this!

Temples and mosques have made man fight so much, with such lovely excuses, such beautiful ideals, that under their cover it was never seen that this is only the tendency to fight — the urge to destroy, and nothing else.

'Ahimsa is the heart of all ashrams, the secret of all scriptures, and the compact essence of all vows and virtues.'

But the meaning of this Ahimsa is love. The meaning of this Ahimsa is love free of attachment. The meaning of this Ahimsa is dispassionate love.

This Ahimsa means: let love go on expanding. Let love accept no boundary. Wherever love accepts a boundary — there is attachment. When you say, 'my son, my brother' — there is attachment. Let brotherhood expand so much that there remains no place for 'mine' and 'thine'. Let there be an ocean of brotherhood. All are brothers — so that there remains no reason to call anyone a brother. All are one's own — so that there is no need to call any particular person 'mine'.

Now watch how easily man finds a trick. Mahavira says, Drop the 'mine' — but his intent is that all become 'mine'. The Jain monk says, Drop the 'mine' — with the intent that even those who are 'mine' may no longer remain so. Both use the same words, but there is a fundamental opposition between them.

Mahavira says, Belong to no single house, so that the whole existence becomes your home. Mahavira says, Move from householder to sannyasin. The purpose is that you not remain bound within a house — let the whole world become your home. When the Jain monk says, Leave the house, drop the 'mine', he is snatching away even the small house you had. Mahavira says, Let that small house expand so much that the vast universe becomes your home. He is not eager to snatch away your little house; he wants to make the whole universe your home. Lest you get stuck in a little house, he says: leave. Mahavira's renunciation is a step toward the great enjoyment. He is pained to see that you who could be an ocean have become a little puddle. He says, Leave this puddle — you are meant to be the ocean. Why are you binding yourself in the small? Your possibility is great; the vast is your destiny. Lordliness is your birthright. But when those who follow Mahavira say, Leave the house, they are not saying it so the whole world may become your house — they are saying it so that even this little house may not remain yours — become homeless. Due to such confusions of words, very often the exact opposite meaning of what the Tirthankaras, the Avatars and the Prophets have said gets grasped. To grasp the straight meaning is very difficult — because to grasp it would mean inner revolution. Every nook and cranny within must be changed. Not even a trace of darkness may be allowed to remain.

The wrong meanings are easy. To make love vast is very arduous; to empty love altogether is easy. In any case it is empty — there is hardly any love — so the advice makes easy sense: leave even this. But if love is to be made great, then great effort will be needed — great sadhana. The later sutras will make this clear.

The second sutra —

'Mahavira did not call possessions parigraha. That great seer called moorcha — the swoon of identification — parigraha.'

Mahavira did not say that the having of things is parigraha. The house is not parigraha, nor is wealth; nor is wife parigraha.

'He called moorcha parigraha.'

To take these things as 'mine' — to become entangled with them — to become attached to them — to form such a deep relationship with them that it becomes difficult to drop it — in that swoon lies parigraha.

This sutra is unique. In all the religious scriptures of the world, it is difficult to find a counterpart to it.

Na so pariggaho vutto, Nāyaputteṇa tāiṇā.
Mucchā pariggaho vutto, i-i vuttaṁ mahesiṇā.

That great seer has said: by leaving objects, parigraha does not end; by leaving moorcha, parigraha ends. Moorcha — not leaving the house, not leaving wealth, not leaving wife and sons — but leaving the swoon. Drop the sleep-like state. You are living as if in sleep. Do not drop the dream — drop the sleep.

Understand this well.

If sleep is not dropped, one dream may drop — another will begin. The crops of dreams will keep sprouting in sleep. Mahavira says: what will you gain by dropping dreams? Dreams have dropped many times on their own. How many times were you born! How many wives you called your own! How many sons you called your own! How many friends you made, how many enemies! How many houses you built! Death came and ruined all. Death makes everyone a sannyasin — forcibly. Scream and cry — death still snatches away all that you do not wish to drop. You have to leave. How many times has death not broken your dream!

But what difference did it make? Then a new birth — and you dream anew. Sleep continues. Death can break dreams, not sleep. Let me say it again: death can break dreams — because death has no more power than that. Death cannot break sleep. Sleep can be broken only by dhyana. Sleep can be broken only by an intense, tireless urge to be aware. Sleep can be broken only by you — no one else can do it. If you want to sleep, there is no way to stop you. Mahavira says: forget about dropping dreams — even if a particular dream drops, what difference? From the very place dreams arise, others will come.

Mulla Nasruddin applied for a job on a ship. The captain interviewed him and asked, If a storm arises and the ship begins to pitch, what will you do? Mulla said, Drop anchor! The captain said, If a bigger storm arises? He said, Another anchor. The captain said, And if an even bigger storm arises? He said, Another anchor. The captain said, Wait, where are you getting all these anchors from? Mulla said, From the same place you are getting all these storms! You bring storms, I will bring anchors.

If it is a mesh of imagination, fine — neither storm is anywhere nor anchor is seen. If one dream comes from a source, unless that source is broken, another will come. From where did this dream arise? How did you call this wife 'mine'? How did you call this husband 'mine'? How did you take this son to be 'mine'? How did you call this house 'mine'? This wealth, this body — how did you claim them as 'mine'? Do you know the source from which this dream arose? If that source is not broken, you can leave this body, leave this wife, leave this house, leave this shop — at the next shop you will say 'mine'. Leave the house, go to the jungle, sit in a cave — you will call the cave 'mine'. What difference will it make? Go to the Himalayas and take up a corner of a sadhu's cave — you will be pushed out: 'This cave is mine!'

A beggar used to beg regularly on one street of a town — a stout beggar. No other beggar could enter there. Beggars too have territories. Within his boundary no other beggar could come. They too have empires — beggars too! One day someone saw that the beggar was begging in another street. He asked, Have you left the old place? The old neighborhood belonged to the rich — there was more likelihood of alms. He said, I have not left it — I gave it as dowry at my daughter's marriage to her husband.

You do not know that your neighborhood has been given away as dowry by a beggar! Even the naked man, with not even a loincloth — the place within from where dreams arise has not yet been broken. Wherever he stands, however tiny the patch of earth he encloses, 'mine' will take possession. The root must be cut. Cutting branches and leaves will do nothing.

Mahavira says: the root is moorcha. Everything else — dream. 'Mine' and 'thine', 'own' and 'others' — all dream. The root is moorcha. The root is that I have no awareness, no viveka; dhyana has not been lit, the torch of knowing is not in my hand. In this darkness everything breeds — snakes and scorpions, worms and insects, spiders’ webs. In this darkness ghosts and ghouls thrive. With the coming of light, all begin to depart.

Mahavira says: 'Na so pariggaho vutto — parigraha is not in possessions — Nāyaputteṇa tāiṇā. Mucchā pariggaho vutto — it is in moorcha.' Violence is not in the act — it is in moorcha. Anger is not in the anger — it is in moorcha. Attachment is not in the attachment — it is in moorcha. Mahavira has seized the root.

The root of all sins is moorcha. Do not waste time fighting separate sins. Nothing substantial will come of it; thus you have wasted births. You fight little things — you cut leaves. The tree is not hurt by cutting leaves. In fact the opposite happens — you cut one leaf, three sprout. The tree thinks it has been pruned. The more you cut, the more it grows, it becomes dense. You must cut the root. With the cutting of the root, the tree is lifeless; its connection with the soil is severed. Moorcha must be broken. Only one thing has to be broken — moorcha. There is only one dharma — to come out of moorcha. And there is only one adharma — to live in moorcha. In moorcha the mind only dreams and dreams. Sometimes it dreams the opposite — it gets bored with one and runs to the other: tired of the marketplace, it runs to the mountains.

Notice — those who live in the mountains long to come to Bombay. Those who live in Bombay long to go to the mountains. The mind has strange games! It gets bored with one dream and thinks perhaps the opposite will be enjoyable. The poor man longs to be rich. The rich man thinks, The poor are blessed — they sleep soundly. The poor feel hunger; I do not even feel hunger. I do not feel sleep. What use is this wealth!

Anyone who is truly rich will have begun to see the happiness of the poor. I take this as the definition of the truly rich — the day a man really becomes rich, that very day the aspiration to be poor starts: he thinks, Better to be poor. He sees a beggar, dozing beneath a tree in the hot afternoon, in the bustling market — no pillow, no bed, no house and yet such deep sleep! He is filled with envy. He tosses all night on his costly bed — no sign of sleep. He sees the beggar eating dry, begged bread — but with such relish, and when his hunger is satisfied, he rises with such contentment — contentment the rich has forgotten. He has everything!

It is strange — until there is food, there is hunger; the day there are all means of food, hunger disappears. The world is awkward; the accounting here is upside down. Until there is no arrangement for sleep — there is sleep; when all arrangements are complete — sleep is lost. The poor think there is joy in palaces; those in palaces write poems praising villages. Those in villages beat their heads — when will fortune come that we reach the city! Opposites. With what we are living, we become weary — bored.

The night laughs and says, Come to the tavern,
Then to the mansion of a red-lipped beloved;
If that is not possible, my friend, then come to the wilderness —
O sorrow of the heart, O frenzy of the heart, what shall I do?

Those who have become bored with taverns, with red-lipped women, run to the forest. But escaping to the forest is no solution. Ask those sitting in the forest! Their heart says —

The night laughs and says, Come to the tavern,
Then to the mansion of the red-lipped beloved.

Look within the sadhus a little. You will find them craving for the very things for which you crave. You are dying for certain things, and you think, When will I become a sadhu? When will the auspicious moment come to leave everything? Ask those who have left! They are burning with envy; they are looking at you — thinking perhaps you are enjoying. Perhaps we missed — life is slipping by, there is no sign of the soul, no vision of God, we are tired of turning the rosary, there is no encounter — perhaps this life of taverns and red-lipped women is all there is! Perhaps we sit here in vain! We have become fools turning an empty rosary! This doubt arises.

Eminent elder sadhus have told me: We doubt whether we have committed a mistake!

But because of all this, the next day in the sermon he tries all the more to convince people that the world is futile! Leave it; why are you stuck in the mud!

Remember, the more strenuously a sadhu tries to convince you to leave, the more he is broadcasting his own restlessness. He is restless — until he convinces others too, he has no peace. He thinks, Others are perhaps enjoying. In one sense the thought seems right — because the number of others is great; number has power. If religion were true, everyone would have become religious by now! So if the priest in the temple feels jealous of the drunkard in the tavern, no surprise. Because however much he urges people, they do not come to the temple; and however much you stop them, they go to the tavern. Something must be there! Some powerful attraction must be there! However much you say, Gold is dust — still people clutch it. So many have tried to convince — and yet no one easily runs away from the world. And often those who run are not very intelligent. This too creates doubt.

You will often find sadhus and sannyasins unintelligent. If among a hundred you find even one intelligent, it is an exception. They are defeated people — those who could not win in life’s competition, who lacked intelligence, thought, courage — they ran away. But running away does not break the sleep of the mind! Moorcha does not leave!

Mahavira says: running away will not help — wake up. Do not run; wake. His whole emphasis is on awakening.

'Whether a living being dies or lives, the fault of violence certainly accrues to the one who lives without yatan — without mindful effort. But to one who strives in samitis — in careful disciplines — even if outer violence happens, karmic bondage does not accrue.'

Mahavira says: he who does not live awake, who does not live with yatan — with mindful effort. Understand yatan — Kabir called it jatan, and called jatan a jewel. To live with jatan! To live with yatan! What does it mean? To live with awareness! Walking is not enough — let an inner lamp be lit as you walk. Speaking is not enough — speak with yatan. Speak with awareness.

Do you meet such moments when you blurt out what you did not want to say? What kind of speaking is that! You had decided not to say it — and it slipped out. You say, It came out despite me. I did not want to say it — still it came out. Often it is what you do not want to say that gets said. It finds some way.

A friend of Mulla Nasruddin was ill — close to death. Friends would go and tell him, Do not worry, death is not coming; you are getting better day by day. The last night came; doctors said he will not survive. Mulla went to see him. The friends said, Look, by mistake do not mention his dying. He is dying anyway — why make him more miserable! Let him live a few hours in peace. He must go; why give him shock! Mulla said, Do you take me for a fool? I know.

Mulla went and told many jokes, made him laugh so much that the dying man sat up. Just then Mulla began shaking his head vigorously. The man asked, What happened? Why are you shaking your head? Mulla said, Do not ask! He insisted, What are you shaking your head for? Mulla said, While I am talking to you, a question keeps rising: how will they take your bier down these stairs — your stairway turns at an angle. Again and again I tell myself, Why should I bother! When you die, you die! And those who must carry you, let them think! But the question keeps coming that these stairs will make it difficult to take the bier down. What I wanted to hide — truth has its ways of surfacing! Hide falsehood, hide truth — both will come out.

You often say many things in spite of yourself — and then you repent. Certainly, the lamp of awareness is not lit in your speaking. Speak with awareness, awakened. Mahavira calls this yatan — to live knowingly.

Tell the tear to shower, yet do not weep;
Tell the dewdrop to scatter, yet not be lost.
The joy of drinking is only then, O cupbearer —
Let the tavern sway, but let no one sleep.

No harm in ecstasy — only let not sleep come.
Let the tavern sway, but let no one sleep.
Rise, sit, walk — stay awake! Sing, laugh, or weep — stay awake! Little by little, let wakefulness become your style of life. Mahavira calls this yatan.

'Whether a being dies or lives' —

Violence has no relation to this. People generally think, Do not kill another — because if he dies you will incur sin. Mahavira says, Whether he dies or lives has nothing to do with violence. The very urge to kill arising in your mind, that you allowed the urge to kill to arise — that is proof that you are asleep. One who is awake knows — here all are of the nature of nectar.

'He who strives in samitis, from him even if outer violence happens inadvertently, karmic bondage does not occur.'

Mahavira says a unique thing: he who lives with awareness — even if outer violence happens by chance — you were walking and an ant was crushed to death — but you had kept awareness in walking, you had done your best — then, Mahavira says, there is no harm.

Some violence happens just by the fact of being alive. You breathe; with each breath lakhs of microorganisms die. Breath you must take — they will die. You drink water, eat food, even when you move your hands, the air is full of subtle life forms — they die. When you walk, they die. Violence will happen. But be as careful as possible.

It is said Mahavira slept in one posture for the whole night — not even turning over. Even in sleep he remained careful — the minimum. One posture he had to keep to sleep at all; less than that is not possible. But he would not turn, for turning might kill some tiny beings due to the movement of the body.

Mahavira would do only what is absolutely essential for life. He brought life to a point where there is not a grain of excess — precisely refined.

People call Rama Maryada Purushottam — the consummate lord of restraint. It should be said of Mahavira. No man has lived in such maryada. Mahavira's word for that maryada is samiti — to live within limits. This much suffices; not a grain more.

'For the reason is this: the accidental violence that occurs from a monk who observes samiti is only dravya-himsa — it is not bhava-himsa. Bhava-himsa happens in the unrestrained. Even the beings whom they never kill — they incur the fault of violence toward them.'

To the unrestrained, to the moorcha-drunken, to those sunk in unawareness — the sin of violence accrues even toward those they do not kill. Because many times they plan in the mind. How many times have you thought — let so-and-so be killed. You did not kill. How many times have you not thought — let him die! Leave aside the enemy — sometimes even a mother, in anger, says to her son: It would have been better had you not been born. She who gave birth — in anger she begins to think it would have been better had he not been. Few actually kill so much, but the plans go on in the mind. In those very plans lies violence — destruction.

Therefore, the restrained, the one who lives within limit, who lives with samiti, who lives with yatan — if sometimes due to circumstances, by unavoidable reasons, some violence occurs, he accrues no sin. He had not intended it. Within him there was no feeling to do it. If it happened, it happened due to life’s necessities. For those necessities he is not responsible. On his part he has held himself back in every way. And the one who does not live by viveka, does not live with awareness — even if he does not commit outer violence, even if he strains water, does not eat meat, does not eat at night, sits guarded in every way — if within, violence continues, if violent thoughts, violent waves rise, the sin is done. Violence does not incur by killing; it incurs by the intention to kill.

If you understand this, Krishna of the Gita and Mahavira stand at one point. Their processes are utterly different, their means utterly different — but the goal is one. Krishna says to Arjuna: Surrender all to the Supreme. Do not remain the doer. Do not even hold the feeling that I kill, or I do not kill — leave it to God. Then whatever happens — let it happen. If within you there remains no feeling that I am killing — there is no violence. Mahavira says: Wake up. Because in Mahavira’s vision there is no place for God. What is God in the Gita — for Mahavira, that place is held by dhyana.

Do not meditate on God, says Mahavira — meditation itself is God. Wake up. Then, awake, whatever happens is inevitable. But let there be no feeling within you that I am doing violence, that I want to do violence. The fault lies in intention; there is no fault in the act.

Sometimes it happens that you went to harm someone — a man was walking, he had suffered headaches for years; you threw a stone at him — the stone struck such a place that his headache disappeared. You had wanted to crack his head; the result was that the headache went. Did you do good or bad? The outcome was good, the doing was evil. The sin accrues — because sin accrues from intent, from your inner state. Mahavira calls this bhava-himsa and dravya-himsa. You did not want to kill anyone. A doctor is operating on someone — he strives to save, he puts his whole life into it — but the man dies. We will not hold him guilty of killing. The man died in the operation — but there was no inner intention. Dravya-himsa happened — the man died — but there was no intention. Therefore there is no cause for sin.

'When the killing of a being occurs, both the restrained and the unrestrained incur the fault of dravya and bhava himsa; but since the monk of pure mind, devoted to samiti, does not kill with the mind, there is in him both dravya and bhava ahimsa.'

'Yatnachara is the mother of dharma. Yatnacharita sustains dharma. Yatnacharita increases dharma. Yatnacharita is singly bliss-giving.'

Jayaṇā u dhamma-jaṇṇī, jayaṇā dhammasa pālaṇī ceva.

To live with yatan — mindful effort — gives birth to dharma. It nourishes and bears dharma. It increases dharma. Living with yatan — walking, sitting, rising — keep awareness on all sides, that none be hurt on your account. If someone is hurt, it will be due to his own inner cause; you have nothing to do with it.

People are hurt even by Mahavira. He stands naked. Someone may feel hurt — Why is this man naked? That is his responsibility. Mahavira is not naked for him. It is his inner condition.

A friend has asked: He came to take sannyas here, but his trust is in Swaminarayan Sampradaya. He asks: Should I take sannyas there or here? Because there the emphasis on brahmacharya is very strict. Here it seems you do not emphasize brahmacharya. Your sannyasins appear lax. He is in a dilemma. There is no need. Even if you want to take sannyas, I will not give it — so leave the dilemma. You are sick. What do others do has nothing to do with you. Who is lax, who is not — no one has asked you. Decide for yourself. This person has surely, under the influence of Swaminarayan Sampradaya, repressed sexuality — forced it down. He who represses sexuality sees sex everywhere. He who has not repressed, but understood — he no longer sees sex anywhere. What you repress will arise in your eyes and show itself everywhere. Repression is not liberation. Repression is a deep bondage.

Now think — if this gentleman of Swaminarayan meets Mahavira, he will be frightened — this man stands naked! Immoral, obscene, indecent! And indeed it happened so. Mahavira was chased away from villages, beaten — because his nakedness became painful to others. Mahavira did not intend pain for anyone. He became naked to be natural — to be spontaneous. Man is born naked, he departs naked — in between, what is the point of covering? Therefore Mahavira became naked. His nakedness is as innocent as that of a small child. But the observer sees what is filled in his own eyes. He sees something is wrong — this man will break society, make it lax. The very pillar upon which society could have been established forever appeared immoral to people. They removed him from their villages.

Remember: what is within you is what you see. It may be that you do not want to hurt anyone — yet someone is hurt. But that is his business — he should know. That is his problem. Do not keep within yourself the intention to hurt anyone. Do not sow in yourself the seed of anyone’s destruction. Remain pure, remain innocent, remain loving — and live with yatan. One step at a time. First transformation in feeling — then the outer will change.

The ground is hard, the sky far away —
Live somehow, if you can live.
To break the cage is later —
First, wish for wings and feathers.

We are shut in a cage. To break the cage right now is very difficult. First let wings be born — wish for them.

The ground is hard, the sky far away —
Live somehow, if you can live.
To break the cage is later —
First, wish for wings and feathers.

First let my wings be born — wish this and strive in that direction. First let my legs be strong — strive in that direction. Then the journey is there. The goal is far. Strength is needed, feeling is needed, an indomitable hope is needed.

Mahavira says: 'Yatnacharita increases dharma. Yatnacharita is singly bliss-giving.' The more the yatan, the more the joy. Because the more you intend to hurt others, the more you sow your own seeds of sorrow. What we reap is what we sow. The pits we dig for others — we will fall into them. Therefore sow no seeds of sorrow for anyone. If you are unhappy, it means only this much: that till now you have sown sorrow for others. This world is a reflection. As you are, so the picture appears. This world is an echo. Hum a song — the song returns. Hurl abuse — and abuse rains back upon you a thousandfold.

Man has challenged time;
Man has even defeated death.
He has conquered all worlds —
But man is defeated by himself.

There is the only defeat — we have no mastery over ourselves. No samiti, no restraint over ourselves. We are not our own masters. Mahavira emphasized this mastery so much that his whole religion was called Jina-dharma — the dharma of the conquered one, the victorious one. Jina means one who has conquered. Do not think that being born in a Jain house makes you Jain. Until you become a Jina, how will you be Jain? Until you conquer yourself — and how will the victory come? Its supreme sutra is —

Jayaṁ care jayaṁ ciṭṭhe, jayamāse jayaṁ saye.
Jayaṁ bhuñjanto bhāsanto, pāvaṁ kammaṁ na baṁdhai.

By viveka. 'By walking with viveka, by living with viveka, by sitting with viveka, by sleeping with viveka, by eating with viveka and by speaking with viveka, the monk does not bind sinful karma.' Whatever you do — do it with viveka. Fulfill one condition — that it be done with viveka, with awareness. Not in sleep, not in moorcha, not in unconsciousness. What is the outcome? This is a deep truth of the science of life: whatever you can do with viveka — that is merit. And whatever, because of viveka, you cannot do — that is sin.

Thus, I say: You are angry — I do not say, Do not be angry; I say, Be angry with awareness. Let anger arise — wake up. Shake yourself, as you stretch in the morning upon waking — take an inner stretch of consciousness. Wake up! Know that anger is happening. Do it knowingly. You will be astonished — you will not be able to do anger. If love is spreading and you wake up, you will be amazed — because of wakefulness love will expand a millionfold. Anger will burn and fall at once; love will spread. If you were going to destroy someone, because of wakefulness your feet will halt; if you were going to lift someone, due to wakefulness you will run. That which can happen out of wakefulness — that is virtue. That which cannot happen in wakefulness — that is sin. No deeper definition of sin and merit has ever been given.

Mahavira says: sin is that which happens in sleep — it never happens awake. Merit is that which never happens asleep — it happens only awake. Therefore, one thing is to be grasped — awakening. To live with attention. He who awakens becomes connected to the Supreme Truth.

O passion for vision, what to say —
There is no form in these eyes.
O delight of imagining, what to do —
We have forgotten the face of the Beloved.
Now the eye meets not the rose,
Now the bud of the heart no longer blooms.

The moment someone awakens, the eye begins to meet the rose; the bud of the heart begins to bloom. Asleep, our condition is such —

O passion for vision, what to say —
There is no form in these eyes.
How will the sleeping man behold Truth — behold God — behold the Beloved? In sleep-filled eyes only dreams are seen; Truth cannot be seen.

O passion for vision, what to say —
There is no form in these eyes.
O delight of imagining, what to do —
We have forgotten the face of the Beloved.
Now even to remember that Supreme, the Lord — how to remember? We have forgotten even his face!

Now the eye meets not the rose,
Now the bud of the heart no longer blooms.

As soon as one attains viveka, the eye meets the rose; the bud of the heart begins to bloom.

This power of viveka is the only power that will carry you to the ford. These wings of viveka alone will let you fly in the open sky. These feet of viveka alone will carry you to the supreme journey. If Mahavira's whole scripture can be compressed into two words — they are 'Viveka' and 'Ahimsa'. Ahimsa is the destination; Viveka is the movement toward it. Ahimsa is the end; Viveka is the means. Ahimsa is the goal; Viveka is the path.

The mind-bird flew in such a way,
That you became my sky.
What capacity did my wings have?
Yet so many full flights —
Measuring horizons without tiring —
How did these become my practice?
You became my sky.

Shall I count days, months or years?
The whole life became one tapasya.
As many infants of breath were born —
All became the servants of you —
You became my sky.

Let Viveka become your sky — let it become your only aim — then your whole life becomes tapasya.

Shall I count days, months or years? —
The whole life becomes one tapasya.

Mahavira does not ask you to make only a fragment beautiful. He does not say, Make one hour religious and live the other twenty-three in the world. He says, Live in such a way that all twenty-four hours are strung on one thread.

Thus, if you do puja — you cannot do it for twenty-four hours; you will at least have to take a break to eat. If you sit in a temple — you cannot sit twenty-four hours; you must sleep at night, you must rise for a bath. If you turn a rosary — you cannot do it twenty-four hours; life will be crippled. But Mahavira says: Viveka is such a thing that you can practice it twenty-four hours without hindrance. Bathe — yet remain awake. Sit, rise, eat, speak, listen — awake. Go to the shop, to the temple, to the market, come home — awake. In the crowd, alone — awake. And Mahavira says: If your entire activity becomes linked to awakening, one day suddenly you will find that at night your body sleeps — and you remain awake. Krishna has said: 'Yā niśā sarvabhūtānāṁ tasyāṁ jāgarti saṁyamī' — when all sleep, the restrained one keeps awake. Do not take it to mean he sits up in bed — he would go mad. The body needs sleep. But the inner lamp keeps burning. Even in the deepest darkness of night, when the body sleeps, the soul remains awake — 'tasyāṁ jāgarti saṁyamī.'

But first, practice this wakefulness in waking. Gradually, it will descend into your sleep. It will spread over the twenty-four hours. And only that dharma which spreads over twenty-four hours can liberate you. Otherwise, you practice dharma for one hour and adharma for twenty-three — how will there be freedom? In one hour what you build, in twenty-three you demolish. The next day you again build for one hour, then demolish over twenty-three.

And there is a secret — to wind thread onto the shin takes hours; to unwind it, a moment. To build a house takes years; to demolish it, a day. Erasing happens quickly, and you have twenty-three hours to erase. Building is difficult, and you have one hour to build. You will not win. Victory is impossible thus.

The sutra of victory is this —

'Jayaṁ care jayaṁ ciṭṭhe' — walk awake, live awake. 'Jayamāse jayaṁ saye' — sit awake, sleep awake. 'Jayaṁ bhuñjanto bhāsanto' — eat awake, speak awake. 'Pāvaṁ kammaṁ na baṁdhai' — then no sin binds you. Then there is no bondage of sin.

Enough for today.