Jyun Tha Tyun Thaharaya #10

Amrit Priya! Life does not come with birth; with birth comes only the possibility of life. Until that possibility is made real, there is no joy and no fragrance; no flowers bloom, no spring arrives, no birds sing; no dawn breaks, no starlight shimmers in the sky of the soul. Nothing! Only darkness upon darkness, sorrow upon sorrow.

But we live under the illusion that once we are born, we have life. It is as if someone keeps sitting with a seed—sitting and sitting—and then expects fragrance and flowers from the seed itself. Such a person will be sad. Though in the seed flowers are hidden, fragrance is hidden. Yet what is hidden must be brought into the open; the unmanifest must be made manifest; the potential must be made actual; the dream must be made true.

So many people are on the earth, and such a deep sadness pervades. The reason is one, and simple: we have taken birth to be synonymous with life. With birth, the opportunity to be alive is given; life itself is not. That is why, in this land, we called a person brahmin who is dvija—twice-born. Dvija means one who has been born again.

One birth is given by mother and father. That in itself has not much value. You are born like a seed, and if you die like a seed—how will there be songs in life? How will there be spring? Nothing at all. You came empty, you go empty. You arrive empty-handed, you depart empty-handed. There will be pain, affliction, tension, restlessness—but no celebration. Celebration is impossible.

You must become dvija. You must be born again. One birth your parents gave you; the other you must take yourself. The process of taking birth by oneself is what we call sannyas. Without sannyas, no one becomes a brahmin.

No one is a brahmin by birth. By birth all are shudra. What you do with your life energy—that is what matters. Ninety-nine out of a hundred die as shudra; their second birth never happens.

And remember, being born in a brahmin family does not make one Brahman. Until Brahman is born within, no one is Brahman, nor a brahmin. Buddha is brahmin. Jesus is brahmin. Mohammed is brahmin. But no one becomes brahmin merely by being born in a brahmin household.

Buddha said: the one who knows Brahman, that one is brahmin. And Brahman is not somewhere outside. Brahman is hidden within you.

There is an ancient story. God created the earth, made the world, and then lived right in the marketplace of the world. He had no experience yet of the world; naturally, he stayed amid his creation. But people troubled him—complaint upon complaint! Even today people do the same in temples, mosques, gurudwaras, churches. They say, “prayer”; they do, “complaint.” A thousand grievances they carry: it should be like this, it should not be like that. They go to advise God how things ought to be!

And if you listen closely to what they advise, it is astonishing indeed. Emerson used to say: “I have heard many people’s prayers and found this: everyone prays to God, ‘O Lord, let two and two not make four. Let two and two become five!’”

In the world all die, and man prays, “O Lord, may I never die.” This is trying to make two and two five. In life, things come and go—and people pray that whatever I have received remain forever; let it be stationary. If there is youth, let youth remain; let old age not come. If there is health, let illness not come. If there is wealth, let poverty not come. If I am winning, let me never lose. And everyone knows that all must lose; and everyone’s death will come today or tomorrow. Still, “let two and two become five”!

We go on asking for what cannot be. What can be is already happening; it needs no asking.

Even now people do the same, so if God actually lived in the marketplace, people would have made his life impossible. Even now devotees have made his life impossible! If he listens to all their prayers, imagine it—he would go mad; he would have committed suicide; he would have ended himself long ago.

People would stand at his door day and night, and with such prayers—mutually contradictory! Even if he were to fulfill them, how could he? One wants rain today because he has sown his seed; another wants no rain today because he has dyed cloth and needs to dry it. One wants sunshine; another wants clouds. Whose desires are to be fulfilled? How? The desires conflict.

There are four billion people on the earth—four billion desires, each against the other. Seven hundred million in this country; each one wants to be prime minister, wants to be president! How will that be? There will be jostling, running, pulling and pushing, turmoil. That is why politics becomes a disturbance, a struggle. All the ambitious stand on each other’s necks; placing their feet on each other’s heads they want to climb to power! There will be tug-of-war, upheaval.

God was frightened. The story says—very frightened! He called his companions and asked, “What shall I do? Tell me a place where I can hide.”

Someone said, “Hide on the Himalayas—on Gaurishankar!” God said, “You don’t know. Soon Hillary and Tenzing will be born and will reach Gaurishankar. And once one man reaches, there will be a line. This is no permanent solution. And once it becomes known I am on Gaurishankar, buses will come, hotels will open, trains will run, helicopters will land. The same uproar, the same marketplace. Think of something else!”

Someone said, “Why not go to the moon?” God said, “Perhaps that will save me for a little while longer. But how long? For me, eternity stretches ahead. It is not a matter of a day or two.”

Then an old advisor whispered in God’s ear. God said, “Right. That is right.” What did the old man advise? He said, “Hide inside man. There man will never go. He will go everywhere—he’ll climb Gaurishankar, reach the moon, reach Mars, reach the stars. He will leave no place untouched; wherever it is possible, he will go. There is only one place he won’t go—within himself.”

God said, “That fits.” And if ever someone goes within, then by the time he arrives he will have become so pure and quiet that he won’t trouble you. A Buddha will come; a Mahavira, a Lao Tzu, a Confucius, a Zarathustra—there will be no pain from them. Their coming will be a joy. They will bring a dance with them; they will bring a song.

If Krishna’s flute plays within, how could it be a hindrance to God? If Buddha’s voice drips within, what hindrance can it be to God! They will not ask for anything. They will come to offer. They will come to offer themselves. And they will come like blossoming flowers. When jasmine blooms, when bela blooms, when the rose blooms, the inner garden becomes even lovelier. These people will bring new colors, new ways, a new art of living, new offerings.

If anyone comes within, he is transformed in the very coming.

In coming within, a person becomes dvija—becomes brahmin. Becoming brahmin, he becomes worthy of Brahman. And as he becomes worthy, he becomes one with Brahman.

Until one is twice-born, life will remain as it is.

Amrit Priya, you say:
“I have never seen anyone at peace in this world.
In that very longing I spent away my whole life.”

Do not look at others at all. You are being foolish. Close your eyes. Look toward yourself.

How much time people waste looking at others! In that same time you could recognize yourself. If you fixed your gaze upon yourself, you would meet yourself; there would be a revolution; light would break forth; the blocked springs would begin to flow.

Mulla Nasruddin—there was a man sitting with a fishing rod, trying to catch fish. Mulla stood behind him, leaning on his staff, watching. Three hours passed, four hours passed—no fish caught. At last Mulla’s patience was exhausted. He said, “My brother, what sort of fisherman are you! Why are you wasting your head? For four hours you’ve been wasting time for nothing—not a single fish!”

The man said, “Big sir, at least I am trying to catch one. What are you doing here? You are only watching me. I might, someday, catch a fish. What will you get? You’ve been standing here with your staff for four hours, only to see whether I catch one or not. What have you to do with the fish, or with me? You better be on your way!”

People watch each other and think how sad everything is. Everyone’s eyes are fixed on others. In that time you could recognize yourself.

Amrit Priya, don’t look at others. Whoever looks at others goes astray. Whoever looks at himself arrives. Put your energy into seeing yourself.

What is the use of looking at someone else? It is their life. If they want to remain sad, even a hundred thousand remedies will not make them happy. If they have decided it so—if suffering is their choice—then so be it. It is their freedom. They are their own masters.

But why are you disturbed? By seeing them unhappy again and again you too will become unhappy. If you keep looking at the defeated, the fallen, the vanquished, a thick despair will settle in your heart: “So this is life. This is what will happen to me.”

Look at the buddhas. And if you do not meet a buddha, look at yourself—for there, buddhahood lies hidden. That too is to look at Buddha. Looking at a buddha outside reminds you of the buddha within. Looking at the buddha within gives you the key to understand the buddhas without. These are not separate matters. As one looks into a mirror and sees one’s own image, so when one gazes into the buddhas, one finds oneself.

You say: “How do you remain intoxicated in this world without drinking?”
There is an inner ecstasy for which no drinking is needed. It is distilled within as well.

There’s no need to strain bhang; I strain “God.” Why drink bhang when you can drink God? And why sip the grape’s distillate once you’ve learned to drink the soul’s distillate? Not only in the morning—I strain at every moment. Awake I strain, asleep I strain; I go on straining.

There is a nectar present within—just seek it out a little. That very nectar has been called the Divine—“Raso vai sah.” Drink that inner ambrosia. Then you too will become like this; you won’t have to ask:

“How do you stay inebriated, un-drunk, in this world?
O cupbearer! Never till today have I seen a man like you.
Tell me—are you human or some angel?
Or have I seen God in a dream made into a man?”

No—nothing of the sort. You only saw your own image in the mirror. I am a mirror—nothing more.

If I can show you your own face, the work is done. I have seen mine; my work is finished. Now, for as long as I am here, whoever wants to see their own face—let them see it. But when you look at your face in a mirror, you don’t go searching for yourself inside the mirror. You don’t hug the mirror to your chest. You don’t carry the mirror around with you.

You look in the mirror; recognition happens; then you have nothing further to do with the mirror.

Understand the true Master as just a mirror. Do not cling to him, do not imitate him, do not try to mold yourself into his color and form. Simply see your own face. And once recognition dawns, descend within. Search there. Whatever you saw shining in the Master—seek it inside yourself. Do not copy the Master. That is where the mistake crept in.

There are Christians in the world—but where is Christ? There are Buddhists in the world—but where is the Buddha? There are Jains in the world—but where are the Jinas? What happened? Where did the slip occur? Where did the foot fall astray?

So many Christians—and not a single Christ! And on the day when there wasn’t a single Christian, then there was Christ.

So many Buddhists—and not a single Buddha. What’s the matter? People fell into imitation. They looked in the mirror—and then went searching in the mirror itself. They had seen themselves; they needed to search within; they needed to return to themselves.

One night Mulla Nasruddin drank a lot. He came home. A drunk man, returning home, is afraid of his wife. Even without drink he is afraid; with drink he is terrified. Up to the door he had been swaying wildly, but the very sight of wives sobers a man up!

As soon as he knocked, he remembered, “Now my wife will fix me.” It was three in the morning! By good fortune the son woke and opened the door.

He thanked God. He shut the door and tiptoed inside. But along the way he had fallen in several places. He remembered: there might be scratches on his face, maybe some blood. He had been lying for hours in the gutter; then a dog, in his grace, sprinkled him with life-water, and he came to a little. Then he set off for home.

He thought, “Let me look in the mirror. Otherwise, in the morning my wife will look and ask, ‘How did you get that scratch? Where did that bruise come from?’”

So he looked in the mirror. There were scratches in many places. Bruises. He thought, “Let me put on some ointment and bandages.” He did so—and slept, quite at peace.

In the morning his wife got up, went to the bathroom, and came running out shrieking. She shook Mulla awake: “You’ve ruined the entire mirror!” Mulla said, “What happened?” She said, “Come in and see!” On the mirror he had smeared ointment in patches and stuck bandages here and there—because in his stupor his face had appeared in the mirror; wherever there were scratches, he must have applied belladonna there, put ointment there—on the mirror.

“You’ve spoiled the whole mirror! You came home drunk last night!”

How can a drunk be spared! He is bound to forget something; a mistake will surely happen. In unconsciousness, error is certain.

In unconsciousness this happened: people became Christians. They were meant to be Christs—they became Christians! To be Christian, here, means: they fell into imitation. They set about imitating being Christ-like. And imitation has no worth. They are counterfeit coins, no matter how long the line of them.

Half the earth is Christian—millions and millions of Christians! Millions of Hindus! Millions of Muslims! Millions of Buddhists! And life is lusterless; life is a burden. People carry it as if a mountain were on their heads—being crushed, dying under the weight.

I am a mirror; nothing more. And whatever you see in me—do not, by mistake, think it belongs to the mirror. You are seeing your own picture. Go within in search of it. If you go searching outside for it, the same old mistake will go on.

Outward—this is where all are running. Some run for wealth, some for position. You will start running for God. But the run is still outward. And as long as you run outward, you run astray. What you run for makes no difference; as long as you run outward, the run is wrong. Then whether you live a hundred years or a thousand—it makes no difference.

In the Upanishads there is the story of Yayati. Yayati turned a hundred. Death came. Yayati panicked. He had never thought that he would ever have to die. Who thinks they will die! Even a man lying on his deathbed does not think he will die. He keeps making plans for tomorrow. He keeps thinking about tomorrow—what to do tomorrow! Up to the last breath, the final moment, we do not accept death.

The urge to live is so intense that when death came at a hundred, Yayati was shocked. He began to beg and plead. He was a great emperor, a chakravarti. He fell at Death’s feet and said, “Don’t take me yet. Not yet. None of my life’s longings have been fulfilled. As you say:

‘Why are you lifting me away from the garden of the world?
I have not yet seen, to my heart’s content, the springtime of life.’”

Something like that he said. “So soon! Give me at least a hundred more years. Be merciful. Nothing at all has been fulfilled yet. Not a single desire completed.”

Death too, they say, felt compassion. She said, “I must take someone, at least for the record. If one of your sons agrees to go in your stead...”

He had a hundred sons. Yayati had a hundred wives. He said, “No obstacle—my sons honor and respect me greatly.”

He gathered his hundred sons. One was eighty, another seventy-eight, another seventy-five, another seventy—old men themselves, growing old.

He said to all his sons, “Death stands at my door. This is the moment of trial. Today let me see who loves me. You have often said, ‘Father, we could die for you.’ Now the time has come. Let’s see who accepts the challenge. Death says I could live another hundred years if one of you agrees to go. Let whoever is willing raise his hand.”

They all began to look at one another. Who will agree to go! These are the things of talk.

Husbands tell wives, “I’ll die without you.” Wives tell husbands, “I’ll die without you.” Lovers tell beloveds, “I will die; I cannot live without you even a moment.” All talk. No one dies; nothing happens!

The man who tells this woman he’ll die without her—who knows how many women he has told the same thing to—and has not died yet! It has become a habit, a style.

The sons looked here and there. Only one son—just sixteen years old—stood up. “I am ready,” he said.

Death felt deep compassion for that boy. “He is naive, innocent; just a lad. He has no experience. Those with experience are looking around to see who else goes. They look at each other: ‘You boasted a lot; now let’s see.’ They look at each other: ‘Get up, brother, raise your hand. You used to say such things; you used to do such obeisance; you used to worship so devotedly. Now the opportunity has come—show your manliness, your fire! Do not miss this chance.’ No one was looking at himself.”

The boy stood up and said, “I agree.”

Death said, “Listen, foolish one! Your ninety-nine brothers do not agree. Why do you agree? First ask your brothers—why are they not willing?”

One elder brother said, “When our father is not willing—he has reached a hundred—my age is only seventy! If he is not willing at a hundred, how shall I be willing at seventy? Which of my desires has yet been fulfilled? If his were not fulfilled in a hundred, how will mine be fulfilled in seventy? I too am incomplete. My bowl of craving is empty. My mind too is not ready to go. If his is not ready, how could mine be?”

All the brothers agreed: “Rightly said. How could we be ready! We too want to fulfill our desires. Everyone wants to fulfill his own desires. And when Father has so little mercy that he is ready to sacrifice his sons, why should we be merciful! Everyone sees his own interest. He is seeing his; we ours. This is a matter of self-interest, not of father and son. Where does the father–son relationship come in here!”

Death said, “Listen to your brothers. You are only sixteen. You have seen nothing—you haven’t even learned the ABC of life. Take back your word.”

But the boy smiled. He said, “Precisely for this reason I am willing: my brothers—some seventy, some seventy-five, some even eighty—have found nothing in life; my father is a hundred and has found nothing in life. These hundred men stand before me—ninety-nine brothers and my father the hundredth—and having lived their whole lives they have found nothing; then why should I live this pointless life? What could I possibly get? Seeing all this I agreed: take me instead. What essence is there in this life!”

Even then that old Yayati did not awaken.

Often it happens that little children are clearer, cleaner, more transparent than the old; their vision is still fresh, un-dusted by experience.

He insisted, so Death took him. A hundred years later Death returned. A hundred years passed—who noticed! And Yayati began pleading again. In those hundred years he had married again. The old sons were dead, the old wives gone. New sons, new wives. The same question arose. Again Death took a son.

The story says Yayati lived a thousand years. Death kept coming, and each time he asked for a hundred more. When Death came the thousandth year, she said, “Now it’s enough. You won’t ask for more, will you?”

Yayati said, “No, I am not here to ask. I only want to leave this word for those who will come after me: whether you live a hundred years or a thousand—nothing comes into your hands. The hands remain empty.”

From the outward run no one’s hands have ever been filled—whether you run for wealth, or position, or even for God. And the one who has gone within is filled at once. Ask the Buddhas, ask the awakened ones. He who goes within becomes the master; he who stays without remains a beggar.

“Thousands of desires—each enough to take one’s breath away;
Many of my longings emerged, yet still too few.

We had heard of Adam’s leaving Paradise,
But from your alley we came out utterly disgraced.

In love there is no difference between living and dying:
We live by gazing at the unbeliever for whom we’d give our life.

For God’s sake, tyrant, do not lift the Kaaba’s veil—
Lest here too that same heathen idol appear.

What relation has the tavern door with the preacher?
Only this we know: yesterday, as we were leaving, he was going in.”

There is little difference here—between your so-called religious and the irreligious, between sinners and saints. People are alike.

“What relation has the tavern door with the preacher?
What relation has the sermonizing guru...
What relation has the tavern door with the preacher?
Only this we know: yesterday, as we were leaving, he was going in.”

All are entangled in the same kind of turmoil.

“Thousands of desires—each enough to take one’s breath away;
Many of my longings emerged, yet still too few.”

A whole lifetime of running, and not a single longing is fulfilled.

“We had heard of Adam’s leaving Paradise,
But from your alley we came out utterly disgraced.”

Indeed, all come out disgraced. Only he departs with honor who leaves knowing himself. This alley becomes meaningful only for those few who recognize themselves.

Amrit Priya, know yourself. Do not waste time.

I tell you: life is a great joy, a great celebration. Life is an eternal song with no beginning and no end. But your life, as yet, is a seed. Give it the soil of meditation. Rain on it the water of love. Let the rays of effort fall upon it. Protect it with awareness. It will not take long—soon the sprout will come. Soon spring will arrive; the honeyed month will arrive. It can happen in a single instant—what is needed is urgency, an intense inner longing.

Remember the difference between longing and desire. Desire is outward; longing is inward. If a person, wholly and utterly, sets out to find himself—holding nothing back, not half-and-half, not even ninety-nine percent but a full hundred—then revolution can happen in a single moment. In a single moment fragrance can pervade your life; the sun can rise. This dark night that has run on for lifetimes can see a dawn. Otherwise this sadness will go on—on and on.

“I am not the light of anyone’s eyes, nor the solace of anyone’s heart;
Of no use to anyone—I am but a handful of dust.

My color and form are spoiled, my beloved has parted from me;
The garden laid waste by autumn—I am its very springtime harvest.

Why should anyone come to recite the Fatiha, why offer a few flowers?
Why should anyone come to light a candle? I am the tomb of utter helplessness.

I am not a life-giving song—what will anyone do hearing me?
I am the cry of great sorrow, the call of immense grief.”

Both possibilities exist for life: you can be a dark night—or a radiant day.

“I am not the light of anyone’s eyes, nor the solace of anyone’s heart;
Of no use to anyone—I am but a handful of dust.”

As you are, you are but dust. If you do not know yourself, you are a fistful of earth—and nothing more. And dust must fall back into dust; when it will fall, no one can say. So do not delay. Do not delay awakening. Do not postpone awakening to tomorrow. Whoever postpones to tomorrow postpones forever.

“With fists of dust my friends came after my burial—
They set about repaying a lifetime of love!”

What a recompense—how handsomely they paid it back! “They set about repaying a lifetime of love!” What repayment—fistfuls of dust thrown over and over!

“And not a single person said,
At the time of my burial,
‘Do not throw dust upon him—
He changed his clothes today,
He bathed only today.’”

“With fists of dust my friends came after my burial—
They set about repaying a lifetime of love!”

What else can they do? There is nothing left to be done. Here the breath stops—there they decorate the bier. In a moment, what happens!

“In such a little while—what became of the world?
Those who were mine just now became strangers!”

“What became of the world in such a little while!” But what is the world to do! You remained dust—you fell into dust. Now they have filled you in with dust and gone. All pressed down—they walked away! No greeting, no farewell.

“They all pressed down and left—no blessing, no salutation!
What became of the world!
In such a little while—what became of the world!”

No one even looks back. What a recompense!

“They set about repaying a lifetime of love!”

This can happen at any time. It could happen now, today. Before it happens—recognize the inner consciousness. Before death arrives, know the nectar within you—so that even when you die, there is dance within; even when you die, there is bliss within; even when you die, you know: “I am not dying. What is dying is not I. The body dies; I do not die.”

Until one knows this immortal essence, there is no rasa in life, no joy, no celebration.

Refute what I have said; answer it. Will opposing my coming to Kutch be an answer? Whether I come to Kutch or not—will that answer what I have said about Shankaracharya?

What have I said against Shankaracharya? For Shambhu Maharaj’s memory—let me repeat it. I have only said that I do not agree with Shankaracharya’s dictum: “Brahman is true and the world is false.” Nothing more than that.

Prove that the world is false. If you oppose my coming to Kutch, that itself proves the world is true. Is Kutch true? And the world will be untrue? My coming is true! Your opposition is true! Then how will the world be untrue?

“Illusory world and true Brahman”—this I have categorically opposed. I still oppose it, because in my view this formula is the very foundation of India’s poverty, misery, inferiority, slavery. Until we uproot this formula, auspicious days cannot dawn in India’s life.

Why did India not give birth to science?—because “the world is false.” How can science arise? If the world itself is not, what science? If you accept the reality of the world, science can be born. And science could have been born here first, because for five thousand years we have produced such great thinkers that it is incomprehensible we did not. When the West was utterly primitive, we touched the golden peaks of civilization—and yet we did not give birth to science. The reason is this deluded preaching that “the world is false, the world is maya.”

And it is not only I who oppose it; Mahavira also opposed it. Anyone with a little clear seeing will say: how can you call the world untrue? And if the world is untrue, then all of us are untrue. Then our beliefs and our meditations are untrue, our samadhis and the experiences of samadhi are untrue. And then how will our Brahman be true, when we ourselves are not true? If we are false, how will the experiences of false people be true?

I say: the world is true, Brahman is true. World and Brahman are two sides of the same coin. The world is outside—Brahman is within. But if the outside is untrue, the inside cannot be true. Just think. If everything outside your house is unreal, how can the inside of your house be real? The house itself will not stand; it needs ground to stand on. That ground must be outside. Otherwise your house will fall into the bottomless pit.

Matter is as true as the Divine.

Shankaracharya’s vision has proved fatal, a terrible curse. The result has been that we dropped our curiosity about the world. Then we go around lamenting and begging. There would have been no reason to beg if we had cared a little for the world. But why care, if it is unreal?

And the great irony is that Shankaracharya too eats food. Shankaracharya goes to instruct people—who are unreal! Shankaracharya travels the whole country to debate. Whom are you debating? For what reason are you debating? There is no one there! You are needlessly talking to yourself—defeating yourself. His followers speak of Shankara’s digvijaya, his “conquest-tour.” Conquest of whom? Victory over whom? There is no other; the other is unreal. Then whom is the debate with? If there is no Mandana Mishra, with whom are you debating? Whom are you defeating? Who is being defeated?

Shankaracharya’s whole life says something else.

Shankaracharya renounced the world—can you renounce what does not exist? That is my question. At least for renunciation it must exist! Like a beggar saying, “I have renounced a kingdom!” You would laugh. You would say, “Where was your kingdom?”

Two opium addicts were lying under a tree on a full-moon night. One said, “Ah, what a lovely moon! I could buy it for a crore of rupees!” The other began to laugh. He said, “Shut up. Don’t talk nonsense. You will buy it? Do you have the guts? A crore won’t do.” The first said, “I can buy it for ten crores. For fifty crores. For a billion.” The second said, “Stop your nonsense. We’re not selling! Bang your head as much as you like—if we won’t sell, how will you buy?”

They are dealing in the moon! As if it belonged to their fathers! Buying what does not exist! Selling what is not theirs… You call them opium addicts. And such stupor-laden talk you call Vedanta? I do not.

I hold science to be as true as religion.

Two kinds of delusions have occurred in the world. One delusion spread by people like Shankaracharya, who said, “The world is false and Brahman is true.” Meaning: science is false, religion is true. The other delusion was spread by people like Karl Marx, who said, “The world is true and Brahman is false. Science is true; religion is the opium of the people.”

I say both are wrong. And here is the amusing point: both agree on one thing; both are nondualists—Karl Marx and Shankaracharya—because both believe in one, not two, though their “one” differs. Karl Marx says, “The world is true; Brahman is false”—still a nondualist, mind you. Shankaracharya says, “Brahman is true; the world is false”—also a nondualist.

I regard both Karl Marx and Shankaracharya as victims of the same kinds of delusion. In my vision both are true, and the two are not separate either. I too am a nondualist—but I hold that a single coin has two sides. This does not make me a dualist. The coin is one; the sides are two. If someone can mint a one-sided coin, I will accept that both Marx and Shankaracharya are right. Make a coin with one side—how will you? A coin has two sides.

There can be no light if there is no darkness; and no darkness if there is no light. Man cannot be if woman is not; and woman cannot be if man is not. There can be no birth if there is no death; and no death if there is no birth. These are two sides of the same coin.

Cold and hot—two sides of the same coin. Pleasure and pain—two sides of the same coin. Science and religion—two sides of the same coin. East and West—two sides of the same coin.

My opposition to Shankaracharya includes my opposition to Karl Marx. I am only asking: why do you accept one side of the coin and deny the other? There is no scientificity, no logic in denying the other. And both have suffered the ill effects. The West suffers the ill effect of having lost religion. Only matter remains. Science has grown enormously—heaps upon heaps of discoveries. And the human soul is utterly lost. Objects are amassed; the person is lost.

Here we did the opposite. The soul somehow survived, but bread was lost, the roof was lost, clothes were lost. This soul became pitiable, impoverished, hypocritical—and it will become so. In the West insanity is arising, because without the soul the balance is lost; only body remains. And the East stands on the brink of suicide. You see it happening day by day: the crowd of people keeps growing—food keeps shrinking. Clothing keeps shrinking. Land keeps shrinking. The crowd keeps growing.

If the surge of prices is not checked,
then one day the papers will print rates like these:
Wheat: ten paisa a pair,
Rice: fifty paisa a cowrie,
Chickpeas: fifty for one rupee,
Grass: five rupees a kilo,
Milk: one rupee a drop,
Ghee: one rupee ten paisa a sniff,
Raw mangoes: a rupee a tola,
And three children for ten rupees!

Who will be responsible for all this? Shankaracharya is responsible in this.

Tell Shambhu Maharaj, Chandra Kant Bharti, to answer my words. Opposing my coming to Kutch does not answer them. It only shows fear, cowardice, impotence. And what I have to say, I will say—whether I am in Kutch or in Poona—it makes no difference. Where I am does not matter. What I have to say I will say, until you prove it wrong.

But none of them are ready to answer. And they are cow-devotees! And the world is maya. Then is the cow not maya? Cow-devotion goes on—and the world is maya! Except for the cow, is the rest of the world maya?

I have no access to anyone. I don’t even step out of my room—how could I have access? And even if I did, I wouldn’t get into such foolish business as “ban cow slaughter,” “ban alcohol.” These are silly demands—rustic, narrow thinking.

Certainly cows should be protected. But cow protection and banning cow slaughter are two different things. The truth is: only if cow slaughter continues can cow protection happen. You may be startled, and Shambhu Maharaj will be furious. But what can I do? I have to say what I see. I can’t deviate an inch—whether it pleases or offends. Cow protection is possible only if slaughter continues; if slaughter is banned, protection won’t be possible.

My point is as clear as arithmetic. There is no country in the world where cows are in such misery as in India. Why? Nowhere else is slaughter banned, and yet cow protection is real there. Forty Indian cows don’t give as much milk as one Swedish cow. That is protection!

In India people don’t have enough to eat—what will you achieve by “saving” cows? You’ll starve them—what else? You are starving them! India’s cows are skin and bones, dying of hunger. When people are hungry, who will feed the cows? When people can’t find food, when even grass is beyond their reach, who will feed the cattle—and how?

India has more cattle—cows and buffaloes—than any country on earth. Their numbers are overtaking humans! But how will you feed them and water them? If you just keep “saving” them, they’ll be nothing but skeletons. Do you want to keep them alive by force, to rot and die slowly? It would be far more compassionate to save only as many cows as you can truly care for—give them health, proper food, proper veterinary care.

If you want genuine cow protection, you cannot ban slaughter. It’s a compulsion—right now, it cannot be stopped. Right now the time is coming when even human killing is on the agenda—our numbers are exploding so much that we have to stop having children. Contraception—that’s a kind of killing, however you pretty it up with the phrase “family planning.” It’s still killing—the killing of a fetus. We won’t let the child enter the womb—still killing. We will have to legalize abortion—we already are. That too is killing.

We will have to grant the elderly the freedom to die—today if not tomorrow. That too is killing. But it’s a compulsion; there is no other way. And for this compulsion your Shankaracharyas and people like this Shambhu Maharaj are responsible. Otherwise there would have been no need to be so desperate.

Had we made some headway in science, had we found more scientific ways of production, had we invented new technologies in industry—this situation would not have arisen. We simply produce children, and nothing else. And then we chant “the world is maya.” What a charming setup! As though procreating is not maya!

Yesterday I told you: Chandulal caught his guru, Swami Matkanath Brahmachari, in a love frolic with his wife and naturally flew into a rage. He told his wife, “I’ll kill you; divorce is certain.” And to the brahmachari, his guru, he shouted, “You so-called brahmachari! You greenhorn in a loincloth! You blockhead! At least when I’m talking to my wife, stop your messing about! Get up and put on your three garments!”

A brahmachari is permitted three pieces of clothing; all three were on the table. And what did the brahmachari say? “Child, why are you angry? This world is maya! All a dream—so said Shankaracharya! Why be deluded? Why get entangled in a dream—in attachment and illusion?”

These so-called sadhus, saints, mahatmas—what strange games they play. On one hand they call the world maya; on the other, they preach “renounce the world.” If it doesn’t exist, what is there to renounce? On one hand, wealth is maya; on the other, they say charity is dharma.

What fun! Where’s the arithmetic, logic, accounting, intelligence? Wealth is maya, false—and donating wealth? You’ll get your reward in heaven. You’ll donate falsehood? Give what doesn’t exist? You’ll even cheat God—and then receive a millionfold return in heaven! This is what the mahatmas preach. What a racket!

Renounce untruth and reap a millionfold benefit—like a lottery! And even in a lottery you at least buy a real ticket. This is an even better lottery—no stake at all, and you win! Without turmeric or alum, the dye comes out perfect!

And at God’s door, donors get great honor. And to whom should you donate? The Brahmin instructs: donate to the Brahmin—profit is great. And what does the Jain teach? Donate to the Jain muni—not to the Brahmin; the profit is greater. And the Buddhist? Donate to the bhikkhu—not to the Jain muni; the profit is greatest! Do you see the arithmetic? Crystal clear: donate to us!

First they tell you wealth is maya—so your grip loosens a little. Then they say, “Now give charity”—and give it to us! The Brahmin says, to me; the Jain muni says, to me; the Buddhist monk says, to me—only then will you gain, only then will you get heaven’s reward! Don’t give to anyone else or you’ll be lost. It’ll be wasted.

Banning cow slaughter would be harmful. Not that I am an enemy of cows. But I want to ask: these gentlemen call themselves cow-devotees—what kind of devotion is this, and why are you devoted to the cow? Because she gives you milk, isn’t it? Is that devotion or self-interest?

And tell me, Shambhu Maharaj: is the cow’s milk produced for you—or for her calf? To snatch the milk from the calf so that Shambhu Maharaj can drink it—isn’t that exploitation, a violation?

If you are a true cow-devotee, first thing: stop drinking milk. A cow-devotee cannot drink milk. How could he? A cow-devotee should have the calves nursed on his own wife’s milk! That would be straightforward—if it is genuine devotion.

What kind of devotion is it to drive the calves away and drink their milk yourself?

And you call milk a pure, sattvic food! You’re stealing it—it’s violence. They even tie dead calves stuffed with straw near the cow so she’s fooled into letting down milk. If you’re devotees, have your wives nurse the calves, the bulls, the oxen! That would be devotion!

The man who eats the cow’s flesh is not a devotee. And the man who drinks the cow’s milk is not a devotee—both exploit the cow. And these cow-devotees exploit in the most bizarre way: they drink panchamrit—not just milk: cow urine, cow dung, milk, yogurt, ghee. At least Morarji Desai is better—he drinks his own: swadeshi, self-reliant! Why drink the cow’s?

The rishis said long ago that the nectar-jar is within. But no one before Morarji found where it is—the nectar-jar is the bladder! Filled with nectar. And God even provided a spout. Whenever you like, open it and drink!

I would tell Brother Morarji: go a little further—make panchamrit. Why drink only the water of life? Drink the full panchamrit and you’ll become immortal. If drinking your own urine got you to eighty-five and the prime minister’s chair, then if you drink your own panchamrit, death itself will be impossible. And be assured: when all the nations of the world gather, you’ll be made their head—the real grand prime!

What is this cow-devotion? For what? And if it’s only because of milk, then why don’t you worship the buffalo? What fault does that poor creature have?

I have no access to anyone, nor do I need any. I don’t leave my room—how would I “reach” anyone? And even if I could, I wouldn’t be interested in such foolishness.

Life holds far greater questions, and you’re stuck on cow slaughter! It’s precisely these blockheaded, rustic-type sadhus and saints—call them yokels if you wish, meaning only “of the village”—who won’t let India enter the twentieth century. Because of such people India has been held back—living a thousand years behind.

The world has gone from earth to the moon. These folks are stuck on a cow’s udder! And nothing comes out of the teat; even so, they keep tugging—and call it devotion!

All this is political maneuvering—the exploitation of the Hindu mind. The Hindu mind carries the notion of cow-devotion; to exploit it, just talk of cow-devotion.

And they say, “If he does this much, I’ll become his disciple.” You may become one—but will I accept you as a disciple? Never! I don’t accept such obscurantists as disciples.

First, discipleship has no conditions. And you’re laying down conditions. Can anyone be a disciple on conditions? Disciple means unconditional surrender.

They’re stipulating: if I get cow slaughter banned, they’ll become my disciples—as if they’re tempting me, as if I should relish having them as disciples! What would I do with them? Tie another barren cow in my courtyard? What use would they be here? Conduct a Srimad Bhagavata week?

And what is in the Srimad Bhagavat? If a non-Hindu reads it, he’ll be shocked: if everyone enacted the pastimes described there, we’d all be in jail. We’d have to build bigger prisons. In fact we’d have to put everyone in jail and leave only a few outside—those who don’t follow the Srimad Bhagavat. Or, think of it this way: we’d have to turn the present prisons into the outside, and turn the outside world into a prison.

What is there in the Srimad Bhagavat? Think a little. If someone stole your women’s clothes and climbed up a tree, what would you do? Report him to the police—or worship him? And if you “worship,” then do it in the proper sense: give him “education”—as they say in Marathi—meaning a good thrashing.

And Krishna had sixteen thousand women—many of them other men’s wives, abducted; married women stolen. Yet people lavish praise on Krishna because he saved Draupadi’s honor. And the honor of sixteen thousand women he violated—no accounting of that! Other men’s wives—no accounting. And Draupadi was his sister—so he saved her honor; what’s so special? Anyone would save his sister’s honor. That’s why when you abuse someone, you abuse his sister. Ever wondered why? The sister has done nothing! But by abusing the sister, you provoke him to defend her honor.

It’s quite something: a man commits a wrong and his sister gets abused! And if you abuse someone’s sister, he immediately grabs a stick—he will protect her honor. In that sense, everyone is Krishna!

And he abducted other men’s wives! Yet his devotees sing his praises with relish—ah! bravo! subhan Allah!

Does anyone want to conduct a Bhagavata week here? I don’t take such people as disciples. I have no interest in these reactionary corpses. Even if they wanted to come in, the saint at the door would send them back: get on the path—move ahead!

Third point, he said: “I have no difficulty calling Rajneeshji ‘Bhagwan.’” If you have no difficulty, why say it? There is a difficulty—otherwise there’s nothing to say.

No difficulty in calling me Bhagwan—but difficulty in letting Bhagwan come to Kutch? What fun!

And he said, “I consider him very pure, wise, and learned.” If you consider me pure, wise, and learned, then pay a little attention to what I say. But you don’t.

He must have said it out of fear, because my sannyasins put him in such a spot that to placate them he must have said, “All right, I’ll call him Bhagwan too; I’ll call him wise too.”

We call someone prajnavan when enlightenment has happened, when prajna has dawned. If you accept that, then listen to what I’m saying—if you accept it. Otherwise don’t utter such false flatteries. These so-called devotees have learned nothing but flattery.

In this country, toadies are ancient. It’s not some new thing that Delhi is full of chamchas today. The chamcha has always been a religious figure here. That’s why we praise God—it’s sycophancy, nothing else: “We are sinners and you are compassion itself; we are lowly and you are the savior of the lowly.” Is that praise—or flattery? Praise means flattery.

And you think you can please God with flattery! Politicians you might, because they are as foolish as you. There’s no difference between you and them. Tell a complete dolt, “There is no one as intelligent as you.” Tell someone whose face would scare children, “Ah, your beauty! Never has the earth seen such beauty!” And he’ll be delighted. He’ll accept your words. The same flattery you offer to God.

People even bribe God in this country. That’s why it’s so hard to root out bribery here. They offer coconuts to Hanumanji. What is a coconut? A bribe: “I have no son; if a son is born, I’ll offer one more coconut; I’ll distribute prasad worth five annas. O Ganeshji, if this time the lottery falls to me, I promise a Satyanarayan katha; I’ll sponsor a Ganesh festival, commission a statue, decorate a tableau!”

What have you taken God to be? But people are this foolish.

In my village, when I was a child, Muharram was celebrated grandly. There was never a Hindu-Muslim riot there, so both joined in. During Muharram the “wali” rides go forth—the possessed carriers leaping and jumping. People make vows before the one who carries the standard and leaps. The more he jumps, the greater a wali he’s thought to be.

I suspected from childhood that the leaping was fake. I somehow wrangled a chance to hold the lead rope of one rider. I followed them persistently till they said, “All right, give this boy the rope; he’s persistent—very devout!”

I took along a needle, because I had heard that when a wali descends, he feels nothing—not even if you cut his neck. So I would prick him to see if he felt it. And whenever I pricked, he’d leap and caper more. It was clear he felt it. I’d prick and he’d jump and raise a greater commotion.

It got to the point that whichever rope I held, that wali became the most famous in the village—he received the most offerings. People began to say, “This boy has some power; whichever rope he holds…” But afterward the “walis” would fold their hands to me privately: “Brother, please hold someone else’s rope. Why hide it from you? We’ll jump anyway—just don’t prick with the needle!”

They would tell me in private, “Look, don’t jab us. You can hold the rope—it benefits us too, we get more offerings. Someone without a son, someone without a daughter, someone whose engagement isn’t happening—people bring offerings, distribute sweets. Because of you we get four or five times more. But you torture us. We’ll leap anyway—just give us a hand signal. No need for the needle.”

So I’d say, “Half is mine.” And I got half. I held nearly all the walis’ ropes; all of them jumped high when pricked. Later they’d beg me, “Brother, don’t expose us. We get so angry we could slap you, but if we did, our bluff would be called. So we can’t say anything; we just have to leap.”

Meanwhile people kept offering… From then on I saw the fraud at work. You offer before the idol of Ganesh, before Hanuman. Some are caught up in cow-devotion; some in monkey-devotion; some worship elephants. Look at the state of our minds.

He now says it to flatter. It’s false praise. And my sannyasins—well, they become adept at argument. They become sharp; their swords gain an edge. Twenty-five sannyasins went and no doubt set him straight. Out of that fear he’s speaking. Otherwise why such contradictions?

Fourth point he said: “What the newspapers printed under my name along with fourteen other sadhus, mahants, and mandaleshwars—I never used those words or that tone. Whatever was printed is the press’s distortion.”

If that’s so, Shambhu Maharaj, you should issue a rebuttal in the newspapers. Telling my disciples is pointless. Publish a correction that your words were misquoted. You haven’t. That’s a lie.

The truth is that Shambhu Maharaj paid twenty-five thousand rupees to have those statements printed. No paper was willing to carry them. And who are those fourteen sadhus, mahants, mandaleshwars? The very people whose vested interests I am wounding. The very people who preach “the world is maya and Brahman alone is truth.” The very people who exploit the masses and won’t let this country’s intelligence move forward. They are chains—we cannot advance without breaking them. They are the nooses around our necks.

If this is true, there is no use telling my sannyasins. Issue a statement in the papers that your words were distorted. And in the papers, acknowledge that you accept me as Bhagwan, wise, and learned.

They won’t do it. Because if they do, how will they oppose my coming to Kutch? Their claim is that my coming will destroy Kutch’s culture, ruin its civilization; Kutch will sink into the netherworld—because I come!

None of them cared for Kutch till now. The moment I spoke of going to Kutch, their love for Kutch flared up. Suddenly everyone loves Kutch. “Save Kutch!”

And what I am bringing—what is it if not culture? It is surely the culture of the twentieth century—and not only the twentieth, the twenty-first. What I am bringing is the civilization of the future. And what you are saving are the corpses of the past, which should long ago have been buried.

That’s why they cannot issue that statement—because if they say, “This person is Bhagwan, he is wise,” then how will culture and civilization be destroyed by him? And they’re even ready to be my disciple—on the condition that cow slaughter be banned!

So quick to abandon the Shankaracharya! Then you’re ready to accept all my “wrong” ideas—won’t I then destroy your culture? If I am drowning Kutch, I’ll drown you too! How will you be saved as my disciple? Suppose the cow is saved—but how will you be saved?

Think a little. People like this, so pointless, sit on our chest and smother us.

Absolutely wrong! I am getting worse. The question of improving does not arise. The more I experience all these fools, the sharper I keep my edge. Their necks have to be cut. I am driving the blade in deeper. My blow will grow deeper every day. Let no one remain in this mistake. And yet they go on explaining this to my disciples.

Now this is most amusing: on the one hand they call me “Bhagwan Rajneesh,” and on the other they say I am improving! Is there anything left to improve in a Bhagwan? Does it mean that even after being God something still remains to be improved? Only “worsening” remains; there is nothing left to improve. And once you are a Bhagwan, even the fear of worsening is gone. Now, even if you send me to hell, it makes no difference. I will celebrate there too. There you will find that I have turned the devil into a sannyasin!
Now I neither have to reform, nor do I fear going astray. But do you see these foolish remarks: “Osho is speaking nicely now; he isn’t like before—he has improved a bit!”
“A bit!” Even in that they are stingy. How can they say “completely,” when inside them something else is seething? Inside they feel I am cutting their roots. So they must keep a little room for self-defense. If they declare I have completely reformed, how will they go on opposing me? So: he has improved a little! That way they can please my sannyasins as well as the mahants, mandaleshwars, and mahatmas—“I only said a little, I didn’t say completely.”

“God” means one who has attained all; who has found himself; who has come home; who has found stillness in his own nature. As it was, so it abides!

And the sixth, final thing he said was: “I am the vice-president of the All-India Sanatan Dharma Parishad. And because I live in Gujarat, I am having to oppose the Kutch ashram on behalf of the organization.”

What dishonesty! Then leave such an organization for whose sake you have to do false things!

The statement means he does not want to oppose, but since he is the vice-president of the Sanatan Dharma Parishad, the organization compels him to oppose. Then leave the organization for the sake of truth. Is truth greater, or the organization greater?

But everywhere it is politics. He is a vice-president—how can he resign! The position! The post is a big thing; who cares for truth and all that! Truth can be opposed, but the post cannot be relinquished! One can compromise for the sake of the post.

What sort of religious people are these, who themselves say with their own mouths that because of the organization they have to oppose; “I don’t want to oppose; it is a compulsion because I am the vice-president.”

Then why not resign? Who is stopping you from resigning? Resign! Why stay in an organization that does wrong, that makes you do wrong? And how can such an organization be called “Sanatan Dharma”?

Sanatan Dharma is nobody’s hereditary property. It doesn’t belong to the Hindus. Sanatan Dharma and “Hindu dharma” are not synonyms. No one has the franchise on Sanatan Dharma.

Sanatan Dharma means the eternal stream of religion in which all the awakened ones have flowered—Lao Tzu has been, Zarathustra has been, Krishna has been, Mahavira has been, Jesus has been, Kabir has been, Nanak has been, Raidas has been, Rajjab has been. That endless stream!

Sanatan Dharma does not mean Hindu. Sanatan Dharma means the very essence, the distillation of all religions—the Bible, the Quran, the Vedas, the Dhammapada, the Avesta—the quintessential thread of them all. “Esa dhammo sanantano,” Buddha said. That is Sanatan Dharma: the extract of all religions.

Religions come and go; Sanatan Dharma neither comes nor goes. Sanatan Dharma is synonymous with truth. Whether Hindus remain in the world or not makes no difference—Sanatan Dharma will remain! It will remain in some other form, in some other dress, revealed through some other scripture, shimmering in the words of some other awakened one. The presence or absence of Hindus makes no difference.

But Hindus are under the illusion that their religion is eternal. Jains are under the illusion that their religion is eternal. Jains claim their religion is older than the Vedas because the Rigveda mentions the name of the first Tirthankara of the Jains. From that what is proved is that the Rigveda must have been written later; the first Tirthankara had already happened. And the mention is respectful; had he been alive, there could have been no respect. A living awakened one is always insulted! At least three hundred years must have passed since his death—at least that much—maybe more; but at least three centuries are needed before respect begins to accrue.

Living Buddhas are crucified, stoned, nails are driven into their ears; dead Buddhas are worshiped!

Adinath is mentioned with such honor—this is evidence that a long time had passed since Adinath. If he had been alive, the Vedas could not have mentioned him respectfully, for what concord is there between Adinath and the Vedas? None at all.

The Vedas are very worldly, very this-worldly, very materialistic. In the Vedas there are a few spiritual aphorisms, yes; but ninety-nine percent are purely materialistic—so materialistic that even materialists would blush. There are such prayers by cow-worshipers in the Vedas: “May the milk in my cow’s udders increase, and may the milk in the enemy’s cow’s udders dry up.” What religious talk!

And in Vedic times cow slaughter was practiced; there were ashvamedha sacrifices, gomedha sacrifices, even naramedha sacrifices in which human beings were offered. Cows were sacrificed, horses were sacrificed. And these same people who follow the Vedas go around shouting that cow slaughter should be banned! Nowhere in the Vedas is there any mention of banning cow slaughter.

Adinath was utterly opposed to any kind of violence—the very root of Jainism is “Ahimsa paramo dharmah,” nonviolence is the supreme religion.

The respectful mention of Adinath indicates that a long time must have passed since Adinath’s death. So the Jains do have an argument that their religion is older than even that. But mere antiquity does not make something eternal.

Even before the Jains there were other cultures and religions. In the excavations of Harappa and Mohenjo-daro, remains of a seven-thousand-year-old civilization were found. In Harappa a statue was found—of a person seated in padmasana. Certainly yoga is older than Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras. Mahavira sits in padmasana; five thousand years earlier someone had already sat thus. His statue was found in Harappa.

And Harappa and Mohenjo-daro are both civilizations prior to the Aryans’ arrival in India; there is no mention of the Aryans there. And the Aryans never mentioned the civilizations of Harappa and Mohenjo-daro anywhere. There is no mention in the Vedas. The Vedas were composed later.

So there must have been some religion in Harappa and Mohenjo-daro. Otherwise why would there be someone seated in lotus posture, meditating? A standing statue was found of a man with eyes closed. Someone is standing with eyes closed, meditating.

There was meditation, there was yoga, there was religion—long before the Hindus, the Jains, the Buddhists. But where did that religion of Harappa and Mohenjo-daro go? Neither its followers remained nor did that religion remain.

But religion itself is not destroyed with any particular people. The vehicles change, but the pilgrimage of religion continues. In the West many religions have been; they ended. But with the end of religions, religion does not end. Religion is eternal.

Understand the meaning of dharma. Dharma means: the nature of existence; the law that governs the cosmos, that holds the universe together; that which sustains—this is dharma. “Esa dhammo sanantano!” That alone we can call Sanatan—the eternal. It has nothing to do with Hindu, Christian, Muslim; nothing to do with Jain or Buddhist. These are all reflections of that dharma.

When the moon rises, its reflection forms in the river, in the pond, in the lake, in the pools, in the puddles—each according to its capacity. If there is a dirty puddle, even there a reflection forms. You can set out a plate filled with water and a reflection will appear there too. Millions of reflections arise; the moon is one. Do you think if your plate breaks and the water spills, the moon will break and spill? Do you think if your little pond dries up, the moon will dry up? Do you think if your river is churned by storm and waves scatter the reflection, the moon will be scattered?

Esa dhammo sanantano! That dharma is eternal whose shadows arise and vanish, while it neither arises nor vanishes—what is ever-existent. All the awakened ones have pointed toward it. Their fingers are different, the moon is one. Don’t clutch at the fingers.

The one who sits as a Hindu has clutched one finger; the one who sits as a Jain has clutched another finger; the one who sits as a Christian clutches a third. These three fingers are different. Certainly Jesus’ finger will be different; Mahavira’s finger different; Buddha’s finger different; Krishna’s finger different. The fingers will differ: their bodies differ, their color and form differ, their languages differ. But the moon to which they point—neither the Christian sees it, nor the Hindu, nor the Buddhist. No one cares for the moon; everyone is busy with his finger. The worship of fingers is going on. What a strange world!

I have heard: A master had two disciples. One hot afternoon the master lay down to rest. The two disciples began quarreling—competing: who would serve him. The master said, “Do this, divide me. Stop this quarrel. One take the left leg, the other the right.”

The master lay down. One began to massage the left leg; whose left leg it was, he pressed the left; whose right, he pressed the right. In his sleep the master turned over, and the right leg came to rest on the left. The one who had the left leg said, “Move your leg! It’s on my leg.”

The other said, “I’ve seen plenty of your sort! Who is going to tell me to move? Is there anyone born of a mother who can make me move my leg? It won’t move. Do whatever you like!”

The first said, “Move it, or I’ll thrash your leg!”

The second said, “Let me see you thrash my leg! If I don’t cut your leg into two pieces, change my name—and my father’s name too!”

Hearing this exchange, the master awoke. With eyes still closed, he listened. He said, “Brothers, stop—both legs are mine. Neither your left nor his right! Now don’t thrash or chop my leg!”

But that is exactly what is happening. Truth is being chopped up—mine and yours! Truth belongs to no one. We can belong to truth; truth never belongs to us. In the world there are only two kinds of people: those who want truth to belong to them, to suit them, to fit their mold; and those who say, we are ready to belong to truth—whatever its color, whatever its manner; wherever truth leads, we are ready to go with it; we are ready to become its shadow.

Only the second sort can discover truth. The first sort end up as Hindus, Muslims, Christians, Jains, Parsis, Sikhs—and are finished. They can never find truth.

What kind of Sanatan Dharma is this?

Shambhu Maharaj says, “I am the vice-president of the All-India Sanatan Dharma Parishad. And because I live in Gujarat, I am having to oppose the Kutch ashram on behalf of the organization.”

This is sheer politics. This is no Sanatan Dharma. In fact, it is not even religion—leave aside “eternal”! There isn’t even a trace of religiosity in it; it is only attachment to position.

Leave such a post for whose sake you have to do wrong! At least give this much proof of religiosity. Leave such an organization for whose sake you have to oppose. How much juice is there in remaining vice-president!

Strange people—entangled in strange lies. Entangled in peculiar dishonesties. And they cast their lies in very fine, fancy words, covering them over. Then, through the veils of their falsehoods, whatever they see becomes distorted. They cannot understand me. How could they? Their insistences, their partialities, their prejudices become hindrances.

I have heard: Dhabbhu-ji had to go to Delhi for a week on some government work. He returned the very next day. I asked, “Strange! You went to Delhi for a week on urgent work—how did you return in just two days?” He said, “What to tell you! Those rascals in Delhi heard in advance I was coming. So to insult me they pasted posters all over the stations against me. I took a return ticket right from the station and came back.”

My amazement grew. I said, “I don’t understand. Tell me the matter in detail!” After much prodding he admitted shyly, “Some hoodlums, loafers, anti-social elements had pasted posters that said—‘See it today, don’t miss it. Arrived, arrived in your city—The Henpecked Husband!’”

Poor fellows—they were pasting a film poster. But Dhabbhu-ji is a henpecked husband. He thought the posters were about him—“Arrived, arrived—today in your city, the henpecked husband!” He returned straight from the station!

People see through their own positions, their own partialities, their own notions, and thus miss the truth. I am speaking plainly—without any concealment. Only those can understand who have the courage to set aside their partialities and prejudices. And the irony is: because of these very prejudices people are miserable. Yet they cling even to their misery. “My misery!” Because it is “mine,” they get attached even to that.

Two friends were walking down the road. One friend would walk and then stop repeatedly. The other asked, “Is your shoe tight? You aren’t able to walk properly.”

The first said, “Yes, the shoe really is tight.”

The second said, “Then you must be in great pain?”

The first replied, “Yes, a little pain is there—but there is great benefit too.”

The second asked, “Benefit? What benefit?”

The first said, “From the pain caused by a tight shoe, all my other pains are forgotten!”

Such amusing people! And their tricks are one better than the next! Wearing a tight shoe—and indeed the other pains will be forgotten. The shoe’s pain is so much—what other pains will you remember! They drag themselves along, limping!

People cling to their sufferings, cling to their lies! And he said so many things—and felt no hesitation about what he was saying! Perhaps he didn’t even think it through.

Chandrakant Bharti did well to write down all this and send it to me.

These people are nourished on lies. They have no living experience of their own—everything is borrowed, stale. They are like parrots. They repeat the Gita, the Quran, the Bible. But they have no experience of their own. And until truth is experienced by oneself, it is not truth.

But even on their lies they impose ego. If someone breaks our lie, we feel hurt—because it was “ours”! And the entire surrounding environment teaches us only lies.

A lawyer decided to make his son a capable lawyer, so from childhood he was teaching him to lie. One day, to test his son, he said, “Son, if you can immediately tell a splendid lie the moment I finish speaking, I’ll give you ten rupees.”

“You were just saying you’d give fifteen,” the son said instantly. See—he learned!

Mulla Nasruddin was teaching his son politics. He said, “Son, climb the ladder.” The boy, obedient, climbed. Mulla said, “Now jump—I’ll catch you.”

The boy hesitated—what if father slipped? It was a high ladder; what if he fell and broke an arm or leg! But Mulla said, “Don’t worry. Hey, don’t you trust your father? Jump!”

He hesitated a little, was shy. Mulla encouraged him again—so he jumped. And when he jumped, Mulla stepped two paces back! He crashed to the ground, his head hit the wall, his leg was scraped, he began to cry. Mulla said, “Quiet!”

He asked, “Why did you step back?”

Mulla said, “Now remember—In this life, even your father’s trust is not reliable. This is the lesson I taught you, son!”

Mulla is a politician; he is teaching his son politics—here even your father’s trust is not reliable! He taught a cash lesson.

Here we are reared on lies; borrowed beliefs are imposed upon us and we carry them around. Our eyes are blinded by beliefs. Hearts are closed. No discernment. No awareness.

In those six statements alone there are so many contradictions that if one person can say so many things at once, he certainly gives proof of derangement.

All I ask of you is this: be free of all partialities. Do not clutch even at my words, because if you clutch at my words they will become partialities. Do not clutch at words at all.

You have to be without thought. You have to be silent. You have to be empty. Only then will the flower of meditation bloom within you. And if the flower of meditation blooms, the nectar is yours, the divine is yours. Esa dhammo sanantano!

And when the flower of meditation blooms, you will understand Rajjab’s saying: As it was, so it abides! You will abide exactly where your nature is. To be established in one’s own nature is the greatest attainment in this world.

That is all for today.