Kahe Hot Adheer #12

Shailendra! God is not a person. The very word “God” creates the illusion of a person. There is godliness, not God. There is divinity, not a deity. This whole existence is suffused with divinity. Every particle, every hair is filled with an extraordinary energy. But there is no person running the world.

Our notion of God is very childish. We see God as a person—and that is where the trouble begins. The moment you think of God as a person, religion becomes worship and ritual; not meditation, but rites, ceremonies, sacrifices. And with that, religion turns hollow. Whom will you worship? Whose scriptures will you recite? When you lift your hands and eyes to the sky, there is no one there. No reply will come to your prayers. This does not mean prayer is futile; it only means waiting for an answer is futile. Prayer is joy in itself; it is not a means, it is an end. It is the expression of the gratitude that has arisen within you.

The universe has given you so much—unasked; even beyond your worthiness it has given! Eyes to see beauty; ears to hear music; a heart to experience love; the intelligence to sense the mysteries of life; the capacity for samadhi, to realize the ultimate center of life. What more could you want? And what would you ask for? Whatever you ask will be petty. Had you been asked, there is little hope you would have asked for the capacity for samadhi, or the perception of beauty, or the experience of music, or the birth of poetry. You would have asked for trinkets—wealth, position, prestige; a bigger house, a bigger shop, a bigger bank account.

It is good that existence did not ask you what you wanted. It gave without asking. And it has given so much that if you try to reckon it, you will fail. It has given immeasurably! But there is no person who is giving; there is the Whole. This entire existence is a wondrous event of energy.

Understand “God” as an experience. An experience of what? Of the fact that everything is connected. The name of that connectedness is God. We are not separate. There are bridges within us; we are joined to one another. A tiny blade of grass is linked with great suns. If the sun does not rise in the morning, the blade will not stay green. If the sun does not rise, there will be no flowers in your courtyard. If there were no moon and stars at night, the world would be different. Even stars millions of light-years away are connected with the smallest things; otherwise it would all fall apart. This whole dance is held together by a certain key, a certain rhythm; the name of that rhythm is God. When you attune yourself to that rhythm, your attunement is prayer, it is meditation. Move away from that rhythm, scatter and stand apart, and you will live in misery.

This is my definition of misery: whoever is isolated from this grand celebration, this great festival; whoever is cooking his own little pot of khichdi apart from it…

There is a word in English—idiot. It’s a sweet word! Commonly it means “fool,” but the root from which it arises means “one who cooks his porridge separately.” Idiot means one who is trying to live in his own way—separate. One who lives in the ego is an idiot. Whoever lives not with the Whole, but against it, is an idiot. Whoever does not flow with the current but goes against it—that one is the fool. Whoever starts flowing with the current is the wise.

And in this current are the moon and stars, the oceans, the earths, the animals, birds, human beings. Everything is in this current. What is not in it! And here you are, keeping yourself separate—contracted, afraid the current might drown you! You want to save yourself—as a “somebody,” as an ego. This is your misery. And when you defend yourself as an ego, the fear of death grips you. For if you are separate, fear arises that you will have to die. The one who has known that “I am not separate” loses the fear of death. Before birth I was not separate, after birth I am not separate, nor will I be separate after death. Existence is forever.

So he rightly said: “Only That is, and other than That there is nothing.”

But do not take “That” to mean some personified God. “That” means rhythm, attunement; “That” means music. Immerse yourself in this music. There is nothing other than this. Remove yourself, don’t stand in the way. However you can, bid yourself goodbye—offer the final salute. The ego breaks, egolessness joins. The name of joining is yoga. Where there is yoga, there is samadhi.

Do you understand the word samadhi? It comes from samadhan—resolution. The ultimate resolution has arrived! Ailments and afflictions are gone; samadhi has come. Problems and questions have vanished; silence has come—wordless, bliss has come. A fountain has burst forth within you! When, like the cuckoo, you sing, then prayer is true. When, like trees, flowers bloom, then the flowers bloom in your very life-breath—then meditation is true.

But these flowers and these songs cannot blossom because of your presence. The more you are present, the more God is absent. The more you become absent, the more God becomes present.

He rightly said: “There is no one running the world.”

The world is conscious. A driver is needed only if the world is inert; then a consciousness would be required to drive it. Then duality arises—creator and creation. But God is not a creator—God is creativity.

Do one thing; it will help you immensely: turn all nouns into verbs. Not creator, but creativity. Then you will succeed far more in understanding God. Not the dancer, but dancing; not the singer, but singing; not the musician, but music—turn all nouns into verbs.

Then, certainly, you won’t be able to make an image of God. And where images are gone, temples and shrines are gone. Then worship takes an inner dimension. Then worship is not of an image; worship becomes a feeling—of thankfulness. Then you will close your eyes to worship. Then you will not pluck flowers from trees nor light earthen lamps. You will light the lamp of your life, and offer the flowers of your consciousness. And all this will happen within. You won’t need to take even a single step outward.

He rightly said: “There is no maker, no manager; it all moves on its own.”

Whoever knows will say exactly this. But the unknowing feel a big difficulty: How is it all moving on its own?

The way we think forces us to insist there must be a driver. But do you ever think, then who drives the driver? The driver moves on his own! If ultimately we have to accept self-movement, why push it further ahead? Why create unnecessary confusion?

Therefore Buddha and Mahavira both said: There is no driver; everything moves on its own. Hence Lao Tzu said the same. Buddha even defined dharma as law—the great law: “This is the eternal law!” It is an eternal law, not a person.

Just as things fall downward. Newton discovered the law of gravitation. It is not that some man hidden in the earth pulls fruits down the moment they ripen; that when you throw a stone up, someone below hastily tugs it down. No one is hiding in the earth. Gravitation is not a person; it is a law.

As gravitation is a law, so is God a law. Dharma means law, intrinsic nature. Movement is the nature of this universe. Being is the nature of this universe.

You will ask then: what remains as the difference between atheist and theist? The atheist says there is no God; Buddha also says there is no God; Mahavira says there is no God.

That is why Hindus were so annoyed with Mahavira and Buddha. They did not let their feet hold in this land. For they were cutting the business of the pundit-priest at the root. If there is no God, there is no temple, no pilgrimage; no worship, no recitation; no need of a priest. If God goes, the entire net of religiosity goes.

But what Buddha said is the supreme truth—and it accords with science. That is why in the West the influence of Buddha keeps growing day by day. It will be no surprise if science increasingly agrees with Buddha—it is happening. Declarations made twenty-five centuries ago by Buddha are gradually being affirmed by science.

What then is the difference between atheist and theist? You will ask. Hindus called Mahavira and Buddha atheists.

That is wrong. No one on earth has been more theistic than Buddha and Mahavira. H. G. Wells wrote about Buddha—an important line—“So godlike and so godless!” So like God, and yet so without God! As if godliness itself descended in form! And still Buddha says: there is no God! Why? Should we then weigh Charvaka and Buddha on the same scale? That would be a mistake.

Charvaka says: there is no God—and no godliness either. No God, and no godhood. The world is devoid of consciousness.

This very view of Charvaka was repeated in modern times by Karl Marx: consciousness is only a by-product, an epiphenomenon. It is born out of matter. Charvaka had said it in the old style, five thousand years ago. He said it like this: we make paan—lime, catechu, betel-nut. Chew lime alone—your lips won’t redden. Chew betel leaf alone—your lips won’t redden. Catechu alone—no reddening. Betel-nut alone—no reddening. But when the four are combined into paan, your lips turn crimson. From where does the redness come? It isn’t separate—said Charvaka—it arises from the combination of these ingredients.

That was the old way to say it. Marx’s way is new, but the point is not new. Marx says consciousness arises from a particular organization of matter, and when matter disintegrates, consciousness dissolves. Matter is primary; consciousness is only a by-product. Consciousness is not real in itself; matter is real.

If Karl Marx were to return now, he would be in a great fix! For modern science says: matter is not. The more matter has been investigated, the more it has been found there is no matter. Matter has long since gone! In the language of science, matter is no longer there. In its place there is energy, power. And energy is a very different thing.

That is what Buddha is saying. Life is energy. And in this energy there is no unconsciousness. At its center, this energy hides consciousness. To discover that consciousness is to discover God. Therefore the search for God does not become worship; it becomes meditation. If the search for God takes you to temples and pilgrimages, it is wrong. If the search takes you within, it is right.

He rightly said there is no manager; all moves on its own; it is all happening by itself; no one is doing anything.

Do not take this to be atheism. This is the supreme form of theism. It is the essence of non-dualism. There is only One! Creator and creation are not two; the creator is merged in his creation. The relation between creator and creation is not like that of a painter and his painting. As the painting progresses, it keeps becoming separate from the painter. First it was in the painter’s mind, in imagination, a mental child. But as color descends on canvas, the painting grows separate. The painter will die, the painting will remain. The sculptor will die, the statue will remain. The statue is now separate; the painting is separate.

Between God and his creation there is no such relationship. That is why the oldest image of God we made is that of Nataraj—the dancer. Have you looked into the meaning of Nataraj? Dance has a uniqueness that nothing else has. Dancer and dance cannot be separated—that is its uniqueness. Painter and painting separate; sculptor and statue separate. But dancer and dance are one; you cannot separate them. Dancing will not remain if there is no dancer—and without dancing, where is the dancer? He can be called a dancer only when he is in dance.

The dancer and the dance are two aspects of one coin. Creation and creator are two aspects of one coin. And if both are to be united in one word, we should say: creativity. Forget the old words “creation” and “creator.” Let both nouns dissolve into one verb—creativity. Then you will have an extraordinary perception of God; then you will find him everywhere. A seed sprouting into a shoot—this is creativity. A river running to the ocean; clouds gathering and drizzling; a woman becoming pregnant, nearing motherhood—this is creativity; a dream growing dense in a painter’s mind; a statue taking shape within a sculptor.

As I see it, if you want to come close to God, the ritual Satyanarayan story will not bring you near. For in your Satyanarayan story there is neither satya (truth) nor Narayan; it is the business of pundits and priests. Sacrifices, offerings of ghee, wheat, rice into fire—this is madness, derangement, a crime. A country starves, and hundreds of tons of grain and barrels of ghee are poured into the fire every year. You are crazy! This is not religion.

Light the lamp within. And the easiest way to light it is: become creative. Do not leave life as you found it. Make it a little more beautiful. Pick up the brush, give life a little color! Pick up the veena, give life a few notes! Tie ankle-bells to your feet, give life a little dance! Give love! Give affection! Break the gloom. Fill life with a touch of celebration! The more creative you become, the closer you will find yourself to God. For God means creativity. The only way to come near is to create.

That is why I keep saying: a poet, painter, sculptor, actor are far closer to God than your pundits and priests. When an actor is totally lost in acting, that moment is prayer. When a painter is completely absorbed in painting, forgets himself—that moment is prayer. Whenever you melt yourself utterly into any creative act—dissolve—vanish… Poets, painters, actors, sculptors are much closer to God than pundits, priests, philosophers, thinkers.

But the poet, painter, sculptor dives only for a moment, then comes up; his plunge is not deep.

Three little boys were talking. One said, “If you want to learn diving, learn from my father—what a plunge he takes!”
The second said, “Your father? Does he come up or not?”
“He comes up.”
The second said, “My father dives. For half an hour you can’t tell!”
The third said, “Is that a dive! My father took a dive seven years ago—hasn’t returned yet. When I ask my mother when he’ll come back, she says, he is not going to return; he has gone under. That’s called a dive!”

A poet’s dive is like that—he goes and comes, goes and comes. He touches, leaps up, reaches the feet, then falls back. That is why in our language we have two words that mean almost the same—kavi and rishi. We call him a kavi (poet) who dives and comes up, who for a moment stills his breath. And we call him a rishi who, once he dives, does not return—who is utterly drowned; who does not come back from God!

Palatu said: when a doll of salt dives into the ocean, will it return? It will dissolve, become one, become of one form! But the poet is an important step toward becoming a rishi.

I keep telling my sannyasins: be creative.

The old sannyas had become uncreative; it became dead. Its connection with God was broken. What have your old mahatmas created? You began to honor increasingly uncreative acts because you forgot the very sense of creativity. People praise: “So-and-so is a great mahatma.” What does he do? What has he done? “He is naked. In winter he wears no clothes. He stands in the sun when others seek shade; and when others seek the sun, he stands in the cold.” These are signs of derangement. This man is a suffering-addict. He is sick; he needs psychotherapy.

Someone is a mahatma because he sleeps on thorns. Sleeping on thorns is not a natural instinct. It is very unnatural. Have you ever seen an animal or bird laying a bed of thorns and then lying on it? Except among men, this kind of madness is found nowhere. Animals and birds must laugh when they see your mahatmas spread thorns and lie on them: “Something has gone wrong in this man. He is self-destructive, slowly committing suicide.” And you honor such things. You honor someone because he fasts for long, starves himself. What is created by his starving? His starving only creates ripples of derangement around him; nothing else. He spreads diseased germs around him. Psychologists call this masochism—self-torture.

There are two kinds of wicked people in the world: those who torment others, and those who torment themselves. Neither is religious. Both are violent. Whether you torment another or yourself, tormenting is violence. And violence is destruction, not creation.

I am giving my sannyasin a new dimension—a healthy dimension. Neither torment others, nor torment yourself—tormenting is sin. Whether you torment another’s body, you torment God. Or you torment your own body, you torment God—because in all bodies, He pervades. What do you think…

It is astonishing! These mahatmas of yours say God is everywhere—except in themselves! When they starve, whom do they starve? When they stay awake all night, whom do they keep awake? When they lie on a bed of thorns, whom do they put on thorns? God Himself! Is God everywhere except within them?

And what is the purpose of such practices? The world is already full of suffering; don’t add more. The world is already a bed of thorns; why go searching for more thorns! You are already on the funeral pyre; why go looking for another pyre!

The sannyas of the past was suffering-addicted, though you called it renunciation. “Renunciation” is a nice word for suffering-addiction, nothing more. The sensualist torments others; the renunciate torments himself. The arithmetic of torment is the same. Beware of both! Torment neither others nor yourself. Do not torment at all! God is everywhere. If you can, spread waves of joy! If you can, sing a sweet song! If you can, create a dance full of juice!

A sannyasin should be creative—poet, painter, sculptor, dancer. Or whatever he does, let him do it in such a way, with such absorption, that even the smallest act becomes meditation.

It is precisely to attempt this great experiment that the whole arrangement here is running. Here you will see sannyasins making shoes; cleaning baths and toilets; doing carpentry—but with a wondrous cheerfulness! Because this is not mere doing—this is an offering to the Beloved, this is worship! When actions become worship, then know you have become a sannyasin.

He rightly said: “It is all happening.”

In life there are things that happen by doing. Those are the trivial things. Sit under a tree, and money will not come seeking you. Forget the children’s tales that “when He gives, He tears the roof open.” No one gives through the roof. The roof may be torn—and nothing else comes. Then build your own roof! He tears many roofs, but gives to none through them. Don’t live in such illusions, in old children’s tales that a man enters a city at dawn, and is seized and made the emperor. Go to Delhi as often as you like—leaders keep circling Delhi day and night in the hope that someday some story will come true: they went to Delhi, and suddenly people caught them and said, “Please become President! Please become Prime Minister!”

Wealth and power don’t come like that. Wealth and power have to be snatched; you’ll have to fight, quarrel, compete, burn with envy and make others burn. But there are things that come on their own—like joy, love, meditation, prayer, God, heaven. These come in another way. They do not come through doing. They do not come from the doer-state. They come when you are in non-doing; when you are so still that neither any action is happening nor any urge to do remains; when you are utterly empty; when everything within is unmoving—no stir, no craving, no future, no desire to get anything, no desire to become anything—then something begins to descend within you that is beyond the ordinary. Call it what you will… Mahavira called it kevalya; Buddha called it nirvana. If you like, call it God; God is a lovely word—call it God. But remember, do not make a person out of God. God is not a person. In a person He would be limited. God is the Whole. Keep Him boundless.

God is the ocean whose shores are nowhere. And the only way to find God is to drop all the ways you have learned for getting. Come into a state where there is no desire to get. Where being is enough. Then you will understand that all is happening. When you see God descending within you—bliss—and you have done nothing, you were sitting silently, how could you say, “I did it”? You will only be able to say: “It is grace!”

Therefore the knowers have called God “prasada”—grace. Prasada means “that which is received,” which has descended from the infinite, which has come from the sky and entered you. That day you will know that all is happening on its own.

No one is tugging trees taller! No one is filling water into clouds and sending them along! It all happens on its own. And that everything happens on its own deepens the mystery of life; it does not lessen it. When you say “God is doing it,” you kill the mystery.

In truth, the human mind is always engaged in murdering mystery. It wants an answer. “Give some answer so that the mystery ends.” Who created the world? There is no answer—because the world was never created; it has always been and will always be, eternal, without beginning, without end. But this does not satisfy curiosity. Then someone says Brahma created it; the mind feels a little lighter: “All right, someone made it. Now let’s seek Brahma! We will worship him, we will recite his name, we will flatter him, praise him. He who made the world will take care of it.”

Then who takes care of it? If someone says, “No one, it takes care of itself…” we hang midair—and the mind gets very uneasy.

A man checked into a hotel. The manager said, “Forgive me. Though one room is vacant, we can’t give it to you—please go to another hotel.”
The man asked, “Why? If the room is vacant, why can’t you give it?”
He said, “Because the politician staying in the room directly below is very touchy—he’s in office. If you walk heavily, even a slight thump will make him shake the whole hotel. So we keep the room above empty. If anyone stays above, a plate might slip, someone might walk too hard.”
The man said, “Rest easy. I’ll be out all day and return around midnight. I have a four o’clock train. I can barely sleep four hours. Do you think the sound of my dreams will disturb him? I’ll come quietly, sleep, and leave at four. No problem.”
This made sense to the manager. He gave him the room. At midnight, exhausted from the day, the man returned. Sitting on the bed, he took off one shoe and slammed it down hard. The instant it hit the floor, he remembered that the leader might be annoyed. So he placed the second shoe gently, lay down, and slept.
Two hours later, the leader knocked on his door—2 a.m.! Startled, the man got up. “Who’s there?” He opened the door. The leader stood there, buzzing with irritation. “Forgive me,” the man said, “What went wrong? I’ve been asleep two hours. Did I make some mistake?”
The leader said, “Yes! What happened to the second shoe? It’s hanging over my head. You banged the first one—I thought, ‘Fine, the gentleman’s arrived.’ But what about the second? I tried to explain to myself in a thousand ways—maybe he slept with one shoe on. But that made me more uneasy—who sleeps with one shoe! Maybe there was no second shoe—but how is that possible! Maybe he put it down softly—but why would he put it softly when he slammed the first? I tried everything, but curiosity kept increasing. Until I got an answer, I could not sleep. In the end I had to come. Just tell me what happened to the other shoe so I can sleep in peace!”

Such is the state of the mind. Someone tells you, “Brahma made the world.” He doesn’t know Brahma’s whereabouts, nor do you. It is doubtful Brahma himself knows his own whereabouts! There are Buddhist stories that when Buddha attained enlightenment, the first to come for his darshan was Brahma. He bowed at Buddha’s feet and said, “Grant me self-knowledge.”

Even Brahma does not know! Of course this is a Buddhist joke, an old satire.

Then who maintains it? The mind wants an answer; otherwise it hangs in the air and panics. So: Vishnu maintains it. And who will end it? Shiva will end it. Now you are at ease. You got three answers. You created the trimurti—the three-faced God.

Notice: there are very few temples of Brahma—only one in India! Why? Who cares—his job is over. Who needs him! There are many temples of Vishnu—because Ram and Krishna are avatars of Vishnu; all those temples are Vishnu’s. Worship Ram or Krishna—you are worshipping Vishnu; these are his forms. People worship the caretaker.

Does anyone worship Morarji now? Though Charan Singh is only a caretaker—still people must approach Charan Singh. You have to ask him. Vishnu—the caretaker. So Vishnu’s temples everywhere.

And Shiva’s—countless. In every village, under every bush—wherever you look, a Shiva-linga is placed. Because you have to deal with him sooner or later; he is the end; the end is in his hands. Whatever has passed has passed; at least let the end be well-managed! So people worship Shiva, offer great praises. Temples everywhere; lingas installed everywhere. There are more of Shiva’s than any other.

These are reports from your psyche. One Brahma temple—who has anything to do with him! Finish the matter—build one temple and be rid of the hassle. Many of Vishnu’s, more of Shiva’s. For the one who maintains life must be minded; and he who is lord of death, of dissolution—keep him pleased. Who knows what trouble he may cause! At least let him not dance the tandava on your head! These are symbols of your psychology. There is no Brahma, no Vishnu, no Mahesh anywhere. Existence runs on its own.

But to see that existence runs on its own requires a deep state of meditation. In meditation you will see that everything is happening on its own. The recognition will be so clear that it will no longer be a logical theory; it will be your experience. From such experience he said everything happens on its own.

And you ask, Shailendra, that he said: “The doctrine of karma and the like are all nonsense.”

In one sense, it is nonsense—because the doctrine of karma is human trickery. If you put your hand in fire today, will you burn today or in the next life? If you drown in water now, will you die now or in the next life? You abuse someone now—and you will reap the fruit in the next life? Such a gap between cause and effect? It seems baseless. It is human cunning, a way to evade. If there is time in the middle, there is room to manage. Abuse today—tomorrow ask forgiveness, or go to the temple and worship, or bathe in the Ganges, or do some meritorious deed, give alms. Build a temple, offer a golden crown to God. If there is time in between, there is convenience. Something can be managed. One can flatter God.

And for centuries you have been told that God loves flatterers and praise-singers. Look closely at your prayer—you will be startled and ashamed: what are you doing? You are flattering. The same flattery that went on in royal courts—you are becoming courtiers.

I have heard: the nawab of Balkh and Bukhara sent his vizier to the Delhi court with a message of friendship. When he arrived, the emperor asked, “Between the nawab of Balkh and Bukhara and me, how do you compare us?”
Delhi is Delhi! Balkh and Bukhara are far away; the nawab too far away; the vizier alone here. What could he say! He said, “Why do you ask! The nawab of Balkh and Bukhara is the second-day moon; you are the full moon. How can there be any comparison!”
The emperor was delighted. He showered jewels on him and accepted friendship. But news reached home first—he had enemies at court. Courtiers are enemies of one another. They told the nawab, “You have been insulted. The man you sent turned out a traitor. He called the Delhi emperor the full moon and you the second-day moon—which is sometimes visible and sometimes not. Is the second-day moon any moon at all! A thin line appears for a moment and is gone! He insulted you greatly.”
The vizier was returning happy with gifts, but as soon as he entered the door, he was seized and handcuffed. Dragged into court in chains. The nawab said, “You have insulted me.”
But courtiers are clever, skilled in praise. He said, “You did not understand me.”
Now Balkh and Bukhara had arrived; where was Delhi! A new mess!
The nawab said, “Explain yourself. You called the Delhi emperor a full moon and me a second-day moon.”
He said, “Certainly. Because full moon means the end has come. Now finish—there is nothing ahead. Second-day moon is the moon that is growing, my lord. You missed the point! You have a future; he has none.”
The chains were removed, and jewels showered.

What courtiers did with emperors is what you do in worship: “We are fallen; you are the purifier of the fallen! We are great sinners; you are great compassion!”

You are lying on both counts. You do not believe you are a great sinner. Put your hand on your heart and say it. You will say: “Me, a great sinner? There are much worse than me! What count am I in! I’m only saying it. I call myself a great sinner so I can call you great compassion. I blacken my face to brighten yours.” But ask your heart.

Such praises won’t work there, because there is no one to hear. No answer will come. And because your prayers are not answered, atheism arises. For thousands of years you have prayed; no answer came—so atheism grew. The basic cause of growing atheism is your pundits and priests with their false assurances. Since those assurances fail. Yes, now and then, by chance, an arrow hits the target. Shoot in the dark, sometimes it hits. No prayer is heard—sometimes it lands.

Yesterday I read a news item in a paper that surprised me. A person wrote to the editor that he had gone to be admitted to Jahangir Hospital. He had long been suffering from illnesses. I—my father was ill—I had gone to see him. As I was coming out… I didn’t even know where that man stood. He wrote: “I was standing there. He folded his hands in greeting, and I blessed him—and instantly all his illnesses vanished! He had gone to be admitted; he canceled it and returned home. All diseases ended.”

This is an arrow that hit in the dark. I don’t even know him. Now he is trapping me. Now other troublesome people may start coming here. Laxmi was very worried. She said, “This news has appeared in the paper; now there will be trouble in the office. People will come asking for blessings. Queues of the sick may form.”

And I am doubtful whether he met me. As far as possible—it must have been Swabhav, because he was the one attending to my father there. I blessed no one, so far as I remember. And my memory is not that weak. He must have touched Swabhav’s feet; Swabhav gave him a blessing. The mind believed. If the mind believes, revolutions can happen. Because ninety percent of illnesses are mental. If the mind believes, ninety percent can vanish at once. It is a matter of belief.

So if your prayers are sometimes fulfilled, know that an arrow landed in the dark. No God is listening to your prayers; but if your prayer is done with depth, it affects your mind. And when your mind is affected, transformations occur.

But there is no need to drag God in the middle. Then you can pray with far greater perfection. Knowing no one is listening, your prayer will become more and more meditative. Slowly it will cease to be praise of someone and will become a state of feeling. Then you can remain prayerful twenty-four hours. No bell to ring, no incense-lamp to light—simply a prayerful mood, a feeling of gratitude toward existence: that it has given so much to such an unworthy one! It has showered nectar upon me! I had no merit; I did not earn anything!

He spoke rightly. And he said that all talk of karma is nonsense. Karma does bear fruit—but instantly. You do evil, and that very moment you receive evil. You do good, and that very moment you receive good. You love, and fragrance spreads within you. You are angry, and stench spreads within you. You are angry, and you descend into hell. You love, and you rise into heaven. This is happening every moment. There is no need to postpone it till tomorrow; postponing it is nonsense. Postponing it to the next birth is a conspiracy of pundits and priests. That conspiracy has great advantages for them. If you are poor, they say you are poor because of the sins of past lives. Which would mean that in Russia no one sinned in past lives, for now there are no poor there. If you are rich, they say you are rich because of merits of past lives. Which would mean that in Russia no one did merits either, because there are no rich there. Two hundred million people—did they have no past lives? They must have done something—good or bad—something!

But the pundit had invented this device. It was opium for the poor: they remained content—“What can I do? I’m suffering fruits of past karma!” And he hoped: “If I do good now, I will get good fruits in the next birth.” And what was “good”? Obey the priest! Do as the scriptures say. If you were born a shudra, remain a shudra; don’t try to become a brahmin. Live with what you got, so that in the next life there is no guilt of rebellion; then you will get good fruits.

Who knows about the next life! You know neither the past nor the next.

And to the rich he says: “You gave much charity in your past life—keep giving even now, so in the next life you will be even richer; you will receive a millionfold.” Thus he extracted money from the rich. And to whom would he have him donate? The scriptures say: donate to the brahmin! Donation to a brahmin is the real donation. In Jain scriptures: the greatest merit is to give food to a Jain monk—Jain monks are writing it! Brahmins are writing it! Buddhist texts say: the greatest merit is to donate to a Buddhist monk. Buddhist texts don’t say donating to a Jain monk or a brahmin is merit; that is ignorance. What a delight indeed!

So they explain to the wealthy, “Give us more.” And to the poor, “Be content in your poverty—do not rebel.”

Because of these priests, in five thousand years no revolution has happened in India. India is the most revolution-less country in the world—deadest of the dead! And when revolutions do happen here, they are junk revolutions. The recent revolution of Jayaprakash Narayan—such junk is not found anywhere. Its sole result: Jayaprakash himself went senile, and the whole nation went senile. Jayaprakash lives on dialysis, and the whole country lives on dialysis. Revolution! And the flower that bloomed on that revolution—Morarji Desai! Have you ever seen such a revolution? An eighty-four-year-old man enthroned—what a revolution! Now if another great revolution comes and digs up graves to seat corpses, that would be a grand revolution.

Preparations for revolutions are on. The third revolution is being readied—Raj Narain will do it. The fourth is being prepared—I. S. Johar will do it. Now watch the revolutions—big buffoons will do them; clowns will make revolutions.

It’s a very difficult question, because someone may come who is neither male nor female.
In Bombay a journalist once asked Raj Narain, “What do you say about I. S. Johar?”
Raj Narain said, “Who is she? Who is this lady?”
The journalist said, “Good grief! You don’t even know—he’s not a lady, he’s a gentleman.”
Raj Narain gave the right answer; the essence came out. In this country there has been no revolution yet, nor is there much hope of one anytime soon. Because the foundations required for revolution are missing. And the greatest obstacle to revolution, the biggest of all, is the doctrine of karma. Even a man like Jayaprakash believes in it. For the last two, two-and-a-half years, the doctors at Jaslok Hospital have been striving with all their might to save Jayaprakash. But this time, when he returned to Patna and was welcomed at the airport, do you know what he said? “By the grace of Mother Ganga I have been saved!”
The doctors at Jaslok toil, and the saving is credited to Mother Ganga! Mother Ganga flows just behind his house—then why trouble the people at Jaslok? If it is to be Mother Ganga’s doing, then show some grace to Jaslok. Your arrival ruins Jaslok’s condition, because then Jaslok is no longer Jaslok—it gets besieged by Delhi. In Delhi there are two houses—the Rajya Sabha and the Lok Sabha. Then a third house starts up—Jaslok-sabha. All the politicians are here, all the flatterers are here. And all the glory goes to Mother Ganga.
If a man like Jayaprakash says he was saved by Mother Ganga, will there be a revolution in this land? Will Mother Ganga make a revolution? Will Mother Ganga allow a revolution? Mother Ganga is the headquarters of all anti-revolutionary forces.
No, this country does not have the basic foundations for revolution. And the most fundamental difficulty is the doctrine of karma. If every person is reaping the fruits of his own actions, where is the question of revolution? Birla is rich—because of his merits. And you are poor—because of your sins. The matter is closed. We’ve solved the problem—so where is revolution now! To make a revolution would mean to go against the doctrine of karma. And beware of going against the doctrine of karma, for that is to go against God. The consequences will be terrible. You will rot in hell for centuries, you will be thrown into boiling cauldrons in hell.
In this country the priest and the politician have struck a pact; revolution cannot happen.
I, too, say that the doctrine of karma, as it has been defined so far, is wrong. It should be given a new meaning—immediate, not of the life to come. What you do now, you will receive now. Live moment to moment! What future, what next birth, what previous birth?
And that is why it has been said: Eat, drink, and live in joy.
Live moment to moment! Live playfully! Do not make life a futile affliction. Feel blessedness in the small things of life—in eating, in drinking! Consecrate even the smallest act with sacredness, with virtue, with purity. Let every act of life become religious. Let eating and drinking become worship.
Kabir has said: “What I eat and drink—that is service.” For when I eat and drink, it is the Divine within who is being served. “When I rise and walk—that is circumambulation.” I rise, I walk, I move—this is circumambulation of him. I am not one to go to Vishwanath’s temple to circumambulate God—Kabir said—my rising, sitting, walking is his circumambulation, for he is present everywhere. There is no need to go searching anywhere for him.
And the religion I am inaugurating accepts all the joys of this life; it does not renounce them. I have no faith in renunciation. Renunciation has lost. It has tried enough. We have given renunciation at least ten thousand years of our history. And what is the result? What have we got in hand?
I am not a renunciationist. But this does not mean I am a hedonist. Make enjoyment into prayer. Make enjoyment into meditation. Offer even your enjoyment to the Divine. Make enjoyment the steps—the staircase—to the temple of God. You tried to make renunciation the staircase—it did not become one. I say: make enjoyment the staircase to the temple of God. And enjoyment will become the staircase, because existence is the unity of matter and spirit.
So existence should be a unity of opposites. Enjoy, but remain untouched. Eat and drink, and yet be a witness. Do not become only eating and drinking. One who ends there is ignorant, an atheist, a Charvaka materialist. One who runs to the opposite is a runaway, an escapist. Enjoy, and yet remain a witness. The one who can remain a witness in the midst of enjoyment has learned the art of being at peace in the midst of a storm.

Neither wealth is bad, nor position. If there is meditation, everything is beautiful; without meditation, nothing is beautiful. With meditation, even wealth is creative. In the hands of a meditator, wealth will serve the welfare of the world—no harm, only benefit and auspiciousness. Because wealth is energy. Wealth is power. Wealth can do much. I am not against wealth. I am not in the line of those saints who have kept telling you, “Beware of wealth! Run away from wealth!” Such talk is the talk of cowards.

I say: live amidst wealth, but do not forget meditation. Let meditation remain within and wealth without—then there is nothing to fear. Then you are like a lotus: you will live in water and the water will not touch you.

Nor am I an enemy of position. After all, the world has to run; people will have to be somewhere. Someone has to be somewhere.

Mulla Nasruddin came home one afternoon—early. He was supposed to return in the evening. As soon as he stepped in, he saw someone’s umbrella. He picked it up and saw the name “Chandulal” written on it. He also saw a pair of shoes—Chandulal’s. An old acquaintance, a friend. He went inside. His wife looked a bit flustered. He asked, “Where is Chandulal?”

The wife said, “What Chandulal? Who’s Chandulal here?”

He opened one cupboard after another. Chandulal had hidden in the fridge, so he opened the fridge. Chandulal was crouched inside—half frozen and terrified. Mulla said, “Chandulal, you—and here!”

Chandulal climbed out and said, “My friend, one has to be somewhere. Since I exist, whether there or here, I must be somewhere. What’s the need to make such a fuss about it?”

Each person has to be somewhere. The world is vast—its expanse, its work, its order… someone has to be somewhere. Only keep this in mind: don’t identify with the position. Even if you become the president, don’t become the president. Know: it’s a function to be fulfilled. When you sit on the president’s chair, do the work of the president; the moment you get up from the chair and go home, forget it all. At the shop, be a shopkeeper; at home, forget it all. But people don’t forget.

I was once a guest in a house in Calcutta. A friend of mine was a High Court judge. His wife said to me, “I cannot tell this to anyone else, but I must tell you—and please explain it to him. We are distressed. When he leaves the house, a lightness descends. The children begin to laugh and play; I become cheerful. And the moment his car stops in the porch, a sudden hush falls; the children signal to each other, ‘Daddy is home.’ I get anxious. A gloom descends, a mourning spreads in the house.”

I said, “I don’t understand—what is the matter?”

She said, “The matter is he remains a judge twenty-four hours a day. Even at night, in bed with me, he behaves like a judge. He is not my husband; he is a judge. Every word of his must be obeyed as if he were standing in court. In front of him everyone is a culprit. The children stand there scared, like criminals, like thieves. He has established such a terror in the house—so we are all miserable, and he too is not happy, because he lives in such tension.”

This is not the way to hold office. This is madness.

A leader went to give a speech in a madhouse. After the speech, the superintendent told him, “I have never seen the inmates so happy as today. I’ve been here twenty-five years.”

The leader smiled and said, “I gave such a speech today that even the best of people cannot help being influenced—these poor fellows are mad, after all.”

“Brother, come here,” he beckoned one of the patients, and asked, “Why do you people look so happy today?”

The patient said, “Why would we not be happy, sir? It is our great good fortune that you have come here. Our superintendent is absolutely mad—while you look exactly like us.”

Let position not make you mad. Let it not unhinge you. Use the office; don’t identify with it. After all, some people will have to do certain jobs—someone will have to be a collector, someone a commissioner, someone a governor, someone a station master, someone a headmaster, a principal, a vice-chancellor…

These functions will continue. But the meditator does not identify with them. He does not become stiff because of them. He knows the cobbler who makes shoes is doing work just as useful as the president. Therefore he does not regard himself as superior, because the one who makes shoes is as indispensable as anyone else. No hierarchy, no caste order arises of “I am above, you are below”; no ladders get built. Everyone is engaged in what is necessary for society. Each does what he can, what gives him joy. The day position no longer dominates you, there is nothing wrong with position.

And let wealth not become the be-all and end-all of your life. Don’t spend your life only in amassing money. Wealth is a means—do not turn it into the end. Do not lose the other values of your life for the sake of wealth. Then there is nothing wrong with wealth. I am not a denigrator of wealth. I would like wealth in the world to grow abundantly—so much that even the gods yearn to be born on earth!

But wealth is not everything. There are greater riches—the wealth of love, of truth, of integrity, of simplicity, of innocence, of egolessness. There are other treasures—greater than wealth! Even the Kohinoors would look pale beside them—those diamonds are inner. Let not everything become money.

One day I asked Mulla Nasruddin, “Nasruddin, I hear you’ve started a new firm! How many partners are there?”

Nasruddin said, “Why hide it from you? Four are from my own family and one is an old friend—so five partners.”

I asked, “What have you named the firm?”

Nasruddin said, “Messrs. Mulla & Mulla & Mulla & Mulla & Abdullah Co.”

I said, “The name is very nice, very elegant—but where did this Abdullah drop in from in the middle?”

“Had to drop him in,” Nasruddin replied in a sad tone. “All the money belongs to that fool.”

Here, friendships are all about money, relationships are all about money. And money has only one meaning here: loot as much as you can, whomever you can. Then money is a disease.

Create wealth! Generate wealth! The recipe of looting wealth is very old. And in this country that’s still the recipe. We still think wealth means getting it out of someone else’s pocket. That solves nothing—what leaves his pocket enters yours, and from your pocket someone else takes it; money keeps circulating in pockets, but it is not created. We have not yet learned that wealth is to be created. For us, wealth still means exploitation.

The truly affluent countries, like America, have understood that wealth is not exploitation—it is creation. Wealth is produced. In two hundred years America has left the whole world behind! We have been trying for ten thousand years and are starving and rotting—and America reached the peak in two hundred! What could be the reason? Russia too—fifty or sixty years have passed since the revolution—has still not become rich; it is still poor. The rich have been eliminated, so the poor are less restless now. Because—and this is a curious thing, the world is strange—one’s own poverty does not hurt as much as another’s wealth! In this country too, if you eliminate the ten or twenty names—Birla, Tata, Dalmia, Sahu, Singhania—there aren’t many more, the poor will be very pleased. They won’t become rich, but they will be very pleased that socialism has arrived. Poverty got distributed. But what is there to distribute of wealth? Where will your Birlas and Tatas vanish to—it won’t even be noticeable. Even if you distribute all their assets, what will fall into each person’s hands?

I have heard a beggar once said to Rockefeller, “You have looted a lot. All this wealth should be distributed. I’m not just a beggar, I’m a communist.”

Rockefeller said, “Fine, do the math. This is how much I have. How many people are there in the world?”

He said, “About three billion.”

“How much does each person’s share come to?”

“One dollar,” the man said.

Rockefeller took out a dollar and gave it to him: “Now be on your way—take your share. Don’t come here again. Whoever comes for his share, I’ll give it to him.”

But if every one of three billion people gets a dollar, how long will it last? By distributing wealth like that, no affluence will come.

Russia remains poor; even after sixty years of effort, it lives on a very low level. The American poor man is richer than Russia’s most senior officials and powerful people. What is the reason? America discovered a new approach: it learned to create wealth. Wealth should be created.

People come here—especially Indian friends—and they wonder, “How is all this running?”

This is nothing yet. In two or four years you will see a township of ten thousand sannyasins—so prosperous that no settlement anywhere in the world could match it. Wealth can be created. And our land is not poorer than any other land. Our country is not poorer than any other. But we are foolish, and we give great importance to foolish notions.

For example: if I sit under a tree and spin a charkha two hours a day, you will regard me a mahatma, though I am indulging in foolishness. Electricity can spin; why should I spin? And it can spin far better than I can. And in those two hours I can do what electricity cannot. I should do what I can do; let electricity do what it can do. But if I spin my own cloth and weave my own sheets… ah! your heart will be delighted. Your foolishness has become so ancient that you have no idea what you are doing. If I start living half-naked, you will say, “Yes, this is a mahatma!” And when you consider the half-naked to be mahatmas, you will have to live half-naked yourself—because you become like those you honor. If you honor those who fast, you will have to starve to death—because you are honoring hunger.

Mahatma Gandhi gave the poor a new name—Daridra Narayan. When you call the poor “Narayan,” how will you eliminate poverty? Does anyone eliminate God? God has to be protected; He must be defended. How will you remove poverty? “Untouchable” was a good word; it carried pain, a sting, a thorn that pricked. The untouchable had to be eliminated. But Daridra Narayan has to be worshipped. Press the feet of Daridra Narayan. And keep him poor—otherwise he won’t remain Narayan; keep that in mind too. For the days of Lakshmi-Narayan are gone; now it is the days of Daridra Narayan.

If we worship poverty, how will we become rich? And if we despise wealth… and your mahatmas have kept telling you to despise wealth! Wealth is sin, the great sin! When wealth became the great sin, the creation of wealth stopped. Who will commit a crime? Who will rot in hells?

I tell you: there is no sin in wealth. Creating wealth is as virtuous as creating poetry, painting, or music. Perhaps creating wealth is an even greater virtue, because when there is wealth, everything else becomes possible—poetry is possible, music is possible, meditation is possible. When there is wealth, we can devote ourselves to higher quests. Only with a full belly can those quests happen. “Hungry bellies don’t sing hymns, O Gopala.”

I have no opposition to wealth, none to position. Do not identify with position, and do not generate wealth merely through exploitation. Discover the alchemy of creating wealth. Now the alchemy is in our hands—machines exist, technology exists. We can draw from the earth as much as we need. Cows can give as much milk as needed. But we don’t even think of it. Here no one fasts to increase the milk yield of cows; here people fast so that cows are not slaughtered.

I am not saying slaughter cows. When human beings cannot live, how will you keep cows alive? Vinoba Bhave’s fasts… you will see dead, skeletal cows standing everywhere. You will give them sorrow, not joy. When humans cannot fill their stomachs, how will you fill theirs?

Our cows give the least milk in the world. And we have been devotees of Mother Cow for ten thousand years. It is astonishing! We are people of miracles! “Jai Gopal, Jai Gopal.” We have been singing songs of Gopal Krishna for ten thousand years. And the cows? If someone’s cow gives three-quarters of a liter of milk, he thinks it is a lot. In Sweden, if a cow gave three-quarters of a liter—unthinkable. Forty kilos, fifty kilos, sixty kilos is easy for a cow to give. In the West no one drinks buffalo’s milk. There is no need—cows give so much!

All the techniques are available. But what can technique do in the hands of fools! Use machines. The more you use machines, the better—because the more machines work, the more human labor is saved. And when human labor is saved, it can be applied to higher peaks—to new inquiries, new inventions. The earth can pour out gold, but it will not happen without machines. The country should be industrialized; it should be mechanized. Let the country be prosperous. And the more prosperous it is, the more religious it can be.

Satyanand! Use a little intelligence. If you go to an astrologer dressed in ochre robes and he tells you that you are a seeker of truth, is there some astrological miracle in that? You were wearing my mala—was the astrologer blind? You think he was looking at your palm; he was looking at the mala. Naturally he will say that you have found a Master; now continue your sadhana. You will certainly attain benediction.
Is there any need for astrology in this? Astrologers live off such gimmicks. They look at someone’s hand and say, “Money comes, but it doesn’t stay.” In whose hand does it stay? Have you ever seen money stay in anyone’s hand? Astrologers look at people and say, “You strive a lot in life, but success doesn’t come.” To whom does it come? It doesn’t come to anyone. Even to those you think it has come—it hasn’t. Because they are preparing to be successful at the next rung. The one who has become a deputy minister wants to be a minister; the minister wants to be chief minister. You think, “Look at that man—he became deputy minister, he has succeeded.” But he doesn’t think so. He says, “Only deputy? That’s nothing! When will I be minister?” He is laboring on. And the minister? You imagine he is successful. But he is chasing the chief ministership. And the queue has no end.
Astrologers use these simple, obvious lines. They say, “You make a lot of effort, but success eludes you. Enemies are creating obstacles.”
Who has no enemies? Where there is competition there are enemies. And you, of course, believe that it is because of their obstruction that hindrances arise—otherwise you would have succeeded long ago. Your talent, your competence, your greatness! But wicked people are putting up obstacles. All the devils are after you. Otherwise, you—such a virtuous soul!
And you think the astrologer is saying something? Astrologers tell everyone, “There is much suffering in your life.” And everyone agrees. In whose life is there happiness!
Now you ask me to speak on this mystery.
There is no mystery at all. I will tell you a story.
In the great metropolis of Delhi there was a famous sycophant who had absolutely no faith in astrology. Even so, one day he went to an astrologer to show his hand. He thought, “At least this way I can test whether there is anything in astrology or it is just empty talk.” So the chamcha went to the astrologer; the astrologer looked at his hand and, as astrologers begin, he started telling about the chamcha. First the astrologer said, “Child, your hand tells me you are a sycophant of a great leader, and that leader is going to become prime minister very soon.”
The chamcha said, “Stop the nonsense. Even a blind man can tell I am a chamcha of some leader. Can’t you see—this churidar pajama, this achkan, this Gandhi cap! Say something useful—say something that proves astrology is really something.”
Continuing, the astrologer said, “Child, the lines of your hand tell me you are married.”
The chamcha said, “Let it be, Maharaj, better not extend your rubbish. Anyone can tell I am married. Don’t you see—I’ve just been thrashed by my wife! These marks of blows on the face! Where is astrology in this?”
The astrologer went on, “Child, the lines of your hand say you have two children.”
The chamcha said, “Now this is too much, Maharaj! I have not two but three children.”
The astrologer said, “That is your misunderstanding, child. There may indeed be three children—I don’t deny it. But the reality, the truth, is that you have two children; one child is the leader’s.”
Astrologers have tricks ready. If they ever make a slip, there is a calculus for how to wriggle out of the slip.
It’s simple, Satyanand. Why go to astrologers at all? Who goes to astrologers? The one who worries about the future. And I am teaching you: drop the past, drop the future. Live in the present. This very moment is the only truth. The past is gone, the future has not yet come—both are untrue. Only the present is true. Live this moment in rejoicing. Why worry about tomorrow? The one whose today is empty worries about tomorrow—whose today is not full. He thinks, “Perhaps tomorrow everything will be fine.”
I tell you: everything is fine today. Just open your eyes, just wake up! In this very moment nothing is lacking. Then why will you go to an astrologer! Only the unintelligent go—and naturally, the unintelligent will be cheated everywhere.
Things like astrology survive because of the unintelligent. You are running them. You are responsible. The intelligent person lives in the present moment. Whatever he does, he does with such absorption, such totality, that the question of tomorrow doesn’t arise, the thought of tomorrow doesn’t arise. This is what I call meditation—this thought-free absorption I call meditation. Care about meditation—what is there in the lines of the hand! I am teaching you to read the lines of the soul, and you are talking about the lines of the hand!
I have heard that two astrologers lived side by side. Every morning they would meet, greet each other; look at each other’s hands to see how the business would go that day, and gift each other a quarter coin. There was no loss at all. Both got a quarter and both read each other’s hands and made predictions about each other.
Those you call astrologers are themselves anxious about the future.
I was in Jaipur; a friend brought an astrologer to me. A big astrologer! His fee was one thousand rupees! My friends said, “We would like you to show him your hand.” The astrologer said, “My fee.”
I said, “You will get your fee. You look at the hand. Now that you have come, I won’t send you away empty-handed.”
The astrologer was very pleased. Around me he saw Jaipur’s big tycoons sitting. So Hanlal Duggar, a great wealthy man there, was sitting right next to me. Big cars were parked outside. He thought, “What problem is a thousand rupees, I will surely get it.” He read the hand, looked and looked, and then said, “Now I’ll go—my fee?”
I said, “You didn’t even know this much? If only you had read your own hand at home—you would have seen that this man is not going to pay the fee. And even after seeing my hand you couldn’t tell! To begin with, you should find out whether this man will pay the fee or not. What kind of astrology is this!”
He was in great difficulty. He didn’t know what to do! I said, “You are not a real astrologer. You are parroting learned, memorized lines. Learned-by-rote! And rote-learned ‘sons’ don’t climb the stairs. First learn—learn the art of astrology. And if you can’t learn, come to me; I will teach you.”
The astrologer you went to, Satyanand—just look at his face: he’s already in a sorry state! He is looking at your hand and telling your future! He doesn’t know where tomorrow’s bread is coming from. He was looking at your hand—if you had just looked at his face, the matter would have ended. How much did he take from you? Four annas, eight annas, twelve annas, a rupee... The one who reads your future for a rupee—will he know anything of the future? Will a knower of the future come so cheap?
He knows nothing. Next time you go, deliver him a smart slap and say, “At least keep in mind who will beat you up and who will make a scene!”
Wake up yourself—and wake him up too!
But the asleep run shops for the asleep.
Mulla Nasruddin once invited his old friend, Sardar Vichittar Singh, to dinner. They were eating and drinking when a grain of rice got stuck in Nasruddin’s moustache. Nasruddin’s servant, Ballekhan, noticed it, but it wasn’t proper to tell the master directly, “There’s a grain of rice in your moustache.” So, from a distance he said to Nasruddin, “Master, a nightingale on the branch!” Hearing this, Nasruddin flicked the grain from his moustache with a quick motion of his finger.
Sardar Vichittar Singh watched the whole thing in amazement and was smitten by the servant’s cleverness. After the meal, Mulla asked, “Sardarji, will you have some paan?”
Sardar Vichittar Singh said, “No, no, leave it! It’s already quite late; I must go now.”
Mulla said, “It won’t take any time. Look! Ballekhan has put on his shoes; now he has gone out the door; now he is crossing the street. Now he is getting paan packed at the shop. He has crossed back over the street; now he has come into the house and taken off his shoes—and here is the paan!”
With that, Ballekhan arrived in the room with the paan. Sardar Vichittar Singh could hardly believe his eyes. He had never seen such a clever servant. Sardarji decided he would show Mulla that his servant, Pichattar Singh, was no less. As he took his leave, he invited Mulla for dinner the next week. Mulla accepted.
On the day Mulla was to come, from morning Sardarji carefully instructed his servant to do exactly what Ballekhan had done—how Sardarji would, without Mulla noticing, lodge a grain of rice in his moustache; how the servant should say, “Master, a nightingale on the branch,” and how he would flick out the grain with a deft motion—etcetera, etcetera.
In the evening Mulla arrived. Dinner began. Sardarji cleverly stuck a grain of rice into his moustache and waited for Pichattar Singh to speak. But the poor fellow forgot everything. Sardarji signaled with his eyes; the servant suddenly remembered that he had to say something, but the phrase “a nightingale on the branch” wouldn’t come to him. Flustered, he blurted, “Sir, that thing from the morning on your moustache!”
Sardarji was very embarrassed and also very annoyed, but said nothing in front of Mulla. After dinner he asked Mulla if he would have paan. Mulla said, “It’s quite late, and at home Guljaan told me to return early, so I want to go quickly now.”
Sardarji said, “It won’t take long. Look there—Pichattar Singh has put on his shoes and gone out the door. Now he is getting paan packed. And now he is returning toward the house; now he is opening the door and coming in; he has taken off his shoes—and here is the paan!”
But Pichattar Singh didn’t enter the room at all. Sardarji, abashed, shouted, “O Pichattar Singh, where is the paan?”
Pichattar Singh replied, “Master, I am looking for the shoes.”
Which astrologers are you visiting? Just look at their faces! Look carefully at their condition! If someone knew the future, would he be in this state? If only you would look into their eyes—you would find poor, destitute, wretched people. Finding no other way to earn two loaves, they have set up this arrangement. But in this world the foolish are so many—look for one, and a thousand turn up. It is because of fools that the entire trade goes on.
Satyanand! Do not fall into such stupidities. The future does not exist; only the present does. Do not move an inch away from the present; dive into it totally, and you will gain all that is worth gaining. Liberation is yours. Bliss is yours. Samadhi is yours. The Divine is yours.
That is all for today.