Mahaveer Vani #1

Panch-Namokar-Sutra
Like at dawn when the sun rises and, before a bird takes to the sky, it weighs its wings beside the nest, reflects, gathers courage; or like a river that nears the ocean, on the verge of losing itself, looks back for a moment and thinks—so too, before entering the voice of Mahavira, it is essential to pause for two moments.

As among mountains there is the Himalaya, and among peaks Gaurishankar, so among individuals there is Mahavira. The ascent is great. From the plain you can still see Gaurishankar’s snow-clad summit. But those who must climb, who wish to behold the summit only upon reaching it, need long preparation. From afar you may also see Mahavira, but the acquaintance that comes from afar is not the real acquaintance. In Mahavira, only by leaping can the real knowing be attained. Before that leap, a few necessary things—let me say them to you.

Very often conclusions remain in our hands, the conclusions remain—processes are lost. The goal remains; the path is lost. The summit is visible, but not the footpath that can take you there. Such is this Namokar mantra also. It is a consummation. For twenty-five centuries people have gone on repeating it. It is a peak—but the footpath that leads up to this Namokar mantra, who knows when it was lost.

Before we speak of the mantra, it is proper to clear a little path towards that footpath. For until the process appears, conclusions are futile. Till the way appears, the goal is unintelligible. And unless the steps are seen, the far-off peaks, however visible, have no value—they become dreamlike. Whether they are or not cannot even be decided. Let us understand, by two or four approaches, the way towards Namokar.

In 1937, in a cave on Mount Bokan between Tibet and China, seven hundred and sixteen stone records were found—of stone. They are astonishing, for they are exactly like gramophone records. A hole in the center, and grooves etched on stone—just as on a phonograph disc. The secret of what instrument could play them has not yet been revealed. But one thing is established—after years of labor, a great Russian scientist, Dr. Sergeyev, proved that they are indeed records. On what device, and through what needle, they may be revived is not yet settled. Had there been just a fragment or two of stone, it might be coincidence. But there are seven hundred and sixteen. All alike, with a central hole. All with grooves; and when they were fully cleaned of dust and examined with electrical instruments, a great surprise arose: they are emitting rays of electricity every moment.

But could humankind, twelve thousand years ago, have had such an arrangement as to record onto stone? If so, we will have to rewrite history entirely, and properly.

On a mountain peak in Japan there is a group of statues twenty-five thousand years old. They are called Dobu. Those statues created much wonder, for until now they could not be understood—but now they can. The day our travelers went into space, that very day the Dobu statues’ secret opened; because the Dobu wear exactly the garments an astronaut wears. The very things used by Russian and American astronauts are carved upon those figures in stone. The statues are twenty-five thousand years old. There seems to be no option but to accept that twenty-five thousand years ago man journeyed in space—or that from some other planets beings have come to earth.

There is no reason now to fall into the illusion that what man knows today he is knowing for the first time. Man learns many times and forgets. Many times peaks are touched and lost. Civilizations rise and touch the sky like waves—and dissolve. Whenever a wave touches the sky, it thinks: no other wave before me could have touched the sky.

Mahavira is the last person of a very great culture, whose span is at least one million years. Mahavira is the last Tirthankara of the Jain vision and tradition—the twenty-fourth. The final height of the wave. And after Mahavira, that wave, that civilization, that culture—everything scattered. Today those sutras are difficult to understand for this very reason; because the entire milieu, the atmosphere in which they were meaningful, exists nowhere now.

Understand it thus: suppose tomorrow a third world war takes place and the whole civilization is scattered; even then people will retain the memory that once people flew in airplanes. Airplanes may be destroyed, but the memory will remain. That memory will continue for thousands of years, and children will laugh; they will say, where are those airplanes you speak of? It seems—just stories, legends, myths.

The heights of the twenty-four Tirthankaras of the Jains—the height of their bodies—appears very fanciful. Only Mahavira’s height matches a human height; the remaining twenty-three Tirthankaras are very tall; such height cannot be; this was the scientific opinion until now—but not any longer. Because scientists say that as the earth has contracted, gravity has become heavier upon it. To the degree gravity grows denser, the height of beings goes on decreasing. A lizard runs upon your ceiling; you would never imagine that ten lakh years ago the lizard was a creature larger than an elephant. She alone has remained; the rest of her species have vanished.

How did such great creatures suddenly disappear? Now scientists say that some secret seems hidden in the earth’s gravity. If gravity grows more and more dense, man’s height will go on decreasing. If man begins to live on the moon, his height will become fourfold, because on the moon gravity is four times less than on the earth. If we find other stars and planets where gravity is even less, height will increase further. Therefore, to dismiss it all at once as fable is very difficult today.

The Namokar has been called a Mahamantra by the Jain tradition. On the earth there are ten or five such mantras that have the stature of Namokar. In truth every religion must have one Mahamantra, for around it the entire structure, the whole edifice, is built.

What do these Mahamantras do—what is their purpose, what can result from them?

Today sound electronics, the science of sound, is approaching many new facts. One of them is: no sound produced in this universe is ever destroyed—it continues to be stored in this infinite Akash. Understand it thus: Akash also records; on some subtle plane grooves are formed upon space itself. In Russia in the last fifteen years much work has been done on this. If we take two or three points from that work, it will be easier.

If a person filled with goodwill, filled with benevolent feeling, closes his eyes, takes in his hands a pitcher filled with water, and for a few moments, suffused with goodwill, holds that pitcher—then, after many experiments, the Russian scientist Kameniev and the American scientist Dr. Rudolf Kerr have proved that the water is qualitatively transformed. Chemically, nothing changes. The touch of that water in the hands of the one filled with good aspirations causes no chemical change; and yet some qualitative change occurs. If that water is sprinkled upon seeds, they sprout sooner than with ordinary water. They grow larger flowers, bear larger fruits. Those plants are healthier than with ordinary water.

Kameniev sprinkled ordinary water on the same seeds in the same soil—and also this special water. He has also sprinkled water held in the hands of a sick, disturbed person, filled with negative emotions, a person full of denial, with thoughts of murder, with the intent to harm others, filled with inauspicious feelings—and sprinkled that water upon the seeds—either the seeds did not sprout at all, or if they did, the sprouts were diseased.

After fifteen years and thousands of experiments, the conclusion could be drawn: up to now we thought chemistry is everything in water, but chemically there is no difference, no difference in the three waters—yet some difference there is. What is that difference? And from where does it enter the water? Certainly that difference cannot be tested with the instruments we have so far. Yet that difference exists—this is proved by the results. For the inner nature of the three waters changes. The chemical form does not change, but in the soul of the three waters some transformation happens.

If such transformation can occur in water, it can also occur in the Akash spread all around us. This is the primary foundation of mantra. A mantra filled with auspicious feeling creates a qualitative difference in the space around us—a qualitative transformation. And when a person filled with mantra passes even near you, he passes through a different kind of space. Around him, about the body, a different quality of space is created—an altogether different quality of space.

Another Russian scientist, Kirlian, has developed high-frequency photography. Perhaps it will prove the most unique experiment of the coming future. If a photograph of my hand is taken with high-frequency photography, upon very sensitive plates, then not only does the picture of my hand appear—around my hand, the rays that flow from it, their picture also appears. And the astonishing thing is this: if I am filled with negative thoughts, then the electric pattern, the net of electricity pictured around my hand is diseased, ill, unhealthy, chaotic—deranged. As if a madman had drawn lines. If I am filled with good feelings, with auspicious feelings, joyful, positive, exuberant, filled with gratitude towards the Divine, then the picture of the rays around my hand, by Kirlian photography, appears rhythmic, harmonious, beautiful, symmetrical, proportionate, structured in another order entirely.

Kirlian says—and his experiment is thirty years of labor—Kirlian says that six months before illness arrives we will soon be able to tell that this person is going to fall ill. Because before the disease descends upon the body, it descends upon that electric circle. Before a person dies—before a person actually dies—the electric circle begins to shrink and to die. Before someone commits a murder, the signs of murder begin in that electric circle. Before someone is filled with compassion towards another, the signs of the flow of compassion begin to appear in that electric circle.

Kirlian says that we will conquer cancer only when we catch cancer before it catches the body. And this can be caught. There remains no methodological error now—only further widening of experiments is needed. Each person walks around with an aura, an auric field. You do not walk alone. Around you an electric circle—an electro-dynamic field—moves with every person. Not only around persons—around animals as well, around plants as well. In truth, Russian scientists say that only one distinction can be made between living and nonliving: that which has an aura is living; that which has none is dead.

When a person dies, with death the aura begins to fade. Something very astonishing and coincidental: whenever a person dies, it takes three days for the aura to dissolve. For thousands of years, in the whole world, the third day after death has been of great significance. Those who gave such value to the third day—somehow they must have had experiential knowledge of this; for real death happens on the third day. In these three days, on any of them—if scientists find a method—one could revive the person. Until the aura has not disappeared, life is still present. Life does not end with the stopping of the heartbeat. Hence, during the last world war in Russia, six persons whose heartbeat had ceased were revived. As long as the aura remains around, a person can still return to life from the subtle plane. The bridge is yet intact. The road back is yet open.

The more vibrant a person is, the larger his aura. If we depict an aura around the statue of Mahavira—or of Krishna, or of Rama, or of Christ—it is not mere imagination. That aura can be seen. Until now, only those with a deeper, subtler vision could see it—mystics, saints. But in 1930, an English scientist devised a chemical process by which anyone—anyone through that medium, that device—can see another’s aura.

You are all seated here. Each person has his own private aura. Just as your thumbprint is private, so is your aura. And your aura tells everything about you—even what you yourself do not know. Your aura tells of those things about you that will happen in the future. Your aura tells also of those things that are now germinating in your deep unconscious like a seed—which will blossom tomorrow and be revealed.

Mantra is a radical process for changing the aura. It is the process of changing the space around you, the electro-dynamic field around you. And every religion has a Mahamantra. The Jain tradition has Namokar. An astonishing proclamation: 'Eso panch namukkaro, savva-pavappanasano.' A Mahamantra that destroys all sin—so they say of Namokar. It does not seem right. How will Namokar destroy sin? Namokar does not directly destroy sin, but Namokar transforms the electro-dynamic field around you—and sin becomes impossible. For sin, you require a particular kind of aura. Without that aura, you cannot commit sin. If that aura is transformed, then it becomes impossible—sin becomes impossible.

How does this Namokar change that aura? It is a namaskar; it is the feeling of bowing. Namaskar means surrender. It is not merely verbal. 'Namo Arihantanam—I bow to the Arihants'—this is not merely verbal, not just words; it is a feeling. If, in your prana, this feeling becomes intense that 'I bow to the Arihants', what does it mean? It means: I place my head at the feet of those who know. Those who have arrived, I surrender at their feet. Those who have attained, at their door I am willing to stand as a beggar.

Kirlian’s photography has tried to show that as your inner feelings change, the electric field around you changes. And now these photographs are available. If within you the thought of stealing arises, your aura becomes of another kind—sad, diseased, filled with bloody colors. If you go to raise the fallen—immediately the colors of your aura change.

In Russia there is a woman, Nelya Mikhailova. In the last fifteen years this woman has created a radical revolution there. And you will be surprised that I keep naming these Russian scientists. There are reasons. Forty years ago, America’s great prophet, Edgar Cayce—the sleeping prophet—who would slip into deep trance, what we would call Samadhi, and whose prophecies have all proved true—he did not make a few prophecies; he made ten thousand—one of his prophecies, forty years ago—at that time everyone was astonished—was this: forty years hence, a new scientific religion will arise from Russia. From Russia? Edgar Cayce said this forty years ago—when religion was being destroyed in Russia, churches were being razed, temples removed, priests and clergy sent to Siberia. In such moments it could not even be imagined that in Russia a birth would happen. At that time Russia was the one land on earth where religion was being systematically destroyed, where for the first time in human history atheist power held the reins. For the first time a collective effort was made by atheists—organized efforts by theists had always been there. And Cayce’s declaration—that forty years hence, from Russia itself, the birth will happen!

In truth, as atheism in Russia became exceedingly insistent, a law of life operates—life creates a counterbalance. In the lands where great atheists cease to be born, great theists also cease to be born. Life is a balance. And when there was such intense atheism in Russia, then underground, through hidden pathways, theism began to rediscover itself. Until Stalin’s death, all research remained hidden; after Stalin’s death, the research became overt. Even Stalin was bewildered. I will speak to you of that.

This Mikhailova has been the most significant person in Russia for fifteen years. For Mikhailova can move any object merely by concentration. Not by hand, not by any bodily effort. There, six feet away, any thing—Mikhailova by focusing her mind upon it moves it—either pulls it towards herself, and the object begins to move, or pushes it away from herself, or if a magnetic needle is set, she can rotate it, or if a clock is there, she can whirl the hands swiftly—or stop the clock—hundreds of experiments. But there is a very surprising thing: if Mikhailova is experimenting and there are skeptical people around, it takes her five hours to move it. If friends are around, sympathetic, she can move it in half an hour. If people filled with reverence are around, in five minutes. And something amusing: when it takes her five hours to move an object, she loses about ten pounds of weight. When it takes half an hour, she loses about three pounds. And when it takes five minutes, she loses no weight.

In these fifteen years, great scientific experiments have been done. Two Nobel Prize-winning scientists, Dr. Vasiliev and Kameniev, and forty other top scientists, after thousands of experiments, have declared that what Mikhailova does is factual. And now they have developed instruments by which what occurs around Mikhailova is recorded. Three things are recorded. First, as soon as Mikhailova concentrates, her aura contracts and begins to stream in one current—upon the object on which she concentrates—like a laser ray, collected like a beam of electricity. And all around her, by Kirlian photography, as waves arise in the ocean, her aura begins to undulate. Those waves begin to spread all around. By the thrust of those waves, objects are pushed away or drawn near. Mere feeling—the feeling, 'let the object come to me'—and it comes near; 'let it move away'—and it moves away.

Even more surprising is the third point: Russian scientists think this energy that spreads all around can be stored—can be stored in instruments. Certainly, if it is energy, it can be stored. Any energy can be stored. And this prana-energy, which Yoga calls prana—if this energy is stored in devices, then the essential mood of the person at that time remains in the stored power as a quality.

For example, if Mikhailova is drawing an object towards herself, at that time the energy flowing from her body—by which she will lose three or ten pounds—can be stored. Receptive instruments have been prepared such that the energy enters and is stored in them. Then, if that device is placed in this room and you enter the room, it will draw you towards itself. You will feel like going near the device—the person is not there. And if Mikhailova was pushing something away and that power was stored, then upon entering this room you will immediately feel the urge to run out.

Do feelings enter energy in this manner?

This is the basic foundation of mantra. In the word, in the thought, in the wave, the feeling is stored and infused. When someone says: 'Namo Arihantanam'—I surrender to all those who have conquered and known themselves—then his ego melts at once. And the great current of all those who, in this world, surrendered to the Arihants—into that Ganga, his power is included. He becomes a part. And in the Akash all around, the grooves formed by the feeling of the Arihant, the waves stored in space—your wave strikes those stored waves. Around you a rain begins that you cannot see. A new realm of divinity, of God-ness, is formed around you. With this realm, this feeling-realm, you become another kind of person.

A Mahamantra is the alchemy of changing the space around oneself, of changing one’s aura. And if a person, day and night—whenever remembrance arises—goes on drowning in Namokar, that person will become another person. He cannot remain what he was.

There are five salutations. Namaskar to the Arihant. Arihant means: the one in whom all enemies have been destroyed; within whom there remains nothing that needs to fight. The fight has ended. No anger within to fight; no lust within to fight; no greed within to fight; no ego to fight; no ignorance. All that had to be fought has ended.

Now a non-conflict, a duality-free existence has begun. Arihant is the peak beyond which there is no journey. Arihant is the destination beyond which there is no further travel. Where nothing remains to do, nothing remains to attain, nothing remains even to renounce—where all has ended—where pure existence remains, pure existence—where Brahman alone remains, where only being remains—that is called Arihant.

It is also astonishing that in this Mahamantra there is no person’s name—not Mahavira’s, not Parshvanath’s, no one’s name. Not even the Jain tradition’s name. Because the Jain tradition accepts that Arihants have arisen not only in the Jain tradition, but in all traditions. Therefore, salutations to the Arihants—not to any particular Arihant. This salutation is vast.

Perhaps no other religion in the world has developed such a Mahamantra—so all-encompassing, so all-touching. There is no thought of the person, only of the power. Not of form, but of that formless presence—the salutation is to the Arihants.

Now, one who loves Mahavira would say, 'Salutations to Mahavira.' One who loves Buddha would say, 'Salutations to Buddha.' One who loves Rama would say, 'Salutations to Rama.' But this mantra is very unique. It is unparalleled. In no other tradition is there such a mantra that simply says—'Salutations to the Arihants; salutations to all those whose destination has arrived.' In truth, salutations to the destination—to those who have arrived.

But the word 'Arihant' is negative. It means: those whose enemies have ended; it is not positive, not constructive. In truth, the highest state in this world can only be expressed through negation—through 'neti, neti'. It cannot be given an affirmative word. There are reasons. In all affirmative words, a limit arises; in negation, there is no limit. If I say, 'It is like this', a boundary is created. If I say, 'It is not like this', no boundary is created. 'No' has no boundary; 'is' has a boundary. So 'is' is a very small word; 'not' is vast. Therefore the supreme peak is described as Arihant. Only this much is said—that in whom enemies have ended, in whom inner conflicts have dissolved—negative—no greed, no attachment, no lust—what is, is not said; only what is not is said.

Hence Arihant is very airy, very abstract, perhaps not graspable. Therefore, in the second word a positive is used—'Namo Siddhanam.' Siddha means: those who have attained. Arihant means: those who have dropped. Siddha is very positive—a 'siddhi', an attainment. But note, those who have lost are placed higher; those who have attained are placed second. Why? A Siddha is not less than an Arihant—the Siddha arrives where the Arihant arrives—but in language the positive will be placed second. 'Nothingness' is first, 'being' is second; hence Siddha is placed second. Yet even regarding the Siddha only this much information is given: they have arrived—nothing more is said. No adjective is added. 'They have arrived'—even with this, our understanding will not suffice. The Arihant feels very far—the one who has become emptiness, attained Nirvana, dissolved, is no more. The Siddha too is far. Only 'attained' is said. But what? And how shall we know? For Siddhahood may be inexpressible, unmanifest.

Someone asked Buddha: these ten thousand bhikshus around you—you have attained Buddhahood—how many among them have attained Buddhahood? Buddha said: many have. But the questioner said—'I do not see.' Buddha said: I am manifest; they are unmanifest. They are hidden within themselves, like a tree hidden within a seed. So the Siddha is like a seed—has attained. And very often the event of attainment is so profound that even the effort to express does not arise out of it. Therefore not all Siddhas speak; not all Arihants speak. Not all Siddhas live after siddhi. Consciousness can become so absorbed in that attainment that the body drops at once. Hence the Siddha may still not fall within our grasp. And we need a mantra such that from the first step to the last peak, someone can catch it wherever he stands and proceed. Therefore the third sutra is: salutations to the Acharyas.

Acharya means: one who has attained and has also expressed it through conduct. Acharya means: whose knowledge and conduct are one. Not that a Siddha’s conduct differs from his knowing; but it may be zero—there may be no conduct at all. Not that an Arihant’s conduct is different, but the Arihant becomes so formless that conduct will not fall within our grasp. We need a frame that can be grasped. In the Acharya perhaps we will feel closeness. It means: one whose knowing is his conduct. For we may not recognize knowledge, but we will recognize conduct.

From this a danger also arose. Conduct can be such as knowing is not. A man may not be nonviolent and yet enact nonviolence. A man who is truly nonviolent cannot enact violence—that is impossible—but a man may be greedy and enact non-greed. The reverse is not possible. Hence a danger arises. The Acharya comes within our grasp, and from that very point danger begins; where our grasp begins, from there our blindness begins. Then the danger is: someone can enact such conduct that he appears an Acharya. Our helplessness is such. Where boundaries begin to form, from there things begin to appear to us. And where things appear to us, from there is the fear that we may be deluded.

But the mantra’s intent is this: we bow to those whose knowing is their conduct. Even here no adjective is added. Who are they? Whoever they may be.

A Christian fakir went to Japan to meet a Zen monk. He asked the Zen monk: 'What is your view about Jesus?' The monk said: 'I know nothing of Jesus. Tell me something so I can form a view.' He said: 'Jesus said: if one slaps you on one cheek, offer him the other.' The Zen fakir said: 'Salutations to the Acharya.' The Christian fakir could not understand. He said: 'Jesus said: whoever effaces himself shall attain.' The Zen fakir said: 'Salutations to the Siddha.' He still could not understand. He said: 'What are you saying?' The Christian said: 'Jesus effaced himself upon the cross; he became empty, silently accepted death, dissolved into the formless.' The Zen fakir said: 'Salutations to the Arihant.'

Where knowing and conduct are one, we call that an Acharya. He may be a Siddha, he may be an Arihant. But he comes within our grasp through conduct. Yet it is not necessary—conduct is very subtle, and we are people of gross intellect. Conduct is very subtle! It is difficult to decide what conduct is... For example, Mahavira’s standing naked! Certainly people did not like it. From village to village Mahavira was chased away; stones were thrown at Mahavira everywhere. We are the very people—we have done all this; do not think it was others. Mahavira’s nakedness weighed heavily upon people, for they said, this is conductlessness. What kind of conduct is this? Conduct is very subtle. Mahavira’s becoming naked is such an innocent conduct that it defies all accounting. The courage is astonishing. Mahavira became so simple that there was nothing left to hide. And Mahavira’s awareness of this skin-and-bone body disappeared; and awareness of that which Russian scientists call the electromagnetic field, that pranic body, became so intense that no clothes could be put upon it—clothes fell away. It was not that Mahavira renounced clothes; they fell away.

One day he was passing along a path; his sheet snagged in a bush. So that the flowers of the bush not fall, the leaves not tear, the thorns not be hurt, he tore away half the sheet and left it there. Half remained upon the body. Then that too fell. When it fell, Mahavira did not even know. People knew that Mahavira was standing naked. Such conduct became unbearable.

The pathways of conduct are subtle, very difficult. And we all have fixed notions regarding conduct. 'Do this'—and those who obey you in conduct are nearly dead people. Those dead ones who enact your dictates—you offer them much worship. Here it is said: 'Salutations to the Acharyas.' You will not dictate their conduct; their knowledge will decide their conduct. And knowledge is supreme freedom. One who bows to the Acharya is feeling within: I do not know what knowledge is, what conduct is—but whoever’s conduct springs and flows from his knowing, to him I bow.

Even now the matter is subtle. Therefore, in the fourth step: salutations to the Upadhyayas. Upadhyaya means: not only conduct, but teaching as well. Not only knowing, not only conduct—but teaching also. Those who know, and live what they know; and as they live and know, they also tell. Upadhyaya means: one who tells as well. For we may not understand from silence. The Acharya may be silent. He may consider that conduct suffices; and if you cannot see conduct, then it is your concern. The Upadhyaya is more compassionate towards you—he speaks; he tells you by saying.

These are four clear lines. But beyond these four, knowers will still be left out. For knowers cannot be bound into categories. Therefore the mantra is very astonishing. In the fifth step there is a general salutation: 'Namo loe savva-sahunam'—salutations to all sadhus in the world. Wherever there are sadhus in the world, salutations to them all. Whoever may have been left out in those four, may our bowing not miss them either. For many can be left out in those four. Life is very mysterious; it cannot be categorized, cannot be boxed. Therefore those who remain—simply call them sadhus—the simple ones. And sadhu has another meaning as well. Someone can be so simple that he even hesitates to preach. Someone can be so simple that he even hides his conduct. But our salutations should reach him too.

The question is not that our salutations benefit them. The question is that our salutations transform us. Neither the Arihants, nor the Siddhas, nor the Acharyas, nor the Upadhyayas, nor the sadhus will benefit—but you will. It is amusing that we think perhaps in this bowing we are doing something for the Siddhas, for the Arihants—do not fall into that error. You will not be able to do anything for them. Whatever you do will only create disturbance. Your kindness is sufficient if you do nothing for them. You can only do wrongly. No, this bowing is not for the Arihants; it is towards the Arihants—but it is for you. Its consequences will occur in you. Its fruit will shower upon you.

If a person is filled with such bowing, do you think ego can remain in him? Impossible.

But no—we are most astonishing people. If an Arihant stands before us, we will first investigate whether he is an Arihant. People around Mahavira wasted their lives investigating—whether he is an Arihant; whether he is a Tirthankara. Today you do not know; you think it is all settled—at the time of Mahavira it was not settled. There were other crowds, other people saying—'He is not an Arihant; someone else is an Arihant. Goshalak is the Arihant. He is not a Tirthankara; this claim is false.'

Mahavira himself made no claim. But those who knew Mahavira could not avoid the claim either. They too had their difficulty. But all around Mahavira there was only this controversy. People came to test whether Mahavira is an Arihant or not; whether he is a Tirthankara or not; whether he is God or not. A great wonder—suppose you test and it is proved that Mahavira is not God—what will you gain? And even if Mahavira were not God, if you were to place your head at his feet and say 'Namo Arihantanam', you would gain. Whether Mahavira is God or not makes no difference.

The real question is not whether Mahavira is God. The real question is whether anywhere you can see God—anywhere—in a stone, in a mountain. If you can see anywhere, then allow yourself to be available to bowing. The real secret is in bowing—the real secret is in bending. The one who bows—within him everything changes. He becomes another man. The question is not who is a Siddha and who is not—and there is no way that someday it can be finally decided—but the matter is irrelevant. It has no relation. Even if there were no Mahavira—what difference does it make? But if for you he can become a pretext to bow, the matter is complete. Whether Mahavira is a Siddha or not—let him think and understand it; whether he is an Arihant yet or not—that is his concern. There is no reason for you to be concerned. If there is any cause for your concern, there is only one: is there any corner in this existence where your head can bow? If there is such a corner, then you will attain to a new life.

This Namokar is an effort that no corner in existence be left. All corners—wherever the head can bow—unknown, unfamiliar, unrecognized—we have not taken names, for who knows who is a sadhu. Who knows who is an Arihant. But in a world where ignorance is so dense, there are also the knowledgeable. For where darkness is, there too is light. Where evening falls, there also dawns the morning. This existence is an arrangement of duality. So where there is such dense ignorance, there will be equally dense knowledge. This is trust. And filled with this trust, the one who can bow these five bowings will one day say that truly auspicious is this sutra—it destroys all sins.

Note well: the mantra is for you. In the temple, when you place your head at the feet of an image, the question is not whether those feet are of God or not. The only question is whether the head that bows before those feet is bowing before God or not. Those feet are but a pretext. They have no purpose. They are arranged to provide you a place to bow. But to bow is painful. And so, upon those who cause such pain—anger arises. The anger that comes towards Jesus, or Mahavira, or Buddha—seems natural. For bowing is pain. If Mahavira were to come and place his head upon your feet, your mind would be very pleased. Then you would not throw stones at Mahavira—would you? Then you would not drive nails into his ears—would you? But if Mahavira were to place his head at your feet, you would gain nothing—rather, you would be harmed. Your stiffness would become deeper.

Mahavira instructed his sadhus that they should not bow to non-sadhus. A very strange thing! A sadhu should be humble—so non-egoic that he places his head at the feet of all. That a sadhu not bow to a non-sadhu, to a householder—this does not sound good in Mahavira’s words. But the purpose is compassion. Because the sadhu should become the occasion for your bowing. And if the sadhu bows to you, he will not become the occasion—he will only strengthen your identity and ego. Many times a thing appears one way and is another. However, I am not speaking of how Jain sadhus have applied this. In truth, the mark of a sadhu is just this: that his head is now at the feet of all. The mark of a sadhu is that his head is now at everyone’s feet. Even so, he does not bow to you—because he wants to become the occasion. But if the sadhu’s head is not at everyone’s feet, and still he tries to make you bow at his feet—then he is engaged in suicide. Yet still, you need not worry. For everyone has the right to suicide. If he is choosing his road to hell, let him. But even a man going to hell—if he becomes an indication for you of the path to heaven—then take your indication and proceed on your own way. But no—we are less concerned where we are going, more concerned where the other is going.

Namokar is a sutra of bowing. In five steps, to all in this world who have attained anything, who have known anything, who have lived anything, who have been acquainted with the innermost mystery of life, who have conquered death, who have known something beyond the body—to all of them—in time and in space. 'Loe' has two meanings. It means: in expanse, in space—those who are here today—but also those who were yesterday, and those who will be tomorrow. 'Sava loe': in all worlds; 'savva-sahunam': to all sadhus. In the interval of time—those who ever were in the past, those who will be in the future, those who are today—whenever and wherever even a single lamp of knowledge was lit—salutations to the whole of that. With this salutation you will be prepared. Then the voice of Mahavira will be easy to understand. Only after this bowing, after this bending, will your begging-bowl open and the treasure of Mahavira can pour into it.

Bowing is receptivity. As soon as you bow, your heart opens and you become ready to allow someone within. For at whose feet you have placed your head, you will not obstruct his entry—you will invite. To whom you have expressed trust, for him your door, your home will be open. He can live as a part of your home, as a part of you. But if there is no trust, no faith, then bowing is impossible. And if bowing is impossible, understanding is impossible. With bowing comes understanding; with bowing, understanding is born.

One last thing about this receptivity. At Moscow University until 1966 there was a remarkable man, Dr. Vasiliev. He was experimenting upon receptivity—how receptive the mind can be. The condition is nearly like this: a great building, and we have made a little hole in it, and through that hole we see the outer world. It is also possible to bring down all the walls and stand under open sky—wholly receptive. Vasiliev conducted a unique experiment—the first of its kind. Many such experiments had been done in the East—especially in India, and most especially by Mahavira—but their dimension was different. Mahavira conducted experiments into jati-smaran—remembrance of past births: that if a person is to travel rightly ahead, he should remember his past lives. If his past births come to remembrance, the forward journey becomes easier.

But Vasiliev did another unique experiment. He called it 'artificial reincarnation'. Artificial reincarnation, or artificial revival—what is this? Vasiliev and his colleagues would render a person unconscious—by continuous hypnosis for thirty days they would take him into deep unconsciousness; and when he would begin to enter deep unconsciousness—and now there are instruments—an instrument called EEG by which the depth of sleep can be tested—alpha waves begin to be produced when a person falls from the conscious mind into the unconscious. On the instrument, as a cardiogram makes a graph, EEG also makes a graph: now he is dreaming; now dreams have ceased; now he is asleep; now in deep sleep; now he has sunk into abysmal depth. As soon as someone sinks into abysmal depth, Vasiliev would give him suggestions. Suppose he is a painter, an ordinary painter, or a student of painting; Vasiliev would suggest: 'You are Michelangelo of a past birth', or 'You are Van Gogh.' Or if he is a poet, he would suggest: 'You are Shakespeare', or someone else. For thirty days continuously, in the state of deep alpha waves, he would be given the suggestion that he is someone else, from a past birth. In thirty days his psyche would accept it.

After thirty days, astonishing experiences came: the person who was an ordinary painter—when inner trust arose that 'I am Michelangelo'—became a special painter—instantly. The one who was an ordinary rhymer—when trust arose 'I am Shakespeare'—poems of Shakespearean caliber began to arise from him.

What happened? Vasiliev said: this is artificial reincarnation. Vasiliev said: our mind is a very great thing. Only a little window is open—the 'I' we have taken ourselves to be; only that much is open—accepting that, we live. If given trust that we are larger, the window becomes larger. Our consciousness begins to function accordingly.

Vasiliev says that in the future to come we will be able to produce geniuses. There is no reason geniuses cannot be born. In truth, Vasiliev says: out of a hundred, at least ninety children are born with the capacity for genius; we then make their window small. Parents, school, teacher—all together shrink their window. In twenty to twenty-five years, we raise an ordinary man, who came with great capacity—but we keep on making his door smaller and smaller. Vasiliev says: all children are born like geniuses. Those who escape our contrivances become geniuses; the rest are destroyed. But Vasiliev says: the real key is receptivity. The mind should become so receptive that whatever is said to it enters into its depths.

With this Namokar mantra we begin the discussion of Mahavira’s voice. Because the path will be subtle, the matters fine. If you are receptive—filled with bowing, filled with trust—then in your abysmal depth, without any instrument’s help—and this too is an instrument, in that sense, Namokar—without any instrument’s help, alpha waves arise within you. When someone is filled with trust, alpha waves arise—you will be astonished to know that in deep hypnosis, in deep sleep, in meditation, or in trust, the EEG machine draws the same graph. A mind full of trust is in the same state of peace as in deep meditation; or the same state as in deep sleep; or the same state as when you are very relaxed and very quiet.

The person upon whom Vasiliev worked was a young man named Nikolayev, on whom he worked for years. Nikolayev developed the capacity to catch thoughts sent from two thousand miles away. Hundreds of experiments were conducted in which he could catch thoughts from as far as two thousand miles. When he is asked: what is your method? He says: the method is that for half an hour I lie in total relaxation and drop all activity inside, become passive. Not like a man; like a woman. I do not send anything; if anything comes, I am ready to receive. And in half an hour, when the EEG shows that alpha waves have begun, then he becomes able to catch thoughts sent from two thousand miles. Unless he becomes so receptive, it does not happen.

Vasiliev went two steps further. He said: man has distorted himself in many ways. If man has this capacity, in animals it will be even purer. And the most unique experiment of this century Vasiliev performed: he kept a mother mouse above, and sent her eight pups in a submarine thousands of feet beneath the sea. A submarine was used so that no radio waves would come out from under water, nor from outside go in. Of all the waves known to science so far, none can penetrate so deep under water. Beyond a certain depth even sunlight cannot enter the water.

So the submarine was sent below that depth, and the mother mouse’s skull was covered with electrodes and connected to EEG—to a machine that records the brain waves. And something astonishing happened. Thousands of feet below, under water, one by one her pups were killed, at specially noted moments—just as the pup died there, the mother’s EEG waves changed here—the accident had occurred. Over six hours, the pups were killed—at specific, predetermined times. The predetermined timing above was unknown. Below, the scientist was free to kill at any time within the period—but to note the minute and second. At the minute and second a pup was killed below, the mother experienced a jolt in her brain at that moment. Vasiliev says that for animals telepathy is natural. Man has forgotten. But animals still live in a telepathic world.

The use of mantra is your re-entry into the telepathic world—if you can drop yourself, from the heart, say from such depth that everything sinks into your unconscious: 'Namo Arihantanam, Namo Siddhanam, Namo Ayariyanam, Namo Uvajjhayanam, Namo Loe Savva-Sahunam'—if this goes within, then by your own experience you will say: 'Savva-pavappanasano'—this is the Mahamantra that destroys all sins.

Enough for today.

Now we will proclaim this Mahamantra. Join in—no one will leave. No one will leave. Friends who wish to stand and join, step beside your chairs, because the sannyasins will dance and will drown in the proclamation of this mantra. Carry this mantra into your very life-breath and only then leave from here. Those who wish to participate seated will clap and proclaim—everyone join in; let no one sit idle, let no one sit in vain.