Mahaveer Vani #44

There is a tale of Aesop. One day a lion, a donkey, and a fox went hunting together. They made quite a haul. When the sun began to decline and evening drew near, the lion said to the fox, "You are intelligent, cunning, a mathematician, a logician; it would be right for you to divide the spoils into three equal parts, so that the three companions in the hunt receive equal food."

The fox made a miraculous division — exactly equal — three portions. But the lion was very angry. He said nothing; he seized the fox by the neck, strangled him, and threw him onto the heap of prey. Then he said to the donkey, "Now you make two parts — one for me, one for you — exactly equal."

The donkey piled the entire catch into one heap, and on the other side he put the corpse of a dead crow, and said, "Sir! This is my half — the crow — and that is your half." The lion said, "Donkey, friend donkey! Where did you learn this art of equal division? Who taught you such pure mathematics? You have divided perfectly!"

And what a division — on one side a dead crow, and on the other the whole heap of prey.

The donkey said, "This dead fox taught me the art of equal division!"

Aesop says that even a donkey learns by experience, but man does not. Man does not seem to learn from experience at all. For thousands of years the same experience, the same experience, repeats again and again — and yet man remains the same. No change seems to happen. As if experience flows off him; it finds no entry into his pores, his skin, his bones — reaching his heart is far away. It falls like rainwater on the surface and runs off, and man remains as he was.

In thousands of years of human experience, one thing should have become utterly clear: there is no obstruction in seeing that religion has nothing to do with birth. A man may be born into a Muslim household, but by that he does not become a Muslim. A man may be born into a Hindu household — what has birth to do with religion? A man may be born in a Jain family — that will be the clan’s religion, not the person’s own choice.

Religion begins only when the person chooses by his own will. When he decides with awareness; when he resolves with understanding; when he is initiated by himself into a current — then religion is born.

There is so much irreligion in the world; among its fundamental causes is this: our religion is borrowed. A borrowed religion cannot be alive; it will be dead.

Not even your father chose it; who knows how many generations ago someone chose. Someone went to Mahavira and was initiated. Someone was drawn to Mahavira, stirred. Someone received waves of the Supreme Truth from Mahavira — he was initiated. His initiation was precious. It was his decision. Perhaps he was born in a Hindu house; he was initiated and became a Jain. For that man, being a Jain had value — because he paid something for it, he lost something, he effaced something. To attain something, he renounced something: he dropped attachments, he dropped conditionings, he dropped notions imbibed since childhood. He threw away the knowledge that had been taught, and set out on a new journey, on an unknown path. He had courage — and out of that courage results came. Then his son is born, and he becomes a Jain by birth. Then you — who knows how many generations later — are Jains.

All borrowed, rubbish. Your being a Jain has no value. You also know your being a Jain is false; your being a Hindu is false; your being a Muslim is false — because that which you have not chosen cannot be true. One’s own choice is the first step toward Truth.

We do have the experience that no one can be religious by birth — but we have become religious by birth, and thus the real way to become religious has closed, because we all carry the notion that we are already religious.

Experience declares that religion is always the person’s private resolve. A group is not religious — a person is religious. A crowd is not religious — a person is religious. Because life, consciousness, experience belong to the individual, not to the group. The group moves along fixed lines for convenience — for order, so that anarchy does not arise; it draws a circle of rules and goes on.

If the person too moves bound within that circle and does not discover his own path, he remains merely a part of society; his soul will not be born. The soul is born the day the value of privacy is understood, the day I choose my path so that I may reach my Truth. And each person’s path to Truth will be different — according to himself.

If someone is born in a communist household, we do not say he is a communist. And someone born in a socialist household does not thereby become a socialist. To be a socialist one must reflect, think, decide.

Any thought that has not sprouted within you is stale — a burden. Mahavira declared this twenty-five centuries ago: birth has nothing to do with religion. Where you were born is not of value; what you become — by your own labor — that is of value. So Mahavira broke the system of varna; he broke the system of ashram. And Mahavira gave new meanings to old words.

This sutra is a Brahmin-sutra. Here Mahavira expounds who a Brahmin is. One is not a Brahmin by being born in a Brahmin’s house — yet we call only the one a Brahmin who was born in a Brahmin home. Thus the great conception of Brahminhood was destroyed; it became a paltry thing.

To be born in a Brahmin’s house is a trivial matter; to become a Brahmin is an altogether different matter. To be a Brahmin is a journey. To be a Brahmin is labor, tapas, austerity. One can be a Brahmin only when his connection with Brahman is established.

In the Upanishads, Uddalaka says to his son Svetaketu, "Svetaketu, remember one thing: in our family no one has ever been a Brahmin by birth. That would be a disgrace. In our family we have become Brahmins by effort. Do not think that because you were born in my house, you have become a Brahmin. To be a Brahmin you will have to labor tirelessly; to be a Brahmin you will have to practice by yourself. To be a Brahmin you will have to give birth to yourself; parents cannot give you that birth. Until your experience begins to come close to Brahman, you are not a Brahmin."

Mahavira’s words must have seemed very difficult to the caste-Brahmins. Truth always seems difficult to self-interest. How easy it is to become a Brahmin by birth — and how arduous to become a Brahmin by labor. By birth thousands become Brahmins; by labor, perhaps one in a long while becomes a Brahmin.

So those who were Brahmins by birth must have found it very painful. Mahavira was taking away their inheritance; he was taking away their power. Even more dangerous must it have seemed that Mahavira was not only snatching Brahminhood from the Brahmin — caste-wise, birth-wise — but he was saying that anyone can become a Brahmin — even a shudra, by labor. He was taking power away from the Brahmin, and opening the door of that supreme power — the experience of it — to those who never had it.

Mahavira’s revolution is deep. He says: all are born shudra. How can one be a Brahmin by being born of the body? The body is shudra — man is born of the body — so all are born shudra. Then amidst this shudra-ness, if one labors, refines himself, passes through fire, he shines like gold. But one must pass through fire — then one becomes a Brahmin.

Being born a shudra is no obstacle to becoming a Brahmin. Shudra-ness is the foundation of Brahminhood. As the body is the foundation of the soul, so shudra-ness is the foundation of Brahminhood. Therefore no one is deprived of being a shudra — all are shudras. But some shudras have imagined themselves Brahmins by birth; some shudras have imagined themselves Vaishyas by birth; some shudras have imagined themselves Kshatriyas by birth; and some shudras have been made to believe, "You are not only shudras by birth — you must remain shudras forever; from birth to death you will be shudras."

This is dangerous. By it, who knows how many possibilities of becoming Brahmin were lost. He who could have become a Brahmin was stopped. He who was not a Brahmin was accepted as one. His possibility too was harmed — for he also could have become, but his anxiety dropped, he assumed "I already am."

Mahavira says: to be a Brahmin is life’s final flower — therefore do not stop at birth. The lotus arises from mud; Brahminhood arises from shudra-ness. The mud is left behind; the lotus starts rising upward. A moment comes when the mud is far behind; the lotus has risen above the water. And looking at the lotus you would never even think that it has come out of the mud.

Shudra-ness is the mud. There is no need to remain lying in it. There is a science of rising above it. Spirituality, dharma, yoga — these are the alchemy for transforming mud into a lotus. And once the mud becomes a lotus, then even the mud below on the ground can no longer make it mud again. Rather, the lotus draws juice from the mud; it continually transforms that mud into fragrance. The stench of the mud becomes perfume through the lotus. All that is ugly in the mud becomes beautiful in the lotus.

Man is born like mud — but there is no need to die like mud. One can die as a lotus.

The art of becoming that lotus is called dharma.

Now let us understand Mahavira’s sutra:

"He who keeps no attachment among loving ones who come; who, going away from them, does not grieve; who always delights in Arya-words — him we call ‘Brahmin.’"

It is necessary to understand step by step.

"Who keeps no attachment among loving ones."

It does not mean he does not keep love — otherwise there is no reason to say "loving ones." Love is overflowing; attachment is absent. In the shudra-mind there is no love at all — only attachment upon attachment. In the Brahmin-mind attachment falls away and only love remains.

Attachment is the mud; love is the lotus. But to free love from attachment is arduous, because as soon as we love someone — in fact, before we even truly love — attachment catches hold. Attachment means: either we become a slave, or we begin to make the other a slave. Both are processes of slavery.

You love someone — the very moment you love, you become dependent on that person. Your happiness becomes dependent on him. Your unhappiness becomes dependent on him. The other becomes the master. If he wishes, he can make you miserable; if he wishes, he can make you happy. One gesture of his can make you dance; one gesture can hurl you into sorrow. The ownership of your soul has gone into another’s hands.

And remember: whenever in our love we make someone our master, our hatred for him also begins — because no one ever likes to be someone’s possession. That’s why we both love and hate the same person; and the one we love we also want to destroy. Because he seems also to be an enemy.

He will appear so! Lovers seem enemies to each other — because they snatch each other’s freedom and turn each other into objects, wiping out the person.

Every husband tries to make his wife into a thing. "Let her get up and sit as I say. Let her move as I indicate." The wife too has the whole endeavor that the husband become her slave. "If I say night, then night; if I say day, then day." Both are engaged in the same struggle — to dominate each other, to efface each other.

Why? Why so much fear of the other — and of the very one we love? The fear is this: our love immediately becomes attachment — becomes an attachment. And as soon as it becomes attachment, one of the two becomes master. "Let me remain the master; the other must not become master." But the other too is engaged in the same attempt.

Can love be free of attachment?

If love can be free of attachment, then love is also free of hatred.

Mahavira says: I call him a Brahmin who keeps no attachment among loving ones. Whose love is full — whose love lacks nothing — but who, because of his love, neither becomes anyone’s slave nor makes anyone a slave. Whose love is a relationship of joy between two free individuals — not a relationship of sorrow between two dependent persons. Our whole love is a relationship of sorrow — that is why the sorrow we get from love is more than from anything else. If the human mind is examined rightly, love is the greatest disease — no other brings so much suffering. Your sufferings are sufferings of love. The result is that in the West, over the last two or three decades, a trend has arisen: people say, "Don’t speak of love. Sex is enough." Because sex at least leaves you free; love raises a storm.

Therefore in the West love is sinking; only sex is surfacing. "Only a sexual relationship between two persons is enough," say the new Western notions. Because as soon as love comes, fever comes; trouble begins; one starts to suppress the other. So "only a sexual relationship is sufficient." This is dangerous.

India too has experimented in freeing from attachment; the West too is experimenting. India experimented what Mahavira is saying: let love become intense, let attachment fall away. Then the sorrow in love will be destroyed, and love will become a rain of bliss.

The West too wants that the trouble of attachment be removed — but it removes it by falling lower. It says: a relationship of two bodies is enough. Do not take more responsibility.

As soon as you fall in love, the trouble begins; therefore it is not good even to keep sexual relations with one person for long. Sexual relationships should also be kept changing: today one woman, tomorrow another; today one man, the day after tomorrow another. Keep changing so that no stopping happens anywhere, no attachment forms.

Both visions depend on the same insight. The East too has seen that love brings sorrow — then what is the way to rise out of sorrow? Mahavira says: the way is that love should remain; the heart should be full of love; but the tendency to make anyone a slave or to make anyone a master should be negated.

The West too is in the same difficulty, but its suggestion is strange and dangerous. Mahavira makes love divine; the West makes love bestial.

That love is an upheaval is evident — thinkers of both East and West have seen it. Where there is so-called love, there is trouble. So either descend below it — as among animals. There is no trouble there: no marriage, no divorce, no quarrel — only a bodily meeting. Animals meet bodily for a moment and part. They do not create fascination, do not make attachment: that the female is now my wife; if some other male raises his eye toward her, I will cause a scene — or that the male is my husband; if he raises his gaze toward another female, quarrel begins.

No, animals live only in the body’s relationship and move apart. There is no attachment. Hence the pain we have about love does not exist for animals.

The West is falling to be free of the turmoil of love — but by falling nothing is solved. Even if sex fills life, if the flower of love does not blossom, the life-breath remains unfulfilled; life’s shine, its splendor, its aura cannot manifest. Man cannot be content as an animal; man can be content only as divine. No one is ever content by falling lower; he may become free of responsibility — but he cannot attain fulfillment. Hence all over the West a sense of meaninglessness is spreading — because love is the meaning of life.

Mahavira says: I call him a Brahmin who can love and yet not be bound by attachment. This is possible — it becomes possible when our love does not depend on the other person, but is our own capacity.

Understand the difference well.

You love because the other is lovable — then you depend on the other. Mahavira says: love because you are love-full. The emphasis is that your heart be love-full. As a lamp is lit and its light falls — then whoever passes by, the lamp’s light will fall upon him. The lamp does not say, "You are beautiful — therefore I cast light on you; you are ugly — therefore I extinguish myself and create darkness." The lamp’s light will go on flowing — even if no one passes, it will flow into emptiness.

Mahavira calls him a Brahmin whose love has become his heart’s radiance. Who does not love because you are dear, or beautiful, or good, or pleasing to me; no — who loves simply because he is love-full; there is no other way. If you are near him, the rays of his love will go on falling upon you.

Love is not a relationship — it is a state. And when such love is born — it will be born only when one withdraws from others, removes one’s gaze from "the other" and implants it in "oneself" — which we call meditation. As meditation deepens, love ceases to be a relationship and becomes a state. It becomes man’s nature.

Mahavira too gives love — he does not "do" love. In doing there is an act. Mahavira gives love. His way of being is love-full. If you go near him, you will receive love. And you may even be under the illusion that he has loved you — because you understand the language of doing, not of being. Mahavira is love-full — as fragrance is in a flower, so love is in him.

"Who keeps no attachment among loving ones who come; who, going away from them, does not grieve."

And remember, grief arises only when there is attachment. The one to whom we are bound, without whom our being is hindered — if he is not there, it becomes very difficult for us.

When someone dies you do not weep because someone has died. You weep because the dependence within you has broken. When someone dies you weep for yourself. Some fragment of you has broken that was filled by that person. Some corner of the heart had been lit by him — that lamp has gone out. Darkness has fallen within you.

No one weeps at another’s death because the other has died. We weep at death because something within us has died. And you will weep only until that corner is filled again; the day it fills again, the weeping will stop.

Man weeps only for himself. Therefore when you grieve at leaving someone, or when someone goes far — it indicates that attachment had arisen in his presence.

Mahavira passes through a village; he is love-full — he cannot be otherwise. The village is left behind; if Mahavira’s memory remains hung upon that village, Mahavira is not a Brahmin. The village is gone — the memory too is gone. Wherever Mahavira is, there will be his awareness; there will be his light. He will not keep turning back in mind about the previous village: "the man who gave me food; the man who gave shelter; the one who massaged my feet; the one who gave me so much love..."

If the mind returns backward — a mind that returns backward is not a Brahmin. If the mind runs forward — that in the coming village some dear one is to be met, and one’s feet gain speed — this mind is not a Brahmin. The Brahmin’s mind is only where the Brahmin is. To be where we are is enough — we do not return backward out of attachment or grief; we do not go ahead out of attachment or pleasure. To be in the present is to be a Brahmin.

Mahavira says: who neither attaches nor, going away, grieves. Who always delights in Arya-words — him we call a Brahmin.

Arya-words need to be understood. For Mahavira, no caste has meaning. Mahavira is not using "Arya" in any caste sense — as Hindus suppose that the old name of Hindus is "Arya." Mahavira and Buddha give a unique meaning to "Arya": Arya is the one who has attained ultimate nobility. It is not a notion of caste.

No caste is Arya. Great dangers have arisen from the opposite idea. Hindus for thousands of years believed they were Arya — that only they possessed pure blood; all others were impure. The Brahmin, by his superiority, made others inferior. Much disturbance has arisen from this. The word "Aryan" has many times become dangerous. The last great war — the Second World War — revolved around this word "Aryan." Hitler again became deluded that he was Aryan, and that the Nordic race — Germans — were pure Aryans; therefore the whole world should be ruled by the Nordic race, by Germans — because all others are shudras.

Among those who influenced Hitler was Nietzsche, and among those who influenced Nietzsche was Manu; thus Hitler is directly linked with Manu. And no one more caste-minded than Manu has ever been. Mahavira’s entire opposition is to Manu.

No caste is superior — cannot be. There is no superiority in blood. What superiority can there be in blood? Take the blood of a Brahmin and the blood of a shudra — no scientist on earth can, by any test, say which is shudra’s blood and which is Brahmin’s.

Bones have no caste. Flesh and marrow have no caste. Mahavira says: caste is of consciousness’ excellence. He calls Arya the one who has attained supreme excellence. Whoever trusts, has confidence, in the thoughts — the words — of such a one who has attained this supreme excellence, Mahavira calls him a Brahmin.

This needs some understanding: "who always delights in Arya-words."

You will be surprised to know you always take delight in un-Arya words — why? Because whenever you hear un-Arya words, petty words, first, you understand them at once — because they are your language. Second, hearing them, you are assured that you are not the only bad one — the whole world is the same. Third, immediately the challenge of choosing the higher, the pain of Arya-hood, disappears; all responsibility falls.

Understand it so: Freud said that man is a sexual being. This is an un-Arya word — not that it is untrue; it is true, but it is a shudra truth, the lowest truth. About the mud of man it is true; about the lotus of man it is not true. That man is sexual; that man’s actions are bound to sex — from the small child to the old man, all striving is of sex. This is true — but it is a lower truth, the truth of the mud. Yet this truth of the mud gave great consolation to the world. People said, "Then all is fine; as we are, there is no evil. If I keep thinking of sex twenty-four hours a day, if naked women float in my dreams, what I am doing is natural. If I live only in the body, then this is the real — Freud says so."

Freud strengthened our lowest — therefore his words, in a few decades, spread across the entire world. No movement has spread as swiftly as psychoanalysis and Freud’s movement. Mahavira spoke twenty-five centuries ago; the Upanishads are still more ancient; the Gita was said five thousand years ago. In five thousand years, what they said has not spread like fire; what Freud said, in the last fifty years, has seized the world — literature, film, song, painting — all became Freudian. Everything began to be thought and understood through Freud. What is the reason?

Un-Arya words strengthen our lowest. Whenever someone strengthens our lowest, we feel relief. We feel: good — nothing is wrong with us. The sense of guilt falls. The restlessness that something has to be — that somewhere to go — that some peak to reach — that uneasiness falls; acceptance comes to walk on flat ground — that it is fine, all men are like this.

That is why we all rejoice on hearing criticism of others. When someone slanders another, we are pleased — because from that slander we get relief within: good. If someone slanders a saint, we are more pleased — because we get confirmed that there is no such thing as a saint; it is all talk. Everyone is like me; in some, the fact is exposed — in others, not yet.

So whenever you take delight in someone’s slander, understand what you are doing: you are strengthening your lowest. You are saying: now there is no challenge — nowhere to go — nothing to become. What I am — I must live and die in this mud. This mud is life.

Un-Arya words give pleasure. Many un-Arya words are in vogue. We all know that un-Arya words are spreading rapidly; gradually we have even forgotten they are un-Arya. Everything is being explained by the lowest denominator, the lowest element. Man is to be reduced to the final thing: cut and dissect man — what will we find? Bone-flesh-marrow. Then we will say: a heap of bone-flesh-marrow — finished. We will not find consciousness there.

The highest escapes our instruments. If we examine man’s behavior, what will we find? Sex, craving, the race of ambition. Then we will explain every noble thing by the ignoble — as if saying, "What is in the lotus? It is only mud."

This is one way. In this way we appease the mud: "Do not labor to become a lotus. What is there in the lotus? Only mud." Then the longing that could have arisen in the mud to become a lotus will be blunted. The mud will sit limp in its place: why run about needlessly, why be troubled?

Un-Arya words give pleasure; Arya-words give pain. Mahavira says: he who can take delight in Arya-words is a Brahmin. He may not yet be Arya, but delighting in Arya-words means he is accepting the challenge. He is allowing the aspiration to reach life’s summit to be awakened. He is not content with the petty as long as the vast is not attained.

To delight in Arya-words means: I want to reach where Arya-words point. The goal is distant, but my eyes are fixed there. My legs may be weak, but I intend to walk. I may fall and not reach — that too can happen — yet I will continue the effort to reach.

To delight in Arya-words means that we are opening the door of possibility.

There are people who are pleased to hear that God is not. There are people who are pleased to hear that the Atman is not. There are people who feel comfort hearing that there is no liberation. "This life is all — eat, drink and be merry." If they suspect that the Divine is, a pebble falls into their pleasure. If they suspect that after this life there is further life, then merely eating, drinking and making merry will not seem enough. Then something else must be done. Then this life ceases to be the goal; it becomes a means — to attain another supreme life.

Our denial — that there is no God, no Atman, no moksha — we make to save ourselves. Because if these realities are, then what are we doing? Then there is no time. Then life is too short, and it is not right to waste energy.

If materialism spread so much in the West, one reason was that Christianity said there is no rebirth. The intense spread of materialism in the West had a cause in the Christian notion that there is no rebirth — only one life. If there is only one life, people felt: then it is proper to make this very life the goal. There is no other life for which this life should be dedicated, sacrificed, put into sadhana. Time is slipping from the hand — enjoy it.

Hedonism in the West could spread easily from the notion of one life. Jesus had other purposes. But we have nothing to do with the purposes of Jesus, Mahavira or Buddha. We extract our self-interest even from their purposes.

Jesus’ purpose in saying "there is only one life" was to emphasize urgency — not that he did not know. Jesus has made many remarks which prove he knew rebirth. Someone asked him, "How old are you?" Jesus said, "Even before Abraham, I was." Two thousand years had passed since Abraham.

So Jesus knows — he must. One who has attained such knowing — would he not know that life is an unending continuum, an infinite expanse? Yet Jesus told people there is only one life — with the purpose that they might strive intensely to attain liberation: there isn’t much time to lose. But people are clever. They said, "Time is so little — what liberation, what God! First let us enjoy this. The half loaf in the hand is better than the whole loaf in dreams." People take it to suit themselves.

I have heard: a gentleman was passing through the market, dressed impressively in the costume of his trade. A little poor boy came and said, "Sir, could you tell me the time?"

He asked so respectfully that the merchant stopped. Proudly he took out his gold watch, looked, put it back and said, "It is a quarter to three."

The boy said, "Thank you! Precisely at three o’clock you will kiss my foot!" And he ran.

Naturally the merchant was filled with rage. He ran, blazing, after him. Perhaps in two minutes he ran as far as he could; he was panting — age was advanced — when Nasruddin, an old acquaintance, met him and stopped him: "Where are you rushing? What has happened — at this age you are panting, dripping with sweat!"

The merchant said, "Don’t you see that rascal, that boy! He asked me the time — I took out my watch, stopped for him, said it was quarter to three. He said, ‘Exactly at three you will kiss my foot.’"

Nasruddin said, "Then what is the hurry? You have enough time yet — ten minutes left. Why such speed? After all, it is only a foot to kiss at three o’clock! Why be in such a hurry?"

What meaning man will take depends on man. Jesus said, "One birth" — hurry, there is not much time, lest the Divine be lost; there is no second chance. People said: there is only one life — who knows about another — better enjoy this properly.

Mahavira, Buddha and Krishna said there are infinite lives. They too said it with a purpose: that the struggle is long; in a single life it may not be completed — but if you strive, in infinite lives you will come close to Truth.

The idea of infinite lives was given so that you could strive; so that you would not take this life to be all. Make it an instrument, a means — to attain a higher state in the next life. So that this life does not become everything, the notion of infinite lives was given. What meaning did we draw? We said: there are infinite lives — first let us enjoy this. What is the hurry? What is the hurry — if not in this birth, we will do it in the next; if not in the next, then in the next after that. There are endless opportunities — no hurry at all; first enjoy what is in hand.

Man is very dishonest. From every doctrine he draws his own interest.

Mahavira says: he who delights in Arya-words; who does not search for his own selfish meaning and drag Arya-words down to his level, but rather tries to pull himself up to the level of Arya-words — that person is a Brahmin.

We call him a Brahmin, "who, like gold purified in fire and tested on the touchstone, is immaculate; who is free of attachment, aversion and fear — that we call a Brahmin."

"...like gold purified in fire, tested on the touchstone, immaculate."

The fire you know is not the only fire — there are other fires. The fire seen outside is not the only fire — inside too there is fire. All of life is an expanse of fire. And the gold you see outside is not the only gold — inside too is the possibility of gold. But there the mud is mixed, rubbish is mixed — we have never purified it. In truth we are so occupied with concern for outer gold that who will worry about the gold within? And life ends in seeking the outer gold; the chance to seek the inner never comes. In times of sorrow, pain, trouble, we do think of the inner; again with the coming of pleasure, we forget. Pleasure is outgoing; in sorrow we turn a little inward — but as soon as pleasure comes...!

Mulla Nasruddin was very ill, very miserable. One day, out of worry and pain, he went to the mosque — he didn’t usually go. He said to the maulvi, "Pray for me. I am a sinner; you are a virtuous man. Your prayer will surely be accepted. With what face can I pray? Pray for me. If I am saved from this illness — the doctors say I will not be — if I am saved, I will donate five rupees to the mosque!" (Five rupees was substantial.)

Hearing this, the maulvi could not be sure Nasruddin would donate — but in sorrow sometimes a man does. In sorrow sometimes religion and the Divine are remembered; who knows, sometimes in sorrow a man even changes.

The maulvi prayed. By coincidence, Nasruddin was saved. After recovering, the maulvi tried many times — knocked at his door — but he had instructed his sons, his wife, everyone: "Whenever the maulvi is seen, tell him immediately that Nasruddin is not at home."

For two months the maulvi circled around for those five rupees. At last one day he caught him in the market: "Nasruddin, stop! This is too much! You were saved from the illness, the prayer was accepted — what of the five rupees?"

Nasruddin said, "What five rupees? Was I so ill that I babbled such a big donation? I must have been out of my senses. From this you can understand how ill I was!"

In a moment of sorrow, man sometimes is shaken and thinks of the inner — but that thinking is momentary; with the moment of happiness, he again flows outward.

We do not get to know that there is an inner — and there, everything is. The gold is within, the treasure is within — and we stand outside with our begging bowl. At death, the begging bowl is still in hand — empty. It will be, because the gold is not outside. Those who are engaged in collecting the outer gold — there can be no one more unintelligent — for the same time could be used to dig the gold within. There is an infinite mine there. What we call the Atman is the inner gold mine. But our hands do not reach there.

Mahavira says: he who sets out in search of the gold within is a Brahmin. Not only sets out — but discovers the gold within and purifies it in fire. Fire means tapas, fire means sadhana, tapascharya, yoga, tantra — whatever name you wish to give.

Fire means to temper oneself within. Do you ever temper yourself within — at any moment? You always lean toward weakness. You never lean toward strength. Anger arises — it is completely natural, easy, to express it — animals do that too. Nothing special. By showing anger you will not become special — it is a bestial tendency. But have you ever thought: this weak current — anger has arisen, energy is moving outward — I should stop; let anger settle within. Neither suppress it — suppression turns it into poison — nor express it — expression injects poison into another. Just witness: anger has arisen — and do not react.

You are passing through fire. Anger will become a flame. And if you can just watch this flame, without doing anything — take no decision, do not say "this is bad" (for if you say bad, suppression begins and your body will be poisoned); do not say "it is fine, natural — everyone gets angry, why not I?" (for if you act on it, poison reaches the other; and acting on it opens the door to more anger; the habit forms — tomorrow anger will come more quickly; the day after, even more quickly; gradually anger becomes life). But if neither suppress nor express anger — hold to awareness and watch it — take no decision of good or bad, to do or not to do — just watch what anger is — then you are passing through a fire. The fire that would have burned another, or, if suppressed, would have destroyed your nerves and poisoned your body — if its energy is not used outwardly, it becomes tapas. If it is simply watched, that fire begins to refine your gold.

And if you can manage just once to watch anger, you will be so joyous afterward as you cannot imagine. You will feel such strength — you have become your own master. Now no one can make you angry. Which means no one can dominate you. Now no power in the world can harass you. Even if the whole world harasses you, you can remain at ease.

This is called Jinatva — such ease as is attained by becoming free of the other. When you are angry, you are a slave of the other. Hearing this will surprise you — because the angry person thinks, "I am setting the other right." The angry person thinks, "If I do not get angry, the other will become my master."

You do not know that life is very complex. When you get angry, you have accepted the other as master, because he made you angry. The key is in his hand. Someone abused you; he turned the key — your lock opened. Let his key turn and the lock not open — the key becomes useless. It must be thrown away.

If more people in the world made their anger a means to refine their gold, others too would be given a chance to throw away their keys — because those keys would be of no use. What will you do with a key that does not fit anywhere? If someone abuses you and there is no reaction, abuses will disappear from the world.

Abuses have weight because people are affected by them. In truth, you may not be affected by anything else — but you are affected by abuse. Someone utters a slight abuse and you are immediately disturbed — as if you were sitting ready. The gunpowder was ready — someone’s spark was needed. A little spark — and you flare up.

Sexual desire arises — it is fire, truly fire. Every hair is filled with it, the blood heats up, the nerves tighten. You can pour this fire onto someone; this lust can be poured onto another. Or you can repress it within. Both are wrong — because repression makes everything illness; pouring onto another spreads the illness and forms the habit of illness.

Sexual desire has arisen — you remain silently a witness. Stand within, in the inner temple; close your eyes and watch how sexual desire spreads in the body; how every hair vibrates and is stirred by it. Keep watching. This fire will refine your awareness. In the gleam of this fire, you will awaken. In this heat, the rubbish within you will burn up.

All the passions of life can become fires. They have three uses: either harm another, or harm yourself — or refine your soul through that fire.

For this refinement Mahavira says: "who, like gold thrown into fire and purified, tested on the touchstone...!"

He must also be tested on the touchstone. Because who knows whether the fire has refined the gold or not? Where will be the touchstone? It is not enough to put gold into fire. The fire may have been weak; the dross strong; the layers deep — the gold may not have been purified. Where will you test it?

Understand one thing well: Mahavira, Buddha, Muhammad, Christ — each withdraws from society for some time. That period of withdrawal is the time to light the fire. But then they return to society. The return is the time of the touchstone. Where is the touchstone?

I may go and sit in solitude — and I may not feel anger there, because there is no one to abuse me. I may sit for years and anger may not arise — and I may be deluded that I am now a victor of anger. Where is the touchstone? I must return. I must stand amidst the crowd. I must relate to people. Someone must abuse me, someone harm me — and then if even a flicker of anger does not arise within; if not a single flame comes up; if nothing burns — then the test is passed.

Society is the touchstone. It is proper, necessary, that for some time the seeker withdraw from society. But to remain forever in solitude is dangerous. You have passed through fire, but where is the touchstone? Therefore seekers who remain in the forest always are incomplete. Going to the forest is necessary; after being ripened by the fire, returning to society is equally necessary — for here are the touchstones. All around, touchstones are moving — they will test you well. Here is wealth, here is desire, here are all instruments of passion — here you will come to know.

Recently there was a camp on Mount Abu. A Jain muni, with great courage — it did take courage — said, "I want to come and see how people meditate there." I said, "What will you see by seeing — do it." He said, "That will be difficult." "What fear?" I asked. He said, "There expression happens — whatever is within is to be brought out." I said, "If something is within, it will come out; if it is not, it will not. What is the fear? If it is there, to bring it out and know is necessary — it will be a touchstone that it is within. If it is not, there will be joy that nothing is within. But at least allow me to sit and watch." "As you wish," I said, "but the one who cannot do will not be able to see rightly either."

And that is what happened. When people began to meditate, he watched for two minutes — then, right in front, a young woman removed her clothing. The muni immediately closed his eyes. He could not look further — a naked woman!

If there is fear even of seeing a woman, then seeing a naked woman will cause great fear. But is the fear outside or inside?

Inside something trembled. Inside some desire arose; some disturbance arose. The eyes were not being closed to the woman — by closing the eyes what was arising within was being suppressed. By suppression there will never be liberation. This suppressed thing will pursue you always, will trouble you birth after birth. I told him, "You had thought you would be able to see — but you could not. Because the fear in doing is the same fear in seeing."

Desire stands within. Solitude is appropriate for its observation, for witnessing it. And it is good that in the beginning the seeker goes to solitude — so that other disturbances do not remain; only one thing remains in life — sadhana. But the forest is not the end — one must return to society.

So Mahavira says: "who, thrown into the fire and purified, and tested on the touchstone, is immaculate like pure gold; who is free of attachment, aversion and fear — that we call a Brahmin."

"...free of attachment, aversion and fear."

Who can be free of attachment and aversion? Attachment and aversion are not two — they are two sides of one coin. He who is full of attachment will be full of aversion; he who is full of aversion will be full of attachment. But this is not understood. Generally the situation in the world is upside down: there are two kinds of people — those full of attachment, whom we call householders; and those full of aversion, whom we call sadhus, sannyasins. To whatever you are attached, the sadhu has aversion to precisely that. But Mahavira says: he who is free of both attachment and aversion is a Brahmin — because aversion is attachment standing on its head.

A man is mad after women — only women are seen. This man can become a renunciate tomorrow — then he will be mad to avoid women. If a woman touches him — fear! If a woman comes near — fear! If some woman meets in solitude — he will be frightened; he will run; he will tremble.

Earlier too he was running — earlier he was running toward woman; now he is running away from woman. But attention remains fixed on woman. Earlier there was attachment — now aversion. Earlier he gathered wealth — now, seeing wealth, he closes his eyes. Earlier it was great joy to touch wealth — as if there were life in wealth. Now if someone brings wealth close, he withdraws his hand lest it be touched — as if there were still life in wealth, and it might spoil him. No difference is made.

Between attachment and aversion there is no difference; aversion is the inverted image of attachment. Those who attach can any day fall into aversion; those who hate can any day fall again into attachment. And attachment and aversion go on changing like a clock’s pendulum — morning aversion, evening attachment; evening attachment, morning aversion. In your own life you will experience that this alternation is constant. This duality belongs to our deranged mind.

Mahavira says: freedom from both attachment and aversion — together. Neither clinging to anything, nor repulsion from anything. This is difficult — because we call the repulsed one a sannyasin; Mahavira does not. Mahavira found a new word — he calls him "Vitaraga." The one bound in attachment and the repulsed — both are the same. Vitaraga means: gone beyond both. Vitar — gone beyond — where both are not. The man becomes simple, natural.

And an extraordinary condition is added: who is free of fear.

Because it can happen that we try to be free of attachment and aversion because of fear. Many of us are religious out of fear — fear of hell, fear of sin, fear of what will happen after death. Who knows? What will happen?

Man does not fear death so much as he fears pain. Old people come to me and say, "We do not fear death; only bless us that we may die comfortably. Let no disease catch us; let no rotting happen; let us not decay and suffer." We have no fear of death — fear is of suffering. "What is in death — we do not worry — but cancer, TB, rotting, decaying, suffering — that is fear. Let us die as we are — healthy."

We fear pain more than death. And priests discovered that man fears suffering — so they made a huge hell. They created hell: if you sin, if you attach, if you hate, if you do this and that, you will rot in hell. Out of fear of hell, many have become religious.

Now the fear of hell is decreasing day by day — in the same proportion people’s religiosity is decreasing. The day hell is completely gone, you will be utterly irreligious — because your religion is nothing but fear. When you kneel before the image of God, those knees are bent by fear. What relation can fear have with Truth!

Mahavira says: fearlessness is the first step in the search for Truth. And one who is not fearless cannot be a Brahmin. Therefore Mahavira even dismissed prayer. He said: in prayer, fear is hidden; asking is hidden. Prayer is not needed — only fearlessness is needed. Who can be fearless? Fear exists — it is real. There is death, there is sorrow, there is pain.

One way is that no suffering remains — then man becomes fearless. But sufferings will remain. No science can free man from suffering — it can only replace one suffering with another. There can be no situation on earth where there is no suffering. Five thousand years of experience: old diseases go, new diseases come. Plague is not; in many countries malaria is gone; plague has disappeared; black fever is not — but what difference does it make? More terrible diseases have come.

Man cannot be in pleasure alone; with pleasure, pain is joined. As we arrange pleasure here, an equal measure of pain gets arranged alongside. So Mahavira says: the effort to be free of suffering has only one meaning — that my consciousness becomes separate from pleasure and pain. There is no other way.

Science cannot bring man into bliss; it can bring him into great pleasure — but with it will come great pain. Therefore as much convenience as science arranges, so much the experience of inconvenience grows. A man who works all day in the sun — his experience of the pain of sun decreases through habit. A man who works in the shade — shade gives him pleasure; but his sensitivity to sunlight increases — he suffers a pain in the sun that the man of sun never suffers.

The more you increase pleasures, the more the capacity for pain grows — because with pleasures you become delicate, fragile. The more fragile, the less resistance. So we have arranged cures for all diseases — but man’s resistance has weakened; and with diminished resistance, a thousand new diseases have arisen.

The more pleasure we give man, the deeper the pit of pain that will open. Science can give great pleasures — it will give great pain.

Mahavira says: there is only one possibility of bliss — that I separate my consciousness from pleasure and pain. To be free of attachment and aversion means: I become a witness. Neither for nor against — neither craving for pleasure, nor resisting pain. Whatever happens, I remain the watcher.

Mahavira’s dharma stands on fearlessness. In English there is a phrase: "God-fearing." In Hindi too: "Ishwar-bhiru" — one who fears God. Mahavira would not allow such a phrase into a scripture. He would say: one who fears can never attain Truth. A fearful mind has no possibility of relating to Truth. So Mahavira says: free of attachment, aversion and fear — that we call a Brahmin.

"Who is an ascetic..."

Who is turning the inner fire of life’s passions into a yajna; who is refining himself within. Who does not waste the whole energy of life outward in vain, but brings all fuel to one work — that the gold within be refined.

"Who is an ascetic, who is lean and spare..."

This needs some thought — because Mahavira’s image is not lean and spare. From this a great misunderstanding arose. Mahavira’s image is strong and healthy — not at all scrawny. And there is not a single image of Mahavira in which he is thin and emaciated. Yes, there is an image of Buddha in which he is reduced to skin and bones — he undertook a great austerity in which he dried up completely — his back and belly became one, so weak he could not even stand. He went to bathe in the Niranjana; he was so weak he could not come out of the river — he hung onto a tree root.

Surely there is some basic difference between the tapas of Mahavira and that of Buddha. Buddha certainly practiced some wrong austerity — therefore after six years he had to abandon tapas. Buddha said that none can be freed by tapas. His experience was right — by the tapas he practiced, no one can be freed. He became free by abandoning that tapas.

But this has not been thought over deeply — because Mahavira was freed through tapas. Yet Mahavira never became skin and bone. Buddha was a man of pleasures at one extreme; then suddenly, at the opposite extreme, an ascetic — he dried up the body; blood and flesh all dried; he became skeleton; so weak that no energy remained to refine the gold within. He had to abandon that tapas. But Mahavira was never reduced to a skeleton.

So Mahavira’s utterance needs to be understood. He says: "who is lean and spare; master of senses; whose blood and flesh have dried through fierce tapas; who is pure in vows; who has attained Nirvana — that we call a Brahmin."

We must keep Mahavira’s image in mind to understand this — otherwise even Mahavira’s followers have erred. Man’s body does not have blood and flesh without reason. Blood and flesh have two reasons to be: first, the body’s need — the body cannot live without them. They are food, they are fuel. But beyond what the body needs, man gathers more — and that excess leads man into passions. Remember: if you suddenly get a hundred thousand rupees, what will you do? At once all your sleeping passions wake up. The very thought of a hundred thousand makes your desires run: what shall I do, where shall I enjoy?

A newly rich man becomes mad. The newly rich find all their passions awakened — therefore it is not difficult to recognize the newly rich; his wealth jumps about; his wealth becomes a race of lust. As soon as your body gathers more blood-flesh-marrow than needed, what will you do with it? And man’s body has a capacity for storage.

There is a mechanism in the body — we keep food for three months stored in the body. Hence anyone can fast for three months without dying — if he is ordinarily healthy. A healthy, normal man can remain hungry for ninety days and not die — because there is reserve, stored food for ninety days in the body. For ninety days we digest our own flesh. Therefore when you fast, every day a pound to a pound and a half drops from your weight. Where is the weight going? The body is not receiving food from outside — the body has a dual arrangement — it begins to digest its own flesh.

Fasting is in a way meat-eating — one’s own meat begins to be digested. A pound and a half to two pounds of flesh is digested daily. In a healthy body there is storage for up to three months. But besides these three months we gather even more — we are misers. We collect everything. We gather so much that it becomes necessary to throw it out. If we do not throw it, it becomes a burden. That extra burden begins to be thrown into our passions.

So when Mahavira says "lean and spare," he means normal, healthy — not miserly — not hoarding flesh and marrow; for that hoarded flesh and marrow will lead one on wrong paths — it will become a burden.

If there is today a tide of lust in the West, one reason is that for the first time an excess of food is available there. So much food is available that the strange question arises — what to do with it? If you get too much milk and nourishing food, sexual desire will increase — so much that it can surround you twenty-four hours a day — because so much semen will be produced daily that to throw it out will become necessary.

Mahavira says: keep watch on the body. There is a scientific approach: do not let there be excess in the body. If there is excess, it will pull toward passion. Let there be just enough in the body as is necessary to light the inner lamp to awaken and illumine the soul — and not so much that passion arises outward.

So Mahavira says: "who is lean and spare; whose blood and flesh have dried" — it does not mean they are utterly dried. The meaning is: the excess has dried. The one who has no useless fuel to lead him on wrong paths.

"Who is pure in vow; who has attained Nirvana — that we call a Brahmin."

This last word, "Nirvana," must be understood. It is a precious word. It means: the blowing out of a lamp. When we blow out a lamp and its flame is extinguished, we say: the lamp attained Nirvana.

Mahavira says: "He who has attained Nirvana is a Brahmin."

What lamp is he speaking of?

As long as the ego is, we burn as a person. As soon as the flame of ego is extinguished, we cease as a person — the ego is lost. We are — but not as a person; not as ego, not as asmitā. We have no boundary; no walls remain; and the sense of "I" is gone.

The extinguishing of the "I-sense" is Nirvana. The moment I am, and I do not know that I am — my being has become pure. This purest state Mahavira calls "the one I call a Brahmin."

No one has honored the word "Brahmin" as much as Mahavira. Such a pinnacle of the word "Brahmin" is not found in the Upanishads nor in the Vedas. Yet Brahmins thought Mahavira was their enemy. They had reason to think so — for he snatched the Brahmin’s birthright, his self-interest, his trade, his profession.

But rightly understood, Mahavira is not the enemy of the Brahmin — the Brahmin is the enemy of the Brahmin. Mahavira appears as the supreme lover of Brahminhood. He seated it close to Brahman. And one has the right to call himself a Brahmin only when he fulfills Mahavira’s definition. The Brahmin by birth — his Brahminhood is formal. It has no value. The attainment of Brahman — and the steps and stages on the path to Brahman — these are the stages of becoming a Brahmin.

Pause for five minutes, do kirtan — and then go...!