Phir Amrit Ki Boond Padi #3

The problems of this country are bigger than the country itself. And criticism is not negative; it is a constructive way of resolving problems. If a surgeon operates on someone’s cancer, would you call that operation negative? It appears negative, but in truth it is creative. Before an old building is torn down and a new one erected, people must be made aware that living under the old structure has become dangerous; it can destroy life.

I have never criticized anyone in my life. But there is a compulsion: if a thorn is embedded in your foot, you must use another thorn to remove it. The second thorn is not an enemy, it is a friend, although it is a thorn too. So first I want to make it clear: I am not a critic. My vision is creative. But before building, one must remove. The rotting traditions and superstitions that have sat on our chest for thousands of years and keep this country from moving forward—until we set them aside, nothing constructive, creative, or truly developmental can happen here.

The problems are so many it’s hard even to count them. I will speak of the root problems. And remember, this is not criticism, not negativity. I have no faith in “no.” I call “yes” true religiosity.

The first problem before this country is to free it from its past. And your politicians cannot do it, because they must beg—beg for votes—from the very people to whom that past belongs. Understand it this way: a child is born with a future, not a past. As he becomes a youth, he has a present. When he grows old, he has only a past. A nation left only with a past has become old, moribund; its bier can be lifted any day.

For example, Mahatma Gandhi wanted there to be no railways, no telephones, no telegraphs, no electricity, no machines—no dimension of technology. For him the history of the world stopped at the spinning wheel. But this nation cannot live by the spinning wheel. If a man spins thread eight hours a day, every day, he can produce enough cloth for one person—for himself—for one year. Not for his wife, not for his children, not for his parents—only for himself. And you can neither eat cloth nor drink it. If you must spin eight hours a day, you will go mad. Where will you find food? Where will you get clothes for your wife and children? How will you build a house? So I criticized this: until this country is freed from the noose of Gandhi, it has no future. The world has moved far ahead. A small machine can do work that a thousand people cannot. And a machine has the virtue of not getting tired. Shifts need not change. It can work twenty-four hours. Another virtue: it does not die; if a part fails, it can be replaced.

But Gandhi was obstinate. And his disciples—who have held this country in their hands for the forty years after independence—do not have the courage to say that, since Gandhi himself is gone, it is time to bid farewell to this childish approach as well.

First, this nation must develop the largest, latest technology and technical knowledge. That is not difficult; in fact it is easy. But there is a dilemma: as long as Gandhi is worshiped, bringing technology into this country is hard.

When Gandhi died, India’s population was only four hundred million. Today it is nine hundred million. The situation has steadily worsened. But no one has the guts to state clearly to the nation that celibacy cannot stop this population.

On one side, technology is in chains; on the other, the growing population is a messenger of death. Experts in population growth and mathematics once thought that by the end of this century India’s population would be one billion. But the latest projections are not one billion, but 1.8 billion. A country that was hungry and harassed even with four hundred million people—can you imagine? A population of 1.8 billion is an invitation to death. But a politician cannot say this. Even if he knows it, he cannot say it. Politicians must wear masks—mask upon mask—lest they offend the beliefs of those from whom they seek votes.

India has thought for centuries that children are gifts of God. This notion must be dropped. Children are your doing, not some god’s gift. Think a little: if children were God’s gift, his grace and love, then a growing population would fill life with more love, more harmony, more joy. So only two conclusions are possible: either your God is the devil, or there is no God. Even a simple man can see our poverty; and God is said to be omniscient. Can he not see that at 1.8 billion the roads will be carpeted with corpses? There will be too few people even to carry them to the cremation grounds. Procuring shrouds will be difficult—because under Gandhism, if the spinning wheel keeps spinning, there will be no place left to produce shrouds.

So first I want to say: “India must free itself from its past and set its eyes on the future.” If God or nature were enamored of the past, your eyes would have been placed at the back of your skull so you could look behind. Your eyes have been placed in front.

Why don’t political thinkers have the courage to say that the country needs birth control? Fear. The public believes children are God’s gift; then the politician who advocates birth control will not get votes. So everyone sees, and everyone stays silent.

For at least thirty years, birth control should be mandatory in India. What is the benefit of bringing into this world children whom you cannot feed, cannot clothe, cannot educate? Whom you cannot give medicine when they fall ill?

But the Muslim looks to the Quran. Muhammad had nine marriages; at the very least the Muslim was given the right, the prestige, to have four wives. Understand the logic: if a woman had nine husbands, there would be no harm, because she could bear only one child. But if a man has nine wives, there is danger; he can produce nine children. Yet the Muslim insists this is a religious principle.

And Muhammad did not include this principle in the Quran out of any spirituality. He lived his life with the naked sword in hand. Naturally men died, women survived. The ratio skewed; women were four times more numerous. If the rule of one man to one woman had been kept, what would those extra women do? Education was out of the question; they could not even lift the veil. Those three women would become prostitutes. So better to allow one man four women. But when you grant such conveniences, strange dangers arise.

Even in this century, at the time of independence, the Nizam of Hyderabad had five hundred women—when the balance of men and women in the world is roughly equal. If one man monopolizes five hundred women, what will the other four hundred ninety-nine men without women do? Perversion will spread, immorality will spread, abuse will spread.

But don’t be too angry at the Nizam. The one who broke all records is your “complete incarnation,” Krishna! He had sixteen thousand women. And among those sixteen thousand, only one was his wedded wife—Rukmini. The rest belonged to others. If a woman caught his fancy, she was forcibly brought to Krishna’s house. In English there is a saying: might is right. Krishna had power. If he took the wife of a poor man, that man could not even refuse. There were small children in that home, a husband, elders—the house became empty, darkness fell on that home. And still you go on calling Krishna a complete incarnation? A man who lacks even this much humanity—being a “complete incarnation” is out of the question.

India must be freed from its past: that is first. Then we can take new steps. Among the new steps the first will be birth control. And in this rotten world where man does little but kill—five thousand wars in three thousand years—and now preparing for the final war, if you have even a little love, you will not want to bring your child into such a world.

If India undertakes total birth control for thirty years, its population will come to a level at which we can be prosperous. I can say this because I am not a politician; I do not need your votes. Yes, if you wish you can throw stones at me—that will be my good fortune. But the politician is in business. He must say what you like to hear. And your preferences are rotten, antiquated, decrepit; you have never re-examined them.

In Gautam Buddha’s time, the population of the whole world was twenty million—twenty million for the whole world. People were happy; people did not lock their homes. Why lock anything? There was such abundance. Especially in this land, which is less a country and more a subcontinent. Every climate exists here, every kind of convenience. You can find the coldest places, the hottest places; there are dry deserts and there is a place like Cherrapunji, where five hundred inches of rain falls—you cannot even step outside your house.

India is a world in itself. Its wealth was beyond measure. Those who called it the land of the golden bird were not wrong. People were contented, joyous. The rivers of milk and curd are only a metaphor; rivers of milk and curd do not flow. But it indicates that there was such abundance that even if we had poured milk and curd like rivers, it would have done no harm. The root reason was the very low population: a vast, fertile land.

If we want to give India’s destiny its golden sheen again, to turn its stones back into diamonds, we must have some courage. But the irony is that a Christian priest, a cardinal, a pope will come to this country and teach that birth control is a sin. And the Shankaracharyas and Jainacharyas of this country agree with him, for their concerns are different. The Christian wants this country to grow poorer and poorer—because the poorer people are, the more they become Christians; they have to. And the Shankaracharyas and Jainacharyas are afraid that if things go on like this, our numbers will fall; this land may become Christian tomorrow—so, have children!

So first I want to say: if you love children, don’t produce them. Adopt birth control for thirty years. Those who claim to want to reduce population—like Mahatma Gandhi and Vinoba Bhave—are themselves against birth control. They say, practice celibacy. And can anyone tell how many people Mahatma Gandhi made celibate? Gandhi’s own personal private secretary ran away with a girl!

Celibacy is unnatural. And what a tiny pill can accomplish—standing on your head, doing headstands for it, is sheer foolishness. However hard you try, you cannot go against nature’s laws unless you take the support of science. And today full scientific support is available. Until yesterday there were birth-control pills only for women; today there are for men as well.

This country’s population is the enemy of this country—a problem that can be solved very simply, with a little intelligence.

In the commune I created in America there were five thousand sannyasins, twenty-five hundred couples. In five years not a single child was born. No guns were used, no police stood guard—only understanding.

Second: India has been enslaved for two thousand years—by Mughals, Turks, Huns, Muslims, the British. Two thousand years is a long time. Slavery has sunk so deep into the mind that it doesn’t leave even when you try to remove it. We must remove this inner slavery. It is not only slavery; it has filled your mind with rubbish that will go only when slavery falls. Outwardly you look free—only outwardly. Within, no difference.

Slavery is a chain that stifles human genius.

In three hundred years the British built schools, colleges, universities here—not so you would become educated, but so you would remain uneducated. They arranged the entire system such that these institutions became factories producing nothing but clerks. Can you conceive that a vast country like India—which by the end of this century will be the most populous country in the world—has received only three Nobel Prizes so far? And the Jews, whose numbers are tiny—almost negligible in India—win forty percent of the Nobel Prizes every year.

What has happened? Have our brains become empty, hollow? They have been hollowed out—by very scientific methods. Hindu, Muslim, Jain, Sikh—divisions everywhere. The British always labored to ensure this country could never be one; that it would go on fighting within itself; that all its energy would be wasted in internal conflict.

The first blow: Jinnah never went to jail, never took a lathi on his back, and yet became the cause for splitting this country into three parts. Because the British planted in the mind of this country something very deeply that had not been there before. Look at the Guru Granth Sahib: it contains the sayings of Hindu sages, and of the Muslim saint Farid. Our loyalty had been to truth. In one scripture are gathered all who have spoken words of truth, from every religion. But the British slowly built walls.

Before India’s independence, Winston Churchill—he was not yet prime minister—said that Attlee was making a mistake. India’s freedom would shatter India, and India’s freedom would become anarchy. However much of a thief he may have been in politics, this statement of his is correct. What came was not freedom but calamity. Millions were displaced. Their wives were raped. Thousands were burned alive, hacked to pieces. This was the final outcome of Gandhi’s long teaching of nonviolence—an outcome in violence. Not only violence toward the country, but a Hindu shot Gandhi himself.

So I would like human beings to live in this country. Hindu, Muslim, Christian, Sikh—these are private and personal matters. You go to a gurdwara—that is your joy. You go to a mosque—that is your joy. What is there to quarrel about? You read the Quran—that is your joy. You relish the Gita, you dive into the Upanishads—what harm is there? Where is the quarrel?

At least the youth of this country should understand that he is simply a human being. He is human first, and only then anything else. The rest are personal matters—like which brand of cigarette you smoke; nobody fights over that. Which film star you like—that is your preference.

Religion is entirely private and personal. It has nothing to do with the group. Wherever you feel alive, wherever you find breath and peace—that is your doorway. But do not drag another through that door.

Most of this country’s energy and power is spent in fighting among ourselves. The same power could fill this land with lush fields; instead, it fills it with blood. Those who were ours, who are ours—we do not hesitate to cut them down. We forget we are human and behave like animals.

My proposals are straightforward and clear. Religion should be declared personal. Religion should not be an organization; it should be every person’s delight. And it may be that today you like to go to the gurdwara, and tomorrow the call of the mosque—the azaan—gives you joy. What harm in that? All houses—gurdwaras, mosques, temples, churches—are houses of worship. All are ours. Wherever you can find diamonds, choose them. Wherever you get even a glimpse of truth, make it your own. Instead, we thirst for each other’s throats. This is only a matter of a little understanding. Never ask anyone: “What is your religion?”

There is only one religion: to become one with the consciousness of this vast universe. How you do it is your choice—what path you walk, what steps you climb. Do not say, even by mistake, “my religion.” You can belong to religion; religion cannot belong to you. Religion is not a commodity you can stamp with a seal, mark with your name, and sign as “my religion.” The day you do that, naturally your ego says, “Only my religion is the true religion.”

No—become of religion. Do not make religion your possession. On the Everest of religion, countless routes have been climbed. Choose the path you like. It is not necessary that your wife walk with you on your path. Nor is it necessary that your sons walk your path.

Religion is supreme freedom; there is no greater freedom. So it may be that the wife goes to a Jain temple, the husband to a gurdwara, and the sons offer namaz in a mosque. That would be a lovely thing. If in one family there are people who embrace all religions, the quarrels of religions in this country can be erased—quarrels that waste our strength and squander the energy we could use to create.

I would also say to you that for centuries you have been told there is spirituality in poverty. If there were spirituality in poverty, we would not have called God Ishwar. Ishwar means aishwarya—opulence. He is supremely wealthy. Do you think that when you meet God someday, he will be naked, standing in the sun? Or lying on a bed of thorns? Religion is not destitution; religion is the supreme richness of life—outer as well as inner—and there is no contradiction between the two. Sitting in a desert to meditate, or meditating in the peace and silence of your home—I would tell you to choose home. In the desert, meditation will be difficult; the peace of home will give you deeper silence.

We were also told that a religious person should renounce the world—leave it, run to mountains, caves, deserts. This produced a disastrous outcome: millions ran away for centuries, leaving wives, children, aged parents, widowed sisters—without thinking what would happen to them. Those children would beg. And sooner or later Mother Teresa would make them Christians. Those millions of sannyasins who fled from home—deserters. What about their wives? Either they beg, or they become prostitutes—both disgraceful.

I want to say: religion is not leaving the world; religion is making the world beautiful. On the one hand you say God created the world; on the other your saints tell you to renounce it. The arithmetic is clear: your saints stand opposed to God. If the world was only to be renounced, what was the need to create it? And if being in the world is sin, the responsibility is God’s, not yours. If even one person has to fall into hell, it will be your God—because he made the world, gave you desires and longings. You are entirely innocent, a puppet in his hands. If punishment is due, it should be given to him.

George Gurdjieff was a very important figure of this century. He wrote precisely this: all mahatmas are opposed to God. When I first read it, it gave me a jolt: what is this man saying? But when I understood, I found he is right. God creates the world, and the mahatmas preach renouncing it—certainly a contradiction.

If you must believe, then believe in God. Make the world more beautiful. As you were born, so at your death leave the world more beautiful than you found it; then you have served God. Whether you went to any temple or not makes no difference. But if you made two new flowers bloom in God’s temple, brought a little fragrance to God’s world, offered the gift of your life’s genius to God’s creation—then you have served.

Changing this country is not very difficult. Within just ten years, its ancient dignity can be restored. This country has not lost its genius; only ash has settled on its embers—it just needs to be blown away.

No. The communes and schools I had established were only experiments—to see whether what I am saying can become a reality or not, whether dreams can be fulfilled or not. I have seen those dreams come true. Now I would like this whole world to become my commune. I want the entire world to enter that realm of mystery, of wonder, for which we are born, which is our destiny. So now, separate communes and schools... They were preliminary experiments, and they have succeeded. From them I have found the formulas for how the whole world can be transformed. If I go on building communes and schools, it would be a very small thing. Why not make this entire world a university where each person journeys into mystery and moves toward the unknown? Now I want the whole world to be my commune. I now have precise formulas, tested on the right touchstone, and they are pure—twenty-four-carat gold.

I remember, I was in Greece—staying on a small Greek island. In its garden, thousands of sannyasins had gathered from all over Europe. But the tree under which I sat, I had never seen a tree like it before. I asked, “What is this tree? What is its name?” And I was astonished to be told that in Greek it is called carob. This tree is unique in the world, because every small fruit of it has the same weight. Wherever carob is grown, there is no difference in the weight of its fruits. And therefore carob became “carat” in other languages, because in the past there was no more beautiful way to weigh gold. Carob never deceives; its weight is always the same.

That is why we say twenty-four-carat gold. That “carat” comes from this unique quality of the carob tree’s fruit—that its weight is always identical, no matter in which country or in what air it grows.

I have tested twenty-four-carat principles. Naturally, small schools, small communes were necessary for testing. Human beings are all alike. Their skin colors may differ—it makes no difference. Their heights, their lengths may differ—it makes no difference. But within, inside every person, there is twenty-four-carat gold. And now I would like all those formulas to be made available to the whole world. Why should only India be prosperous? Why should only India be adorned with glory? Why should not the whole of humanity be adorned with glory?

This endeavor of mine—to now consider the whole world my home, and to see every person simply as a human being—has placed me in a strange situation. The religions of the whole world and the politicians of the whole world have joined in a conspiracy to prevent me from working. For the Christian is afraid that if a Christian listens to me, he will become a human being but will no longer remain a Christian. And the Hindu is afraid that if a Hindu listens to me, he will become a human being but will no longer remain a Hindu.

Now a single man is preparing to give the formulas to transform the whole world... And naturally the world is divided into so many fragments—there are three hundred religions in the world. And each religion thinks it alone is the true one; the rest are empty. And I am saying that man is true, his humanity is true, and within his humanity resides the divine. What book he reads and which temple he goes to—this is his whim, his entertainment.

Perhaps never before has it happened that the whole world stood against one man. But I take it as an honor. Because whenever the whole world is against one man, one thing is certain: the whole world cannot be right. If it were right, the world would not be in the condition it is in today. And the entire world’s opposition to one man is proof that the journey of my victory has begun. Inwardly they have accepted their defeat; now they are busy trying to cover it up.

There are two questions hidden in this one. First: will Rajneeshism once again take the world into its fold?

There never was, is, or will be anything like “Rajneeshism.” I am an enemy of all “isms.” It is these “isms” that have ruined the world. What, after all, is Islam? What is Christianity? What is Jainism? They are the attempts of certain individuals to wrap the whole world in their net. They all failed—and in their failure they hurled the whole world into filth.

I am not willing to commit such a sin. I do not want to encircle the world. I want the world to take me into its embrace. Let it forget my name, forget my address—let it remember itself. I do not want to leave a religion behind me.

My only prayer to those who love me is this: there will be only one proof of your love—that you forgive me and forget me forever. Yes, if any truth has manifested through me, then drink it—drink it to your heart’s content. But that truth is not mine. Truth belongs to no one. Truth is simply its own. It bears no label, no adjective.

Therefore I wish to dissolve, to merge, to disappear—so that not even my footprints remain on the earth for anyone to follow. Birds fly in the sky, yet their feet leave no marks in the sky. I too do not want to leave any marks behind me.

I want humanity to love truth, love, compassion, meditation, existence. I was not yesterday; tomorrow I will not be. Do not make an idol out of this skeleton.

And I do not want to take anyone into my fold. Let me tell you also: those who strive to make people their followers, to bring them under their sway, are not good people. They are egoists. They want to make the peak of their ego higher and higher. They want to stand on your shoulders to touch the stars.

I want to vanish as if I never was—so that only that remains which always was, is, and will be. And may you remain in its embrace. What have you to do with me? What value am I?

The second part of your question is: will you remain merely a Charvaka?

Perhaps you do not know what the word Charvaka means. And perhaps you also do not know that Charvaka was never a person. Charvaka was a tradition—a vision of life. Those who opposed that vision gave it this name “Charvaka.” Charvaka means one who believes in grazing—eat, drink, be merry, keep on grazing! But that was not the tradition’s real name. Its own name was “Charu-vak”—not Charvaka, but Charu-vak. And Charu-vak means “sweet speech”: charu, sweet; vak, word.

It is astonishing what man has done to man—such dishonesty that its original name and tradition, which simply said there should be sweetness in life, that flowers should fall from your every word, was distorted.

Certainly Charu-vak said: whatever life has given you, enjoy it as much as you can. He is no renunciate, no escapist, no life-denier. The aspiration of the Charu-vak tradition is to fill life with as much sweet juice as possible.

It may surprise you that not a single text of the long Charu-vak tradition survives. The Hindus burned them all. His message was so sweet it was dangerous, and so rational it threatened the priest. For Charu-vak was saying: do not worry about the other world. If you have lived this world in joy, beauty, and sweetness, then if there is an afterlife—note his words: “if there is an afterlife”—it will only be an extension of this one.

And see his honesty: he said, until I die, how can I know there is an afterlife? No one has ever returned to report that yes, there is another world.

Therefore I can only say to you: whatever is, live it with as much love and joy as you can; let your life become as much a dance as possible, let the sound of your ankle-bells be as sweet as possible. Because if there is an afterlife, its foundation will be laid here. It is you who will be in that other world. If you are delighted here, you will be supremely delighted there. And if there is no afterlife, there is no question—neither you will be nor will there be any experience.

An honest philosophical tradition.

But all the so-called religions live by leaning on the afterlife. They destroy your this-world and promise you rewards in the next. And if you look at their rewards, you will be astonished.

Muslims say that whoever drinks wine in this world is the greatest sinner. Yet in the other world, rivers of wine flow. Do you see any logical consistency in this? If you are to be pious here, do not drink, do not touch it; do not even pass by a tavern. And it is only for a few days anyway—for Muslims, Christians, and Jews accept only one birth. Most of it is already gone; the little that remains will pass too. Just somehow endure, then there is the other world—and there it is joy upon joy.

Hindus say that if you love a woman here, you will fall into hell. But if you truly desire the love of the most beautiful apsaras, then just wait, have a little patience; in the other world there are apsaras and only apsaras. And their description is rather interesting: centuries upon centuries have passed, eternity has passed, yet those heavenly nymphs are still sixteen years old; their age does not increase. It seems there is less skin and more plastic. And the fun is, they are no one’s chaste wives. Who knows how many rishis and sages have come and gone, receiving the fruit of their virtue. But the great surprise is that here even touching a woman is a sin, and there there is a throng of women waiting for the rishis and sages.

I find a mathematical error in this. If it is true that women are waiting there, at least allow a little practice here. Here your sage is drying up and dying; in striving for celibacy all his life he has become almost a corpse. If those apsaras surround this poor fellow, he will run, crying, “Mother, what are you doing!”

I have heard that a very great Hindu mahatma died, whose only teaching was that celibacy is the way to attain Brahman. He had great prestige. After he died, his closest disciple could not bear the separation; the next day he too had a heart failure. He set off on the road to heaven, delighted that he would have the guru’s darshan, delighted that the guru would be enjoying bliss.

When he reached heaven he saw under a tree his old guru, nothing but dried bones, lying naked. And there, Marilyn Monroe, the American actress who had just died—whom President Kennedy used to meet on the sly—was clinging to his guru. He said, “Oh my God! Should I keep my eyes open or closed? According to the scriptures I should keep them closed, but the heart wants to open them and look.”

And everyone finds a trick. He immediately fell at the guru’s feet and said, “O my guru, I always knew you had practiced such celibacy that you would receive its supreme fruit.”

Before the guru could say anything, Marilyn Monroe said, “You idiot, it is not your guru who is being rewarded; I am being punished. Who knows since when this wretch has even bathed!”

This is the arrangement of all religions: distort this world so that you may be rewarded in the next. But this is utterly against logic, against mathematics. If happiness is to be obtained in the next world, one must practice it in this world. This is just a small primary school—practice a little here, then in the other world…

Do not call him Charvaka; call him Charu-vak. His words are very sweet. All his books were burned. The tradition was completely destroyed. But in the opponents’ books, some quotations survive, preserved to refute Charu-vak.

Even those quotations suffice to show that whoever began this tradition must have been a person of great genius. He is joining the other world and this world, not tearing them apart; he is not dividing life, he is making it whole. And he is telling you: this world too belongs to the same divine; the other world too belongs to the same divine—the gulf of opposition between them should be closed.

You ask: “Will you remain merely a Charvaka?”

Perhaps you have no idea of my whole vision of life. My entire vision is to join Charvaka and Gautam Buddha. Gautam Buddha is the other world; Charvaka is this world. Charvaka is also incomplete if there is no conception of the beyond. And Gautam Buddha is also incomplete if there is a denial of this life.

I accept life in its totality. I am Charvaka, and I have also touched that height of Buddhahood. And I have experienced no contradiction between the two. There cannot be contradiction in existence, because it is a single, gathered unity. There are not two here. It is one expansion of the divine. God’s feet are as essential as God’s head. Do not cut the divine into two parts; otherwise the feet will die and the head will also die. I want to see both together. I want to see Buddha with all the joys and all the possibilities of life; and I want to see Charu-vak with all the heights of heaven.

Is this not possible? I have seen it happening within me; therefore I say with authority that if it can happen within me, it can happen within you.

To accept life as an indivisible whole is the most significant element of human genius.

Thank you.