Phir Amrit Ki Boond Padi #5

Harshida! The dream is one—not mine personally; it is centuries old, you could say eternal. On this stretch of earth, with the first ray of human consciousness, that dream began to be seen. How many flowers have been strung into the garland of that dream—so many Gautam Buddhas, so many Mahaviras, so many Kabirs, so many Nanaks laid down their lives for it. How can I call that dream my own? It is humanity’s dream, the dream of the human soul. We had given that dream a name. We call that dream Bharat. Bharat is not a piece of land; nor a political unit; nor a fragment of historical facts; nor the mad race for wealth, position, or prestige.

Bharat is a longing, a thirst—to realize truth. The truth that dwells in each heartbeat. The truth that sleeps in the layers of our consciousness. That which belongs to us and yet we have forgotten. Its remembrance, its re-proclamation, is Bharat.

“Amritasya putrah! O children of the immortal!” Only those who have heard this proclamation are citizens of Bharat. Merely being born in Bharat does not make one its citizen. Wherever one is born on earth, in whichever country or century—past or future—if one’s quest is an inner quest, one is a resident of Bharat. For me, Bharat and spirituality are synonymous. Bharat and Sanatan Dharma are synonymous. Therefore the sons of Bharat live in every corner of the earth. And those who have merely happened to be born in Bharat as an accident—until this search for the immortal drives them mad with longing, they are not entitled to be called its citizens.

Bharat is an eternal journey, an amrit-path, stretching from infinity to infinity. Therefore we have never written the history of Bharat. Is history even worth writing? History is the petty, everyday incidents of two pennies’ worth—today they rise like a storm, and tomorrow no trace remains. History is a whirlwind of dust. Bharat has not written history; Bharat has practiced only the discipline of the eternal—like the chakor bird gazing, unblinking, at the moon.

I too am a small traveler on that endless journey. I have wished to remind those who have forgotten, to awaken those who have fallen asleep. And that Bharat reclaim its inner dignity and glory, its snow-clad heights. For with the destiny of Bharat is bound the destiny of the whole of humanity. This is not about a single country.

If Bharat is lost in darkness, man has no future. And if we give Bharat back her wings, give her back her sky, fill her eyes again with the longing to fly toward the stars—then we not only save those who are already thirsty within; we also save those who sleep today but will awaken tomorrow, who are lost today but will return home tomorrow. Bharat’s destiny is the destiny of humankind.

For the way we once polished the mirror of human consciousness, the lamps we lit within, the flowers we made bloom there, the fragrance we brought forth—no one in the world could do in that way. This is a continuous discipline of some ten thousand years—continuous sadhana, continuous yoga, continuous meditation. For this we lost everything else; for this we sacrificed everything. Yet even in humanity’s darkest night we have kept the lamp of human consciousness burning; however dim its flame became, the lamp still burns.

I have wished that this lamp attain its fullness again—and why should it burn in only one? Why should not every person become a pillar of light?

In no language of the world is there a word for the human being like “manushya.” In Arabic and languages derived from Arabic, in Hebrew and languages derived from Hebrew, the words mean: a figure of clay. “Admi” means: a figure of clay. “Man” means: a figure of clay. Only “manushya” carries the acknowledgment that you are not a figure of clay; you are consciousness; you are of the nature of the immortal; within you is the supreme light of life. The lamp may be of clay, but the flame is not clay. This body may be of earth, but that which is awake within it, which is conscious, is not earth. While the whole world engaged itself in the search for clay, a few remained dedicated to the search for the flame.

Harshida, you ask, “What is your dream?” The same as it has always been for the buddhas: that the one who has forgotten be reminded; the one who has slept be awakened. For until a person understands that eternal life is his right, that godliness is his birthright, he cannot become whole—he remains incomplete and crippled.

Since I became aware, every moment, every hour there has been only one effort—day and night one endeavor: somehow to remind you of your forgotten treasure; that from within you too the cry of “Anal Haq” may arise; that you too may be able to say “Aham Brahmasmi”—I am God.

Talk of God has happened in every corner of the world, but God has always remained far away—beyond the skies. Only we have installed God within man; only we, seating God within man, have given man the capacity, the beauty, the glory of becoming a temple.

How every person may become a temple, and how every moment of every person may become a prayer—that you can call my dream.

Harshida! The conspiracy is big—one should say international. Even a lie, if repeated again and again, begins to look like the truth.

At least four hundred books have been published in my name. I myself have not written any book; what I speak becomes a book. Among those four hundred, there is one titled: “From Sex to Superconsciousness.” They are five talks given in Bombay. Anyone who reads that book can see it is not about sex; it is about how to transcend sex. Its English translation is “Sex to Superconsciousness.” How a person can move from lust, through meditation, slowly touching the highest peaks of consciousness—that is its central theme.

But nobody wants to read, and nobody wants to experiment with what is written. Planting a single word in people’s minds is enough. Since the word “sex” appears, the newspapers, politicians, religious leaders—those whose vested interests I am striking, and who cannot find answers to what I say—have caught hold of that one word. And when all the religious leaders, all the politicians, and all the newspapers are in their hands—either in the hands of religious leaders, politicians, or the wealthy—they have broadcast all over the world that I am a sex guru.

The truth is, at present, other than me there is no one in the world teaching how to go beyond sex.

And the same with calling me the guru of the rich. I have said again and again that only those who have wealth can see that wealth is futile. To know the futility of wealth, you must first have it.

The twenty-four Tirthankaras of the Jains were sons of kings. Buddha was a king’s son. Ram and Krishna—both were born to kings. Have you ever seen a beggar’s son becoming a Tirthankara? Have you ever seen a beggar’s son becoming an avatar? A beggar has no leisure. Before he can call wealth futile, he must at least have wealth, he must experience it.

So, because I have said that the proper establishment of religion can happen only in prosperous countries—and even in India, religion flourished when India was prosperous—what is there today? Poverty, hunger, disease—cries for bread. If you go to a hungry man and say, “I will teach you meditation,” you yourself will feel ashamed.

I want this country to be prosperous. I want no one in the world to remain poor or hungry. And why? Because if the whole world is prosperous, we can increase the thirst for spirituality a thousandfold. We can spread it like a forest fire.

Now, if someone chooses to take from this that I am the guru of the wealthy, and if he has the means to propagate it, he can. My trouble is I am a single man, fighting the whole world alone. I don’t even have the time to look at all the newspapers in which news about me is printed—in all the languages of the world.

Only the day before yesterday, a newspaper in Israel published that I am planning to come to Israel, where I will get myself initiated into Judaism, and once initiated I will declare that I am the reincarnation of Moses, the founder of Judaism.

What answer should I give such people? And what is the point of answering? And to how many should I reply? Who knows what gets printed in newspapers around the world. For seven years I have read nothing. I stopped reading—what is the purpose of reading nonsense? For seven years I have read neither books nor newspapers. If something truly important arises, my sannyasins bring it to me.

So it is very easy to spread any number of lies about me, because I don’t even come to know that lies are being spread. And since I will not refute them, people will assume they must be true—otherwise I would have refuted them.

The public wants whatever is sensational. Newspapers are ready to print it. They are afraid to print against those who hold power, because power will harass them. If someone holds a high political office, even the truth against him cannot be printed. I have no power in my hands. I cannot harm anyone. Whatever falsehood one wants to print about me can be printed. But lies have no life in them. And slowly, all over the world, people have begun to understand that there is certainly a conspiracy against me.

Just a week ago, the wife of one of my sannyasins, Vimalakirti, was here. Vimalakirti is the great-grandson of Germany’s last emperor. He was my sannyasin; his wife is also my sannyasin. He attained death in sannyas. His father, his mother, his brother, were all present at his passing. From the very first day the doctors had said there was no hope of his survival, because a vessel in his brain had burst, and the disease is hereditary. His grandfather died the same way, and just two months ago his uncle died exactly the same way. After that vessel burst he was unconscious. By giving him artificial respiration we could keep the body, like a corpse, alive—but it was a futile effort. After five days the doctors flatly refused: our time is being wasted; there is no possibility of his returning. Everything of his brain has ended. I requested them at least to let his parents arrive. After his parents arrived, they disconnected the artificial breathing tube, and the moment it was removed, he died. In truth, he had died seven days earlier; we were simply waiting for his parents. A European newspaper printed that I had had him killed, that I told the doctors to remove the tube. His wife was present, his daughter was present. When the tube was removed, his wife and daughter were in the hospital.

His wife was here just now; she told me you will be surprised to know that the Queen of Greece is a disciple of a Shankaracharya in India. One son of the Queen of Greece is England’s king: Prince Philip, Elizabeth’s husband. One daughter—Vimalakirti’s mother—is the wife of the deposed emperor of Germany. Another daughter is in Holland; a third daughter in another country. All these royal families gathered at the time of the Queen’s death. Turiya, Vimalakirti’s wife, also gathered for the funeral rites. Because almost all of Europe’s royal families are connected in some way—some son, some daughter married here or there; someone’s daughter is with them. The Queen of Greece almost held authority over Europe’s royal families. Turiya told me that before dying she said: whatever happens, get Turiya and her daughter out of Bhagwan’s hands, because the Shankaracharya told me there can be no one more dangerous than this man. He is the enemy of religion.

And a meeting was held of the royal families of Europe who were present for the last rites, where it was decided that, by any means, my movement should be destroyed and, by any means, I should be destroyed, and a systematic plan should be made. Certainly, these people either still have rule in their hands—as with Prince Philip; the entire task was entrusted to Prince Philip to arrange how the conspiracy should be crafted—or, even if they no longer rule, they still have influence: they still pressure politicians and influence the wealthy.

If the parliaments of all the countries of Europe can make laws against me that I cannot enter their nations, then certainly the conspiracy is international, and behind it are religious leaders, politicians, and the rich. They have power.

But I want to make one thing clear: however much power a lie may have, before truth a lie is impotent. All their conspiracies will prove futile. If what I am saying is true, if what I am doing is in accord with existence, if what I speak is the eternal religion, then all the plots and conspiracies will be reduced to dust; they have no value. That is why I do not waste my time trying to refute them. They are lies destined to die their own death.

I am the master of the one whose heart is wealthy with love. I am the master of the one whose very breath is rich with meditation. I am the master of the one within whom the thirst to seek the wealth of truth has arisen. If you must call me the guru of the rich, then certainly I am the guru of the rich—but then you will have to understand my definition of wealth. Those who possess only the baubles of gold and silver, I call beggars. The truly wealthy is the one in whose heart there is peace, bliss, celebration; in whose feet there is dance; in whose breath there is a flute; within whom the Divine has given even a slight glimpse. Only he is wealthy; all others are poor.

But this trade of mine is a troublesome trade. When Socrates was given poison, he said the fault is not of those who gave the poison; my trade itself is bad. This business of distributing truth is a dangerous business. Meera has said: “Had I known that love brings sorrow, I would have beaten the drum in the marketplace: do not love, anyone.” Loving the Divine, the trouble began. Now that I am caught in difficulty, I will get you caught too. Together we will swim; together we will drown.

Certainly. There is no obstacle to India’s becoming prosperous—except India’s ancient notions. If a few fundamental things sink into the Indian mind, then within just ten years India can become a world power.

First: there is nothing spiritual in poverty. It is one thing if a wealthy person kicks away his wealth and becomes a beggar; but there is a world of difference between his beggarhood and that of an ordinary beggar. His beggarhood is a step beyond wealth; the ordinary beggar has not even reached wealth yet—how will he step beyond it? A false reverence has arisen in the Indian mind toward poverty as if it were spiritual; the reason is that Buddha renounced a kingdom, Mahavira renounced a kingdom. The naïve logic says: if people left wealth, became poor, went naked, then you are very fortunate—you are already naked; there is nothing for you to renounce. No need to leave a kingdom or wealth! But you forget: the dignity you see in Buddha’s person could not be there without first having left an empire. The experience of empire gives a vast liberation—the seeing that wealth is trivial and nothing real can be gained through it.

From this the whole of India drew a wrong conclusion: that there is virtue in remaining poor. What is the point? If emperors are becoming poor, why should you renounce your poverty? The Indian mind must erase the respect for poverty.

India’s population must be absolutely halted for thirty years. For five years in Rajneeshpuram not a single child was born. There was no compulsion, no force, no one standing with a gun. It was simply a matter of understanding: we have only so much land, so much blanket—do not stretch your legs beyond it. Otherwise either your feet will be uncovered, or your head will be uncovered—something will be left exposed. For thirty years India’s population must not increase.

In India’s universities, colleges, schools, do not emphasize subjects that today do not contribute to enriching life—such as geography and history. Technical knowledge, science, and meditation should become the foundations of Indian education. And maintain a balance between the two: as much as science grows, so should meditation grow. If science grows without meditation, it is dangerous—like a naked sword in a child’s hand.

India has so many religions, and there are daily quarrels among them. Drop this stupidity. Let India at least take the initiative in the world in declaring that religion is one—and it has nothing to do with Hindu or Muslim. It has to do with making the strings of the inner veena resound. In the name of sannyas I have tried to spread that one religion, so that the energy wasted in fighting is turned to creativity in India.

There are reasons why forty years were wasted. The first reason is that Mahatma Gandhi’s life-vision was very primitive, not evolutionary—it stopped at the spinning wheel. The spinning wheel must be forgotten, buried—with respect. Give Gandhi respect, because he made tireless efforts for the country’s freedom. But it does not mean that those who know how to fight for freedom also know how to build a nation. These are two different matters. Fighting for a country’s freedom is one thing; that is the work of a soldier, a warrior.

In my family everyone went to jail. I used to ask them: tell me this—your freedom is freedom from the British, that is fine; but freedom for what? Freedom from whom I understand—but for what? If freedom came today, what would you do? I asked the great leaders—I was a child—I asked Jayaprakash: if freedom came today, what would you do? Do you have any plan, any clear conception of what to do after freedom? And the difficulty was that the very people who fought the war of independence got power after independence. They knew how to fight, but they did not know how to create and to build. They had nothing to do with it; they had never thought about it.

Now we must give power to those who have the capacity for creation, who can open a new life-vision and new dimensions. And there is no shortage of such people. When a scientist is born in India he has to work in the West, because in India, first, there are no means for experimentation, no laboratories. At most he can become a professor; nothing truly creative will be possible for him. If India is to be built, we must emphasize creativity.

In a commune of five thousand there were scientists, surgeons, doctors, psychologists, psychiatrists, nuclear physicists. And I can bring them all to India. Among my sannyasins there are no tribals. This is not a Christian missionary affair of orphans and tribals. Among my sannyasins are the most outstandingly gifted people in the world. I can bring them all to India—a full one million sannyasins—and put them to work in creation here.

But the government of this country wants to block me, so that no sannyasin from outside can come to India. There is a limit to foolishness. They should understand: we educate our children, spend on them, send them to study in the West—and when they have studied and are ready, the West swallows them. The expense is ours, the talent is ours, but the final fruit goes to the West. America knows how to draw in talented people from all over the world.

I have that congregation of talented people. But our foolish government is stopping my sannyasins from coming to India. Legally they cannot stop them; so in Parliament the ministers say, “We will not stop sannyasins,” and messages are sent to embassies: do not allow sannyasins to come. From many places sannyasins are sending me word: we go to the embassy and are told there is no need for sannyasins to go to India!

A friend just sent me news from Australia that shocked me: the Indian ambassador told a young engineer, a sannyasin, “Why do you want to go to India?” He said, “I want to go to India to learn meditation.” The Indian ambassador said, “India is no longer a place to go to learn meditation, yoga, etc. Those days are over. We will not let such people go to India now.”

These are our ambassadors! A person wants to come to India to learn meditation, and our ambassador tells him those days are over—no one can go to India to learn meditation now.

And for me India is a symbol of nothing but meditation. It is a university of meditation—and not just today; for centuries it has been a university of meditation.

The forty years we have lost we can regain in ten. But the trouble is this: fools die, leaving behind their offspring. And the fools were tolerable; their offspring are even more of a nuisance.

Harshida! I would only say this to India: recognize your real face—you are the land of Gautam Buddha. And your ambassadors are saying that the doors to India for meditation are now closed. You are the land of Krishna. You are the land of Patanjali. You have given birth to stars that have no parallel in the world. All the stars in the sky grow pale before your stars. Wake up, so that two-bit politicians cannot exploit you and your coming generations. So that the blind do not guide a country of the one-eyed. Draw a little on your memory. Remember again all those fragrances—the resonance of the Upanishads, Kabir’s songs, Meera’s dances. You are unique.

Petty people have usurped authority over you. Throw them off. Your country is not yet empty of the wise. But the truly wise will not come during elections to beg from you for votes like mendicants. Do not vote for the one who comes to you asking for your vote. The one you deem worthy of your vote—go touch his feet; persuade him, explain to him, “Stand up, we want to vote for you.” Whoever comes to you begging is two-bit. One who has worth, who has a soul, who has self-respect will not come begging to you; you will have to go and request him.

India must give the world a new kind of democracy, where the leader does not beg, where the people pray to the wise, to the thoughtful: “Give a little of your time, a little of your intelligence, to this poor country as well.”