According to Osho, the two six‑inch, sixty‑year‑old brothers—Changu and Mangu—'went on' to become India’s prime ministers: Changu as Charan Singh and Mangu as Morarji Desai. It’s a satirical punchline: after power fades they revert to plain Changu‑Mangu, exposing how titles inflate fools and how authority is transient, ego-driven theater rather than real worth.
He jokes they became prime ministers, but when the power was gone, they were just the same silly guys again.
From the Discourses
Passages where Osho speaks to this question — each links to the complete discourse.
Osho, yesterday you told that lovely Lucknowi story. I'm curious to know what happened next to those two brothers who were each all of six inches tall and sixty years old?
Dinesh, brother, You shouldn’t ask such difficult questions. A story is a story. Of course something did happen afterward, but you’ll land me in a fix. The two brothers were named Changu and Mangu. Changu-Mangu they already were. To spend sixty years entangled in “After you, after you”—they were accomplished fools! Their father’s name was Lallu, so it’s better to say: they were Lallu’s sons! And when Changu and Mangu have studied such a lesson in civility for sixty years, they’re bound to leave their mark on the world. Both became prime ministers of India. Changu became Charan Singh; Mangu became Morarji Desai. The story ended in real tragedy. But don’t ask such difficult questions. With questions like this I get into trouble. I have to answer. Now Charan Singh will be annoyed and Morarji will be annoyed. Though their annoyance makes no difference; even when they were in power…
Osho, why do events like those described in the Puranas no longer happen?
After the procession passed, Dhurtraj saw a man in pristine white khadi, rosary in hand and humility spread across his brow, running along chanting “Jai Babuji, Jai Babuji.” Dhurtraj asked, “And who is this man? Why is he dressed in white like that?” The friend said, “He’s a chamcha—a sycophant. He’s going to serve the leader. If the leader is pleased with his devotion, he’ll take him to Delhi and grant him his heart’s desire.” Dhurtraj said, “Can I do that too?” The friend replied, “Why not!” Hearing this, Dhurtraj said, “Friend, let’s go back home. I’m no longer interested in Ravidas Jayanti.” The two returned to their village. That night at two o’clock, Dhurtraj got up, took all the money from his father Luttodhan’s wallet, slipped the toe-rings off his stepmother’s feet and the bangles from her hands, spat softly one last time on the face of his quarrelsome…
Osho, why does love for the Lord make one mad?
People ask me: Where is the heart? One day a young man asked, “Where exactly in the body is the heart located?” I said to him, “Your head is inside you; you are inside the heart.” The heart is not inside you. Do not mistake these lungs, pumping air, for the heart—they are only an apparatus for purifying air. You are within the heart. The heart is bigger than you. The head is smaller than you. The web of thoughts that spreads inside the head—that is yours, your private world. It is not the world of truth; it is the world of falsity, the world of dreams. The moment your energy slips out of the noose of the head— the moment you step outside the head—the courtyard of the Vast opens: the courtyard of your heart. It is as vast as the sky. Within you lies a sky as immense…
Now it was the turn for Jawaharlal to be taken aback... but he was a man of tremendous culture. He looked at me again, so that he could measure the meaning of Masto's words. For a moment we looked into each other's eyes, and we both laughed. And his laughter was not that of an old man, it was still that of a child. He was immensely beautiful, and when I say this, I mean it, because I have seen thousands of beautiful people; but I can say without hesitation, that he was the most beautiful of them all, and not only in his body. It is strange; we talked of poetry, and Morarji was waiting outside. We talked of meditation, and Morarji was waiting outside. I can still see the scene -- he must have been fuming. In fact that day decided and sealed our enmity.
Osho, please say a little more about these “Lallu ke patthe”!
Madhukar, No more now. No more. What is left to say! The snake has gone; only the line in the dust remains. The rope is burned, yet its kinks remain. What is there worth saying now? The Lallu ke patthe have made as much mischief as they could, created as much uproar as they could. They started being called “Lallu ke patthe” because saying “ullu ke patthe” didn’t seem proper—ullu ke patthe, “sons of an owl,” meaning fools. The father’s name was Lallu, so: Lallu’s sons. In the same way people now say: Lallu is dead, but he left his offspring. You do the translation. For sixty years the Lallu ke patthe stayed in the womb and kept saying, “After you! After you!” Then, from sixty years of experience they learned those sixty years were wasted; so the moment they came out they began to say—“Me first!” Thus the matter…