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> Osho’s experiences travelling in India

I kept on traveling throughout the country. As much as I traveled in those ten to fifteen years, no one would travel even in two or three lives. As much as I spoke during those ten to fifteen years would ordinarily require ten to fifteen lives. From morning until night I was on the move, traveling everywhere. known06

It was impossible to get even a single moment alone. I had to go back again and again to my place where I used to live in Jabalpur and I kept myself absolutely alone. Jabalpur was very unfortunate. I would go around the country and everywhere I would meet people—but not in Jabalpur. That was my mountain. And when I would come to Bombay, or to Delhi, or to Poona, people would ask me why I unnecessarily travelled so much back to Jabalpur again and again. Fifteen, twenty days…and I would have to go back to Jabalpur for three or four days, and then I would again start…It was unnecessary. I could have gone from Poona to Bombay, from Bombay to Delhi, from Delhi to Amritsar, from Amritsar to Srinigar. Why should I first go to Jabalpur and then again after a few days?
Jabalpur was my mountain. There I kept myself absolutely alone. When it became impossible to be alone even there and the multitude started coming there, then I had to leave that place. isay101

When I used to travel in India for many years continually I was almost always on the train, on the plane, in the car, just traveling, moving. The train was the only place for me to rest. Once I got out of the train there was no possibility of rest—five, six meetings per day, colleges, universities, conferences, friends, journalists, press conferences. It was impossible. The only place for me to rest was the railway train. After twenty years continually traveling I could not sleep because the whole noise of the train and its wheels and the people coming and going and railway stations and hawkers and people shouting and all that—was missing. You will be surprised to know that I had to record it on a tape recorder, so when I go to bed they will put on the tape recorder and just listening to it I will go into a perfect sleep. Then they will remove the tape recorder. Otherwise it was difficult, I will toss and turn. Twenty years is a long time, and it became such a habit. transm43

I sleep with three pillows: one on each side and one under my head. While I was traveling in India I had to carry all three pillows, and I use very big pillows, perhaps the biggest size, so one very big suitcase was just for the three pillows. Whenever I used to stay with somebody, and he would open my suitcases and in one suitcase—and it was a big suitcase, the biggest suitcase available—only three pillows! He would say, "What! This big suitcase and you are carrying just three pillows…7"
I would say, "I cannot sleep without those two. Those two are absolutely part of my sleep. If somebody takes one of my pillows, then it is difficult for me to sleep. I will miss him the whole night." unconc27

I have been traveling for many years around the country; I must have waited on every platform….
One day, for the first time in my life, I found the train coming exactly in time. That is absolutely a unique occasion in India. It simply does not happen. I was so much amazed and felt so grateful that I went to the driver to thank him and I told him, "This is my first experience that the train has come exactly in time. You must be the best driver in the country."
He said, "Don't make me feel ashamed."
I said, "Why?"
He said, "This is yesterday's train. It is exactly twenty-four hours late!"
Just at that time, when he told me that it is twenty-four hours late, I said, "My God." The stationmaster was standing by my side. I asked him, "If trains are going to be late—and I have been traveling for twenty years—then what is the point of publishing timetables?"
He said, "You are a strange man. Without timetables how will we know how much the train is late?"
I said, "That's right; I had not thought about it."
He said, "Everything would get mixed up. The timetable is published so that you can know how much the train is going to be late."
On another junction…the train was announced again and again, "one hour late…two hours late." I could not believe it when I heard that it is one hour late; then it became two hours late, then it became four hours late. I said, "My God, is it coming this side or is it going the other way? If it was one hour late, how it can be suddenly four hours late now?"
I went to the stationmaster and I asked, "In which direction is the train going?"
He said, "Don't be angry. It is just to protect our lives that we cannot declare that it is forty-eight hours late; people will kill us. So we declare in installments; it keeps people calm and quiet that "just one hour more…okay two hours more…and by these installments we manage forty-eight hours."
I said, "I can understand your great compassion; otherwise there would be many heart attacks, heart failures…if you start declaring it exactly right." I have seen trains coming sixty hours late and I have been sitting on the platform for sixty hours, but it was always "two hours more…two hours more." It can happen only in this country, which has learned to live patiently—nobody bothers. People accept it as if it is determined by fate; you cannot do anything about it. golden40

I have been traveling for twenty years around this country, continuously, on the train, on the plane, and I have seen people opening their suitcases, looking into them, closing the suitcase—as if there was something to see. They are just at a loss what to do. They will open the window of the train, close the window, they will lie down, close their eyes, open their eyes.
I used to tell people in trains…In India, if you are going from Bombay to Calcutta it will take forty-eight hours. I would enter into my air-conditioned* coupe—mostly I was alone, but once in a while there was somebody else, because the coupé can have two persons—and I would immediately tell my name, my father's name, my grandfather's name, from where I come, without being asked. They would be shocked. I would say, "I am finishing my whole autobiography so that you need not ask anything."
And then I would sit and that man would look very strange…. He would say, "What kind of man…?"
I would tell him, "Now keep quiet, I have told the whole autobiography, there is nothing more!" And I would sit and look at him—forty-eight hours—and whenever he would start opening his mouth I would say…Then he would start doing things. He would read the same newspaper again from the very beginning, the name of the newspaper, to the very end, the publishers, the editors—and once in a while he would look at me.
It happened many times that he would call the conductor and say, "I want to change from this compartment."
The conductor would say, "Why? You have a very good companion. I know him because he is continuously traveling. He is a nice man. You be here."
He would say, "It is not a question of a nice or a good man. He is too nice—but please put me into some other compartment where there are people to talk to! This man is dangerous. He goes on staring at me without blinking, and I become afraid. I have taken three showers since the morning just for no reason at all. Just to avoid him I go into the bathroom; then I say, `It is better to take a shower. At least a few minutes will be passed.'"
But forty-eight hours…and he would start seeing his insanity, that he is unnecessarily opening the window, closing the window, unnecessarily lying down, turning this side, that side—and I am watching! Then he would sit down, then he would go on the upper berth. I would keep my hand up, so that he could see my hand, because I could not say it: "I am here! You go on doing all your insanities!"
These are the workaholics. *Note: at that time 'air-conditioned' meant 'with a fan' christ05

Once I was traveling in a train; a woman was traveling with me, and her husband or friend was in another compartment. At every station, wherever the train stopped, he would come again. Sometimes he would bring ice cream, sometimes sweets, sometimes this and that.
I asked the woman, "Who is this man?"
She said, "He is my husband."
I said, "Don't lie!"
She said, "How do you know?"
"Husbands are not known to do such things—at every stop! Once the husband has escaped from the wife, then only at the last stop does he turn up if at all. You are fortunate: at each stop he comes bringing this and that!"
She said, "You are right. He is not my husband, he is just my boyfriend."
I asked her, "How long have you been together?"
She said, "Nearabout seven years."
I said, "Wrong again!"
She said, "How do you know this?"
"Seven years is too long a time! Honeymoons are finished within fifteen days—and this whole thing seems to be like a honeymoon."
She said, "You surprise me—we really are going on a honeymoon! I have known him only for seven or eight days."
Everybody is bored with himself. That's why when Buddha says, "Sitting silently, I have arrived, and bliss has happened to me," we listen to him but we don't believe him. Or maybe he is just an exception—because when you sit silently, only boredom happens and nothing else. unio203

A strange event happened: one night I was in a train and in the compartment there were four sleeping berths. I could not believe it, that the three persons in the berths looked very alike. Later on, I came to know that they were triplets; and their snoring…I tried hard to remember that the whole world is maya, illusion. But their snoring was such that no philosophy was of any help. They snored in such harmony…. First one would snore, and two would remain silent. Then the second would give the answer, more loudly. Then the third would come in…and the round would go on. And I was caught in the middle.
In the middle of the night, when I became fed up with that music, I had to do something. I started snoring, fully awake. I woke up all the three fellows. They came down and looked at me, and because my eyes were open, they became afraid. They said, "What is the matter? You are awake and you are snoring so loudly."
I said, "If you don't stop your snoring, I am going to do this exercise the whole night."
They said, "At least, please close your eyes, because that makes our hearts tremble."
I said, "Then learn the lesson. I have been waiting for hours. Stop this symphony!"
They said, "What we can do? We are triplets, so whatever one does, the other does. All our habits are similar—snoring too! We are helpless."
I said, "Then, remember: I will snore with open eyes so loudly that you will not be able to sleep, nor will anybody in the neighboring compartment."
They said, "It is better we should wake up and read something. You do whatever you want, but please, don't do two things together: snoring and open eyes. Either close your eyes and snore—we are accustomed to it; or if you don't want to snore, you can open your eyes and do anything—whatever you want. We will try our best not to snore, but do you understand our helplessness? In sleep one tends to forget all about one's decisions."
I said, "I know, but I am tired. I have been traveling for twenty-four hours; you have just started. So sit down and read something."
I supplied them books, saying, "These are the books you can read, and let me sleep. And remember, if anybody snores, I am going to do even nastier things. This was just a sample."
Those poor fellows, the whole night, had to read books which they did not understand at all.
In the morning when I woke up, I said, "Now you can sleep. I am going to the bathroom. Snore as much as you can—the full quota. Condense! While I am taking my bath…I will take as long as possible. Rejoice in your snoring!"
But there was no condemnation in it. I enjoyed it immensely. It was tiring, but it was hilarious, too. bolt09

I used to go to take meditation camps in Udaipur. It was a long journey from the place I used to live, Jabalpur. Thirty-six hours, because there was no plane at that time. In Jabalpur there was an airport, but it was a military airport, and they were not allowed to open it for the public. Now it is opened.
So I had to go in a train and change at many junctions. First, I would have to change at Katni, then I would have to change at Bina, then I would have to change at Agra. Then I would have to change at Chittaurgarh, and finally I would reach Udaipur. It was evening time when the train reached Chittaurgarh. And Ajmer is very close to Chittaurgarh. Ajmer is one of the strongholds of the Mohammedans, so in the train there were many Mohammedans. And the train had to stay for one hour for some other train to come which was bringing passengers for this train also, to go on to Udaipur.
So for one hour I used to walk on the platform. All the Mohammedans lining the platform were sitting in prayer, and I was enjoying them. I would just go near somebody and say, "The train is leaving," and he would jump up. And then he would be angry at me, "You disturbed my prayer."
I said, "I did not disturb anybody's prayer. I am simply doing my prayer. This is my heartfelt desire that the train should leave! I was not talking to you. I don't even know your name!"
He would say, "This is strange…in the middle of my prayer?"
I said, "It was not prayer because I was watching, you have been looking again and again at the train." He said, "That is true."
And it was the same all over the platform. I would go to a few people further up and just whisper, "The train is leaving," and again another person would jump up and would be very angry: "What kind of person are you? You look religious, and you disturb people in their prayer?"
I said, "I am not disturbing anybody. I am just praying to God that the train should leave now."
What are your prayers? Begging this, begging that, your prayer reduces you into a beggar. Meditation transforms you into an emperor. There is nobody to hear your prayers, there is nobody to answer your prayers. All religions go on making you extrovert so that you don't turn inwards. Prayer is an extrovert thing: God is there, and you are shouting to that God. But it is taking you away from yourself.
Every prayer is irreligious. gdead02

It happened I was traveling from Bombay to Calcutta. It was a long journey, but I enjoyed trains rather than airplanes because that was the only time I could rest. From Bombay to Calcutta it takes forty-eight hours by train, the fastest train. So I was hoping to just relax and enjoy for forty-eight hours, because once I entered Calcutta there would be at least five meetings a day, and there was not going to be any rest.
As I entered my air-conditioned cabin, there was another man—it was a car for two persons. That man must have been watching through the window what was happening outside. Hundreds of people had come to give me a send-off—so many roses and garlands. He must have been looking through the window.
In the air-conditioned class in India—I don't know about America—you can see out from the glass, but you cannot see in; it is one-way. So I was not aware that somebody was watching. I was outside on the platform surrounded by the crowd. But so many people were touching my feet and putting garlands, that that man became certain that I was a great religious leader.
As I entered the cabin, he fell on the ground, touched my feet, kissed my feet. And he said, "I have always been searching for a great teacher. Perhaps you are the man."
He was a brahmin. I told him, "Yes, I am the man, but there is a difficulty. I am a Mohammedan."
He said, "My God! And I have kissed your feet!"
I told him, "You go to the bathroom and have a good gargle. And what can I do?—you never asked me, you simply fell on the ground and touched my feet and kissed my feet. I would have told you, but you never gave me any chance."
He rushed into the bathroom, took a shower, because a brahmin…! In India that is the highest Hindu caste, the caste of the priests. They don't consider anybody even to be touchable.
He came back. He was looking very miserable, even after the shower. And I said, "I was just joking! Can't you see me? Can't you understand? Have you forgotten all those Hindus outside?"—because in India you can recognize very well who is who. Mohammedans have different caps, different kind of clothes; Hindus have different caps, different kind of clothes. It is not difficult.
I said, "You are just unnecessarily bothering."
He fell again. He kissed my feet this time really hard. He said, "I was suspecting while I was taking the shower…this man does not look like a Mohammedan. And I am relieved of a great difficulty; otherwise I would have repented my whole life."
I said, "You will have to repent. Can't you see my beard?"
He said, "What do you mean?"
I said, "Exactly what you understand. I am a Mohammedan."
The man rushed back to the bathroom and then he told the conductor, "Please change my room—that man may disturb my whole night; he keeps changing his idea of who he is."
The conductor said, "But what do you have to do with him? Let him change his idea. You have your seat, you have your place reserved. There is no problem."
I came out. I said, "There is no problem, but this man thinks I am a Mohammedan."
The conductor said, "You think he is a Mohammedan? I know him!"
The man said, "Then there is no problem."
And I tortured him so much that finally he said, "Whoever you are, I am your disciple! I have dropped the idea of choosing between Hindu and Mohammedan. One thing is certain that you are something!"
Just meditate, be aware.
Choices will disappear.
And a new kind of responsibility will arise which will not be imposed by the outside, which will be your own fragrance. dless27

When I came to learn driving…the man who was teaching me driving was called Majid, he was a Mohammedan. He was one of the best drivers in the city, and he loved me very much. In fact, he chose my first car. So he told me, "I will teach you."
I said, "I don't like to be taught. You just drive slowly so I can see and watch."
He said, "What do you mean?"
I said, "I learn only by watching. I don't want any teacher ever!"
He said, "But it is dangerous! A bicycle was okay. At the most you could have hurt yourself or one other, and not much. But a car is a dangerous thing."
I said, "I am a dangerous man. You just drive it slowly and tell me everything about where is the pedal, where is the accelerator, where is the brake…you just tell me. And then you slowly move, and I will be walking by your side, just watching what you are doing."
He said, "If you want it this way, I can do it, but I am very much afraid. If you do the same thing with the car as you have done with the bicycle…"
I said, "That's why I am trying to watch more closely." And once I got the idea I told him to get out. And I did the same thing as I had done with the bicycle.
I went so fast. Majid, my teacher, was running behind me, shouting, "Not that fast!" And in that city there was no limit on speed, because in Indian streets you cannot go above fifty-five. There is no need to put a sign every where that the speed limit is fifty-five miles per hour, you cannot go above fifty-five anyway.
But that poor fellow was very much afraid. He came running after me. He was a very tall man, a champion runner, there was every possibility that he could have become champion of the whole of India, and he might perhaps someday have participated in the Olympics. He tried hard to follow me, but soon I disappeared from his vision.
When I came back, he was praying under a tree, praying to God for my safety. And when I stopped by his side, so close that he jumped, he forgot all the prayer.
I said, "Don't be worried. I have learned the whole thing. What were you doing here?"
He said, "I followed you, but soon you disappeared. Then I thought, the only thing is to pray to God to help him, because he knows nothing about driving. He is sitting in the driver's seat for the first time, and he has gone nobody knows where. How did you turn? Where did you turn back?"
I said, "I had no idea how to turn, because you were just moving straight and I was walking by your side. So I had to go around the city. I had no idea how to turn, what signals to give, because you had not given any signals. But I managed. I went round the whole city so fast, the traffic was simply giving way. And I came back."
And he said, "Khuda hafiz." It means, "God saved you."
I said, "Don't bring God in." gdead01

And sometimes in an accident, rare opportunities open.
Once I was travelling with a friend and there was an accident. Our car fell down from a bridge, twenty feet down, mm? upside-down. I had been talking to this man; for years I had been telling him about meditation and he was a very very learned scholar. But he would always say, 'Whatsoever you say, I cannot think that there is a possibility of a mind without thought. How can the mind be without thought?' And he would argue…And of course, there is a point: how can the mind be without thought? Content is needed; the mind can only be minding about something. It is very logical.
Consciousness can only be of something. If there is nothing then how can you be conscious? Of what? The very word consciousness means conscious about something. Content is needed so that you can be conscious of it; consciousness and content go together. That is very very psychological, logical…but it happens. And I would explain to him but he was too much in his mind. And that day it happened!
Just for a few seconds we became aware that the accident was going to happen, mm? We were coming down a hill and the driver lost control, something went wrong in the car, and for a few seconds we were aware that something was going to happen because the brake was not working, the steering was not working. The car was going on its own; now wherever it was going, nothing could be done. And it was really a steep hill! So for a few seconds his thoughts stopped, because in such a strange situation you cannot think; what to think about?
You cannot go on thinking your ordinary thoughts because they are too trivial in such a moment—when death is just there waiting for you down the hill. Within moments you will be gone! The very shock of it is enough to stop the process of thinking. When he fell and when I pulled him out of the car, he was laughing. He said, 'But is this the way to prove it? Couldn't you have done better? It was too dangerous!'
Nobody was harmed. It was really dangerous—the whole car was destroyed—but he had a glimpse. Since then he has not argued about it; he knows it. That accident proved a great revolution in his life; a radical change happened….
He was not driving—he was just sitting with me. Somebody else was driving; we were just the passengers. But he came to see the point—that consciousness can be, and without content. So that accident was a blessing. And I thanked the driver and said what I had been trying to tell this man for years and was not able to, he had simply done!
If he had died in that moment he would have born on a very high plane. Nothing was wrong—even death would have been good—because in that moment of no-thought he would have died in a kind of satori. He was saved, but he changed. Since then he has never argued, he dropped argumentation. He became a totally new man.
So that accident was good. It will happen sometime again, deep in meditation one day. It will be almost like it but on a higher plane. Maybe it can be paradoxical too: on one plane you become unconscious; on another you remain conscious. Then it is far more beautiful, because then you go on seeing what is happening. The body becomes numb and goes off, the mind becomes numb and goes off, but you are still turned on. You are still there, hovering like a presence. No more identified with the body and the mind…almost a holy ghost!
This is possible—that's what I feel. justdo14

I have never forgotten…in Ahmedabad I used to stay at Jayantibhai's* house. We had to cross a bridge, and as the bridge came near he would start driving faster, because there was a big board by the side of the bridge advertising Gold Spot. It said, "Live a little hot, sip a Gold Spot."
I asked Jayantibhai, "What is the matter? Suddenly, on this bridge, you start going fast."
He said, "Looking at that board, `Live a little hot,' I start going fast!" golden25 
*Note: Jayantibhai: a friend and long-time disciple of Osho

I used to come to Bombay, before I settled in Bombay, almost two or three times per month because the headquarters were in Bombay, the whole work was there. There I had the greatest following; and the most intelligent people in India of course are in Bombay. Slowly thousands of people started knowing me. One day one of my sannyasins—at that time I had not started sannyas but now he is a sannyasin…. He used to drive me about, and just jokingly—he did not mean it, but he was not fully aware of me—just before a bistro he stopped the car and said, "Osho, would you like to come in and have an ice cream?"
Ice cream I used to love. To tell you the truth I still love it, although there is no way to find it anywhere. I said, "That's a great idea!" Then he became afraid. He had been joking. He had said it thinking that a religious man would say no to going into a bistro, where an almost naked woman was doing a striptease dance. He said, "Are you sure?"
I said, "Absolutely! Just open the door—because this is my last life. After this life there is no bistro for me and no ice cream: I don't want to miss the last chance." He waited for a few seconds. I said, "For what are you waiting?"
He said, "But if somebody sees you there, and recognizes you there…."
I said, "That is my problem."
He said, "No, it is not your problem—they will kill me, they will say 'It is you who took him; otherwise how could he find that bistro? You were supposed to take him home from the meeting place, not to a bistro.'"
I said, "Don't be worried. I will protect you and say that I insisted, that seeing the signboard, 'Bistro,' I said, 'What is this?—l want to know.'"
He said, "Then it is okay. But, Osho, you are creating a very troubled state for me."
I said, "Don't be worried—just come on."
I had to enter first, then he followed me; he had to follow. It was an air-conditioned place, but he was perspiring.
I said, "Harshad"—Harshad was his name—"your name means rejoice. What a fool—rejoice!"
And what he was afraid of happened. The manager of the bistro had heard me: he came and fell at my feet. Harshad was just going into a nervous breakdown. Everything stopped; even the striptease dancer stopped—everything was frozen. When the manager fell at my feet, other customers who had no idea who I was started coming to touch my feet and the striptease girl came down from the stage. I said, "Harshad, it seems even in this life it is not going to be possible." I told the manager, "At least bring my ice cream."
He said, "Will you accept one?"
I said, "Accept? I am ordering one: I like tutti-frutti." I was eating my ice cream and the whole crowd was standing around me. I said, "What are you doing? Do your business!" And Harshad was hiding behind the crowd because if the manager saw him….
As I finished my ice cream he came and just grabbed me. He told me, "Osho, out! I will never drive you again if you do such a thing."
I said, "But what have I done? I have not created any problem for anyone. You had asked me, 'Would you like some ice cream?' so I ordered one. And in all this hullaballoo they have not asked for the bill. Go and pay it."
He said, "I am not going inside again. I cannot go alone; if you come ahead of me…."
I said, "Then don't bother, because nobody is thinking of the bill right now. We enjoyed them, they enjoyed us, and it is balanced. There is nothing much to be worried about. But where have you been hiding? I had to eat two long glasses full of ice cream because the manager had brought the best, the biggest glasses. Where were you? I had to eat two glasses, and two glasses that size are a little too much."
He continued to drive me, but whenever there was a bistro or anything, he would go so fast. I would say, "Harshad, a bistro!" and he would say, "Never again!"
People came to know somehow and he had a good beating from everybody. In Bombay, in those days there were many old people who were followers of mine, very respected people: somebody was an ex-mayor, somebody was ex-sheriff, somebody was a minister. I told everybody, "Nobody is to harass Harshad; he has been punished enough." He had perspired and begun trembling, but I simply enjoyed it; the whole scene was so fabulous. And for the striptease girl this was an absolutely new act. She may never have done it before and will never have to do it again.
In heaven there seems to be something worthwhile. But for centuries these people have been claiming knowledge about heaven and hell; and once you get trapped in their net of knowledge, you are finished. Then you are no more alive. Then their knowledge makes you feel ignorant, inferior, guilty, a sinner. Even eating ice cream you feel you are committing a sin. It is strange, because in no religious scripture is it written that ice cream is sin.
But the religions are against enjoying anything. person28

Have you ever ridden on a camel? Then you will know. I have suffered much, because in India in the desert of Rajasthan, the camel is the only way to go from one place to another. Sitting on a camel for a few hours, one starts believing that hell is real. false15

There is only one picture, which they go on publishing all over the world, in which I am riding on a Kashmiri horse. It is just a picture; I was not really riding. But because the photographer wanted me to be photographed on a horse, and I loved the man—the photographer, I mean—I could not say no to him. He had brought the horse and all his equipment, so I said okay. I just sat on the horse, and you can even see from the picture that my smile was not true. It is the smile when a photographer says, "Smile please!" glimps10

Once I went to the Himalayas with a few friends, and then I had to ask them to leave me because they had brought their transistor sets and their newspapers and magazines, and the novels that they were reading. And they were constantly talking, talking about things that they had always been talking about. So I told them, "Why have you come to the Himalayas? You were saying these things at your home perfectly well, and again you are talking the same things, the same gossipping, the same rumors."
And whenever they would go with me to some beautiful spot they would take their cameras, they would take pictures. I told them, "You have come here to see. You have not brought your camera to see the Himalayas!"
But they said, "We shall make beautiful albums, and later on we will see what beautiful places we had visited." And right there they were not there, they were just clicking their cameras. This stupidity has to be left behind.
And it is good once in a while to go to the mountains. And I am not saying to start living there; that is not good, because then you become addicted to the mountains and you become afraid of coming back to the world. The holiday has to be just a holiday: then come back into the world and bring all the peace and the silence and the experience of the sacred with you. Bring it with you, make an effort so that it remains with you in the marketplace.
These suggestions are for the beginners. When a person has really become a meditator, he can meditate sitting before a picture house, he can meditate on the railway platform.
For fifteen years I was continuously travelling around the country, continuously travelling—day in, day out, day in, day out, year in, year out—always on the train, on the plane, in the car. That makes no difference. Once you have become really rooted in your being, nothing makes a difference. But this is not for the beginner.
When the tree has become rooted, let winds come and let rains come and let clouds thunder; it is all good. It gives integrity to the tree. But when the tree is small, tender, then even a small child is dangerous enough or just a cow passing by—such a holy animal—but that is enough to destroy it. sos201

I have seen the grave of Jesus in Pahalgam, Kashmir. He never died on the cross, it was a conspiracy.
The Crucifixion was on a Friday; starting on Saturday for three days Jews would stop all work for Passover. So Friday was chosen by Pontius Pilate, and he delayed the crucifixion as long as he possibly could. And you should remember a scientific fact: that the Jewish crucifixion takes at least forty-eight hours for a person to die because he is not hung by the neck, he is nailed to the cross by the hands and the feet, so drop by drop the blood goes out. It takes a healthy man forty-eight hours to die, and Jesus was only thirty-three—perfectly healthy. He could not have died in six hours, nobody has ever died that way in six hours. But because Friday's sun was setting, he had to be brought down and for three days all work had to stop. This was the conspiracy.
He was taken from the cave, he escaped, and he lived in India in Kashmir. What you see in Pundit Jawaharlal Nehru's nose, Indhira Gandhi's nose is not very strange—they are Jewish. Moses died in Kashmir, Jesus also died in Kashmir after living a long life of one hundred and twelve years. I have been to his grave and it is still being taken care of by a Jewish family. That is the only grave in Kashmir which does not face towards Mecca; all the other graves are Mohammedan. Mohammedan graves are made so that the head is directed towards Mecca.
And the inscription on the grave, in Hebrew, is clear. The name you have been accustomed to, Jesus, was not his name; that is his name in Greek. His name was Joshua and it is written still on the grave that "Joshua, a great teacher of religion, travelled from Judea, lived here, died at the age of one hundred and twelve years, and lies here".
But it is strange, I have talked all over the West, but not a single Western Christian is ready to come to see the grave, because that will spoil their whole theory of resurrection. I have asked them, "If he was resurrected, then when did he die? You have to prove that." If after the crucifixion he was resurrected, then he must either have died or he must still be around. They don't have any description of his death. last605

Magga Baba is buried in the same small village of Pahalgam. When I was in Pahalgam I discovered a strange relationship running from Moses to Jesus to Magga Baba and to me. glimps15

In India's golden days we created Khajuraho, Konark, Puri. It was rare daring. There is no comparison to it—not only in India but in the whole world. A temple of God that has sculptures of maithun, of sexual intercourse. There is no pornographic attitude toward the sexual intercourses. It is so meditative, so celestial. quest05

My grandmother was born in Khajuraho, the citadel, the ancientmost citadel of the Tantrikas. She always said to me, "When you are a little older, never forget to visit Khajuraho."…
During the last twenty years of her life I was traveling all over India. Each time I passed through the village she would say to me, "Listen: never enter a train that has already started, and do not get out of the train before it has stopped. Second, never argue with anyone in the compartment while you are traveling. Thirdly, remember always that I am alive and waiting for you to come home. Why are you wandering all over the country when I am waiting here to take care of you? You need care, and nobody can give you the same care as I can."
For twenty years continuously I had to listen to this advice….
The first time I went to Khajuraho I went just because my grandmother was nagging me to go, but since then I have been there hundreds of times. There is no other place in the world that I have been to so many times. The reason is simple: you cannot exhaust the experience. It is inexhaustible. The more you know, the more you want to know. Each detail of the Khajuraho temples is a mystery. It must have taken hundreds of years and thousands of artists to create each temple. And I have never come across anything other than Khajuraho that can be said to be perfect, not even the Taj Mahal. The Taj Mahal has its flaws, but Khajuraho has none. Moreover, Taj Mahal is just beautiful architecture; Khajuraho is the whole philosophy and psychology of the New Man. glimps04

Khajuraho was very close to my university, just a hundred miles, so whenever I had time I would drive there. The guide finally became a sannyasin! Because he was himself ashamed to show the temples to people, I told him, "You don't understand. You need not be ashamed. These pictures, these statues, this sculpture is not obscene. There is not a single hint of obscenity, although they are absolutely naked in loving embrace, making love. But there is not a single hint of obscenity unless your mind is full of obscenity."
One European prime minister was going to come to see Khajuraho, and one of my friends was the education minister of the state in which Khajuraho is. And the prime minister of India informed the education minister, "I am busy and I cannot come; otherwise I would have come with the guest to show him Khajuraho. So it is your responsibility, because you are the most educated minister in your state, to take him to Khajuraho."
He was my friend; he phoned me and he said, "I am very much ashamed that Khajuraho is such an embarrassing place. And when outsiders come who have seen only churches in the name of religion, they cannot believe that this is a temple, a holy place. And I myself feel guilty, so I cannot explain and I don't know what to explain."
I said, "I will come." I went there with the guest and the education minister—and he was just shrinking in himself, because you cannot conceive of any possible loving posture that is not carved in such beauty, such tremendous beauty that it is almost as if the stones have become alive. It seems the woman is just going to come out of the wall in which the statue is carved. So alive.
The education minister remained outside and I took the guest in. He was amazed with the beauty, that bodies can be made so beautifully in stone, can give such life to the stone, such warmth. He had never thought that such a thing exists anywhere in the world. And I explained to him, "These are on the outer side of the temple, and you should note one point that inside the temple there is no sculpture, no statues, just absolute silence."
He said, "This is a revelation! This is strange, statues should be inside the temple. Why are they outside and inside there is nothing, just silence?"
I said to him, "These temples were made by the greatest psychologists that have appeared on the earth, some three thousand years ago. They were called tantrikas; their whole approach was called tantra. The very word 'tantra' means expanding consciousness. They had made these beautiful temples all around the country.
"Mohammedans have destroyed them; it was just fortunate that these were in a thick forest, hidden. And only meditators used to go there; there was no village surrounding the temples. By fortunate coincidence they were saved."
I told him, "The secret is, tantra believes unless you have gone through all sexual experiences to the point when sex does not matter to you at all. That is transcendence of your energy. And that is the point when you are capable of entering into the inner sanctum of the temple. You are ready for the nothingness of Gautam Buddha; you are ready for pure silence."
So meditators used to meditate for months on those statues. And it is a great strategy, because looking at all those statues, a moment comes, something in your unconscious disappears. Not just looking; once it was months of training, sometimes years of training. But they were not allowed inside the temple until they became uninterested in these sexual scriptures. When their master saw that somebody had become completely uninterested—even sitting before the most beautiful woman he was sitting with closed eyes—then he was allowed to enter into the temple.
Now, those sexual thoughts are the major thoughts in your mind. Every three minutes the ordinary man thinks at least once of sex, and every five minutes every woman thinks at least one time about sex. These are the very subtle mistakes which God made when he created the world; that's why I say there is no God, to relieve him of all this responsibility. This is a disparity which is dangerous!
When we came out, the prime minister was very much impressed. But the education minister had waited outside. Although he had not gone in, he was still feeling embarrassed. And just to hide his embarrassment he told the guest, "Don't take much note of it. It was a small current of thinkers who created these temples, and we are ashamed they are so obscene."
The guest said, "Obscene? Then I will have to go again and see, because I did not find anything obscene." Those naked statues look so innocent, so childlike, and they are not there to provoke your sexuality.
Obscenity is a very subtle phenomenon, very difficult to make a distinction whether something is obscene or not. But this should be the criterion—I think this is the only criterion: obscenity is when it provokes sexuality in you. And if it does not provoke sexuality but just a sense of tremendous splendor and beauty, it is not obscene. But it will depend on individuals. The same statue may look to someone obscene, and to someone else a beautiful piece of art.
I told the education minister, "Your mind is full of obscenity. This guest from the outside is far more clear. He did not raise a single question about the obscenity of the temple." chit01

There is a hill station, Matheran, where there is a very beautiful scenic spot. I have seen many mountains and many places where mountains echo, but Matheran's echo point is very rare. You sing a song or you start barking like a dog, and the valley and the mountains repeat it seven times successively. Each time the echo becomes less loud, farther away, very faint, but you can count that it has been echoed seven times.
When I was there for the first time, leading a meditation camp, a few friends said, "We know that you don't bother to go here and there, but this echo point is worth taking the trouble to visit." And particularly in Matheran it is more troublesome, because you have to walk or you have to sit in a rickshaw which is pulled by a man—which is even more ugly, which hurts—sometimes an old man, perspiring…and on the mountain, the roads are not worthy to be called roads. It was impossible for me because of my own asthmatic condition, I cannot go for miles, reaching towards the highest peak. Both ways it was difficult. But they were so persistent that I agreed to go. It was arduous for my heart—I had an attack that night, and could not sleep the whole night—but it was worth it.
The man who was the most persistent had the capacity to make noises of many animals. He was a very good imitator—he could imitate many actors, many leaders—so first he started barking just like a dog, and the whole mountain was filled as if there were thousands of dogs barking and barking, although it was getting less and less loud…perhaps the dogs are moving farther away, but you can count at least seven times.
I told the man, "This is one of the stupidities of humanity. Why have you chosen to bark? You could have imitated the sound of a cuckoo—and you are a cuckoo; otherwise, why should you bother about learning animals and their sounds?" The Indian cuckoo is so sweet, particularly in the season when mangoes are becoming ripe. It seems almost the sweetness of the mangoes, which are known in this country as the king of all the fruits…they are. And from mango groves—cuckoos love mangoes—the call from one grove to another grove….
I said to him, "Why have you chosen a dog? All the hills must be laughing at you, that some madman has come who is barking like a dog."
He immediately started making the sound, the musical sound of the cuckoo, and the whole space for miles around was filled with echoes. But even that cannot be given to man. Of course, the music cannot be given, the musical ear cannot be given, the song cannot be given—even the echo of it cannot be given. mess206

There is a beautiful lake, Tadoba. It is a forest reserve, a very big forest surrounding the lake with only one government resthouse. I used to go there many times. Whenever I was passing by, I would stay in that resthouse for at least a day or two. It was so lonely, so utterly silent, and the forest is full of thousands of deer.
Every evening when the sun sets and darkness descends, thousands and thousands, line upon line, of deer will come to the lake. You just have to sit and watch. In the dark night their eyes look like burning candles, thousands of candles moving around the lake. The whole night the scene continues. You get tired, because there are so many deer, they go on coming, go on coming. It is such a beautiful experience. But one thing I wondered about was that they are all alike—nobody is fat, nobody is thin, nobody seems to be sick, hospitalized. They are so full of life and energy.  gdead01

The whole existence is mysterious. This beautiful rain…this music of the falling rain…the joy of the trees. Don't you think there is great mystery?
There was a hill station in the state where I was a professor for many years, and on that hill station was a resthouse far away deep in the hills, absolutely lonely. For miles there was nobody…even the servant who used to take care of the resthouse used to leave by the evening for his own home. I used to go to that resthouse whenever I could find time and sometimes it used to rain just like this…and I was alone in that resthouse and for miles there was nobody. Just the music of rain, just the dance of the trees…I have never forgotten the beauty of it. Whenever it rains I again remember it. It has left such a beautiful impact. pilgr27

In the Himalayas there is a place, a valley, which is called the Valley of the Gods, for the simple reason that it is impossible to go deep down into that valley—steep hills surround it. But in that valley where nobody goes—there is no way to go, no path, and it is so deep that you can only see it from the hilltop—in that valley there have been growing for millennia, beautiful flowers. I have seen it. I think there must be many flowers which are not even known to us, which are not even named by the scientists.
The valley is completely just flowers and flowers. For whom are they blossoming? For whom are they waiting? What is their hope? There is no hope, there is no desire. They are not waiting for somebody, they are simply enjoying themselves blossoming to their completion. They are enjoying the sun, they are enjoying the hills, they are enjoying the other flowers blossoming all around. They are enjoying the moon in the night, and the stars in the night. false17

I have traveled all over India, and in every place the people who received me with great love and respect used to come with garlands of flowers, roses, mogra, chameli—all beautiful and fragrant flowers. But strangely, only in Calcutta were they always coming with the most fragrant flower, nargis. It is not a beautiful flower, but it is so fragrant.
I have never smelt anything so strong—just one flower and the whole room would be vibrant with its fragrance. It is not beautiful, so poets have not paid much attention to it. It is a simple white flower, very homely—looking, nothing exotic, nothing—what do you call it?—fantastic. One of the great Urdu poets, Mirza Ghalib, has said about the nargis, with great compassion, that "The nargis cries and weeps for centuries for its ugliness. Only then, once in a while, somebody of intelligence comes and recognizes its beauty."
But certainly in Calcutta—I have been to Calcutta hundreds of times—they were always coming with nargis garlands. Just one garland is enough for the whole house, and they would come with dozens of garlands and just go on putting them on—I would be covered up to my eyes. person22

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