If you ask me, it will look like an exaggeration, but in fact, in the whole of India I never found another Shambhu Dube. He was just rare.
When I was traveling all over India he would wait for months for me to come and visit the village just for one day. He was the only person who ever came to see me when my train would pass through the village. Of course I am not including my father nor my mother; they had to come. But Shambhu Dube was not my relative. He just loved me, and this love started at that meeting, on that day when I had gone to protest against Kantar Master. glimps20
This is synchronicity.
Somehow a deep, deep connection existed. The day he died I went to him without hesitation. I did not even inquire. I simply drove to the town. I never liked that road, and I like driving, but that road from Jabalpur to Gadarwara was really a sonofabitch! You will not find a worse road anywhere
the road from the university to Shambhu Babu's house. I just rusheda feeling in the guts.
I am a speedy driver. I love speed, but on that road you cannot go more than twenty miles an hour; that's the maximum possible, so you can conceive of what kind of a road it must be. By the time you arrive, if you are not dead then you are something close to it! There is just one good thing: before you enter the town you come across the river. That is its saving grace: you can take a good bath, you can swim for half an hour to refresh yourself, and give your car a good bath too. Then, when you reach the town, nobody thinks you are a holy ghost.
I rushed. Never in my life have I been in such a hurry
That day I had to hurry, and it proved true because if I had been just a few minutes later I would never have seen Shambhu Babu's eyes again. Alive, I meanI mean looking at me just the way he had looked that first time. I wanted to see that first look for the last time that synchronicity. And in that half hour before he died there was nothing but pure communion. I told him he could say whatever he wanted to say.
He sent everybody else away. Of course they were offended. His wife and sons and his brothers did not like it. But he clearly said, "Whether you like it or not, I want you all to leave immediately because I don't have much time to waste."
Naturally afraid, they all left. We both laughed. I said, "Anything you want to say to me, you can say."
He said, "I have nothing to say to you. Just hold my hands. Let me feel you. Fill me with your presence, I beg you." He went on, "I cannot go on my knees and touch your feet. It is not that I would not like to do it, just that my body is not in a position to get out of bed. I cannot even move. I have just a few minutes longer."
I could see that death was almost on his doorstep. I took his hands, and said a few things to him, to which he listened very attentively. glimps22
My (paternal) grandfather died. In my family, he was the oldest, and I was the youngest, but by a strange coincidence, we were great friends. And all those who were in between were against both of us
When he died, I was sitting
. It was a beautiful winter morning and the sun had risen. I was just sitting at the door, because everybody else of the house was surrounding the old man. One of my uncles asked, "This is strange; your great friend is dead, and you are sitting outside the house enjoying the morning sun."
I said, "When he was alive none of you sat with him, except me. I am just giving you a chance; there will never be a chance again. But you can sit only by the side of the dead, not by the side of the living."
Neighbors came to sympathize, to comfortthey met me first, because I was sitting outside the houseand they would start weeping, and tears would be rolling down their face. I said, "Don't pretend," and they were very much shocked. I said, "These tears are crocodile tears, because I never saw you coming to the old man when he was alive. He was a lion; he could have made a breakfast of you. Now that he is dead
But he had lived so totally, and his death was so beautiful. At the last moment he called me, took my hand in his hand, and said, "I have lived totally, without any regret. Just remember it: never listen to anyone, just listen to your own heart."
So I said to the neighbors, "There is no need to cry for a man who lived so blissfully, so beautifully. When your grandfather dies, then you can cry. And remember, I will not come, even to comfort you."
They could not understand what I was saying, and when somebody from my family dragged them in, they said, "Don't talk to him." They said, "He said very insulting things to usthat our tears are crocodile tears."
Coming back, I said, "Enjoy that your grandfather is still alive. In this comfort, I can see your heart enjoying that somebody else's grandfather has died. Your grandfather is alive, but I want to tell youyour grandfather has been dead all his life!"
They said, "We are not even talking to you."
I said, "It doesn't matter. But I wanted to be clear to you that all this comfort and sympathy is for those who have missed life, who have missed love, who have not lived according to their own longings." My grandfather was a simple man, but unpolluted, uncorrupted by the priests. His death was as beautiful as his life. mess214
In my village one old priest was very much respected as a wise man. I used to go to him. And to any question that I ever asked him, he would say, "Wait. At the right time, in the right season, you will find the answer."
I came back from the university and I went to see the old man; he was dying. I said to him, "You have been deceiving me. I have been waiting for the right moment and the right season. It has not come. And I want to ask you, at least while you are dying, to be honest. Tell me, has your right time come?"
He had tears in his eyes. He said, "Forgive me, I used to say that to everyone, just to avoid their questionbecause I don't know the answer. I am myself as ignorant as anybody but people think I am a wise man, and by and by they have convinced me that I am a wise man. I too have started believing in it."
I said, "At least now drop that belief. Die as ignorant as you are. Your whole life you have been dishonest, but even a single moment before death, if you are honest, perhaps the right time and the right season may come suddenly." And actually it happened. He closed his eyes, and I was sitting by his side and I saw the change happening around his energy; there was a freshness, a different fragrance. His old face became so beautifulwrinkled with age, but now showing a maturity.
He opened his eyes and he took my hand in his hand and he said, "I cannot be more grateful to anybody in my life than to you, although you have not done anything. But seeing the fact that death is coming, I closed my eyes and for the first time I looked inwards. It was there, it has always been there." He died an enlightened man. He lived unenlightened, in misery, in suffering, but he died enlightened, in tremendous joy.
He told me, "Nobody should weep or cry; nobody should be sad or serious because my death is an illumination. What life has not been able to give me, my death has given to me. Celebrate! Tell the people that my death has to be celebrated."
And when I told the people, they wouldn't believe me. I said, "Whether you believe me or not, that old man's last wish should be fulfilled. If you cannot celebrate I will have to bring my friends, and we will celebrate."
I had to gather people, and they were hesitant because death is not celebrated, death is a calamity. But the death of an enlightened being, and particularly a death which makes a man enlightened, has to be a festival. It is far more valuable than birth. Birth brings you life. Enlightened death brings you eternal life, a timeless ecstasy, a blissfulness that never ends. exist06
One man I know, Dada Dharmadhikarihe is a very famous follower of Gandhi, a colleague of Gandhi, and a colleague of J. Krishnamurti. He does not believe in God, he does not believe in any traditions. He used to come to see me, and I told him, "Not believing in God is not enough; believing in God, or not believing in God, both are God-centered. I cannot say that I do not believe in Godhow can I not believe in something which does not exist? Believing or not believing are both irrelevant when something is existential." But he was too full of Krishnamurti.
I said, "Some day some opportunity may come and I will be able to point it out to you, that this belief is only a reaction. It does not erase God, it simply puts disbelief in place of belief, but God remains in its place."
His son is attorney general of the high court. One day he came very much disturbed and asked me to come immediately, "My father is dying. He had a serious heart attack, and the doctors are worried that he may have another heart attack and it will be difficult to save him. Perhaps he will be happy to see you. He always talks only of you or J. Krishnamurti."
I went to his house. He was resting in a dark room and I entered slowly. I told his son not to announce that I had come. He was repeating "Hare Krishna, Hare Rama, Hare Krishna, Hare Rama" very silently, almost whispering. But I shook him and I said, "Have you forgotten J. Krishnamurti? Have you forgotten me? What are you doing? Hare Krishna, Hare Rama
He said, "This time don't disturb me. Who knows, God may be a reality. And just to repeat a few times before death
there is no harm. If he is there I can say, `I remembered you.' If he is not there, there is no harm, just let me repeat itno argument at this moment. I am dying."
I said, "That's what makes it very urgent to prevent you doing any stupid thing! This is against your whole life." Now he is eighty years old; he followed Krishnamurti for almost fifty years, has been in contact for twenty years with me, and at the last moment all intellectual garbage disappears and the old conditionings appear again. This was what his parents had taught him in his childhood, "Hare Krishna, Hare Rama," because Hindus believe that in this dark age of humanity only the name of God can save you. The name of God is like a boat; you simply ride on the boat and it will take you to the other side of existence, the spiritual world.
He became okay; he did not die. And when he had become almost all right, I asked him about that day. He said, "Forget all about it. There is no God. I don't believe in God."
I said, "Againbecause now death is no longer so close? That day you were not even willing to discuss it. You were even arguing: `At this moment, let me repeat the mantra that is going to save me.'" I said to him, "All your intellectual garbage is useless. It has not reached to your heart; it has not given you any transformation." socrat25