Glimpses of a Golden Childhood
1984 in Lao Tzu House, Rajneeshpuram, USA

Chapter # 5
Chapter # 6
Chapter # 7
Chapter # 8

Chapter #5
I was talking about the death of my Nana, my grandfather. Just now I remembered that he never had to go to a dentist. What a fortunate man! He died with all his teeth intact. And look at me. When you were examining my teeth I heard you say that one is missing. That may be why I am so hard: thirty-one teeth instead of thirty-two. That may be why I hit so mercilessly. Naturally, when even one tooth is missing, what else can I do but hit mercilessly this way and that, at whatsoever I can put my hands on?
That was my way during those first years when I lived with my grandfather, and yet I was absolutely protected from punishment. He never said "Do this," or "Don't do that." On the contrary he put his most obedient servant, Bhoora, at my service, to protect me. Bhoora used to carry a very primitive gun with him. He used to follow me at a distance, but that was enough to frighten the villagers. That was enough to allow me to do whatsoever I wanted.
Anything one could imagine... like riding on a buffalo backwards with Bhoora following. It was only later on, in the university museum, I saw the statue of Lao Tzu sitting backwards on a buffalo. I laughed so loudly that the museum director came running to me saying, "Is anything wrong?" Because I was holding my stomach and sitting on the floor, he said, "Are you suffering from something?"
I said, "No, and don't bother me, and don't make me laugh any more, otherwise I will start crying. Just leave me alone. Nothing is wrong with me. I am just reminded of my childhood. This is the way I used to ride on a buffalo."
In my village particularly, and all over India, nobody rides on a buffalo. The Chinese are strange people, and this person Lao Tzu was the strangest of all. But God knows, and only God knows, how I discovered the idea -- even I don't know -- to sit on a buffalo in the marketplace, backwards. I assume it was because I always liked anything absurd.
Those early years -- if they could be given to me again, I would be ready to be born again. But you know, and I know, nothing can be repeated. That's why I am saying that I would be ready to be born again, otherwise who wants to? Even though those days were full of beauty.
I was born under a wrong star. I regret that I forgot to ask the great astrologer why I was so mischievous. I cannot live without it; it is my nourishment. I can understand the old man, my grandfather, and the trouble my mischief caused him. The whole day he would sit on his gaddi -- as the seat of a rich man is called in India -- listening less to his customers, and more to the complainers. But he used to say to them, "I am ready to pay for any damage he has done, but remember, I am not going to punish him."
Perhaps his very patience with me, a mischievous child... even I could not tolerate it. If a child like that was given to me and for years... my God! Even for minutes and I would throw the child out of the door forever. Perhaps those years worked a miracle for my grandfather; that immense patience paid. He became more and more silent. I saw it growing every day. Once in a while I would say, "Nana, you can punish me. You need not be so tolerant." And, can you believe it, he would cry! Tears would come to his eyes, and he would say, "Punish you? I cannot do that. I can punish myself but not you."
Never, for a single moment, have I ever seen the shadow of anger towards me in his eyes -- and believe me, I did everything that one thousand children could do. In the morning, even before breakfast, I was into my mischief until late at night. Sometimes I would come home so late -- three o'clock in the morning -- but what a man he was! He never said, "You are too late. This is not the time for a child to come home." No, not even once. In fact, in front of me he would avoid looking at the clock on the wall.
That is how I learned religiousness. He never took me to the temple where he used to go. I also used to go to that temple, but only when it was closed, just to steal prisms, because in that temple there were many chandeliers with beautiful prisms. I think, by and by, I stole almost all of them. When my grandfather was told about it he said, "So what! I donated the chandeliers, so I can donate others. He is not stealing; it is his Nana's property. I made that temple." The priest stopped complaining. What was the point? He was just a servant to Nana.
Nana used to go to the temple every morning, yet he never said, "Come with me." He never indoctrinated me. That is what is great... not to indoctrinate. It is so human to force a helpless child to follow your beliefs; but he remained untempted. Yes, I call it the greatest temptation. The moment you see someone dependent on you in any way, you start indoctrinating. He never even said to me, "You are a Jaina."
I remember perfectly -- it was the time that the census was being taken. The officer had come to our house. He made many inquiries about many things. They asked about my grandfather's religion; he said, "Jainism." They then asked about my grandmother's religion. My Nana said, "You can ask her yourself. Religion is a private affair. I myself have never asked her." What a man!
My grandmother answered, "I do not believe in any religion whatsoever. All religions look childish to me." The officer was shocked. Even I was taken aback. She does not believe in any religion at all! In India to find a woman who does not believe in any religion at all is impossible. But she was born in Khajuraho, perhaps into a family of Tantrikas who have never believed in any religion. They have practiced meditation but they have never believed in any religion.
It sounds very illogical to a western mind: meditation without religion? Yes... in fact, if you believe in any religion you cannot meditate. Religion is an interference in your meditation. Meditation needs no God, no heaven, no hell, no fear of punishment, and no allurement of pleasure. Meditation has nothing to do with mind; meditation is beyond it, whereas religion is only mind, it is within mind.
I know Nani never went to the temple, but she taught me one mantra which I will reveal for the first time. It is a Jaina mantra, but it has nothing to do with Jainas as such. It is purely accidental that it is related to Jainism....

NAMO ARIHANTANAM NAMO NAMO
NAMO SIDDHANAM NAMO NAMO
NAMO UVAJJHAYANAM NAMO NAMO
NAMO LOYE SAVVA SAHUNAM NAMO NAMO
AESO PANCH NAMMUKARO
OM, SHANTI, SHANTI, SHANTI....

The mantra is so beautiful; it is going to be difficult to translate it, but I will do my best... or my worst. First listen to the mantra in its original beauty:

NAMO ARIHANTANAM NAMO NAMO
NAMO SIDDHANAM NAMO NAMO
NAMO UVAJJHAYANAM NAMO NAMO
NAMO LOYE SAVVA SAHUNAM NAMO NAMO
AESO PANCH NAMMUKARO
SAVVA SAVV PAVPPANASANO
MANGALAM CHA SAVVESIM PADMAM
HAVAI MANGALAM
ARIHANTE SARNAM PAVJJAMI
SIDDHE SARNAM PAVYHYANI
SAHU SARNAM PAUHYANNI
NAMO ARIHANTANAM NAMO NAMO
NAMO SIDDHANAM NAMO NAMO
NAMO UVAJJHAYANAM NAMO NAMO
OM, SHANTI, SHANTI, SHANTI....

Now my effort at translation: "I go to the feet of, I bow down to, the arihantas...." Arihanta is the name in Jainism, as Bodhisattva is in Buddhism: "One who has achieved the ultimate but cares nothing about anybody else." He has come home and turned his back on the world. He does not create a religion; he does not even preach; he does not even declare. Of course he has to be remembered first. The first remembrance is for all those who have known and remained silent. The first respect is not for words, but for silence. Not for serving others, but for the sheer achievement of one's self. It does not matter whether one serves others or not; that is secondary, not primary. The primary is that one has achieved one's self, and it is so difficult in this world to know one's self.
Just this morning I gave Gudia a car-sticker from California that says: "Warning! I brake for hallucinations." This should be on every car -- not only on cars, but on everybody's buttocks too. People are living in hallucinations; that's what their life is -- an hallucination. They brake for ghosts which are not there... perhaps a holy ghost? But what does it matter whether the ghost is holy or unholy? All that matters is that it is not.
And what a stupidity! What a climax of stupidity to put a holy ghost into the Christian trinity: God, the Son, and the Holy Ghost! Just to avoid the woman they put a holy ghost in there. What unholiness! Do you see the trick? They could not put in the mother; they have painted out the mother and written in the Holy Ghost. This Holy Ghost has destroyed the whole of Christianity because from the very beginning, from its very foundation it depends on lies, hallucinations.
Californians can be forgiven -- they are all Californiacs -- but Christians cannot be forgiven for bringing this ugly fellow, the Holy Ghost, into the trinity. And this Holy Ghost did the unholy act of making poor Mary pregnant! Who do you think made the poor carpenter's wife, Mary, pregnant? Why, the Holy Ghost! Great! Great holiness! Then what is unholiness?
One thing is certain, that Christianity has been trying to completely avoid the woman, to erase her completely. They even create a family. If a child paints a picture of a family -- of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost -- you would say, "What is this nonsense? Where is the mother?"
Without a mother how can there be a father? Without a mother how can there be a son? Even a child would understand your logic, but not a Christian theologian. He is not a child, he is a retarded child. Something is wrong with his brain. Particularly the left side of his brain is either empty or full of junk -- maybe theological junk, the Bible -- in short, the Holy Ghost.
I am against this fellow. Let me say it most clearly: if I meet him... I want you to know that although I am a non-violent man, if I meet this Holy Ghost fellow I will kill him. I will say to myself, "To hell with all non-violence, at least for the moment, kill this fellow! Later on we will see. We can be non-violent again later on." I would put a woman in his place. Immediately Christianity would come to its senses.
Another Californian car-sticker which I gave to Gudia to keep says, "The best man for the job is probably a woman." Not probably, but certainly, a woman could do the job of being the third partner of the holy company. Without a woman it is an absolute desert: Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!
The Jainas call the person arihanta who has attained to himself and is so drowned, so drunk in the beautitude of his realization that he has forgotten the whole world. The word "arihanta" literally means "one who has killed the enemy" -- and the enemy is the ego. The first part of the mantra means, "I touch the feet of the one who has attained himself."
The second part is: NAMO SIDDHANAM NAMO NAMO. This mantra is in Prakrit, not Sanskrit. Prakrit is the language of the Jainas, it is more ancient than Sanskrit. The very word "sanskrit" means refined. You can understand by the word "refined" there must have been something before it, otherwise what are you going to refine? "Prakrit" means unrefined, natural, raw, and the Jainas are correct when they say their language is the most ancient in the world. Their religion too is the most ancient.
The Hindu scripture RIG VEDA mentions the first master of the Jainas, Adinatha. That certainly means it is far more ancient than RIG VEDA. RIG VEDA is the oldest book in the world, and it talks about the Jaina tirthankara, Adinatha, with such respect that one thing is certain, that he could not have been a contemporary of the people writing RIG VEDA.
It is very difficult to recognize a contemporary Master. His fate is to be condemned, condemned from all quarters, in all possible ways. He is not respected -- he is not a respectable person. It takes time, thousands of years, for people to forgive him; only then do they start respecting him. When they are free of the guilt of having condemned him once, they start respecting him, worshipping him.
The mantra is in Prakrit, raw and unrefined. The second line is: NAMO SIDDHANAM NAMO NAMO -- "I touch the feet of the one who has become his being." So, what is the difference between the first and the second?
The arihanta never looks back, never bothers about any kind of service, Christian or otherwise. The siddha, once in a while, holds out his hand to drowning humanity, but only once in a while, not always. It is not a necessity, it is not compulsory, it is his choice; he may or he may not.
Hence the third: NAMO UVAJJHAYANAM NAMO NAMO..."I touch the feet of the Masters, the UVAJHAYA." They have achieved the same, but they face the world, they serve the world. They are in the world and not of it... but still in it.
The fourth: NAMO LOYE SAVVA SAHUNAM NAMO NAMO..."I touch the feet of the teachers." You know the subtle difference between a Master and a teacher. The Master has known, and imparts what he has known. The teacher has received from one who has known, and delivers it intact to the world, but he himself has not known.
The composers of this mantra are really beautiful; they even touch the feet of those who have not known themselves, but at least are carrying the message of the Masters to the masses.
Number five is one of the most significant sentences I have ever come across in my whole life. It is strange that it was given to me by my grandmother when I was a small child. When I explain it to you, you too will see the beauty of it. Only she was capable of giving it to me. I don't know anybody else who had the guts to really proclaim it, although all Jainas repeat it in their temples. But to repeat is one thing; to impart it to one you love is totally another.
"I touch the feet of all those who have known themselves..." without any distinction, whether they are Hindus, Jainas, Buddhists, Christians, Moslems. The mantra says, "I touch the feet of all those who have known themselves." This is the only mantra, as far as I know, which is absolutely non-sectarian.
The other four parts are not different from the fifth, they are all contained in it, but it has a vastness which those others do not have. The fifth line must be written on all the temples, all the churches, irrespective of to whom they belong, because it says, "I touch the feet of all those who have known it." It does not say "who have known God." Even the "it" can be dropped: I am only putting "it" in the translation. The original simply means "touching the feet of those who have known" -- no "it." I am putting "it" in just to fulfill the demands of your language; otherwise someone is bound to ask, "Known? Known what? What is the object of knowledge?" There is no object of knowledge; there is nothing to know, only the knower.
This mantra was the only religious thing, if you can call it religious, given to me by my grandmother, and that too, not by my grandfather but by my grandmother... because one night I asked her. One night she said, "You look awake. Can't you sleep? Are you planning tomorrow's mischief?"
I said, "No, but somehow a question is arising in me. Everybody has a religion, and when people ask me, `To what religion do you belong?' I shrug my shoulders. Now, certainly shrugging your shoulders is not a religion, so I want to ask you, what should I say?"
She said, "I myself don't belong to any religion, but I love this mantra, and this is all I can give you -- not because it is traditionally Jaina, but only because I have known its beauty. I have repeated it millions of times and always I have found tremendous peace... just the feeling of touching the feet of all those who have known. I can give you this mantra; more than that is not possible for me."
Now I can say that woman was really great, because as far as religion is concerned, everybody is lying: Christians, Jews, Jainas, Mohammedans -- everybody is lying. They all talk of God, heaven and hell, angels and all kinds of nonsense, without knowing anything at all. She was great, not because she knew but because she was unable to lie to a child. Nobody should lie -- to a child at least it is unforgivable.
Children have been exploited for centuries just because they are willing to trust. You can lie to them very easily and they will trust you. If you are a father, a mother, they will think you are bound to be true. That's how the whole of humanity lives in corruption, in a thick mud, very slippery, a thick mud of lies told to children for centuries.
If we can do just one thing, a simple thing: not lie to children, and to confess to them our ignorance, then we will be religious, and we will put them on the path of religion. Children are only innocence; leave them not your so-called knowledge. But you yourself must first be innocent, unlying, true, even if it shatters your ego -- and it will shatter. It is bound to shatter.
My grandfather never told me to go to the temple, to follow him. I used to follow him many times, but he would say, "Go away. If you want to go to the temple, go alone. Don't follow me."
He was not a hard man, but on this point he was absolutely hard. I asked him again and again, "Can you give me something of your experience?" And he would always avoid it.
When he was dying in my lap, in the bullock cart, he opened his eyes and asked, "What is the time?"
I said, "It must be nearly nine o`clock."
For a moment he remained silent, and then he said,

"NAMO ARIHANTANAM NAMO NAMO
NAMO SIDDHANAM NAMO NAMO
NAMO UVAJJHAYANAM NAMO NAMO
NAMO LOYE SAVVA SAHUNAM NAMO NAMO
OM, SHANTI, SHANTI, SHANTI...."

What does it mean? It means "Om" -- the ultimate sound of soundlessness. And he disappeared like a dewdrop in the first rays of the sun.
I am entering into it now.... There is only peace, peace, peace....

NAMO ARIHANTANAM NAMO NAMO....
I go to the feet of those who have known.
I go to the feet of those who have achieved.
I go to the feet of all who are Masters.
I go to the feet of all the teachers.
I go to the feet of all who have ever known,
Unconditionally.
OM, SHANTI, SHANTI, SHANTI.

Chapter #6
Okay.
My okay is a little sad because Ashu is sad, and the membership of this Noah's Ark is so small that just one person being sad is enough to change the whole atmosphere. She is sad because her lover is gone and may not be back.
Do you remember a few days ago I asked her, "Where is your love, Ashu?" And how joyously she said, "Soon he will be here."
She may not have thought at the time why I had asked. I don't ask anybody anything without a purpose. It may not be apparent to you at the time, but it is always there. In all my absurdities there is a reason. In all my insanity there is an undercurrent of utter sanity.
I had asked her because I knew she would soon be sad. Cheer up, don't be worried. I know your lover better than you know him.
He will manage. I will manage. But in this little Noah's Ark, don't be sad. Ah! You are laughing; that is good. And it is always good to have a little separation from the lover; it makes you and your longing deeper. It makes you forget the stupidities that were happening, the conflicts. Suddenly only the beauty is remembered. Little separations bring new honeymoons. So wait for the honeymoon. My disciples will always find a way to me, to be by my side. They want the way. He will find a way to me.
But unfortunately the word "sad" reminds me again of that German, Achim Seidl. My God, I was not going to speak about him ever again in my life, and he is there! Just because of your sadness.... Look what you have done! So never be sad, otherwise these people can enter.
I was trying to find out from his book what it is he finds wrong in me that makes him say I am not enlightened. Not that I am -- just why does he feel that I am not enlightened, and why he feels that I am just illuminated. Out of curiosity I wanted to see why he had concluded in this way. What I found out is really worth laughing at. His reason that I am illuminated is... certainly what I am saying is of immense importance for the whole of humanity, but I am not enlightened because of the "way I say it." 
That really made me laugh. I rarely laugh, and then only in my bathroom. Only the mirror knows it. The beauty of the mirror is that it carries no memories. I laughed because it seemed that this man had met and known many enlightened people, and does not find my way of saying things the same as theirs. I would like to use an American word for him: the sonofabitch is simply intellectually constipated. He needs to start a movement; I mean he needs to eat prunes.
I say it on authority -- on my own authority, of course -- that Bodhidharma, if he had known the expression, would have said to Emperor Wu of China, "You sonofabitch! Go to hell and leave me alone!" but in those days this American expression did not exist. Not that America did not exist -- that again is a European myth. America was discovered by Columbus? Nonsense! It has been discovered many times but was always hushed up.
May I remind you that Mexico comes from a Sanskrit word makshika, and in Mexico there are thousands of proofs that Hinduism existed there long before Jesus Christ -- what to say of Columbus! In fact America, particularly South America, was part of one vast continent in which Africa was also included. India was exactly in the middle, Africa below, America above. They were only divided by a very shallow ocean; you could walk across it! There are references to it in ancient Indian scriptures; they say that people used to pass from Asia to America on foot. Even marriages used to happen. Arjuna, the famous warrior of the Indian epic MAHABHARATA and Krishna's famous disciple, was married to a Mexican girl. Of course they called Mexico "Makshika," but the description is exactly that of Mexico.
In Mexico there are statues of Ganesh, the Hindu elephant god. A statue of the elephant god would be impossible to find in England! It would be impossible to find anywhere unless that country had come into contact with Hinduism. In Bali, yes; or in Sumatra, and Mexico, but not anywhere else unless Hinduism had been there. In some Mexican temples there are even inscriptions in ancient Sanskrit. I am saying this by the way... if you want to know more you will have to look into the life work of the monk Bhikku Chamanlal, in his book HINDU AMERICA. It is strange that nobody pays attention to his work. Christians of course cannot pay him attention, but scholarship should be unprejudiced.
This German man, and his colleague the Dutch psychologist who wrote that I am enlightened but not illuminated, and that I am illuminated but not enlightened, should both meet to discuss matters and come to a conclusion, then let me know... because I am neither. They are so much concerned with words: "illumination" or "enlightenment"? Also, the same reasons are used by each of these men to reach totally opposite conclusions. The Dutchman wrote his book some time before the German; it seems as if he stole the theme from the Dutchman. But this is how professors behave -- they go on stealing the same arguments from each other, exactly the same argument... that I don't speak like an enlightened man or like an illuminated man.
But who are they to decide how an enlightened or illuminated person should speak? Have they known Bodhidharma? Have they seen his picture? They will immediately conclude that an enlightened or illuminated person cannot look like that. He looks ferocious! His eyes are those of a lion in the forest, and the way he looks at you is such that it seems he will jump from the picture and kill you instantly. That's how he was! But forget Bodhidharma, because now fourteen centuries have passed.
I knew Bodhidharma personally. I traveled with the man for at least three months. He loved me just as I loved him. You will be curious to know why he loved me. He loved me because I never asked him any question. He said to me, "You are the first person I have met who does not ask a question -- and I only get bored with all the questions. You are the only person who does not bore me."
I said, "There is a reason."
He said, "What is that?"
I said, "I only answer. I never question. If you have any question you can ask me. If you don't have a question then keep your mouth shut."
We both laughed, because we both belonged to the same category of insanity. He asked me to continue the journey with him, but I said, "Excuse me, I have to go my own way, and from this point it separates from yours."
He could not believe it. He had never invited anyone before. This was the man who had even refused Emperor Wu -- the greatest emperor of those days, with the greatest empire -- as if he was a beggar. Bodhidharma could not believe his eyes, that I could refuse him.
I said, "Now you know how it feels to be refused. I wanted to give you a taste of it. Goodbye." But that was fourteen centuries ago.
I could remind the German of a few later editions... of Gurdjieff, who was alive just a few years ago. He should have seen Gurdjieff and then he would have known how an enlightened or illuminated person behaves and speaks. There was not a single word that Gurdjieff would not say -- and of course those words are not written in his books, because nobody would have published them.
Or, if he is only concerned with Indian enlightenment, which seems to dominate these idiots... otherwise what has India got to do with it? Enlightenment has happened everywhere. If he is concerned only with Indian enlightenment, then Ramakrishna is very close to us. His words were not reported correctly, because he was a villager, and used the language of a villager. All those words which people think should not be used by any enlightened person have been edited out. I have wandered in Bengal, asking people who are still living how Ramakrishna used to speak. They all said he was terrible. He used to speak as a man should speak -- strong, without fear, without any sophistication.
I have always spoken the way I like. I am nobody's slave, and I don't care what these idiots think about me. It is up to them: they can think that I am enlightened; they can think that I am illuminated; they can think I am ignorant. They can think whatever they want -- is their mind. They can write; the paper is there, the ink is there. Why should I be concerned?
Just by the way, Ashu, because you were sad, you brought this idiot in. Never be sad again -- because if you are I will bring this idiot in, and you know I can bring anything from anywhere, even from nowhere.
Now we are finished with this German and sadness, right? At least giggle... good! Yes, I can understand. Even if you laugh in sadness it has a different color to it, but it is natural. My sannyasins have to learn to be a little above nature. They have to learn things which, in the ordinary world, nobody cares about. Separation has its own beauty, as does meeting. I don't see that there is anything wrong with separation. Separation has its own poetry; one just has to learn its language, and one has to live it in its depth. Then out of sadness itself comes a new kind of joy... which looks almost impossible, but it happens. I have known it. That's what I was talking about this morning. I was talking about the death of my Nana.
It was a total separation. We will not meet again, yet there was a beauty in it, and he made it more beautiful by repeating the mantra. He made it more prayerful... it became fragrant. He was old, and dying, perhaps from a severe heart attack. We were not aware of it because the village had no doctor, not even a pharmacist, no medicine, so we didn't know the cause of his death, but I think it was a severe heart attack.
I asked him in his ear, "Nana, have you something to say to me before you depart? Any last words? Or do you want to give me something to remember you by forever?"
He took off his ring and put it in my hand. That ring is with some sannyasin now; I gave it to someone. But that ring was always a mystery. His whole life he would not allow anybody to see what was in it, yet again and again he used to look into it. That ring had a glass window on both sides that you could look through. On top was a diamond; on each of its sides there was a glass window.
He had not allowed anybody to see what it was that he used to look at through the window. Inside there was a statue of Mahavira, the Jaina tirthankara; a really beautiful image, and very small. It must have been a small picture of Mahavira inside, and those two windows were magnifying glasses. They magnified it and it looked really huge. It was of no use to me because, I am sorry to say, even though I have tried my best I have never been able to love Mahavira as much as I love Buddha, although they were contemporaries.
Something is missing in Mahavira, and without it my heart cannot beat for him. He looks exactly like a stone statue. Buddha looks more alive, but not up to my standards of aliveness -- that's why I want him to become a Zorba too. If he meets me somewhere in the other world there is going to be great trouble. He is going to shout at me, "You wanted me to become a Zorba!"
But you know I know how to shout far better. He cannot shut me up; I am going to have my own way. If he does not want to become a Zorba, that is his own business, but then his world is finished; he has no future. If he wants a future then he has to listen to me. He has to become a Zorba. Neither can Zorba exist alone -- he will end in Hiroshima -- nor can Buddha exist alone. In the future there is no possibility of their being separate.
The future psychology of man needs to be a bridge between materialism and spiritualism; between East and West. Someday the world will feel grateful that my message is reaching to the West; otherwise seekers have been going to the East. This time a living Buddha's message has come to the West.
The West does not know how to recognize a Buddha. It has never known a Buddha. It has known only partial Buddhas -- a Jesus, a Pythagoras, a Diogenes -- it has never known a total Buddha.
It is not surprising that they are arguing about me. Do you know what they are publishing in the Indian newspapers? They are publishing a story that I may be abducted by some enemies, and that my life is in danger.
I am here now and they are not really concerned about me. This is a rotten country. India has been rotten for almost two thousand years -- it stinks! Nothing stinks more than Indian spirituality. It is a corpse, and a very old corpse, two thousand years old!
What stories people invent! I may be "abducted by some enemies, and now my life is in danger." In fact for twenty-five years my life has been in continuous danger. It is a miracle that I have survived. And now they want to protect me! There are strange people all over the world; but the future of man does not belong to these strange people, but to a very new kind, and that new kind I have named Zorba the Buddha.
I was telling you that my grandfather, before he died, gave me his most cherished thing -- a statue of Mahavira hidden behind a diamond in a ring. With tears in his eyes he said, "I don't have anything else to give you because all that I have will be taken away from you too, just as it has been taken away from me. I can only give you my love for the one who has known himself."
Although I did not keep his ring, I have fulfilled his desire. I have known the one, and I have known it in myself. In a ring what does it matter? But the poor old man, he loved his Master, Mahavira, and he gave his love to me. I respect his love for his Master, and for me. The last words on his lips were, "Don't be worried, because I am not dying."
We all waited to see if he was going to say something else, but that was all. His eyes closed and he was no more.
I still remember that silence. The bullock cart was passing through a river bed. I exactly remember each detail. I didn't say anything because I didn't want to disturb my grandmother. She did not say a thing. A few moments passed, then I became a little worried about her and said, "Say something; don't be so quiet, it is unbearable."
Can you believe it, she sang a song! That's how I learned that death has to be celebrated. She sang the same song she had sung when she was in love with my grandfather for the first time. This too is worth noting: that ninety years ago, in India, she had had courage to fall in love. She remained unmarried up till the age of twenty-four. That was very rare. I asked her once why she had remained unmarried for so long. She was such a beautiful woman... I just jokingly told her that even the king of Chhatterpur, the state where Khajuraho is, might have fallen in love with her.
She said, "It is strange that you should mention it, because he did. I refused him, and not only him but many others too." In those days in India, girls were married when they were seven, or at the most nine years of age. Just the fear of love... if they are older they may fall in love. But my grandmother's father was a poet; his songs are still sung in Khajuraho and nearby villages. He insisted that unless she agreed, he was not going to marry her to anybody. As chance would have it, she fell in love with my grandfather.
I asked her, "That is even stranger; you refused the king of Chhatterpur, and yet you fell in love with this poor man. For what? He was certainly not a very handsome man, nor extraordinary in any other way; why did you fall in love with him?"
She said, "You are asking the wrong question. Falling has no `why' to it. I just saw him, and that was it. I saw his eyes, and a trust arose in me that has never wavered."
I had also asked my grandfather, "Nani says she fell in love with you. That's okay on her part, but why did you allow the marriage to happen?"
He said, "I am not a poet or a thinker, but I can recognize beauty when I see it."
I never saw a more beautiful woman than my Nani. I myself was in love with her, and loved her throughout her whole life. When she died at the age of eighty, I rushed home and found her lying there, dead. They were all just waiting for me because she had told them that they should not put her body on the funeral pyre until I arrived. She had insisted that I set light to her funeral pyre, so they were waiting for me. I went in, uncovered her face... and she was still beautiful! In fact, more beautiful than ever because all was quiet; even the turmoil of her breathing, the turmoil of living was not there. She was just a presence.
To put the fire to her body was the most difficult task I have ever done in my life. It was as if I was putting fire to one of the most beautiful paintings of Leonardo or Vincent van Gogh. Of course to me she was more valuable than the MONA LISA, more beautiful to me than Cleopatra. It is not an exaggeration.
All that is beautiful in my vision somehow comes through her. She helped me in every way to be the way I am. Without her I may have been a shop-keeper or perhaps a doctor or an engineer, because when I passed my matriculation my father was so poor, it was difficult for him to send me to university. But he was even ready to borrow money in order to do it. He was utterly insistent that I go to university. I was willing, but not to go to medical college, and I was not willing to go to engineering college either. I flatly refused to be a doctor or an engineer. I told him, "If you want to know the truth, I want to be a sannyasin, a hobo."
He said, "What! A hobo!"
I said, "Yes. I want to go to university to study philosophy so that I can be a philosophical hobo."
He refused, saying, "In that case I am not going to borrow money and take all that trouble."
My grandmother said, "Don't you worry son; you go and do whatsoever you want to do. I am alive, and I will sell everything I have just to help you to be yourself. I will not ask where you want to go and what you want to study."
She never asked, and she sent me money continuously, even when I became a professor. I had to tell her that I was now earning for myself, and I should rather send her money.
She said, "Don't worry, I have no use for this money, and you must be using it well."
People used to wonder where I got all the money from to purchase my books, because I had thousands of books. Even when I was just a student in high school I had thousands of books in my house. My whole house was full of books, and everybody wondered where I got all the money from. My grandmother had told me, "Never tell anyone that you get money from me, because if your father and mother come to know they will start asking me for money, and it will be difficult for me to refuse."
She went on giving money to me. You will be surprised to know that even the month she died she had sent the usual money to me. On the morning of the day she died she had signed the check. You will also be amazed to know, that was the last money she had in the bank. Perhaps somehow she knew that there was not going to be any tomorrow.
I am fortunate in many ways, but I was most fortunate in having my maternal grandparents... and those early golden years.

Chapter #7

Devageet, when you sometimes say "Okay" to Ashu, I misunderstand: I think it is okay to me. That's why she laughs. But still I say, deep within me there is nothing but laughter. You can anesthetize my body, everything, but not me. That is beyond you.
That is the case with you too. Your innermost core is beyond all chemicals and chemistry. Now I can hear Devageet giggling. It is good to hear a man giggle. Men almost never giggle. Giggling has become the sole domain of women. Men either laugh or not, but they don't giggle. Giggling is just in the middle. It is the Golden Mean. It is Tao. Laughter can be violent. Not to laugh is stupid, but giggling is good.
See how I can say something significant even about giggling: "Giggling is good." Don't worry even if I say something correct, it is just an old habit. I can even talk in my sleep, so it is no trouble to talk like this.
Gudia knows I talk in my sleep but she does not know to whom. Only I know that. Poor Gudia! I am talking to her and she thinks and worries about why I am talking, and to whom. Alas that she is not aware that I am talking to her just like this. Sleep is a natural anesthetic. Life is so hard that one has to go under every night for a few hours at least. And she wonders whether I really sleep or not. I can understand her wondering.
For more than a quarter of a century I have not slept. Devaraj, don't be worried. Ordinary sleep.... I sleep more than anybody else in the whole world: three hours during the day, and seven, eight, nine hours at night -- as much as anybody can afford. In all, in toto, I sleep twelve hours per day, but underneath I am awake. I see myself while asleep, and sometimes it is so lonely during the night that I start talking to Gudia. But her difficulties are many. First, when I talk in my sleep I talk in Hindi. I cannot talk in English while asleep.
I never will, although I could if I wanted to. Sometimes I have tried and succeeded, but the joy was missing.
You must be aware that every day I listen to a song of Noorjahan, the famous Urdu singer. Every day before I come in I listen to her again and again. It could even drive you crazy. What do you know of drilling? I know what drilling means. I drill that song into Gudia every day. She has to hear it, there is no way to avoid it. After my work is over I again play the same song. I love my own language... not that it is my language, but it is so beautiful that even if it were not mine I would have learned it.
The song that she hears every day, and will have to hear again and again, says: "Whether you remember or not, once there was a trust between us. Once you used to tell me, `You are the most beautiful woman in the world.' Now, I don't know whether you would recognize me or not. Perhaps you do not remember, but I still remember. I cannot forget the trust, and the words that you uttered to me. You used to say that your love was impeccable. Do you still remember? Perhaps not, but I remember -- not in its totality, of course. Time has done much harm.
"I am a dilapidated palace, but if you look, look minutely, I am still the same. I still remember the trust and your words. That trust that once existed between us, is it still in your memory or not? I don't know about you but I still remember."
Why do I go on playing the song of Noorjahan? It is a kind of drilling. Not drilling of your teeth, although if you continue drilling long enough it will get to your teeth too, but drilling into her the beauty of a language. I know it will be difficult for her to understand or appreciate it.
In my sleep when I speak to Gudia, I again speak in Hindi because I know her unconscious is still not English. She was only in England for a few years. Before that she was in India, and now she is again in India. I have been trying to efface all that lies between these two. Of this later, when the time comes....
Today I was going to say something about Jainism. Look at the madness of this man! Yes, I can jump from one peak to another without any bridge between. But you have to tolerate a madman. You have fallen in love. It is your responsibility, I am not responsible for it.
Jainism is the most ascetic religion in the world, or in other words the most masochistic and sadistic. Jaina monks torture themselves so much that one wonders if they are insane. They are not. They are businessmen, and the followers of the Jaina monks are all businessmen. It is strange, the whole Jaina community consists only of businessmen -- but not really strange because the religion itself is basically motivated for profit in the other world. The Jaina tortures himself in order to gain something in the other world which he knows he cannot attain in this.
I must have been about four or five years old when I saw the first naked Jaina monk being invited into my grandmother's house. I could not resist laughing. My grandfather told me, "Keep quiet! I know you are a nuisance. I can forgive you when you are a pain in the neck to the neighbors, but I cannot forgive you if you try to be mischievous with my guru. He is my master; he initiated me into the inner secrets of religion."
I said, "I am not concerned about the inner secrets. I am concerned about the outer secrets that he is showing so clearly. Why is he naked? Can't he at least wear short pants?"
Even my grandfather laughed. He said, "You don't understand."
I said, "Okay, I will ask him myself." I then asked my grandmother, "Can I ask a few questions to this utterly insane man who comes naked in front of ladies and gentlemen?"
My grandmother laughed and said, "Go ahead, and don't take any notice of what your grandfather says. I allow you. If he says anything just indicate towards me and I will put him right."
She was really a beautiful woman, courageous, ready to give freedom without any limits. She did not even ask me what I was going to ask. She simply said, "Go ahead...."
All the villagers had assembled for the darshana of the Jaina monk. In the middle of the so-called sermon I stood up. That was forty or so years ago, and since then I have been fighting these idiots continuously. That day a war began which is only going to end when I am no more. Perhaps it may not end even then; my people may continue it.
I asked simple questions that he could not answer. I was puzzled. My grandfather was ashamed. My grandmother patted me on the back and said, "Great! You did it! I knew you were able to."
What had I asked? -- just simple questions. I had asked, "Why don't you want to be born again?" That's a very simple question in Jainism, because Jainism is nothing but an effort not to be born again. It is the whole science of preventing rebirth. So I asked him the basic question, "Don't you ever want to be born again?"
He said, "No, never."
Then I asked, "Why don't you commit suicide? Why are you still breathing? Why eat? Why drink water? Just disappear, commit suicide. Why make so much fuss over a simple thing?" He was not more than forty years of age.... I said to him, "If you continue in this way, you may have to continue for another forty years or even more."
It is a scientific fact that people who eat less live longer. Devaraj will certainly agree with me. It has been proven again and again, that if you feed any species more than they need, they become fat, and comfortable of course, beautiful of course, but they soon die. If you feed them only half what they need, it is strange: they don't look beautiful, they are not comfortable, but they live to almost double the average age. Half the food and double the age -- double the food, and half the age.
So I said to the monk -- I did not know these facts then -- "If you don't want to be born again, why are you living? Just to die? Then why not commit suicide?" I don't think anybody had ever asked him such a question. In polite society nobody ever asks a real question, and the question of suicide is the most real of all.
Marcel says, "Suicide is the only real philosophical question." I had no idea of Marcel then. Perhaps at that time there was no Marcel, and his book had not been written yet. But this is what I said to the Jaina monk: "If you don't want to be born again, which you say is your desire, then why do you live? For what? Commit suicide! I can show you a way. Although I don't know much about the ways of the world, as far as suicide is concerned I can give you some advice. You can jump off the hill at the side of the village, or you can jump into the river."
The river was three miles away from the village, and so deep and so vast that to swim across it was such a joy for me. Many times while swimming across the river I would think it was the end, and I would not be able to reach the other shore. It was so wide, particularly in the rainy season, miles wide. It looked almost like an ocean. In the rainy season one could not even see the other shore. When it was in full flood, that was when I would jump in, either to die or to reach the other shore. The greater probability was that I would never reach the other shore.
I told the Jaina monk, "In the rainy season you can jump into the river with me. We can keep company for a little while, then you can die, and I will reach the other shore. I can swim well enough."
He looked at me so fiercely, so full of anger, that I had to tell him, "Remember, you will have to be born again because you are still full of anger. This is not the way to get rid of the world of worries. Why are you looking at me so angrily? Answer my question in a peaceful and silent way. Answer joyously! If you cannot answer, simply say, `I don't know.' But don't be angry."
The man said, "Suicide is a sin. I cannot commit suicide, but I want never to be born again. I will achieve that state by slowly renouncing everything that I possess."
I said, "Please show me something that you possess, because, as far as I can see, you are naked and you don't possess anything. What possessions do you have?"
My grandfather tried to stop me. I pointed towards my grandmother and then said to him, "Remember, I asked permission of Nani, and now nobody can prevent me, not even you. I spoke to her about you because I was worried that if I interrupted your guru and his rubbishy, so-called sermon, you would be angry with me. She said to `Just point towards me, that's all. Don't be worried: just a look from me and he will become silent.' And strange... it was true!" He became silent, even without a look from my Nani.
Later on my Nani and I both laughed. I said to her, "He did not even look at you."
She said, "He could not, because he must have been afraid that I would say `Shut up! Don't interfere with the child,' so he avoided me. The only way to avoid me was to not interfere with you."
In fact he closed his eyes as if he was meditating. I said to him, "Nana, great! -- you are angry, boiling. There is fire within you yet you sit with closed eyes as if you are meditating. Your guru is angry because my questions are annoying him. You are angry because your guru is not capable of answering. But I say, this man who is sermonizing here is just an imbecile." And I was not more than four or five years old.
From that time on that has remained my language. I immediately recognize the idiot wherever he is, whoever he is. Nobody can escape my X-ray eyes. I can immediately see any retardedness, or anything else whatsoever.
The other day I had given one of my sannyasins the fountain pen that I wrote his new name with, just for him to remember that this was the pen I had used at the beginning of his new life, his sannyas. But his wife was there. I had even invited his wife to become a sannyasin. She was willing, and not willing -- you know the way the women are: this way and that way; you never know exactly. Even when they show their right hand out of a car, you never know if they will really turn right. They may be feeling the wind, or nobody knows -- they can be doing anything. That woman was willy-nilly, wishy-washy... a perfect woman in a way. She wanted to say yes and yet could not say it. She wanted to say no and yet could not say it-that kind of woman. And remember that is ninety-nine point nine percent of all women on the earth; only point one percent is left out. Otherwise that woman is very representative.
Still I tried to seduce her -- into sannyas, I mean! I played my game a little bit, and she was coming very close to saying yes when I stopped. I am also not so simple as it may seem from the outside. I don't mean that I am complex, I mean that I can see things so clearly that sometimes I have to withdraw my simplicity and its invitation.
When she was just about to say yes, she clutched her husband's hand, who was now a sannyasin. I looked at him and could see that he wanted to get rid of this woman. She had tortured him enough. In fact he was hoping that by becoming a sannyasin this woman would have mercy, and leave him of her own accord. I could see his puzzlement when I was trying to persuade his wife to become a sannyasin. In his heart he was saying, "My God. If she becomes a sannyasin then even in Poona I can't be at ease."
He wants to become part of this ashram. He is a rich man and owns a multi-million-dollar business and wants to donate all of it to the ashram. He was afraid.... I could see through and through this sannyasin and his wife.
There was no bridge between them, and there never had been. They were just an English couple, you know.... God knows why they married -- and God does not exist. I repeat it again and again because I always feel you may think that God really knows! God does not know because He exists not.
God is a word like "jesus." It does not mean anything, it is just an exclamation. That's how the story goes, telling how Jesus got his name....
Joseph and Mary are taking their child back home from Bethlehem. Mary is sitting on the donkey with the child. Joseph is walking ahead holding the rope, leading the donkey. Suddenly he stumbles, hitting his toe on a rock. "Jesus!" he shouts. And you know the ways of women....
Mary says, "Joseph! I was thinking what name to give to our new child, and just now you uttered the right name -- Jesus!"
That's how the poor child got his name. It is not a coincidence that when you hit your hand with a hammer by mistake, you exclaim, "Jesus!" Don't think you are remembering Jesus; just remember poor Joseph hitting his toe on the rock.
When I have stopped breathing Devaraj will know what to do. Although he is a partial Jew... but still he is a man you can trust. I know he does not believe he is partly a Jew. He thinks a part of his family may have been Jewish, but he is not! That's the way of all Jews, even part Jews. He seems to be perfect. A Jew is always a perfect Jew, to tell you the truth. Just a single drop of Jewishness in you is enough to make you a perfect Jew.
But I love Jews and I trust Jews. Just look in this Noah's Ark: there are two and a half Jews. I am a perfect Jew without any hesitation. Devageet is not a perfect Jew, just a Jew. Devaraj is partially a Jew and making every effort to hide it -- but that only makes it more Jewish. You cannot hide your Jewishness. Where will you hide your nose? That's the only thing that remains unhidden in the whole body. You can hide everything except your nose, because you have to breathe.
I was saying that Jesus, even Jesus, is not a name but only an exclamation made when Joseph hit his toe on a rock. So is God. When one says, "My God!" he does not mean that he believes in God. He is simply saying that he is complaining, if there is anyone in the sky to listen. When he says "God!" he simply means what is written on many government documents -- "To Whom It May Concern." "My God!" simply means "To whom it may concern," or if there is nobody, then "Sorry, it concerns nobody. It is just an exclamation and I couldn't resist it."
What is the time?... because I am half an hour late and I don't want you to be late too. Once in a while I too can be nice. Just to remind you, this is the best you have been up to now. Very good. Even when it is very good I know how to say "enough"....
This is tremendously beautiful,
So beautiful,
Stop.

Chapter #8

I have been talking about an incident that is absolutely important in order to understand my life and its workings... and it is still alive for me....
By the way, I was saying I can still remember, but the word "remember" is not right. I can still see the whole incident happening. Of course I was just a young child, but that does not mean that what I said is not to be taken seriously. In fact it is the only serious thing that I have ever talked about: suicide.
To a westerner, it may seem a little rude to ask a monk -- who is almost like a pope to the Jainas -- such a question: "Why don't you commit suicide?" But be kind to me. Let me explain before you conclude, or stop listening to me.
Jainism is the only religion in the world which respects suicide. Now it is your turn to be surprised. Of course, they do not call it suicide; they give it a beautiful metaphysical name, santhara. I am against it, particularly the way it is done. It is very violent and cruel. It is strange that a religion which believes in non-violence should preach santhara, suicide. You can call it metaphysical suicide, but after all, suicide is suicide; the name does not matter. What matters is that the man is no longer alive.
Why am I against it? I am not against the right of man to commit suicide. No, it should be one of the basic human rights. If I don't want to live, who has the right to force me to live? If I myself want to disappear, then all that others can do is to make it as comfortable as possible. Note it: one day I would like to disappear, I cannot live forever.
Just the other day someone showed me a car sticker. It says, "I am proud that I am an American." I looked at it, and when afterwards I cried over it. I am not an American, and I am proud that I am not an American. Nor am I an Indian -- then who am I? I am proud that I am nobody. That is where my whole journey has brought me -- to nobodiness, to homelessness, to nothingness. I have even renounced enlightenment, which nobody has done before me. I also renounce illumination, for the illumination of that German idiot! I have no religion, no country, no home. The whole world is mine.
I am the first citizen of the universe. You know I am crazy. I could start issuing passports for universal citizenship. I have been thinking about it. I am thinking about an orange card, which can be issued by me to my sannyasins as a passport for universal brotherhood, as opposed to nations, races and religions.
I am not against the Jaina attitude to suicide, but the method... their method is not to eat anything. It takes almost ninety days for the poor man to die. It is torture. You cannot improve on it. Not even Adolf Hitler could have conceived such a great idea. For Devageet's knowledge, Adolf Hitler conceived the idea of drilling into people's teeth -- without anesthesia of course. There are still many Jews around the world whose teeth were drilled for no reason other than to just create anguish. But Adolf Hitler may not have heard of Jaina monks and their masochistic practices. They are superb! They never cut their hair, they pull it out with their hands. Look what a great idea!
Every year the Jaina monk pulls out his hair, beard and mustache, and all hair on the body, just with his bare hands! They are against any technology -- and they call it logic, going to the very logical end of a thing. If you use a razor, that is technology; did you know that? Have you ever considered a razor a technological thing? Even so-called ecologists go on shaving their beards without knowing that they are committing a crime against nature.
Jaina monks pull out their hair, and not privately, because they do not have any privacy. Part of their masochism is not to have any privacy, to be utterly public. They pull their hair out while standing naked in the marketplace. The crowds, of course, cheer and applaud. And Jainas, although they feel great sympathy, you can even see tears in their eyes, but unconsciously they also enjoy it, and without needing a ticket. I abhor it; I am averse to all such practices.
The idea of committing santhara, suicide, by not eating or drinking is nothing but a very long process of self torture. I cannot support it. But I am absolutely in support of the idea of the freedom to die. I consider it a birthright, and sooner or later every constitution in the world will contain it, will have to have it as the most basic birthright -- the right to die. It is not a crime.
But to torture anybody, including yourself, is a crime. With this, you will be able to understand that I was not being rude, I was asking a very relevant question. On that day I began a lifelong struggle against all kinds of stupidities, nonsense, superstitions -- in short, religious bullshit. Bullshit is such a beautiful word. It says so much, in short.
That day I began my life as a rebel, and I will continue to be a rebel to my very last breath, or even after it. Who knows? Even if I won't have a body, I will have thousands of my lovers' bodies. I can provoke them -- and you know I am a seducer, I can put ideas in their heads for centuries to come. That is exactly what I am going to do. With the death of this body my rebellion cannot die. My revolution is going to continue even more intensely, because then it will have many more bodies, many more voices, many more hands to continue it.
That day was significant, historically significant. I have always remembered that day with the day when Jesus argued with the rabbis in the temple. He was a little older than I was, perhaps eight or nine years older. The way he argued determined the whole course of his life.
I don't remember the name of the Jaina monk; perhaps his name was Shanti Sagar, meaning "ocean of bliss." He certainly was not that. That is why I have forgotten even his name. He was just a dirty puddle, not an ocean of bliss or peace, or silence. And he was certainly not a man of silence, because he became very angry.
Shanti can mean many things; it may mean "peace," it may mean "silence." Those are the two basic meanings; both were missing in him. He was neither peaceful nor silent, not at all. Nor could you say that he was without any turmoil in him because he became so angry that he shouted at me to sit down.
I said, "Nobody can tell me to sit down in my own house. I can tell you to get out, but you cannot tell me to sit down. But I will not tell you to get out because I have a few more questions. Please don't be angry. Remember your name, Shanti Sagar -- ocean of peace and silence. You could at least be a little pool. And don't be disturbed by a little child."
Without bothering whether he was silent or not, I asked my grandmother, who was by now all laughter, "What do you say, Nani? Should I ask him more questions, or tell him to get out of our house?"
I did not ask my grandfather of course, because this man was his guru. My Nani said, "You can ask whatsoever you want to, and if he cannot answer, the door is open, he can get out."
That was the woman I loved. That was the woman who made me a rebel. Even my grandfather was shocked that she supported me in such a way. That so-called Shanti Sagar immediately became silent the moment he saw that my grandmother supported me. Not only her, the villagers were immediately on my side. The poor Jaina monk was left absolutely alone.
I asked him a few more questions. I asked, "You have said, ` Don't believe anything unless you have experienced it yourself.' I see the truth in that, hence this question...."
Jainas believe there are seven hells. Up to the sixth there is a possibility of coming back, but the seventh is eternal. Perhaps the seventh is the Christian hell, because there too, once you are in it, you are in it forever. I continued, "You referred to seven hells, so the question arises, have you visited the seventh? If you have, then you could not be here. If you have not, on what authority do you say that it exists? You should say that there are only six hells, not seven. Now please be correct: say that there are only six hells, or if you want to insist on seven, then prove to me that at least one man, Shanti Sagar, has come back from the seventh hell."
He was dumbfounded. He could not believe that a child could ask such a question. Today, I too cannot believe it! How could I ask such a question? The only answer I can give is that I was uneducated, and utterly without any knowledge. Knowledge makes you very cunning. I was not cunning. I simply asked the question which any child could have asked if he were not educated. Education is the greatest crime man has committed against poor children. Perhaps the last liberation in the world will be the liberation of children.
I was innocent, utterly unknowledgeable. I could not read or write, not even count beyond my fingers. Even today, when I have to count anything I start with my fingers, and if I miss a finger I get mixed up.
He could not answer. My grandmother stood up and said, "You have to answer the question. Don't think that only a child is asking; I am also asking and I am your hostess."
Now again I have to introduce you to a Jaina convention. When a Jaina monk comes to a family to receive his food, after taking his meal, as a blessing to the family, he gives a sermon. The sermon is addressed to the hostess. My grandmother said, "I am your hostess today, and I also am asking the same question. Have you visited the seventh hell? If not, say truthfully that you have not, but then you cannot say there are seven hells."
The monk became so puzzled and confused -- more so by being confronted by a beautiful woman -- that he started to leave. My Nani shouted, "Stop! Don't leave! Who is going to answer my child's question? And he still has a few more to ask. What kind of man are you? -- escaping from a child's questions."
The man stopped. I said to him, "I drop the second question, because the monk cannot answer it. He has not answered the first question either, so I will ask him the third; perhaps he may be able to answer that."
He looked at me. I said, "If you want to look at me, look into my eyes." There was great silence, just as it is here. Nobody said a word. The monk lowered his eyes, and I then said, "Then I don't want to ask. My first two questions are unanswered, and the third is not asked because I don't want a guest of the house to be ashamed. I withdraw." And I really withdrew from the gathering, and I was so happy when my grandmother followed me.
The monk was given his farewell by my grandfather, but as soon as he had left, my grandfather rushed back into the house and asked my grandmother, "Are you mad? First you supported this boy who is a born troublemaker, then you went with him without even saying goodbye to my master."
My grandmother said, "He is not my master, so I don't care a bit. Moreover what you think to be a born troublemaker is the seed. Nobody knows what will come out of it."
I know now what has come out of it. Unless one is a born troublemaker one cannot become a Buddha. And I am not only a Buddha, as Gautam the Buddha; that is too traditional. I am Zorba the Buddha. I am a meeting of the East and the West. In fact, I do not divide East and West, higher and lower, man and woman, good and bad, God and the devil. No! A thousand times no! I don't divide. I join together all that has been divided up to now. That is my work.
That day is immensely significant in order to understand what happened during my whole life, because unless you understand the seed, you will miss the tree and the flowering, and perhaps the moon through the branches.
From that very day I have always been against everything masochistic. Of course I came to know the word much later, but the word does not matter. I have been against all that is ascetic; even that word was not known to me in those days, but I could smell something foul. You know I am allergic to all kinds of self-torture. I want every human being to live to the fullest; minimum is not my way. Live to the maximum, or if you can go beyond the maximum, then fantastic. Go! Don't wait! And don't waste time waiting for Godot.
That's why I say to Ashu again and again, "Go on, go on, and drive Devageet nuts!" Of course I cannot drive Ashu nuts; a woman cannot be driven nuts; that is not possible. She drives men nuts. That is her ability, and she is efficient. Even if she sits in the back seat, she will drive the driver. You know back seat drivers, they are the worst; and when there is nobody to drive the driver, what freedom! Women cannot be driven nuts-even I cannot drive a woman nuts.
So it is difficult; although I go on saying, "Go on, go on," she does not listen. Women are born deaf; they go on doing whatsoever they want to. But Devageet hears. I am not saying anything to him, but still he hears, and freaks out. That is the way of the coward. I call it the way of the minimum, the speed limit. If you go more than that, you get a ticket.
Minimum is the way of the coward. If I am to decide then their highest limit would be the minimum limit; anybody going below it would immediately be given a ticket. We are trying to reach the stars, and they are sticking to bullock carts. We are trying, and it is the whole aim of physics, to ultimately reach the same speed as light. Unless we reach that speed we are doomed. If we can reach the speed of light, we can escape from any dying earth or planet. Every earth, every planet, every star is going to die one day. How are you going to escape from it? You will need a very speedy technology. This earth in just four thousand years will be dead. Whatsoever you do, nothing can save it. Every day it is getting closer to its death... and you are trying to move at thirty miles per hour! Try one hundred eighty-six thousand miles per second. That's the speed of light.
The mystic attains to it, and suddenly, in his inner being there is only light, and nothing else. That is awakening. I am for the maximum. Live to the maximum in every possible way; even if you are deciding to die, die with maximum speed. Don't die like a coward -- take a jump into the unknown. I am not against the idea of ending life. If one decides to end it, then of course it is his right. But I am certainly against making it a long torture. When this Shanti Sagar died, he took one hundred and ten days of not eating. A man is capable, if he is ordinarily healthy, of easily lasting ninety days without food. If he is extraordinarily healthy then he can survive longer.
So remember, I was not rude to the man. In that context my question was absolutely correct, perhaps more so because he could not answer it. And, strange to tell you today, that was the beginning not only of my questioning, but also the beginning of people not answering. Nobody has answered any of my questions in these last forty-five years. I have met many so-called spiritual people, but nobody has ever answered any of my questions. In a way that day determined my whole flavor, my whole life.
Shanti Sagar left very annoyed, but I was immensely happy, and I did not hide it from my grandfather. I told him, "Nana, he may have left annoyed, but I am feeling absolutely correct. Your guru was just mediocre. You should choose someone of a little more worth."
Even he laughed and said, "Perhaps you are right, but now, at my age to change my guru will not be very practical." He asked my Nani, "What do you think?"
My Nani, as ever true to her spirit, said, "It is never too late to change. If you see what you have chosen is not right, change it. In fact, be quick, because you are getting old. Don't say, ` I am old, so I cannot change.' A young man can afford not to change, but not an old man, and you are old enough."
And only a few years later he died, but he could not gather the courage to change his guru. He continued in the same old pattern. My grandmother used to poke him saying, "When are you going to change your guru and your methods?"
He would say, "Yes, I will, I will."
One day my grandmother said, "Stop all this nonsense! Nobody ever changes unless one changes right now. Don't say ` I will, I will.' Either change or don't change, but be clear."
That woman could have become a tremendously powerful force. She was not meant to be just a housewife. She was not meant to live in that small village. The whole world should have known about her. Perhaps I am her vehicle; perhaps she has poured herself into me. She loved me so deeply that I have never considered my real mother to be my real mother. I always consider my Nani to be my real mother.
Whenever I had to confess anything, any wrong that I had done to somebody, I could only confess it to her, nobody else. She was my trust. I could confide anything to her because I have come to realize one thing, and that is: she was capable of understanding. I must have done every kind of thing a person is capable of doing, and I would tell it to her at night. This was while I stayed with her, before I went to university.
I never slept at my mother's house. Although my grandmother had moved to the same village as the rest of the family after my grandfather's death, I would sleep there for the simple reason that I could tell her so many mischiefs that I had done during the day. She would laugh and say, "Well done! Great! Good! That man deserved it. Did he really fall into the well just as you said?"
I would say, "Yes, but he didn't die."
She said, "That's okay, but you managed to push him into the well?"
There was a well in our neighborhood, without any protecting wall. At night anybody could fall into it. I used to lead people towards it, and the man who had fallen in was none other than the sweetmaker. My mother -- my grandmother... I always forget because I consider her to be my mother. Better to call her Nani, so there is no misunderstanding. I told my Nani, "Today I managed to make that sweetmaker fall into the well." I can still hear her laughter. She laughed herself to tears.
She said, "That's very good, but is he alive or not?"
I said, "He is perfectly okay."
"Then," she said, "there is no problem. Don't be worried; that man deserved it. He mixes so many rubbishy things into his sweets, somebody had to do something about it." Later she told him, "Unless you change your ways, remember, you will fall into the well again and again." But she never said a single word to me about it.
I asked her, "Don't you want to say anything about it?"
She said, "No, because I have watched you from your very childhood. Even if you do something wrong, you do it so rightly, and at exactly the right moment, so that even a wrong becomes a right." It was she who told me, for the first time, that right in the hands of a wrong man becomes wrong; and wrong in the hands of a right man becomes right.
So don't be worried about what you are doing; remember only one thing: what you are being. This is a great question, about doing and being. All religions are concerned about doing; I am concerned with being. If your being is right, and by right I mean blissful, silent, peaceful, loving, then whatever you do is right. Then there are no other commandments for you, only one: just be. Be so totally that in the very totality no shadow is possible. Then you cannot do anything wrong. The whole world may say it is wrong, that does not matter; what matters is your own being.
I'm not worried about Christ being crucified, because I know even on the cross he was fully at ease with himself. He was so fully at ease that he could pray, "Father" -- that was his word for God. To be exact he did not even say "father," but "abba," which is far more beautiful. "Abba, forgive these people because they know not what they are doing." Again emphasize the word "doing" -- "what they are DOING." Alas, they could not see the being of the man on the cross. It is being that matters, the only thing that matters.
That moment in my life, asking the Jaina monk strange, irritating, annoying questions, I don't consider that I did anything wrong. Perhaps I helped him. Perhaps one day he will understand. If he had had courage he would have understood even that day, but he was a coward -- he escaped. And since then, this has been my experience: the so-called mahatmas and saints are all cowards. I have never come across a single mahatma, Hindu, Mohammedan, Christian, Buddhist, who can be said to be really a rebellious spirit. Unless one is rebellious one is not religious. Rebellion is the very foundation of religion.