Category: Swami Veda Bharati

[This is a transcript of recording #2474 from the series “Loving Meditations” (1984) by Pandit Usharbudh Arya (later Swami Veda Bharati). It was previously published in the November 2019 edition of the AHYMSIN Newsletter.]

One who is world-weary often needs no other instruction. His world-weariness, called vairagya (dispassion, disinterest) itself pulls him to something ever more interesting. And his spaces become infinite. By abandoning the finite, he gains the infinite. By throwing away the limited, he becomes endowed with unlimited riches, as one fortunate enough who may exchange his glass bead for a diamond. Such a one is truly blessed. And no one has to instruct him in the relative value of the glass bead and the diamond.

As he goes to this “Secret Grove” – remember the “Secret Grove” we found?¹ – again, and again, he discovers more interesting things about it: which blossom came, which tree bore fruit, which leaf died, where a bird sat, what shoots are cropping up, how the fragrances change with the seasons, how the earth smells after a drizzle in that grove. What silly people of the city do not understand is why he goes and runs to the wilderness and cannot be found. They think he is lost. He says he has found! And his mind turns again and again and again to the same inward grove, that fragrant garden. And whatever he looks at, whatever he observes, whatever he tastes, touches, smells, sees, hears reminds him of that which he has discovered within himself.

He is like a man who used to make arrows. From morning until night, he would make arrows. His mind was absorbed in making arrows. We have a saying in the ancient texts in the Upanishads: “Your mantra is the bow. Your Atman, your Spiritual Self, is the arrow. Set the arrow well on the bow and shoot. And as an arrow becomes one with its target, so let your Atman, the Spiritual Self, become one with the Supreme One who is the target of your shot. The arrow is the Self.”²

So this man used to make arrows. And he used to supply the whole army, and all the commanders, and even the king himself – whom he had never seen. He had heard of the king, but all he had seen was arrows. And one day the king came out in procession, going through the city. And the arrow-maker sat, making his arrows. And for a moment he glanced up, and he saw more arrows. And he kept looking at the arrows until the arrows passed. And the king’s policemen came to him and said, “The whole city rises, and the king passes, and you just sit there gaping?! Have you no respect for the king?!” And he said, “King? What king?” “You fool, the king who just passed in procession!” “Oh!” he said, “Was it the king who was bearing the arrows? I only saw the arrows that he was carrying in his quiver. I never saw any king. From morning till night, I make arrows. I have heard that these arrows have also been received well by the king. Something drew my attention, and I looked up, and I saw these arrows. And I was examining their quality and how they looked, and how the parts fit together. I had no idea there was a king passing by.”

The beautiful wife of a rich man of the city quarreled with him and walked out into the marketplace. A Buddhist monk, named Matisa – so say the Buddhist texts – sat meditating. He was going through one of those “applied” meditations that are so deeply and commonly taught in Buddhism. And his meditation was, at that moment, on the skeleton. Can you see your own skeleton – what you look like inside this plastic wrap? It’s one of the very profound Buddhist meditations. The beautiful woman passed. She was laughing. Her teeth were showing. The monk sat meditating on the skeleton. The rich man was looking for his wife with whom he had quarreled and had gone away. He went around the city looking for her and asked the monk, “Did you perchance see my beautiful wife?” The monk said, “Beautiful Wife?” “Yes,” said the husband. “She’s a very beautiful woman.” The monk said, “I saw someone’s teeth. I was meditating on a skeleton, and I did see a skeleton wrapped in skin. Of beauty I know nothing.” You might think this to be a little extreme but, you see, we all have our own notions of beauty.

Did I ever tell you the story of the two beautiful fishes? Anyone here knows that story, have heard it? No? Well, you know, we have these two rivers in India: the Ganga (Ganges) and the Yamuna – and they both flow from the Himalayan Mountains. And after flowing for some thousand miles, at a certain point they join together. It’s a very holy place. So a fish from the River Ganga (the Ganges) and a fish from the River Yamuna met at this confluence, as we often meet at confluences. How many confluences are there in our lives? And at those confluences we meet the fellow fish from other streams. So at that particularly holy confluence, a fish from the Ganges and a fish from the Yamuna met: “Where are you from?” “I’ve come down the Ganga River.” “Yeah, I have heard of you ugly fellows.” “What? Us ugly fellows? We have heard of you ugly fellows from the River Yamuna. Everybody knows who is ugly and who is beautiful.” “Us? We are the most beautiful fish anywhere in the world.” So there was a dispute as to whether the fish from the River Ganges or the fish from the River Yamuna were beautiful. Which one of those two was particularly more beautiful? So they said, “Let’s not fight here. Let’s get some arbitration.” So, that particular area of the river is well known for its turtles. So the two went to a turtle and said, “Sir, excuse us, please. We are sorry to disturb you. You are known for your wisdom” — because, you see, we have a saying in the Tradition that a turtle who withdraws all his limbs is like a wise man who withdraws all his senses. “We are very sorry to disturb your withdrawal, but would you please tell us which one of us two is the more beautiful?” And the turtle with his little neck looked this way on one, looked that way at the other, and looked at the two of them again the way that turtles look at things – and laughed. “What do you two have to do with beauty? If you want to see beauty, look at a turtle!”

So we all have our opinions about beauty and ugliness. And I don’t want to challenge your concept of beauty, but the monk Matisa, who was busy at that time meditating on a skeleton, saw a beautiful woman passing by laughing, and all he could see was the ultimate end of the body.

So your mind turns again and again and again to that truth that you cultivate. That is called bhavana. The word bhavana in Sanskrit has two meanings. One meaning is “to cultivate through contemplation,” to cultivate a certain thinking, to impress the same thing upon yourself, again and again and again, until it becomes your nature. And then you have a wholly altered worldview. The other meaning of the same word bhavana is “sentiment” – because all sentiment is something you have cultivated. If time permits, I’ll talk more about sentiments.

Quite often you may have cultivated a certain sentiment for a long time, but somewhere along the line your mind wanders. You become drawn to something other than what you were previously cultivating. You are sidetracked. You go through a diversion. You gather a different karma. You are born, you live in a new physical body, and sometimes for years nothing might happen. The world weighs heavy. The duties must be done. Exams must be passed. There is the serious business of growing up. There is marriage, children, a job – all of that. And if you do not do all of those things and do not take care of them, the karma weighs heavy, and you feel there is something, there is something, there is something yet to be done, yet to be done. And you sit down to meditate, and the mantra alternates with the words “yet to be done” – mantra, mantra mantra – “yet-to-be-done, yet-to-be-done, yet-to-be-done” – mantra, mantra, mantra – “yet-to-be-done, yet-to-be-done.” And so long as there are these “yet-to-be-dones,” in your meditation, this alternating of your mantra and your “yet-to-be-dones” will continue. And when you have all the yet-to-be-dones taken care of, then, like Krishna, you say,

3.22 – na me pārthāsti kartavyaṁ / triṣhu lokeṣhu kiṁchana
nānavāptam avāptavyaṁ / varta eva cha karmaṇi
3.23 – [yadi hyahaṁ na varteyaṁ / jātu karmaṇyatandritaḥ
mama vartmānuvartante / manuṣhyāḥ pārtha sarvaśhaḥ]³
3.24 – utsīdeyur ime lokā / na kuryāṁ karma ched aham
saṁkarasya cha kartā syām / upahanyām imāḥ prajāḥ

“O Arjuna, there is nothing in the whole universe that I have to do that is yet to be done, nothing that I have not yet attained that I have yet to attain. Yet I continue to perform actions. For beings everywhere follow my path and imitate me. Were I to cease to act, then all the worlds and all the beings will be removed from their rightful path.”
(Bhagavad Gita 3:22-24)

So when all the yet-to-be-dones are done, then the actual yet-to-be done begins. And that is compassionate uplifting of others. Then universal love begins.

So sometimes a person with intense spiritual commitment may be born and not be aware of that spiritual commitment for years and years and years of his life – never even think about it because he is too busy taking care of the past karma, the past debts that he has got to pay off. The woman he had promised to marry and did not marry – at a certain confluence they meet: “Excuse me. Have I ever seen you before?” “No.” “Did you live in Minneapolis?” “I’ve never been there.” “Hum? Very strange! You seem familiar.” Do you know that some people look like they looked in their past life? You would be surprised.

Among you sometimes I recognize some people who were my students. The subtle body shapes similar bodies. Do you know how the shape of the body comes? Oh, it comes from the genes; I forgot. I’m sorry. (Laughter). I’m trying to be scientific. I’m from the East, you know. (Laughter)

The thing is that the modern scientists explain the “how.” The spiritual scientists explain the “why.” And the “how” and the “why” have to combine to produce you, okay? The understanding of “why” does not cancel out the understanding of “how.” Nor should the understanding of “how” ridicule the understanding of “why.” Nor should the understanding of “why” make you so “holy” that you lose all understanding of “how.” You see?

So for years and years and years a person may proceed and carry on with the worldly activities. And at a certain juncture, when a certain heavy load of karma is already paid off – the large debts are already paid off – suddenly a “re-cognition” comes! Something somewhere reminds you. It may even be five minutes before the death of this body. It makes no difference. If five minutes before the death of this body, you have found your Self, then you have found! Life has been worthwhile.

There is the story of a man who was a carpenter. He was a carpenter who specialized in making the “bed legs.” That’s all he made all his life. So his name in Sanskrit is Khaṭvāṅga, which means “the leg of a cot.” Khaṭva = “cot.” So he was nicknamed “Cot-legs.” And all his life, Cot-legs the carpenter made cot legs. And the great sage came by and said, “Hey, Cot-legs!” “Yes, Sir?” “Put your tools away.” “I should put my tools away? Why should I put my tools away?” “Put your tools away. You’ve got only forty-eight minutes left.” “Forty-eight minutes? Forty-eight minutes to what?” “Forty-eight minutes to your death!” Cot-legs put his tools away and put his cot legs away. At that moment he put them away. He really “put them away!”

And when you put something away, put it away! We keep carrying the subtle body of everything with us. Do you follow? And that is our problem. So even at the happiest place, we cannot be happy. So when he put his cot legs and his hammer and his saw away, he really “put them away.” And when you have really “put them away,” what happens?

He said, “Death?” And he turned his mind inward. And for forty-eight minutes…because all his debts had already been paid through his whole life through his carpentry, through his work, through his service to the people. He had done it all intensely. It was already paid off. And when it was already paid off, then the saint appears on the scene, just forty-eight minutes before his death. And the word “death” reminds him of his reality. And he puts away the worldly tools, and he enters into himself. And in forty-eight minutes he achieved the highest realization, enlightenment, and died an enlightened man. “Cot-legs” the Carpenter. We read many such stories.

In the Sankhya system of philosophy, there is a famous name in all the Sankhya philosophy texts. Sankhya philosophy is the philosophy of discrimination – the discrimination between matter and spirit, between non-Self and Self. And in this particular tradition, among the highly realized, a name occurs: Piṅgalā the Prostitute⁴ – a very high name. They say, “May enlightenment come to like it did to Piṅgalā the Prostitute – in one evening!”

By the fact of some past karma, Piṅgalā lived the life of a prostitute. That was her life, that was her reality, her living, her survival. One day Piṅgalā put on all her makeup and her attractive clothes and stood outside her house, waiting for a possible customer to come by. Every time a man comes by, every time she sees a man coming down the road, she says in her mind, “This must be the rich man I’m waiting for.” The man passes by her and goes his way. She sees the next man coming. Her heart jumps with hope: “I hope he’s a rich man and he’s coming for me.” And he passes by. And her heart sinks. And the whole evening, she went inside the house, came out of the house, stood there – her heart jumping with expectation; her heart sinking with disappointment – jumping with expectation, sinking with disappointment until past midnight – her legs aching. And she went into her house, and she sat down, and she said, “What a life! – a series of expectations and disappointments, and expectations and disappointments. I’m weary! I’m world-weary! Even if I were to give up this particular type of life, would I then not have this continuous cycle of high expectations and really low disappointments, and expectations and disappointments? In no other kind of worldly life do I see myself delivered from these cycles of expectation and disappointment. What? Day after day? All the time? I have to keep living through this kind of an evening I have lived today no matter what I do? And immediately the realization came to her. That day, that moment she became world-weary – because that was the day that all of her karma was done! And one night, waiting for customers, and disappointed in that, Piṅgalā the Prostitute became enlightened.

There must be some hope for the likes us. You see, I go by this theory: “Others have been delivered, why won’t I be?” People say, “Others have been delivered, but one such as me has no hope.” Why not? In fact, when the right time comes, you’d better respond. There comes a moment in life when you have no alternative but to respond, for at that moment your life itself will be terminated. Because what you had to do with the physical body, so far as the worldly duties and the worldly desires are concerned, has already been done. And this body is of no use – except for spiritual pursuit.

There is a community in India called the Sikhs. The word sikh means a disciple. The founder of that particular line was a great guru named Nanak. One day Nanak, together with one or two of his disciples, realizing that right time had come, came to the house of a disciple – called upon him. The disciple’s name was Mulah. Mulah’s wife saw the guru coming, and she thought, “Here he comes. He’s going to take my husband away.” Now we have in India these cow-dung cakes, used for fuel. The cow-dung is shaped into cakes and dried. It’s a really very good fuel. It saves wood and is excellent. So where she used to keep the supply of these cow-dung cakes was the fuel storeroom. And she calls her husband and says, “Go hide in there.” So Mulah went and hid in there. So when Guru Nanak came to the door and asked for Mulah, she said, “Sorry, he isn’t home.” Guru Nanak knew what was going on and said, “Alright.” The guru left the village and sat outside the village under a tree, chatting with his other disciples, waiting for the bad news. And very soon the wife came, disheveled, crying her eyes out, because in that fuel storeroom where she had hidden her husband, he was bitten by a snake and had died. See? So when the call comes, it has to be responded to one way or another.

And as I was saying the day before yesterday, some people are lucky to have found fortune from misfortune. The story of a very holy family of the 13th century – the father, a very highly realized man, the mother, four children: Nirvṛttinath, Sopanath, Jñānadev and their sister Mukta. Going on a pilgrimage and through a forest, they saw a lion and ran helter-skelter – ran for their lives. And then they all united, except for the elder one, Nirvṛttinath. He could not be found. They thought, “Oh, he’s been lost in the forest, or eaten by a lion.” Chased by a lion, Nirvṛttinath runs into a cave, and his would-be guru Gahininath says, “Come in. I’ve been waiting for you.” Some are chased into the guru’s cave by a lion!

After some time Nirvṛtti came out, returned to the family, initiated his brothers and sister. His brother, writing his books, never mentions the name of his brother as a brother. Everywhere he refers to him as his guru. Nowhere does he say, “My brother taught me.” He speaks of his guru. And all of them, the brothers and the sister – enlightened! One of the brothers, Gandev, writes about the initiation of his sister. The commentator speaks of the death of the sister, but I don’t believe that. He is writing about the initiation, because the initiation is a death. He’s writing about the initiation of his sister by the elder brother, the guru: “The powder of pearls was thrown in the skies. There was a brilliant flash of lightning. The sky was clothed in beautiful purple. The brilliant blue point began to shine. A serpent’s young one” – Who is a serpent’s young one? “A serpent’s young one began to dance. In dazzling thunder, the lightning disappeared in itself.”

I wish I could read to you the writings of these great saints. Muktabai, the sister, tells us that she was leading merely a blindfolded life, but she was awakened to spiritual consciousness by the grace of Nirvṛtti, the brother, the guru. She compares the grace of Nirvṛtti to the bank of a river, across which, and by the help of which, she was able to swim to her goal. She tells us also that she saw an ant floating in the sky, and that this ant was able to devour the sun. “A great wonder it was,” she says, “that a barren woman gave birth to a child. The scorpion went to the underworld and the serpent fell at its feet. A fly was delivered and gave birth to a kite.” At these experiences, says Muktabai, she laughed. It’s a very highly symbolic language of internal experiences, somewhat similar to the “Showings” of Julian of Norwich. She asks us, “Who has been able to see the moonlight by the day, and the hot sunlight by night?” as she has. She tells us, “As the trees in the forest become fragrant by a sandalwood tree which is in the midst of them, similarly people begin to love God when there is a devotee in the midst of them.”

There are a lot of times when the sandalwood objects you buy are not sandalwood objects. They take ordinary wood and put it in between sandalwood. And the fragrance is imparted to the ordinary wood, which is then carved and sold as sandalwood. This example is always given to speak of the glories in grace and blessings that come through what we call satsanga, the love of the saintly, the company of the saintly – that in the company of the fragrant sandalwood, ordinary wood becomes as fragrant as sandalwood and fetches the price of sandalwood. So by ever sitting in the company of the pure and the saintly – who knows? – you too might pass for a saint. The beauty of it is that sometimes it is helpful – because sometimes you first begin to do saintly deeds because you have to keep up the image. (Laughter) Well and good – because after a while it becomes a habit. Habit becomes nature. Nature changes your personality. Your personality creates your destiny. Quite often a hypocrite ends up being a saint by this very process. No harm. Every donkey needs his carrot. (Laughter) We all need our carrots. We all need our hidden motivations. By whatever motivation you follow the path, follow it. Walk a little on it. Walk a little on it.

And it is not necessary – it is not even advisable – that you should abandon the yet-to-be-dones. The yet-to-be-dones must be done. And at the same time, in a hidden recess of your personality, your sadhana, your personal practice must go on. Sometimes it may take a long time. Sometimes just a little desire may linger.

One of the great siddhas… There is a list of 84 siddhas (adepts, accomplished ones) in the Tibetan tradition. One of them was Sarahapa. Sarahapa said to his wife, “Would you mind cooking today some radishes? Cooked radishes are really a very nice dish.” She said, “Fine,” and she went out to get the radishes. Now, waiting, waiting, Sarahapa went into samadhi. And it is said in the narrative that he went into samadhi and for twelve years he did not rise. And after twelve years, he opened his eyes, and his wife was around – twelve years older. He looked at her and said, “Where are my radishes?” “What?” his wife said, “In this season?” “What do you mean, ‘in this season’?” “Do you know what day and time and season it is?” He said, “What?” She said, “Since you asked for the radishes the last time, it’s been twelve years.” So twelve years passed, but the desire for radishes did not go. (Laughter). She said, “Twelve years you sit in samadhi, and you still ask me for radishes – and in the wrong season?”

So it is that a desire may linger. (Laughter) So if it’s only a desire for radishes, get the radishes cooked and eat them, and forget about it. Live in the world. Do your duties in the world, perform all your yet-to-be-dones, love senselessly, give selflessly.

Are you a little larger than this morning? This morning we said, “Try to become just a little larger.” Are you a little larger than this morning? That would be nice to hear.

And quite often not performing the worldly duties becomes the obstacle in the way of spiritual progress. Quite often, performing the worldly duties is no obstacle in the way of spiritual progress because in the inner recesses of your personality, there are very still places which always remain still, while on the exterior surface hectic activity continues. Without ceasing the hectic activity, learn to enter the still places.

Some people are successful only in this world. Some people are successful only in the other-worldly matters. How about being successful in both? That is the highest ambition. Some of the highest names in metaphysics are of the tradition called the Royal Sages in the Sanskrit texts, the kings who are sages, the kings who were highly enlightened – that the hermits sent their disciples to study in the palace, rather than the princes [of the palace] going to the [forest] ashram. There is such a tradition! There is a tradition of the gurus from the ashram sending their sons and disciples to study in the palace from the king to learn metaphysics. And these are the highest names, those teachers.

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Editor’s Note

¹⁾ For “the Secret Grove,” see Swami Veda’s talk, entitled “Your Own Secret Grove by the River” (#2473) in this same series of talks: Loving Meditations (1984).

²⁾ “Holding the bow of Upanishadic wisdom, the aspirant should fix the arrow of mind, sharpened with meditation, on its target. Draw the string with full absorption and shoot at the target. O my friend, remember immutable, eternal Truth alone is the target.” Chapter 2, Canto 2, Verse 3 in Wisdom of the Ancient Sages: Mundaka Upanishad by Swami Rama.

³⁾ Swami Veda does not recite Bhagavad Gita 3.23 in Sanskrit; however, he does include the essence of this verse in his English translation. Elsewhere he has translated these three verses of the Bhagavad Gita as follows:

3.22 – O Son of Pritha, in all the three worlds I have nothing that is yet to be done,
nothing not attained or yet to be attained; yet I, indeed, continue in action.
3.23 – If I were perchance not to continue in action without lassitude, O Son of Pritha,
and since all human beings follow my path in every way,
3.24 – All these worlds would perish if I were not to perform action;
I would be the cause of disorder and would kill all these beings.

⁴⁾ The story of Piṅgalā the Prostitute is found in the Srimad-Bhagavatam, Canto 11, Chapter 8, Verses 22-44.

The thoughts arise in the mind not from the outside, but because they are present in the mind, both as potential in the raw material of memory and the subconscious, and on the conscious surfaces; whatever you have stored in the jar will be seen when you lift the lid. It is like a person who uses a large can to put his garbage in day and night. After many years of this, a visitor tells him that he has some precious diamonds at the bottom of the can. The person begins to search for these diamonds, and, as he puts in his hand, what he finds all the way through is garbage. He keeps his hand in the garbage for five minutes and, becoming despondent, withdraws the dirty arm and says, “I shall look for diamonds again tomorrow.” But for the next twenty-three hours and fifty-five minutes, he continues to pour more garbage into that very can. Again, next morning he looks for the diamonds for five minutes and then continues to throw some garbage in. If, for twenty-three hours and fifty-five minutes a day you add to your mind all the confused and involved complexities of relationships, reactions and anxieties, then in five minutes of meditation you will come face to face with these very things. To purify meditation, purify life. Many people are afraid to meditate for fear of these thoughts arising. But sometimes they manage to overcome their fears and say, “Well, maybe there are diamonds there, and if there really are diamonds, I am a rich man; I’ll try it.” So they look inward and find what they have placed in the mind all the twenty, thirty, forty years of their life indiscriminately. But thank God these thoughts do arise because through them, if you are wise, you become aware of the content of your mind and you see what level of purification you have to work for. The random thoughts arising in meditation should be regarded as part of a purge and you can aid the process of purgation as soon as you become aware of the presence of an undesirable thought.

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Editor’s Note

This is an excerpt from Superconscious Meditation by Pandit Usharbudh Arya, 4th printing 1989, Chapter “Problem Thoughts in Meditation,” pages 89 – 90. Pandit Usharbudh Arya became Swami Veda Bharati, and the author of the book is sometimes listed as Swami Veda Bharati.

[This is a transcript from the lecture series: “Unblocking Yourself” given by Swami Veda Bharati. It was previously published in the July 2019 edition of the AHYMSIN Newsletter.]

People are interested in finding out how we free ourselves; how we unbind ourselves from our state of bondage. It is easier to loosen the knots if you know the structure of the knot; then you don’t have to spend hours unraveling it. In the process getting more knots and binding ourselves in new ways. If we understand the process by which we bind ourselves, two things will happen. First, it will be easier for us to loosen the existing knots, and second we’ll avoid tying further knots in the future. The process of coming into bondage daily, every new bondage, each day, is a subtle and sinister one.

We do not even notice when we start tying ourselves in this bundle of knots nor do we notice how we keep tightening the knots. We find ourselves in a certain mental habit, and then we say, “I am unable to get out of this habit; this is the way I now am. There is a certain kind of thing I simply cannot do.” A sense of defeat occurs. Each time you say, “Such and such I simply cannot do,” you are impressing upon your mind that very habit. You are forming another knot, the knot of defeatism. By such means our thinking becomes constrained. We want to feel free of a situation, of a habit, of a condition, an environment that is around us, a certain something that is blocking progress in a given relationship, that we remain stuck, tied up in a knot.

In families for instance, the same argument will occur over and over and over again for years and years. Husband keeps saying the same thing to the wife for ten years, twenty years; wife keeps saying the same thing to the husband twenty years, thirty years. They should celebrate the anniversary of when, “Darling, I said this nasty thing to you first time.” We have made ourselves into tape recorders, and the same tape keeps playing in the head. In our words, our letters, our actions and all our compositions of life’s rhythms – music symphonic and noises cacophonic—the same tape continues. Sometimes we catch ourselves, “What have I been saying? What have I been doing, sleepwalking?” Sometimes we catch ourselves and with the realization of how many years we have been saying something, comes also the questioning of our spouse,

“Don’t you understand I’ve been saying the same thing to you for twenty years, and you still don’t understand. It’s all your fault.” I’m sorry, it’s the other way around – it’s the speaker’s fault, not the spouse.

We are always so defensive. We always have a ready explanation for everything: for all our flaws, for all our faults, for all our failures, for all our lack of freedom. We don’t realize when we first set the trap for ourselves. The great Tagore wrote a poem¹ which goes something like this:

“Prisoner, tell me, who was it that bound you?”

“It was my master,” said the prisoner. “I thought I could outdo everybody in the world in wealth and power, and I amassed in my own treasure-house the money due to my king. When sleep overcame me I lay upon the bed that was for my lord, and on waking up I found I was a prisoner in my own treasure-house.”

“Prisoner, tell me, who was it that wrought this unbreakable chain?”

“It was I,” said the prisoner, “who forged this chain very carefully. I thought my invincible power would hold the world captive leaving me in a freedom undisturbed. Thus night and day I worked at the chain with huge fires and cruel hard strokes. When at last the work was done and the links were complete and unbreakable, I found that it held me in its grip.”

Such traps are so subtle, so sinister, that we don’t realize when we have begun to entrap ourselves. By a single word, by a single thought; which word, which thought; thought first, the word after, and that the third. Which thought, which word, which act we have planted as a seed, then we water it with more thought, more words and more acts. When we have uprooted all the sweet melons and planted all the bitter gourds, we then complain that the garden produces nothing ‘sweet. We need to recognize these traps. They consist of constrained thoughts, limited thoughts, negatives, and denials of all kinds.

There are limitations of place binding our minds. There are limitations of time placed on our mind. There are limitations of geography, nations, states, religions, belief systems, cultures, languages, and, above all, our own personal experiences. We believe that the experiences we have had are the only valid ones for us, “I have become what I am because of the experiences I have had. I have not become something more or better because of the experiences I was deprived of. My father was a child abuser; that is why I simply cannot keep my hands away from the rod and take every opportunity of beating my child. It is not my fault.” I do not accept them.

People say, “Well, I had a shock early in my life, when I was young and innocent. It was from that shock that I never recovered and that makes me who I am.” But the Buddha had three shocks in his life, one after the other, and that’s what made him the Buddha.

The Buddha had three shocks in his life, one after the other, and that’s what made him the Buddha.

He had three shocks in his life: when the Buddha was born his mother was on a journey. Swamiji, our guru, says, “The Buddha was born under a tree, was enlightened under a tree, and, though a prince, he died under a tree.”

This was a peculiar time in the history of the world. It was a time, sixth century B.C., when the Buddha, the Enlightened One, was teaching in India, and Lao-tse was teaching his message of the Tao and wrote the Tao Te Ching in China. It was the time when Pythagoras established the first philosophical academy in the West. He founded the Western system of philosophy, music and mathematics, initiated Western civilization. He also taught reincarnation. It was a time Pythagoras, first founder of western metaphysics.

You know Pythagoras’s Theorem is found in Sanskrit texts eight centuries before Pythagoras’s time. He had left the island of Samos because of the tyranny of the kind and had wandered off, says Herodotus, to the countries of the east, and then returned to Greece, the island of Samos in Greece, in the Aegean Sea. It was a time when Zarathustra, also known as Zoroaster was teaching in Iran. So it was a very peculiar time in the history of the world. The Egyptian civilization was decaying at that time; there is no record of a great teacher in Egypt. The pre-Muslim Iranian civilization was ascendant at that time. And the Indian civilization and the Chinese civilization, there was no Western civilization as yet; it was just beginning to start.

So when Buddha, the Enlightened One, was born, seven sages visited him and prophesied that he would either be the king of the whole earth or he would be an enlightened one. He was a prince, and his father had no use for a son who would don the robes of a monk and wander about preaching with a begging bowl in hand. That would be an ignominy, an insult to the royal house.

So the father, the king, made sure that the Buddha heard nothing of metaphysics, no ugly news of the world, and that he came across nothing that was unpleasant. They put the child prince in a huge orchard in a lovely grove surrounded by four walls in the greatest comfort possible, so he would have only positive views about worldly comforts. As the prince grew they surrounded him with beautiful maidens from all over the kingdom, and covered him with jewelry, gems, garlands and necklaces.

His teachers were surprised that he had to be taught so little. Because he had wisdom, he didn’t need intellect. Wisdom is the easy part of education. When you do a mathematical problem, you like to learn what rules apply. A wise man, before learning how to do the mathematical problem, learns how to use the mind. Your whole education system, you have never been taught how to use your mind. Not on intellectual, nor psychological, philosophical or scientific problems, nor on your emotions or your relationships. There is no training on how to use the mind, which is the science of all sciences.

If you are born with the innate wisdom of how to use the mind you will learn all the principles of mathematics in one-tenth the time that anyone else would take to learn. You will not have to go to business school, and yet you will make the best business man. What business school does is constrain you.

What the schools of social sciences do is to give you a certain view outside which you can’t see. So when you have a problem in mathematics, go to someone who does not know mathematics, he is more likely to solve it for you. Go to a philosopher who knows the art and science of how to use the mind. He will interpret the problem in terms of philosophy and will answer it in terms of philosophy. You can then translate it back into the terms of mathematics. The would-be Buddha, born as prince Siddhartha, would attend classes only because he had to.

When the time came to test him in all the princely sciences, he excelled in them all. When time came for him to be tested in archery, though he did not practice, he picked his bow, picked his arrow and in the first attempt shot right into the eye of the target. While others learned how to use the bow, how to use the arrow, how to take aim at the target and how exactly to shoot, he learned how to use the mind.

When it was time for the prince to be taken out in procession so the would-be subjects could see the crown prince and he, in turn, could be exposed to his subjects for the first time, strict orders went out from the king to the police chief saying, “Nothing ugly, nothing unpleasant, nothing depressing about this world must cross the prince’s eye. Nothing at all.” The city gleamed, every door had flower garlands and wreaths; water was sprinkled on all the dusty streets. Lampposts were erected along the prince’s route and women stood on balconies showering flower petals on the prince as he passed by. Musicians marched in front of the prince on his royal elephant. The prince, inspecting his kingdom for the first time, was amazed at all the sights and sounds: he’d never before been outside the boundaries of his palace.

“What’s that?” asked the prince.

“Oh, nothing, Prince; nothing at all.”

“What is it, what? Why is that man not walking on his own?

Why is he being supported by others?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, Prince,” said the ministers. They were afraid of violating the king’s orders. “It’s nothing, Prince; these are not matters for your attention. Look instead at all the beautiful women sprinkling flowers on your head and realize how this kingdom loves you.”

“Oh, Prince, he’s just sick.”

“Sick? What’s that?”

“Well, it’s… well, it’s something that happens to the body.”

“Oh. Why did it happen to him?”

“Oh, it can happen to anybody.”

“Can it happen to me? To this body also?”

“Well, Prince, yes. It can happen to you.”

“To this handsome young body that everyone claims to love?” The prince was shocked and saddened. He cut the procession short and returned to the palace. He contemplated on the knowledge of this body that can get sick; how that man was sick and was being carried by others. He could not walk. Whatever for? Why does this happen?

The king, his father, arranged some entertainment for him to help him forget that which he had seen. The police chief must have been demoted, for permitting such a shock. “Why?” The question was not answered.

Later, when the King thought that the prince had forgotten the incident, he decided it was time for him to see the prosperous kingdom once more. So the prince once again went out in procession to see the well-prepared city. The prince, Siddhartha, is happy; he’s overjoyed. Everything is wonderful, the people love him, and he likes the music being played. Then his glance falls. Once again, it is said in the Buddhist scriptures, it was all the contrivance of the gods; it was no human being, it wasn’t the police chief’s fault. The gods and angels wanted to aid in the prince’s enlightenment and so had taken the form of an old man, an old man with a bent back walking with a staff. The second shock occurred, “What is that?”

“Oh, he’s old,”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, it means he’s lived many years.”

“Oh, so everybody blesses me, ‘May the prince live long. Long live the prince.’ And I thought that was something beautiful, something great, something wonderful. That man has lived long. How long has he lived?”

“Well, maybe eighty years.”

“Eighty years? So that is what happens when people live long?”

The ministers tried to deflect the questions and avoid answering directly. But the prince asked probing questions, “You can tell me.”

“Well, yes, that is what happens, that is how the body goes when one gets old.”

“Everyone gets that way?”

“Well, prince, yes they do get old.”

“I will get old?”

“Well, prince, everyone,”

The prince was saddened and came back home. He was given more entertainment. And a third time, he went out and saw not a sick man, not an old man, but someone lying prone and being carried on four shoulders.

“What is that?”

“Oh, prince, you don’t want to look at such a thing. Look at the lovely faces of all the healthy people here.

“No, no, no, tell me why that man is being carried on a stretcher?”

“Oh, he’s dead.”

“Dead? What’s that?”

“The life has gone out of him.”

“The life has gone out of him? Why has life gone out of him?”

“Well, when people have lived very long, they become sick, they become old, and then they die.

“What are they going to do with him?”

“Bury him, cremate him.”

“Is that what they do? Is that what they will do with this handsome body also? Is this the end of everything?”

“Well, prince, you have very long to live.” The prince came back. He was entertained even more enthusiastically and zealously. And a fourth time when he was taken out in procession, his glance fell on a shining, happy face, a glowing brilliant face. It was someone wearing orange robes, and with a shining face with the splendour of the sun; cheerful with no depression and no sadness possible in that face. “Who is that?”

“Well, prince, he’s a sannyasi, a swami, a monk.”

“Why in this world full of misery?” he says, “In this world full of misery,” he says, “in this world full of sickness, old age and death, how can that man be so cheerful, so glowing, and so happy? It looks like the sun itself has incarnated. What makes him happy? I want to find out.”

“No prince, you have many princely duties, you don’t want to find out.” The ministers were all trembling fearing what the king would do because a monk came within the sight of the prince. The prophecy might come true, that the prince might become an enlightened man instead of king of the whole world.

One night Prince Siddhartha walks out of his palace. He called his charioteer, Chandaka by name. “Prepare my horse.” The groom accompanied him for a while, and then Siddhartha turned him back saying, “Tell my family that one day I will return.” The king, the father, waited. His son grew up without a father. His wife waited. Years passed.

Forty-nine days and forty-nine nights in meditation Prince Siddhartha sat absolutely still. When he opened his eyes from the forty-nine days of meditation, being enlightened, do you know what he said? The first words he said were, “Aha. Aha, I’ve found the house maker. He shall no more build me a house.” That’s what he said. He was enlightened and became Buddha. He broke the bonds and loosened the knots. The knot of the heart was burst; all doubts sundered. The force of karmas dwindled, and that One who is beyond and in the universe was seen.

This house of clay is that in which you live, and that to which you keep returning in many shapes and forms in incarnation after incarnation, until you no longer need it. Buddha said, “I’ve found the house maker. He shall no more build me a house.” He gathered a band of followers and monks around him and traveled and taught. The news of him traveled to his father’s kingdom.

One day the Enlightened One decided to visit his old kingdom. The news went to his father, an old man now, “Your son is returning, your son is coming.” How the father was overjoyed. His son was also overjoyed. The city was prepared. Once again it was preened, roads were sprinkled with water, and garlands and wreaths were hung on every door. When will the prince enter? In his own good time; perhaps tomorrow. Right now he is out in a monastic camp, away from the city, because monks were not allowed to enter the city except to beg for their alms. When tomorrow came, someone ran to the Buddha’s father saying, “Majesty, your son already entered the city.”

“How can that be? I wanted to go to receive him, but no one told me.”

“Sire, he came early in the morning. And he’s been begging.”

“What!”

“Your son has been begging; your son the prince has been begging from the citizens. He’s begging for food!”

“My son? My illustrious son who was to be the king of this kingdom, he’s begging for food?”

“Yes, he comes and he begs for his food. He takes in only one bowl full of whatever people give him and goes away. Once a day he begs, and that is all he receives.”

The father, King Suddhodana, trembling with shock and rage, sent a message to the one whom he still claimed as his son, the crown prince. He says, “There is no greater pleasure for me than that you return to this kingdom, but what is this about your going out and begging from your own citizens? Have you forgotten your illustrious lineage of solar kings? Have you forgotten and brought shame to our house?”

The Buddha sent back a reply typical of an Enlightened One only. He said, “Father, I have not forgotten the lineage to which I belong. I am very true to my illustrious inheritance. I am very true to the lineage of all the past Buddhas whose path I follow.” That is the reply he sent. And then the Buddha initiated his own son, who was the second in the line of succession after him, into monastic path. “He is my true son. He is my spiritual son.”

¹⁾ From Rabindranath Tagore’s Gitanjali

The mastery of a particular method of meditation is judged in these ways:

1. I can sit well and enjoy sitting, which I did not do in the beginning.
2. When I am sitting still, my body, mind and nerves are relaxed.
3. Fewer and fewer random thoughts, fantasies or false visions arise.
4. When these thoughts, etcetera, do arise, they are of gradually shorter durations and weaker intensity.
5. The mind is free of them for progressively longer and longer durations – to be counted initially not in hours but in minutes.
6. Consequently, I have a greater feeling of quietness and stillness:
   1. during meditation, and
   2. after arising from meditation
7. After arising from meditation, my feeling of calm and peace, as well as my awareness of my breath and repetition of the mantra continue deeper and longer through my daily activities.
8. I reach a certain plateau much more quickly after sitting than I did before.
9. In my daily activities, I have the desire to return for meditation more often.
10. During my daily activities, my breath awareness, mantra, and meditative state, or just my poise and calm, return to me frequently.
11. The depth I experience in the presence of a teacher when he is giving a group or person to person meditation, is a depth I begin to touch on my own, gradually at first, and then without fail.
12. As my depth in meditation is increasing, certain guidance in establishing more peaceful personal relationships is taking place. My ideas of morality, violence, non-violence, diet and other areas of the life style are changing. I am undisturbed by little things and not overjoyed by small successes, achievements and little gains, nor am I depressed as often as before at little failures.

An additional test will be a reduced desire for and expectation of thrilling experiences, sights and sounds in meditation. The path of meditation is one of tranquility and calm and not of adventure trips.

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Editor’s Note

This is an excerpt from the book Superconscious Meditation by Pandit Usharbudh Arya (who became Swami Veda Bharati), 2nd edition 4th printing – 1989, The Himalayan International Institute of Yoga Science and Philosophy of the U.S.A., pages 112 – 113.

It is in this tradition that we find saint-philosophers like Shankaracharya who began writing his commentaries at the age of sixteen.

Sanatsujata was another such saint. His date is lost in antiquity. Regarded as one of the twenty-four incarnations of God in orthodox Hinduism, he was one of four brothers who are equally venerated in the scriptural tradition and to whom have been ascribed the eternal purity of childhood and youth. Their names are Sanaka, Sanandana, Sanatana and Sanatkumara. Sanatsujata is another name of Sanatkumara. According to the Puranas, all four roamed about as adepts at the age of five, teaching their disciples.

In the Chändogya Upanishad (7.1-26) Rishi Narada asks Sanatkumara for instruction. Sanatkumara inquires about what he has already studied. Narada replies that he has studied the four Vedas, phonetics, ritual, grammar, etymology, poetics, astronomy, the physical sciences, and so on. But I have not yet crossed the channel of sorrow. I have heard from preceptors like yourself that he who knows the atman can so cross; would you therefore help me across this channel of sorrow?

Sanatkumara says:

All that you have said is only words; the wise man rises above name and form…

and proceeds with more detailed instruction.

In the Puranas and Mahabharata, there are numerous episodes of Sanatkumara imparting his knowledge to sages and kings. One such episode is recounted by Bhishma in Moksha-dharma-parvan of Mahabharata (chapter 329, verses 5-60). Narada narrates to Çuka (another child sage, son of Vyasa) how Sanatkumara taught the munis and rishis. This narrative contains such gems as these (paraphrased here):

The fleshless ones do not suffer and grieve. Therefore one should renounce the self’s flesh. Abandoning the flesh, O Saumya, be liberated from the burning of sorrows. (21)

A silkworm wraps itself with a cocoon of its own making and is thereby destroyed. Why do you not wake up seeing yourself in the same situation as that of such a cocoon-maker? (28-29)

Renounce virtue, renounce vice. Renounce both truth and untruth. Having renounced both truth and untruth, renounce that wherewith you renounce. (40)

Such sayings of the immortal sages still need to be collected and translated.

In those days, and up to very recently in the history of Indian civilisation, no hostile acts were permitted at night. Soldiers picked up weapons only after morning prayers, which was a daily duty, and laid them down for evening prayers. In the night, enemies might even feast with each other on occasion.

Doffing their armour, the five Pandavas and Krishna, weapon-less, go to Bhishma and honour him by placing their heads at his feet, as if entering a refuge.

“Welcome, welcome to each of you.” Bhishma addresses each one by name. “What service can I give you today that would be pleasing to you? I will do even the most difficult task for you with my whole self.”

Yudhisthira says to him in a very loving and pitiful voice:

You know everything, Sir. How can we win?
How can we gain the kingdom without endangering our progeny?
You yourself, tell us the way you would die.
How can we withstand you in the battlefield?
We cannot find the minutest weak point in you, the tiniest aperture to get through.
Your bow is like a mystic design, a mandala,
When you hold it, set it, pull the strings,
We see you on the chariot like the great sun’s twin.
Just advise us how we may defeat you, how the destruction
Of our armies can be stopped. How can I gain the kingdom?

Bhishma replies, “There is no way that you could win while I am alive. I am telling you the truth, and you all know it yourselves. If you manage to defeat me, then, and only then, will you win the war. Therefore, organise your attack on me soon if you wish to gain victory in this war. I permit you, attack at your pleasure.”

Yudhisthira asks again how they might go about doing this very thing which they have not failed in doing for so many days. Bhishma now counsels them seriously, “I do not fight someone who has thrown away his weapons, has fallen, has lost his armour or flag, is running away, is scared, or who says ‘I am yours.’ I do not fight a woman, someone with a woman’s name, someone who is maimed, has only one child, or is an ignoble person.”

Readers of the Mahabharata will recall that Draupadi’s brother, Shikhandi, was born a girl and had later become a boy. Bhishma always regarded him as a girl even though he was now a warrior fighting on the Pandava side. Bhishma advises Arjuna to place Shikhandi in front of the latter in the chariot and to shoot from behind Shikhandi so that Bhishma will not be able to return the attack. The Pandavas gratefully honour Bhishma, who has, through his counsel, taken initiation to enter the next world. The Pandavas return to their camp. Arjuna is in despair:

Our elder, our Guru, he of cultivated wisdom and great intelligence,
How will I fight my grandfather in this way in battle?
In childhood I would come with limbs all muddy after play,
Upsetting him by looking like this …!
Yes, as a child I climbed on the lap of the great–souled one
And called him “Tata, Daddy”
And he too would say, “Not your father’s, but your father am I.”
Better to let him destroy my whole army.
I will not fight against that great soul
Whether I win or lose my own life.
But Krishna, what do you think?

Thus Arjuna repeatedly echoes the earlier sentiments of The Bhagavad Gita 1.8. Krishna again uplifts Arjuna from the mire of depression, reminding him of his duty, so that the depressed mood of his friend and disciple does not disturb the Lord’s divine plans for Bhishma.

The next day, in the battle, Arjuna follows Bhishma’s advice and by the end of the day not two fingerbreadths of Bhishma’s body are without an arrow sticking into them. Finally he falls. It is said, that at the moment of his fall, as he stumbles from his chariot, some divine force enters him. He becomes part of the divine essence so that when he falls, he does not touch the ground. The arrows stick, and he is supported on them. He sees that the sun is not yet in the right place for him to leave his body. A yogi waits for all the forces of the universe to be in a certain harmonious position with his own spirit before he drops the body. Because Bhishma knows the relationship of prana with the sun, and sees that the sun is not yet in the right place, he will not yet depart.

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Editor’s Note

This passage has been taken from the book titled Mahabharata’s Bhishma, Death Your Servant: Examples from a World Classic by Swami Veda Bharati.

It must be admitted, not tongue-in-cheek, but without hesitation and with conviction, that there are forces besides human ones that are the fountainhead from which all urge to worship proceeds, and which further teach all ‘chosen peoples’ in all centuries and all nations even the way to worship. It is their presence that is the unifying stream among all our religions. It is not mere Jungian theory we reiterate; rather we are emphasising the deep personal spiritual experience that has guided all branches of humanity in tandem and in parallel streams throughout history. It is because of this common source in the Divine Forces that so many symbols, forms, rituals, and verbal or art forms are shared among religions. Homage to these Forces of No-names and All Names!

Religion is (a) experienced internally and (b) is expressed, shared, externally to influence social functions at many different levels simultaneously. It is so because it derives its impulse from many different areas and states of human mind that do not often operate cohesively. Yet in the background there remains a trans-mental divine and spiritual source from which it originates as revelation and inspiration. The original inspiration may become sullied. Divergences could enrich. Instead, they often divide, because of the states of mind of later followers. The common stream of inspiration, however, is never lost and continues to show itself throughout human experience, guiding human beings to much that is noble, beautiful, non-violent, harmonious, and infinitely loving.

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Editor’s Note

This passage has been taken from the booklet titled Unifying Streams in Religions by Swami Veda Bharati, published by Himalayan Yoga Publications Trust.

No doubt, many readers are going to try to guess the “meaning” of their mantra merely on the basis of the scanty and incomplete information provided here. The mind simply does not want to move out of the grooves of a coarse association between a word and an external object at best and a mere translated sentence at worst. Unless the philosophy of language and syllables as we have explained above is understood, the practice of mantra will be misunderstood.

Ultimately it is not understanding but spiritual realization that matters, and it occurs only when the practice itself goes deep. The knowledge of the secret of mantras is received in the guru-disciple tradition, either as an experience imparted by the guru, or during one’s meditations. In addition, the personal instruction is passed on in bhuta-lipi, literally, script of the spirits, or script from the past. It is in fact a way of passing on the code concerning the mantras. Since it is impossible to give a complete detailed explanation about any mantra, and only someone initiated at a certain level can even comprehend the instruction, those specially entitled to the knowledge are taught in bhuta-lipi, which is both:

A sign language going back to pre-Vedic times, and a system of code-words in which the detailed knowledge is passed on in a very condensed or oblique form, understood only by the initiate of that level.

Some of this code is so universal that the key to the symbols and scripts of many ancient civilizations can only be discovered by understanding this code. For example, take the choice of colour in an ancient mural, equate it with the particular syllable associated with that colour, and you have a message! But the purpose of this work is limited to convey only what would be helpful to an initiate in the modern daily life. We do not pursue knowledge as information merely to satisfy a curiosity.

Is it then necessary that one should laboriously learn the Sanskrit language in order to understand the mantra? Furthermore, in what way can we differentiate the revealed nature of Sanskrit from the similar claims made by Hebrew of the Old Testament, Arabic of the Holy Quran, or even Latin? Let us attempt to answer these questions.

The Sufi tradition that shares much with Yoga and Vedanta wears the external garb of Quranic Islam while remaining above doctrinaire religions, and bases its teaching on direct experience. It developed in the countries of Central Asia (now under Russian occupation) which were centres of the Yoga and Buddhist learning before the take-over by Islam. It is interesting to note that some of the central chants of the Sufi tradition are similar to those of Tibet, for example, the deep Hum or Ho in the Allaho, reverberated from the heart centre. There are secrets within the Quran that are not understood by the commentators…

…In other words, the tradition of the Sufis cannot be seen as separate from the entire revelatory experience of humankind. The method of finding deeper meanings behind syllabic sounds is followed among the Sufis as it is among the students of Kabbalah. It is therefore to be concluded that so far as the method of unveiling a sacred utterance through experiential understanding is concerned, the traditions of Yoga, Sufism and Kabbalah all agree.

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Editor’s Note

This passage has been taken from the book titled Mantra and Meditation by Swami Veda Bharati, published in 1981 by The Himalayan International Institute of Yoga Science and Philosophy of the U.S.A. Note: This book is sometimes sold with the author’s name listed as Usharbudh Arya, Swami Veda’s name before sanyas.

If you are not doing well, your meditation must not have been doing well. Use your meditative tools for your success; don’t use competitiveness for your success. Don’t use competitiveness for your success; use your meditative tools for your success. See? In skillful action there is no competitiveness. Put aside that.

The only competitiveness is in the story, a very well-known story of Akbar and Birbal. Akbar is a great Mogul, the emperor of India, and he administered very, very intelligently, wise and witty, wise and witty; and a minister named Birbal. There are all sorts of anecdotes about them.

Everybody was jealous of this Birbal because the emperor was a Muslim; Birbal was a Hindu. And “How come this heretic is being given such prominence?” and so on, and so on. So there were mullahs around who were so very jealous of him. So they asked the emperor, “Well, how come you give him such honor and so on. He’s not even one of us?”

He said, “All right, I’ll answer you later.”

So a day or two later, the emperor came to the court and said to his counselors, “Well, Counselors, today I have a problem for you all to solve.” So he drew a line on a board, and he said, “Anyone here, would you please shorten that line?”

So it was very simple for anybody to get up and erase a part of the line. It’s shorter.

“No no, no. I don’t want anybody to touch that line. Don’t do anything! Don’t touch that line, but I want you to shorten that line.”

Well, how do you shorten a line without touching it?

And so every counselor and every minister and everybody in the court tried, and they couldn’t figure out a way to shorten the line without touching it. So at the end, he said, “Give up? Birbal, come on. Shorten that line without touching it.”

Birbal said, “Your majesty, may I have your chalk please?” Birbal takes the chalk and he draws a longer line: “Your majesty, your line is shorter.”

And that alone, anything, anywhere in life, that alone should be the rule for your competitiveness. Draw your line longer. Don’t bother with somebody else’s line. If you know to discover what your utmost capacities are, you just work with those capacities. And you don’t have to say anything. You don’t need to compete. You don’t need to downgrade somebody, you know. You don’t ever discourage somebody. You don’t ever speak ill of someone. You don’t have to be angry with them. None of that. You just find your utmost in capacity, to the optimum benefit of everybody, taking care of all the other balancing factors, and do the best. You write an examination; you’re not going around checking what everybody else is writing. Whatever best you know you can, you do that.

So what’s the competition about? And if you have that view, and with that for your success, use the meditation tool. The deeper and more intensive your meditation grows the more your work will succeed. This formula is a time-tested formula. And if you’re having problems, ask for a spiritual practice. And intensify that. These are the subtler forces that the meditator connects to. Just learn to connect to those interior forces. All right?

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Editor’s Note

This is a transcript of a talk.

सौम्या सौम्यतराशेष सौम्येभ्यस्त्वतिसुन्दरी ।
परापराणां परमा त्वमेव परमेश्वरी ॥
तारे तुत्तारे तुरे स्वाहा.

saumyā saumyātarāśeṣa saumyebhyas tvati sundarī ,
parāparāṇāṁ paramā tvameva parameśvarī.
tāre tut tāre ture svāhā.

From Swami Veda’s previous talks and writings

The purpose of this observance is to establish and enhance the peacefulness in the hearts and minds of Gurudeva’s disciples and thereby to strengthen a bond of good heartedness among all beings…only for the pleasure of Gurudeva.

This mantra is addressed to the Divine Mother as Saumyā, Divine Mother as soothing, gentle, moonlike peacefulness. It is used as a special mantra for the cultivation of these aspects of personality. The mantra occurs in Caṇḍī, or Devī-mahātmya, (I.62 or 71, depending on the edition) an important text in the tantric part of our tradition.

This particular observance that I am requesting our Gurudeva’s discipleship to undertake for the next three year has the purpose of bringing about peacefulness within each mind, radiating first into the personal family, then into the entire Guru family AND then into the larger global family. The normal rule is that while such an observance is going on there should be no controversial or confrontational thought. Not even one thought, leave along a word or action on the part of those who are undertaking such an observance.

Even though we have declared a purpose for that observance, we do it without expectation. We do it simply as surrender to the divinity. It is ‘Guru Prityartham’, that is, ‘for the pleasure of the divine Guru spirit’, to invoke the Guru spirit’s grace. It is with this intent of self-purification that I have requested that all collectively undertake this observance.

I strongly recommend that you read about these special japa observances in SVB’s booklet titled “Special Mantras“.

If you are presently doing some special practice, (purashcharana), then for this period of three years, continue with that purashcharana and you may do only one mala of the Saumya mantra, or as many as you are capable of doing.

Although the mantras are done for their sound vibration, they may carry a translation. Then there may be translations within translations going down to thousands of depths. I will give you here the shallowest level of translation.

The first word “Saumya” is a feminine word referring to soma like, or lunar qualities and attributes. Saumya, she of the lunar aspect, moonlike, peaceful and kind. Saumyatara, even more lunar and peaceful than the moon itself. Here there is a linguistic little secret. There is a hidden ‘a’ in a shesha saumyebhyas… She is even more beautiful than all lunar like forces and peaceful entities combined in the entire universe. So, breaking down the first half for the verse word for word it reads, “saumya, saumyatara, ashesha, saumyebhyas, tu, ati, sundari.”

The next half of the verse is as follows: Paraparanam, parama. Parama, supreme one transcending. Paraparanam…all things of the transcendent realities and the realities of this shore as experience in the world. She who transcends even the transcendent forces a well as immanent forces. Tvam Eva, thou alone, Parameshvari, Oh supreme Lady. Tvam Eva Parameshvari, Thou are the supreme Lady. Thou alone art the supreme Lady who transcends all transcendent realities and immanent forces.

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The ultimate goals of Indian psychology are purely spiritual ones. The highest is to leave the mind behind in the no-mind meditation state (amanaska yoga or asamprajnata). The immediately preceding step to that is the discrimination between buddhi and the spiritual self (viveka khyati). The latter is still a goal too high, too distant for most. Before we can begin to have even glimpses of these levels of reality, we need to learn to cultivate a sattvic mind.

A sattvic mind and its operations are described and listed in the Bhagavad Gita chapters 14,17 and18. The brief descriptions of the processes leading to a sattvic mind are delineated as bhava samshuddhi, purification of emotions, and chitta prasadana, making the mind a clear and pleasant place. The Bhagavad Gita calls these processes inculcating mental asceticism or manasa tapas. Silence, self-control, and purification of emotions are the attributes of mental asceticism as mentioned in chapter 17.16. Saumya is the quality whereby anyone looking at you receives moonlike soothing, cooling sentiment.

The tasks of making the mind clear and pleasant and of purifying the emotions are closely linked. A sattvic mind does not suffer from the adhis or mental ailments and afflictions such as anger, vengefulness or malice. One does not repress these traits but simply recognizes the natural sattvic urges of peace, contentment and acceptance and thereby makes the mind a stronger energy field. One who accomplishes this suffers less anguish and pain in daily life. One simply replaces the rajasic and tamasic with the sattvic.
In order to replace the contrived and merely habitual with the natural, to reduce the anguish and suffering, one seeks to discover the cause of all the mental burning (tapa). Patanjali says it is the rajas that heats and torments the mind. It is the sattva that suffers. There is no other tormentor or sufferer. When the rajas dominates, we become restless and anguished. When sattva dominates, the rajas energy and activity aids in sattva’s goals of purification.

In this, what is the role of tamas? Tamas is much maligned as dark, heavy, inert and altogether undesirable. In fact, a balance of sattva, rajas and tamas is what is required. In the food we eat, sattva is the pranic energy we derive, rajas is the cooking and spicing, and tamas is the bulk. The word tamas is to be translated as stasis. When stasis serves the purpose of sattva, it imparts stability. When sattva is subdued by tamas it becomes stagnation. This is a universal principle applicable to all sciences including the Indian system of psychology.

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The task of purification of the emotions and making the mind pleasant thus primarily consists of creating a balance of sattva, rajas and tamas, in such a manner that sattva alone dominates and the other two serve their purpose.

Failure to achieve this balance of power among the three gunas subjects is due to the adhis, our six enemies: kama or unbridled desire and passion, krodha or anger, lobha or greed, moha or attachment and confusion, mada or uncontrolled excitation and matsarya or hatred and hostility.

There is another tool used for achieving the goal of self-purification. It is a lengthy process called self-examination, atma nirikshana.

In the process of self-examination one does not seek justification for one’s destructive acts, ‘Oh, anyone would have lost his temper in these circumstances’, ‘Oh, I was only trying to show somebody the right way’ – and so on. One stops making these excuses for oneself. To embark on a path to self-purification consider these steps:

Make a list of your weaknesses, your true enemies.

Realize that a weakness is a weakening of some strength. Identify the strength that is weakened in this weakness. Seek to restore that strength. For instance, intolerance is a weakening of tolerance. Build up your tolerance level.

Take one or two key weaknesses at a time. Build your resolve, sankalpa, to conquer that enemy.

Be self-observant, mindful, practicing smrti upasthana, that is, attentiveness to your states of breath, body position, glance, voice, choice of words, acts. These indicate your state of mind and the extent to which you are subject to rajas and tamas, the despoilers of the mind.

Keep a mental or written journal of your progress: today I lost to my enemy, today I won but not entirely.
In this process, see how far you really are from the goal of enlightenment.

When you start this process you may wonder how to determine what is right. Ask yourself two questions:

• Is it sattvic?
• Is it anywhere close to the goal of cultivating the signs of enlightenment?

Only on that basis can you determine and choose the feelings, sentiments and emotions that you plant within. Cultivate them by developing the courage to reject the erstwhile habit of the mind and act in a new way, the way of the natural urges described previously.

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The way of virtue is deep, dharmasya gahana gatih. Ask yourself, What is the alternative, sattvic way of behaviour? Instead of anger how should I have responded to the situation? Slowly these questions will become paramount in your mind. If they create conflict, your rajas is still dominant. A gentle breeze of an answer is what you are looking for from within.

The determination of behavioural choices begins within the mind. Instead of pondering on how to act, go to its causes, which are thoughts and feelings. Do not suppress your anger. Strive to convert it into compassion and acceptance. Reason thus: This person is angry with me. His past pains are acting up, and are responding to the stimulus I may or may not have provided but he perceives it as such. Here comes the principle of cultivating the opposites: pratipaksha bhavanam.

What is the sattvic principle opposite to the rajasic anger? Is it my own internal peacefulness? Is it compassion for the suffering of others? Let me apply that principle. Let me soothe him with a smile and a soft voice.

Gradually you will find mental tools to help you alter your choices. Your smile will cool and soothe the other person’s anger and leave him smiling. Having succeeded once, you are encouraged. You now have faith that, yes, indeed, this can be done. For sure, it will bear pleasant results. You then reaffirm your resolve for the next time.

We can call this morality of emotions, ethics of emotions. There is no enlightenment without becoming a saumya person and applying these principles.
May the Guru Spirit thereby be pleased and confer Its grace upon us all.

Om, Sham

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Editor’s Note

(from Swami Veda’s previous talks and writings)

This is from a hard copy that was given to participants at the 2019 Sangha Gathering, 25 February – 5 March 2019, at Swami Rama Sadhaka Grama (SRSG) in Rishikesh.