One of the greatest losses to India happened when India became divided
from Pakistan, and that was the last thing the politicians ever thought
about.
In my childhood I encountered it almost every day, because all over the
country the streets were full of magicians.
I have seen with my own eyes things which even today I cannot figure out
how they were managing. Of course there were tricks behind them; there
was no miracle, neither were they claiming that they were performing
miracles. They were simple people, poor people, not arrogant, but what
they were doing was almost a miracle.
I have seen magicians in my childhood putting a small plant of a mango
tree, just six inches high at the most.. In front of everybody they would dig
the hole, put in the plant, then cover the plant and then chant in gibberish
so you cannot understand
what they are saying. The pretension is that there is some communication
between them and the hidden plant.
The moment they remove the cover, that six inch mango plant has ripe
mangoes.
And they would invite people--you could come close, you could see that
those mangoes were not in any way tied on. People would come and see
and they would say that they are grown, not attached.
The magician would offer those mangoes to a few people so that they could
taste that they were not false or illusory--and people would taste them and
say, "We have never tasted such sweet mangoes in our whole life!" And
there was no claim for any miracle.
I have seen magicians bringing from their bellies big round balls of solid
steel. They would be so big it was difficult to take them out of their mouths--
people were needed to pull them out of their mouths--and they were so
heavy that when they were thrown on the earth they would make a dent.
The magician would go on bringing bigger and bigger balls... It was a trick-
-but how were they managing it? And they would throw those big balls,
almost the size of a football-they would throw them in the air and they
would fall and create such a big dent in the earth. They would tell people,
"You can try"-and people would try, but they were so heavy that it was
difficult to pick them up. And they all have come--a dozen or more, all
around--from the belly of the magician.
He would show, half naked, the upper part of his body naked--he would
show that the ball was moving upwards. You could see that the ball was
moving upwards, that it was stuck in his throat, and you could see and you
could go and touch and feel that the ball was inside. Then, with great
difficulty, he would bring it into his mouth and he would cry, tears coming,
and ask people somehow to take it out, because he is not able. They would
destroy all his teeth to help him-and the miracle was that as they were
taking it out, the ball was becoming bigger. By the time it was completely
out, it was so big that that man's belly could not contain even a single ball,
to say nothing of one dozen balls.
But all these magicians were Mohammedans, because it was not a very
creditable job. These were street people. Because of the division of
Pakistan, all those Mohammedan magicians have moved to Pakistan. They
were coming from faraway Pakhtoonistan, Afghanistan. But now the roads
are closed; now you don't see the magicians anywhere.
Otherwise it was almost an everyday affair-in this marketplace, in that
street, near the school, anywhere where they thought they could gather a
crowd.
I have seen with my own eyes something which sometimes I wonder
whether I have seen it or dreamed it. I have not dreamed for thirty-five
years., but the thing is such that it is absolutely unbelievable that it really
happened.
A magician came to our school. The school was a very big school, with
almost one thousand students and nearabout fifty teachers. Even the
principal of the school, who was a postgraduate in science, first rejected
the man: "We don't want any nonsense here."
But I had seen that man doing impossible things, and I told him, "You wait."
I went into the office of the principal and said, "You are missing a
tremendous opportunity.
You are a scientist... I know this man; I have seen him performing. I can
ask him to
do the best that he can, and what is the harm? After school time, those who
want to see can stay."
Those magicians were so poor that if you could give them five rupees, that
was too much. I told the magician that I had convinced the principal, he
was ready to allow it after school--"but you have to do the greatest trick that
you know. On your behalf I have promised--and he is a man of scientific
mind, so be careful. There will be fifty graduates, postgraduates, so you
have to be very alert. You should not be caught, because it is also a
question of my prestige."
He said, "My boy, don't you be worried."
And he did such a thing that my principal called me and said, "You should
not associate with such people. It is dangerous."
I said, "Have you any idea what he did?"
He said, "I don't have any idea, and I can't even believe that this has
happened."
The magician threw up a rope which stood in the air just like a pillar--a rope
which has no bones, nothing, it was just coiled and he had carried it on his
shoulder-
ordinary rope. He went on uncoiling it and throwing it out, and soon we
could not see the other end. What happened to the other end?
All magicians used to have a child who was their helper. He called the boy,
"Are you ready to go up the rope?"
The boy said, "Yes, master"-and he started climbing the rope. And just as
the other end of the rope had disappeared, at a certain point the boy also
disappeared. Then the magician said to the crowd, "I will bring the boy
down, piece by piece."
I was sitting by the side of the principal. He said, "Are you going to create
some trouble for me? If the police come here and see that a boy is cut into
pieces..."
I said, "Don't be worried, he is just performing a magic trick. Nothing is
going to be wrong. I have been watching him in many shows--but this I
have never seen."
The magician threw a knife up and one leg of the boy came down, and
everybody was almost breathless. He went on throwing knives., another
leg. .one hand, .another hand, .and they were lying there on the ground in
front of us, not bleeding at all, as if the boy was made of plastic or
something. But he was speaking, .he was doing all the things the magician
was saying. Finally came his body, and just the head remained.
My principal said, "Don't cut his head!"
I said, "Don't be worried. If he has cut him., what does it mean? If the police
come, you will be caught."
He said, "I was saying from the very beginning, no nonsense here, and now
you are talking about police. I have always been suspicious of you; perhaps
you may have informed the police beforehand to come at the right time."
I said, "Don't be worried."
And then the magician shouted into the sky, "Boy, only your head is there;
let it drop." The head came rolling down, and he started putting the boy
together again.
He joined him perfectly well, and the boy started collecting his things and
said,
"What about the rope? Should I start pulling it back?" The magician said,
"Yes"--and the boy started pulling the rope back and coiling it.
I had only heard about the rope trick, which is world famous. Akbar
mentions in his Akbar Nama, his autobiography. Since Akbar it has been a
rumor in the air that there are magicians who can perform it, but no
authoritative account is available. One
British viceroy, Curzon, mentions in his memoirs that he saw the rope trick
in New Delhi before his whole court.
I was making every effort to find some magician--so many magicians were
passing through my village, and I would ask them, "Can you perform the
rope trick?"
They said, "It is the ultimate, and only very rare masters in magic can do it."
But this man-1 had not asked him particularly for the rope trick, but he did
it. Even today I cannot believe it. I can see the whole scene, I can see the
principal freaking out-and all the magician got was five rupees.
Magic simply means something unbelievable, so absurd, so irrational that
you cannot find a way to figure it out. satyam18
Call it meditation, call it awareness, call it watchfulness-it all comes to the
same: that you become more alert, first about your conscious mind, what
goes on in your conscious mind.. And it is a beautiful experience. It is really
hilarious, a great panorama.
In my childhood in my town there were no movies, talkies. There was no
cinema hall. Now there is, but in my childhood there was not. The only thing
that was available was that once in a while a wandering man would come
with a big box. I don't know what it is called. There is a small window in it.
He opens the window, you just put your eyes to it and he goes on moving a
handle and a film inside moves.
And he goes on telling the story of what is happening.
Everything else I have forgotten but one thing I cannot forget for a certain
reason.
The reason, I know, was because it was in all those boxes that came
through my village. I had seen every one, because the fee was just one
paise. Also the show was not long, just five minutes. In every box there
were different films, but one picture was always there: the naked
washerwoman of Bombay. Why did it used to be in every one?--a very fat
naked woman, the naked washerwoman of Bombay. That used to be
always there, .perhaps that was a great attraction, or people were fans of
that naked washerwoman; and she was really ugly. And why from
Bombay?
If you start looking, .just whenever you have time, just sit silently and look at
what is passing in your mind. There is no need to judge, because if you
judge, the mind immediately changes its scenes according to you. The
mind is very sensitive, touchy.
If it feels that you are judging, then it starts showing things that are good.
Then it won't show you the naked washerwoman of Bombay, that picture
will be missed out. So don't judge, then that picture is bound to come.
ignor26
When films were shown for the first time in small villages people started
throwing money, as is the custom in villages. If there is a drama company
or something, someone dancing, they throw money. They started throwing
money at films in small villages. I have seen people in small villages
throwing money--at the screen--a dancing girl dances, they start throwing
money. When a dancing girl dances and her petticoat begins to rise up in
the dance, they bend down and start looking from below. There is nothing
there, just a play of light and shadow. But people, people just like other
people. This is how their whole life is. death05
Have you ever gone to see a drama, not from the audience, but backstage
where actors and actresses dress themselves up and prepare themselves?
Then you will be surprised.
That was one of my hobbies in my childhood, to somehow get backstage.
In my village every year they used to play Ramleela, the great story of
Rama. And it is far more beautiful if you see what happens at the back. I
have seen Sita, the wife of Rama.. In India she is worshipped as the
greatest woman ever born, absolutely virtuous, pure. It is impossible to
conceive of a purer woman or a purer love. It is absolutely impossible to
conceive of a more religious, more pious, more holy woman. But at the
back of the stage I have seen Sita before she goes on the stage-
smoking beediesl..
Just to prepare herself, just to give herself a shot of nicotine, Sita was
smoking beedies. It was so absurd. I enjoyed it so much!
And Ravana, the man who is the criminal in the drama of Rama's life, who
steals Sita and who represents evil in India, was telling Rama, 'You be
aware! Last night you were continuously looking at my wife in the audience,
and if I see you doing that again I will teach you a lesson!'
Now, Rama is the incarnation of God, but in the drama he was just a
schoolboy--and schoolboys are schoolboys. And Ravana teaching him, evil
incarnate teaching God. .'Don't look at my wife--that is not right!'
I enjoyed being backstage so much that what happened on the stage
looked very ordinary.
When you become a witness you enter the backstage of life--and there
things are really absurd-you start seeing things as they are. Everything is
illogical, nothing makes sense. But that is the beauty of life: that nothing
makes sense. If everything made sense, life would be a boredom. Because
nothing makes sense, life is always a constant joy, a constant surprise.
Iotus04
In my village, as happens all over the East, every year Ramleela was
played--the life of Rama.
The man who used to play the part of Ramana, the enemy of Rama who
steals Rama's wife, was a great wrestler. He was the champion of the
whole district, and the next year he was going to stand for the
championship of the whole state. We used to take a bath in the river almost
simultaneously in the morning, so we became friends. I told him, "Every
year you become Ramana, every year you are being deceived. Just the
moment that you are going to break Shiva's bow so that you can get
married to Sita, the daughter of Janaka, a messenger comes running in
and informs you that your capital of Sri Lanka is on fire. So you have to go,
rush back to your country. And meanwhile, Rama manages to break the
bow and marry the girl.
Don't you get bored every year with the same thing?"
He said, "But this is how the story goes."
I said, "The story is in our hands if you listen to my suggestion. You must
have seen that most of the people are asleep because they have seen the
same thing year after year, generation after generation-make it a little
juicy."
He said, "What do you mean?"
I said, "This time you do one thing I say."
And he did it!
When the messenger came with the message: "Your capital, the golden Sri
Lanka, is on fire, you have to get there soon," he said, "You shut up, idiot"-
he spoke in English!
That's what I had told him! All the people who were asleep woke up: "Who
is speaking English in the Ramleela?"
And Ramana said, "You go away. I don't care. You have deceived me
every year. This time I am going to marry Sita."
And he went and broke the bow of Shiva to pieces, and threw it into the
mountains-
it was just a bamboo bow. And he asked Janaka, "Bring, .where is your
daughter? My jumbo-jet is waiting!"
It was so hilarious. Even after forty years, whenever I meet somebody from
my village, they remember that Ramleela. They said, "Nothing like that has
ever happened."
The manager had to drop the curtains. And the man was a great wrestler,
and at least twelve people had to carry him out.
That day the Ramleela could not be played. And next day they had to
change Ramana; they found another person.
By the river, Ramana met me. He said, "You disturbed my whole thing."
I said, "But did you see the people clapping, enjoying, laughing? For years
you have been playing the part and nobody has clapped, nobody has
laughed. It was worth it!"
Religion needs a religious quality. A few qualities are missing. One of the
most important is a sense of humor.
They stopped me meeting their actors. They made it clear to every actor
that if anybody listened to me or met me, he would not be allowed to act.
But they forgot to tell one man who was not an actor..
He was a carpenter. He used to come to do some work in my house also.
So I said to him, "I cannot approach the actors this year. Last year was
enough! Although I did no harm to anybody-everybody loved it, the whole
city appreciated it. But now they are guarding every actor and they don't
allow me close to them. But you are not an actor. Your function is some
other work. But you can help me."
He said, "Whatever I can do, I will do, because last year it was really great.
Can I be of some help?"
I said, "Certainly."
And he did it!
In the war, Lakshmana, Rama's younger brother, gets wounded by a
poisonous arrow. It is fatal. The physicians say that unless a certain herbal
plant from the mountain Arunachal is brought, he cannot be saved, by the
morning he will be dead.
He is lying down on the stage unconscious. Rama is crying.
Hanuman, his most devoted follower, says, "Don't be worried. I will go
immediately to Arunachal, find the herb, bring it before the morning. I just
want some indications from the physician how to find it, how it looks. There
may be so many herbs on the Arunachal, and the time is short, soon it is
night."
The physician said, "There is no difficulty. That special herb has a unique
quality. In the night it radiates and is full of light so you can see it. So
anywhere you see a luminous herb you can bring it."
Hanuman goes to Sri Arunachal, but he is puzzled because the whole of
Arunachal is full of luminous herbs. It is not the only herb that has that
special quality. There are many other herbs which have the same quality of
being luminous in the night.
Now the poor Hanuman-he is just a monkey--is at a loss what to do. So he
decides to take the whole mountain, and put the mountain there in front of
the physician to find the herb.
The carpenter was on top of the roof. He had to pull the rope on which
Hanuman comes with a cardboard mountain with lighted candles. And I
had told him, "Stop exactly in the middle. Let him hang there, with the
mountain and everything!"
And he managed it!
The manager rushed out. The whole crowd was agog with excitement at
what was happening. And Hanuman was perspiring, because he was
hanging on the ropes with the mountain also in the other hand. Something
had got stuck in the wheel on which the rope was going to be rolled. The
manager rushed up. He asked the carpenter, .and the carpenter said, "I
don't know what has gone wrong. The rope has got stuck somewhere."
In a hurry, finding nothing, the manager cut the ropes, and Hanuman with
his mountain fell on the stage. And naturally he was angry. But the
thousands of people were immensely happy. That made him even more
angry.
Rama continued repeating the lines he had been told to say. He said,
"Hanuman, my devoted friend.."
And Hanuman said, "To hell with your friends! Perhaps I have fractures."
Rama went on saying, "My brother is dying."
Hanuman said, "He can die any moment. What I want to know is, who cut
the rope? I will kill him."
Again the curtain had to be dropped, the Ramleela postponed. And the
manager and the people who were organizing all approached my father
saying, "Your son is destroying everything. He's making a mockery of our
religion."
I said, "I'm not making a mockery of your religion. I'm simply giving it a little
sense of humor."
I would like people to laugh. What is the point of repeating an old story
every year?
Then everybody is asleep because they know the story, they know every
word of it.
It is absolutely pointless.
But it is very difficult for the old traditionalists, the orthodox people to
accept laughter. You cannot laugh in a church. sword04
I was learning, but not in school, and I never repented for it. I learned from
all kinds of strange people. You cannot find them working in schools as
teachers; that is not possible. I was with Jaina monks, Hindu sadhus,
Buddhist bhikkhus, and all kinds of people one is not expected to associate
with.
The moment I became aware that I was not supposed to associate with
somebody, that was enough for me to associate with that person, because
he must be an outsider. Because he was an outsider, hence the prohibition-
-and I am a lover of outsiders.
I hate the insiders. They have done so much harm that it is time to call the
game off.
The outsiders I have always found a little crazy, but beautiful-crazy yet
intelligent.
Not the intelligence of Mahatma Gandhi-he was a perfect insider-nor is it
the intelligence of the so-called intellectuals: Jean-Paul Sartre, Bertrand
Russell, Karl Marx, Hugh Bach, .the list is endless. glimps46
Other villagers
Just nearby is sitting Narendra. His father had a strange disease: six
months he used to be mad and six months he used to be sane--a great
balance of enjoying both worlds. Whenever he was sane he was always
sick, always grumpy. He would lose weight, and he would fall victim to all
kinds of infection; all his resistance to disease would be lost. And in the six
months when he was mad, he was the healthiest person you could find--no
disease, no infection--and he was always happy.
The family was in trouble. Whenever he was happy the family was in
trouble, because his happiness was a certain indication that he was mad. If
he was not going to the doctors, if he was enjoying his health--he was mad.
While he was insane, he would get up early in the morning, four o'clock,
and wake up the whole neighborhood saying, "What are you doing? Just go
for a morning walk, go to the river, enjoy swimming. What are you doing
here in bed?"
The whole neighborhood was tortured, .but he enjoyed it. He would
purchase fruits and sweets and say, "You can come to my shop and get
your money." Naturally-
Narendra was very small, his other brothers were even smaller-even the
smallest children were watching him, that he does not steal the money. But
whether they watched or not, he would go on distributing fruits and sweets
to people and saying to them, "Rejoice! Why are you sitting so sad?"
Naturally, they had to pay money to all kinds of people.
It was a very strange situation. Children steal money, and fathers,
grandfathers, prevent them. In Narendra's house, the situation was just the
opposite: the father used to steal money, and the small children would
shout for the mother: "He is taking money again!"
And by the time the mother was there, he was gone-gone to the market to
purchase sweets, fruits, or anything whatsoever, wholesale! He was not
concerned with small things-just wholesale purchase and distributing. And
everybody loved it, but everybody was tortured, also.
Once it happened that he escaped while he was insane. He had just gone
to the station, and the train was there, so he sat in the train. One thing just
led to another, .and he reached Agra.
In India there is a sweet; its name is such that it can create trouble, and it
created trouble for him. He was feeling hungry, so he went to a shop and he
asked what it was, and the man said, "Khaja." Khaja in Hindi means two
things: it is the name of that sweet, and it also means, "Eat it", .so he ate it.
The man could not believe it. He said, "What are you doing?"
He said, "What you said."
He was dragged to the court because, "This man seems to be strange.
First he asked the name, and when I said 'khaja,' he started eating it!"
Even the magistrate laughed. He said, "The word has both meanings. But
this man seems to be insane-because he seems so happy, so healthy."
Even in the court he was enjoying everything--no fear, no sign of fear. He
was sent to a madhouse for six months, and he asked happily, "Only six
months?"
He was sent to Lahore--in those days Lahore was part of lndia--and just by
coincidence... There was some cleaning stuff for bathrooms; after four
months in the
Lahore madhouse he drank the whole drum of that cleaning stuff and it
gave him vomits and motions. For fifteen days he could not eat anything,
.but it cleaned his whole system-so he became sane!
And then began a great period of difficulty. He went to the superintendent
and said,
"Just because of drinking that stuff, for fifteen days I could not eat anything,
and my whole system has been cleaned. I have become sane."
The superintendent said, "Don't bother me, because every mad person
thinks he is sane."
He tried his best to convince him, but the superintendent said, "This is the
whole business here every day--every madman thinks he is sane."
He was telling me that those two months were really very troublesome.
Those first four months were perfectly beautiful: "Somebody was pulling my
leg, or somebody was cutting my hair-it was all okay. Who cares?--
somebody was sitting on my chest, .so what?
"But when I became sane, and the same things continued--now I could not
tolerate it if somebody was sitting on my chest, somebody was cutting my
hair, somebody has cut half my mustache..."
They were all mad people. Amongst those mad people he was the only one
who was sane. No mad person ever accepts that he is mad. The moment
he accepts he is mad, sanity has started coming. spirit07
But superstitions...
You go for a morning walk and you meet a man with only one eye-finished,
your whole day is finished. Now nothing can be right. Strange, .what does
that poor fellow have to do with your whole day? But a superstition,
centuries old..
I had a small boy in my neighborhood with only one eye. Whomsoever I
wanted to torture., early in the morning I would take the boy and just give
him chocolates, and he was ready. I would watch from far away: "You just
stand in front of the door. Let the fool open the door.." And the moment he
would open the door and see the one-eyed boy, he would say, "My God!
Again? But why do you come here in the morning?"
One day he became so angry that he wanted to beat him. I had to come
from my hiding place, and I said, "You cannot beat him. It is a public road,
and it is his right to stand here every morning. We used to come once in a
while; now we will come every day. It is up to you to open your door or not
to open your door."
He said, "But if I don't open my door, how will I go to my shop?"
I said, "That is your problem, not our problem. But this boy is going to stand
here."
He said, "This is strange. But why this boy..? Can't you take him to
somebody else?
Just., my neighbor is a competitor in my business, and I am getting
defeated continually because of this boy."
I said, "It is up to you. Baksheesh!- if you give one rupee to this boy, he will
stand at the other gate."
He said, "One rupee?" In those days one rupee was very valuable, but he
said, "I will give."
I said, "Remember, if the other man gives two rupees, then this boy will still
be standing here. It is a sheer question of business."
He said, "I am going to report to the police. I can..."
I said, "You can go. Even the police inspector is afraid of this boy. You can
get him to write the report, but he will not call him into his office. Everybody
is afraid--even the teachers are afraid. And this boy is so precious, .so
whoever creates any trouble in the city, I take this boy. Nothing has to be
done--he simply stands there in front of the door."
Problems are all around you. So even if you somehow get finished with one
problem, another problem arises. And you cannot prevent problems arising.
Problems will continue to arise till you come to a deep understanding of
witnessing. That is the only golden key, discovered by centuries of inward
search in the East: that there is no need to solve any problem. You simply
observe it, and the very observation is enough; the problem evaporates.
spirit06
In my village there is one man, Sunderlal. I have been surprised.. sunder
means beauty, sunderlal means beautiful diamond; and he is anything
other than a beauty.
He is not even homely. I have been surprised again and again that names
are given to people which are just the opposite of their qualities...
This Sunderlal was really ugly. To talk to him meant that you had to look
this way and that way; to look at him made one feel a little sick--something
went berserk in the stomach. His front two teeth were out, and he had such
crossed eyes that to look at him for a little while meant a certain headache--
and he was Sunderlal! He was the son of a rich man, and he was a little
nuts too.
I used to call him Doctor Sunderlal although he was never able to pass
matriculation.
He failed so many times that the school authorities asked his father to
remove him because he brought their average low every year--and he was
not going to pass.
How they managed to get him up to matriculation, that is a miracle. But it is
understandable, because up to matriculation all examinations are local, so
you can bribe the teachers. This was difficult to do in the matriculation
examination because it is not local, it is state-wide. So it is very difficult to
find out who is setting the papers, who is examining the papers. It is almost
impossible; unless you happen to be the education minister or some
relative of the education minister, it is very difficult to find out.
But I started calling him Doctor Sunderlal. He said, "Doctor? But I am not a
doctor."
I said, "Not an ordinary doctor like these physicians: you are an honorary
doctor."
But he said, "Nobody has given me an honorary doctorate either."
I said, "I am giving you an honorary doctorate. It does not matter who gives
it-you get the doctorate, that's the point."
He said, "That is true," and by and by I convinced him that he was an
honorary doctor. He started introducing himself to people as Doctor
Sunderlal. When I heard this, that he introduces himself as Doctor
Sunderlal... He was a relative of our sannyasin, Narendra.
One day I saw a letterhead with "Doctor Sunderlal, D.Litt., Honorary,"
printed on it in golden letters, embossed. I said, "This is great!" And as time
passed by people completely forgot: he is now known as Doctor Sunderlal,
D.Litt. Nobody suspects, nobody even enquires who gave him a doctorate,
from what university? But the whole town knows him. And because he is an
honorary doctorate he inaugurates social gatherings in the school, in the
college--now the town has a college--and he is the most literary figure.
Just now* my mother was saying that Doctor Sunderlal has become a
member of parliament. The new government, .after Indira's assassination,
Rajiv Gandhi chose him. He is rich and certainly respected in the town
because he is the only doctor--an honorary doctor! People get. .and
perhaps he believes it. Now you cannot tell him that he is not. He will drag
you to the court.
Now, for almost thirty years he has been a doctor; that is enough. Nobody
has objected, nobody has raised a question. In his election campaign his
name was Doctor Sunderlal, D.Litt.--"Vote for Doctor Sunderlal, D.Litt."
Perhaps--and he is a little nuts--he believes that he is. I know that even I
cannot persuade him that "this doctorate I gave to you." He will laugh and
say, "What are you saying? I have been a doctor for thirty years. You were
just a little kid when I became a doctor!"
He will not agree so easily to drop his doctorate. But even if you get a
doctorate from a university, what does it mean? There is not much
difference. dark06
*Note: 1985
One of the richest men of his time, in 1940. .1 was a small child and my
father was sick, so I was with my father in the hospital. This rich man, Sir
Seth Hukumchand, had created a really great hospital in Indore. He used to
come, and by chance we became friends. He was an old man but he used
to come every day and I used to wait for him at the gate. I asked him, "You
have so much.." Almost three-fourths of the houses of Indore were his
property. And Indore is the next most beautiful and rich place to Bombay.
He said, "You are asking a strange question. Nobody ever asked me."
I had asked him, "Why are you still creating new industries, creating new
palaces?
And you are becoming old. How is all this going to be of any help at the time
of death?"
He said, "I know, everything will remain here and I will be gone. But just a
desire to be the most successful, rich man in the country keeps driving me.
For no other reason, just that everything I have must be the best."
He has the only Rolls Royce in the whole world made of solid gold. It was
never driven, it was just for show, standing in front of his beautiful palace.
He has the best horses in the world that you can imagine. I have never
seen such beautiful horses.
He had a whole palace filled with all kinds of exotic things. And the reason
was that he wanted to be the only owner of a certain thing. It was his
absolute condition: whenever he purchases a thing, that thing should not be
produced again; he should be the only owner. And he was ready to pay any
money for it.
His only desire was--because Indore in those days was a state--to
purchase all the houses in the state, even the palace of the king. And he
almost succeeded--seventy-five percent of the houses of Indore belonged
to him. Even the king had to borrow money from him, and he was giving to
him very generously in order to finally settle that the whole of Indore.. "He
may be the king but it is my property."
I asked him, "What will it do to you? What peace will it bring? You are
always anxious, tense, coming to the hospital, asking the psychiatrist about
your troubles.
These houses cannot solve your troubles and this money cannot solve your
troubles."
And finally a time came when he captured all the gold of India, he became
the gold king of India. He purchased all the gold, wherever it was possible.
And once you
have all the gold in your hands, you have the whole country in your hands. If
you start selling it, the prices will go down. He kept the whole market
dependent on him just because he was holding the gold.
And I asked him, "What enjoyment are you getting out of it?"
He said, "I don't know, just there is a tremendous desire to be the richest, to
be the most powerful."
The inward journey begins only when you understand it clearly that
anything outside is not going to give you contentment. exist03
I used to have a friend who was condemned in the whole city--he was a
thief, and you can say he was a master thief. For almost six months he
would be in jail, and six months outside. Nobody in the city even wanted to
talk to him.
From the jail he used to come directly to my house. He was a very lovable
man. And whenever he would come from the jail to my house, naturally
everybody in the family was disturbed. My father again and again insisted
to me that this friendship was not good. I said, "Why do you believe in him
and not in me? Am I your son, or is he your son?"
And he said, "What kind of argument are you giving me?"
I said, "I am saying exactly the right thing. You don't believe in me, you
believe in him. You are afraid I will be affected by him--you are not giving
even a single thought that I may affect him. Why do you think I am so
weak?"
He said, "I have never thought from this angle--perhaps you are right."
Slowly, slowly that man became accepted by my family. It took a little time;
there were many reasons for them to reject him. The first reason was that
he was a Mohammedan; second, he was a thief.
I had to sit outside the dining room because they would not allow him in the
dining room. In a Jaina family, no Mohammedan can be allowed in the
dining room. Even for guests or customers, separate plates, glasses,
saucers, cups--everything is kept, but it is kept separate; it is used only for
them. And I insisted that when I invited him for food, I was going to eat with
him—I could not insult him. He may be a thief, he may be a Mohammedan, it
doesn't matter; I respect his humanity. So the only way was that I would
also have to sit outside the dining room. And my friend used to say,
"Why do you unnecessarily continue to fight with your family?"
And slowly, slowly my respect towards him changed him. He was angry
with me, saying, "Your respect prevents me from being a thief, and I don't
know anything else. I am uneducated."
He was an orphan, and there was no other way for him except either to beg
or to steal, and certainly stealing is better than begging. Begging degrades
you very badly; by stealing, at least you are using your intelligence, your
courage.
He was angry and said, "Now my life has become really a problem, and you
are the cause. I cannot steal because I cannot betray your trust, your love
and your respect.
And nobody is ready to give me employment."
So I took him to my father and I said to him, "Now my friend wants
employment.
You are against his stealing, now give him employment; otherwise you will
be responsible for his stealing. The poor fellow is ready to do any work, but
nobody in the whole city is ready to give him work because he is a thief.
People say to him,
'Bring certificates from where you have been working. Who has ever
employed you ever in your whole life?' And he has no certificates."
I told my father, "Listen, somebody has to give him work the first time;
otherwise, how can he get a certificate? You give him employment, and
then you can give him a certificate. And I guarantee that he will not steal
and he will not do anything wrong."
On my guarantee my father employed him. All other friends of my father
said, "What are you doing, giving a job to a thief? He will deceive you." But
my father said, "My son has given his guarantee, and I have to give the
man an opportunity because my son's reasoning is right: If nobody gives
him an opportunity, then everybody is pushing him towards the jail. And the
whole society is responsible for pushing him towards the jail. He wants to
work, but if nobody is willing to give him work.. What do you want--that he
should commit suicide or what?"
Once a person goes into jail, then it becomes his only place, his home.
Then within a few days he is back, because there is nobody outside to give
him any protection, any dignity, any respect, any love. It is better to be in
the jail.
He proved tremendously trustworthy, and finally my father had to accept.
He said,
"You are right. I was thinking that I was taking an unnecessary risk. I had
not thought that your reasoning was going to work. He is a professional
thief—his whole life has been just going in and out of the jail. But you were
right."
My father was a very sincere man and very truthful; he was always willing
to accept his mistakes, even in front of his own son. He said, "You were
right, that I trusted more in him—I thought he would spoil your life. I did not
trust that you might transform his life.
0 Comments