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This evening, Svāmī Niranjanpuri will speak to us about Karma Yoga. I must say, after years in Jadan, he is an expert at it. No one works longer than he does, from early morning until the positive evening. Svāmī Jaśrāc Purjī is a master of positive thinking. No matter how complex and chaotic the problem you take, he will take the good from it and reveal it outwardly. But sometimes it is simple. Śānti, śānti, śānti. "Prakāśya varuṇaṃ devaṃ..." shines like a thousand suns. "Vighneśvaraṃ sarvakāryeṣu..." Please always remove obstacles from all my work. Hindu mythology states that the God Gaṇeśa has a human body, an elephant head, four arms, and many attributes. Every attribute, every symbol has a deep meaning, a symbolic meaning. So, in order for Hindus to relate to it in some way, they first have the physical description—how they know Gaṇeśa, how they imagine him. But because we are more students of yoga than practitioners of Hinduism, for us, the second part of the mantra is more important: the one that addresses the cosmic tattva. And that strong positive quality, which is capable of balancing the negative elements, is an excellent entry potential into any work, into a new activity, and which opens the intellect. So it is actually a great mantra to begin any Karma Yoga practice with, or for when you encounter any difficulties during Karma Yoga. Or when you are nervous before an exam and you sing this mantra from the heart, it helps. If I am nervous in this situation now and sing it from the heart, it helps. Thank you, Gaṇeśajī. What is Karma Yoga? We all understand the basic definition. It is voluntary selfless service for the benefit of another. The others can be animals, or any people who need it. By alleviating even a little of his suffering—forgive me, his duḥkha—you are practicing Karma Yoga. When you feed a hungry person, that is Karma Yoga. When you give medicine to a sick person, that is Karma Yoga. When you help the helpless reach where they need to be, that is Karma Yoga. But our help is always limited; it is temporary in time. Because that hungry impulse, once satisfied, will be hungry again in four hours. And therefore, the highest Karma Yoga is Guru-sevā. Because the guru, the saint, is the one who has come to dispel our ignorance. And ignorance is the cause of all suffering. So if we participate in the mission that the saint, that our master has in this world, then we are actually part of something incredibly noble. On the yogic path, the sequence is generally Karma Yoga, Bhakti Yoga, Rāja Yoga, Jñāna Yoga. And often we somehow fail to understand and realize it, and we try to skip the first two steps. But that will not help us much, because if our antaḥkaraṇa—our inner psychic apparatus—is not purified, then our practice as Rāja Yogīs and Jñāna Yogīs will not be very successful. I remember one Svāmījī Sācāṅg, where in this context he quoted Gurujī. Gurujī’s words were: "We cannot meditate for eight hours, but we can work for eight hours." And therefore, Karma Yoga is our primary spiritual path. For most of us, it is more true that we cannot meditate even for half an hour. But with the blessing of the master, we can work for eighteen hours. Karma Yoga is a complete spiritual path that can lead from beginning to end. We all know the story of Holī Gurujī, who attained the highest knowledge through Guru-sevā. And what Svāmījī has been doing for all of us for the past 40 years is nothing other than the highest Karma Yoga. When God incarnated as Rāma or Kṛṣṇa, He was not confined to a meditation room, but lived His entire life practicing Karma Yoga. And if we take the biographies of modern witnesses... they all reached where they reached through Karma Yoga. So why shouldn’t we reap it as well? And sometimes it is a bit our mistake that we treat it as a weekend affair. And in the morning, when we practice, we tell ourselves that we are doing spiritual sādhana. And then we will practice Karma Yoga, so that we feel well. And we do not have the approach that it is actually a spiritual science. Because Karma Yoga brings us three wonderful achievements of spirituality at once: self-knowledge, purification, and direct contact with the divine. And if we are fully immersed in Karma Yoga, we always encounter problems and ourselves. And we learn about many of our weaknesses and hidden potentials—about what we spoke two days ago during the entire morning lecture. Through Karma Yoga, we purify not only our karmas but truly the entire inner apparatus. It is difficult to prove to people because you cannot tell them that right now many of their negative karmas are out. It is not exactly transparent. But if, for example, you stay in Jadan for a year or half a year and then return to the world, you see a significant change in yourself. You feel it. And quite possibly others see it too. And this is the result of that purification. In Karma Yoga, things often happen that are somewhat supernatural, and which you cannot explain otherwise than by the presence of something higher. And in our case, through Karma Yoga, we come closer and closer to our master. And not only through that inner connection, but also in the physical world, because Svāmījī places great emphasis on Karma Yoga. And then to those disciples, He may reveal either His infinite grace or give them some very direct teaching. He uncovers their hidden faults, of which they were completely unaware, and it will help them understand and, in fact, overcome them. I would like to share a few experiences or stories from Jadan. Some of them are personal, so I will have to speak about myself. But believe me, the motive so far is to show the beauty of Karma Yoga and to reveal the Guru-mahimā, our master’s glory. When we had the last Skype session with Svāmījī on Monday, remember, Svāmījī encouraged us to go to the park and pull weeds, or remove stones, and do such things. In Jadan, it was repeated to us several times that for a certain period, this was our main sādhana, together with Svāmījī. For example, at the time after Holī Gurujī entered Mahāsamādhi, every morning after the morning prayer—which was in samādhi sometime between six and half past six, that means in the time we all normally used for our own sādhana, for yogic practice—we went for a walk with Svāmījī for an hour, an hour and a half, every day. And except for the days when Svāmījī was away from Jadan, it went on for almost two months. But it was more like Svāmījī was walking along the path, and we were running around him, following what he showed us we should do: "Pick that grass over there, we will bring it to the horses. And remove those stones from the path, or the tractor will get a flat tire. Gather the fruits from the babul tree, we will bring them to the Gośālā and feed the cows. Uproot that weed." And occasionally Svāmījī would offer an explanation: "Uproot them completely; you are not pulling weeds, you are uprooting your karmas." And there was a group, so one time after the morning prayer, the Svāmījī said to them like this: "If you miss your morning āsanas, do not trouble yourself over it. You can practice them at any time during the day. But if you have missed the opportunity of Guru-sevā, then you have missed something. Because Guru-sevā is the highest thing people can do in their lives." And then we understand that indeed Karma Yoga is what takes precedence on the spiritual path over our morning practice. That was quite an interesting period when Svāmījī was very focused on work. And every day he had to receive dozens, or even hundreds of people. But among all the visits, he only gave clear, direct instructions on what was to be done. With the help of the group that was there, he completely renovated the interior of the Omāśrama. Several so-called dry walls or dry stone walls made of those large blocks were erected there. Because for the Holī Gurujī Bhandārā, which was in two weeks, about ten thousand people were expected, and that Bhandārā was to be at Omāśrama. Our workers worked in two shifts, 12 hours each, so the work continued 24 hours on Holī Gurujī Mahāsamādhi. And it continued uninterruptedly for almost four weeks. And I was fortunate that after my daily commitment in the office, I was preparing and bringing tea to the workers at night. So it was at eleven, three, and six. At eleven, the tea was ready, so I took it once, but at three and six, I had to prepare and bring it again. And then we had a prayer with Svāmījī, after which we went for a walk with him, and then it was a normal working day in the office. And then, when I calculated how many hours of that interrupted sleep there were in between, it always fit easily on one hand like this. And I realized that it is by no means my ability. And it is about what Śrī Jaśrāc Purjī said: that when you are running on the last drops of your fuel, the master shows you that you still have a ten-liter reserve. And it continues in such a way that when you reach the bottom of your reserve and have your last liter left, the master gives you ten liters for free. And if you work with great enthusiasm, for that next last liter, the master gives you twenty. And in the end, it doesn’t matter who gave how many liters. But your car, your vehicle of spirituality, made a journey burning eleven liters, so it moved far, far away. Svāmījī always gives priority to work and duly appreciates it. He says, "I am always ready for work." When the talāb was being dug in the Āśrama, it actually took four seasons, over four years, with the talāb being dug for about three to four months each time. Once in winter, that is to say, on January 26th—and India celebrates Independence Day on January 26, Republic Day—and that celebratory academy of our children was to be in front of the Svastika complex. And right behind the Svastika is actually the talāb. And there they were blasting with dynamite, digging with a large excavator, and trucks were driving around. And it caused terrible confusion. And we asked, "Svāmījī, we have to stop it tomorrow so that the noise does not disturb the children’s academy." And Svāmījī responded: "That is not noise, that is music. Work is worship, work is prayer, and it should be done twice as much." And the work in Talāb was always from dawn till dusk. Because it was contract work through suppliers, we always had to check them, and for example, we had to count every single stick of dynamite to make sure they were properly paid for. And we had to count every single truck that was leaving that lake. During the day, we had our Indian employee for that, but until then, until eight o’clock, and then from six in the evening, we had to do it ourselves, as Karma Yogīs. And also during Amāvasyā, which is actually the only free day in the Ashram—otherwise, the work is actually done continuously for the entire 30 days—so once, during that Amāvasyā, I went up to count the trucks. A Svāmījī was sitting by the library. So I greeted him, and he asked me where I was going, what I was doing, and so on. And he said, "Now in such sunshine, you will get heatstroke. So you do it like this. Take that plastic chair. Sit up there, take your parasol, umbrella, and just comfortably make little marks there." But for me, it was unimaginable to think that I would be there as some kind of lord while they were doing the hard labor. And so I made my excuse: "But Svāmījī, I have to guide those trucks so they don’t fall down while reversing." And it was true that this is what we were doing. But the motive behind my negative response was completely different. And because you cannot hide anything from the master—he sees through each one of you completely—thus, Svāmījī rewarded my dishonest approach with such a response: "Alright, do as you wish." And I felt the best at the event; there were simply two or three hundred workers working there every day. Work on Omāśrama has come to a halt. It was an amazing race; three or three hundred workers were there every day, and it also continued until Guru Pūrṇimā. That was the famous Guru Pūrṇimā when Svāmījī and Holī Gurujī were together in Jadan. And around that Guru Pūrṇimā, half of the ponds filled with rain, so the work came to a halt. And then we actually had to wait three quarters of a year to continue, because more than half of the work was not completed. And so it began sometime at the end of March the following year, in 2004. This time, there were as many as 400 workers there. And it looked like a pyramid construction site. Simply straightforward manual labor, with an incredible number of people moving back and forth. Then the entire talāb had to be lined with a special foil. And this is the black foil; when you look on Google Maps and click on Omāśrama, you can see it exactly there—there is the black square of that large sculpture. And then there are, for now, such little tricks of the gray stone. This is the very slate from which the talāb is made. And about 95 trucks of that slate and 20 trucks of red stone arrived there. And it was only in mid-June that the floor of that talāb began to be made. And it began to be a great race against time, because all around thunder and lightning were already flying, and it was raining—only in Jadan it was not. And that was the year when there were two Guru Pūrṇimās. The first one was in Jadan, sometime on the 1st or 2nd of July. And the second was celebrated around July 30th—it is for the full moon, I think here in Střílky. And Svāmījī, when he was leaving Jadan on the fourth day, told us: "God is with you. He stops the rain. But all the other people suffer. Please, place that base quickly. Because until you let it go, until you finish it, there will be no rain." And by that time, we were already halfway across the floor. And we said to Svāmījī, "It will be in a week." And then he started calling the Svāmījī about four days later, and after that, when he was in Europe, he called every other day. And he asked, "So how many more?" And we were getting closer and closer to that final wall, but the answer was always "two more days," because there were constantly some complications, some technological problems, and in fact the speed of laying the floor kept slowing down. And finally, sometime on the 16th, we finished it. And when Svāmījī called Yogeśī, Yogeśī was finally able to say to him, "Svāmījī, it’s ready." And when Svāmījī was very happy and wanted to perform pūjā the next day—pūjā for talāb as a form of gratitude, and pūjā for rain, so that water may come—but two or three, I’m not exactly sure, astrologers told him that tomorrow is a very inauspicious day for Pūjā. However, it was Amāvasyā and there was simply some unfavorable constellation. There was some incredible constellation. But the Svāmījī said, "I want to have that pūjā, so we will do it with the children. Because they are not affected by it, they are not influenced by it." And in the evening, Svāmījī Jogeśpurī realized that there were still some specific tasks that needed to be completed. In the corner of Talāb, there is a building called Waterhouse. And beneath it is a cistern, from which the water is actually drawn. And there was still just bare rock; it was simply forgotten somehow, or there was actually a thin layer of concrete, but that wouldn’t have stopped the water; it could have continued to flow further. So at the last moment, he organized the concreting, which began at half past eight in the evening and ended at half past eight in the morning. So the workers themselves immediately started cleaning the Talāb, because the pūjā was supposed to begin there in an hour and a half. By chance, here on the bulletin board—the one by Jadan—there is a photograph where Svāmī Jaśrācpuljī and Svāmī Pulpuljī are standing, holding the Rainwater Harvesting logo. And at 10 o’clock the puja began; 150 children from the school came there. There were some paṇḍits, they were chanting some mantras and a prayer. But alongside that invocation to God, there were children. So then they began to sing "mé ao, mé ao, mé ao." This is in Mārwāṛī: "mé ao, mé ao," and it resembles the sound of a peacock. This is how peacocks sing during the monsoon season. And the children were completely immersed in it, and for ten minutes it was impossible to even quiet them down. The pūjā was concluded, and we were happy because after three months we had our first day off. And in the evening around seven o’clock, it began to rain. By morning, there was a meter and a half of water there. And that year, although not much water fell, and the tank did not fill, the rain—with which God waited—came according to Svāmījī’s prediction. And a year later, in 2005, there was again such joyful Karma Yoga. It was the first road in Jadan, and it was a stone road leading upward. In Jadan, it was a journey of a hundred steps into the depths. Svāmījī Jogeśpurī told me, "Once we begin this path, you will be in charge of it." I was a little apprehensive about that. And then Svāmī Jogeśpurī and also Kriyā Śaktī both departed for Europe. That was in mid-June. So I breathed a sigh of relief that it was over. And a week later, one evening, the phone rang from Europe; I was just in the kitchen. And he says to the yogis, "So Svāmījī wants you to begin that journey tomorrow morning." And I was making excuses: "But Jogeśī, you are in Europe. What am I supposed to do here?" And it must be said that I am a botanist by practice. Svāmījī Jogeśpurjī did not consider this answer particularly significant. And instead, he replied that we need to bring sand, stones, and a mixer there. And as for that engineering design, he said, "So they simply said that, and then the next morning they gave me a little vision of how it should look." On the first day, we managed to cover about four meters of the path, and it wasn’t much. It was actually just a four-meter slab. Then we developed the technology, and then we routinely made four or five plates a day. And I was incredibly surprised at how it is possible, where it comes from, that it succeeds. Because I was the only engineer there. And there was one supervisor, which means the one who oversees the workers, and fifty workers. But somehow the ideas kept coming, and it worked, and the path just kept going lower and lower and looked good. And as we went lower and lower, I was increasingly forgetting that this knowledge originally came from somewhere.