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Part 1: The Gyānaputra School: A Journey of Education and Insight Om bole śrīdīp nārāyaṇa bhagavāne kī je. Mother, father, brothers—it’s all for the world, not for me. I will meditate on Nirañjan, and if the world disappears, let it disappear. I’m going to live with the power of death... And like in karma and in life, the world is not like that... My Satsaṅga people, what they say, let them say. My job is Satsaṅga people, what they say, let them say. Śraddhe vāṁ śloka gurudevāṁ, yako vāṁ rejāmo he, pukne kā rejāmo he. Ako jedinstvo. Om Bole Śrī Dīp Nārāyaṇ Bhagavāne Kī Je Śrī Deva Purīṣa Mahādeva Kī Je. Om Śrī Holī Dīp Nārāyaṇ Bhagavāne Kī Je. Om Śrī Śrī Satya Guru Deva Kī Jaya. Paramaṁ Svāmī Maheśvarānandajī Guru Deva Kī Jaya. Since Lakṣmaṇa is here, and we were talking yesterday about Gyānaputra, I wanted to say something about the school. I don’t know if everybody knows, but many people have been supporting the Gyānaputra scheme over the last years. It continues, and Lakṣmaṇa is still organizing it. If you may not know, the school started in 2001. I think it was a normal project of Swāmījī. On the 26th of June, I got a call: “Did you organize to start the school?” I said, “What school, Paps?” He said, “Yeah, yeah, the school should start.” I said, “When?” The school year starts on the 1st of July, and that was the 26th of June. I said, “Babsi, you mean this year, now, in four days?” Of course. The next four days were a little bit crazy. We were having interviews for teachers, going in the evenings to tell people a school was opening, finding furniture, working out where it would be in the ashram, getting blackboards, uniforms, books. It was chaos. But somehow on the first of July, it really did open. There were 120 students that day in that first year. I remember the last days before it started were like a road show. We didn’t have a lot of time to inform everybody, so each evening we would go with the ambulance and a projector for a video to announce it. There would be a meeting in the village, and we would also show one episode from the Rāmāyaṇa. In each village, we would find an open area. There was also a pen, and he said, “This is the classrooms, this is the hall, this is this,” and that was the plan of the building. The plan we have is so practical and simple; everyone who comes, locals, just says it’s excellent. Of course, when we started building, we began with a school for about 400 children: one floor, one story, and a hall in the middle. After they dug the foundations for the hall, Swāmījī came and extended it, as is normal. When all the classrooms were finished, Swāmījī came and said, “One story more.” I remember thinking at the time, one story more—what are we going to do with all these classrooms? Before the classrooms were finished, there were already children to fill them, even the ones upstairs. It was completely full, overflowing. Then we reached a point where we actually needed four more classrooms so that from first class until twelfth class, those children could all go through the school together. A hundred stay in the ashram. Those who have been there have seen how the students are, their discipline, and how they study. The actual enthusiasm with which they study is something really special. They really want to be there; they really want to study. There’s one small story I heard; it’s not to do with our school, but for me, it sums up what we should be doing. A man from the UN, from Delhi, came to a village where there were some ten-year-old boys. He was arranging for a school to be built there. Schools made in villages that have no school are called Rajiv Gandhi Parchala, and they go up to fifth class, but the education is pretty ordinary. This official was feeling quite proud and told the boys, “We’re going to build a school in your village.” These kids said to him, “We don’t want your school.” Actually, what they said was, “We don’t want your school, we want your school.” He said, “What do you mean by that?” They said, “We don’t need this formality type of school you’re going to put here. We want a school of that standard, like what you got to study at, so that we can become an officer or become something like you are.” It’s such a concept to come from a ten-year-old child. For them to understand that doors are open through education, and not just by that general thing available in every village, but something good that can really take them somewhere—that is what I hope we offer in our school, and I feel that we do. It’s really beautiful now. I’ve seen children come from first, second class, and now they’re going through twelfth class and passing. To see some of them do so well in exams, the world is open for them now. One girl from a very poor family in Bagavas is studying medicine. Quite a few got directly into engineering, which is difficult in our area. Although that may seem very focused on career, for those kids, that’s everything because they don’t have anything. What slowly starts to happen is that the mentality of the other students changes. In the beginning, I would say they had a mentality of, “We’ll study, but we can’t really get anywhere with that.” Students from their village, unless from a rich family, just went into agriculture or labor. They also can’t afford to go to cities for special coaching to get into medicine, engineering, or other courses. But now a few have done it, and they’ve seen it happen. You can see this energy in all the other students: “We can do this too.” They’ve seen it’s possible. It completely changes the mentality with which they study. Now they’re not just studying to try and pass exams, but in a way that this will give them something in the future, that they can go somewhere, that they can be. All over India, there are certain villages and towns where many people have gone into government administration, become heads of departments, or are all doctors. In those villages, it’s just like a formality. They all think, “Yeah, we’re also going to do it. That happens all the time here,” and they just study like that, and it happens. I really hope that same type of attitude will start to unfold even more in our students—that they can feel confident the education is good enough, that they can do what they want as long as they apply themselves. So for those supporting the project, that’s what you’re supporting. We started off, if you remember, many years ago, sponsoring students who were going to government schools. One main reason to start our school is because that became pretty much a waste of time. It’s hard to describe how bad the state of education is in village government schools in India. As an example, which I know really happened: the teacher brings in their dāl, and the lesson for the day is that the children clean dāl—take the stones out. The teacher also. It’s not discrimination; they all do it. That day they don’t get taught anything; they’re just cleaning the dāl for the teacher. So many things like that happen. Just think, “My God, how can the teacher actually do that?” But somehow, in the government system, it’s become so rotten that that is the culture. New teachers come and get dragged into that culture. As is your company, so your color becomes. Teachers who go into government service are really intelligent and bright, but the system crushes them completely. So private charitable schools like ours offer the only real alternative. Unless you have lots of money to send your children to a good private school, there are few alternatives. So, as you can imagine, in the beginning of Gyānaputra, when we sponsored children to go to government schools, I don’t think anyone would be happy sponsoring a child to go and sort dāl. For that reason, the school is running, and we’re doing our best to try and change that. One of the highlights for me of the school year, besides the children and functions, is interviews for teachers. Sometimes people come for an interview, and it is so funny. One remarkable part of Indian education is college education and just how some people can pass—unbelievable. My favorite is one guy who came to be a botany teacher, with a master’s degree in botany. If you have a master’s in botany, you should probably know something about plants and trees, at least a little bit. This fellow was sitting there, and the interview was going on. We have a panel: the principal, myself, two devotees of Swāmījī who are headmasters of schools, and the headmistress from our primary school—five of us. He was asked, “How does water go to the top of a tree?” He said, “Inside the wood, there are small metal vessels connected with a piece of string. They slowly, slowly go up the tree with the water inside, and that’s how water gets to the top.” Our principal was sitting next to me and managed to keep a straight face, which was fantastic. I’ll never forget what he said. He just said, “Are you sure?” And he went, “Yes, yes, of course.” Okay, thank you, Hariom. Don’t call us, we’ll call you. Master’s degree. Another one was a master’s degree in English. I get to ask the English questions. I asked, “Which part of your master’s degree was your favorite? They study all different parts of literature.” He said, “My favorite was the American poets from the 19th century.” I don’t know them so well myself, but it was very clear he had not studied anything about the subject; it almost seemed like somebody else had done the exams for him. So I said, “Oh, American poets. Which one was your favorite?” “Shakespeare.” I don’t know when he became an American, and I don’t know when he was in the 19th century. He didn’t get the job. It can be so much fun. It’s a long day; we start at 8 o’clock in the morning and end about 7 o’clock in the evening. We have an arrangement that they bring food so we can keep eating and interviewing at the same time because there’s not enough time to fit it all in. We normally see 70 or 80 candidates in one day, sometimes in two parts. There’s one section over here, and the other two are interviewing over there. If someone’s good, we send them to the other side and ask more questions. It’s one of the hardest things to find good teachers in India; I think it’s probably a problem everywhere in the world—good teachers prepared to work in a village. But slowly, over the first years, we managed to find one or two we would keep for the next year, then again two or three more, and so on. Now we have a staff which is pretty settled. It can be very frustrating because there’s not a culture of staying in one place. People will just go to another school overnight. You can have a really good teacher, and suddenly the next day they don’t turn up. Four or five days later, you manage that they’ll answer the phone: “Oh yeah, yeah, I’m in another school. I’ve been there since last Friday.” Thank you. But you work with what you’ve got. It started off small, just up to fifth class. This year in June was the first time our students graduated from college with a Bachelor of Arts degree. So slowly, it comes to complete education from kindergarten until the end of college. I guess the time will soon come when we start to also educate people for master’s degrees about how water goes up the tree. I don’t know if you saw this year, but there was one girl who won quite a significant prize for science. It keeps progressing; she’s now gone to the all-India level, sometimes in September in Delhi. What she made was so clever. For the project, you have to make a model and explain it according to scientific principle, with people asking questions in the competition. Her idea was to stop two trains from crashing. She made a system with magnets where both the north poles would be on the front of the trains, so when they come together, the poles push them apart so they don’t actually hit. She bought a toy train set from Pali, had two trains with little motors going towards each other, with magnets on them. It’s so simple but really quite clever. She won at our local Pali level, then in Rajasthan, and now goes to the All India competition. It’s a small thing, but it puts the name of the school everywhere around India, and the name of the ashram and Swāmījī. Also, for that girl in her future, it’s one of those special things in your resume. She already got several scholarships because of that, and she’ll study engineering now. She finished school this year. It’s just really nice to see, one by one, those small cases of lives being changed. I don’t know if any of you have read on the blog of the school, but on the left side, there’s one story about two girls who came in third class. In the story, which is a bit out of date, they came in third class and really knew nothing. They were wild, like the wildlife around at Džadan. In that story on the blog, they passed 8th class. This year they passed 12th class and are now going to college. They came in third or fourth class; they couldn’t write any letters, couldn’t write their name, nothing at all. But students in our area are so intelligent; it’s just that they’ve never had any chance, never had anybody to give them an education. As soon as they get the chance, they blossom. So, if you get the chance, or if you have been supporting the project, please, your support is most welcome if it continues. I would also like to say thank you to Lakṣmaṇa, who has been organizing for many, many years the Gyānaputra project here in Croatia. I must confess, I don’t know how many countries he is organizing it in, but I know it’s not an easy job. It would be really helpful if people would chase him, rather than him having to chase them. So, Lakṣmaṇjī, thank you very much. Thank you, Lakṣmaṇjī. The other day, I was talking with Vivek Purījī and Ānandājī. We were talking about fires, and they were saying how many fires you have here on the islands, and the fact that there are no trees afterwards because the small trees are down, the small bushes are down. The problem actually isn’t a lack of trees, but that they cannot come through because there are too many bushes. It reminded me of something that happened to me in February. They were publishing an article in a yoga magazine in Australia, an interview with me. They wanted me to see the magazine first and what was written inside. I seriously got this copy, read through it and all the different things. There were so many things inside, and it was really interesting. But afterwards, I felt seasick. I really felt disturbed in my stomach because there were so many different ways to practice inside. Everything was written about really well, but how many things can you practice? In the same way, I felt when we were discussing the bushes: if you have too many small, small practices going on, then how can the trees grow? I say that because on the board there are all these different things going on—rebirthing and this and that and whatever, I don’t know. I think it’s very important for everyone to remember that actually our practice is simple. In reality, as we practice longer, we practice fewer things, but practice them better—not to constantly try and find new things, but to try and find new things within that old practice. The same way I was talking the other day about the flute player, Hari Prasad Chaurasia, how he’s discovering things even at 80 years old about how he plays. That should also actually be there with each āsana that we practice. In the beginning, it’s about just physically doing the āsana. As you get better at it, you’re holding the āsana for longer. As you’re still better at it, the focus is more on breathing. Part 2: The Inner Door: Belief, Worthiness, and the Practice of Yoga As you progress, the focus shifts to your mental state during practice. However, mastering the physical form does not signify perfection. A story from my childhood relates to this. I loved this tale when I was four or five. Revisiting it at twenty, I thought it a strange story for a child. It was a children's book I read repeatedly. An old couple lived in a village—let's say Egypt, as the houses in the book resembled those. The story was European. Their children had left, and they felt lonely. They decided getting a cat would be good for company, making them three instead of two. After agreeing, the husband went to find a stray cat to help. Walking down a path, he found a tiny, skinny kitten under a tree, clearly without a mother and unfed for days. He picked it up, thought it the most beautiful cat, and happily started home. After a few steps, under another tree, he saw two more kittens, even more beautiful. He couldn't leave them, so he now had three. A little further, he saw two more, even more beautiful. What could he do? He ended up with five, then five more, then eight, then ten. Each group was more beautiful than the last. He returned home with over a thousand kittens. Upon arriving, his wife looked out. There was no ground visible, only kittens. She yelled, "Are you crazy? What have you done? You were supposed to get one!" Being practical, her first question was, "What are we supposed to feed them?" She had only prepared a bowl of milk and a small piece of bread for one kitten. All the kittens were crying from hunger. The husband went among them, put the bowl down, and ran. You must really practice over time, develop some perfection in that practice, and then see if you wish to move on. Personally, I believe I could practice the same āsana my whole life and still not perfect it—not just physically, but mentally. Yes, I can assume the pose, but the goal is to become one with that posture. It is truly beautiful. Many times, having an inflexible body, I have thought a posture is not for me. Of course, if I think that, it won't be. But if you accept that you can try, that you can do it, that you can fall into it and relax into it, it completely opens the position. There is another, perhaps more difficult, aspect to practice: believing we deserve to do that āsana properly, that we are worthy of doing it. A major block is the thought that we cannot be that yogī. In a satsaṅg this year, I believe in February or January, Svāmījī said in Hindi that the only thing stopping you on this spiritual path is yourself. We all deserve it. Everyone is worthy because everyone has it inside. But we must relax and accept that we are special enough not just to practice yoga, but to actually become part of that pose, to become one with that āsana or that prāṇāyāma. What holds us back is our own doubt and feeling of unworthiness. Even a small acceptance of our own specialness opens so many doors and makes many difficult things easy. I would like to tell a story about how much this can affect us. It goes back to my first year in Jadan. I was there for three months, which was my original plan. I had many reasons to return to Australia, so I went to Svāmījī not with a proposal, but to inform him I was leaving. He asked, "How long is your visa?" I wasn't considering staying longer. I said my visa was for six months. He replied, "Good, then after six months you can go to Nepal and get an extension and stay longer." Since childhood, I have gotten very homesick after a few months of traveling. This homesickness was driving my desire to return. I had cut trips to Europe and Asia short because of it. Now, Svāmījī had suddenly turned my plan on its head. I was shattered and upset. When you're upset, everything becomes negative. At that time, Gajanandjī might say the food was terrible anyway, but I truly thought it was. The weather was bad, there was too much dirt, I disliked my karma yoga work and the programs. If there was satsaṅg, I didn't like it; if there wasn't, I wondered why not. Everything was negative for a week or more. I was constantly thinking, "I cannot do this." At that time, we were digging holes to plant olive trees where the mountain in Jaran now is. Govind Purījī and I were digging. Towards the end of the day, the sun was setting—that iconic orange Indian sun. With my negative mind, I was digging this "stupid" hole for this "stupid" olive tree. Govind Purījī stopped digging, looked at the sunset, and said, "Oh, man, it's so beautiful." My immediate thought was, "You idiot. How can you think that's beautiful? That stupid sunset with this stupid power and this stupid hole and stupid olive tree." A few seconds later, I looked again and thought, "Oh my God, he's right. It really is beautiful." It was a huge ball, setting so quickly. At that moment, something completely dissolved: the entire attachment of homesickness. It was gone and never returned. My physical practice had been stagnant. In a forward bend, my hands would only reach my shins, despite effort and relaxation. The morning after the sunset incident, I went to do my usual āsanas. When I bent forward, my hands went flat on the floor effortlessly and naturally. As a physiotherapist, my brain said, "Impossible." Stretching happens slowly, systematically, over time. Yet there was a dramatic difference overnight. It was clearly related to what happened the afternoon before. The tension held in my body was linked to the issue in my mind. This was a powerful example of how our mind and mental complexes affect the body. It was also a beautiful experience of how Svāmījī works—by gently forcing a situation, he can help unravel something held inside. It completely changed my life, as I no longer had that issue to deal with. Consider that issue, and then imagine you are restricting yourself by not believing you are worthy to do the āsana, the prāṇāyāma, or the practice. Imagine what can open up when you let go of that fixed idea about your capabilities. It's not about imagining you can do something extraordinary or forcing a false belief. It's about letting go of the restrictions you place on yourself. When practicing, take it as a luxury, an indulgence—being there with yourself, enjoying letting go, becoming one with whatever part of the practice you are doing. Sajjanāvalī Lageśa Sadāhi Satsaṅg... Sūrtī aura Santa saba jāve, Sūrtī aura Santa saba gāve, Rājapātā naginataka jānā, Rājapātā naginataka jānā. Hoy palak me baan, ahoy palak me baan. Suratī or Santa Sabhāgave, Suratī or Santa Sabhāgave, Cāroṅgyā Vidhaktam, Ācāroṅgyā Vidhaktam, Esā Janāvalī Lagesā Siddhī Sattasam, Oṁ Oṁ... Svabhāvamite satsaṅgse, nityasvabhāvamite satsaṅgse, kītā hotā jobraṅg, akītā hotā jobraṅg. Esā janāvalī lāgesā, sadai satsaṅg. Esā janāvalī lāgesā, siddhāhi sattasam. Sūrtīyor sāntu sābhākāve sūrtīyor. Chāraṇya vidhaktam, Āchāraṇya vidhaktam, E sa jana avali lāge sā, Sadāhi sattve sajannā, Sadāhi sattva-saṅg, Sattva-gurusāyāp śrī-devā-purī-sāmāstva-pakīra-malā... Hare Hare Māstva-pakīra-malā Swamidī Pekai Kahataka Gao Prabhudī Pekai Kahataka Gao Sat Saṅgamai Matang Sat Saṅgamai Matang Esa Janavali Lagesa Sadahi Sat Manavā dhīre dhīre chāl, Gaganagara charanāre vāi... Charanare Bhai, Gagan Gar Charanare Bhai. Charanare Bhai, Gagan Manavadire Dire Chal, Gagan Gar Charanare Bhai. Bhanava Dheere Dheere Chaal, Gagan Gar Charnaare Bhai. Azabatar Nadiya Chaale, Lambe Lambe Kaai... Satsaṅg Gagan ke Upan Vāparaerā Guraī Manvā Dīre Dīre Chāl Gagan Garā Charaṇare Vai Manvā Dīre Dīre Chāl Gagan Garā Charaṇare Vai Charaṇare Bhai Gagan Gar Charaṇare Bhai... Chal Gagan Gar Charanare Bhai, Anvā dhīre dhīre chālaka ganagara charanāre vāi. Galiyā choti rāta andheri raste mechika nāi... Agache rapte bhava tumhara karoge undi kaai? Man vā dhīre dhīre chāl, gagan gara charanāre vāi. Anvā dhīre dhīre chāla, Gaganagara charanāre vāi. Vāi, Gaganagara charanāre vāi. Charanāre vāi, Gaganagara charanāre vāi. Vādhi re agana gara charanara panchapachisom beli okara mohani rāga sunai... Rāga sūnāyā tere mana mōe, Rāga udēya pulāi mana vā, Dhīre dhīre chāl, Gagana kara charanāre vāi, Vā dhīre dhīre chāl, Gagana kara charanāre vāi, Karanāre Bhāi, Gagan-gara-charanāre Bhāi, Bhanva dhire, dhire chaar, Ghan ghar char naare bhai. Ajaan yā koi honcho charasī pare dharan parai, Satguru bina malnai partha māga jeena bhai. Man vā jhīrē jhīrē, Gagana gara charanāre vāi. Man vā jagana gara charanāre vāi, Gagana gara charanāre vāi... Shrī Devapurījīye Sāheb Guru Merā Devī Senā Lakhāī... Ami Deepa Sanyasi Bole Garh Kripa Se Pai Manva Dheere Man vā dhīre, dhīre cāla, gagan kara charanāre vāi... Charanāre vāi, gagan kara charanāre vāi. Man vā dhīre, dhīre cāla, gagan kara charanāre vāi. To conclude the sunset story: the next morning, the food also tasted good. It was no longer so dirty, the satsaṅg was better, the work was better—everything. It goes without saying. Our perspective so profoundly affects our experience of the world, which itself may not change. For those who have seen the movie The Matrix, a certain line is relevant to the idea of believing you are worthy to practice. Recall when Neo is fighting the agents. The others watch from the control room. Neo starts doing impossible things. One asks Morpheus, "What's happening?" He replies, "He's starting to believe." That's it. We just have to believe in what we can do in yoga—not just that it's possible, but that it's possible for us. Then things can start to happen. Such a simple, powerful line: "He's starting to believe." Śrī Dīp Nārāyaṇ Bāgvāne Kījī. Śrī Śrī Devpurījī, Satu Gurū Deva Kījī. Now he tells us he saw The Matrix and had to come over first. If Gajanandjī tells us he watched it, we will be impressed. In fact, I saw him watching it in Jadan. After the last words of Jas Purījī, I would like to share a true story from Hamburg about how belief makes things possible. In one yoga family—a mother and two daughters, all disciples of Svāmījī—one daughter became seriously ill. The disease affected her muscles, making her progressively weaker over months. It consumed her body and energy. She could no longer practice āsanas and was soon in a wheelchair. The prognosis was poor; the disease was destroying her life, affecting the whole family. They felt helpless. One evening, they sat together, thinking, looking at the altar, and praying. As I understood from her, that evening she truly opened up to the possibility that healing could happen. They prayed daily, but this was a prayer of real openness. Then it happened. The next morning, everything changed. She simply got up from the wheelchair. She had a doctor's appointment, but she went on foot, not by wheelchair. The doctor couldn't believe his eyes and officially declared it a miracle, as there was no medical explanation. She always had a picture of Svāmījī by her bed, which suddenly gained immense importance. It was a spontaneous healing that could have happened any day. This is a good example of what Jasrath Spurījī explained about Kṛpā (grace). The blessing of Mahāprabhujī, the blessing of Svāmījī, was there all along. But she couldn't open herself until that evening. Immediately it worked. She is still in our yoga group in Hamburg. That is what I wanted to share. I was a bit worried about Gajanand's story. He says it's a true story, but is The Matrix not true? Maybe I have to see him again. This next bhajan is not in the book, so perhaps it counts as a concert bhajan, but it is special to me, so I’d like to sing it. Perhaps tomorrow, if we have time, we’ll translate it. Rām kā Sandeśa Mo Yeh Lāghe Re Suhāvanā, Satguru Sandeśa Mo Yeh Lāghe Re Suhāvanā. Lāghe Re Suhāvanā Merā Satguru Deva Pavana, Lāghe Re Suhāvanā Satguru Deva Pavana. Satguru Rām kā Sandeśa Mo Yeh Lāghe Re Suhāvanā, Satguru Devāṅganiyāye. Satguru Devāṅganīyāye Gyānadāna Varṣālaye, Sūtaṃ saturata jagāye, Sūtaṃ saturata jagāye, Ānanda-barāvana, Ānanda-barāvana, Rāmakasandeśo mōye lage resuvāvana, Satgurusandeśo mōye lage resuvāvana. Lagire Suavana Mer Satgir Deva Paavana Ramka Sundesho Moye Lagire Suavana Satgir Sundesho Moye Lagire Suavana Dhanamana Pranavaru Pushpam Kivaramalapenau Pushpam kī vāramālapenau, motiyā chokapuravāṇa, motiyā chokapuravāṇa. Rāmakā sandeśo moyā, lagire suāvaṇa. Sataguru sundeshamoye, lagire suāvaṇa, lagire suāvaṇa. Merā satgur deva pāvana, lagire suāvaṇa. Satgur Deva Pavana Ramka Sundeshamoye Sattagyurusneshamoyelagiresuavana Laddugevabarfiyopera Sirpuriyoramevagera Gherigodalikirabanao Prabho ji ji maavana, Prabho ji ji maavana, Ram ka Sundesho moye, lage re suavana, Satgur sundesho moye, lage re suavana, Lagire suavana, Mera Satgir Deva Paavana, Lagire suavana, Satgir Deva Paavana, Ramka sundesho moya, Lagire suavana, Satgir sundesho moya, Lagire suavana, Kanchan taal bhojan par saavu, Kanchan taal. Bhojan par sāvu, mera dil par me harṣāvu. Āp harī parṣād āroge, āp harī parṣād āroge. Paṅkh pavan dhulāvana, paṅkh pavan dhulāvana. Rāṁ kā sandeśa mo ye lāge re suhāvanā. Satguru sandeśa mo ye lāge re suhāvanā. Lāge re suhāvanā mere satguru deva pavana. Lāge re suhāvanā satguru deva pavana. Rāṁkā-sandeśo moye lagīre suhāvānā. Sataguru-sandeśo moye lagīre suhāvānā. Pāra-Brahma-puruṣottama-svāmī, Pāra-Brahma-puruṣottama-svāmī, Śrī-Deva-purīśānta-ryāmī, Śrī-Svāmī-dīpa-kahe ava sajana, Śrī Svāmī Deepakāya ava sajna, Hila mila maṅga lagāvana, Hila mila maṅga lagāvana, Rāmakā sundesho moye, Lagere suāvana sattaguru sundesho moye. Lagere Suavana Lagere Suavana Dharam Samrat Paramahaṁśrī Svāmī Maravananpurījī Mahārāj Kī Jai, Viśvaguru Mahāmaṇḍaleśvara Paramahaṁśrī Svāmī Maheśrāṇanpurījī Satguru Deva Kī Jai.