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Part 1: The Mirror Within: Time, Karma, and Devotion Good morning to everybody. How are you? Dobro, very good. So, once more, good morning to everybody. Blessings of Śrī Mahāprabhujī to everyone. Nice to see you. Time is passing. Time is passing. We had a very nice time. Time is never bad, and there is no time. Time is created by humans. Otherwise, it is called beyond space and time. So, we are just acting according to dharma. We are oriented only toward dharma, toward universal dharma. There is change. There is change as long as it is connected to matter. When you come into the infinity, then there is no change. Chala and achala, these are two. Chala means movement, and achala means no movement. So movement, the chala, is there as long as we are existing in a certain form. Even the jīvātmā—the jīvātmā is the mixture of ātmā and anātmā. Jīvātmā is a bundle of our karmas. When all this is dissolved, then there is nothing happening, nothing is there. It is called only Ātmā. We always speak about an onion, but there is no onion. We take one after another layer of the onion; it’s called a piece of onion, a piece of onion. But where is the onion? We don’t find it. Similarly, manas, buddhi, citta, ahaṃkāra, and our physical being. But we are not this. Neither are we this intellect, nor this mind. We are not these thoughts, nor this body. But still we are. And we are identifying ourselves with our body. Body? Without a body, we are nothing. We need this body. That’s why this soul, which is travelling around the space searching for some object to project its karmas, its actions—we have a projector, but we don’t have anywhere to project; we need a screen, and the screen surprises us, for it shows our real picture. So we would like to put it off, but it is said, "Wait." So we can’t give up, and we don’t try to get better. Mukha dekh prāṇī darpaṇ meṃ, O human, look at your face in the mirror. O people, look at your faces in this mirror. How many good things do you have in your life, and how many sins do you have in your life? That is the inner mirror when we close our eyes and we look within, with closed eyes, in our space. We connect ourselves with our heart and intellect. Then we see our reality. We are sometimes happy and sometimes unhappy. God gave us freedom to do what we like. We have free decision to act, but the fruits of our actions—the result of our actions—is not in our hands. That is our destiny, and destiny is given to us through our Vidhātā. Bidhātā is that one which keeps your records when we come on this earth. It is Bidhātā who is presenting all our records. And this is very hard to avoid. Therefore, Mahāprabhujī said in his garden preaching, "The past is gone, don’t cry for the past. Even if you cry, it will not help." The present is here. What you do, you should be aware. The future is not there. The future will be as Your Presence. So, God was merciful and gave us this human life so that we can change our future. And sometimes it’s difficult to change our past. Many can tell us our past and future, but how to change? Rare are those who can change. Rare, try to understand. Even God is a victim of His past deeds, maybe good or bad. That doesn’t say. If you read the Rāmāyaṇa, the past of King Daśaratha—why did it happen like that? There is one story. There was one bhakta, a devotee of mother and father. We have devotion to our parents, we have devotion to our brothers and sisters, you have devotion to your wife, and you have devotion to your husband. Devotion must not be only that you worship and pray, but devotion means respect. Understand. Maintain the relation in a pure way. But there are different kinds of bhakti, devotion: towards parents, towards the nation, towards your teachers, towards God. God, elements, etc. So there was one man, or boy, born, and his parents were blind. So he dedicated his life to serve his parents. He didn’t marry because he said, "If I marry, then there will be some kind of mistakes which I may do, that I’m not fully concentrating and serving my parents." The parents were growing old, while he was growing into a young and strong man. There are three kinds of children, or disciples, or partners. Everyone has different principles, different relations. It’s called Kaniṣṭa, Madhyama, and Uttama, three. The worst, the middle, and the best. I djece. But can your brother tell him he can do it? Avoiding. Or, before you tell, it disappears. Such a disciple will not get anything. The middle one likes to do it, but is waiting for the order. If my mother tells me, I will do it. Otherwise, leave it as it is. So you have to beg, "Please, can you do it?" Okay, I will do it. This is the middle one. The scale is like this. Uttama is that one, the best one. When you come to know what your father, mother, or master wants, without asking, they will do. There is no argument. There is no question why, how, I don’t understand. These questions, Uttama disciple or Uttama children, do not ask. Because every parent wishes to do the best for their children. And every master wishes very much and does their best for the disciples. I will not sit here and give you every day, hour after hour lectures, because I wish all the best for you. Kaniṣṭa, madhyama, uttama—that’s very important. There’s a story which I told you many times about one wasp which finds a kind of worm, makes a mud house, a small mud house, and puts it in. And one day it will turn into the wasp. One day he will turn into an ox. Satsaṅga, satsudhāre, satsaṅga pāhī. Even a foolish person, if one ignores, can become great and wise through the satsaṅga. Kaniṣṭa, madhyama, and uttama, these are three qualities. So, that son of these blind parents, what was his name? Śarvan Kumār. So you should know that Swāmījī is not creating stories. You have the evidence here. Śaravan Kumār, well, one day the parents wished, desired to go to all holy places, pilgrim places. There were no cars, no trains, no aeroplanes, no transportation, no possibilities. The servant said, "Yes, father. Yes, mother. We will do." So, he prepared two beautiful baskets from the nice bamboo. And in one basket he put his father, and in one, his mother. And the bamboo hanging on it, and he put it on his shoulder. Carrying the parents hundreds or thousands of kilometres—that time, the roads were not so nice—to the forest, jungle, up, down, desert, wherever sunset, they stopped there and stayed overnight. One day, they came to some place, and it was midday, and Śaravana put the baskets down. That’s called Kavaḍā. We call that Kavaḍā. Not in English, Kavaḍā. So now in the month of Śrāvaṇa, near Guru Pūrṇimā time, you will see in India many, many people who are carrying two water pots on their shoulders, which is a symbol of Śrāvaṇa, bringing the water to the Śiva temple. And because these people are cowards, who are carrying the cowards, he stopped. Midday, hot sun, he was sweating, and he said to his parents, "My dear parents, how much I am doing for you, and I offer my whole life to you. What will you give me?" Like he is asking for the ticket. Father said, "Yes, my son, of course we will give you something, but tell me, where are you? Where are we now?" So he told him, "This is the place, the name is perhaps something like that." Father said, "Okay, let’s go, carry on. You will get something." After walking a few kilometres, he put the cover down again and began to cry, telling the parents, "Forgive me, please forgive me. I don’t know why my buddhi, my intellect, my mind was polluted. That which I asked from you—you gave me life. Please forgive me." Father said, "Servant, it was not your mistake. The radiance of that spot where we were standing, that was a negative radiance. And all the constellations attacked you, and we changed the place. Again, you became normal. So, my dear, sometimes we come to some place, or it can be in your house too. Certain negative energy comes. At that time, don’t make any mistake or any decision; otherwise, you will be sorry. If you have... one day, quarrelling with your partner, then wait, or go somewhere for coffee. Croatians like coffee very much, and all will be okay. But at that time, in that place, don’t make a decision, okay? 'We will divorce, I don’t like you anymore.' Wait. Wait. Time will bring your good situations. A wise one can wait. A wise one will not argue, and a wise one will not suffer. But we’ll be happy that I have now got something to work on. My duty is now to digest and neutralize everything in a positive way. But inside ego, pride, or you may say rudeness, you can’t digest, like popcorn on a hot pan." So they were travelling. One day, it was evening, nearly sunset. The parents said, "Son, servant, you are tired, and it seems that it is getting dark. We rest here, under this beautiful tree." It is called Kadam Braksha, beautiful. "We will stay overnight here. Son, we are very thirsty. Search somewhere for water and bring water." So he was looking, the servant was looking. Where can water be? And he saw somewhere the kingfisher birds were flying. So he said, "Where birds are flying, like these kinds of ducks, there must be water." He said to his parents, "I am going to bring water. Please rest and relax." Mother said, "Son, come quickly, don’t let us wait long." Father said, "Be careful and bring water." So he had one water pot with him, like nowadays you have water bottles, so the capacity of about five litres of water. It was about one kilometre far, or half a kilometre, a beautiful pond or a lake, with pure, clean water. Now, getting dark, so there was a king who went for hunting. I forgot the name of that. You know who it was? Zaboravim? No. Yes. Now, at that time, people were fighting wars and using weapons like arrows. But they had sādhanā. These arrows were functioning according to particular mantras. Now you will say that mantra, and the arrow will go there. I have been thinking about this for a long time. But when in Yugoslavia there was a civil war, and in a night the planes came without sound, without light, and dropped the bomb just on that place, that breeze. No civilian was there, and like this. How would this be managed? Technology. Computerizing. Navigators. So they had, at that time, such navigators, powers of mantras. Now, in Kali Yuga, the mantras have also lost a lot of energy. Not the mantra, people, because there is a sādhanā called upāsanā. And if you do this sādhanā, this upāsanā, there are very strict rules. And the strict rules are, if you don’t eat anything, then you should not eat. You know, in Islam, there are certain festivals also, fastings. And we call Roja in the Urdu language, Roja, Ramadan. On these days, until they see the moon, it is 24 hours. They don’t swallow their own saliva from the mouth. If you cough, they will not swallow, so they are disciplined. They are fasting, no sip of water. Not a coughing chocolate or candy, and five times a day making prayers. Discipline, devotion to their belief—we could learn from them. And Devpurījī today said about Mauna, and all was singing afterwards on the beach, like in Mona Lisa, all was like that. Fasting, yes, I am fasting. But this is chocolate, only prasād, take it. Okay, prasāda is good. They will not do, they will take it and keep it. So I want to say that with discipline and quality, there is no compromise. In the operating theater, there is no compromise. You can’t go in. You have to take a plastic cap and plastic shoes. You have to have a mask, everything. You have the flu, and the doctor or the surgeon is your friend, and you just go in. He will not allow you. Compromise is not allowed. So, upāsanā, in upāsanā, if you make a little mistake, that will destroy you. So you should not catch the cobra. And if you want to catch, you should know how to catch. And now, just don’t drop him down. To know how to catch and how to free. That becomes successful, especially in Devī Pūjā, Śakti Pūjā, there you have to have very strict rules, very strict, because she is pure and she has no compromise, she plays as a mother, but in certain things she is very strict. Little mother, little child, born one month ago, and the father wants to give something to the child to eat, but the mother is strict and will not allow it. She will catch her husband, put him out of the door, and close the door. Discipline. At that time, they could think, and an arrow would go there. So there are many, many brahmāstras, you know, that was a brahmāstra. When the Brahmāstra was used, it was like a distraction. Before you take this mantra and brahmāstra, the whole universe is trembling and said, "No, no, don’t do this mistake." And the whole universe would shake and say, "Do not make that mistake." Brahma is still speaking. Don’t do this. Vishnu will say, "Don’t do this." Shiva will say, "No, stop." Like now, the atom bomb. If one country tried to use an atom bomb, the whole United Nations and all countries would be against it. Don’t do this, this text, no? So, power is given, but not for misusing. For the sake of your selfishness, now we are not strong enough. Someone tells you, and you become angry, and you say, "Okay, I will shoot it." That’s why your mantra doesn’t function now. You can use those mantras too. I can teach you which one it is. But by evening you will say, "Swamiji, please take it back." Śabdāna, so arrow, Śabdāna—śabda means the word. Now, what is śabda? Śabda is that behind this hill there is some sound. And you are here. Now you order your arrow, and it goes and meets, hits that point, that person, or any animal. Part 2: The Inescapable Web of Destiny: Śabdabāṇa and the Line of Karma That is called Śabdabāṇa. And do not give that weapon into anyone’s hands. Only a yogi, a good person who is trained, who knows when and where to use it. There is a story that illustrates this. May I tell you? There was a king, and the king had bodyguards. His secretary and those closest to him always insisted that no one should disturb the king. So one afternoon, the king went to sleep in his room. Naturally, when he was sleeping, the bodyguard was not standing right beside him. But they had trained a monkey. The monkey had been given a sharp sword, and it was trained to ensure that no one disturbed the king’s sleep. The monkey stood guard, pacing about. Then a fly entered the room, and it kept settling on the king’s nose. The king would wave it away, but it returned and sat there again. He did this a few times, turning from one side to the other. The monkey thought, “The king is being disturbed by this fly. I am loyal to him. I am loyal to my master. What am I here for?” So the monkey crept closer, and the fly was sitting right there. The monkey struck. The fly flew away—but not alone; it took a piece of the king’s nose with it. You cannot place a weapon in the hands of such a being. So always apply viveka, discrimination: consider the place and the situation. These weapons were always used by those who were properly trained, and only certain people could receive that training. Now, there was another king. He had attained a sādhanā siddhi, a perfection through spiritual practice. As it grew dark, he became increasingly afraid of wild animals—tigers, lions—and he went out to hunt tigers. He climbed a tree and sat there, knowing that at that hour the animals would come to drink water at a certain pond or lake. Unfortunately, a servant, a young man, came to the lake, entered the water, filled his pot, and as he did so the water made a gentle sound. He also washed his hands and face. The king thought, “That must be a lion or a tiger drinking and bathing.” He took aim, employing Śabdabāṇa, the sound-directed arrow, and shot. The arrow struck the servant, and he fell down, crying out, “Father! Mother! I will not be able to bring you water.” The king heard a human voice, climbed down, ran over, and saw the young man. He pulled him out of the water, overwhelmed with remorse. “I am so sorry, so sorry. I never wanted this. Who are you?” The servant, Śravaṇa, answered, “My friend, I do not know who you are. But what has happened has happened. I am only sorry, so unhappy, that in the last minutes of my life I have left my parents thirsty; I could not give them water.” The king asked, “Your parents? Where are they?” “They are sitting about half a kilometer, perhaps one kilometer away, under a Kadamba tree. They are blind. Please go and give them water.” And Śravaṇa died. The king took the water pot and went there. He did not dare to say anything at first; he was afraid. Approaching them, he simply said, “Water.” The blind father replied, “This is not your voice, Śravaṇa. Why are you speaking like this? What happened? I will not drink.” Again the king said, “Drink.” The mother and father knew something was wrong. Then the king confessed, “Please forgive me. I did this and that.” The blind parents cursed him: “When you die, your children will not be there, and you will die blind, suffering like this.” And that king later became the father of Lord Rāma, King Daśaratha. That was the end of Daśaratha, the father of God Rāma. Sadā bhāī, karma kī rekhā nyārī nyārī. O brothers, the line of your karma, every one of you has a different one. It is like your left thumbprint. How many of us are sitting in this hall? Hundreds, and no two are the same. That is why, for an illiterate person, a signature is given by the thumb—someone who cannot write must press their thumb. Nowadays, in serious cases, you have to give both your finger and your thumb. In many countries, when you pass through border control, they take your thumbprint. And it is not only you; the computer can check millions of prints, and no two are alike. Similarly, we all sit here, but our destinies are different, my dear. Among them were Bhagavān Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa, Śatrughna, and Bharata. Later, Viśvāmitra arrived seeking protection for his yajña, and so the story unfolds. After all four brothers were married, they returned to Ayodhyā. Everyone was happy. And Daśaratha consulted Viśvāmitra and the family guru, Vasiṣṭha. Guru Vasiṣṭha served as the royal preceptor of this dynasty, the Raghu line. King Daśaratha said, “Gurudev, please examine tomorrow’s constellation, or tell us when the most auspicious constellation will be. I wish to hand over the kingdom to my son Rāma now.” The astrologers looked into the Jyotiṣ charts, and all those present concurred. They spoke in the language of Jyotiṣ, which you may not understand. Everyone advised, “Let the consecration take place immediately, and you will reap even greater merit.” But see how destiny plays. The Vedānta declares, “What destiny has written, destiny itself laughs at.” It was announced that the very next morning, Lord Rāma would become king—he would receive the Abhiṣeka, the Tilaka, and the crown; he would be enthroned. Daśaratha had three wives, who together gave him four children. The mother of Bharata was Kaikeyī. She came from a time when all of India was one, from the region of Afghanistan. When she was married, a few servants were sent with her, and one of them was her constant companion, a babysitter who had cared for Kaikeyī from childhood. So the babysitter system is not only modern—I apologize for saying that yesterday; I take my words back. It existed even then. And be careful: how much power does a babysitter wield? You can read in the Rāmāyaṇa how that attendant, Mantra, who was the nursemaid and caretaker of Kaikeyī, behaved. She did not wish Rāma well; she hated him. She wanted Kaikeyī’s own son to become king. But Rāma was the firstborn, so it was universally accepted that the first son would inherit the throne. And see the drama she staged. Kaikeyī actually loved Rāma more than her own son and was furious at that Mantra: “How could you speak this way? How dare you speak ill of Rāma?” But blackmail is blackmail; black cannot become white. Mala-vikṣepa and āvaraṇa—the veils of impurity and misprojection—are powerful forces, my dear. By midnight, she had managed to turn Kaikeyī against Rāma and Daśaratha, and the piece was set in motion. Kaikeyī went into a room that was always known as “the room of sadness,” threw away all her jewelry, and sent a message to the king. This is why one should never take immediate action. The second problem lay in the past: the king had once given his word to his queen, who was Kaikeyī again in that former life. On a battlefield, she had saved the king; she fought for him, and in gratitude he said, “My dear, I am so thankful that you saved my life. Ask anything, and I will give it to you.” She replied, “King, be careful; I give you my whole life.” And so he granted, I believe, three boons. She used one at once, and for the other two she said, “I will keep them. When I need them, I will ask.” Now she called him to fulfill those boons. Is the story becoming interesting? Or should I stop? “Sīyāvara Rāmacandra Bhagavān Kī Jai!” — Mantra? You said the maid of the queen, the slave? Mantra was the maid, the servant of Kaikeyī. Mantra gave her a “good mantra,” or so she thought, but it turned into a terrible teaching. Later, Kaikeyī would be sorry all her life. That is how one can destroy everything. Poor Kaikeyī—Rāma was her son. Everything that could be best in this world was Rāma. And for his part, Rāma loved Kaikeyī more than his own mother, even though she was his stepmother. Whatever words Mantra spoke against Rāma made Kaikeyī furious and deeply sad. But Mantra kept speaking so poisonously: “You will become a slave, you will suffer, and you will see that Rāma will treat you like a servant. Your own son must become king. Bharat must be the king.” Kaikeyī protested, “No, I do not want this. What kind of mother are you, stealing your son’s rights?” Such are family problems and blackmail—not only the instigator, but all will be dragged down. Mantra herself was so sorry afterwards, so very sorry. The king came. But first, Kaikeyī presented her two boons—a perfect political maneuver. Boon number one: “Tomorrow morning, before this hour, Rāma must be punished—that is, sent into the forest, out of the kingdom of Ayodhyā. For fourteen years, he is not allowed to enter Ayodhyā’s territory, not allowed to enter any village, not allowed any meetings or associations at all. Only the forest; he must live in the forest. This is the first wish you must fulfill.” Boon number two: “Tomorrow, Bharat is to be announced as king.” At that time, Bharat and Śatrughna were not in Ayodhyā; they were at their parents’ home, and it would take a long time for them to return. Kaikeyī had objected, “I cannot do this.” But the maid insisted, “You will do it. I tell you, I am responsible for you.” So Kaikeyī agreed. The king arrived. Kaikeyī played her role perfectly: dressed in black, her hair disheveled, eyes wide with anger—he knew what such eyes meant. The king said, “My dear, what has happened?” “Do not touch me!” Oh, she was like a cobra. Oh my God, you all know this better than I do. She said, “Do you remember, King? In that time, in that life, you made me a promise. Three boons. One I asked for already, and two I kept.” He answered, “Yes, my dear. Ask; I will give you anything.” She retorted, “You are a coward! You will not give them. You cannot give them. Do not disturb me; I will die here just as I am.” Emotionally, she made him utterly powerless. He said, “Ask.” She demanded, “Promise me again that you will fulfill them.” “Yes, my dear, I will do it for you; only be happy.” She replied, “I will be happy if you fulfill.” And behind a curtain stood Mantra, watching. If she noticed that Kaikeyī was weakening even a little, she would signal her to press on. “All right, my first wish: send Rāma for fourteen years into the forest, out of Ayodhyā’s kingdom. He must not enter any village or any house. He must take the dress of a sannyāsī, like a yogī, no longer a prince.” Eighty percent of the king’s strength shattered. “Why? What has he done to deserve this punishment? I cannot do it; he has done nothing wrong.” But she only stood over him, one leg pressing upon him, and said, “I told you, coward, you will not fulfill my wish. Get out of here.” He cried, “I am broken; I cannot stand.” Then she delivered the second: “And one more wish, and then you may have your funeral. First, I did not let you die before; second, my son Bharat will be king tomorrow.” The king fell unconscious; it was as if a heart attack had seized him. They carried him to his room. Somehow, around four o’clock in the morning, Rāma sensed something and asked, “What is happening here?” Mantra had sent a message to Rāma: “Look at your father’s condition.” He went and saw what had occurred, then he went to Kaikeyī. “Mother, why are you suffering? What you have commanded is my blessing. I will be so happy to go to the forest and meet many yogīs. And how proud I am—my brother will be king! Wherever I go, I will say with pride, ‘My brother is the king.’” Like the secretary of a minister who has more ego than the minister himself. He said, “Mother, be happy. I will do it; do not worry.” She said, “Then go and tell your coward father.” So he went to his father and said, “Father, you are the hero, you are great. This is nothing. How happy I am. I will be in the forest; we will have time to meditate, time to pray, time to meet many ṛṣis. And I will be glad that Bharat is so capable. Please allow me.” The king could only moan, “No, no…” But Rāma departed, and Sītā went with him, and Lakṣmaṇa went with him. Now, from the depth of this suffering, a few days before Bharat arrived, the king died. No one was with him. And he remembered that arrow he had shot, that Śabdabāṇa that killed Śravaṇa. Thus the story continues, and it is very beautiful. You should read the whole Rāmāyaṇa. So, my dear, destiny is destiny. We must be humble, careful, and prayerful, so that if we cannot change it, we may at least tilt it slightly in our favor. And at the very least, we should refrain from creating new, fresh destiny. Therefore, the inner instruments—manas, buddhi, citta, and ahaṁkāra—the antaḥkaraṇa, must be purified. We must remove the veils of mala-vikṣepa and āvaraṇa. We have to work very hard, as Kabīrdās says in a bhajan: Kabīr dās, kāyā chobhajanī, Rām ras bhīnī. This human body is colored, soaked in the nectar of Rāma. When God incarnates, He incarnates in human form. But it is we who do not understand and keep repeating the same patterns. So karma, destiny, cannot easily be altered. Again, I remind you of an ancient, ancient story from Greece. A king had a son, and a seer foretold: “Your son will marry your wife.” The king abandoned the infant in a forest among wild animals, but a shepherd found him and took him home, and the boy grew up. You know the name… So, Uddhava, karma kī rekhā nyārī nyārī. Uddhava, karma kī rekhā nyārī nyārī. O Uddhava, the lines of our karmas are each so unique. The Gopīs spoke these very words to Kṛṣṇa’s dearest friend, Uddhava, after Kṛṣṇa had left: “The line of our karmas, our destinies, are so different.” And when Bharata returned, he heard everything. He was so furious with his mother that he could not bear to look at her face. He refused to accept the kingdom. It is all very painful. Yet, in spite of everything, God suffers for us; He comes here to liberate us, to protect us. Any incarnation, including Kṛṣṇa, undergoes immense suffering. Look at the destiny of Kṛṣṇa: born in a prison, rescued across a river, and so much more. In the end, He too became the victim of an arrow and left His body. So, my dear, we are all in the same ocean, in the same water. Let us do something good. God is merciful, and may we emerge from this play, this cycle of birth and death. That is very important for us.