TV Channel

Why is it rātrī? And why not the day? Rātrī means night. Mahā Śiva Rātri is the darśan when Bhagavān Śiva, Swayambhu, appeared at night to a hunter. The story of the hunter is long. He went hunting but found no animals. He returned home, and his wife was angry because the children had nothing to eat. So the hunter went out again at night. Deer came, and he wanted to kill them, but they spoke in human language, pleading for their lives for the sake of their families. He sat in a tree, afraid of wild animals, and then Śiva appeared. Śiva blessed both the hunter and the deer, providing enough for all their families. This appearance was as a Jyotirliṅga. Śiva appears in twelve Jyotirliṅgas, and this was one of them. When God appears, that moment and its constellation are counted as a divine time. That time is celebrated once a year as Mahā Śiva Rātri. Rātri means night. These nine days belong to the Divine Mother. In brief, there was a rākṣasa, a devil. He received a blessing from Brahmā after asking that no one could kill him, and that if anyone killed him at night, he would come back to life. The Divine Mother appears for such purposes. The Mother is the protector, the Divine, who removes negative energies. In Hinduism, in Sanātana Dharma and Indian culture, there are 24 incarnations of Viṣṇu. The 24th one, who is yet to come, is called the Kalī Avatāra. This is because we are in Kali Yuga, the iron age: after Satya Yuga, Tretā Yuga, and Dvāpar Yuga comes Kali Yuga. This is the time of Kali Yuga, when unbelievable things happen—sin, killing, and so on. As Bhagavān Kṛṣṇa said in the Bhagavad Gītā to Arjuna: "Yadā yadā hi dharmasya glānir bhavati bhārata / abhyutthānam adharmasya tadātmānaṁ sṛjāmy aham." (Whenever there is a decline of righteousness and a rise of unrighteousness, O Arjuna, then I manifest Myself.) I incarnate from time to time when dharma, the right path, and the pure soul are in trouble and difficulties, and when negative energy is increasing. Then I come to destroy this negative energy, the rākṣasas, and to support the devotees, the bhaktas. The time when Kṛṣṇa said this was nearly 7,000 years ago. At that time, there was only one dharma, called Sanātana Dharma. Sanātana Dharma is the universal religion, not a man-made religion. Man-made religion is created when an incarnation appears in form and gives peace, lectures, knowledge, and blessings. The Vedas, the first scriptures, were given by Brahman, not by any man. The Vedas are Sanātana. Sanātana is that eternal principle, like a process or system. For example, water from the ocean rises up, becomes fog, then clouds; rain follows, falls down, water comes to creeks, then to rivers, and back to the ocean. This is an automatic, sustainable cycle. Consider trees and seeds: how a seed sprouts, how that little plant grows into a beautiful tree. In time, it bears fruit, and within the fruit, seeds develop again. The seeds fall to the earth and grow once more. This is a sanātana process. Similarly, a mother’s child takes nine months to grow perfectly in her womb, as do other creatures. The Sanātana principle is in an egg. You see the egg, and after some time, a baby comes out. No scientist can make an egg from which a chicken will hatch. No scientist today can create one drop of blood, which contains different genes, minerals, cells—everything we have. No scientist can make honey; only bees can make honey. They can make sweet sugar syrup and add flower aromas to call it honey, but no one can make real honey. The God-made world is perfect, and the man-made world is imperfect. Therefore, Sanātana Dharma is eternal Dharma. It is not man-made Dharma; it is God’s, the Almighty’s. His work is perfect. Look at flowers. Every petal has the same size and color, and is so beautiful. We can manipulate a little to change the color, but that is manipulation. In reality, see how the leaves on a mighty tree, even the very small ones, are all the same size and design. How many workers did God have with scissors to cut them all exactly the same? So, oh man, you compare yourself to God? Forget it. Someone says, "I don’t believe in God. I am human and capable. I will do all. His eye is nothing." His eye means a blind eye? Well, this is about Sanātana Dharma. After this, when these 24 incarnations came, there is also God. But they came as humans, and sometimes in different forms. Why did God come in different forms? For example, there was a king who wanted to become immortal. He went into the forest and performed austerity, tapasyā, for many years. Then Brahmā came and asked, "My son, child, what do you want?" The king said, "Are you God?" "Yes." "Then why do you ask me what I want? You know what I want." Brahmā said, "I know, but I want to hear it from your mouth." So the king said, "Bless me with immortality." Brahmā said, "I cannot give you that; it is beyond cosmic law, and I cannot do this." The king said, "Okay, I will continue my tapasyā. You have to come and grant me immortality." Brahmā knew what he wanted. He said, "Okay, I cannot give you direct immortality, but, for example, I can grant that nobody can kill you under certain conditions." The king said, "Okay, will you give me your blessings? Give me your word?" Brahmā said, "Yes." "All right, then listen, Brahmā." "Yes, I am listening." "I should not die during the daytime." Brahmā said, "Yes." "I should not die in the night either." "Okay." "No animals can kill me, okay? And no human can kill me, okay? No elements can destroy me, okay? And there should be no natural death, okay? So I should not die in the night or the day, neither by human nor animal, nor from illness. And I should not die outside my house, and I should not die inside my house." Brahmā said, "Okay." The king said, "Then all right." Brahmā said, "I bless you," and disappeared. The king laughed and laughed, thinking, "God, you can’t kill me anymore." You see, this is the ego of man. This happened in that time, and even now there are such people, though they are not clever enough to ask for such blessings, and before they get them, they are gone. The king returned home and announced to his kingdom: "No one should pray to God. No temples, no churches." (There were no mosques or churches then, only temples.) "No one should sing divine songs, no mantras. No pūjās, nothing. I am the god." This god’s name was Hiraṇyakaśipu. He called all the school teachers and ordered them never to teach anything spiritual or religious. Only "me and me and me, I and I"—that is ego. When power comes, one becomes blind. He had a son named Prahlāda. From a very young age, Prahlāda began to speak, chanting "Hari Om. Hari Om Tat Sat. Hari Om Tat Sat.... Japa kar, japa kar, yahī mahāmantra hai: Hari Om Tat Sat. Hari Om Tat Sat." Hari is Viṣṇu, and Har is Śiva, so Hari is Viṣṇu. Om, Hari Om. That is the Om. Hari is the Om. Tat means "that," and Sat means "the truth." So the mahāmantra is Hari Hi Om. Hari Hi Om, Om Hi Hari. Hiraṇyakaśipu heard his child chanting the name of God. He told him, "Don’t speak these stupid things. Don’t sing like this." But the boy continued. The king told his soldiers, "Take him and throw him in the jungle, in the forest, among the wildlife." After two days, the little boy returned home. Then he said, "Throw him somewhere in the wild elephant jungle." They did so, but he came home again. Then they said, "Take him to the peak of the mountains and leave him there." He was meant to fall, but he slid down and landed on the branches of a beautiful, green tree. He swung there, ate fruits because he was hungry, and then slowly made his way home. The king said, "Go and throw him in the lake where there are crocodiles." They took him and threw him in the water. There were hundreds of crocodiles, but every crocodile turned into a lotus flower. He walked on the lotus flowers, coming home while chanting, "Hari Om Tat Sat, Hari Om Tat Sat,... Hari Om Tat Sat. Japa karo, japa karo, yahī mahā mantra hai, Hari Om Tat Sat, Hari Om Tat Sat," coming home, "ah, Hari Om." The king was surprised. He called the teacher from the school and told him, "Teach him my name, because all the children are singing 'Hari Om Tat Sat' in school." The teacher taught him, "Don’t sing this name. It is not good. Sing your father’s name." Prahlāda said, "What? This is not a good name?" All the school children were singing, coming home with their little bags, ringing bells. The rākṣasa, the devil, cannot see God, cannot feel God. He is completely opposite. In politics also, there are opposite parties; they may greet each other publicly, but at home it's different. At night, Hiraṇyakaśipu would ride on horseback from village to village. If anyone was singing the name of God and bhajans, like "Madhuram," he would punish them, burn them alive immediately. One night, he came to a small village of about 30 or 40 houses. There was an elderly woman who made pottery from clay. When she had made about 40, 50, or 100 pots, she would put grass or fuel and set a fire to harden them. She had a beautiful cat. This cat had given birth to five kittens in one of the pots. The woman, not knowing, placed that pot among the others to be fired. In the afternoon, around five o'clock, she lit the fire. Then the cat came, meowing. The woman realized, "Oh God, what a sin I have committed. The kittens must have died." She sat there, thinking of God for help. She was about 75 or 80 years old—at that time, people lived to 100 or 200 years and were strong. (Nowadays, food and systems are made so people do not live long; after 80 or 85, they are often not valued commercially, which is not a good law.) She sat chanting, "Hari Om Tat Sat. Hari Om Tat Sat.... O Bhagavān, hurry, hurry, hurry. Hurry up, hurry up, hurry." Hiraṇyakaśipu arrived on his horse. He dismounted and asked, "Hey, old lady, why are you chanting the name of God?" She said, "Oh Hiraṇya Kaśyapa, oh Hiraṇya Kaśyapa," afraid. He said, "No, no... you were singing Hari Hari Om, not Hiraṇyakaśipu. Why? Where was the necessity that you chant the name of Viṣṇu?" She told him the story. He said, "You believe that?" She said, "I hope." He said, "Okay, then go ahead chanting. I will sit here until the pots become cool. If the kittens inside are alive, I will free you. Otherwise, I will burn you in this fire." Now she was singing truly from her heart, for her life and the lives of the kittens. He waited. After the fire cooled, she began taking the pots out: one, two, three, four. He watched. The pot in the middle, facing the others, opened, and the little kittens jumped out, chanting "Hari Om." The cat was overjoyed. Hiraṇyakaśipu said, "I can’t trust and believe this, but I will leave you free." He went home. He returned to his palace. His son, Prahlāda, was dancing in the yard with other little children, singing "Hari Om Tat Sat, Hari Om Tat Sat." He went into his palace and called the blacksmith to make a large iron pipe, about two meters long and wide enough for two humans to enter. He filled it with coal and set it on fire, like a chimney. It took time for the coal to become red-hot. It was so hot one couldn't go near it within 30 meters. In the afternoon, after sunset, around four or five o'clock, he sat in the yard and called his son: "My son, I love you, but you are against me. You act like my enemy. So either you stop chanting 'Hari Om Tat Sat,' or if you believe in your God, hug this pillar. If you do not, I will chop off your head with my own hands." There was a long discussion. Finally, Prahlāda said, "Rākṣasa, devil, it is better to die in the fire than be killed by you." Hiraṇyakaśipu said, "Then go and show me." It was about 7 or 7:30 in the evening. Prahlāda walked towards the hot iron pillar. As he came near, he felt, "Hot, very hot." He thought, "I will burn today." But then he saw with his own eyes: little ants were crawling, walking, and climbing on the pillar. He gained confidence and willpower. "If this little ant does not die and burn, how will I?" He jumped to hug the pillar, and the pillar broke into two parts. From the fire emerged a form—half lion, half human. It was Narasiṁha, the man-lion incarnation. He took Hiraṇyakaśipu in his hands. (The speaker corrects himself: He took Hiraṇyakaśipu, not Prahlāda.) At that moment, Hiraṇyakaśipu realized something was wrong. As we say in India, "Dāl me kālā"—there is something black in the lentils. Hiraṇyakaśipu got up from his chair to run away. The lion jumped on him and caught him in the middle of the doorway of his house, sitting on his stomach. Narasiṁha said, "Hiraṇyakaśipu, where are you? Inside your house or outside?" Hiraṇyakaśipu said nothing. Narasiṁha continued, "Is it night or day?" It was neither night nor day, just sunset. "Am I some illness? Is it a natural death? Am I an animal?" Hiraṇyakaśipu said, "I can’t understand." Narasiṁha was half-human, half-lion. "Okay, any wish? Anything wrong? Did I fulfill all your conditions? Now is your time. Come, what is this? The claws are not a weapon? Say no, then your end has come." And the lion killed him for the sake of the bhakta. So time takes its course, but God will never forget us. He is always there, watching for such cruelties. Now, in Kali Yuga, the iron age, we know what is happening. So it is not very far. The Kalī Avatāra will come, and then you will see. They cannot hide anywhere—neither in caves, nor in bulletproof cars, nor in houses. Because He knows where we are, here or there; all is in His vision and near to Him. Prahlāda was saved, and he became a great saint. Prahlāda had a son—I have forgotten his name, maybe Dhruva, or Chhotarāyatana—anyhow. Sometimes the norm goes out, but it will come back. Vāmanāvatāra. Thank you, Mātājī. Vāmanāvatāra. There was another devil there, so the story goes on. In God’s kingdom, there is no darkness, only light. Sooner or later, He will come and take all of us in His lap. So bhajan, kīrtan, satsaṅg; satsaṅg means good company, and kuṣaṅga means bad company. So, satsaṅg. Jaane vad bhaagire jan paaye sobhavo sata sanghari. Jaise brangi, jaise brangi mile vo sabd gunjar suna. Jaise lat brangi mile vo sabd gunjar suna. There is a particular wasp that makes a little nest out of clay, sometimes on a tree branch or in the corner of a house, with many little holes. That particular wasp does not lay its own eggs but takes a worm, something like a caterpillar, from another wasp. If you say this caterpillar will one day become a butterfly, it seems a joke—a worm getting wings to fly. But one day, a beautiful butterfly does come out of a worm. Even ants get wings and fly. This wasp searches for worms. There are three kinds of worms: uttam (the best), madhyam (the middle), and kaniṣṭha (the lowest). When the wasp comes, she makes a humming sound—in yoga, this is called brahmrī prāṇāyāma. There is one worm that, when it hears this sound, the wasp stops and searches for the kaniṣṭha, the one of low quality, tamas guṇa, that hides under bushes or grass on the earth. That wasp cannot take it. Then the wasp goes to the second one, the madhyam. When it makes the sound, that worm comes, stands on its tail, listens for a while, then goes down and runs away. So it is with some bhaktas, some people. They come to the master, hear one day of satsaṅg, and then disappear forever. Or someone, for some months or years, gets rid of everything—mantras and kriyās—and then disappears. That cannot be. Then there is the uttam, the best, pure one. The wasp goes away for a few minutes. The worm, turning and watching, thinks, "Where has it gone? Where has that wasp flown?" The wasp may go about two meters away, and the worm walks that way again. The wasp makes the sound, and the worm stands on its tail. The wasp takes it and puts it in that mud house. Sometimes she takes a few, sometimes only one, depending on how many there are. She puts them in and closes the nest, leaving a little hole for oxygen. Now, closed in, the worm thinks, "This master has closed me in. I was free. I wanted to eat nice flowers and such." In this mud house, the wasps come. Rāga. Verāga. Then a wasp goes to the backside and gives an injection, stinging that worm. "Oh, an injection!" Then she goes away and comes again. The worm thinks, "Oh God, she’s coming back," or "He’s coming back? No, the master is coming." It switches inside. "Can’t I run away? I can’t go." The wasp comes and bites again. After a few days, she doesn’t come forward. After a few hours or two, she comes without making a sound and listens. That worm, which was just a worm, now wants to hear that sound. "When will it come? When it comes, I was awake." So when the wasp was coming home, the worm was awakened. Through these hormones and this training, the worm develops into a wasp. Then the wasp comes and flies around the mud house, listening inside. "Who is inside? These babies. What are they doing?" She says, "Now they have turned, changed from worm to wasp." Then she opens the house, and she flies, and all from the house fly behind her. She was one, and four more became five. All five guṇas flew away. So, this is said in satsaṅg. Like that worm comes and listens to the sound from the verse: Branghi Toho Ye Yudha Jaye Sobhavo Sata Shangari Sabda Bheda. Sabda is the word. Bheda is the sound, or the knowledge, or the effect, the mantra. Śabda vedake guñjī se. Guñjī means that humming sound. Braṅgī to hoī uḍ jāī. These worms become wasps, and they fly behind you. So the master comes and gives the mantra. The master gives the disciplines. The master gives the guru akhyā. The master says, "Don’t go there, don’t do this, this." And the time will come that you will become the wasp. But if it is half-knowledge, if one cannot learn and stay, then what will happen? Another wasp or a little bird will come and say, "Oh, this is here inside sitting," and go to the little babies. There are other bird babies, and they feed them. So they search for worms. But which is the sāttvik worm that no one dares to touch? That is called the guru bhakta. Guru bhakta jagat me na rahe, guru bhakta jagat me na rahe. Therefore, nara means the male, and here it means humans. So, bhaktas are the true humans. Others are like animals. They will eat animals, kill animals, behave like animals. That is called animal culture. So human culture versus animal culture. Sanātana Dharma is the ādi, the eternal, and other dharma is also good, not bad, but created by a human. The preaching of Bhagavān Rāma in the Rāmāyaṇa, and so on, is the preaching of a human. Krishna’s words, though He was Viṣṇu, still He was in human form. Jesus’s words, still He was human. Krishna’s words, still He was human. That’s different. So today, all the best wishes to you and this group. It was the blessing of Mahāprabhujī that we got this beautiful satsaṅg. Oṁ Tat Sat, Oṁ Tat Sat, Oṁ Tat Sat. Alak Purījī, Mahādevakī, Devādidev Deveśwar Mahādevakī, Satguru Swāmī Madhavānanjī, Bhagavānakī, Bhagavān Dīp Nārāyaṇ Mahāprabhu kī, Sanātana Dharma kī. Om Śānti Śānti.