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Oṁ Śrī Alakh Purījī Mahādev Kī Jai, Dīwāḍī Dev Deveśwar Mahādev Kī Jai, Śrī Dīp Nārāyaṇ Bhagavān Kī Jai, Hindu Dharm Samrāṭ Paramahaṁsa Svāmī Śrī Madhavan Purījī Mahārāj Kī Jai, Viśvaguru Mahāmaṇḍaleśwar Paramahaṁsa Svāmī Śrī Maheśvarānanda Purījī Satgurudev Bhagavān Kī Jai. Let’s look around us in nature. Take a flower—say, one from Puṣpāj’s garden, blossoming and fragrant. Whether it’s a rose or jasmine, when you see it, it is beautiful. Yet it takes time to grow; it is lovely, white, and smells sweet. How does a flower appear? You don’t simply sit in meditation and chant, “Flower, flower, flower,” expecting it to materialize. That is not how it works. An expert must plant a seed in the earth, water it faithfully, and let it grow slowly, according to its nature. Things do not happen instantly. With this in mind, I’ll share a story. Once, a man from South India was filled with a burning desire for supernatural powers. He wanted to levitate, to walk on water. Everyone has such fantasies; when I was young, I imagined having a twin who would study for me at school while I did something else, so I would gain the same knowledge. I too craved powers—disappearing, having twins, things like that. This man, let’s call him Haripurī, was intensely eager. He visited many gurus, but all of them refused: “We won’t give our powers so easily. You must work for them.” Disappointed, he went from one to another, until someone suggested, “No guru in India will just hand you supernatural powers. But there’s a Buddhist monk in Tibet who might—if he wishes. Indian monks are like, ‘The powers are mine alone; I won’t share.’ Go to him.” Haripurī’s enthusiasm—his dṛṣyakti—was so powerful that he didn’t take a bus or train. He simply started walking from South India, from Tamil Nadu or Bangalore, crossing Andhra Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh, Rajasthan, and up into Himachal Pradesh. He trekked over the Himalayas and reached Tibet. When he arrived at the monastery, he encountered a different culture. In India, we have the principle Atithi Devo Bhava: the guest is God. Even if an enemy enters your home, you welcome him, apply tilak, perform pūjā, and feed him with devotion. In Buddhism, however, they don’t ask, “Who are you?” For such a question can seem rude. Their silence points toward a deeper inquiry: Who are you really? Where have you truly come from? They won’t ask your name or your origin. At mealtime, a bell rings—just as we have here in Jādan. If you wish, you go and eat; if not, they assume you are fasting. Fasting is a common spiritual practice. No one will urge you to join. Haripurī stayed. Days passed: one, two, a whole week, then three weeks. Every day the same—he’d rebel in his room, go for lunch, and return, bewildered because no one spoke to him. But one old monk knew why he had come. After three weeks, the monk called him over: “I know why you are here. But why do you want these powers? You don’t need them. I will teach you something better—meditation.” Haripurī retorted, “Do you think India lacks meditation? Great sages there could teach me that. I travelled all the way from India to Tibet not for meditation, but for supernatural powers—to fly, to walk on walls and ceilings.” The monk said gently, “Meditation will benefit you far more through yoga. What will you do with such powers?” But Haripurī’s icchā śakti—the force of desire—was unshakeable. So the monk finally yielded: “Very well, I will give you the powers. But you must do this: wake at 4 a.m., take a dip in the holy river, and then return.” Now, unlike warm India, where it can be 35–40 degrees, this was freezing—minus two or three. The river at four in the morning was brutally cold. Haripurī bathed and came back, already half blue. The monk looked at him: “So, you want supernatural powers? I will give you the secret mantras. Repeat them three times a day, and the powers will come. But take note: do not think of monkeys. Do not think of monkeys while reciting.” The mantras were: Buddhaṃ Śaraṇaṃ Gacchāmi, Dharmaṃ Śaraṇaṃ Gacchāmi, Saṅghaṃ Śaraṇaṃ Gacchāmi. Haripurī was ecstatic. He decided not to test the powers in Tibet; he would go home to India and show off. Walking back across the Himalayan glaciers, he scoffed inwardly: “I have the superpowers! Why would I think of monkeys? In India we contemplate the Bhāgavata, the Rāmāyaṇa, the Brahma Sūtras, the Upaniṣads—these are our scriptures. I will meditate on them, not monkeys. That monk must think I am stupid. I tricked him and got his powers.” Yet, in his subconscious, the word “monkey” kept echoing. Psychology teaches that when we are told not to do something, that very thought takes hold. If Swamījī says, “Do not eat ice cream,” suddenly ice cream is all I crave. In the same way, Haripurī’s mind became full of nothing but monkeys. Reaching India, he took a dip in the Gaṅgā at dawn, word fresh clothes, and sat down to meditate. “Oṃ Buddhaṃ Śaraṇaṃ…” Monkeys, monkeys. “Buddhaṃ Śaraṇaṃ…” monkeys, monkeys. As soon as he began the mantras, monkeys filled his mind. Inside, outside, everywhere—he saw only monkeys. He grew more and more disturbed and irritated. He tried for one day, two days, a whole week. He could neither sit, stand, nor sleep. His entire being was consumed by monkeys. Frustrated—and with no phone to call or message the monk—Haripurī had to walk all the way back to Tibet. Crossing the mountains again, he finally confronted the monk: “What did you do to me? I think only of monkeys now!” So the moral of the story is that when we are instructed not to think about something, we end up thinking about it continually. But we can train the mind in a different way. As Swamījī always says, practice yoga and meditation instead of chasing supernatural powers. Those powers often turn into a show, like a magician’s circus. The true jñāna—the real wisdom given by a guru like our beloved Guru Deva—offers proper knowledge and authentic yoga. Now let me speak briefly on a related topic: why we should wake during Brahma Muhūrta, between 3:30 and 4:00 a.m. At this time, the divine energies—the gods and goddesses—are especially present. Swāmījī teaches that upon waking, you first touch the ground and offer praṇām, saying, “O Darti Mata (Mother Earth), forgive me as I step upon you.” Then, silently, touch the feet of your parents if they are still asleep. The best practice is to bathe, wear clean clothing, and perform the initiation—the mantra or kriyā your master has given. That is the most beneficial thing to do at 3:30 or 3:40 a.m. At that hour, the surrounding cosmic energies are extremely powerful for japa (mālā) and meditation. I confess I wake at six and do my practice then, but Brahma Muhūrta remains the most potent time. Vishwagurujī suggested I also speak a little about the Rāmāyaṇa and the life of Lord Rāma. As you know, Lord Rāma was born to defeat Rāvaṇa; everything was divinely pre‑planned. Lord Viṣṇu incarnated in the house of King Daśaratha. Yet if you look at Rāma’s life, he was constantly beset by trouble. He never had an easy royal existence—not even at the end. He was born and then sent to a gurukula as a simple brahmacārī, where he studied and did all the ashram duties: sweeping, cleaning, handling cow dung—everything a normal student would do. After completing his gurukula life, he returned and was dispatched to kill demons who were harassing the sages performing yajñas. He slew them, and just when he was about to be crowned king, he was exiled to the forest for fourteen years. So, no kingdom for him. In exile, his wife Sītā was abducted by Rāvaṇa. Rāma fought, killed Rāvaṇa, and recovered Sītā. But then public criticism arose—whispers that Sītā had been unfaithful. To prove her purity, she had to undergo the fire ordeal (Agni Parīkṣā). After that, Sītā was again sent to the forest, this time to Vaśiṣṭha Muni, and she lived there with Vālmīki, giving birth to Lava and Kuśa. Later, Rāma unknowingly faced his own sons in battle—though he knew everything, it was all part of the divine play. He rarely tasted lasting happiness; most of his life was marked by suffering. But see: when he passed through these trials, he knew how to handle them. In times of joy we are cheerful, but it is during painful moments that we truly discover what we are made of—whether we can cope or not. We must recognise that life brings happiness, sadness, anger, and anxiety. We should learn to move through all these situations without comparing ourselves to others. A billionaire may seem incredibly wealthy to someone in a poorer country, yet among his own peers he might not feel rich. Never compare. You are happy as you are. In Mumbai you find skyscrapers beside huts; each person is content in their own world. Be happy with who you are. It’s fine to strive to improve, but don’t measure your worth against others. You are great just as you are. And learn to face every situation with equanimity. If you can live delightfully no matter what life brings, you are a perfect person. I think that’s enough. I would now like to ask Maṅgal Māṇājī to sing a bhajan. Guru Deva Darśan Dhanahu or something like that. Thank you very much, and enjoy your evening. Hari Om. Śrī Dīp Nārāyaṇa Bhagavān Kī Jaya. Śrī Devpurī Śamādeva Kī Jaya. Hindu Dharma Samrāṭ Paramahaṁsa Svāmī Śrī Madhavān Purījī Mahārāja Kī Jaya. Viśvaguru Mahāmaṇḍaleśvara Paramahaṁsa Svāmī Śrī Maheśvarānanda Purī Jī, Sat Guru Deva Bhagavān Kī Jai. Oṁ Pūrṇamadaḥ Pūrṇamidaṃ Pūrṇāt Pūrṇamudacyate Pūrṇasya Pūrṇamādāya Pūrṇamevāvaśiṣyate Oṁ Śāntiḥ Śāntiḥ Śāntiḥ Oṁ Śāntiḥ Śāntiḥ Śāntiḥ Radhe Bhagwan Śrī Dīp Nārāyaṇ Mahāprabhujī Kī Jai, Devādhī Dev Śrī Devpurījī Mahādeva Kī Jai, Hindu Dharm Samrāṭ Param Svayam Madhavānandajī Bhagwāne Kī Jai, Viśvaguru Param Śrī Svayam Maheśvarānandajī Gurudeva Kī Jai, Satguru Purāṇa Brahma He Jove Surā Naravā. Nugra Nija Jaya Nenahi Yuga Yuga Gelita Yeh Tana Vishwaki Belali Guru Amritat Ki Kaan Shish Diye Satguru Mile Tobi Sastaja.