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We can also say that the Vedas, the first literature, were written by the ṛṣis. It is more than five thousand years since they wrote in books. But they have chanted, and they have written mentally, for many, many thousands and thousands of years, for ages. People are only thinking that yoga is five or six thousand years old. That is completely wrong. They only think of these as karma yoga, bhakti yoga, jñāna yoga, and rāja yoga. And they think, because a ṛṣi read a mantra or expounded the yoga, that it is only 5,000 years old. But before Vedavyāsa—the great ṛṣi Vedavyāsa, whom we also honor on Guru Pūrṇimā because on that day Vedavyāsa gave the letters—before him, there were already the Saptaṛṣis. You know the Saptaṛṣis as the seven stars we can see in the dark night, and many other ṛṣis have been given a position there as well. There is one ṛṣi, a single star, that is not movable. It is one star, and there is a great story about that. There was a man who had a child from his first wife. Then his mother died, and the man married another wife. He also had a son with her. But that woman, the second wife, named Taḍruhā—she gave one son, but she loved her own child more than the other one. The first son was very sad and told his father. When the second child came to his father and wanted to sit first on his father’s lap, he pulled the first son away with his hand. The wife, the second wife, could not say anything. The first child, already five, six, or seven years old, was very sad. He said, "Father, please, can I also sit on your lap?" Such things happen even now; they are happening more and more. A stepmother—or one parent in a family with children from different marriages—often gives more love to their own and neglects the other. The stepmother came and told the first son, "Don't sit on your father's lap; my son must be there. You sit down there." You know very well how a mother or father sometimes has no power to say anything, and then many, many ages will suffer. That son, the first son, what was his name? Dhruva. And the story says that God came and gave him a better lap—one that no one can move, an unmovable place, so that no one can move him anywhere. God gave him one star as his holy place. And therefore, that is called the Dhruva. And the Dūrvā, there is one that stays all the time in the same place. Even the moon and all other planets are moving, but the Dūrvā is not. Like this, many things have happened, but only God knows which children or parents will receive that best grace. Do you know someone who did not know this? You can raise your hand, please. ... Don't you know, haven't you experienced this? Okay, so tonight you can know this. They will show you that star. Where is it? The polar star. Yes, that star we call the polar star, and that is the Dūrvā. So it is said: it does not matter if you are a second wife or a second husband. They may love only one child and neglect another, but that neglected one will not be neglected by God, because God knows that this one will be the right one. This is true even for animals and birds. All of them love and know their family, their child. We have to learn this first, then we can go further. Otherwise, you just enjoy your first few moments, and finish at your home. We are all going with the one river. We are washing our body in that same river. And the river will never tell you to go out and get another wind. That is a very, very important thing to reflect upon. Now, this Dhruva, his voice is still here. After how many ages? That was long ago, but still, that sound is here. His name is here. Resonance is everywhere, especially in those best bhajans or poems. A poet can write something that we remember for ages and ages. We can write something else, but that is not the same. Many great saints wrote poems or songs that became like immortal nectar. Others we can change; we can rewrite the book now. So any bhajan we sing, or anybody sings, you should know from which yogī, which great saint, or great teacher it comes. Even if the one who wrote or sang that song died a thousand years ago or five thousand years or more, that person is still alive here. And so, what we call the Maharṣi—those who wrote all our scriptures—Vedavyāsa Bhagavān has written one of the scriptures. No one in the world has done this till now. He composed 80,000 ślokas, many, many verses. From one little chapter of Vedavyāsa comes what we call the Bhagavad Gītā, and out of that, there are many Purāṇas. From the Vedas come the Purāṇas and Upaniṣads. Do you know these 80,000 ślokas? Eighty thousand verses? That is very important. Many people are reading, learning, making satsaṅg, but still they cannot learn them fully; they may have chanted them once. Many people read them, learn them, preach them, and do satsaṅg, but no one else has written a grantha that vast. And he did not write the same words again and again—no. That was Ved Vyāsa, called Bhagavān Ved Vyāsa. Similarly, before him, there was Nārada. Nārada’s mother was a great saint. They are still living. How? Through their words, what they spoke. Since we have written that down, they are still living. Now, if anyone chants their mantras, ślokas, or bhajans, it is not a small thing. So whenever you sing a bhajan from any saint, first know the saint completely, and then say, "This is from that saint." If you know something about them, you may share it. In the old times, stories were told more than books were read. Always it was drama. And in the drama, somebody wrote it, with instruments and dancing. There was a dance—how the body moves, or is it still? You can see this mostly in South India. Our dear Bhaktī, you know, she says how she can dance. This dance is not about beauty for a girl or a boy. Instead, they should know how the body moves, how many sounds should not be made. They can step quickly with the foot without sound, and when sound is needed, they make it very nicely. When sound should be absent, the movement continues but silently. So you should not take a dance or bhajan from someone without acknowledging who wrote it, who created it. There was one Indian man who played the sitar beautifully. He was great throughout the whole world. He died about thirty years ago, or about twenty years before he died—all said he was great. So if someone learned from that person, you should not think and say, "I am that," but "my master." That kind of bhajan, poem, and so on, it is very, very important that we respect that. There are many others that are not like that. It is said that we can also make nice bhajans or poems. Once in the Jaipur Ashram, our Holy Guruji, Swami Madhavānandajī, was there. Śrī Bhagavān was very famous when Holy Gurujī was sitting in the ashram, and all the time he had mantra, mantra, mālā—all the names of the Mahāprabhujīs, Devpurījīs, and others. One man came, bowed down, and said, "Guru Dev, I am very happy. Give me your blessing. I have come for your darśan." Gurujī said, "Yes, bless you, sit down. Why did you come? What do you want?" He answered, "Yes, Gurujī, I asked many people, but I am still not satisfied. Answer me, Gurujī. I want to write bhajans and poetry. But always I write, and I throw away my pen, because I am rewriting what others have already written. So what can I do? Mīrābāī, Surdās, and others—they wrote all bhajans. Mahāprabhujī wrote. You, Guruji, also wrote. What should I write? There is nothing to write now. They have eaten everything; nothing remains behind." Gurujī said, "Yes, you are right, you don’t know." But then he added, "There is still something to be written." The man said, "What? Nothing remains." Gurujī replied, "But there is still something." Everything was already written. Someone says the kitchen is finished. They eat everything, clean all the plates, and nothing is left. Gurujī told the man, "All have eaten the cream; they took all the cream, and what remains inside is nothing, no fear." Nothing was left, no fat. They ate all the butter. Holy Gurujī said, "Yes, of course they have to eat, and they ate everything." So the man asked, "Gurujī, then why have I come to you? How can I eat butter? How can I write something new, as if I could milk butter for myself?" And Holy Gurujī said, "You are right, all butter is eaten. But they did not eat the cow. Milk the cow, and take double butter." Yes? So the cow is still there. Give nice grass to the cow, take good care of it, and you will get fresh, good butter—even more. Keep your heart open, and in your brain, the best brain, then you will have butter, as much as you can. As many as new, completely new things. That is the great sense: their voice is still here, which means they are still here. So when we say Mīrābāī, immediately she is here. Just say "Mira," and the whole world knows Mira. Who is Mira? Or Sūradāsa, who was that? Or Kṛṣṇa? Or Rāma, Buddha, and many, many saints. All have made such beautiful bhajans, you cannot imagine. You can enjoy them the whole night. But those who cannot understand, they do not know the taste of that butter; they will sleep. We are singing, and others are sleeping. That means they are gone, in darkness. Awakening is great; there is no awakening for them. Sometimes those who do not understand think, "What is happening?" That too. There is another story from Holy Gurujī. Some people were singing very nicely, and Holy Gurujī’s disciples told a further nice story. There was a team playing instruments and singing. The instrument player had great knowledge. If that one is truly understood—the instrument and the inner song—how great it is. Just one sits like this, and the whole body is opened, everything awakened. Those who do not know just do something like this, but they do not know. So there were about seven or eight groups. They came to a small village, like Strilky. All were farmers, and they also had goats and sheep. People gathered, saying they would play and sing something. The villagers saw these instruments for the first time. After sunset, they lit an oil lamp because there was no electric light, and people sat, as many as we are. The musicians played guitar, sitar, and harmonium, and they sang. The villagers thought, "I’m not a player," and they watched. "What is happening? This is a tune," but they didn’t know what a tune was. All were looking like this. Then someone said, "What are they talking about? What are they making?" One by one, they went away. After an hour or two, everyone had left, except one elderly woman, about eighty or ninety years old. In those days, people were very strong; even at eighty they were powerful. She was looking on, and one musician said, "I think only she understands. At least one person understands; that is best." They were singing and playing: blim, blam, tam, tam, dam, dam, dik, dik, dak, dik, dik... and that grandmother, great-grandmother, began to cry, "My children." They said, "Mother, please don’t cry. We know you understood us." She said, "No, my children. I don’t know anything about what you are talking and playing. But I was praying to God, thinking God will keep you. But you know, you were crying the whole night, like all my goats that died last year. Me, me... all my goats and sheep, they died, my children. And I was praying, 'My seven children, you will die when the sun rises.' My old sheep, they died, my children. So, my children, when the sun rises, you will all die, all my children." They said, "Mother, thank you, thank you. The whole night we were working for you." They took their instruments and went away. So neither did they understand, nor did she understand. That is it. A yogī should be one who understands. And those bhajans must reach each and every cell of the body. Therefore, a bhajan song should have a sense inside. That is why it is said that bhajans, songs, should have a soul inside—not just singing and dancing for a joke. We shouldn’t dance and sing just for amusement.