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Om Bhole Śrī Dīpnāre Maghwāne Kī Jai, Svāmī Brahmānandjī Kī Jai, Viśvaguru Deva Kī Jai Ho. We are fortunate that we generally have a pleasant atmosphere, fresh air, and good sunlight. We haven’t had a lot of rain. The rain god is called Indra; he is the king of rain, the one who brings wind and water. So we should always pray to Indra Rājā: “Please give us water, bring the water.” His realm is called Svargaloka. Svarga is one of the most delightful and joyful places. It is said that when you arrive in Svargaloka you enter as a young person, perhaps twenty or twenty-five years old. All are youthful, girls and boys. You eat, you are happy and joyful, yet everything is disciplined. It is not that you can indulge every desire; there the sexual longing is absent—it is like a divine state. We come to Svargaloka, not to Satyuga. From time to time Dharmarāja sends these beings down to earth. They come and go, walking through the air, appearing as husband and wife, friends, and so on. Some say they are alone, not two, but I tell them it is two, so it will be for two. They see us, but we do not see them. They move through the whole space, sometimes visiting our earthly loka. Indra is the god of this realm, but now and then the beings from the Nārakalokas—the so-called devils—attack to seize Svargaloka. Sometimes they succeed in driving Indra out; he becomes very sad and runs away. Then they go to Shiva, crying “Please, God,” and many such things happen. For us, however, I feel that Svarga and Naraka both exist within our own body. We dwell in our inner Svarga, and those who are great saints, great bhaktas, truly spiritual, they experience what we call heaven right here. Others dwell in a kind of Naraka; they too “enjoy” but not for long. Alcohol, meat, fighting, and many such things—that is the Naraka Loka. It goes further down, lower and lower. These are simply our thoughts. So in a single moment we can be in Naraka, and in another moment we can be in Svarga. True bhaktas are not those who merely chant “My God, oh my God.” No, we should feel happiness and goodwill for all beings. When you feel that, you are living in heaven. Some people are full of suffering; they have nothing, no money, they only take and never give. There are those who would take everything away from you. Yet it is said, “Whatever you take from me is but dust.” You can strip away everything external, but you cannot take my Svargaloka from me. I am such a worthless thing. It is not only humans or animals that go to Svarga Loka; other creatures can too. Sometimes a being with beautiful karma does something wrong at the last moment. They should have come as a resident of Svarga, as a ṛṣi or a bhakta, but because of that misstep they may become a dog. And then there are different kinds of fortune. Some people have a dog they love deeply, and the dog loves the family; they wash it with shampoo and fine soaps, even dress it. (Mahāprabhujī karatā hai kevalam, Mahāprabhujī karatā hai kevalam… Purījī, Purījī…) Anyhow, very good. Where is that friend of ours? Is he in Prague or somewhere else? No matter. That is good luck. Another dog is completely unwanted. Once, on the highway from Prague, after maybe twenty or a hundred kilometers, they stopped and let the dog out. The poor thing thought it was time to relieve itself, but they shut the door and drove off. It ran after them, but then… perhaps it had good luck and found another owner. Another dog belongs to a prime minister; his wife carries it around. And then there is a country where, in a certain season, people take dogs and burn their mouths with a gas torch, or take the fat from their backs. The dog is terrified. How many of you know about this? Only a few. You are lucky you don’t know, but it is not good. Many people love cats, especially Europeans—why not? Cats are also beings. They come to us through some karma; they give something and watch over us. They are very good; they bring you messages from the other side. But in some country, families go to a restaurant and there are many cats. They ask the children, “Which cat would you like?” The child points, and they catch it. Then they pour scalding hot water over it for a minute, then dip it in cold water for half a minute, and then peel the skin off while it is still alive—for a poor cat or even a cow, this is done. So what is the karma of such an act, and what is the karma of another? If one is slaughtered quickly, perhaps that’s less terrible—I won’t say it’s okay, but at least death comes fast. Why do they torture? Such torture is itself a kind of karma, and it will be repaid. Both heaven and hell are right here with us. Therefore those with good karma are the best. We should give love in the right way. Consider street dogs: the people in their street feed them—some give chapati, some this or that—and the dogs become like guards, not allowing other street dogs to enter. When husbands and wives, or neighbors, shout terrible things at each other, it is said they are fighting like dogs. In the next life they may become such dogs. People think like that; we cannot be certain. But Svarga and Naraka are here. They are in our body. In our body we may have a state of Svarga with little suffering, and others may have a state of Naraka still. And in the body there is very, very much suffering. So this is Svarga and Naraka. Therefore it is also said: someone once remarked, “I can tell you something.” There was Swāmī Vivekānandajī and his Guru, a very great being. He had many disciples. The story goes that his Gurujī placed his hand on Vivekananda and he became supremely realized. Was it really so? He was a very intelligent and good person; perhaps. I cannot say yes or no; I am neutral. If that Gurujī gave realization to one disciple by a touch, and many other bhaktas also came to him, why did he not liberate everyone? Maybe his power was just enough for one disciple, and then it was finished. Hari Om. You are very thirsty and have only one glass of water; one person drinks it and his thirst is quenched. So I don’t want to say more. Vivekānanda (his name was not Vivekānanda then) went to Rajasthan and visited a king who did not believe in images or the dead. In the evening Vivekānandajī said to the king, “If you wish, please come; I am going to pray to my Gurujī.” The king came and saw a beautiful photo of Rāmakṛṣṇa. The king asked, “What are you doing, Mahārājī?” “I am praying to my Guru Deva.” The king replied, “That is nothing; it is not your Guru, just a piece of paper. I thought you were a great sādhu, a great saint, and you are praying to paper!” Vivekānandajī said, “Your Highness, if you don’t like it, you may sit or go. This is my Guru, and I am doing my sādhanā.” So the king stood there. (Incidentally, when you stand or sit in prayer with your hands clasped tightly like this, it looks like handcuffs—it suggests you are in prison. It is an indication of karma. It should not really be like that. And if the hands are held together in a different way, it means “you and I are one.” So many things are expressed in gestures.) After the prayer they probably gave him milk or something to eat, and he slept. The next day the king invited other important people to introduce a great saint. They all gathered in the courtyard. The king sat with Swamiji beside him. Vivekānandajī noticed a very fine black-and-white portrait of the king’s father, elegantly dressed. He asked, “Your Highness, what is that?” The king rose and said, “That is my father.” Vivekānandajī said, “Take down that chair, put it on the floor, and spit on it. First Brahmā, Viṣṇu, Śiva—then comes Guru.” The king’s face turned red. “My father, my king, and you want me to tear the paper? The paper is my father!” Vivekānandajī replied, “Mahārāj, yesterday evening you saw my Gurujī’s photo and I was praying to it. You humiliated my father, my Gurudev. You said it was nothing, tear it and throw it. I learned from you that there should be no photos. So it doesn’t matter if it was your father or not. Tear it.” The king, initially furious, cooled down. Everyone stood up. Vivekānandajī was not angry. The king apologized: “I’m sorry. Please give me your blessings and mantra.” Then he said, “Mahārājī, my Gurudev. Guru, I would like to write your name, Vivekānanda.” And so he was named. (You know what Viveka means.) Later Vivekānandajī became very strong and good, traveling to America and everywhere. One day, after a few months, he went to Kolkata for darśan of his Gurujī. It was winter, not very cold or hot. His Gurujī, Rāmakṛṣṇa, was lying at ease in the ashram garden. Vivekānandajī had become a confident, robust man, but his feelings were sensitive. Seeing his Gurujī lying there with a cancerous wound on his throat, visibly painful, he thought, “My Gurudeva is lying here suffering, and I have so many problems.” He had believed his Guru was beyond all this. But Rāmakṛṣṇa said, “Vivek, you still don’t know. If I put my hand here and the cancer disappears, why not? I will leave soon. If I heal myself, I will have to return to this world and go through all troubles again. So it doesn’t matter if it takes a few more years or months; I will suffer outwardly, but I have no pain. I am above everything. I must stay in this body, and this cancer will be for a time.” Vivekānandajī bowed down. Gurudeva said, “My son, my Vivek, there is more time for you.” This shows that our karmic Svarga and Naraka are both here in this life, in this body. When we must suffer, especially in the last minutes or last months or years, the body may be greatly tormented. We know pain is very painful. Why does one person die full of pain, and another die suddenly? We are sad when a loved one dies in an accident, but that person left without prolonged suffering. This is what we call heaven and hell. But the yogī goes above Svarga and Naraka and attains Brahmaloka. Because where there is Svarga and Naraka there is still duality. In Brahmaloka, in Brahman, there is neither pain nor joy. That is like the blue sky—all yours. So, my dears, within no one in this whole sky… My dears, we have had a very nice five or six days. You have practiced well. I wish you a good journey home tomorrow. Take care; there are people who do not drive well. This year has both bad and good. Let us forget this Corona; it may be good and it may be bad. Therefore it is said in a beautiful bhajan: everything is in Mahāprabhujī’s and Gurujī’s hands, and everything is with us. Chal gagan ghar chaḍh nā re, iman vah dhīra dhīra, Chal gagan ghar chaḍh nā re. Every fourth direction is a reality. That is why it is said four times—it means every direction. It will come; someone will say yes. Man vaḍī re dī, chal gagan ghar chaḍh nā re bai. Yo man vaḍī re dī re, chal gagan ghar chaḍh nā re bai. Bhakti Devī is well known across Europe as a traditional Indian dance, Bharatanāṭyam, dancer and teacher. Classical Indian dance has, since ancient times, been a tool for educating society, conveying what cannot be described in words: spiritual insights and the knowledge of great saints. The first dance is traditionally devoted to Gaṇeśajī, the God of supreme cosmic intelligence. Before the dance we will explain the mudrās. Kachananam with elephant head removes demonic powers. I bow down to him and in front of him. Immediately after this a Sanskrit chant follows: Śrī Mān Nārāyaṇa. Last week Śrī Viśvagurujī explained the principle of protective power in the universe, Viṣṇu Nārāyaṇa. This dance narrates this protective principle through symbols and Indian mythology. And anyone who takes photos—per photo is one euro. No, not euros; the whole car, one thousand euros. So whoever would like to take some photos, each one costs 1000 euros. And before the dance starts we will record the second part. O Enchanting Nārāyaṇa, I sacrifice flowers to you. Goddess of wealth Lakṣmī is your consort. You give blessings and happiness. You are the highest soul, Paramapuruṣa. I honor you. Now come the first two performances with music. Next is Mīrābāī Pyāre Darśana. Mīrābāī sings about her longing for the spiritual one. Now the mudrās again: Oh, my beloved, without you I cannot live. Please come and let me behold you. Without seeing you, I feel like a lotus flower without water. Like a dark night without a moon—that’s how I feel, tak se cítím. Day and night I wander restlessly; my heart is breaking. I cannot eat, nemohu jíst. I cannot sleep, nemohu spát. For months I cannot speak. What should I say, O beloved one? Be merciful and come to me. Mīrā is your servant from life to life. Now, with music. The last part is Tillānā Dhanāśrī. In this dance the dancer invites God Viṣṇu, the protector of life, to come and dance with her. But it is symbolic language. In reality it means the human soul is searching for the highest one and inviting the divine source to merge with her in oneness. Before the dance we explain the mudrās: Come to me and dance with me. The bells are jingling on my feet, in rhythm with my steps. You are playing with the world, but are not my problems also yours? Remove my sorrow, come to me and make me happy. We can have music.