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Śrī Alakhpurījī, Mahādeva, Kī Jāya, Śrī Svāmī Madhavānandajī, Bhagavān, Kī Jāya, Viśvaguru, Śrī Svāmī Īśvarānandajī, Gurudeva, Kī Jāya, Satsaṅgatana, Dharma, Kī Jāya. Beautiful bhajans, like all our bhajans, are beautiful—especially this one from Śrī Mahāprabhujī. Since Swāmījī is not here today, as he mentioned yesterday he had to go somewhere, I wanted to ask what we should do. I don’t want to give a lecture like a lecture; that is boring. At first I was thinking, it is so nice outside, but we’d never know if it will start to rain today. Now it has come and gone. This always happens when we hear some bhajan. My Hindi is not so good; I understand, but I cannot really translate. Yet I have some words noted from Swāmījī when he spoke about this bhajan, especially in Kannada and Pāṭakīrī. And here Mahāprabhujī says: Many, many lives I was wandering here and there, like a wounded deer running here and there, restless. In my body, there are feelings. And these feelings make different kinds of vāsanās—these feelings, these wishes. So restless, so restless, so restless. The reason for this restlessness is the vāsanās, the wishes. Our Holy Gurujī said this is especially relevant as we do our anuṣṭhāna, our practice. These vāsanās, these wishes: Gurujī said, “Do not give a chance to yourself for these vāsanās, for these wishes.” There is one more meaning for vāsanā: it also means bad smell, stinky. Sugandha is a good smell; durgandha means bad smell. But this jīvātmā who lives in this stinky world—for this jīvātmā it is very, very hard to come out. Very rarely will one wake up and come out. Then we don’t know which vāsanā again will appear, which wish, which desire. It has so many forms, so many forms. That’s why we seek the shelter of our Gurudeva. And here, Cintā and Tṛṣṇā mean the burning desire, some burning desire. Cintā and Tṛṣṇā are like a burning desire. And these two, they are two kings; they are ruling. One who is burning in this desire will never reach the goal. It’s a very strong power which draws you into the fire of tṛṣṇā, meaning sorrow. And if we have sorrows, and we are depressed, unhappy, sad, these sorrows will kill us—unhappy, but also there are spiritual sorrows. That her illness can only be healed if God Kṛṣṇa comes as a doctor. And Cintā and Tṛṣṇā have two husbands: this is anger and desire, passion, and jealousy is a fire which burns everything. So I experience myself every day, and day by day, which kind of vāsanā can appear—unbelievable. And with our anuṣṭhāna, with our tapasyā, with the fire of tapasyā, roast all these seeds from these vāsanās. All seeds, so that no seed can sprout. This goes through all our five bodies: from the causal body to the mental body, and the last one is the physical body. And who is forced then to go through this karma? He will get ill or have some disease. And here Swamiji says that God Himself cannot do anything against this karma. What we have to do, what we can do, that is why God gave the human physical body and sent the Gurudeva to give us the tools to come out, to use these tools—out of the circle of karma, through prayer, through tapasyā, through meditation. We will realize this. Then there is a saying: “na stravě.” It means it’s true, but only once, nothing. Twice means it’s not true what the person is speaking. And when someone whines, it’s like confirmation, but when he does it twice, it’s not anymore. Through the fire of the tapasyā, something hard, something very hard—you do something special, hard to do. This is the fire. Through this fire, the seeds will be liberated and roasted. Symbolically, Śiva and Śakti are depicted as persons. Lead all your feelings to the Śakti, to the ātmakhyāna—this is the real śakti. Ātmajñāna, to know thyself, know thyself. Because he says, without this husband—the real husband—the living being is wandering here and there, searching and searching. Patañjali is Viṣṇu. He knows everything. But once a yogī said to God Viṣṇu, “I don’t understand this, your māyā. Yes, I don’t understand. All these techniques and ways, I know I practiced them all. Māyā, I can’t understand.” And God Viṣṇu didn’t give a direct answer. It’s like our Swamijī—he never gives direct answers, but shows us how to understand. Just as our Holy Gurujī said: between here and Brahma Loka, everything is like the caw of a crow—understand? What does this mean? Everything. It’s like a caw; even if you let it fall down quickly, it’s stinky, like what a baby has in his napkin. Everything between here and Brahma Loka is like this. And we have to experience it, understand. As long as the vāsanās are here, we cannot. So God Viṣṇu told the yogī, “I am so thirsty. I am so thirsty.” The yogī was far, like in a Rajasthan village, two, three hours walking in the heat. The yogī went so far into the village and said, “I will bring the water. I will carry a matka on my head for him.” At the first house he knocked on the door, calling somebody home. The door opened. A beautiful young girl opened it—very beautiful, in a nice sari—and he stood there. “Excuse please, sorry that I disturb. My Gurudeva Master is waiting; I have to bring water. Do you have fresh water?” She said, “Yes, please come in, come in. You also have to bring water.” And he said, “Yes, yes, go on. We also have water.” He was very happy it came out; it was like a dream for him. The sound of her pāyals, her feet, her color—perceiving this, he sat there and drank. She brought nice fresh milk and fresh rotī, chapātī, sabjī, vegetables. “Eat, eat, you must be hungry.” She served him, giving and feeding, the first bite in his mouth, and he felt her nice touch, the milk, all fingers gentle and gone. So good eating. He was hungry. “Please, please, please rest, lie down.” She had made a fresh āsana preparation, and he lay down resting, having a good yoga nidrā. He thought, “It must be good karma for me.” He forgot. He completely forgot. And, of course, Gaṇadeva shot his arrow. Indra, God Indra, is always waiting for a chance—waiting for the opportunity to bring down some yogī. And both decided, after some time—weeks passed, days passed—to marry. They were in love. They thought, “Now our real life has started. Now we begin to live.” Please don’t misunderstand me; I don’t want to hurt any of you who are married, are good couples, and have children. You both are yogīs. It’s not my story. We have to pass four āśramas to come to the sannyās āśrama: brahmacarya and so on. So they married, and after they had children—one, two, three… Swāmījī always wants many children. In Rajasthan, the summer is always the monsoon, a deep monsoon. Then, as in all of India, not like we have here where it rains from time to time, there is a rainy season. The monsoon came, big rain, flood. More and more, they didn’t know what to do, where to go, how to be safe. It was worse and worse. The husband, the yogī, said, “We have to go, we have to leave our house because it will wash away. We have to go to a higher place.” They went out. He took one child on his shoulder, the mother took one hand, and he took the smallest one, and they went, trying to save their lives at least. The river had already come and was flowing, and they tried to cross. It became harder and harder; he struggled. In the middle of the river, he fell down in the water and lost a child, and also this child and his wife. He was falling in the water and couldn’t swim, and he lost consciousness. All was swept away—a big tragedy, like now we hear in Assam, India, so much water, so much flooding. Unconsciously, he was swept somewhere on the shore. We don’t know how long he lay there. After some time he came to consciousness again, opened his eyes, and looked. “Where am I? Where is my family? Where are my children? Where is my house, my wife, the flat? Where am I?” Then he turned himself in all directions. There he saw his beloved God Viṣṇu sitting, opening his eyes. And God Viṣṇu said, “Oh, where is my water?” This is māyā. Every form. Mangilālji was writing a bhajan about māyā—Mahāthaginī, ham jānī—Mahāthaginī. Actually, it was Maṅgīlālji? I think it was Kapīrdās. Yes, a great bhajan from Kapīrdās. Not Saguṇa in form, but Nirguṇa. In this bhajan, he says, “Māyā, this I have realized, is the greatest thief, the cheater.” As I mentioned, she moves with a string in her hand to hang it on us, speaking exciting words. Even Kṛṣṇa is attached to Kamalā; Śiva with Pārvatī. For the priest, māyā is the statue on the altar. On holy places, she is the water—we think this holy water is holy, don’t touch it, it’s holy. For a yogī, she becomes a disciple; for others, she is wealth, money; for bhaktas, she becomes a bhakta. Kabīr Dās says here, “My brothers,” I say also, “My sisters,” the story of māyā is an unbelievable story. We always hold on to the words of Gurujī: between here and the highest world, the Brahma Loka, everything is like the kākaviṣṭhā—the excrement of a crow. You can speak it out, it’s no problem. Śrī Dīp Nārāyaṇa Bhagavān Kī Jai, Śrī Śrī Devīśvara Mahādeva Kī Jai, Śrī Kapīrdās Mahārāja Kī Jai. Śrī Śrī Devī Śvara Mahādeva Kī Jai, Viśvagurū Śrī Svāmī Mahāśvarānandajī Gurudeva Kī Jai. Now, others will be next time. I had different things, maybe this or this; again, it came out differently. I am prepared for various possibilities, which I will talk about, and in the end, it turned out differently.