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Salutations to Śrī Ālok Purījī Mahādeva, to Śrī Svāmī Madhavānandajī Bhagavān, to Viśva Kuru Śrī Svāmī Śravaṇānandajī Gurudeva, and to the eternal Sat-sanātana dharma. All our bhajans are beautiful, especially this one from Śrī Mahāprabhujī. I was thinking, since Ramajī is not here as he had to go somewhere, what should we do? I don't wish to give a formal lecture; that can be boring. I thought it was nice outside, but we never know—today it started to rain, coming and going. Whenever we hear a bhajan, we receive inspiration. My Hindi is not perfect; I understand but cannot translate fully. However, I noted some words from Swamījī when he spoke about this bhajan, particularly in Kannada and Patakiri. Here, Mahāprabhujī says, "Many, many lives I was wandering here and there." Like a wounded deer running restlessly, feelings arise in the body. These feelings create various kinds of vāsanās—these wishes and impressions. So restless, endlessly restless. There is a change in plan; we will now have consecutive interpretation and will exchange Sumapurī. This was unplanned due to a technical issue. Is it good now? Yes. The reason for this restlessness is our vāsanās, our wishes. Holī Gurujī said this arises especially because of our anuṣṭhāna, our practice. Gurujī said, "Do not give a chance to yourself for these vāsanās, for these wishes." There is another meaning for vāsanā: a bad smell, something stinky. Sugandha is a good smell, and vāsanā is a bad smell. For the Jīvātmā living in this stinky world, it is very hard to come out. Very rarely will one wake up and emerge. Then we do not know which vāsanā will appear next—which wish, which desire? It has so many forms. That is why we seek the shelter of our Gurudev. Here, Cintā and Tṛṣṇā mean a burning desire. These two are like kings. Whoever burns in this desire will never reach the goal. It is a very strong power that draws you into the fire of duḥkha, which means sorrow. When we are depressed, unhappy, or sad, these sorrows can kill us. There is unhappiness, and there are also spiritual sorrows that torture us. The holy Mīrābāī said her illness could only be healed if God Kṛṣṇa came as a doctor. Cintā and Tṛṣṇā have two husbands: anger and desire—passion, "vášeň." Jealousy is a fire that burns everything. I experience this myself every day. Day by day, what kind of vāsanā can appear? It is unbelievable. We must take great care. Through our anuṣṭhāna, our tapasyā, we must use the fire of tapasyā to roast all the seeds of these vāsanās. They move from the causal body to the mental body, and finally to the physical body. Whoever is forced to go through this karma will become ill or contract disease. Here, Swamiji says even God Himself can do nothing against this karma. So what must we do? What can we do? That is why God gave the human physical body and sent the Gurudeva to give us the tools to escape, to use these tools to come out of this circle of karma. Through prayer, tapasyā, and meditation, we will realize this. There is a saying: if you sneeze once, it means something is true; if you sneeze twice, it is not true what the person is speaking. Through the hard fire of tapasyā—doing something special and difficult—the seeds will be liberated, roasted. As long as we live in this physical body, we are always doing good, not so good, or bad deeds. Here, Mahāprabhujī said, "Ātmā," for he was singing this bhajan. The Ātmā is the Puruṣa; He is the real husband—our inner Self, our ātmā. Symbolically, Śiva and Śakti are depicted in pictures as persons. Lead all your feelings to the Śakti, to the Ātmajñāna. This is the real Śakti: Ātmajñāna, to know thyself. Know thyself, for without this husband, the real husband, the living being wanders here and there, searching endlessly. For the play of Māyā creates so many games. There is a story. I do not know if it was a yogī who asked God Viṣṇu, "You know everything, but I do not understand Your Māyā." He knew all techniques and ways; he could break doors, but he could not understand Māyā—this līlā, this play, this game. Our mind cannot understand it; understanding comes only through ātmakhyāna, through experience. God Viṣṇu did not give a direct answer. It is like our Swamījī; he never gives direct answers but shows us how to understand. Our holy Gurujī also said that everything between here and the Brahmaloka is like the excrement of a crow. Do you understand what that means? Everything, even if it falls quickly, is stinky, like what a baby has in its napkin. Everything between here and Brahmaloka is like this, and we must experience it to understand. As long as the vāsanās are here, we cannot. So God Viṣṇu told the yogī, "I am so thirsty. Please bring me a glass of water." The yogī said, "Yes, I will quickly run to the next village and ask for fresh water, for there is nothing here." This was in a desert. As he walked quickly, nearly running—I am waiting—the yogī was far, as in a Rajasthan village. It was two or three hours of walking in the heat. The village was, for example, next to the neighboring one. The yogī said, "I will bring water, I will carry a matka on my head for him." At the first house, he knocked on the door. Someone was calling from inside, and the door opened. A beautiful young girl opened it, dressed in a nice sari. He stood there and said, "Excuse me, please. I am sorry to disturb. My Gurudev, the master, is waiting. I must bring a glass of water. Do you have fresh water at home?" She said, "Yes, please come in. You also need water." Her walk was so beautiful, like a magic trick. Her smell was beautiful, and the sound of her anklets and the color... enchanted. He was sitting there, and she brought nice fresh milk, fresh roti, chapati, sabzi, vegetables. "Eat, you must be hungry," she said. She served him, feeding the first bite into his mouth. He felt the nice touch of her small, gentle fingers. It was so good; he was hungry. She said, "Please rest, lie down. I have prepared a fresh āsana." He lay down, resting, having a good yoga nidrā. She made a cool wind. He thought, "This must be good karma for me." He forgot completely. He forgot his task. Of course, Kāmadeva shot his arrow. God Indra is always waiting for a chance to bring a yogī down again. After some time—weeks, days passed—they decided to marry. They were in love. They thought, "Now our real life has begun." Please do not misunderstand me; I do not wish to hurt any of you who are married, good couples with children. You both are yogīs; please do not take it wrongly. This is not my story. We must pass through four āśramas to come to the Sannyāsa Āśrama, through Brahmacarya and so on. So they married and had children—one, two, three. Māmājī always wanted many children. In Rajasthan, there is the monsoon season—a big monsoon all over India, not like here where it rains from time to time. The monsoon came with big rains, floods starting more and more. They did not know what to do or where to go. To be safe, the husband, the yogī, said, "We must leave our house, for it will be washed away. We must go to higher ground." The wind was strong. He took one child on his shoulder, the mother took one by the hand, and he carried the smallest. They tried to save their lives. It was a big river already, flowing swiftly. They tried to cross, but it grew harder and harder. He struggled in the middle of the river, fell into the water, lost the child, and also lost his wife and other child. He fell into the water, could not swim, lost consciousness, and was swept away—a great tragedy, like the floods we hear of in Assam, India today. Unconscious, he was swept onto a shore. We do not know how long he lay there. After some time, he regained consciousness and opened his eyes. He looked around, thinking, "Where am I? Where is my family, my children, my house, my wife, my home?" He turned in all directions and there he saw his beloved God Viṣṇu sitting. As he opened his eyes, God Viṣṇu said, "Oh, where is my water? Will you bring me a glass of water?" With open mouth and eyes, he looked at Him and fell at His lotus feet with praṇām. God Viṣṇu said, "You wanted to know My Līlā, My Māyā—every form." Mangilālji wrote a bachan about Māyā, Mahātākinī, Hāmācanī. Sing it for Mangilālji. He said, "This Māyā is waiting for a chance to put a noose around your neck to hang you. Then she will laugh." How proud we yogīs are—of our body, beauty, knowledge, status, money, position, everything. And Māyā laughs. "Wait, just wait." We do not know anything. Just serve, just work, just help. Do karma yoga; it is the only way. Sometimes it is hard and painful. Sometimes we think, "Now it is enough. I will go; I cannot anymore." But He is waiting. It is not easy, for as Gurujī said, "We are all burning in this fire of āśā and tṛṣṇā and in our vāsanās, a thousand meters deep." Which vāsanās? That is why we do our anuṣṭhāna, our sādhanā. It is not easy; it is hard. To sit and concentrate, the whole body is painful. We do not know; we ask ourselves, "Why am I here again?" After three days, I say, "Never again." But we must continue. After one, two, three weeks of sādhanā and anuṣṭhāna, we will realize, as the holy Gurujī says, "Always all in one and one in all." Then we ask ourselves, "Why am I running here and there? For what am I fighting—for any position, power, money, recognition?" For all is one; there is nothing to run after. You look at people, and they are like ants running here and there. You ask yourself, what are they doing? Some go on holiday, some go here and there. You ask them why they go on holiday when Swamiji is here. This is the bhajan "Gaṇādhim Bhatṭākiri." Mahāprabhujī could write and sing this without any forethought or study. Our holy Gurujī also had this ability to sing this Māyā Mahātākinī Hamācanī bhajan. Ah, it is not from Mangalaj but from Kapīrdās. Yes, sorry—a great bachan from Kapīrdās. He was a Nirguṇa Bhakta, not Saguṇa (with form), but Nirguṇa (without form). In this bachan, he says, "Māyā, ah, I have realized she is the greatest thief, the cheetah." 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 is with Pārvatī. Even for the priest, Māyā is the statue on the altar. At holy places, she is the water. We think, "This holy water is holy; do not touch it, it is holy." And it is the place of pilgrimage. For a yogī, she becomes a disciple. For others, she is wealth, money. For the Bhaktas, she becomes the Bhakta. Kabhīra says here, my brothers—I also say my sisters—the story of Māyā is an unbelievable story. We must always hold on to the words of Gurujī: Brahmā, Loka, Dhāka, Bhoga, Āśā... Brahmā, Loka, Dhāka, Bhoga, Āśrama. Between here and the highest world, the Brahmaloka, everything is like the excrement of a crow. You can say it aloud; it is no problem. It is true. Now, others will speak next time. I had different things prepared, maybe these or others again. It came out differently. I am ready for different opportunities to speak about, and in the end, it turned out this way.