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Om. Lord, at my father's house, there is a great festival. If you permit me, O Merciful Lord, I would like to go there with great respect to see that festival. Śiva said, "What you have said is good. Your question is good. You have the right to go there; you have the right to your father's house. Anytime, with great respect—not only with respect, but by right—you may go. You have spoken well; I like your opinion and your decision. But why did they not send you an invitation? When he sent invitations to all, how is it possible he forgot his own dear daughter? He sent invitations to all his other daughters. Perhaps he holds some enmity toward me. Maybe because of this, he did not invite you either. Once, in an audience with Brahmā, your father was displeased with us. There was something he did not like. And now he takes revenge for that; he is disobeying and disrespecting you. That is why, in revenge, he did not invite you. O Satī, if you go now without an invitation, it will not be good. There will be no respect for you. There is no invitation, no warm welcome. I think it is not advisable to go. And yet, love for one's father and mother is strong. No matter the circumstances, there are times one wishes to see them or go to them. The principle says one should not hesitate to go to the house of friends, the house of one's Swami, father, mother, or guru. One should go there without invitation, even without being called. But if there is someone who is against you, if there is opposition to your coming, then going there and entering that place is not good. If your friend, your father, or your master has nothing against you—perhaps they merely forgot—you may go; you should go. But when they purposely do not invite you, it is not advisable." Lord Śiva tried in many ways to explain this to her. But what is destined to happen, happens. Destiny. Again, in the heart of Satī, that wisdom did not awaken. Again, doubt arose regarding Śiva's words, as before. Last week we heard how she had doubted Viṣṇu: "If that could be Viṣṇu, how can he be like this?" The consequence of her doubt was suffering. And now again, moha—attachment—emerged. She did not want to listen; she did not accept this. She thought it was not right. "Right is what I think." Therefore, that knowledge did not appear in her heart. Still, the Lord said, "In my opinion, if you go without invitation, it is not good." The Lord tried in many ways to explain, but she did not accept. He wished to stop her from going, but she packed her things—I do not know what she had to pack, but she had something to give. And, out of mercy, Lord Śiva sent his own bodyguards with her for her protection and to look after her. You see how kind he is, still very kind. He still looks after her; he does care for her. But she does not. That is it. She still harbors doubts, and a person who has doubts has no more śraddhā, no more bhakti. When this is lost, everything is lost. Sometimes, out of emotion or attachment, we act without thinking. We do not use our viveka. Pitā bhavan jab gayī, Bhavānī dās tras kā hun, sanmanī sadar bhalai milī, ek mātā bhaginī milī, bahut mushkilatā. She goes. She is going, and she leaves for her father's house. As soon as she arrives there, all were afraid of King Dakṣa to welcome her or speak to her. All were afraid of her father. No one looked at her. No one said hello. No one asked, "How are you?" No one said, "Welcome." Can you imagine? You enter like a lonely deer, lost and solitary, suddenly in a strange forest. All are looking at you, thinking, "What are you doing here?" But there was one person there who received her with love: her mother. A mother can never be a bad mother. So the mother embraced her. Then some sisters came and smiled, asking her, "How are you?" At least something diplomatic, but still the situation was very tense. The situation was not relaxed. Dakṣa did not ask her anything. He did not speak. He did not ask, "How are you, my daughter?" When he saw Satī, the limbs of Dakṣa's body were full of anger. It seemed every muscle was vibrating, full of nervousness, anger, and revenge. "Why is she here?" Satī gently moved to the other side and saw the yajña place, intending to go to the yajña. When you perform yajña ceremonies, there is something very interesting you should know. Some of you have heard of it, some have seen a yajña. A yajña is performed on certain occasions or for specific purposes. When you perform a yajña, you invite all the devas. There is a central place for Brahmā. There is a place for Viṣṇu. There is a place for Śiva, a place for Śakti, a place for the Rudras, the Aruṇas. For all, there is a place. All are invited respectfully and welcomed. You welcome them, and then there is a ceremony. All must be worshipped, and you tell them, "Please, all come with your full powers here and protect my yajña, my ceremony. You are all cordially invited. Please protect us from all obstacles so that I, or we, may fulfill our saṅkalpa." After this ceremony and yajña are over, there is a pūrṇā āhuti, a final offering, and a farewell. Or again, you must give them some presents and tell them, "Please return to your abode. We are connected, united as good friends. Whenever I need, please come to help me." Similarly, this is also done for a house-building ceremony. In what is spoken of as Vāstu Śāstra, when you perform the first earth-breaking ceremony, then, according to the particular constellation, Muhūrta, and according to your horoscope—the horoscope of that village, the horoscope of that ground—all the constellations are then facing the northeast corner. Then, with a particular mantra, the first digging takes place. You invite all the goddesses, and then the foundation stone is laid. For that, you call all the different goddesses. When the house is finished, you perform a yajña and offer food and presents to all the goddesses you invited. It is symbolic: this place is for Śiva, this for Brahmā, this for Viṣṇu, and so on. Then, with folded hands, you tell them, "You may go now, please, and protect us." That is called a housewarming. Then you live in that house. There will be harmony, peace, understanding, love, good health, and so on. It is a science. You see, every element is known as a God: the Fire God, the Water God, the Air God, Mother Earth. All of them have their place; otherwise, there can be difficulties. If you do not invite the Water God, he may come as a flood and pull your house down, or the Fire God, or the Wind God. So, like this, everyone has their place. She looked there and saw there was no place for Śiva. There was no portion left for Śiva. Even if someone cannot come, or if you forgot to invite them, it is still your duty to keep a portion for that one. At Christmas, if a child or a friend is not there, you keep the present and afterward send it to them. It is the same. The system is the same; it is a Vedic system. Then she realized again what Śiva had told her before. Now she understood. Before, she had said, "No, that is not correct. I will go." But now, when she saw there was no place for them at all, she realized. And she knew she had insulted her Lord. Again, her heart was full of fire. Her heart was burning with sadness. The heart was burning so strongly it was turning to coal because she had insulted him again. She felt the pain that Śiva had renounced her, that he had separated her from him. As much fear or sadness as she had felt before, she now felt another sadness again. She was very, very sad once more. This happens in good families. Sometimes, because in a bad family it does not happen—it is already there, continuously present. It isn't that it happens; it is already here, there. But in a good family, sometimes it happens. In this world, there are many kinds of troubles, many kinds of sorrows and sufferings. But the greatest suffering is when someone insults you on a particular occasion. To endure such an insult is very difficult. If you are injured by a knife, that wound may heal. But if you are injured by an insult, that will not knit together; that wound will remain always. Satī was very angry. She was very, very angry. Her mother, at least, tried to calm her down, but I think it was no help. She tried to understand her mother. She tried to forgive all, but still she could not. Because it was an insult to Śiva, and she could not bear it. She did not want her husband to be insulted here. Therefore, in her heart, mercy could not come, love could not come. So she was angry and shouted at all who were sitting there. In the grip of anger, she was saying something. All were sitting and looking, and Satī was angry. What she said in that whole gathering, all the munis were listening. She said to all the munis, "Listen to me. Those who have insulted Śiva here, listen to me. They will receive their fruits very soon in return, and they will be sorry, just as my father Dakṣa will also be sorry for this. Where there is a saint, there is Śivjī. There is Lakṣmīpati, Bhagavān Viṣṇu. And it is said: those who criticize a saint, Śiva, Lakṣmī, Pativagwān, Viṣṇu—it is said that you should cut their tongue away if it is in your hand. But do not listen, and do not let them speak badly about them. If you cannot cut their tongue away, then close your ears, but never listen to the bad criticism," she said. "The destroyer of all Rākṣasas, the Tripura Dāityas, Lord Śiva. The ātmā of the whole world, the Holy Father, the Father of our world—he is the doer of good things for all. But my father, the foolish one, has lost his intellect. Out of his ignorance, he is criticizing Śiva. I know that I am his daughter. It is a shame for me that I am his daughter. Therefore, that Lord Śiva, who bears the shining moon on his forehead..." She called him in her heart and said, "I will give up my life now, here." And Satī, through the power of her yoga siddhi, called Agnideva, the fire god, and her entire body burned there. In the whole meeting and gathering, there was restlessness. All were very sad. Nobody knew what to do now. What to do? What will be the consequences? What a great pity. It is painful to see.