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This festival signifies the victory of truth, the victory of dharma, and the destruction of adharma. "Satyameva jayate"—truth alone triumphs. Thus, it is a holy festival, and the 21st is a truly sacred day. On that day, they burn a large tree. They place it in the center of the village a month prior, chipping the bark, and on the evening of the 21st, they take it outside the village to the fire pit to burn the holy tree. As for the Pallada, which also stood as a log of the tree, it remains in the village as a hero or a devotee of God. The next day, everyone becomes ecstatic with happiness. People throw colors on each other, dance, and eat sweets—it is called the colorful festival. If you go to India on the 22nd and walk through the streets, you will certainly not return without many colors on your face. Even children come with colored hands, greet you with "How are you?" and you reply, "Thank you." As you walk down the street, someone from a roof or balcony might throw a bucket of color on you and say, "Happy Holī!" I recall a story from 1966. I was in a village called Ābu Road with Holy Gurujī, my master. Gurujī was having some bhajans printed at a press and told me to go there to collect the proofreading copy. I was a young boy, wearing nice white trousers and a white half-shirt. The only thing in my pocket was the cheque Gurujī had given me to pay the printer. I walked through a narrow street, unaware of what was happening that day. People had a very large pot—almost like a small swimming pool—used for cooking halvā. If you come to India, you will understand; in such a pot, you can cook halvā for 25,000 to 30,000 people. Can you imagine its size? This particular pot was filled with red color. People were sitting and standing around it. When they saw me—fresh, without a single dot of color on my body—they became excited. I didn't understand anything; I was just walking. Two people came from behind and two from the front, saying, "Hello." I said, "Yes." One caught me, another held my legs, two held my hands, and they dipped me into the pot—once, twice, three times—completely submerging me and pulling me out. I was not angry, but I was sad. I thought, "Oh God, the cheque Gurujī gave me will be destroyed." I went to the printer's. My hands were completely red, but when I took out the cheque, it was untouched. That was something—for me, a great miracle, as I had been afraid Gurujī would be angry. The entire dress was red; I looked like a red man, yet the cheque remained completely untouched. Afterward, I returned to Gurujī. He smiled and said, "Today is Holī, you know."