I have always wondered how God could manage to make this world in only six days. And this world!
Perhaps that's why He called His son Jesus! What a name to give to your own son! He had to punish somebody for what He had done, and there was nobody else available. The Holy Ghost is always absent; he is sitting there on the horse seat, that's why I told Chetana to vacate it, because to ride a horse with somebody already riding on it is not good. I mean not good for the horse - not good for Chetana either. As for the Holy Ghost, I don't care a bit. I don't feel for the Holy Ghost or any other type of ghost. I'm always for the living.
A ghost is a shadow of the dead, and even if holy, what is the use? And it is ugly too. Chetana, I was not worried about the Holy Ghost. If you ride on him, it is okay as far as I am concerned. Ride on the Holy Ghost. But this poor chair is not even meant for a full person. It is not meant to be sat on. It is meant only for half a person, so that you don't fall asleep. That's why it is made in such a way.
In that chair you cannot even sit, what to say of sleeping? And even that chair could not fit in this small Noah's Ark. It is so small that Noah himself has to stand outside, just to make space for all you creatures.
What was I saying, Devageet?
"The Holy Ghost is always absent; he is now sitting on the horse seat." (LAUGHTER) That I remember. I knew you could not take notes. Concentrate. But I will manage. I managed my whole life without notes.
What Jawaharlal asked me on that last day was certainly strange.
He asked, "Do you think it is okay to be in the political world?"
I said, "I don't think, I know it is not okay at all. It is a curse, a karma. You must have done something wrong in your past lives, otherwise you could not be the prime minister of India."
He said, "I agree."
Masto could not believe that I could answer the prime minister in such a way, nor, even more, that the prime minister would agree.
I said, "That finishes a long argument between me and Masto, in my favor. Masto, do you agree?"
He said, "Now I have to."
I said, "I never like anything that 'had to'; it is better to disagree. At least in that disagreement there will be some life. Don't give me this dead rat! In the first place, a rat - and then too, dead! Do you think I am an eagle, a vulture, or what?" Even Jawaharlal looked at both of us in turns.
I said, "You have decided. I am thankful to you. Masto, for years, has been in a dilemma. He could not decide whether a good man should be in politics or not."
We talked of many things. I did not think in that house - I mean the prime minister's house - that any meeting would have lasted so long. By the time we ended it was nine-thirty - three hours! Even Jawaharlal said, "This must be my life's longest meeting, and the most fruitful."
I said, "What fruitfulness has it brought you?"
He said, "Just the friendship of a man who does not belong to this world, and will never belong to this world. I will cherish it as a sacred memory." And in his beautiful eyes I could see the first gathering of tears.
I rushed out, just not to embarrass him, but he followed me and said, "There was no need to rush so fast."
I said, "Tears were coming faster." He laughed and wept together.
It very rarely happens, and only either to madmen or to the really intelligent ones. He was not a madman, but superbly intelligent. We - I mean Masto and I - talked again and again about that meeting, particularly the tears and the laughter. Why? Naturally we, as always, did not agree. That had become a routine thing. If I had agreed, he would not have believed it. It would have been such a shock.
I said, "He wept for himself, and laughed for the freedom I had."
Of course, Masto's interpretation was, "He wept for you, not for himself, because he could see that you could become an important political force, and he laughed at his own idea."
That was Masto's interpretation. Now, there was no way to decide, but fortunately Jawaharlal decided it himself, accidentally. Masto told me, so there is no problem.
Before Masto left me forever, to disappear in the Himalayas, and before I died the way everybody has to die to be resurrected, he told me, "Do you know, Jawaharlal has been remembering you again and again, particularly in my last meeting with him. He said, 'If you see that strange boy, and if you are in any way concerned about him, keep him out of politics, because I wasted my life with these stupid people. I don't want that boy begging votes from utterly stupid, mediocre, unintelligent masses. No, if you have any say in his life, please protect him from politics.'"
Masto said, "That decided our argument in your favor, and I'm happy because although I argued with you, and against you, deep down I always agreed with you."
I never saw Jawaharlal again, although he lived many years. But, just as he wanted it - and I had already decided it; his advice only became a confirmation of my own decision - I have never voted in my life and never been a member of any political party, never even dreamed of it. In fact, for almost thirty years I have not dreamed at all. I cannot.
I can manage a sort of rehearsal. The word will seem strange, a "rehearsal" dream, but the actual drama never happens, cannot happen; it needs unconsciousness, and that ingredient is missing.
You can make me unconscious, but still you will not make me dream. And to make me unconscious needs not much technology, just a hit over my head and I will be unconscious. But that is not the unconsciousness I am talking about.
You are unconscious when you go on doing things without knowing why; during the day, during the night - the awareness is missing. Once awareness happens, dreaming disappears. Both cannot exist together. There is no coexistence possible between these two things, and nobody can make it.
Either you dream, then you are unconscious; or you are awake, aware, pretending to dream - but that is not a dream. You know and everybody else knows too.
What was I saying?
"For almost thirty years you haven't dreamed. 'I never saw Jawaharlal again, even though he lived many years.'"
There was no need to see him again, although many people approached me. Somehow they came to know through various sources, from Jawaharlal's house, secretaries, or others, that I knew him, and he loved me. Naturally they wanted something to be done for them, and asked if I would recommend it to him.
I said, "Are you mad? I don't know him at all."
They said, "We have solid proofs."
I said, "You can keep your solid proofs. Perhaps in some dream we have met, but not in reality."
They said, "We always thought that you were a little mad, now we know."
I said, "Spread it, please, as far and wide as possible, and don't be so conservative - just a little mad? Be generous - I am absolutely mad!"
They left without even saying thank you to me. I had to give them a thank you, so I said, "I am a madman, at least I can give you a good thank you."
They said to each other, "Look! A good thank you? He is mad."
I loved to be known as mad. I still love it. There is nothing more beautiful than the madness I have come to know.
Masto said before he left, "Jawaharlal has given me this man's name, Ghanshyamdas Birala. He is the richest man in India, and very close to the family of Jawaharlal. In any kind of need he can be approached. And when he was giving me this address Jawaharlal said, 'That boy haunts me. I predict he can become...'" and Masto remained silent.
I said, "What is the matter? Complete the sentence at least."
Masto said, "I am going to. This silence is also his. I am simply imitating him. What you are asking me, I had asked him. Then Jawaharlal completed the sentence. And I will tell you," Masto said, "what the reason was. Jawaharlal said, 'He may become one day...' and then came the silence.
Perhaps he was weighing something inside, or was not very clear about what to say; then he said, 'a Mahatma Gandhi.'"
Jawaharlal was giving me the greatest respect that he could. Mahatma Gandhi had been his master, and also the man who decided that Jawaharlal would be the first prime minister of India. Naturally, when Mahatma Gandhi was shot dead, Jawaharlal wept. Speaking on the radio, weeping, he said, "The light has gone out. I don't want to say anything more. He was our light, now we will have to live in darkness."
If he had said it to Masto with hesitation, then either he was thinking whether to compare this unknown boy with the world-famous mahatma, or he was perhaps weighing between the mahatma and a few other names... and I think that is more probable, because Masto told him, "If I tell that boy, he will immediately say, 'Gandhi! He is the last person in the world I would like to be. I would rather go to hell than be Mahatma Gandhi.' So it is better to let you know how he will react. I know him very deeply. He will not be able to tolerate this comparison, and he loves you. Just because of this name don't destroy your lover."
I said to Masto, "This is too much, Masto. You need not have said that to him. He is old, and as far as I am concerned, he has compared me to the greatest man in his way of thinking."
Masto said, "Wait. When I said this, Jawaharlal said, 'I had suspected, that's why I waited, weighing whether to say it or not. Then don't say it to him, change it. Perhaps he may become a Gautam Buddha!'"
Rabindranath, the great Indian poet, has written that Jawaharlal very secretly loved Gautam Buddha.
Why secretly? Because he never liked any organized religion, and he did not believe in God either, and Jawaharlal was the prime minister of India.
Masto said, "I then said to Jawaharlal, 'Forgive me. You have come very close, but to tell you the truth he will not like any comparison.' And do you know," Masto then asked me, "what Jawaharlal said? He said 'That is the kind of man I love and respect. But protect him by every possible means so that he does not get caught into politics, which destroyed me. I don't want that same calamity to happen again, to him.' "
Masto disappeared after that. I also disappeared, so nobody is there to complain. But the memory is not consciousness, and memory can function even without consciousness, in fact more efficiently.
After all, what is a computer? A memory system. The ego has died; that which is behind the ego is eternal. That which is part of the brain is temporal, and will die.
Even after death I will be available to my people as much, or as little, as I am now. It all depends on them. That's why I am, by and by, disappearing from their world, so that it becomes more and more their thing.
I may be just one percent, and their love, their trust, their surrender are ninety-nine percent. But when I am gone even more will be needed - one hundred percent. Then I will be available, perhaps more, to those who can afford - write "who can afford" in capital letters - because the richest man is one WHO CAN AFFORD a one hundred percent surrender in love and trust.
And I have got those people. So I don't want, even after death, in any way to disappoint them. I would like them to be the most fulfilled people on earth. Whether I am here or not, I will rejoice.