question. Please tell me what the difference is between Nirvikalpa Samadhi and Savikalpa
Samadhi.” That was an opportunity for us to learn—we would not dare to ask such a question for
ourselves—so we all stopped working and listened. It’s a million dollar question! Gurudev put his
glasses up and looked at him. “Have you had your breakfast?” he asked him. “Would you have
some tea or coffee?” He had to give an answer. He said, “Tea, Swamiji.” Now came tea, fruits and
books. The doctor enjoyed his tea and some Idli. And then came his wife. She stepped into the
office, gave one stern look, and said. “How long have I been waiting there for you! Come, let us
go.” And he quietly got up, bowed down to Swamiji, and said, “I’m leaving.” Once he had gone
Swamiji laughed and laughed. It was a beautiful laugh. “He wants to know about Savikalpa
Samadhi. The wife gives one look and he goes.” This is the type of person you find
elsewhere—pandits who have enormous knowledge, who could keep you enthralled for hours
discoursing on half a verse of the Bhagavad-Gita. Fantastic. Gurudev loved them, admired their
intellect, but that’s all!
There was another very amusing incident. During Gurudev’s All-India Tour a few learned
scholars met him in Varanasi. As he was walking past, greeting them, one of them asked a question
in Sanskrit. Gurudev turned to him and asked, “Comment ca va, comment vous appellez vous?”,
(two sentences in French he had learnt). The pandit just stared with dropped jaw. He did not
understand the reply. (Moral: The purpose of language is communication and not showing off.)
So, you must communicate and you must also learn how to communicate. Theory and
practice must go hand in hand. One is not the enemy of the other, but the friend, and one without the
other is useless. Apart from the dangers I mentioned earlier, there is another. Gurudev himself told
us that when he came to Rishikesh all that he wanted was to sit under a tree, to sing God’s names, to
do Japa—and that’s all. He was fond of Kirtan. There was not a single function which commenced
without Sankirtana. Every occasion demanded the singing of God’s names. If somebody was sick,
dying, dead, born or married, for laying a foundation-stone or pulling a building down, he sang
Hare Rama. In one of his early letters to his senior-most disciple, Swami Paramanandaji, he had
even said that we should transform the whole of India through Sankirtan alone. In accordance with
that ideal, when he was still living in Swargashram he used to preside over and participate in
Sankirtan conferences. Even before the Divine Life Society was started he had established several
groups of Sankirtanists for organising and holding Sankirtan conferences. But very soon he
discovered that it was degenerating into some kind of emotionalism—people jumping and dancing
and calling it ecstasy. Ecstasy can be reached through Sankirtan no doubt, but not all can do that.
Very soon there was a power struggle, so within a year or two he changed his mind. He said,
“Sankirtan alone is no good. It leads to emotionalism. There must be some Jnana, some
understanding. Kirtan is singing God’s name, not conducting a musical competition. It is the
Bhavana that is important, and one must learn to recognise and understand that Bhavana.” As years
went by he evolved a system of synthesis. Practice is extremely important, but not without
understanding.
When you gain this theoretical understanding it must at the same time help you and help
others. Learn whatever you can here, go out and share it, not feeling that you know everything, but
to the extent that you have gained this theoretical understanding and practical knowledge, impart it,
offer it at the feet of the omnipresent God in worship. Gurudev used to insist upon that. Whatever
you have, share—including knowledge of Yoga and Vedanta. That way your shyness is removed
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THEORY AND PRACTICE