Now listen to the way of the sants -- I will tell it, for it is most sacred -- those who have gained the manifest presence of Purushottam, the supremely wise Lord. He is the ocean of bliss, the beautiful dark one, by whose happiness all the abodes are made happy. Those who have Purushottam as their lord no longer know poverty even a trace. Their minds are not lured even by all fourteen worlds; they see Brahma and all other beings as transient. Within them dwells extreme detachment; they have renounced both the comforts of body and mind.
They have withdrawn their love from the five sense-objects; they never give their mind to false pleasure. Such sants have no lust, anger, greed, or delusion -- such is the company of these sants.
They said to one another, gathered together: "Look how these souls have gone astray -- they have fallen into what is truly a mine of great suffering, thinking it to be happiness. This is a strange wonder indeed -- that happiness should be imagined in the midst of suffering. Woman is like a well leading down to hell -- how can she be taken for a form of happiness?
Whatever men fall into hell, all fall through attachment to woman; whatever soul goes to the city of Yama, it is because of woman, and swiftly so. They suffer the pains of birth and death in the body because of consorting with woman; they take on the eighty-four lakh forms of life, those whose affection remains fixed upon her.
Listen, let me tell one more thing -- many have met with great suffering through her. Even the minds of the greatest men were broken by keeping her company. Gods, demons and men alike are destroyed through love of woman; whether another's wife or one's own, she cuts down the body as a sword does. Whatever venom lies in poison, fire, or serpent belongs to no one in particular -- so it is with her. Like a great witch or sorceress, she has devoured gods and men alike.
Like a raging tigress, like an angry serpent that strikes -- whoever holds affection for her has wasted his human body. Seeing poison in a golden cup, would any man rush to drink it? Seeing a well-honed sword, would he plan to plunge it into his own belly? Just so, seeing a beautiful woman, foolish, deluded men perish -- like a deer lured by bells and jingling ornaments, like a moth drawn into the blaze of fire. As an elephant is lured by a decoy paper elephant, so is woman a thief of man's life-breath. Whether fair or foul, both kinds of women speak with flattering tongues alike.
Feet, hands, waist and neck bound and adorned, eyes lined with black collyrium, ears and nose pierced, hair bound up, fingers adorned with rings -- yet beneath this the very same hands have torn out men's hearts, for her nails are red, and her mouth has eaten flesh, for her teeth are stained red. Whoever forms affection with such a one finds no happiness in any way. Though shameless within, she feigns modesty outwardly, only to draw a man to herself.
A woman, though seemingly weak, wields great power, by which she brings all men under her control. Speaking softly amid great show of modesty, she does so only to bring men low. Walking with slow, gentle steps, she steals away a man's very life-breath. Displaying gestures and postures of her body, she does so to destroy a man's very being. As a mouse gnaws unnoticed and its pain is not felt, so does woman, speaking sweetly, gnaw and devour a man's very heart. Such deceit that cannot even be seen -- tell me, O sants, from where could happiness come from her? In the mere shadow of woman a serpent goes blind; in the mere shadow of woman a wound will not heal.
If anyone should ask how this could be, hear the truth of the matter: it is like the statue of Sikandar, made and kept apart at a distance -- whoever draws near it by force and gazes upon it perishes, his fortune broken, his death sealed. Therefore stay far away -- there is no suffering in that; having seen this, renounce her in body and mind. Whoever wishes to keep her company will suffer great affliction in body. She deserves to be condemned from head to toe -- thus the poet, again and again, describes her nature.
In whose heart the lion of desire roars, he does not fear as he goes astray. Struck by the glance of woman's eyes, he is beaten and left crushed like flour. Even suffering such loss, the unfortunate man cannot give her up. From this arose the curse that fell even upon Girijapati's own presence . By this, Indra's body was afflicted, and sage Saubhari's penance was lost through this same cause. Rishyashringa too was swiftly seized -- this is how woman quickly seizes men.
Those men who remained caught up in this -- what could they have understood in their minds? Outwardly a woman's body may shine beautifully, but within it is filled with urine and excrement. It is a lump of marrow, fat and flesh; it drips with spit, phlegm, and mucus. In every vein flows blood; the body is only bones covered over with skin. Pus and bile churn in the belly; the mouth holds only a row of bones as teeth; nails, hair and phlegm -- is there anything in all this worth desiring? If all the things named above were gathered together in one place, and someone still desired to consume it, could such a person even be called human?
Knowing this, why not give up all attachment? Why does the deluded person still hold on to affection? Why not renounce her in every way -- why, fool, does one still keep her in mind? To listen to and dwell upon secret talk about her, to speak of seeing or touching a woman's body, to sit alone in her company -- sants, who could be more sinful than this?
Wherever a woman performs the acts of the body, if the mind's inclination wishes to go to that place, and if a man stays in her company -- sants, who could be more sinful than this? Where a woman bathes in water, wearing scant clothing on her body, if one desires to look at her with a wicked mind -- sants, who could be more sinful than this? Where people sit together and talk turns to women, if one does not get up and leave that place -- sants, who could be more sinful than this? If one touches the ornaments or fine garments a woman wears -- sants, who could be more sinful than this? If a woman passing by leaves behind the scent of her body, and one's mind is not troubled by that scent -- sants, who could be more sinful than this?
If she is alone on the road or at the riverbank, and one walks along with her, modesty cast aside, looking upon her with sinful intent -- sants, who could be more sinful than this? Even where there is ample open space, if one still goes near to a woman, drawing close within a few hands' distance -- sants, who could be more sinful than this? If a woman makes some gesture, and, forgetting himself, he watches and does not set it aside from his mind, letting it dwell deep within -- sants, who could be more sinful than this? Whoever goes to watch dancers dressed as women, or male dancers performing in women's guise -- sants, who could be more sinful than this? Even images of women crafted in metal, clay, wood or stone, or painted by an artist's hand -- if one so much as touches such an image -- sants, who could be more sinful than this?
If, in the company of woman in any of these ways, a man keeps this within his person, he will die again and again -- sants, who could be more sinful than this? Like a well covered over with grass, or like a poisonous creeper hanging down -- if one steps upon it trusting the mere shadow of appearance -- sants, who could be more sinful than this?
No, no -- woman is no true friend to man; she is filled entirely with deceit. A woman's ways are boundless; she never shows her deceit outwardly. The same woman who is afraid at the sight of a rope, will boldly step upon an actual serpent. The same woman who is frightened by a mouse, will seize a lion by the ear. The same woman who is afraid of the dark, roams about outside in the dead of night. The same woman who is afraid to put her foot in water, crosses the ocean with ease when it suits her. She performs her tricks in her talking and looking; she is highly skilled in laughing and weeping at will. Pleased, a woman burns with passion for a man's company; angered, she would cut off his head through her wiles.
By her very nature she is contrary; she does not take good counsel in the right way. She is a mere winnower who separates out virtues to suit her own imagination, having no true good qualities of her own. Her mind is soiled and her body impure -- how could the wise keep company with her? Better to encounter a female cobra or tigress, or fall into a well, or be struck by lightning, poison, an enemy, fire, or a demoness -- than to encounter a woman at all. There is no other well of hell -- woman's form itself is hell for man.
Abandoning the very form of Purushottam, does a man delight instead in gazing upon woman? Whoever thinks of her again and again -- such a fool deserves condemnation! Abandoning the beautiful dark form of the Lord, he goes to look upon the form of woman, and his very self becomes absorbed in it -- such a fool deserves condemnation! Abandoning the face of the great Lord, if a man turns his face toward woman instead, and cherishes fondness for her touch -- such a fool deserves condemnation! Abandoning talk of the Enchanting Lord's face, he rejoices instead on hearing the word "woman," and feels not the least fault in it -- such a fool deserves condemnation! Abandoning the singing of Hari's glories, he speaks instead of woman's ways, and his body swells with pride over it -- such a fool deserves condemnation! Abandoning the lotus eyes of Keshav, he instead recalls woman, the giver of sorrow, not knowing the difference between what is essential and what is not -- such a fool deserves condemnation!
He is not drawn by the charming grace of the Beloved Lord, but by the coquettish glance of a desired woman; he has suffered loss and been ruined -- such a fool deserves condemnation! He gives no ear to the story of Krishna, but listens instead to the praise of a woman's qualities, keeping his attention fixed there alone -- such a fool deserves condemnation! Abandoning the company of Hari and Hari's devotees, he keeps instead the company of those attached to women, feeling not the slightest shame -- such a fool deserves condemnation!
Those who have thus understood what is essential and what is not have crossed over the ocean of worldly existence; how then could desire trouble them further, having made all such things forbidden to themselves? Thus men became free of desire, their inner suffering purged and cast out; outwardly the renunciation may show no end, but once it is truly uprooted from within, it is never taken up again. This bliss the sants have given, casting it out from within, through the grace of Swami Sahajanand.
Thus all the sant-devotees remained free of desire, they who attained the manifest Lord, Sahajanand, the abode of bliss. Just as was their aversion toward woman, so too was their renunciation of wealth; they see no happiness in riches, those within whose hearts true detachment dwells.
Thus, in the Bhaktachintamani composed by Nishkulanand Muni, disciple of Shri Sahajanand Swami, propagator of the glorious Ekantik Dharma, the chapter named "The Vow of Freedom from Desire," the one hundred and sixth chapter, is concluded.