Om, salutations again and again to Shri Swaminarayan, the very incarnation of God; salutations to Shri Hari Krishna; salutations to Shri Purna Purushottam. [The recording opens with devotional singing, then the swami resumes:] Shlok number 121, continuing. [A Sanskrit verse is recited here, briefly broken by a musical interlude; its sense, as best the recording allows it to be followed, concerns the Vishishtadvaita philosophical position, the realm of Goloka, and attaining liberation through service (seva) to Krishna by realizing one's identity as Brahma (the individual soul) in relation to Him.]
Now the superiority of prapatti (complete surrender, taking refuge) over other means to liberation is being explained. Earlier it was already established what does and does not count as true surrender (sharanagati). Now the discourse turns to why surrender is superior to other spiritual practices.
The first distinguishing feature of prapatti is that everyone has the right to it — any person, regardless of varna (caste category), ashram (stage of life), gender, or descent, may take up surrender. Anyone can accept prapatti. To perform a yajna (Vedic sacrifice), only brahmins are qualified; shudras cannot perform it — such rites all carry rules of eligibility. Prapatti carries no such requirement. Even a shudra or an outcaste (chandal), any woman or man whatsoever, has the right to it. That is its special quality. One might think prapatti should only be for those who already carry prior samskara (good conditioning), righteousness (dharma), and detachment (vairagya) — but that is not so. Even the lowest of the low can take up surrender; there are stories in scripture of the most sinful people taking refuge in the Lord and Bhagwan accepting them. So everyone — any varna, any ashram, any gender, any birth — can take hold of prapatti.
By contrast, Vedanta shastra names bhrahmopasana (worship/meditation on Brahman) as the means to liberation, and grants that right only to brahmins, kshatriyas, and vaishyas — no one else has the right to it; this is affirmed in the section of scripture dealing specifically with the disqualification of shudras from such Vedic worship. After this, Maharaj [Bhagwan Swaminarayan] said: one should meditate upon and worship Swaminarayan Bhagwan. Upasana (worship) has two main components — meditation (dhyan) and bhajan (chanting/remembrance) — reciting the mantra and meditating on the form of God — and here there is no such restriction; a shudra can do this without much objection. But the objection that does apply is to things like performing yajnas, giving formal donations, and reciting/studying scripture in the Vedic sense — for that, one traditionally needs the right to study the Vedas, which is not open to everyone. In prapatti/sharanagati, however, no rule of eligibility applies to anyone at all. It is said that whoever, among all pursuits of human life (purushartha), desires the highest success — liberation — such a seeker (mumukshu), being penniless/without possessions (nishkinchan) and filled with supreme faith, should take the refuge of Paramatma Shri Hari.
In the Parashar-Madhaviya, Bhagwan Vishnu himself says: brahmins, kshatriyas, vaishyas, shudras, and those of mixed lineage (varna-shankar) — men and women of every kind — all of them may take refuge in the unchanging Bhagwan Shri Narayan, who sustains and nourishes the entire world. In taking refuge in Paramatma Shri Narayan, there is no distinction whatsoever of caste, lineage, gender, life-stage, quality, action, or place and time. Any human being at all can take the refuge of Paramatma.
A question had once arisen: "O Bhagwan, what means should embodied souls adopt so that they instantly become free of fault and attain the supreme accomplishment of liberation?" This question is recorded in the Bharadvaja Samhita — who is capable of doing what leads to that? And the words quoted above are given as the answer. In this way it is established that in prapatti-sharanagati, everyone has the right — and in the same manner, every living being has the right to worship and devotion (aradhana) as well.
Sati Draupadi, during the crisis of her disrobing by Duhshasan, took the refuge of Paramatma — though it is true she did not take that refuge for the sake of liberation; that surrender was to be rescued from her calamity, not for moksha. What is being discussed here is surrender for the sake of liberation specifically. Even so, though Draupadi received a different fruit from that act of surrender, the means she used was surrender itself. In the same way, Gajendra — defeated by a mighty crocodile — was an animal, yet through surrender he attained his desired goal and was saved; this is well known. No special qualification or purity was required of him. The example of Draupadi is given precisely because she was a woman, and moreover in that moment she was in her menstrual period (rajaswala) — yet even so she prayed to Bhagwan, because Bhagwan is not one who can be kept from responding. Similarly, though Gajendra was an animal without the capacity for conscious understanding, he had performed worship of Bhagwan in a previous birth, and that gave him the "sense" to call out — just as Bharatji, who had worshipped Bhagwan in a former birth, retained that awareness even while inhabiting the body of a deer. So the sanskara of a former birth can operate even in an animal. Vibhishan too, the noble rakshasa, obtained the happiness he desired purely through surrender. This shows that whether through speech or through ritual action, everyone has the right to prapatti — and in the same way, everyone has the right to meditate, contemplate, and reflect upon the form of Paramatma.
No one lacks the capacity to meditate. In such contemplative meditation, the object accepted is the Lord of all (Sarveshwar) — meditation should be done on Paramatma alone, because the Sarveshwar held in meditation is equally accessible to all. Accepting God in meditation is itself a form of prayer; meditation, in essence, is a form of prayer, and it should carry the spirit of prayer — meaning that one should know "O God, nothing else is a source of happiness for me but You," and, with that understanding, attach one's soul (jiva) to Bhagwan; meditation should be done in that spirit. Prayer carries within it humility, helplessness, and a sense of having nothing of one's own (dainya and akinchanpanu) — and for one who genuinely has no other recourse or means, such prayer comes very easily; and because it is easy, and because this right belongs to all, sinners and lowly people often succeed readily at surrender — because they feel they have no qualification, no claim to boast of, so ego does not arise quickly in them; they have nothing to be proud of, so pride does not obstruct their surrender. The greatest obstacle to surrender is one's own ego (ahamkar) — pride in any accomplishment, in any quality, in anything whatsoever — obstructs surrender.
In the Gita, Bhagwan says: "na mam duskritino mudhah prapadyante naradhamah, mayayapahrta-jnana asuram bhavam asritah" — describing four types of people who do not take refuge in Him. The word "duskritino" in that verse — the acharyas (traditional commentators) have interpreted it not as "sinners" in the literal sense but as those bound by pride/arrogance (abhimaan); it does not mean sinners, because Bhagwan elsewhere also says "api chet sudur-acharo" — even the very worst sinner may come to Him for refuge. So sin is no prohibition. It is pride/arrogance that is the true obstacle — not that it is formally prohibited, but such a person simply will not let go of it. This is why one often finds that small, humble people fall readily into surrender, while great figures — even those of the stature of Brahma — sometimes feel inclined to test Bhagwan. Small people do not test Bhagwan the way great people sometimes do. There was once a boatman who came to doubt, "this one appears to be Bhagwan himself," so he washed His feet, drank the sacred water used to wash them (charanamrut), and then prostrated fully before Him.
Beyond this, since prapatti accomplishes every desired purpose one might wish for, it grants every kind of fruit — this is illustrated by an episode at a yajna Maharaj once performed: a courtesan (veshya) present there thought to herself, "I have committed sin my whole life; here Bhagwan is performing a yajna, perhaps something of it will benefit me too." Maharaj, on such occasions, would distribute things to everyone, saying, in effect, "may this be of use to you too" — and it is precisely such humble, longing hearts (aartabhaav) that arise easily in lowly people, but which take much longer to arise in people of very high standing, because in the latter, ego gets in the way. So it is not that eligibility for surrender is restricted to great, capable people, nor is it restricted away from lowly people either — whoever's heart feels the longing, "I truly have a need, and apart from Bhagwan I have no salvation," can take up surrender — whether they are as exalted as Brahma or as insignificant as a bit of straw. This is one further advantage of prapatti.
Because prapatti brings about the fulfillment of every desired purpose, this means of refuge is equal for all — and, moreover, a single act of surrender contains within it every possible fruit, with nothing left over, whereas with other spiritual practices, all their fruits are not obtained equally by everyone. In the Gita, Bhagwan says, "naham vedaih na tapasa" (I am not attained through the Vedas or through austerity) — negating all the various scriptural practices, and saying instead, "I am attained through bhakti [devotion] alone." But the meaning of this is that it refers to bhakti accompanied by sharanagati (surrender) — the two are sometimes bound together in such statements. The reason is this: if there is no surrender, devotion (bhakti) can end up attaching itself to something or someone else instead. If devotion is accompanied by surrender, it stays fixed; if surrender is absent, devotion can go elsewhere. Once surrender is present, devotion does not stray elsewhere — that is the special distinguishing feature here.
Suppose both surrender and devotion are present — which of the two should be considered primary? This can sometimes cause confusion in the mind as to which should be regarded as chief. There is an old story: all of Brahmaji's "children" — meaning the senses and the inner faculties (indriyas and antahkaran) — went to him quarrelling over who among them was the greatest, and demanded that he settle the matter before any of them would agree to perform their function again; otherwise they refused responsibility, since without a ruling on rank they felt they had no claim to their tasks. Brahmaji was troubled by this and said: whichever of you can leave the body for a year and the body still functions is the lesser one; whichever cannot be spared even briefly is the greater. So first the eyes left — and even blind people manage their work, so the body carried on a year without eyes. Then the ears left — the body carries on without hearing too. One by one, every sense and faculty left for a year, and the body managed without each of them. Finally Prana (the vital life-breath) said, "now it is my turn to leave" — and Prana's abode is said to be the heart (hridaya, from the root "rud" meaning where Prana resides). The moment Prana began to depart, while the doors of the house were still, as it were, half-open, and started to step out — every other sense organ immediately fell into disorder: the neck bent, the eyeballs bulged out, the eardrums went slack, the teeth loosened — the whole body began to collapse, and all the other senses, who had gone off with such confidence, came running back, leaving their own doors flung wide open, crying, "Jivaraj Bapa! Jivaraj Bapa! [O lord of life!] Please do not go — you alone are the greatest of all!" This story comes from the Upanishads. In the same way, devotion and surrender are like this: if surrender is present but devotion is not, that still functions; but if devotion is present without surrender, that devotion can end up flowing to someone else instead — devotion by itself exists everywhere: people practice devotion to minor deities, to other incarnations, to parents, to their country — devotion has no fixed anchor of its own; only surrender is the true peg (khilo) that devotion needs. Once surrender is present, devotion that follows from it becomes proper devotion; otherwise it may well become devotion to something else — devotion to a husband, devotion to a wife (in this age of Kali there are many who are devoted to their wives, and wives devoted to their husbands), devotion to parents, devotion to one's country, devotion to minor deities, devotion to a mother-goddess, devotion to various avatars, devotion to Maharaj — devotion as such can attach itself anywhere. But once surrender is present, devotion afterward does not go elsewhere; and if devotion comes first and surrender is directed elsewhere later, that does not fit together properly. So surrender is the principal of the two; among devotion and prapatti, surrender is primary — devotion within prapatti is what pleases Narayan; He himself is both the goal to be attained and the means of attaining it. In this way, for a seeker of liberation who has taken up prapatti, no other spiritual practice is required at all. But for those who practice other disciplines such as karma-yoga, this bhagavat-prapatti (surrender to God) remains necessary as well — as Bhagwan says in the Gita, that whoever takes refuge in Him crosses over this maya. So wherever devotion alone is spoken of as the supreme thing, it should be understood to mean devotion accompanied by surrender/prapatti.
Maya is extremely powerful, and one cannot conquer it by sense-control alone, no matter how many hundreds of methods are attempted. This is described in the Kathopanishad, in the verse describing a hierarchy: beyond the senses lie their objects; beyond the objects lies the mind; beyond the mind lies the intellect (buddhi); beyond the intellect is the great Self (atma/mahat); beyond that is the unmanifest (avyakta); beyond the unmanifest is the Supreme Person (Purusha); and beyond the Purusha there is nothing further — that is the final goal, the ultimate state to be reached. This describes an order in which each is to be overcome in turn. The Gita too states a similar order: the senses are said to be subtle/superior [in a certain sense]; beyond the senses is the mind; beyond the mind is the intellect; and beyond the intellect is the Self. Each successive one is described as stronger than the one before — meaning each is harder to conquer than the last. The Upanishad says these are difficult to conquer in ascending order of difficulty, meaning each is more powerful and thus harder to overcome than what precedes it.
The verse says the objects (of the senses) are harder to conquer than the senses themselves — how are objects conquered, and how are the senses conquered? What did Maharaj say about this in the Vachanamrut? To conquer the senses, four kinds of rules (niyam) were given; but to conquer the objects, Maharaj told the mahatmas that conquering the objects means conquering desh-kaal (one's place, time, and company/environment). When does desh-kaal fail to overpower a person? Maharaj said: when someone remains fixed at the lotus feet of Narayan Bhagwan without wavering (nirvikalp), desh-kaal cannot overpower them, because they hold the very key to desh-kaal in their own hands. But someone who, like Brahma, still holds some wavering or duality (savikalp), remains vulnerable to being overpowered by desh-kaal. So conquering the objects is even harder than conquering the senses themselves, according to this scripture.
Beyond that, the verse says the mind is subtler/stronger than the objects — even when desh-kaal and the objects are unfavorable, and even when circumstances are favorable, the mind can still attach itself elsewhere; the mind can wander far away and mentally enjoy an object even without its physical presence. So conquering the mind is harder still than conquering desh-kaal. Next, the intellect (buddhi) is said to be subtler/stronger than the mind — if the intellect has fixed a goal, even if the mind does not like it, the mind must submit to what the intellect has resolved; the mind may create some disturbance, a little resistance, but eventually it has to come around to the plan. So the intellect is stronger than the mind — however unruly the mind is, it can be brought under control through the intellect's planning. Beyond the intellect is the great Self (atma) — one's own jiva (individual soul) must be conquered by means of the intellect; this too appears in the Bhagavatam, regarding conquering one's own jiva. All of this refers to the purification of each successive faculty — purification of the antahkaran, of the intellect, of the mind, of the jiva — each has its own distinct means of conquest.
Beyond the unmanifest is Purusha (the Supreme Person, Paramatma) — and beyond Purusha there is nothing further to conquer. If someone conquers Paramatma, there is nothing else left to conquer; if someone brings Paramatma under their control, nothing else remains to be brought under control. It is necessary to keep the senses under control, but as long as sense-objects remain close at hand to the senses, the senses will not come under control — so, to control the senses, one must first put distance between oneself and their objects; staying away from the objects has to come first. Even someone with full mastery over their senses, if they come into close company (sahavas) with someone of the opposite sex, will find their vows and rules no longer hold — this is what Maharaj said — meaning that company/proximity (jog) is even more powerful than the senses themselves. If one renounces such company, the senses can be conquered; but if one continues such company as before and merely tries to conquer the senses on top of it, that very company, even in someone who has otherwise conquered their senses, will not let that mastery remain — it gets undone, thrown into disarray.
But even having renounced such company, if the mind itself has not been brought under control, then merely removing oneself from the objects does not succeed either. Saubhari Rishi spent eight thousand years in the waters of the Yamuna precisely so that no contact with any sense-object, not even the sight of one, would reach him — he had chosen that seclusion deliberately — yet even so, his mind wandered off and became entangled, ending up in the court of King Mandhata. So: if the mind has not been brought under control, avoiding the objects will not succeed on its own — therefore the mind must be brought under control first and foremost. In this sequence of bringing things under control, it becomes necessary to bring the intellect under control even more than the mind. Describing this order of mastery, the Kathopanishad concludes by saying that Purusha (the Supreme Person) is beyond all — meaning that in the sequence of conquest, the Supreme Person, Paramatma, must be conquered first of all; and once He is conquered, nothing further remains necessary.
Maharaj said: what matters is Bhagwan's pleasure (rajipo) and the pleasure of Bhagwan's true devotee (satpurush) — Prahlad had every circumstance (desh-kaal) against him, nothing was in his favor, yet he became a supreme devotee (parama bhagwat). Maharaj gave the opposite example too: Jay and Vijay — even though their circumstances were entirely favorable, they still fell. So it is the pleasure of Bhagwan and the pleasure of Bhagwan's devotee, and that alone, that lets one conquer desh-kaal; the power to conquer desh-kaal comes from that. Maharaj said one should remain wary of desh-kaal, yet the power to conquer it comes from that pleasure — and the means to bring the Supreme Person, Paramatma, under one's control is prapatti alone. So this scripture (shruti) says: without accepting the surrender of the Supreme Person, victory over the senses cannot come about at all.
Our renunciation (vairagya) and our religious discipline (dharma-niyam) are not, by themselves, especially noticed or valued by Bhagwan to any great degree — even if we hold some pride in them. But our surrender (prapatti) is something Bhagwan is bound to take notice of; He is bound by this, because He is described as "sharanagat-vatsal" — one who is affectionately devoted to those who take refuge in Him — and so surrender always gets noticed. If we have any skill or ability and use it for Bhagwan's sake, He takes definite notice of it — Bhagwan is described as one who values even the smallest thing offered with equal regard [anor api anyat tulyam himyata] — He notices it. But if we hold pride about that skill, He does not take note of it. And prapatti cannot be practiced at all without giving up pride/ego — so prapatti is always noticed; even the smallest soul who has taken refuge in Bhagwan gets, so to speak, registered in Bhagwan's awareness: "this one is My refuge, and protecting them is My responsibility." Bhagwan does not simply note it as "this one is very renunciate, so this one will become My own" — He notices only when it is done properly; if it is done well, He takes note, otherwise not. That is a special quality of prapatti: Bhagwan accepts it immediately, and Bhagwan Himself becomes subject to it. To bring Bhagwan under one's control through other means, one has to offer those other means up formally; prapatti, by contrast, is itself a spontaneous, self-given offering.
Considering all of this, it appears that those who practice other disciplines, such as karma-yoga, still need this bhagavat-prapatti (surrender to God) alongside their practice; but one who has become pleasing to Bhagwan through surrender needs no other practice besides that. There is one further, especially great quality of prapatti mentioned at the end: a scriptural statement says that it is because of this very prapatti that the karma-yoga and other disciplines of yogis become successful — but for prapatti itself to succeed, no karma-yoga or other discipline is required. So even if a great soul (mahapurush) lacks such other disciplines, Bhagwan does not reject their surrender on that account. Because such great souls have no expectation of any other means, their surrender manifests fully and clearly. Where surrender does not manifest fully, the cause lies in inward faults. Prapatti requires no other supporting means, but prapatti does come into conflict with certain qualities in a person — specifically, with ego (ahankar). If "ananya gatikta" — having no recourse other than Bhagwan — is absent, meaning if a person has some other recourse (anya gatikta), that is what conflicts with surrender. Non-possessiveness (akinchan) and having no other recourse (ananya gatikta) are its two main rules; a break in surrender happens on account of these two things. So, for example, if by disposition someone is very greedy, and has taken Bhagwan's surrender, but then someone else offers to satisfy that greed, the person may well be drawn away by their excessive greed — being drawn away in this sense means that the exclusiveness of their reliance (ananya gatikta) no longer holds. The essential point is that this exclusive reliance must remain intact. However great the temptation of greed or fear, it should make no difference — Prahlad's father subjected him to enormous fear, and offered him enormous temptation too, saying, "O prince, from this moment your honor in all three worlds will be unmatched" — even offering that Prahlad might become God Himself — yet Prahlad was never lured by it. So no other recourse (anya gatikta) must be allowed to take root. "Ananya" [exclusive] essentially rests on avoiding two things: reliance on anything else, and ego. If any kind of ego is retained — for instance, Maharaj said, if someone turns "I take refuge in no one else" into a matter of ego/pride — then Bhagwan discards that pride; the thought that "our surrender is to this Maharaj alone, it cannot be to anyone else" must not become an assertion of ego, or that very pride becomes the obstacle. So it is these two things — reliance elsewhere, and ego — that break surrender; surrender is not broken by "others" as such, but by these. This is why great souls consider this prapatti to be supreme.
This prapatti does not need the assistance of any other means in order to attain liberation; moreover, prapatti cannot even tolerate being accompanied by another means, in keeping with the analogy of binding a divine weapon (brahmastra) with mere bark-cloth (valkal) — a weapon like the brahmastra bound with something as ordinary as bark-cloth loses its own greatness in the process. In the same way, if prapatti needed the help of another practice alongside it, what would remain of prapatti's own greatness? It could not, on its own, bring Bhagwan under its power — needing to lean on other means would diminish prapatti's own significance, in the same way that a brahmastra kept improperly diminishes its own significance. Fittingly, then, for as long as a seeker (mumukshu) still places faith in other means, prapatti remains passive, neutral, or silent — it does not become active. This is illustrated by the Pandavas. We may have taken Bhagwan's, or Maharaj's, surrender, and yet if we then go seeking help elsewhere, Bhagwan quietly sits back. Draupadi initially hoped that Bhishma Pitamaha would save her, that Dronacharya would save her — so Bhagwan sat at ease, doing nothing. As long as such hope remains, surrender stays passive; one might even feel, "my own renunciation is powerful enough, this alone will accomplish it, I will manage on my own" — and pride enters in through that very thought — because Draupadi had hoped that Bhim, her mighty husband, was present, that her five husbands, each like one of the five guardian deities of the directions, were sitting there, and that in that assembly her honor would not fall as long as they were present — as long as that hope remained, surrender did not become active. Once all such hope was exhausted, and there was truly no one else to lean on, Bhagwan suddenly rose up and, in effect, said: "Come now — it is truly Our turn now."
This raises the question of where the limit of self-effort (purushartha) lies, and where surrender properly begins — where is that boundary drawn? Self-effort exists for the sake of pleasing Bhagwan. When Draupadi, at first, thought "my husbands will save me" — that in itself is not exactly a fault, yet it is not, strictly speaking, called surrender to Bhagwan either — surrender was, in that moment, broken. When does surrender break, and when does it not? Surrender, entirely on its own, can accomplish the work of every other practice; it gives, by itself, whatever fruit all of them together would give — as long as it is not broken. Once Draupadi placed hope in others, that meant surrender was broken in that instance. There are, as noted, two things at play here: one is reliance on something else (anya gatikta), which breaks surrender — in Draupadi's case, such reliance arose, in the hope that her husbands, Bhishma Pitamaha, or Dronacharya would save her — so Bhagwan had no cause for concern at that point. In true surrender, Bhagwan Himself becomes the very means (upaya); He becomes active as the means only once there is no other hope remaining — until then He remains at leisure. Once everything rests solely upon Him, then Bhagwan becomes active.
A question was raised in the gathering: in such a crisis, was it really a fault for Draupadi — a daughter-in-law, a woman — to expect protection from her father-in-law and her husbands? The answer given: in an ordinary situation, expecting such help is not much of a fault — it is not necessary to make Bhagwan face difficulty on every ordinary occasion. But this was not an ordinary situation; it was an extraordinary one, where no one present could actually do anything — so truly expecting help from them there should not have happened. It is precisely in a crisis (aapatkaal) that the genuineness of one's surrender gets refined and revealed — it becomes plainly clear who was truly one's refuge, laid bare like a clean slate: those who could help remain standing, and those who could not fall away, so it becomes evident who, in the end, remained standing. In the end, only Shri Krishna alone remained standing; no one else did. In Gajendra's case too, as the crocodile dragged him down, in the end no one remained to help — Bhagwan alone stood. So it is in life's most extreme crisis that the truth of one's surrender becomes fully refined and clear. In an ordinary situation, generally taking help from various people is not a problem in itself, but within one's own heart, one must settle firmly that this One alone is the true refuge — so that if a real threat ever comes, one will not run elsewhere for help. Whether He saves or does not save, one should first be willing to risk one's very life on that trust — accepting "if He does not save me, so be it" rather than treating it as, "if He does not save me, His reputation will be at stake." Even so, if someone can, in genuine faith, put that challenge to Bhagwan, Bhagwan does indeed save them — and there has never yet been an instance of Him failing to save someone in true surrender. Surrender is not something that harms the one who holds it. If everything is left entirely to Bhagwan, that means giving up any fixed expectation of the outcome — and that means the effort belonging to human self-effort (purush prayatna) diminishes accordingly. Bhagwan asks only this much of self-effort in surrender: that the conscious soul (chetan) pray to Him — that is the whole extent of it; Bhagwan accepts and grants the prayer on that basis alone, nothing more. If the soul does not pray, Bhagwan does not simply assume, even though the whole world belongs to Him, that "this too is under My refuge by default" — He does not presume that. That is the full extent of the self-effort expected, as stated in scripture.
How much self-effort does surrender require? — that one should pray to Bhagwan with a heart in true distress (aartabhaav). It was discussed before, in an earlier katha, that surrender is the final, ultimate form of self-effort (charam purushartha) — only once every ordinary effort has been exhausted, and one then goes to Bhagwan's refuge, is that properly called surrender. In this light, Draupadi's episode is an example of self-effort followed by prayer — she made her own effort first and only then prayed to Bhagwan, and that combination is what is called surrender.
A related question was raised: if effort is made first and prayer follows, does that still count as surrender, or is effort simply meant to please Bhagwan? These are, in fact, two separate categories — like needing to score, say, 35 marks in mathematics, and separately needing marks in social studies, and separately in English — one cannot make up a shortfall in one subject with surplus marks from another. Self-effort belongs to the category of "pleasing Bhagwan," while surrender belongs to the category of "prayer" — the two categories are distinct and cannot be merged. Within surrender, self-effort amounts only to this: Bhagwan expects that this soul will pray to Him. If the soul does not pray, no matter how many other practices it performs, that is not called surrender — such practices simply yield their own measured fruit: if there is renunciation, that much fruit for renunciation is given. Bhagwan alone is both the giver of the fruit of surrender and the protector of the surrendered soul, but He does not substitute one for the other, taking from one category and applying it to another where it is not due — He gives exactly what belongs to each: if surrender is present, He gives surrender's fruit; if a practice is present, He gives that practice's fruit; if both are present, He gives the fruit of both. When someone who has surrender also performs other practices in order to please Bhagwan, He does become pleased, and the joy of having pleased Him is itself a further fruit — as was discussed the day before, this brings real happiness to the soul; even the happiness of beholding Bhagwan's own divine form does not come about without first pleasing Him. So each path has its own clear course, without crossing into the other — even though our own minds tend to muddle the two together, there is, in truth, no such confusion in how it actually works.
A further question arose: if we leave everything entirely to Bhagwan's refuge, does that diminish our enthusiasm for making effort, since one might think "it is Bhagwan's will anyway"? In cases of real calamity, or when trying to attain something — as with Dhruv seeking his boon, or Gajendra's crisis — one need not necessarily replicate the exact struggle Gajendra made against the crocodile; whatever is meant to happen, Bhagwan will indeed bring about, provided the surrender is, in Bhagwan's own assessment, truly real — in that case Bhagwan saves regardless. Prahlad made no effort at all when he was thrown into danger, while the elephant [Gajendra] did struggle, and Draupadi did make effort — yet Prahlad was not saved any the less for it. Bhagwan saves in both cases: whether one makes effort and then takes refuge, or takes refuge directly from the start, Bhagwan saves either way. Which is superior between the two? Prahlad is regarded as one who took Bhagwan's surrender from the very outset, without needing anything else — as the Gita puts it, describing four kinds of devotees: the distressed, the seeker of knowledge, the seeker of wealth or purpose, and the wise one — and among these the wise devotee, ever united in single devotion, is held to be the best. All four types were, in truth, surrendered souls of Bhagwan; among them the "seeker of purpose" type breaks further into subcategories, but their surrender itself was not fundamentally different — when the moment truly came, surrender was the same for each of them. Only the occasion differed: Draupadi's surrender arose to escape suffering, Dhruv's arose in pursuit of his goal, and Uddhavji's arose out of a spirit of inquiry, a wish for inner satisfaction that "now, this is right." All of them were surrendered souls belonging to Bhagwan — their outer practices are, so to speak, the outward, secondary means, while this surrender is the true inner means. When it is said that Draupadi made effort first and then took surrender, that Gajendra made effort first and then took surrender, while Prahlad took it straightaway — does that make Prahlad's approach somehow deficient, like someone lazy who just sits down cross-legged on the road without even trying? So is this two different types of surrender? No — surrender is not of two types; it is a single, unified thing. What Prahlad took up was the very same thing that Gajendra, Draupadi, and Dhruv took up — the only difference is that Prahlad accepted it from the very first instant, while the others accepted it only once nothing else had worked out for them; that is the sole difference. For the others, since nothing else materialized, they turned to it, and it became clear to them then and there, all at once; Prahlad, by contrast, had understood, even from within his mother's womb, well in advance, that no other refuge could be taken. Beyond this, there is no real difference in the surrender itself — what Dhruv did, what Draupadi and Gajendra did, and even what Uddhavji did, is one and the same as what Prahlad did; surrender, for all of them, is one and the same thing.
A further question was raised: could it be said that wherever a purely personal matter is concerned, surrender is the operative path, while wherever it is a matter of service (seva) or of pleasing Bhagwan, self-effort is the operative path? In response: in any personal matter too, whatever self-effort we make, surrender remains our path within it as well — the two cannot really be split into two separate categories. For instance, if I fall ill, that would ordinarily be called a personal matter; but if I have come to believe that my illness would hinder Bhagwan's mission and work, and I pray on that account, then it is no longer merely a personal matter. So, for the most part, the two categories end up merging together. One might argue that if one prays not for one's own body but purely for Bhagwan's work, surrender would not be broken by that — and that can indeed be held as valid. But generally, in the practice we and the sants engage in, this fine division into two clean categories is not really workable, because we have already handed ourselves over entirely to Maharaj's mission. Even so, in the context of a householder's life (grihasth dharma), it can certainly happen that, say, a son falls ill, and one prays to Bhagwan; one falls ill oneself, or family members fall ill, or some other trouble arises, and one prays to Bhagwan — should that be brought under the category of surrender? The answer: there is no fault in that being called surrender; the only distinction that matters there is between a desireless devotee (nishkaam bhakta) and a desirous devotee (sakaam bhakta) — such a prayer would place one in the desirous category, but there is no problem with it as surrender. Whatever difficulty we face, we should place it before Maharaj — the only real point is that we should not place it before anyone else. That is the whole of the matter.
Consider a householder whose son is in trouble — an only son, precious as one's one good hand. Maharaj, in the Vachanamrut, and Nishkulanand Swami, in his miracle-accounts (parcha) within Bhaktachintamani, record such episodes. [The swami himself notes at this point that the exact details of the following story have slipped his mind, and that he recalls there being two such accounts.] In Vadodara, a devotee named Bapubhai had a son, about twenty years old, who fell gravely ill, and Maharaj came to take him. The boy's mother, in her distress, first prayed to a goddess (Mataji), but Mataji did not come — Maharaj came instead, and Maharaj, appearing displeased, said, "Go and pray to whomever you wish to pray to; I am taking your son; if anyone can stop Me, tell them to try." The mother then said to Maharaj, "Maharaj, this was only a mother's natural instinct, I could not help myself — but I have complete faith in You; if You wish to take him, take him, and if You wish to spare him, spare him; whatever You do, I trust You entirely." But Maharaj said, "You were praying to another, to that goddess — so if that is the case, keep him as he is [I will not act], let it be." Then the sants present felt compassion for her, and Maharaj said, "This is a householder; for a householder, wealth and children are naturally their whole focus — if that is taken from them, all would simply have to stand there helplessly." The sants then said, "Maharaj, what should be done?" and Maharaj said, "Show mercy" — and Maharaj then showed mercy and let the boy live. In this way, there is no real fault in surrender in such a case, because with true exclusive surrender (ananya sharanagati) one cannot really carve out a fine boundary between "what is mine" and "what belongs to another": whatever has been offered up to Bhagwan and used in His service, it becomes His responsibility to protect it as well.
There was also a reference, apparently to a vow or pledge made on behalf of an organization (sanstha): if the effort behind that vow consisted purely of prayer to Bhagwan for its fulfillment, that too is properly called surrender. And similarly, completing one's own effort first and then praying — that too can be valid, distinguishing between ordinary effort and extraordinary effort. If a son falls ill, refusing to seek a doctor's treatment does not, by itself, constitute surrender — that is not the right understanding. Even while receiving treatment, if it becomes clear that the doctors have exhausted their options, then one should cry out to Maharaj — and Maharaj would not then say, "you already sought treatment, why come to Me now"; surrender is not broken by having sought treatment first, nor would it have turned out any differently had treatment not been sought — Maharaj would never say such a thing. So we should indeed make ordinary effort, and when our own resources fall short in an extraordinary way, we should call out to Maharaj — and at that moment, only Maharaj, and no one else, should be the one we turn to. That is what is called surrender.
It was noted that this is somewhat hard to judge precisely, but it seems that, regarding Draupadi: whatever options appeared available to her — like the options a doctor's treatment presents — she thought her five husbands would save her; is that really different from ordinary effort? The response: what Draupadi did was not the same as taking a sick child to a doctor — there is a real difference between the two. For instance, if someone is at the same level or standing as oneself and one seeks support from another at that same level, refuge is not broken by that. Here, even though it was Bhishma Pitamaha, he too was at a comparable level [that is, a mortal, however honored] — the remaining question was simply who, among such figures, could actually offer protection and who could not. If it is someone at our own level, for example, setting Maharaj aside and taking surrender in, or praying to, other avatars in hopes of some advantage, our surrender is then considered broken; the same applies to any deity, however minor. But using ordinary human means (manviya upay) is not a problem at all — if someone falls ill and we seek medical treatment for them, surrender is not broken by that. It is only when medicine alone proves insufficient that the true question of whom to turn to arises — that is where surrender comes into play. If we are engaged in the work of the sanstha, working as part of Maharaj's mission, we should first exhaust ordinary human means, using our intellect fully, resolving what can be resolved through our own effort — and only after that, if nothing succeeds, and we pray to Maharaj, that is properly called surrender to Maharaj. But if instead we go about seeking help from various others, bowing before them, that would not be called exclusive faith and reliance (ananya vishwaas) on Maharaj's refuge. The same applies to a householder in his own duties and occupation — one's own effort should be made fully; if we have the capacity and fail to use it, that amounts to putting Maharaj to work on our behalf, as if He were a servant — that is wrong. So we should make our own effort, but with the attitude that, as far as possible, Maharaj should not be troubled — even though, as an exclusive surrendered devotee, Maharaj would indeed have to come to save us if truly needed, we should remain cautious beforehand so that He is not troubled unnecessarily; and even then, once it truly passes beyond our own hands, Maharaj comes. So whether it is organizational work or household duty, ordinary worldly effort that lies within our capacity should be made by us; and when extraordinary effort is called for, we must take care in choosing whom to turn to, making certain that not even by mistake is a request placed before anyone other than Maharaj.
[A short passage here was too garbled in the source auto-captions to confidently render -- omitted rather than guessed at.] This leads to a discussion of the desireless devotee (nishkaam bhakta) as distinct from the surrendered devotee (sharanagat): Maharaj said such devotees earn very great pleasure from Us, being both desireless and surrendered at once. Within surrendered devotees, there are, again, two categories — desirous (sakaam) and desireless (nishkaam). Maharaj spoke of both together: "our exclusive refuge, standing always by Our side, and however much personal suffering may come, such a devotee facing the wider fellowship (satsang) does not pray to Us merely to relieve their own personal suffering" — such a person is both surrendered and desireless. If we have surrender, and our own resources fall short in some matter, and we pray to Bhagwan for it, we ourselves, in that instance, would not be counted as desireless — these remain two separate things. At the same time, one cannot keep proclaiming oneself desireless while also acting otherwise — the two states cannot be raised and lowered at will. If it is Bhagwan's own service, and even under the guise of "service" one still desires some personal benefit from it, then one is not, in that instance, desireless — for example, thinking, "our organization is running, and if it runs well, that serves Bhagwan," saying in effect "all our cattle and wealth belong to my dear Lord [Lalji]" — there is nothing wrong with that as surrender, but it is not, strictly, called desireless: for instance, if the underlying motive is to grow the organization by pressuring people into donating, and one should set that motive aside. Even the saying "all our cattle and wealth belong to Lalji" may sometimes serve our own private purposes too, though we offer it up to Him in name — how, then, should this be handled? If it is done while remaining within the bounds Bhagwan has ordained, that is one thing — without such bounds, one would not act that way at all — but if, within it, some this-worldly motive is genuinely present, that is called a desirous disposition (sakaam bhaav); a this-worldly motive present makes it desirous. Maharaj said: accepting the outcome either way, whether it happens or does not happen, is what constitutes a desireless disposition (nishkaam bhaav). If we have surrender and we pray, both can coexist together.
It was discussed earlier that within surrender, asking is permitted — meaning that surrender is not broken merely by asking for something; one may ask for anything at all, even throwing a tantrum, the way a child throws away their food, and though the mother may not immediately give in, and might even pick up a stick, a child may still throw all manner of tantrums. For instance, Brahmanand Swami, when the temple at Muli was being built and stones could not be found, prayed to Maharaj — and in that prayer he "threw a tantrum," in a manner of speaking, saying to Maharaj, "You are like this, and You are like that" — similarly, Sacchidanand Swami went to pray to Ranchhodrai [Krishna] and, on meeting him, scolded and reproached him. A child does not act this way with outsiders, only with their own mother — such "tantrum-throwing" is tolerated only toward one's own true refuge, because the mother knows, "this is my own child," not the neighbor's — in the old days, several families would share one veranda, one household beside another, an uncle here, another family there, and a child would throw tantrums only within his own home, at his own mother, never at another family's mother, who would not tolerate it. So this permission to ask differs between the desireless devotee and the surrendered devotee: a desireless devotee cannot ask for anything at all — not for oneself, not for worldly matters — but a surrendered devotee faces no such restriction; one may throw tantrums, one may ask for things. Sometimes even a proper glass of milk is offered, and it gets thrown back, saying, "I don't want this, take it, give it to your obedient children instead" — a strong-willed, bold child accepts and drinks whatever is given, but here even rejection of the offering is tolerated, out of love.
So, if after making effort one does nothing further but pray to Maharaj, is surrender then "broken" or diminished? It might seem nowadays that, apart from praying to Maharaj, nothing else needs doing — but Maharaj, in the fifth Vachanamrut of Vartal, addressed how surrender becomes firm and robust: if it is weak, how does it grow firm? By taking the refuge of a devotee of Bhagwan, surrender is strengthened. How, then, does surrender "break"? [After some back-and-forth clarifying the actual question being asked:] the real question was: right now, it seems that after making effort, in the end one simply prays to Maharaj and does nothing further — is that then a complete and full surrender? Yes — praying to Maharaj is indeed called complete surrender; praying to Maharaj does not break surrender at all — it is the desireless disposition (nishkaam bhaav) that can be broken by it. But one cannot simultaneously proclaim, "I, Maharaj, am your desireless devotee," while also asking for things — one cannot raise and lower that flag at will; the flag, once raised, should remain consistently so. Tulsidasji wrote beautifully about this — there is a couplet somewhere on "asking, and keeping one's honor" — that the two normally do not go together, except in one place: the chatak bird, which is said to drink only the rain-drop of the Swati constellation and nothing else — it does ask, yet it keeps its dignity: even if it falls into the river Ganga itself, it keeps its beak raised, refusing to drink, even when told, "it is your dying hour now, just take one drop of this Ganga water and you will survive" — it insists, "no, no, unless it is the very drop of Swati, I will accept nothing else, not even the Ganga." That is what it means to both ask and keep one's dignity — asking is directed to one place alone, and nowhere else; toward that one source, one may lower oneself and ask; but before anyone or anything else, one's dignity must never be lowered, one must never ask.
Shastriji Maharaj [the founder] used to say, "I am Narayan's beggar" — he did not say "I am not a beggar at all"; occasionally he would remark, half in jest, "well, I am indeed a beggar, but not of anyone else — of Narayan alone" — "if I must beg, I beg only of Him" — though in truth he scarcely ever actually asked for anything, so in that sense he was hardly a "beggar" at all, but his point was that he had no objection to being called Narayan's beggar. So does asking of Bhagwan disqualify one from being desireless? Because Prahlad never asked for anything, Bhagwan became so pleased with him that He tore through His own reserve/veil and appeared before him, saying, "Ask, ask something of Me — I have kept you waiting a long time, so that I too may feel some satisfaction, please ask for something." Prahlad replied, "Maharaj, I have nothing to ask, I have no desire; I don't even recall ever having acted from desire" — much as Dhruvji is described. "I have nothing to ask, but since You insist so much, please ask on My behalf, so that I may feel content." Prahlad then said, "It appears You insist a great deal, so perhaps there is some latent wish within my heart that I myself am unaware of — let it come out, whatever it may be." At this Bhagwan was left helpless, saying, in effect, "What am I to do with this one?" Is such a person to be called surrendered, or desireless — and is one who does ask also called surrendered? There is no fault in that at all. It is like a very small child of God who, in its innocence, strikes its father — the father only feels a pleasant tickle from it, no harm comes of it at all; Bhagwan feels only amusement, thinking, "what a mighty little one — imagine how hard the blows will be once this one grows up!" So there is no fault at all in asking of Bhagwan; surrender is in no way broken by it. Asking does not break surrender, but it can break one's status as desireless. Maharaj said: "even if We were placed upon the cross, and this devotee stood by Our side, still he would ask for nothing" — and Maharaj also said such an exclusively surrendered, desireless devotee listens for Us even in waking, in dream, and in deep sleep — and, in turn, Maharaj said, "We never forget him" — and this only increases Bhagwan's pleasure further; whether this state is attained or not, there is no fault either way.
A desireless devotee does not ask anything even for the sake of Bhagwan's own service; if they do ask, they are not called desireless. If a devotee of Bhagwan suffers, and out of compassion one feels that suffering for their sake, makes effort on their behalf, and prays to Bhagwan on their account — that is not called a desirous prayer; if we pray for someone else's good, saying, "Bhagwan, please look after this person," we are not thereby called desirous. But if, in doing so, we are also secretly keeping score — thinking, "because of what I said or did, this turned out well, so this reflects well on my service" — then a desirous disposition has crept in. Or if we keep a mental tally, thinking, "these four or five things happened because of me, and I will demonstrate my worth by pointing to them," that too is a desirous disposition creeping in. Our nature tends to fit things to our own advantage wherever it can, and as long as we give importance to this-worldly considerations, we tend to do this — but if a prayer is offered purely and solely by recognizing the other person as Bhagwan's devotee, with no other motive, that is not called desirous. It is where our own ego and sense of "mine" (mamata) are attached that a prayer becomes desirous — and yet, even then, it is still properly called surrendered, in that one still wants Bhagwan's pleasure above all, and the very wisdom to pray that way is itself a gift from Him — a prayer offered for His pleasure is not called a desirous prayer. Only when some genuinely this-worldly motive is mixed into it does it become desirous; otherwise it is not.
Glory to Sahajanand Swami Maharaj. [The recording closes with devotional singing.]