Eyes OpenChapter 17 of 1723 min
Where it came from
Some time in the 1920s, a diamond merchant in Sindh looked at a picture on his own wall and decided he did not like it.
It was a conventional image: the goddess Lakshmi seated on the lap of Narayan, which is how she was usually shown. And the question that occurred to him was so simple that it is almost funny to find it at the beginning of a worldwide organisation.
Why is she on his lap?
So he went to an artist and commissioned a different painting — Lakshmi and Narayan standing side by side, the same height, equal — and worshipped that one instead.
Hold that against the period. Sindh, undivided India, a hundred years ago, in a society where nobody was asking the question. He took his wife's advice on things. He treated her with a regard that was not usual and was remarked upon.
Everything structural about the organisation that followed is in that commission. Why it is named for its sisters. Why its first head was a woman of twenty. Why it is led by women now, in over a hundred and ten countries. It did not begin as a policy, or a position, or a strategy. It began with a man disliking a picture.
This is the last chapter and it is the provenance. You have been running a practice for sixteen chapters; it is reasonable to want to know where it came from and what sort of people brought it.
A note on the dates before I give you any
Nearly everything in this chapter comes from the organisation's own telling, and the version I worked from was a teacher's spoken account. I have marked what I could check and I am going to flag one error rather than quietly repair it, because this book has done that five or six times now and the practice is worth more than the tidiness.
The error: the account I worked from dated the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki to 1942. They were August 1945. The point the teacher was making survives the slip entirely — it is about something described years before the weapons existed — but the date does not, and should be corrected wherever it is repeated.
Treat the rest of the dates below as the organisation's account, not as independently verified history. Where you want certainty, the archives exist and so do historians.
The life before
| Name | Dada Lekhraj |
| Born | 1876, in Sindh — then India, now Pakistan |
| Family | His mother died when he was young. His father was a schoolteacher and died of illness. A plain household with several children. |
| First work | Schooling stopped early; he started in a grocery shop |
| Then | diamonds — and within about three years, successful |
| Reach | business in Bombay, Lucknow and Calcutta; clients including royal households |
| Reputation | widely known and liked. People told him that God had made a mistake and he ought to have been a king |
He taught himself English. He was devout from early on. And from around 1932 he began hosting gatherings for study and devotion in his own house.
And he had already been looking for a long time. The account gives twelve or thirteen teachers, and says he did whatever each of them prescribed — including leaving family matters immediately if instructed. None of them could tell him anything he had not already tried.
I want to flag that, because it is the least mystical and most useful fact in the chapter. This did not arrive to a young man in search of an experience. It arrived to a successful, middle-aged, thoroughly religious businessman who had already done the circuit and come up empty — which, if you have done any of that circuit yourself, is the part worth sitting with.
The visions
1932, Bombay. Sitting in a friend's room, looking at the sky. A point of light appeared, grew, and resolved into a four-armed figure, which said: I am you and you are me.
He took it to his teacher, who had no explanation. Nobody could tell him what it meant.
(The reading now given inside the organisation is that the four arms are the four subjects of chapter sixteen — know, experience, do, share — which is a later interpretation and should be treated as one.)
1934. Watching an elderly relative die, he saw a light leave the body. That is given as the beginning of everything in chapter two: the soul as something that departs rather than something that stops.
1936, Calcutta. A vision of destruction — violence, water rising, the ground giving way, and aircraft dropping something that destroyed everything. He asked for it to stop and it ended.
Here is the claim and here is my position on it. The organisation's account is that this was described nine years before any such weapon existed. I cannot verify what was said in 1936, or when it was first written down, and I have not seen contemporaneous documents. Nor am I going to sneer at it, because it is the sort of claim that is in principle checkable — there either are early records or there are not — and somebody who cares enough can go and look. I have told you exactly where my knowledge stops.
And then, the account says, the opposite vision: a world in good order, people treating each other well, with a voice saying you are the reason this world comes. He sent telegrams to relatives announcing that a new world was on the way. Nobody had the faintest idea what he was talking about.
The night it came through him
At one of his own gatherings, with his family present, he got up and walked out before the ritual had finished — something he had never done.
They found him in his room, sitting still, legs folded, eyes open and red, not moving. His description afterwards was that his body had felt light, like a sponge, and that he had felt he was flying, and that there had been a golden-white light. His two words for the whole thing were light and power.
The women of the household came and sat in front of him. And then he spoke, and what came out was a set of three phrases naming bliss, knowledge and light, each ending with I am Shiva.
And here is the detail that makes this testimony rather than performance, and it is the reason I have given the episode in full:
He did not know what he had said. He could not explain it. He only found out what had come out of his mouth when the people in the room told him — and understanding it took him a long time.
Whatever you make of the metaphysics, that is not the behaviour of a man running a scheme. A man running a scheme knows his own lines.
From then on there was a regular hour at which this happened. And Dada Lekhraj, who had looked for this for most of his adult life, became the one through whom it came.
The thing the biography is actually for
One sentence, and it is the test you should apply to any teacher of anything:
He practised it first.
Whatever came through him, he immediately applied to himself, and the organisation's claim about him is not that he was the channel. It is that he was the first and best student of what came through him.
That is also the only part of this chapter that you can use. The question to ask of anybody offering you a practice is not what they have received. It is what it did to them.
The women, and the court
1937. The organisation begins, with about three hundred and fifty people living in community, and the great majority of them women — mothers and daughters.
Why women? The account's answer is sociological rather than spiritual, and I find that convincing. In Sindh the men travelled and traded. The women stayed at home and were not free, and they were, in the teacher's phrase, thirsty for this. They came in numbers and they asked for more.
A sixteen-year-old named Radhe came with her mother, and when she first saw him she felt she had found her father. She recited well, she sang, she was fluent in English. He renamed her Jagadamba Saraswati and made her the head of the organisation — at twenty. He told his own brother that she was now his mother. Grandmothers of eighty called her Mamma.
Consider what that means institutionally. The founder was alive, revered, and in his sixties. He put a twenty-year-old woman above himself in the structure and kept her there.
And then the opposition, which was fierce and which went to court.
Women were leaving their houses to study. Mothers were staying in the community with their children. Cases were filed. He stayed silent.
Mamma, at about twenty years old, went to court and argued it herself. The argument, as the organisation tells it, ran roughly like this:
When a man leaves his wife and children for a religious life, nobody calls it a mistake. Nobody prosecutes him. It is widely accepted that a man may be more devout than a woman. A woman is not permitted the same thing. Is that lawful?
And then: nobody is compelling us. He is not a holy man collecting followers. This is being taught through him, and it is as much yours as ours — he is your father too.
The case was reversed within days.
I have no way to assess the legal particulars at this distance. What I can tell you is that it is an extraordinary thing to find in the origin story of a religious movement — not a miracle, not a martyrdom. A twenty-year-old woman in a colonial-era courtroom making a sex-discrimination argument about forty years before the phrase existed.
The cost, and the correction
Now the part I would not leave out, and which the organisation's own teaching does not leave out either. You need it in order to weigh everything above.
Families broke. Some mothers did leave husbands and homes, and the teacher's own phrase for it is that when a building goes up, some stones have to go underground. She says plainly that he knew the price.
And then the fact that matters most if you are deciding what to make of this institution: afterwards, the rule changed. Mothers with families were no longer permitted to leave them in order to serve in that way. Only unmarried daughters were.
That is an organisation looking at the human cost of its own first decade and altering its practice. I think that is worth more, as evidence of character, than any number of pages about purity — and I notice that the course teaches this part out loud rather than letting you discover it.
Two things I owe you here. First: this organisation has had critics, for ninety years, on exactly this subject among others. I have not investigated them and I am not in a position to adjudicate anything. If you are considering involving yourself, that research is yours to do and I would do it. Second: what I have given you above is the organisation's own account of its own hardest chapter, which is the only part of it I can vouch for — that this is what they say.
And what he did with his money: he wound up the diamond business and put everything into a trust in the names of his family and the work, keeping nothing. His stated reason was that the body was not his to keep and neither was the ego.
Partition, Mount Abu, and the rivers
1950. After Partition, the community left Karachi — by ship to Gujarat, then by train — and arrived at Mount Abu on 30 April 1950. The first house held about two hundred sisters.
And then the hard years, which the account does not dress up: there was no way even to buy food. Some of the sisters came from wealthy families and began, reasonably, to doubt.
His answer to the doubt was a question, and it is the best teaching moment in the biography:
You are all children of the ocean of knowledge. So what does that make you?
Rivers.
And do rivers stay in one place?
But with a condition attached first, which he said in English and which belongs above the door of any spiritual organisation you ever walk into:
Charity begins at home.
Go to your own house first. Practise it with your own family before you take it anywhere. After seventeen chapters, that is still the only instruction in this book that cannot be faked.
The two deaths, and the word
24 June 1965: Mamma left the body, unexpectedly, four years before him. He had given her such standing that even his own messengers would not settle a question without checking with her. After she died, he carried both roles.
18 January 1969: Brahma Baba left the body, at ninety-two.
And a note on the vocabulary, because it is not sentimentality. This tradition does not say died. It says left the body, which is not a euphemism but the whole of chapter two applied at the only moment it finally matters. If you have followed the argument from the beginning, you cannot coherently use the other word.
The organisation's own position is that his accounts were settled, that he therefore does not come back, and — this is the part I find oddly moving whatever its truth value — that he has not gone home either, because everybody goes home together. On that account he is waiting.
And nobody is a guru
One last structural fact, and it is the one you should check first about any organisation of this kind.
Nobody in it is called guru. Not the founder, not the heads, not the teachers. The position is that there is one supreme teacher and that everybody else — including Brahma Baba, including Mamma, including every administrator since — is a fellow student, a brother or sister soul, a person like you.
The photograph in every centre is explained in exactly those terms: it is there for memory and respect, and because he is an example — somebody who had the thing put into his hands and then actually did it, under conditions considerably harder than yours.
An organisation with no living guru is structurally harder to corrupt than one with one. That is not proof of anything. It is a fact about the architecture, and you should weigh it.
What the way of life asks, which this book has not mentioned
One thing has been absent from seventeen chapters, and you would find it inside a minute of searching, so I would rather you found it here.
The Brahma Kumaris way of life includes celibacy. They do not treat it as a footnote and nor should this book. Their own FAQ page lists it among the two main lifestyle disciplines, beside a satwic vegetarian diet and no alcohol or tobacco, and describes it as the basis for cultivating a safe and pure way for people to be and live together — something which, they say, makes people stronger in themselves and more autonomous, liberates both genders from their over-reliance on each other and supports greater equality. They call it fundamental to self-realisation.
Here is my position on this, stated once.
Nothing in this book asks it of you. The practice in these pages is a minute three times a day, and later three minutes; it commits you to nothing and to nobody, and not one instruction in seventeen chapters is withheld from a person who is not celibate. I have not raised it before now because it has not been relevant to anything I have asked you to do.
It becomes relevant the moment you walk into a centre, and letting you arrive without knowing would be a kind of lie. So, in their own published words: these disciplines are recommended and not imposed, it is the responsibility of each person to discern and choose what lifestyle disciplines they are ready to implement, and at whatever pace suits them — and their FAQ asks outright whether everyone has to conform to the way of life to be part of the community, and answers it in one word. No.
What I will not do is argue it in either direction. It is their teaching, not mine to defend and not mine to soften, and a reader who wants the case for it should have it from them rather than filtered through me.
Three questions to start a day with
The longest-serving of the organisation's leaders left behind a formula of three questions, and it is the most compact thing in the whole course. In the order she gave them, and the order you should keep:
Who am I? — a soul.
Whose am I? — the Supreme's.
What do I have to do? — bring out what is already in me.
And the instruction: begin the day with the first one. Before the phone, before the news, before the first conversation. Everything in the previous sixteen chapters is downstream of you answering that question correctly at seven in the morning.
At the end of this chapter, and of this book
Study
Read the organisation's own account of itself, which it publishes as its story on
brahmakumaris.org. Compare it to this chapter. Where it differs from what I have written, prefer
theirs — it is their history, my source was a spoken account in translation, and I have told you
where the dates are soft.
Then do the harder reading. If you are thinking of involving yourself with any organisation — this one or another — go and read its critics. Search for the complaints, the former members, the journalism, the court cases. I have not done that work for you, and seventeen chapters are not a substitute for it. This is a book about a practice, not a due-diligence report on an organisation, and you should not take the first for the second. What you will find, when you look, gathers on two subjects. The first is what the movement cost families in its early decades — that is in this chapter, told through its own teacher, including the rule the organisation changed afterwards. The second is what the tradition teaches about how the present age ends, and I will say plainly that this book does not cover it. Chapter twelve gives you the cycle and the four ages and stops there. That was a decision about what a practice needs, not an oversight — but it means seventeen chapters have not prepared you for a conversation you will certainly have at a centre, and you should read about it before you have it. A practice you can run from a book costs you nothing and commits you to nobody. Membership of anything is a different decision and deserves a different standard of evidence.
And the murli, finally. The organisation's daily study text is read every morning in every
centre, and this book has quoted not one line of it — a decision I announced in chapter five and
have kept for twelve chapters. The reason stands: a quotation is only honest when the whole page it
came from has been read and read around, with the date printed beside it, and that work is not
done. The archive is public, at murlisearch.brahmakumaris.org. If this subject is going to be
yours, go and read whole pages of it before anybody — including me — hands you a sentence from it.
The last question to ask at a centre, and it is the one this whole chapter has been building towards: ask what it cost them. Everybody will tell you what they gained. What you want is the other column — the thing they gave up, the relationship it strained, the years it took. The people worth learning from will answer that question, and the answer will tell you more than any amount of doctrine about whether this is a thing you want.
Practice
Everything stands as it was. Three minutes, three times a day, eyes open, staged entry, runway first. The upward journey and the sending in one of them. The hourly pause, six times, attached to things that already happen. One minute whenever you hear of trouble. The four-line chart at night. The same seed sentence from chapter thirteen — still the same one. The churning on one thought. The daily reset for the person who is costing you the most.
The only addition is the first thing in the morning, and it is three questions.
Before the phone. Before anything. Still lying there, if you like:
Who am I? Whose am I? What do I have to do today?
Three answers, in your own words, taking about fifteen seconds in total. That is the whole practice. It is also, after seventeen chapters, a complete summary of them — and on the days when everything else falls apart, which there will be many of, it is the one thing to keep.
Meditate
The last one. To read slowly, or record and play back. Eyes open.
I come in through the stages. The road, with its ordinary traffic. The building. This room.
This body — which is breathing, and holding its position, and has been carrying me around for years without complaint, and is not me.
And behind the eyes, where I have been the whole time. I am a point of light. Small, still, here.
(pause)
Who am I? A soul. Not a role, not a label, not a history. The thing that is doing the looking.
Whose am I? The one that does not run down. The one relationship on my list that is not scheduled to be revised.
(pause)
I let the attention go up. Out of the room, past the weather, past the stars — into light with nothing in it and nothing pulling.
I am from there. I have been homesick for it my whole life without knowing its name.
I take what is given. I do not ask. I do not perform. I sit in the part of the room where the light already is.
(pause)
And then I come back, in stages, because I have a part and it is not finished.
The stars. The earth. The country. The town. This room, this chair, this body, this ordinary Tuesday.
And I do not keep what I was given. It goes out — through the walls, into the street, to the people having a good day and the ones having the worst one of their lives.
(pause)
What do I have to do?
Not become good. Let out what is already there — which is all this ever was.
One breath more. And then I get up, and I go and do it, because knowing it is not the umbrella.
What this should do for you, and by when
This is the last of these, so it covers a longer period than the others.
By the end of the first month after finishing this book, if you have done the practice rather than read about it, most of the specific results promised in each chapter will not yet have arrived, and that is expected — they were written as one month per chapter, not one month for seventeen. What should be true is narrower: you have a timetable, you keep most of it, and you have a nightly record in your own handwriting. Nothing else at a month is required.
By six months, the thing to look for is not an experience. It is a change in the gap — between a provocation and your reply, between a thought arriving and your acting on it, between somebody's bad behaviour and your conclusion about them. Everything in this tradition shows up first as a delay, and the delay is where a life gets changed.
By a year, the real test, which is not mine and is not negotiable. Ask the people you live with. Has your character become more decent; is your personality softer and simultaneously stronger; does your regard for people now extend to some who have not earned it; and can your steadiness, on a good day, settle somebody who is not steady? That is the proof and there is no other one. Not your sittings. Not what you can explain at dinner. How you are to be around.
What will not happen, and I will be exact, because the whole book has turned on this.
You will not be finished. The faults you named in chapter eight will still be identifiable at a year. The two or three people who genuinely have you will still have you, and the practice will keep failing there longest — chapters three, four, eight and eleven all said so for the same reason, and the reason is that those grooves are the deepest ones you own.
You will not resolve the metaphysics. I could not show you the soul world, the five-thousand-year cycle, the cross-life accounting, or that anything you send to a stranger arrives — and I said so each time rather than once, so that you would not take the checkable parts of this book as credit for the unverifiable ones.
And you will lose the practice. Repeatedly. A hard fortnight will take it apart; you will rebuild it; that will happen for years. Both teachers I worked from say the same thing about this, and it is the truest sentence in the whole course: the practice is not difficult. Doing it all the time is the difficulty.
How to tell it is working — and this is the last of these questions, so it is the one that contains all the others. One a night, honest, first answer only:
Did I spend today mostly in acceptance, or mostly in resistance?
That was chapter one's question. It is still the only one you need, and after seventeen chapters the difference is that you now know what to do when the answer is the second one.
Which is: put the light on. Not investigate the dark.
And one word to take to the door with you, because you will hear it in the first minute and nobody will stop to explain it. It is what they say to each other instead of hello, and it is not a blessing and it is not a goodbye. Om — I am a soul. Shanti — peace. I am a peaceful soul. Seventeen chapters, to arrive at the sentence they say at the door.
The course this book is built from is taught free, in person, in thousands of places. Everything in these pages is my own account of it, and a book is a poor substitute for a room with somebody in it who has done this for thirty years. If any of it worked on you, go and find the room.
Om Shanti