Mulla Nasruddin was walking alone a lonely path.
The night was bitterly cold, snow falling relentlessly.
His clothes were too few, and he collapsed from the chill.
Unable to rise, lying in the snow, he thought, “It seems I am going to die.”

Once, he had asked his wife what happens at the time of death.
She had said, “All the hands and feet grow cold, and then… something else happens.”

Seeing his hands and feet growing cold, he believed he was dying.

Four strangers came by.
By that time, Nasruddin was sure he was dead, for his hands and feet were freezing.
They lifted him onto their shoulders, intending to carry him to a nearby village or bury him.
But they were strangers, and did not know the way.
At a crossroads, they paused, unsure which direction to go.
The night grew deeper; the snow fell harder.
They wondered where the village might be.

Nasruddin lay quietly, thinking.
He knew the way.
But he hesitated. “If a dead man speaks, is it allowed? My wife never said a dead man can speak.”

After some time, he decided:
“Whether it is allowed or not, I must speak. Otherwise, these men might freeze to death too.”

He said,
“Brothers, if you don’t mind, and if you do not consider it a rule-breaking for a dead man to speak, I can show you the way. When I was alive, the path to my village went to the left.”

The men exclaimed,
“What kind of man are you! You are alive and speaking, yet you lay stiff with eyes closed?”

Nasruddin replied, 
“I am realizing why my wife said hands and feet grow cold at death. Mine did grow cold, yet I was aware of it. Somehow, I had to be like this.”

They asked,
“If you knew, why didn’t you say to yourself, ‘I am alive,’ and rise?”

He said,
“That is the reason. I am such a liar, a person who lies so deeply that I cannot even trust my own words.
If I told myself, ‘I am alive,’ I would need two witnesses.
I am a liar, so I can never be sure whether what I say is true or false.”

Everything we speak—carelessly, repeatedly—gradually shapes our being.
Even you cannot be certain of your own words without witnesses; they slowly become the fabric of who you are.

~ Translated from Nirvan Upanishad by Osho (Hindi Discourse), Discourse 1

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I heard this — a man’s dog died.
He loved it deeply.
Love between humans has grown difficult,
so sometimes we must find other paths.

He was a thoughtful man.
He decided his dog deserved the honor of a human funeral.
Even though he forgot—humans rarely get as much respect as dogs.
But the lover does not see clearly; love is blind.

He went to the village’s Catholic church.
He told the priest,
“My dog has died. I wish to give it the honor of a human burial.”

The priest laughed in anger:
“You are mad! A dog honored as a human?
I am not a priest for dogs. Go away!”

Then he added,
“Perhaps try the Protestant church below.
People there rarely visit; maybe they will agree.”

The man went there, but they too refused.

Nearby, there was a mosque.
Its cleric, Mulla Nasruddin, was unpredictable.
Maybe he would agree.

The man approached Nasruddin.
He told him everything.

Nasruddin listened and became angry.
“Do you think this is acceptable?
Even humans are honored through selection,
and you bring a dog here?
Go away!”

The man thought perhaps Nasruddin would suggest another place,
but he offered no advice.

As he turned to leave, he said,
“I had planned to donate fifty thousand rupees to the church
if they honored my dog like a human.”

Nasruddin stopped him:
“Wait a minute. Was the dog Muslim?”

“No,” the man said.

Nasruddin asked again:
“Was it religious?”

“No opportunity arose to ask,” the man replied.

Finally, Nasruddin asked:
“Was it a dog?”

“Yes,” the man said.

Then Nasruddin smiled:
“Now we are ready.

For the undivided existence, the mind holds no attachment.
Only Fragments…
Om is the whole, indivisible reality.

~ Translated from Nirvan Upanishad by Osho (Hindi Discourse), Discourse 1

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I have heard this — in the final days of his life, Mulla Nasruddin,
recognized for his wisdom and insight,
was made the village judge — the Kazi.

On his very first day, a man brought a case.
He stated his claim.
Nasruddin listened attentively, then smiled and said,
“Right! Perfectly right. Absolutely correct.”

The court clerk grew anxious, the lawyers worried —
he had not even heard the other side yet!
But who can interrupt the judge?

Nasruddin called the other party.
He also presented his case fully.
Nasruddin again said,
“Right! Perfectly right. Absolutely correct.”

Everyone was astonished.
The clerk whispered, “Mulla, what are you doing?
How can both be right?”

Nasruddin looked at him and smiled:
“Right! Perfectly right. You too are absolutely correct.”

Then he stood and said,
“This court is of no use to me.
We will not speak of anything
that anyone could oppose.”

The believer is like this.
He does not even say that the atheist is wrong.
He does not proclaim,
“God exists, and I am right,”
for to say this is to invite conflict.

~ Translated from Nirvan Upanishad by Osho (Hindi Discourse), Discourse 1

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In 1917, when Lenin came to power in Russia,
the Prime Minister before him, Kerensky,
remained alive until 1960.

When he finally died, only then did people discover
that he had still been alive all those years—
running a small grocery store in America.

People had completely forgotten him.
The chapter was closed.
Only when he died did they realize
that this man had still been living.

Once, he had been the most powerful man in Russia.
Before Lenin, he was at the very peak of power.
And then, suddenly, he became a nobody.

A politician lives by asking honor from others.
Anyone who lives by asking is not a sannyasin.

A sannyasin is one who lives by giving.
And he never even mentions that he has given anything.

He arranges things so quietly
that you feel you are the one who has given—
never that something was taken from you.

~ Translated from Nirvan Upanishad by Osho (Hindi Discourse), Discourse 5

When Galileo first created the telescope and the microscope—
instruments through which distant things could be seen
and near things became infinitely magnified—
the news spread like wildfire.

People said, “This man is deceiving us.
How can this be possible?
Things are exactly as large as they are.
If a stone is three inches wide, it is three inches wide.
How can it appear a thousand inches wide?
And if it does, it must be a trick.”

They said, “Stars are visible to the naked eye.
If a telescope shows stars that the naked eye cannot see,
then surely there is deception somewhere.”

Great scholars and university professors refused
to even look through Galileo’s telescope.
They said, “Your instrument can deceive us.”

Those who did look quickly stepped away.
They said, “There is some manipulation here.”

For the face that appeared beautiful and charming to the naked eye
looked, through the microscope,
like rough, uneven terrain.
When a face is magnified,
tiny pores become deep craters.
Even the most beautiful woman appears
like a journey through rocky mountains—
disturbing, unsettling.

But now the telescope and the microscope are accepted.
And a deeper difficulty arises.

Which is true?
What the naked eye says?
Or what the telescope and microscope reveal?

Is the face truly beautiful
as the eye perceives it?
Or is the microscope more truthful,
because it sees deeper,
sees more than the eye,
extends the very capacity of vision?

And if so,
is the face revealed by the instrument
the real face?...

~ translated from Nirvan Upanishad by Osho (Hindi Discourse), Discourse 3

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A great scientist, Laplace, wrote a monumental work in five volumes during the time of Napoleon.
It was a unique book—about the entire universe.
A vast work.

Napoleon leafed through it, examined it. He was astonished.
Five volumes, thousands of pages, describing the universe in its totality—
yet nowhere was the word God mentioned. Not even once.

Napoleon summoned Laplace to his royal court and said,
“Your book is extraordinary. You have devoted your whole life to it.
But I was certain that in such a profound work on the universe,
there would be some reference to God.
Yet the word ‘God’ does not appear at all.”

Laplace did not say that God does not exist.
He simply replied,
“The hypothesis of God is not required to explain the universe.”

Napoleon’s prime minister was seated nearby—a mathematician and a thinker.
He said,
“Even if the hypothesis of God is not necessary for you,
it is beautiful.
It explains many things.
It is a graceful idea.
I believe in God.”

Laplace said,
“I do not.”

Napoleon laughed and said,
“I see no difference between the two of you.
Both of you speak of the hypothesis of God.
One says it is not needed; the other says it is needed.
But neither of you says, ‘I know that God is.’”

A hypothesis means utility.
It helps explain certain things more easily.
If tomorrow we find a better hypothesis—one that explains more—
we will discard God without hesitation.

That is why science keeps changing its hypotheses.
What works today may be replaced tomorrow.

A hypothesis is only hypothetical.
It is an assumption.
We do not know whether it is true.
But by assuming it, certain complexities become manageable.

When a better assumption appears, the old one is dropped.

Napoleon was right when he said,
“My friends, as far as I can see, there is no real disagreement between you.
You both agree on one thing—
that God is a hypothesis.
One finds it useful, the other does not.
But neither of you claims to know God.”

~ Translated from Nirvan Upanishad by Osho (Hindi Discourse), Discourse 3

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The day Saint Francis died,

people were surprised.

At the final moment,
he did not pray to God.

He opened his eyes.
The disciples waited—
surely now he would offer his last prayer.
A man who had lived his whole life in prayer.

But instead,
he spoke to his body.

“O my beloved body,
you have accompanied me fully.

Many times I neglected you.
Many times I fought with you.
Yet you never left my side.

In ignorance, I thought you were my enemy.
In understanding, I discovered—
you were my companion.

You can take me to the tavern,
you can take me to the temple.

The decision has always been mine.
You have always followed.

Everything in this world belongs to God.
And those who know the right use of things
turn everything into a means.

Even the mind can become a means.
Even speech can become a means.

~ Translated from Nirvan Upanishad by Osho (Hindi Discourse), Discourse 1

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A very thoughtful man in America was passing through a crossroads.

His mind was deep in contemplation.

At the crossing, he suddenly encountered an overwhelming blaze of light—
advertisements burning with color and intensity.

He whispered a prayer:
“O God, if only I were illiterate, I could enjoy these colors.”

If I were illiterate, I could simply drink in the colors—
such rainbow abundance!
But now that I am educated, my skull is boiling.

Burning advertisements—
Lux Toilet Soap, Panama Cigarettes, Saras Cigarettes—
everything is being read,
and all this rubbish is being stuffed into the mind.

You are not even the master of your own eyes—
that you can prevent garbage from entering within.

If seeing is unavoidable,
then let your seeing transform.

Let the magic of the eyes grow.
Let the quality of vision change.
Then capacity and power will arise.

If hearing is unavoidable,
then hear—
but hear consciously.

~ Translated from Nirvan Upanishad by Osho (Hindi Discourse), Discourse 1

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Someone from Japan once sent Mahatma Gandhi
three statues of monkeys.

Gandhi lived his whole life
without understanding their meaning.
Or whatever he understood
was misunderstood.

He even asked those who had sent them—
they too did not know.

You have seen those three monkeys.
In pictures, in statues.

One monkey sits with hands over the eyes.
One with hands over the ears.
One with hands over the mouth.

Gandhi interpreted them
as only Gandhi could.

He said:
The monkey covering the ears means—
do not listen to bad things.
The monkey covering the mouth means—
do not speak bad things.
The monkey covering the eyes means—
do not see bad things.

But a more wrong interpretation
is impossible.

Because the one who decides
not to see bad things
will first have to see them—
otherwise how will he know
that they are bad?

By the time you close your eyes,
you have already seen.

And there is a danger with seeing—
if the eyes see even a little
and then close,
the image begins to appear inside.

That poor monkey
will be in great trouble.

The same with hearing.
To decide not to listen to bad things,
you must first listen.

And once heard,
closing the ears will not help—
the sound will begin to echo within.

No.
This is not the meaning.

The meaning is this:

Do not see—
until seeing inwardly becomes necessary.

Do not listen—
until listening inwardly becomes inevitable.

Do not speak—
until something from within
demands to be spoken.

This has nothing to do with the outside.

But people like Gandhi
understand everything from the outside.

This is an inner matter.

And do not think
these monkeys are meant for monkeys.

In Japan, these statues exist
because it has long been said there
that the human mind
is a monkey.

Those who have understood the mind
have always known this.

Darwin understood very late
that man comes from the monkey.

But those who understand the mind
have always known—
man’s mind itself
is a monkey.

~ Translated from Nirvan Upanishad by Osho (Hindi Discourse), Discourse 1

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Someone asked Abraham Lincoln,

“When you speak for an hour,
how much do you have to think?”

Lincoln said,
“Not at all.
When one has to speak for an hour,
thinking is unnecessary.”

They asked,
“And when you speak for ten minutes?”

He said,
“Then some effort is needed.
One has to think.”

They asked again,
“And when you speak for only two minutes?”

Lincoln said,
“Then I cannot sleep the whole night.

Because then
the rubbish must be dropped,
and only the diamond must remain.”

When words sink into silence,
they become telegraphic.
They become brief.
They become luminous.

The Upanishads were born
in such moments.

That is why the infinite
fits into the small.

Everything is compressed.
Only the essence remains—
the distilled truth.

All that is unnecessary
simply disappears.

~ Translated from Nirvan Upanishad by Osho (Hindi Discourse), Discourse 1

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Our illness, our unrest,
our words, our thoughts,
our speech, the tension of our lives—
ninety-nine percent of it
is entangled in speech.

He said, “No.”

And he had said nothing.

Only two words.

I had a friend—
a professor at the university, a renowned scholar of economics.
He had taught at Oxford,
and later at many universities in India.

My first meeting with him was strange—very strange.

It was evening.
The sun had almost set, darkness was slowly descending.
I was out for a walk.
The road was empty.
Only the two of us were there, strangers to each other.

As I came close to him,
he suddenly pulled out a whistle from his pocket
and blew it loudly.
Then, from another pocket,
he took out a knife.

I knew his name,
but we had never been introduced.

I folded my hands and said,
“What are you doing?”

He said, “Keep your distance!”

I asked, “What is the matter?”

Later, as friendship grew,
I came to know that for two years he had been living in fear.
Every man, to him, looked like a murderer.

So whenever he saw someone alone,
he carried two arrangements with him:
a whistle in one pocket—to alert people nearby,
and a knife in the other.

This man was living in a world of murderers—
a world created by his own mind.

No one had any reason.
No one had any interest.

Who would kill a professor?
And for what?
Even murder needs a motive.
And the victim needs some importance.

Who would bother killing a harmless professor—and why?
Nothing is gained or lost through him.
It is almost as if he does not exist.

The day people start murdering schoolteachers,
life will become truly dangerous.
There are no beings more harmless than teachers.

I tried many times to explain to him:
“No one has any reason to kill you.
Who would invite trouble by murdering you?”

But his idea remained—
that the whole world was plotting his death.

And then he began to find reasons.

He would watch people closely—
their walk,
their eyes,
their posture.
Are they suspicious?

And the way he looked at others,
the way he stood,
the way he stared—
made the other person uneasy.

No one could remain relaxed around him.
The other would also become tense, alert.

That tension would confirm his fear.
And within moments,
a vicious circle would begin.

Very soon,
he would turn a stranger into an enemy.

This is how we all live.

Each one of us has created
a private world around ourselves—
and then we suffer inside it.

~ Translated from Nirvan Upanishad by Osho (Hindi Discourse), Discourse 4

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one friend caught hold of my hand with great intensity and said:

“We are wrong people.
We are restless, anxious, disturbed.
But why does God not reveal Himself?
What trouble does He have?

We accept that we are unworthy, that nothing can happen through us.
But what would He lose by appearing?

Let Him stand before us just as we are.”

It is very difficult to make such a friend understand
that the Divine is already revealed.
The problem is not that He has not appeared.

He is present—absolutely present.

You are speaking like a man who is standing with his eyes closed and complaining:
“My eyes are closed, that is true,
but what difficulty does light have?
Why doesn’t light reveal itself?”

Your eyes may remain closed—
what has light to do with that?
Why should light insist,
“Only when you open your eyes will I appear”?

Light has no insistence.
Light has no ego.
Light has no desire to prove itself.

Light is.

The insistence is yours—
you insist on remaining closed.
And light gives you such total freedom
that it will never force your eyes open.

Light is not violent.
Truth is never aggressive.

Light can wait.

Light has all eternity to wait.

~ Translated from Nirvan Upanishad by Osho (Hindi Discourse), Discourse 1

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