Osho on Hari Prasad Chaurasia

 

 

Now look at this man Hari Prasad Chaurasia -- such a beautiful bamboo flute player, but he lived his whole life in utter poverty. He could not remember Pagal Baba, who had introduced him to me-or is it better to say, ` me to him' -- because I was only a child, and Hari Prasad was a world-recognized authority as far as the bamboo flute is concerned.

 

There were other flutists also introduced to me by Pagal Baba, particularly Pannalal Ghosh. But I had heard his playing and he was nothing compared to Hari Prasad. Why did Pagal Baba introduce me to these people? He himself was the greatest flutist, but he would not play before the crowd. Yes, he played before me, a child, or before Hari Prasad, or before Pannalal Ghosh, but he made it a point that we should not mention it to anyone. He kept his flute hidden in his bag.

 

The last time I saw him he gave me his flute and said, "We will not meet again. Not that I don't want to meet you, but because this body is not capable of carrying itself any longer." He must have been about ninety. "But as a memento I give you this flute, and I say to you, if you practice you can become one of the greatest flutists."

 

I said, "But I don't want to become even the greatest flutist. To be a flutist is not what can fulfill me. It is one-dimensional."

 

He understood and said, "Then it is up to you."

 

I asked him many times why he tried to contact me whenever he came to the village, because that was the first thing he would do.

 

He said, "Why? You should ask it the other way around -- why do I come to the village? Just to contact you... I don't come to this village for any other reason."

 

For a moment I could not say a word, not even "thank you." In fact in Hindi there is no word which is really equivalent to "thank you." Yes, there is a word which is used, but it has a totally different flavor, dhanyavad: it means "God bless you." Now, a child cannot say "God bless you" to a ninety-year-old man. I said, "Baba, don't give me trouble. I cannot even thank you." To say that I had to use an Urdu word, shukriya, which comes closer to the English, but it is still not exactly the same. Shukriya means "gratitude," but it comes very close.

 

I said to him, "You have given me this flute. I will keep it in your memory, and I will try to practice too. Who knows? You, you know better than me; perhaps that is my future, but I don't see any future in it."

 

He laughed and said, "It is difficult to talk to you. Keep the flute with you and try to play with it. If something happens, good; if nothing happens then just keep it in my memory."

 

I started playing on it, and I loved it. I played it for years and became really proficient. I used to play the flute, and one of my friends -- not really a friend, but an acquaintance -- used to play on the tabla. We both came to know each other because we both loved swimming.

 

One year when the river was in flood, and we were both trying to swim across -- that was my joy, to cross the river in the rainy season when it used to become really enlarged; flowing with such force that it used to carry us at least two or three miles downstream. Just crossing meant we had to be ready to travel three miles back, and to cross back meant traveling three miles further, so it was a six-mile journey! And in the rainy season...! But that was one of my joys.

 

This boy, Hari was his name too. Hari is a very common name in India; it means "God," but it is a very strange name. I don't think any language has a name for God like Hari because it really means "the thief" -- God the thief! Why should God be called a thief? Because sooner or later He steals your heart... and the sooner the better. The boy's name was Hari.

 

We were both trying to cross the river in full flood. It must have been almost a mile wide. He did not survive; he drowned somewhere on the way across. I searched and looked, but it was impossible: the river was flooding too fast. If he had drowned, it would have been impossible to find him; perhaps someone further down the river would find his body.

 

I called as loudly as I could, but the river was roaring. I went to the river every day, and tried the best that a child could do. The police tried, the fishermen's association tried, but not even a trace was found. He must have been taken by the river long before they heard about it. In his memory I threw the bamboo flute that Pagal Baba had given me into the river.

 

I said, "I would have liked to throw myself but I have other work to do. This is the most precious thing that I have, next to myself, so I throw it. I will never play this flute again without Hari playing on the tabla. I cannot conceive of myself ever playing again. Take it, please!"

 

It was a beautiful flute, perhaps carved by a very skillful flutemaker. Perhaps it had been made specially for Pagal Baba by one of his devotees. I will talk more about Pagal Baba because so many things have to be said about him....

 

-Osho, “Glimpses of a Golden Childhood, #27”

 

 

♦

 

 

Hari Prasad, is both. His being is as beautiful as his music. He is not as famous as Pannalal Ghosh, perhaps he never will be, because he does not care. He will not play his flute to order... he will not go after the politicians. His flute has its own flavor. The flavor of his flute can only be called balance, absolute balance, as if you were walking in a very strongly flowing stream.

 

The example I am giving you is from Lao Tzu. You are walking across a very strong, flowing, wild stream, and naturally you have to be very alert otherwise you will go with the stream. Lao Tzu also says that you have to walk very fast because the stream is very cold, below zero, perhaps even colder. Fast, and yet balanced, that describes what Hari Prasad Chaurasia does with his flute.

 

Suddenly he starts and suddenly he ends; you were not expecting that he would start so suddenly. [....]

 

This third man, I love him. From the very moment we saw each other, we recognized each other.

 

He was the only one out of the three flutists who touched my feet before Baba told him to. When it happened Baba said, "This is something! Hari Prasad, how could you touch the feet of a child?"

 

Hari Prasad said, "Is there some law prohibiting it? Is it a crime to touch the feet of a child? I liked, I loved, hence I touched his feet. And it is none of your business, Baba."

 

Baba was really happy. He was always happy with such people. If Pannalal Ghosh was a sheep, Hari Prasad was a lion. He was a beautiful man, a rare, beautiful man. The third fellow - I mean Sachdeva; I don't even like to say his name - has not done me any harm, but still, the very name and I start seeing his ugly face. And you know my respect for beauty. I can forgive anything but not ugliness. And when the ugliness is not only of the body but of the soul too, then it is too much. He was ugly through and through.

 

Hari Prasad is my choice as far as these flutists are concerned. His flute has the beauty of both the others and yet is neither like that of Pannalal Ghosh - too loud and bombastic - nor so sharp that it cuts and hurts you. It is soft like a breeze, a cool breeze on a summer's night. It is like the moon; the light is there but not hot, cool. You can feel the coolness of it.

 

Hari Prasad must be considered the greatest flutist ever born, but he is not very famous. He cannot be, he is very humble. To be famous you have to be aggressive. To be famous you have to fight in the ambitious world. He has not fought, and he is the last man to fight to be recognized.

 

But Hari Prasad was recognized by men like Pagal Baba. Pagal Baba also recognized a few others whom I will describe later on, because they too came into my life through him.

 

It is a strange thing: Hari Prasad was not at all known to me till Pagal Baba introduced him to me, and then he became so interested that he used to come to Pagal Baba just to visit me. One day Pagal Baba jokingly said to him, "Now you don't come for me. You know it, I know it, and the person for whom you come knows it."

 

I laughed; Hari Prasad laughed, and said, "Baba you are right."

 

I said, "I knew Baba was going to mention it sooner or later." And this was the beauty of the man. He brought many people to me, but prevented me from even thanking him. He said only one thing to me: "I have only done my duty. I ask just one favor. When I die, will you give the fire at my funeral?"

 

In India, it is thought to be of great importance. If a man is without a son, he suffers his whole life, because who will give the fire at his funeral? It is called "giving the fire."

 

When he asked me, I said, "Baba, I have my own father, and he will be angry, and I don't know about your family, perhaps you have a son...."

 

He said, "Don't be bothered about anything, either about your father or about my family. This is my decision."

 

I had never seen him in that kind of mood. I knew then that his end was very close. He was not able to waste time even discussing it.

 

I said, "Okay, no argument. I will give you the fire. It does not matter whether my father objects or your family objects. I don't know your family."

 

By chance Pagal Baba died in my own village - but perhaps he arranged it; I think he arranged it.

 

And when I started his funeral by giving fire to it, my father said, "What are you doing? This can be done only by the eldest son."

 

I said, "Dadda, let me do it. I have promised him. And as far as you are concerned, I will not be able to do it. My younger brother will do it. In fact, he is your eldest son, not me. I am of no use to the family, and will never be. In fact, I will always prove to be a nuisance to the family. My younger brother, second to me, will give you the fire, and he will take care of the family."

 

I am very grateful to my brother, Vijay. He could not go to the university just because of me, because I was not earning, and somebody had to provide for the family. My other brothers went to university too, and their expenses had also to be paid, so Vijay stayed at home. He really sacrificed. It is worth a fortune to have such a beautiful brother. He sacrificed everything. I was not willing to marry, although my family was insistent.

 

Vijay told me, "Bhaiya" - Bhaiya means brother - "if they are torturing you too much, I am ready to get married. Just promise me one thing: you will have to choose the girl." It was an arranged marriage as all marriages are in India.

 

I said, "I can do that." But his sacrifice touched me, and it helped me tremendously, because once he was married I was completely forgotten, because I have other brothers and sisters. Once he was married, then there were the others to be married. I was not ready to do any business.

 

Vijay said, "Don't be worried, I am ready to do any kind of work," and from a very young age he became involved in very mundane things. I feel for him immensely. My gratitude to him is great.

 

I told my father, "Pagal Baba asked me and I have promised him, so I have to give the fire. As far as your death is concerned, don't be worried, my younger brother will be there. I will also be present, but not as your son."

 

I don't know why I said this, and what he might have thought, but it proved true. I was present when he died. In fact I had called him to live here, just so that I did not have to go up to the town where he lived. I never wanted to go there again after my grandmother's death. That was another promise.

 

I have to fulfill so many promises, but up to now I have successfully fulfilled a major part of them.

 

There are only a few promises which remain to be fulfilled.

 

I had told my father, and I was present at his funeral, but could not give the fire. And certainly I was not present as his son. When he died he was my disciple, a sannyasin, and I was his Master.

 

What is the time?

 

"Eight thirty-five, Osho."

 

Five minutes for me. When the time is over, it is over. I also have to laugh once in a while. A single moment at the climax is enough.

 

Stop.

 

-Osho, “Glimpses of a Golden Childhood, #30”

 

 

 

 

 

Hari Prasad Chaurasia on Osho

 

 

Mandar : Can you tell us something about Osho, who was a very intimate friend of you?

 

Pt. Hariprasad Chaurasia : What can I tell you about Osho? He was not one, but he was many He was the best speaker in the whole world. He was the best philosopher I have ever seen. He used to play flute very beautifully. I have not seen a person having so much knowledge of all kinds of activities going around. Very calming and down to earth. There was a time when were friends, when nobody knew him, he was not famous. But then, he became internationally famous, everybody knew him. But, he wanted to keep the friendship with me which we had earlier. He did not change, his love did not change. So, I used to come often to Pune to play for him, to record for him. When he left this world, when he left us, I do not go there anymore. It was he for whom I used to go to Pune so often.

 

-Source, "Mandar Karanjkar with Pt. Hariprasad Chaurasia. At Vrindavan Gurukul, 2011."