From Urmila’s story…
His living room was a small, simply furnished space with cane chairs and plumped cushions and, against one wall, a green-covered takhat where several people could sit together cross-legged propped up against several bolsters. Against the other wall there was a cane sofa with more cushions, and beyond the latch window, where hung some dark green curtains, I could see the front path and the lawn edged with drying creepers. White mogra blossoms poked their faces up against the window panes.
“Take a full breath, like a little baby,” he said, gently demonstrating.
“As we grow up we start breathing from the chest, but really it’s the belly that should go up and down with the breath, not the chest. And while you’re breathing like that, try not to think about anything. Concentrate on your breathing through the nose; focus on it going in and out through the nostrils and be conscious of the place where the breath touches inside, between the eyebrows.”
From Shobhana’s story…
He explains how, down through the centuries and all over the world, women have been suppressed by one generation after another; he tells us how they have been exploited for their mysterious gifts of motherhood and out of fear of their erotic powers that weaken men’s resolve. My ears prick up; my attention focuses. For the first time in my life, someone is speaking about me.
There had been a time when Osho had given importance to my existential questions, and lent them significance. But his next letter helped me see how my endless questions merely gave fuel to the chaos, and fed the same mind that asked them. He seemed to be telling me more and more to let go of them, so as to make me aware of the part my ego – my desires and attachments – was playing in all this.