Expectation: Mine and Mine Alone

by Krishna Prem

When the Ranch ended and I’d resettled in Sydney, I found myself sitting on a balcony one balmy evening, ruminating over events in Oregon and the sense of disillusionment I felt around Osho. Suddenly I realized, “Hey! These were my illusions, my expectations; they had nothing whatsoever to do with Him.”

I saw that Osho had been living His own life, singing His own song, and had no obligation to live up to my expectations – and I was at peace with Him again. He had only ever made one promise to me: “Surrender and I will transform you. This is my promise.” It had been emblazoned on a banner above His chair at a meditation camp – at the Bikaner Palace Hotel in Mount Abu in 1974 – and He had kept His word. Expectation was my responsibility and mine alone.

Sitting there that night, I was reminded of an incident that took place in Pune years before, a little exchange between Him and me that illustrated the folly and futility of projecting one’s expectations on the other.

I was in Goa when the ashram was started, living on Anjuna Beach after having escaped from the pre-Pune Kailash community experiment. While wandering through the Mapuca Market one steamy afternoon I spied a bolt of cotton fabric in an amazing sun-gold color. I bought a few meters and had a robe made. A month or so later I was in Pune. Darshan was still happening on the lawn of Lao Tzu House, and we could just drop by and sit with Osho, whether there was anything to say or not. I wore my robe. That morning a lanky Englishman took sannyas. After naming him (his new name was Veetmoha) Osho said to him, “And wear a robe. You will look beautiful in robes.”

He then turned to me and added, “Wear a robe, just like Krishna Prem.”
He looked at me intensely for a moment. “Don’t wear yellow, Krishna Prem,” He said at last. “Yellow is the color of death.”

“ But this is orange,” I replied.

“ No,” He insisted, “it’s yellow.”

I couldn’t argue with Him. “I really thought it was orange,” I replied. “I’m a little color-blind.”

“ Really?” He said, His eyebrows arching into an intrigued V. “Which colors?”

“ Grays and greens. And now,” I added, “I guess yellows and oranges too.”

“ Hmm,” He murmured, closing His eyes and tilting His head back, steepling His fingers pensively. He sat like that for the longest while. The sense of expectancy was almost tangible, and I, like most of the others present, anticipated something of import, something profound and significantly esoteric. At long last He turned back to me and said, “The next time you go shopping, take someone with you.”

Everyone fell about laughing at the sheer unexpectedness of His reply, after all those pregnant moments. Including me. And I’m sure I heard a chuckle from Him as He rose and walked, with Vivek alongside Him, back toward the house.

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