LIFE AFTER DEATH

J.P. VASWANI

Gita Publishing House

10, Sadhu Vaswani Path,
Pune-411 001, (India).
www.sadhuvaswani.org

Published by:
Gita Publishing House
10, Sadhu Vaswani Path,
Pune 411 001, (India).
www.sadhuvaswani.org

First Edition: 1980

Second Edition : 1990
Third Edition : 1992
Fourth Edition : 1996
Fifth Edition: 1998
Sixth Edition: 2000 (10,000 copies)
Seventh Edition: 2004 (3,500 copies)

ISBN: 81-87662-49-2

Printed at:
Mehta Offset Pvt. Ltd.,
Mehta House, A-16, Naraina II,
New Delhi 100 028
Tel. : 25704450/51/52; 25707474

CONTENTS

Publishers' Note

There is no Death

13

Death Is Sweet As Sleep

Why Fear Death?
Survival After Death
Cultivate Friendship With Death!
Three Practical Suggestions

17
21
24
29
34

On the Other Side of Death

41

The Dead Are Not Dead

Life After Death
The Etheric Double
The Silver Cord
To The Astral World
Three Practical Suggestions

46
48
53
55
58
63

Heaven and Hell: What Are They?

69

The Astral World

There Is No Hell!
The Heaven-World
The World Of The Gods
Three Practical Suggestions

73
77
82
87
89

Some Questions Answered

Reincarnation
Spirit Communication
Astrology And Death
The Best Way To Die
Death By Accident
Capital Punishment
Death By Suicide
The Path Of Light And Liberation

95
95
101
106
108
110
112
115
117

THERE IS NO DEATH!*

Have you ever asked yourselves the question:

What is this world, this earth on which you and I find
ourselves? What is it? To this question a number of
answers have been given. One of the answers which, to
me, appears to be significant, is: The world is a
travellers' inn. The world is a musafirkhana, a
caravanserai. We all are travellers. We are here on a
short visit. Life at its longest is so brief. You may live to be
centenarians. Yet the day will come in the life of everyone
when, bidding adieu to his wife and children, his friends
and relatives, his kith and kin, his properties and
possessions, the institutions he has founded and
nourished with the love of his heart man will quit the
scenes of life. Man is here as a traveller.
There is a significant little story told us concerning
the king of Balkh. Ibrahim was his name. He was a great
king. He had everything that the world could give. He was
a master of pleasures and possessions and power. But his
heart was not happy: there was within him a sense of
emptiness. His soul was in quest. Of what he did not
know.
______________
* Notes of a Lecture.

One day, suddenly, a stranger enters the king's court

and, quietly spreading his carpet on the floor, lies down on it.
The king is naturally offended at his strange conduct and says
to him: What do you take my palace to be?
Quietly says the stranger to the king: I thought this is a
travellers' inn!
What do you mean by calling my palace a travellers'
inn? asks the king.
And the stranger says to him, O king, pray do not get
angry with me. But do answer my question. Tell me who lived
in this palace before you occupied it?
And the king says: Before me, my father lived in the
palace.
Where is your father now? asks the stranger.
And the king says: He is dead and gone!
And who lived in the palace before your father
occupied it?
The king answers: My grandfather occupied the
palace before my father lived in it.
And where is your grandfather, now? asks the
stranger.
The king answers: My grandfather is dead and
gone!
And who lived in the palace before your grandfather
occupied it?
The king says: My great grandfather lived in the palace
before my grandfather occupied it.

And where is your great grandfather now? asks the

stranger.
Again the king answers: My great grandfather is dead
and gone!
Then surely, says the stranger, this is a travellers'
inn. For people come here, occupy this place for a while, then
move on! You, too, O king, will have to move on!
So saying, the stranger vanished as suddenly as he had
appeared. But the words of the stranger lingered long in the
heart of the king. And he said to himself: This is not a palace:
this is a travellers' inn. Indeed, the whole world is a travellers'
inn. So many are born everyday; so many die everyday. This
earth is not our Home. Where, then, is our true Home, leaving
which we have come to this earth-plane for a special purpose?
Alas! we have forgotten the purpose, and we keep on chasing
the shadow-shapes of pleasures and possessions and
power!
These and other thoughts come to the king. And
sometimes you find him keeping awake in the middle of the
night, asking himself the question: What is the purpose of my
visit to the earth-plane? Why am I here? And where is my
Home?
One night, he hears a Voice. It says to him: O king, if
you want an answer to your questions, renounce, renounce!
The king renounces the palace: he renounces the
throne. Like the Buddha, he puts off his royal robes and puts
on the garments of a fakir, a wandering mendicant. Donning
the robes of a fakir, he moves on from place to place. Within
him is the question: What is the meaning of the mystery of
this endless adventure of existence?

What is life? And what is death?

We are told he comes to India and spends some years in
the company of a holy man. I have not the time to give you the
moving, thrilling story of this monarch who becomes a
mystic, this sovereign who becomes a saint. I merely wished
to tell you that his awakening began with the thought that this
world is a travellers' inn. We all are travellers. Our stay on
earth is for a limited period. As we came to this earth-plane,
one day, we shall have to move out of it.
Farid was a great saint of Multan. He has left a number
of wonderful slokas which still are sung in many homes. In
one of his slokas, he says: O Farid! Your father and your elder
brother have already passed on! Soon, your turn will come!
The children that are left behind they, too, will have to move
on to the Other Shore!
No one has stayed on the earth forever. No one can stay
on the earth forever. Leaving the earth is what we call death,
even as coming to the earth is called birth. Death is a natural
phenomenon. For whosoever is born must surely die. Why,
then, are we afraid of death?