So, again we come to a point of importance we discussed earlier, namely, prayer. We must be in a prayerful mood of humble submission to the Almighty every moment of time. Let no one be under the impression that he is a Raja Yogi, and therefore not in need of God. That is a mistake. One cannot perform this feat of Yoga practice alone. God's grace is necessary. The greatest Yogis were humble and submissive in their attitude. Prayer works miracles, wonders; and a humility of attitude on our side will be a great asset to us. Everyday we have to offer our prayers to the great Master, our Guru, and to the great Almighty who is our great benefactor and friend. And, by the sincere prayers that we offer to God, we invoke His benedictions, and God's actions are instantaneous. He will do the Sadhana for us; in fact, He does the Sadhana. All our activities are God's activities, finally speaking. We are like small children imagining that we are doing many things, while all these things are being done by somebody else for our sake. He is a kind parent. We should not forget His existence. Prayer to God everyday is a sure source of strength to us in this arduous, adventurous task of the practice of Yoga, especially sense-control. So goes the technique.

The senses have to be withdrawn. The Yoga scriptures tell us that there are various stages of Pratyahara, withdrawal of the senses. In the earlier stages, it may appear that Pratyahara or sense-control means the cutting off of the sense-organs from the respective objects. We place ourselves in a different atmosphere altogether, where the objects are not present. We go away from Cape Comorin to the Himalayas, because of the fact that the objects that disturb our mind are in Cape Comorin. So, this is one stage, good enough, and perhaps necessary. We do not place ourselves physically in an atmosphere of disturbance. Any place that causes a vacillation of the mind, or a disturbance of the emotions, may be avoided by cleanly moving away from that place, and being away somewhere until the time this disturbance subsides. Because the presence of an object is sure to create a vibration in the senses, the Pranas and the mind.

This moving away is not, however, a remedy for the difficulty of the senses. Because, the Bhagavad Gita has already warned us: Vishaya yinivartante niraharasya dehinah, rasavarjam rasopyasya param drishtva nivartate. When we are physically away from the objects of attraction, we are abstemious and starving, and in that sense we may say that we are self-controlled, but the taste for the objects has not left us, and it cannot go. Physical isolation of oneself from the location of an attraction is not a solution to the problem of that attraction, because one will have a liking for it in the mind, and one will wish it were there if it could be possible; and the mind is not happy that it has been severed physically from its loved object. While this physical isolation is a necessary process and a very beneficial one, it is not enough; and if one resorts to this practice only and to no other higher method in the sublimation of the desires, there can be a violent tumult from inside, and it can lead to any kind of aberration, nervous and psychological.

Thus, sense-control, while it is an absolutely essential technique of practice, is also a very, very dangerous handling of things. Because, desires are not in the senses, they are in the mind. So sense-control means, at the same time, a sort of mental control. The mind is not outside us. To control the mind means to control one's own self. Mental control and sense-control finally mean self-control.

The mind is that impulse which arises from every part of our organism. When a river which is flowing has been blocked in its movement by a barrage or dam, it seeks an expression or outlet with a wholeness of its energy, and it is not just a part of the waters of the river that has this urge. The entire body of water is seeking expression, if possible and practicable, and if the dam bursts, there would be a wholesale devastating movement of the river from every part of it, and not from only one side of it. So it is what we call desire. Desire does not arise from any part of the body, and even when it looks that some sense organ has a particular desire, it is only one avenue of expression of a total impulsion from the whole of our organism, just as one little outlet of the dammed river may let out the waters in one direction only, notwithstanding the fact that the whole river is at its back with its push to force itself out through the aperture. So, even when it appears that it is only one sense organ that is active and the others are silent, we should not be under the false notion that the other senses are keeping quiet.

The senses are like experts in military science. In a battle, it is not as if all the soldiers will attack at the forefront at one stroke. There is a technique of attack. A part of the regiment will be active and the others will be quiet for a very important reason. It does not mean that the latter are sleeping. Likewise, when one sense is active and the other senses are inactive, it does not mean that the latter are sleeping and that we have nothing to do with them. They are inactive for a very important reason, as some soldiers in the battlefield may be inactive for reasons they only know. So, one should be cautious about all the sense organs, though it may appear that there is nothing wrong with some of them.

Though we may be troubled by one or two sense organs only, in truth, every sense organ is turbulent. Because of the wisdom that is there in the senses, they practise a technique of individualised channelisation of themselves, and not a wholesale attack, which they know will not succeed. But, whatever be the sense organ that works at a particular moment of time, the desire that propels it arises from the whole organism of the body. The whole system is desireful. It does not mean that only the eye has a desire or only the ear has a desire. It is not so. Whatever we are in our totality wells up with a desire for something. And that whole urge within us in the form of a desire, is leaked out through a particular aperture called the sense organ. Sometimes, all organs can also act at the same time. So, we are a bundle of desires, and we should not think that we are outside the desires. We should not imagine that the desires are concentrated only in the mind that is outside us or in the senses that are external. The mind is not outside us. It is nothing perceptible as an object externally. The mind is only a name that we give to the externalised urge of ourselves in a wholesale fashion. Our own movement or impulsion externally is called the mind, and therefore, we are the mind. So, when it is said that the mind has desires, it is we who have the desires, it is I who have the desires. And the 'I' is not a dot in my personality. It is the whole thing that I am, from head to foot, in every fibre of my being and in every cell of my body. So, man is mind and mind is desire. And thus, the Pratyahara process becomes a larger adventure on our part than a little effort that we think would be required to control our sense organs.

If the question be asked of any person, "What desire do you have?", he will perhaps say, "Nothing". This is not true. The desires cannot manifest themselves when they need not manifest themselves. This is very important to remember. When they do not manifest themselves, it does not mean that they are not there. Why do they not manifest themselves? Because there is no necessity, for reasons of their own. Why should a person speak when he has no necessity to speak? He keeps quiet. He speaks only when it is necessary. Because a person does not speak, it does not mean that he is incapable of speaking. He speaks when it is required. So is the case with the senses. Why should they express themselves always, when they have other satisfactions in life? When one's whole personality is engrossed in a particular type of satisfaction, there is no necessity to seek another kind of satisfaction; unless the particular kind of satisfaction in which one is engrossed finally turns out to be dissatisfying and not up to the mark. When a person has some kind of fulfilment in life and is happy about it, the other urges in him do not reveal themselves. Why should they? But, when the fulfilment which is appearing to satisfy him now does not come up to the mark, and turn out to be not really satisfying or not wholly satisfying, and some lacuna is found in it, he will slowly begin to have a vision of the presence of other avenues of satisfaction. And he will see a new light altogether, of the way in which satisfaction can be projected out in the world of space and time, by other techniques of approach.

So, every student of Yoga should be a great psychologist of his own mind. He must understand all these techniques of the mind and he must know how to deal with the mind at different times. When the mind is violent, what should be done? When it is sensible and reasonable in its asking, how to deal with it? And when it says nothing and is sleeping, what is one expected to do? There are three stages of desire. First, there is a very violent, tumultuous uproar and damaging clamour. At that time, what is one to do? It should be thought over. At other times, when the mind is very sensible and its requirement is justified, what is to be one's answer? In the third instance, the mind will say nothing. It will go to sleep. What is to be done then? These things are mentioned by Patanjali in a Sutra where he says that the desires may be sleepy, they may manifest themselves alternately like a current of electricity, not coming always in the same way, or they may be violent. At every one of these stages we have to find a method to be adopted, proper to the occasion. The sleeping enemy is sometimes more dangerous than the working enemy, because the former, in his sleep, is rejuvenated into further activity. The so-called impulse in us, called desire, is an intelligent urge. It is not a stupid impulse. Every desire is intelligent and knows how to fulfil itself by hook or by crook, by the adoption of various means. Now, every desire is not a devil, though every desire is capable of turning into a dangerous weapon when it can completely defeat our purpose. Hence, the necessary means of overcoming desires in different stages have to be thought over in the beginning itself: when a particular technique is adopted by the enemy, what is going to be my reaction to it? The student of Yoga must be a master of warfare, in a sense. He should know all the methods that he has to employ and others can also employ. When a particular weapon is wielded by the enemy, how to counteract it? We find various Astras or missiles mentioned in the Mahabharata and the Ramayana. There is the Narayanastra, there is Brahmastra, there is Varunastra, there is Mohanastra, and so many others. And, when a particular missile is launched by the enemy, we must know what is coming. We should not be under the impression that some friend is coming, and by timely detection of the nature of the thing that comes towards us, we will be in a position to counteract it and neutralise it with our own counter-missile. Otherwise, if we are not alert, if we are wool-gathering, we will not know what is happening.

To some extent, we are required to know the structure of our mind. A philosophical education is necessary before a psychological education. The practice of Yoga comes afterwards. So, before the practice of Yoga begins, there is the need for psychological knowledge founded on a philosophical discipline. We should not suddenly jump into practice. Desires arise in the mind due to the very nature of our existence in the world, on account of the very circumstance of our life, and the relationship we bear to things outside. All desires are our longings for the lost spirit of ourselves. We are actually asking for our own selves. We are not asking for things.

It may be asked: "What is the meaning of saying, 'We are asking for ourselves'? It is very clear that we are asking for something else". This so-called something that we are asking for is only an instrument that we employ to rouse a kind of mood in our mind that will reflect a form of satisfaction in our own selves. This is a rather difficult idea to grasp. The world is visualised by us as a tool for our satisfaction; the world itself is not the source of our satisfaction. We cannot rouse ourselves into a mood of happiness merely in our own selves without the instrumentality of objects outside. The universal Self is the ultimate source of happiness for everyone. All joy is in this Being that is all-pervading. The almighty Absolute is the source of happiness, the embodiment of bliss; the thing that we are seeking, and that which drags us in the direction of the so-called objects of sense. When we are asking for objects of sense, we are asking for God finally; a thing which we will not be able to appreciate at present in the psychological circumstance in which we are placed. Everywhere, God is speaking through every object. Perhaps, that is why the Kathopanishad tells us somewhere in one verse that the roads along which the chariot of this body is to be driven towards the goal are the objects of sense. The Upanishad tells us only this without giving much of a commentary thereon. The objects of the world are the roads along which we have to drive our organism for the attainment of Vishnu-Loka: Tad-vishnoh paramam padam (Abode of the Lord). The world is neither a friend nor an enemy; it is what it is. We have to understand this and not exploit this. The great source of joy is the Selfhood that is universal, but the universal Self has become an individualised self. That which is the infinite Purusha has become a finite Jiva. So, when one asks for the fulfilment of a particular wish or longing, one is asking for the infinitude of one's own self that is the Purustra. The Jiva, the localised individuality, seeks expression through the objects of sense for the establishment of its own self in the Purushahood of itself. It is the infinitude of the Purusha that everyone is asking for, not the objects of the world. But, because infinitude is imperceptible and the world alone is perceptible, people run to that which is visible to the senses, and in the process, the invisible supernal urge for infinitude is completely ignored, and people know not if such an urge is really there at all!

A little bit of understanding has to be exercised in the control of the senses. Philosophical discipline is necessary to train ourselves in the direction of this understanding. We should not be under the impression that it is easy to control the senses. Nobody has done it and it is not easy to do it. The senses are very terrible. We cannot control the senses by force of will. But they can be subdued to some extent, in the same way as a chronic illness can be controlled to some extent. Such illness cannot be eradicated totally, but it can be checked in its vehemence to some extent. The senses, too, can be subdued somewhat, but they can be completely conquered only in deep meditation, in Samyama, in Samadhi, and finally, in Kaivalya Moksha. Not before that.

As per the Pratyahara technique mentioned in the Yoga Sastras, the withdrawal of the senses is attempted in many ways. The earliest and the grossest form of it is a physical isolation of oneself from tempting things. Then, having placed oneself in a suitable atmosphere, one has to ruminate or muse over the circumstances of perfect control over even the desire for sense objects and not merely over a perception of them. Even the taste for sense objects has to go. Vairagya or abandonment, relinquishment or renunciation, is an absence of desire. Vairagya or Viraga means absence of Raga. That means freedom from longing. Freedom from longing internally is called Vairagya or renunciation. Vairagya is not just a physical dissociation from objects. But, how can we be free from longing for a thing, when we know that it can satisfy us in some way? We are muddled in our heads; and therefore, we are under the impression that objects can satisfy us. So, intellectual education is necessary once again; a rational investigation is called for. We cannot subdue our desires unless we are assured that the desires are wholly fulfilled, either by actual extinguishing of them by providing them with their demands, or a sublimation of them by deep understanding. Here, God's grace is vitally important. God only can help us, not anybody else. Daivi hyesha gunamayi mama maya duratyaya, mameva ye prapadyante mayametam taranti te. It is God's force or Sakti which manifests itself as desire. Who can stand before it? Not all our strength can be of any avail before God's Sakti. Hercules cannot stand before God's Sakti. The only way out for the spiritual seeker is to surrender himself to Him and say, "O God! Help me, I am helpless", and He will take care of the seeker.

Patanjali does not go into larger details of the Pratyahara process, but he gives us a very important definition. He says that Pratyahara is that state where the senses appear to be one with the mind. They are no more outside the mind; they have become the mind itself as it were. The rays have been withdrawn by the sun and nothing emanates from him afterwards. The senses have assumed the Svarupa or the form of the mind itself, as it were. That is Indriya Pratyahara.

The mind becomes weak, when a part of it goes out, just as the electric powerhouse can become weak in its content of voltage, if there are too many electric connections given beyond the permissible limit. Likewise, the mind can become weak by connecting itself too much with things outside. But, when all the connections are cut off, the powerhouse meter shows a rise in voltage at once. Likewise, one can realise a rise in the voltage of strength in the mind, the moment the connections of the Indriyas with sense objects are severed completely. Just as in the case of a river whose movements are blocked by a dam, there is an immediate rise in the level of water, the level of energy rises in the mind, when the avenues of expression in the form of the senses are closed. This is the information available regarding Pratyahara in Patanjali's Yoga, but the commentators go into some more details. One of the Rishis is supposed to have said that the highest form of sense-control is that state of mind when one is not able to see at all anything that is in front of him. A person in that state is not able to see anything even if he keeps his eyes open. Sometimes, it happens to us in ordinary life also. If our mind is engaged deeply in thinking something, we may be keeping our eyes open, but nonetheless will see nothing, even if a motorcar speeds by; and we will hear nothing, even if a gun-shot is fired nearby. This is because of the deep absorption of the mind in some particular thing. So, the highest achievement in Pratyahara is that stage where, even when the senses are active, we are not able to visualise anything in front of us. This is the pinnacle of Pratyahara, but to achieve this state, we have to keep proceeding by degrees.