(27 June 1948 – 5 September 2020)
His beloved Nartana writes:
Swami Premvan, my very beloved husband, my soul mate and best friend, and the craziest of playmates imaginable, left his body early September this year. For 37 years we were given the gift of going through life side by side, passionately living and loving, growing together with each other.
To describe Premvan in a few words is not easy: his personality was multi-faceted. He was a gifted musician who could play almost any instrument; guitar or sitar, saxophone or flute, piano or or or – no problem for him. But what he liked the most was to compose on his PC. The number of plug-ins he owned was legendary. He could lose himself in it for hours, and so his legacy includes a lot of music I can listen to again and again.
He was a creative man, never at a loss for an idea, an artist who had fun with new word creations, an actor in disguise, comedian, singer and entertainer, a painter who didn’t need a canvas but only an iPad. He also left behind a wealth of beautiful paintings.
He was a loving father to his wonderful son, Daso, my dearly loved stepson, and a loving husband. He had a huge heart for me and gave me everything a woman could ever want. I was his princess and he was my prince.
Premvan has inspired countless people. Over the years he made around 8 million people dance at the Osho Disco in Hanover. From his early beginnings at the Kreativhaus in Münster to his later years at the Osho Disco he left lasting traces in people’s hearts. The comments and posts that reached me on the occasion of his death are evidence of this.
To list all the facets of his personality, or the many paths and mistakes of his life, from his start in Sauerland as a railwayman’s child to his job as a disco manager in Hanover would take us too far. All these facets – as different as they may be – can be reduced to a common denominator: he was a thoroughly spiritual person. A seeker who was always concerned with finding an answer to the question: Who am I? He went through many experiences to find this out.
At first he sought answers from great spiritual world teachers: from Mircea Eliade, Aurobindo, Krishnamurti, to studying Indology and world religions. But nothing satisfied him until he found his way to Osho in 1980. He lived in Poona for six months and participated in many groups. His son Daso was born there, a child to whom he bestowed all his love from then on. In Poona he was given the name: Premvan – Jungle of Love. A name he did not like at first, but which suited him so well.
I met Premvan in Münster in 1981. A handsome young man wearing red clothes and a mala, riding a red bicycle with a very small and sweet son in tow. That’s when I became hooked. We set up a meditation centre together with others, which was then disbanded a few months later. We moved to Hanover to live in the commune. He worked in the disco until all the fun dissolved, and then we started all over again.
For 37 years he turned my head from morning to night. We loved and lived passionately, argued and made up again. He was the one for me and I was the one for him. A gift for which I am infinitely grateful.
The last 11 years were dominated by his fight against cancer. Premvan was a truly courageous man. It showed in this fight, because he never gave up. With grace and dignity and in great serenity and beauty, he did everything he believed could help. He always firmly believed that he would recover. He gave everything, endured countless operations, exhausted all alternative ways, and always got himself back on his feet because he had immense fun in life. He laughed and danced and loved so much. Just a few days before his death, he reaffirmed it: “I had a wonderful life,” he said to me. “Everything is whole, nothing is missing anymore.”
Two years ago, we were hit by a stroke of fate from which he never recovered: Our beloved son Daso lost his fight against leukaemia. He was for months in a coma and stayed in an intensive care unit at the Charité. Premvan then had the task to decide when to switch off the life support machines. After that, he no longer saw any real point in continuing to fight his own disease.
I find comfort in thinking that he is now out of pain, that he is reunited with Daso on some level, that the two of them are now writing new music together and again arguing about the right compositions and sounds.
Premvan spent the last weeks of his life in hospital. Due to the Corona pandemic, visiting opportunities were limited. The night before he died, he called me again. He could barely speak, but it was important for him to say to me, “I am fine!” His voice was all bright and happy. The next morning he let go and fell asleep peacefully.
I miss him more than I can put in words and hope to see him again in another reality. At the same time I am deeply grateful that I was allowed to walk side by side of this wonderful person for so many years. Love upon Love upon Love!
Premvan means the jungle of love.
Love is not a garden. A garden is man-made; it is artificial, arbitrary. Love is wild. It is because of so much civilisation that we have lost the knack of love; we have become too civilised, too cultured, too cultivated, so our life is like an English garden, Victorian style. Everything is symmetrical and everything is pruned, cut, given shape and form. But the more you give it shape and form, the more you are destroying the reality.
In Japan they have the art of bonzai. It is not an art, it is pure murder. They have four-hundred-year-old trees just six inches tall. They think it is an art. They go on cutting the roots. They place the tree into a pot with no bottom and they go on pruning the roots. Because the roots cannot grow the tree goes on becoming old but it cannot grow; it ages but it cannot become big. So you can see from its texture that it is an ancient tree but a pygmy tree. It may have risen to one hundred feet, it is only six inches high – and they call it an art! It is like cutting a child so he becomes old but is only six inches tall… with a white beard… And you call it art – it is pure murder!
But bonzai is being practised on every child. All over the world, all the cultures have been doing something like bonzai. That’s why love has disappeared, love can exist only in its wild state.
My sannyasins have to remain at least ninety-nine per cent wild. One per cent is enough for day-to-day work, your offices in the market. By the time you come home you should again become wild, a jungle, no more a garden – certain not an English garden. If you want to become a garden then look around my garden, be something like my garden – it is a jungle!
Man has to learn something so that he can become a little uncivilised. It is good when you are in a Rotary Club to be civilised – I am not against it. In a Rotary Club it is perfectly good to be false, pseudo, phony, otherwise you cannot be a member of the Rotary Club. But by the time you are out of these clubs and the offices and the factories, be wild! Be a child again. Be a primitive again and you will be surprised how many wonders are there repressed within you and how many mysteries start opening up.
My whole effort here is to give you roots, to stop this whole art of practising bonzai on you. And everybody has practised on you, they have all cut you. Whenever I see a person I see he has been cut and pruned from everywhere; nothing of the real is left. Somehow he goes on living but his life is no more a joy, it cannot be. To be a joy it needs to be natural, spontaneous. And then you will see love growing in you to such dimensions that it is unbelievable. And the ultimate peak of love is the realisation of god.
God and love are synonymous to me.
Osho, Is the Grass Really Greener…? Ch 18 – 18 December 1980
- Daso – (19.2.1981 – 2.4.2018)
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