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Topic: Hindu Gems
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posted November 17, 2004 12:29 AM
CONTENTS - this page 1. On Education - Purananuru
2. Tiruvarutpa - Ramalingaswami 3. Description of Devi - Abhirami Andadi 4. Pattinattar 5. Suffering - Kanda Puranam/Kacciyappa Sivachariyar 6. Divinity in the Essence of Things - Tirumular 7. Aattichudi - Auvaiyar (the second) 8. Tandi Alankaram 9. Royal Exit - Auvaiyar (the first) in Purananuru 10. Nalavenba - Pugalendi 11. An Upanishadic Insight - Nutrirattu/Attaamalakam 12. Hyperbolic Modesty - Kampan 13. Literacy & Numeracy - Tiruvalluvar 14. The Vedic Nature of Siva Nataraja 15. Some Upanishadic Prayers - Brihadaranyaka 16. More Upanishadic Prayers - Taittiriya 17. The New Shiv-Dharma and Caste Sects 18. Dialogie on a Grand Mystery - Yama & Nachiketas 19. Empiricism in the Upanishads 20. How Many Gods? 21. More Upanishadic Slokas 22. Levels of Consciousness and Om 23. Gargi 24. Truth & Caste - Satyakama 25. Brahman in the Upanishads 26. Infrequently Quoted Passages 27. Some Greek Parallels 28. The Ramayana 29. The Author of the Ramayana 30. Thoughts on Manthara 31. Bharat of Kekaya 32. Urmila - Wife of Lakshmana 33. Shurpanakha 34. Ravana the Rakshasa 35. Dasaratha 36. In the Ashoka Grove 37. Discussions on the Ashoka Grove 38. Is the Ramayana Literature of History? 39. Kumbhakarna 40. Jabali ------------------------------------------------------------- . . On the importance of education
uTRuzi udavium uRuporuL koDuttum piTRai nilai muniyAdu kaTRal nanDRe oru kuDip piRanda pallO ruLLam mUttOn varuga ennAdu avaruL aRivuDai yOnARu aracum cellum With whatever effort, giving however much, It's good to be educated, not regret in days to come. No matter from what tribe, to the man with learning, Even royalty will say, "Oh learned one, welcome!" Reflections Here is a fine example of the value placed on learning in the Tamil world even in ancient times. The verse speaks of the efforts and expenses that might be incurred in acquiring knowledge, and says it is all worth it. It reminds people that caste or no caste, the educated ones will always be preferred to those without any learning, at least when it comes to royal appointments. Replace the word by , and the verse is as applicable today as fifteen hundred years ago when it was composed.As one looks into the works of ancient Indic thinkers one is amazed by the variety and insights that many of them bring. From a work like the PuRanAnURu of the Tamil tradition, wherein this work occurs, we learn much about the social and cultural history of the times. Clearly, somewhere, sometime, something, somehow went wrong. Much of the confusion we confront today is the result of abandoning or not adhering to the wisdom of our sage-poets. There was, in ancient times, a flourishing kingdom in the Tamil country, in the most southern regions of the Indian subcontinent. Its capital was the great city of Madurai, rich since time immemorial in culture and craft, in learning, and literature. The rulers of the land were the PANDiya kings who often engaged in battles with adjoining realms of the Pallavas and the Ceras. The fame of the kingdom had spread not only to the northern regions (both Ashoka and Kautilya mention the city), but went as far as Rome whose writers too referred to it. It has been reckoned that the PANDiya kingdom flourished for more than a millennium, from about the fourth century B.C.E. until the fourteenth century C.E. when it was overrun by a general of Allauddin Khalji, the ruthless plunderer who killed his own father-in-law to become Sultan of Delhi, and severed his allegiance to the caliphate of Baghdad. It was a sad day when Madurai came under a Sultan's sway. The verse above is attributed to the great PANDiyan monarch known as NeDunceziyan (5th century C.E?). The name probably meant one who flourished for a long time. He was one of the contributors to the anthology known as PuRanAnURu. His court poet MAngkuDi MaridanAr wrote a long panegyric on his king who was wise with learning and victorious in battle. Other poets of the classical age also paid homage to this great ruler of the PANDiya realm. One of them tells us that this victorious Ceziyan subdued kings who had elephants adorned with gold, and possesses mounds and mounds of rice. Another poem describes how he was decked in leafy branches from the margosa tree, before he marched to battle. He is said to have had a navy too. He was a martial king for sure, declaring that if he did not keep up his promise to crush his enemies, poets need praise his kingdom no more. This single line reveals the role and importance of poets in those glory days of Tamil kingdoms. In the view of many scholars it was during his reign that the Sanskritization of the south reached a climax, for he is said to have conducted sacrifices under the guidance of Brahmin priests and in meticulous accordance with Vedic injunctions. V. V. Raman January 29, 2004 [This message has been edited by Webmaster (edited June 13, 2006).]
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posted November 17, 2004 12:34 AM
Incompatibility of Caste and God-Knowledge cAdimatam camayamenum canGgaDamviT RaRiyEn cAttirac cERu ADukinDRa ca?amviT TaRiyEn Adiyanda nilaiyRiyEn alaiyaRiyAk kaDalpOl Anandap perumpOkat tamarntiDavum aRiyEn.
As one who doesn't go beyond caste and creed, And who isn't from the constraints of shastras freed, Can I ever know Him who is Without beginning or end, and immersed in bliss! Reflections These lines are from the 19th century mystic sage-poet RAmalinga SwamigaL's TiruvatuTpA. Ramalinga was more than a poet: he was a saint, who not only thought and spoke movingly about the Divine, but felt from the depths of his heart for the poor and the wretched of the world. He was compassion incarnate who could not stand the sight of the hungry. He sought to unite all humankind into a single family. With such all embracing love that transcended race and nation, how could he be in peace with the world of caste and oppression that surrounded him? He saw people praying and singing the praise of God in temples, who also practiced discrimination of the worst sort, based on birth and lineage. In this verse, he asks rhetorically how one who is sullied with the notions of caste hierarchy and outworn Shastras could ever have even a glimpse of the Almighty who is beyond piety and classifications of human societies, and is in essence pure bliss. It is thinkers like Ramalinga who bring luster to the Hindu tradition which has been marred by evil social and superstitious forces over the ages. Sri Ramalingaswami's life spanned a little over half a century: from 1823 to 1874. In this brief period, he became preeminent as poet and philosopher, social reformer and spiritually evolved soul. Through his life and legacy he has become a precious jewel in the treasure chest of Tamil culture. His sensitivities were unique and outstanding. He displayed unusual keenness of mind even in his early years. He was a recluse as a youngster, reflecting and meditating on higher realms, much to the bewilderment of the people around. A couple of years later, he lost all interest in the learning and recitation that went on at school. He often ran to the sanctuary of Lord Murugan, the supreme symbol of Tamil divinity - there to sing the holy hymns of devotion and ecstatic love of God. It appears from what Sri Ramalinga says that this outpouring of love was not one-aided, for in the process he felt he acquired all knowledge, for he sang to the Lord: You taught me all knowledge, through you I could see the illusoriness of this world. Sri Ramalinga was one of the few to have experienced mystical vision when he was still an infant, barely six months old. It has been said that the child displayed clear signs of spiritual ecstasy when it was shown the Chidambara rahasyam in the temple of Lord Nataraja. This is the sacred spot where the divine principle is symbolized in its most abstract and all-pervading aspect, namely AkAsha. The onlookers stood in amazement when they noticed the most unusual reaction in the baby. In his later years, the poet recalled this in a famous verse: When with my mother in my tender age, I beheld the mystic mystery in Thillai (Chidambaram). As the curtain was lifted, the essence of the splendor of the divine was revealed unto me. The corpus of Sri Ramalingaswami's literary output is known as the Tiruvarutpa. The name signifies that these were the result of aruL or divine grace. Here the lines pour like torrents from a majestic source high above, illuminations from the celestial sphere, as it were. The Tiruvarutpa includes some six thousand songs and verses. Not many poets, in India or beyond, have produced such a massive collection. The work includes prose pieces also. Saint Ramalinga composed some glorious verses to the Lord, not simply as the divine Father or Mother, but as the immanent spirit that moves the world. Steeped as he was in Saiva SiddhAnta where complex metaphysical concepts come into play, some of Ramalinga's poetry include mystical elements such as suddha deham, praNava deham, and j? deham, Siva cakram, Siva sorpanam, Siva turyam, etc. which may be incomprehensible to the non-initiate. V. V. Raman February 9, 2004
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posted November 17, 2004 12:35 AM
Description of Devi poruLe poruLmuDikkum bOkamE arum bOkam ceyyum maruLe maruLil varunyeruLe en manattu vaattutu iruLetum indri oLiveLi yAki irukkum unDRan aruLEtu aRikinDRai lEn ambuyAtanattu ambikaiyE
Oh Thou who art in every material thing! Oh enjoyment that material things bring! Oh delusion that from enjoyment comes! Oh clarity into which this becomes! Oh darkness that clouds my mind so small! Oh light of knowledge that clears it all! Oh effulgence that shines so bright! I'm unable to fathom your spiritual might! Oh my goddess Ambika. Reflections This verse is from a classical Tamil hymn addressed to the Goddess abirAmi, a manifestation of Shakti (PArvati), the Cosmic Energy. There is a temple dedicated to abirAmi in the town of TirukaTTavUr in TamilnADu. The hymn, consisting of a hundred verses, is know as AbirAmi andAdi. In these stanzas brimming with exquisite devotion, the poet expresses his reverence for the goddess in a variety of ways, extolling her appearance, paying homage to her grace, adoring her, referring to her in various sacred historical contexts, and invokes her in metaphysical modes also: as the essence of everything, a music and space and fire and celestial bodies. Composed in towards the end of the 19th century, this is one of the finest compositions of this kind, and is recited to this day with deep devotion by many at home and in temples. In this verse the poet looks upon the Cosmic Mother as the root of everything in the universe: from gross matter and its illusory modes to the ultimate grace that leads to enlightenment, and recognizes the inadequacy of the fettered ego to fathom it all in its human condition. The author, AbirAmi baTTar was drawn to the deity of his local temple from an early age. He is said to have been a yogi who went into a mystic trance now and again, provoking the ridicule of a few people around. One day he was taunted by a question as to what day it was, to which he said, it was full moon day, when, in fact, it was new moon. For this Calendrical error he was dragged to the local king in whose presence he repeated the error. Legend has it that the king sentenced him to a severe punishment, whereupon the ardent yogi exclaimed to the Goddess that it was all her fault, and proceeded ex tempore to verbalize the andAdi. When he was towards the third quarter of the composition, the deity is said to have appeared in the sky and flung into the air her sparkling earring which shone in the sky like the full moon. There are other interpretations of this legend. There is a genre of Tamil poetry known as andAdi, which literally means beginning-end. It is so called because it consists of a string of lines or verses, each of which begins with the word with which the last one ends, such as, for example, the following set of sentences. An example of andAdi toDai where the formula is followed in a string of lines would be (in English): This is the story of the man. The man was full of goodness. Goodness is a commendable virtue. Virtue is not of a single kind. Kind means being considerate to people. People are not all the same. .... When we have verses rather than lines, we have ceyyuL andAdi, of which abirAmi andAdi is an example. The andAdi format in Tamil poetry dates back to 9th century. Many AzvArs composed poems in the andAdi format. Many poets composed in this format. It was been suggested that this was an effective device for learning poems by heart, and was especially useful in the oral tradition. But it may also be looked upon as an expression of the penchant for word play which has been a characteristic a great many Tamil poets and writers V. V. Raman February 12, 2004
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posted November 17, 2004 12:37 AM
Advice for the mindonDRenDRiru - deivam unDRenDRiru uyar celvamellAm anDReNDRiru pacittOr muhampAr nallaRamum naTpum naNDRenDRiru naDunInGkAmalE namakkiTTapaDi eNDRenDRiru manamE unakkE upadEcamidE Take Him as the only One Take Him as the existent One. Wealth isn't everything. To hungry faces compassion bring. In friendship and in righteous ways, May all your trust you place always. From the righteous path, not going astray What's been given to you, take you may In all of this, oh my mind May you some good counsel find. Reflections This poem is by an eminent siddha poet by the name of PaTTinattAr (15th century?): an extraordinarily gifted poet who sang of the glories of asceticism, cared little for material life, and exclaimed how the needs of the piety mode are but meager. The siddha poets were generally not sympathetic to canonical modes (the shaAstras), rejected idol worship, and were more interested in yogic exercise than in standard modes of religious practice. As often happened with the spiritually inclined who sought an ascetic life, PaTTinattAr must have been distracted more than once in his early years by the female body, for he writes in the most harsh tones against women. In this he was not unlike other siddha poets who regarded women as Menaka: the temptress who distracted the eminent VishvAmitra from his spiritual path. PaTTinattAr was a deeply compassionate man, and was most sensitive to sight of hungry people. Note how, in this poem, after talking about the Divine, he quickly turns to caring and righteous behavior and to compassion for the hungry. There are several stories associated with this bright star of Tamil poetry. According to one, he was a wealthy merchant who traded with lands overseas. Once, as happened with Shakespeare's Antonio in the Merchant of Venice, his boat laden with gold was reported to have been lost at sea. He was deeply distressed. But then news came that it had been sighted. He rushed to the port to see it arrive. In the meanwhile a hungry mendicant happened to come his door for a morsel of food. PaTTinattA's wife asked the man to wait for her husband's return, whereupon the famished beggar left an earless needle with a note to the effect that wealth improperly acquired, money hidden by the miser, and an earless needle will all be useless in the end. Upon his return, the moneyed merchant saw the note and was so moved by its message that he gave up everything, took to the streets, and began life as a common beggar, singing the songs of his composition which praised the lord, pitied and parodied women, and wept for the hungry. We can see an echo of his reaction in the verse above. The moral of the episode is that pithy pronouncements even by simple people (a beggar in this case) sometimes carry wisdom and inspiration that can touch the heart and mind of sensitive people. His original name was TiruvENGkaDa CheTTiyAr. Since he became an illustrious poet from the famed city of KAverippUm PaTTinam, he came to be called PaTTinattAr which simply means "one from the town." V. V. Raman February 16, 2003
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posted November 17, 2004 12:42 AM
Suffering as MedicinepeTRiDum kuravar AnOr piLLaikaL tampAl nOnonDRu uTRiDiR piRaraik koNDum uRuduuar ceidu tIppAr maTRavar tampAl anpO vankaNO adupOl nampAl paTRiya pavanGkaL tIrppAn paramanum ivaikaL ceitAn When parents find an offspring ill, For cure to another go they will. The treatment may be a bitter pill But the parents' love is there still. So to rid us of the sins we've done We get the pain from the Supreme One. Which He doesn't directly bring. His agents are who do this thing. Reflections These lines are from Kacciyappa CivAcAriyAr's KandapurANam (#455) which is a Tamil recreation of the Sanskrit work ShivapurANam. The author is known to have been a great scholar in Tamil as well as in Sanskrit. Some believe the work dates back to the 17th century; others, that it is much older. A profound theological perspective is presented here to tackle the difficult problem of theodicy: Why does not a loving and merciful God remove promptly the pain and suffering of human beings? These lines express in a poetic way this perennial question. They state the law of karma in an interesting way. The poet says that just as we need to take bitter medicines to be cured of our ailments, we need to suffer to rid ourselves of the sins we have accumulated. And he gives an interesting analogy: Parents are too loving of their children to administer the pills themselves, and so they pass on the unpleasant chore to a physician who does the job. In the same way, though God is loving and merciful, the task of ridding us of the ailment is relegated to another agent, like the law of karma. The context of the verse in KandapurANam is the following. The good people of the world are tormented by the evil personage SUrapadman and his brothers. The people appeal to Lord Shiva who informs them that they are suffering because of their past misdeeds. If so, reason the wise men, why doesn't Shiva punish them Himself? Why does he have to inflict the penalty through a third person? The explanation which Brahma gives for this is that because of the love that Shiva has for humanity, as with parent and child, He cannot Himself give the needed medicine for the disease (of sin) that has been acquired. So he administers the required pain through an agent: SUrapadman in this case. Kacciyappa CivAcAriyAr's KandapurANam is regarded as Shaivism's composition corresponding to Kampan's RAmAyaNam. The work resembles that masterpiece in length (more than 10,000 stanzas), story line (God comes to save humanity from an all-powerful demonic miscreant), and in its bhakti-mode (deep devotional poetry). It is filled with reverence for KandasvAmi or Murugan (and Shiva) exactly as the RAmAyaNa is filled with reverence for RAma (and VishNu). Kandan is a manifestation of the Divine to rid the world of the monster SUrapadman who had acquired enormous prowess by dint of intense meditation: a power he was misusing; exactly as RAma is a manifestation of the Divine to rid the world of the monster RAvaNa who had acquired enormous prowess by dint of meditation: a power he was misusing. Here too there are six cantos. The inspiring verses are rich in similes and imagination. They are colorful in their descriptions, and they also embody a good deal of the philosophy of Shaiva SiddhAnta. However, as sheer poetry the work does not match Kampan's work of genius, in the estimation of many literary critics. The legends sometimes become too fantastic to be taken seriously. There is a widely held belief in the tradition that the very first verse of KandapurANam had been gifted to the author by Lord Murugan Himself who also corrected overnight the first hundred stanzas. Some years ago I began an ambitious project: Of rendering the whole KandapurANam into English. But in the midst of my several other commitments, by the time I got to the 300th of the 10,346 stanzas, I gave up. Maybe some day. V. V. Raman February 19, 2004
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posted November 17, 2004 12:43 AM
Divinity in the essence of thingsTEnukkuL inbam civappO kaRuppO vAnukkuL IcanaitEDi madiyilIr tEnukkuL inbam ceRindirun dARpOl UnukkuL Ican oLittirun dAnE Is the joy in the honey black or reddish? Searching for God in the sky is as foolish. As abundant is the joy that honey brings, God is shining in the essence of things.
Reflections This verse is attributed to the eminent TirumUlar (7th century C.E.?), who is regarded as the founder of the Tamil Saiva SiddhAnta school. His Tirumandiram consists of more than 3000 meters, and has been commented upon by a great many scholars. This verse very simply reminds us that academic debates and logical analyses of profound truths often miss the whole point of spiritual experience. Honey contains the essence of sweetness: this one can know only from experience. One can discuss and debate the matter of honey's sweetness endlessly, but that can never give us even an inkling of the taste of honey. Indeed, it would be foolish to be engaging in talks about honey in our efforts to taste it. "Is honey red or black?" is a metaphorical way of referring to the analytical approach. Likewise, says the poet, it is absurd to seek God in particular spaces, for the divine is all-pervasive. It is only when one recognizes and experiences the spiritual light that is inherent in every atom of the physical universe that one is truly enlightened, declares TirumUlar. Clearly, a sage-poet who has achieved that stage finds the customary modes of prayer and worship to be superficial and shallow, and theological discussions to be utterly foolish. He urges us to strive to see the divine in the world around, to experience ecstasy in Nature and its countless manifestations from dust to distant stars. However, it must be remembered that discussions and debates, scholarship and learning, also have their place in culture and civilization. It would be a serious error if society abandons altogether intellectual and scholarly pursuits. What is important is to know the relevance of what we are doing in a given context. It is important to realize that TirumUlar's injunction is valid only in the context of purely spiritual pursuits. V. V. Raman March 18, 2004
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posted November 17, 2004 12:46 AM
A simple comandmentaRam ceiyya virumbu Desire to do the righteous thing! Reflections The Tamil word aram corresponds to the Sanskrit dharma which may be interpreted as righteous behavior. The above instruction reminds us of the Upanishdaic dhamaM cara: Follow the path of dharma! Here we are not simply asked to follow that path. We are advised to want to do it. The A profiound understanding of psychology is revealed here. Once the desire to do good in implanted in heart and mind, action would follow spontaneously and for sure. This is somewhat like the Chinese saying that it is better to teach a hungry man to fish than to give him the day's portion. The line is from AuvaiyAr, the poetess par excellence of the Tamil-speaking people. There is a legend to the effect that she was a child prodigy who spoke poetry when barely four, and had the blessings of Lord Ganesha. She was fully devoted to the Divine principle from that tender age. When she matured to a good-looking damsel, her father began to negotiate a suitable groom for her. She had no wish to marry and become another housewife. She prayed to the Lord to turn her into an old woman, wrinkles and all, so no youth would want to wed her. All she wanted was to pursue the poetic path. Her wish was granted, and that is how this immortal doyenne of Tamil wisdom is remembered: a grand lady of mature years. We don't know what her real name was. But she came to be called AuvaiyAr, a word which means mother or matron There is probably no Tamil speaker with cultural self-respect who has not heard the name of Auvai, as she is sometimes known affectionately. Few writers in any culture have enjoyed such reputation for more than a millennium. The Tamil world boasts of two AuvaiyArs. The first one whom sacred history regards as the oldest of four sisters of the great TiruvaLLuvar has left two memorable masterpieces in the "A is for Apple, B is for Boy" mode by which children learn the alphabet. Except that in the Auvai-inspired tradition, the letters introduce the young to values and wisdom rather than to apples, cats, and dogs. In the same work she also urges us to cool our temper, and never to give up zest for life. The first of these collections is called AtticcUDi, and is known for its capsules of perennial wisdom. The name means one who is adorned with the flower from the Atti (Bauhinia racemosa) tree, and is one of many epithets for Lord Shiva. Nowhere is the Shakespearean phrase "brevity is the soul of wit (wisdom)" more tellingly illustrated than in this immortal collection which used to be (perhaps still is) learned by rote by youngsters before they learn to read and count. A companion work is called KonDRaivEndan, which is another honorific for Lord Siva. This too is a mound of maxims, each a string of four pithy words. The genius of the Tamil language sparkles in these precious nuggets, all formulated with just four words and in rhythmic meters. The work begins by declaring that Mother and Father are the first Gods to be reckoned. Then we are reminded that it is very beneficial to worship in a house of prayer. In the same work, we are advised to forget promptly an unattainable desire, to dwell in a town where water is readily available, to not keep moping about a loss but to get back to work again, and so on. Many kings were AuvaiyAr's patrons. She traveled from region to region. Among the stories associated with Auvaiyar's life one is that she was once told by a priest not to sit in a place of worship with her legs pointing in the direction of the Almighty. He should have said, the icon. AuvaiyAr asked him to show her a direction which pointed to a place where the Almighty wasn't present. What makes AuvaiyAr an extraordinary poetess is her ability to condense weighty insights in very few words. She was not a pompous pedant quoting scripture, nor a secluded swami, but one devoted to VinAyaka (Lord GaNeSa). Her teachings were not about God, karma, moksha, and such. She was a down-to-earth teacher who spoke with simplicity and intelligence on matters that help us become decent, sharing, and compassionate. She was humble too. "What is has been learned has the measure of a fistful of mud, " she reflected, "what is not learned is as vast as the world." Some three score of Auvai's poem's are extant, enshrined in the Tamil anthologies called PuranAnUru and AganAnUru. AuvaiyAr, who is considered to be an incarnation of Sarasvati, stands tall among the women-poetesses of the world, though she is seldom recognized as such. V. V. Raman March 29, 2004
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posted November 17, 2004 12:48 AM
Denied MetaphorponGkazakam alla puyalE idu ivaiyum konGkai yiNai alla kOnGkarumbE manGkai nin maiyarikka nalamadar vanDu ivai ivaiyum kai alla kAntaL malar. Not falling hair, but stormy clouds they are. Not a pair of breasts, but silk-cotton buds they are. Oh youthful woman, your dark eyes, beetles they both are And they aren't hands, but kAndaL flowers they are. Reflections In the sophisticated framework of any language there are many figures of speech. One of them is the metaphor in which something is mentioned instead of another by virtue of their close resemblance, and for describing the second thing more effectively. There is also a figure of speech in which one apparently rejects the object/subject which is to be described, and says that it is actually the other one. This is meant to emphasize even more that which one is trying to portray in an effective way. In Tamil rhetoric, this figure of speech is called avanuti (denial of) uruvakam (metaphor). The above verse is an example of this. Here, the poet does not say that the falling hair of the young woman resembles stormy clouds, in which case it would be simile. Nor does he simply refer to the hair as stormy clouds, in which case it would be a metaphor. Rather, he is saying that the hair is not hair, but is itself the stormy cloud. And so on. The metaphors are denied. This is an even more powerful mode of description. To say, "he is not a man, but a beast," is a more forceful way of describing the negative qualities of a person than to simply say that he is like a beast. Poetics had already been well developed in Sanskrit literature when a Tamil poet by the name of TanDi (twelfth century?) wrote a treatise on the principles that should govern epics and poetics. Some scholars believe that he was inspired by a much earlier Sanskrit work called KAvyadarsha, others that it might have been a codification of Tamil works which were already there. TanDi's treatise is entitled TanDi-alanGkAram. The lines above are from that work. It is said that some contemporary writers did not regard with favor such elaborate regulations of artistic creations. Nevertheless TanDi's work had great influence on later Tamil poetry. Whether all the rules set by TanDi added to or diminished the quality of Tamil poetry has been debated by literary critics. At least one history of Tamil literature points out that it was responsible for the "decadent literature of the post-ChOLa period." In any event, as in the religious context and in art appreciation, analysis of what is happening is at least as interesting as what is actually happening. But to be obsessed by such analyses may not always be helpful for a fuller immersion in what is being experienced, nor in the creative process itself. What may be noted here is the impact of a theorist on the literary history of a language. V. V. Raman March 25, 2004
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posted November 17, 2004 12:50 AM
Royal ExitODan marIiya pIDin mannar nOippAl viLinda yAkkai tazIik kAdan maRandavar tIdumarunG kaRumA raRamburi pacumpuR parappinar kiDappi maRanGgan dAka nallamar vIznda nILkazan maRavar celvic celkena vALpOzn dDakkalum. When a cowardly king from battle flees, And perishes then from disease, Brahmins, versed in sacred writing, Forget the love for their departed king, Place the body on grass powerful To free it from the act disgraceful, They say, "Oh king, May you go on Like the warriors brave who have all gone With the heroic bracelet they would not yield While they were on the battle-field!" Then they cut the body with their swords, And bured it, saying these words.
Reflections This poem is from AuvaiyAr I who probably lived in the 8th century, some four hundred years before the second Auvai who wrote AtticcUDi. It is in PuRanAnURu (93.II.4.11). [Her works, rather than those of the second Auvai are the ones in PuRanAnURu. I had misspoken in my last note.] This poem reveals an ancient Tamil custom by which a king who had been in battle was not expected to return to his realm while his army was still fighting: that would be an act of cowardice. If this happened, then when the kind died a natural death, there was a ceremony in which priests would place him on the sacred grass (dharba), recite some mantras, and cut the corpse before burying it. It was believed that this way his soul would take the path of the brave chieftains who die on the battle-field. This poem is said to have been addressed to a king by the name of AdiyamAn NeDumAn A? one of the royal patrons of the great poetess. Auvai often urged kings to be good and generous in whatever they did. AdiyamAn had only the greatest respect for Auvai, and she for her. In another poem which she wrote upon his death, she recalls with sadness how the days of his generous giving when she shared meat and beverage with his court were gone for ever. The themes of this poetess have a masculine ring: about wars and weapons, heroism and bravery, about the weakness of enemy kings, and the like. But she has her entries in aham literature too, which speak of love and sensitivity. In one of these she describes the sunset as a time when the sun looks for a hill to hide behind, and becomes all red in face, and the earth turns cool. With Pliny, there was a younger and an elder one. With Bacon there was Roger and Francis. With Johnson, there was Ben and Samuel. With Curie, there was Marie and Irene. With Rama, there was a Sita Rama and Bala Rama. With Gandhi, there was a Mohandas K., an Indira, and more. But with Auvai, there is only one name. It is not surprising that for many centuries, and even now in the popular mind, there was only one Auvai, always pictured as the wise old woman, and composer of children's alphabetical maxims. It is said that some imaginative story teller was responsible for mixing up the two. But now we know that the two are not the same. V. V. Raman 1 April 2004
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posted November 17, 2004 12:52 AM
Self-blame for a predicamentmunnai vinaiyin valiyAl muDimannan ennaip piriya irunGkAnil - annavanaik kANAdu azukinDREn enDRAL kadir imaikkum pUNAram pUNDAL pularndu. "Because of my previous karma, The prince who is bound to me In the dismal darkness Has abandoned me. Not seeing him, I weep," The bedecked woman said, Who by all this had Like a flower withered. Reflections This is a moving verse from NaLa-veNbA, an epic poem in Tamil literature. The title of the poem means: The (story of) NaLa (told) in the VeNbA (form). VeNbA is one of the six canonical poetic meters in Tamil prosody. Literary critics generally say that this is one of the finest examples of that meter. The story is adapted from the famous episode of NaLa and Damayanti which appears in the MahAbhArata (Nalopakhyana Parva). It is the story of the righteous king NaLa who won the hand of the princess Damayanti of Vidarbha in a svayamvara: a custom by which a princess chose her groom from among many suitors. NaLa's rivals were various Vedic deities. The god Kali (not kALi) grew jealous and contrived to lure him to a gambling game which cost NaLa his kingdom. When he retreated into the forest, Damayanti followed him. There again Kala induced NaLa to leave his wife one night, making him imagine she would go back to her father. When Damayanti woke up in the morning she was shocked not to find her husband. It was then that, when a passer-by asked her why she was in such distress, she spoke as in the verse above. This verse is sometimes cited to show the devotion of Damayanti to her husband. She was not blaming him for leaving her. Rather, she attributes her sorry predicament to some past action of hers in a previous birth. Aside from illustrating the classical wifely virtue of never finding fault with one's husband, the verse also teaches the notion that when we are hurt by no matter whom, it is wiser to consider it as a punishment for a past misdeed than to point the finger at the other person. It is such values that make up a culture. Aside from other messages conveyed in the story-poem, such as love, responsibility, and pernicious effects of gambling, there are also many charming poetic descriptions in the work. The Tamil version of the story (NaLaveNbA) is attributed to the poet PugazEndi (13th century?) whose name literally means The Holder of Fame. He was a court poet in for a ChoLa king, but he had a staunch poet-rival there. Fascinating stories are told about their mutual poetic jealousies. V. V. Raman April 15, 2004
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posted November 17, 2004 12:54 AM
An Upanishadic insightnaranilan curan iyakkan nAnalan anataNan maTRu aracanum vaNikan cUttiran allan naRpiracAri kirakiyum vAnappirattan kETakal canyAci niraiyinil yArumallEn nicapOta vaTivinAmE A man, a demigod, a dog, I am not; Nor a brahmin am I. A kshatriya, vaishya, shudra, I am not; Nor in one of the four stages am I. Not a bachelor or householder, Not a renunciant or forest-dweller. I am none in any hierarchy. Forms of our consciousness are we. Reflections This verse is from NUTRiraTTu which is attributed to the saint RamaNa who in turn presented this as AttAmalakam, a Tamil version of a Sanskrit philosophical work HastamAlakam. The word literally means "gooseberry in the hand." It is derived from the expression: to have gooseberry in one's hand which meant in the language, to say something that is crystal clear. It is said that once a woman who wished to take a dip in a sacred river left her infant to the care of an ascetic on the bank. Unfortunately, while the saintly man was deep in meditation the child crawled into the waters and drowned. When the mother returned and discovered the tragedy she began to wail. The spiritual man, realizing what had happened, took the body of the dead child from the river, and let his own soul seep into it. The child was revived, but it did not speak. The yogi in the boy's body saw no need to talk. Some years later, the great ShankarAcArya happened to run into the seven-year mute child. The philosopher-saint asked the boy who he was, and who his parents were. Now the lad suddenly spoke, and uttered the above words of wisdom. The life principle manifests itself in a variety of ways. In the traditional worldview they may even be as unearthly beings. Here on earth they could be humans or animals. We as human beings refer to ourselves as of this race or nation, of that creed or caste. Then again we recognize ourselves as being in different stages in life: as child or adult, as spouse or parent or grandparent. In the midst of all these apparent differences and transformations we often forget that at the core we are all but bits of the same cosmic self. This Upanishadic insight is what is conveyed in the poem above. In a society in which one still fights about jAti and VarNa, about Hindu and Jain temples, it is good to recall the wisdom of our sage-poets. But it is far more important to internalize these great truths and translate them into practice. V. V. Raman April 22, 2004
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posted November 17, 2004 12:57 AM
Hyperbolic Modesty EDRiyEn ezuttaRiyEn ezutum vakai nAnRiyEn pADavakai aRiyEn pATTin payan aRiyEn. nAvilE vandapaDi nAninGge pADukiREn. ARu kuTRam nURupizai aDiyEn yAn ceidAlum aiyA manam poRuttu Adarikka vENDukiREn.
I'm ignorant of pages, ignorant of letters, Ignorant of writing too. I know naught of music, Of the benefits of songs, I don't have a clue. As the words to my tongue, come at random, Here I am going to sing. Even if hundreds of mistakes I make, Sir, Support to me, bring. Reflections Kamban, the greatest of Tamil poets, and one of the greatest in all languages, compares his effort to narrate the story of Rama to a cat trying to drink up the ocean of milk, and he pleads with the great Tamil scholars not to take seriously the words of madmen, fools, and deranged devotees like himself. The poet MANikkavAcakar, in his SivapurANam declares that his previous evil deeds have made him utterly unworthy of composing the work because it is impossible for such a one to engage in pious activities. To people of far lesser genius than such giants, such expressions of modesty may seem grossly exaggerated. We read such statements because in Tamil literary tradition, an author usually presents at the beginning, a formal declaration expressing his/her humility, often stating that he/she is not fully qualified to undertake a work of such significance. This part of the preface is known as avaiaDakkam: The word actually means humility in an assembly. It is an expression of the author's modest self-appraisal. Perhaps the origin for this is the fact that in the ancient Tamil world literary works, especially poetic works, were often presented to a patron or to an academy of first rate scholars. In such contexts it was deemed appropriate to be humble. In that framework (what may strike us as) hyperbolic expressions, whether or love or respect, of humility or praise, were the norm. The truly wise and learned generally tend to be modest since they recognize more deeply than others the intrinsic greatness of similar minds. The verse above is an example of avaiaDakkam. It is usually the opening stanza of popular poems by common poets. V. V. Raman April 26, 2004
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posted November 17, 2004 12:59 AM
Literacy and Numeracy eN enba Enai ezuttu enba ivviraNDum kaN enba vAzum uyirkku.
What are called numbers and letters: these two things Are (like) the eyes for all living things. Reflections Writing is one of the greatest inventions in human culture because it conquers space and time. Through it, knowledge and information can be transmitted across great distances and from generation to generation. Ultimately, all knowledge is made permanent for humanity through scripts and books. Counting and numbers are at the basis of civilization too. Not a day passes when for some practical purpose or other one does not use numbers, consciously or unknowingly. Handling numbers (and mathematics, more generally) enables us to accomplish many things. Francis Bacon said that knowledge is power. TiruvaLLuvar goes even beyond: His insight is that letters and numbers are power. He mentions not only writing which is related to knowledge but also numbers which relate to the more abstract capacities of the mind. It is remarkable that long before the modern age Valluvar recognized the importance of both literacy and numeracy. Indeed, he places numeracy (ease with numbers) before literacy (ease with written words). It may be pointed out that in the Tamil language, as in few others) the word for counting and the word for thinking are the same (eNNudal). The poet compares literacy and numeracy to the eyes: perhaps the most important faculty of perception. We use the expression: mind's eye. In a sense, letters and numbers are the mind's more potent eyes, for through them the mind acquires knowledge and information that would be difficult to access, if not shut off, from us. To be illiterate or innumerate is truly being blind in many ways. With poetic license he says "for all living things" meaning just human beings. In this, as in many other couplets, Tirukkural enshrines values and wisdom that go beyond religion and ethics. V. V. Raman April 29, 2004
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posted January 31, 2005 11:27 AM
Originally posted by Srinivasan Kalyanaraman in AkandabarathamNataraja and Vedic concepts as revealed by Sekkilar by R.Nagaswamy Excerpt: The Vedic Nature of Siva Nataraja The Saiva system of Tamilnadu is based on the lives of the 63 Saiva saints as told by Sekkilar The account of Sekkilar is based on Saint Sundara-murti's Thirut-tondat-tokai followed by Nambi Andar Nambi's Thiru-antati. Sundarar sang the Thiru-Tondar-tokai at Thiru-varur and according to Sekkilar the first line tillai vaz antanar, was revealed to Sundarar by Lord Siva of Thiruvarur. Narrating this account Sekkilar says Siva taught these words by the same mouth that taught the Vedas to Sundarar. It is a poetic way of suggesting that the thiru-tondat-tokai has the same validity as the Vedas. This hymn consists of eleven verses. We have seen that at every stage, Sekkialr who also connects Vedas with the Thiru-tondar-tokai mentions the role of Vedas. The most sacred part of the Veda, containing the Pancakshara-Namasivaya is found in Sri-rudram-the Satarudriya hymn. The Satarudriya hymn consists of eleven verses, called anuvakas. It is in all probability that influenced Sundarar to sing the Thiru-tondar-tokai also in eleven verses. The identical number could not be considered accidental. The Tamil Saivam, which has been dynamic, through out, is based on the Vedas and the Vedic tradition and is therefore rightly claimed by all the saints as Vaidika Saivam. The foremost temple that comes in for praise in this system is Tillai-Chidambaram and the worshippers of Chidambaram are the Dikshitars, the followers of Vedas. The God of Chidambaram is the Dancing God. Tamil Saivam and Siva Nataraja are identical and that the concepts of Siva Nataraja are rooted in the Vedas. [URL=http://tamilartsacademy.com/journals/volume3/articles/ Vedas%20and%20Vedic%20Saiv\as%20in%20TN.html] http://tamilartsacademy.com/journals/volume3/articles/ Vedas%20and%20Vedic%20Saiv\as%20in%20TN.html[/URL] See also: http://tamilartsacademy.com/thirumuraikal/thirumurai_intro.html[/URL] (Tirumurai 1 to 7 with transliteration in English). [This message has been edited by Pathmarajah (edited June 09, 2006).]
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posted February 14, 2005 03:26 PM
On some Upanishadic prayersPeople who grow up in the Hindu tradition hear many sacred stanzas: the so-called shlokas and mantras of the tradition. There was a time when these were uttered only by the initiated at appropriate times occasions. Today, though there are still controversies about privileges as regards sacred thread and priestly roles, any Hindu may learn and recite any of the canonical prayers. But not all who do this may be familiar with the sources or meanings of the prayers which have acquired sanctity over the centuries. Consider, for example, the following: asatom sad gamaya; tamasom jyotir gamaya; mrityom amritam gamaya From the unreal, lead me to the real; from darkness, lead me to light; from death, lead me to non-death. Few who have grown up in the tradition have not heard this. This prayer is from Yajus verses in the Brihadranyaka Upanishad which is regarded as the oldest of all the extant Upanishads. The lines are from the last part of the Satapatha Brhmana. It is prescribed that while the priest is chanting the mantras during a sacrifice, one who is performing the sacrifice should be reciting this. In our own times this has become one of the most widely repeated shlokas in the Hindu world, recited in temples. Sometimes it is used as an invocation prior to dinner in homes. In the Upanishad it is explained that unreal and darkness mean death; real and light mean immortality. The prayer is to seek release from death and attain immortality. But I prefer to interpret asad or the unreal as an illusory understanding of the true nature of reality, as occurs when the ephemeral is taken for the eternal and the perishable for the never-decaying. Viewed thus, the prayer enables us to understand the deeper aspects of this passing world of experience, for in that recognition we become wiser and more balanced in our perspectives. Likewise, I take tamas or darkness to mean here ignorance, not just of the nature of physical reality but of moral rightness as well. The joyoti or light that one seeks is not just the physical light that helps us see things, but enlightenment: a vision of life and society that respects others, that is caring and compassionate, that is guided by reason and understanding, not by unthinking adherence of outworn practices. The plea to be taken from death to immortality is asking to be released from the cycle of birth and death, and merge with the Cosmic Whole. As I see it, the wisdom of sacred texts is to be sought not in their literal interpretations, nor even in the commentaries given to them by revered thinkers of distant eras, but in the meaningful interpretations that are relevant in this day and age. Here is where tensions sometimes arise between traditional theology and evolving worldviews. In dynamic cultures, both retro-looking and forward-looking forces are always there. What is interesting in the Hindu world is that the sacred verses have an intrinsic spiritual appeal which gives fulfillment to the faithful even when one does not fully understand the message they convey. This is the reason why people often recite them with reverence, even while ignoring their meanings. Another oft-repeated Upanishadic prayer is: p? adaH p? idam, p? p? udatcyate p?ya p? d?, p? eva vashishyate. Complete is that; Complete is this. Out of the Complete, the Complete emerges. From the Complete, (when) the Complete taken, The Complete still remains. Priests recite this on auspicious occasions and worshipers recite it collectively after the rati. These lines form the opening reflection of s?panishad, also known as svasya Upanishad. This prayer also occurs in Brihadrayaka Upanishad. The shloka sounds like the exclamation of one who has had a mystical experience in which the seer recognized perfection (p?) all around: here, there, and everywhere. In that experience, the mystic sees the entire cosmos as a manifestation of Fullness, Completeness, Perfection. Though this vast universe has emerged from the boundless Supreme, the latter remains unaffected by it. If we replace the term complete/full (p?) by infinity, the shloka expresses the idea that infinity can emerge from infinity, and that infinity minus infinity is again infinity: an insight with which mathematicians would resonate. Hindu thinkers envisioned the Divine as That which is without end (ananta) and without beginning (andi), like the number system (positive and negative). They also considered various categories of infinity, like nominal infinity (referring to extraordinary greatness), epistemic infinity (referring to boundless knowledge), one dimensional infinity (observation along an uninterrupted line of sight), numeric infinity (fraction with zero in the denominator) and temporal infinity (eternity). These prayers transcend sects and religions. People of all faiths can recite them. V. V. Raman February 11, 2005 [This message has been edited by Webmaster (edited February 28, 2005).]
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posted February 15, 2005 03:08 PM
More Upanishadic ShlokasSome more shlokas come to mind from the Taittirîya Upanishad. The first that had an impression on me is part of its invocatory shloka. After paying homage to the Vedic deities Mitra, Varuna, Âryamân, Indra, Brihaspati, Vishnu, and Brahmâ, it declares Vâyu (Air) to be the perceptible Brahman, recognizing that it is the most fundamental element for the sustenance of life. References to Vedic gods also remind us that the Upanishads are extrapolations of the Vedas. Indeed, most Upanishads are offshoots of Vedic literature, and are linked to the Âranyakas and the Brâhmanas. The invocation continues: ritam vadishyâmi; satyaM vadishyâmi; tan mâm avatu; tad vaktâram avatu; avatu mâm, avatu vaktâram. I will speak about what is right; I will speak the truth. May that protect me! May that protect the speaker! Let that protect me! Let that protect the speaker! We note here the insight that ultimately what matters in life are right conduct and truthfulness. Our highest ideals should be adherence to ethical principles and to truth. That would keep us safe and sound in life, no matter what. In history there are forward and backward steps on two planes: the conduct plane and the knowledge plane. Positive steps along the conduct plane is what enlightenment is all about: the kind of actions, whether by individuals or by nations, that are kindled by caring, compassion, and kindness, and are beneficial to others. Positive steps on the knowledge plane lead us to a better understanding of the world. We acquire this knowledge from dispassionate inquiry and science. Its pursuit is often colored by emotional factors and past misconceptions. When one rids oneself of such constraining factors, the resulting apprehension of truth would be clear and mind-freeing. Uttering this prayer daily is a mode of reminding ourselves of these values on a regular basis. This can help even those who don't attach importance to routine rituals, visiting temples, or fasting on appropriate days. The next shlokas I have in mind is also a widely known prayer: sa ha nâv avatu - saha nau bhunaktu - saha vîryam karavâvahai tejaswi nav adhîtam astu - mâ vidvishâvahai May He protect us! May he be pleased with us! May we labor together with vigor! May our studies bring us enlightenment! May there be no discord among us! Actually, this is a prayer that a master and pupil are supposed to offer together, so that the us stands for the two of them. But it is also pronounced by a group. Knowing the meaning, one would never recite it when one is alone in a worship mode. This prayer starts with the customary appeal for security which is a motivation for prayer, but it quickly expresses the wish that the Divine must be pleased with us. This is a poetic way of saying that we need to act responsibly, righteously, and in non-hurting ways. These are to be defined, not by what we think, but by universal standards. This is implied by the statement that the Divine must be pleased by our actions. The prayer reminds us of the work we must do. The idea of working together reflects as sense of community, of working for the common good. Furthermore, the prayer distinguishes between the acquisition of knowledge and the wisdom that must accompany it. All the knowledge in the world would be useless if it is not nourished with enlightenment. Most of all, the prayer seeks peace and harmony in the world. During my years as a professor at the university I used to recall the following lines from the Tattirîya Upanishad: â mâyantu brahmacârinah svâhâ, vi mâyantu brahmacârinah svâhâ, pra mâyantu brahmacârinah svâhâ, da mâyantu brahmacârinah svâhâ, sa mâyantu brahmacârinah svâhâ. I used to have my own rough translation of this, making it relevant to my situation. The word brahmacârin traditionally refers to an unmarried male student and seeker of spiritual knowledge. The term svâhâ is a ritual invocation at the altar of a sacrifice. For my purposes, however, I took the lines to mean: May students come to me from everywhere! Amen. May students come to me in different ways! Amen. May students come to me well prepared! Amen. May students come to me with self discipline! Amen. May students come to me in peace! Amen. I cannot say that my prayers were always granted, or rather that my wish was always fulfilled. But I felt good I was starting the academic semesters with a quote from an Upanishad which, in my translation, seemed very meaningful. Traditionally one utters these prayers in their rhythmic Sanskrit meters in religious contexts in a worshiping mode. This is fine. But when reflects on their meanings also, they become so much more beautiful. At least has been so for me. V. V. Raman February 14, 2005
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posted February 18, 2005 12:51 PM
On the new Shiv-Dharma All through India's long cultural/religious history, there have been many different sects and cults, affiliated to different deities and philosophical systems, differing doctrines, various swamis/gurus/saints, etc. Of these, the Vedic-Sanskritic, Shaivite-Tamil, and Shakta-Tantric were major pillars. Only the first of these was predominantly caste-constrained.
As most of us know, it was the British who coined the word Hinduism to bring all these under a single religious umbrella. In the process, they unwittingly unified the religious streams under a single name, as they unified the intellectual streams on India through the English language. New movements, affiliated to new swamis and Babas or to past historical personages (Sri Ramakrishna, and now Shivaji) are nothing new in Indian history, sprouting like mushrooms on a damp soil, except that in this new one there seems to be an overt repudiation of the caste system. [The Buddha and Guru Nanak had done this centuries earlier.] Practically all overseas Hindus have been doing this for more than a century, without deifying the mother of a historical hero. If Shiv Dharma brings psychological and spiritual fulfillment to the members of this new cult, I wish them the very best, especially since they are moving away from the most serious persistent flaw in the Hindu world: caste hierarchy. However, I suspect that when Ganapati chaturti comes around, most Marathis will come together and celebrate, no matter what schism seems to be occurring now. Personally, I don't regard these movements as Brahmin-bashing, but as inevitable rebellions against a social/religious system that is conceptually dehumanizing, and should have been erased by responsible (Hindu) religious leaders long ago. V. V. Raman February 15, 2005 [This message has been edited by Webmaster (edited February 18, 2005).]
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posted February 19, 2005 03:56 PM
Dialogue on a Grand MysteryAs we live through life we learn many things, and our knowledge is steadily increasing. But there are matters about which we know but nothing. There are questions which stand our impressively as questions, but they have no definite answers. One such question pertains to death. It is a grand mystery hanging as a backdrop in life. There is a famous passage in the Kathopanishad where this mystery is presented as a story. Vajashrava performs a sacrifice, offering all his possessions to the gods. His son Nachiketas asks the father, "To whom will you offer me?" Vajashrava is upset and says he would offer the son to the God of Death. Whereupon Nachiketas goes to the abode of Yama (God of Death), waits there for three days, and confronts the Death-God. Upon his return Yama, realizing that the young brahmin had been waiting for three days, promises him three boons to compensate. Nachiketas wants his father not to be not any more, and wishes to return home. This is granted. Then he seeks the secret of the altar of a particular fire-sacrifice that leads men directly to heaven. This too is revealed to him. Finally, for his third boon, Nachiketas asks: "According to some, a person continues to exist after death, but others don't believe this. I wish to know, what happens when a person who dies." To this, Yama says: "Ask for cattle and horses, for elephants and gold. Ask for progeny that will live a hundred years. Ask for lands and possessions, kingdoms and power, beautiful damsels and perennial pleasures, but don't ask for the secret of Death." This insightful passage declares in simple terms that while there are no limits to human knowledge and achievements, we can never know what will happen to the individual experience after the last breath is heaved. But the human spirit is not satisfied when boundaries are drawn on its quest. So Nachiketas does not accept Yama's answer and he persists. He refuses to take any other boon. The implication is that ultimate knowledge about the hereafter is of such significance that it is preferable to every conceivable possession or experience. Finally Yama, instead of answering the question directly, explains to Nachiketas that our actions could be for achieving one of two things: fleeting satisfactions, or what is intrinsically good. Work for attaining passing pleasures, and you will get nowhere. Work towards the greater good, and you are on the right track to immortality. Yama goes on to say that the foolish and the short-sighted imagine this world to be the only and the total reality. They think that the world will dissolve from their field of experience when they die. This is because they don't understand the true nature of the atman. For this, one must have a master who has himself realized the Truth, for higher spiritual knowledge cannot be attained by mere reading and reasoning. This is a crucial idea in the tradition. In order to fully grasp the significance of the truths implicit in the sacred texts, one needs a guru. It is through the guru that occult meanings become clear to the seeker. Those who read and study on their own can learn much in many fields, but not in the spiritual. Here, intellectual knowledge is inadequate, and may even be unsatisfying. For example, the non-spiritual reader may find this story to be interesting, but not quite revelatory about the mystery of death itself. However, a guru might explain that the episode does give an answer to the question: Nachiketas' return to his father symbolically refers to reincarnation. The reference to the sacrificial fire which enables one to go to heaven means that by leading a proper life, one obtains liberation. In other words, both re-birth and moksha are possible for one who dies. Yama also explains to Nachiketas the importance of the mystical mantra om whose apprehension reveals the nature of Brahman. He states that the atman is smaller than the smallest imaginable unit, and grander than all of physical space. Yama compares the physical body to a chariot, our reasoning to the charioteer, and the mind to the reins. The senses are the horses that take the charioteer here and there. As the good charioteer controls the horses with the reins, and does not let them drag him where they will, our reasoning mind should control our senses and not let us go astray. Nachiketas learns many spiritual truths from Yama and becomes immortal, having attained the knowledge of Brahman. Though Nachiketas is a student in this exchange, in the Upanishadic tradition he is regarded as a teacher of esoteric wisdom. Shankaracharya called him an acharya of brahmavidya. This is because of his earnestness, sincerity, and determination in the quest for higher truths. One thinks that these are characteristics of a student. Actually, they should be of a teacher no less. V. V. Raman February 18, 2005
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posted February 28, 2005 04:55 PM
Empiricism in the Upanishads The route to ideas, knowledge, and convictions about the world is through three paths: revelation, speculation, and observation. Traditional religious scriptures offer us revealed knowledge. Thus, the truths proclaimed in the Vedas, the Bible, and the Koran are taken as truths by the adherents of the respective religions. Faith is fundamental in the acceptance of revealed knowledge. Philosophers engage in insightful speculations which are discussed and debated by other analytical thinkers. Such are the views of Plato and Kant, Shankara and Ramanuja, for example. Intuition plays a role in the elaboration of speculative knowledge. Finally, we have the modern scientific methodology where empiricism is fundamental. Here nothing is accepted as valid unless it is supported by extensive observation, experimentation, and verification. This is the hallmark of science.
In the Western tradition, Aristotle was one of the earliest to insist that everything we know about the world comes from what we observe. But it was not until many centuries later - from the 17th century - that this came to be adopted as a systematic criterion in the acquisition of knowledge about the world. Thus, in modern science empiricism (observational, verification route to knowledge) is crucial. It was long believed that Indian thinkers - like their counterparts in other great cultures - relied primarily on revelation and speculation in forming their worldviews. To a large extent this seems to be the case: at least, this is the impression one gets from many ancient Hindu writings. However, there is a passage in the Chndogya Upanishad - dating back to the sixth century B.C.E. or earlier - which talks about a sage who understood very well the significance of empirical knowledge. This Upanishad speaks about ritual chants and the primordial significance of the sun, of breath and food, of the genesis of Vedic hymns and much more. In the midst of all this, we encounter a personage by the name of Uddlaka runi. His son Shvetaketu returns home after twelve years of intense study under a guru. The youth now displays the conceit of a fresh graduate who thinks he has learned everything. The father detects this, and tells him that with all his guru-given knowledge, Shvetaketu had not learned about the essence of perceived reality. As I see it, the point here is that the traditional wisdom one learns from gurus which one repeats parrot-like is often only superficial knowledge. It does not reflect any depth of understanding. There is too much of this in the religious context. Then Uddlaka teaches his son about the ultimate. He explains that beyond the pot which has form and name is the clay which is its essence. Beyond the golden articles, there is gold which is the essence. Beyond rain and grain there is water, which is the essence. From the minutest of seed arises the mammoth tree. Recognizing the hidden truth behind appearances is true enlightenment. Next Uddlaka asks his son to sprinkle salt in some water. The next day the son returns, and he can see no salt in the water, but he is able to taste it. We cannot see or touch the salt in the water, but we can experience it. So it is with Brahman, explains the father. Then Uddlaka tells Shvetaketu that a person is made up of sixteen entities. He asks him not to eat solid food for fifteen days. His breath, which consists of water, will not be affected, he says. The son does just that and returns, only to discover that he cannot recall any of the Vedic chants he had he learnt. Then the sage asks the young man to eat for fifteen days and return. The son obeys, and now he is able to recall the chants. The father explains: "Just as, in a huge lighted fire, if a single ember small as a firefly is left, and it can be made to blaze by enclosing it in a heap of straw, the little fire that was left in you, when covered with food, blazed again. So you remember the Vedas now. The mind consists of food, the breath consists of water, and speech of heat." The story shows that Uddlaka runi experimentally proved to his son what he had stated. This interesting episode is extremely important in the history of science in its unusual empirical methodology. In no contemporary writing elsewhere does one find such a dramatic illustration of the observational verification of a theory. Because episode is buried in a mountain of metaphysical musings in a work that is regarded as of primarily spiritual significance, its scientific relevance had escaped detection until a few decades ago. Debiprasad Chattopadhyaya, a historian of Indic science, drew attention to its scientific import. He argued that this exchange between father and son entitles Uddlaka, rather than Thales of Miletus, to be reckoned as the first scientific thinker in history. Uddlaka runi, he said, "did in fact boldly knock at the gates of natural science to be opened," for which effort he deserves to be called "the first rational natural scientist in the history of the Indian subcontinent, if not in global history." V. V. Raman February 21, 2005 [This message has been edited by Webmaster (edited February 28, 2005).]
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posted February 28, 2005 04:59 PM
How Many Gods? Once I was in a friend's home for dinner. The guests included some Americans. One of them asked during a conversation if it was true that Hindus believed there are millions of gods. The host gave a polite smile which suggested how ignorant the questioner was, but another lady guest, who was a physician, lashed out, saying that most ignorant Westerners think Hindus are all fools. The gentleman apologized profusely for his question, saying he had read it somewhere, and was quite sure it was a mischievous distortion, but just wanted to know what Hindus thought of this.
I asked the lady why, in her opinion, people get such impressions about Hinduism. I heard the usual answer: The British and the Christian propagandists. Then I asked if anywhere in Hindu sacred works it was mentioned that there are thousands of deities. They rather doubted it. Maybe in some puranas, someone said. I told them that the origin of that perception may be found in statements from within the tradition. In fact, in the Vedic framework, there are eight Vasus, namely: Prithvî (Earth), Agni (Fire), antariksha (Intermediary Space), Vâyu (Air, Life Breath), Dyaus (Sky), Sûrya (Sun), Nakshatra (Stars), Soma (Moon); eleven Rudras; twelve Âdityas, Indra (Thunderbolt), and Prajâpati (Lord of Progeny). They add up to 33. Each of these is regarded as a manifestation of the Divine. But ultimately, they are all manifestations of the same single Divine principle. This view is articulated in the Brihadâranyaka Upanishad in the following conversation between the sage Viddagdha Shakalya (VS) and Yâjñavalkya (Y). VS: kati devâh, Yâjñavalkya? (How many gods are there, T)? Y: As many as are mentioned in the invocatory hymns of the scriptures, which is three hundred and three, and three thousand and three. (trayas ca trî ca shatâ, trayas ca trî ca sahasreti). VS: Yes, but how many Gods are really there, Y? Y: Thirty-three VS: Yes, but how many Gods are really there, Y? Y: Six. VS: Yes, but how many Gods are really there, Y? Y: Three. VS: Yes, but how many Gods are really there, Y? Y: Two. VS: Yes, but how many Gods are really there, Y? Y: One and a half. VS: Yes, but how many Gods are really there, Y? Y: One. (eka iti.) VS: Yes, but which are those three hundred and three and three thousand and three (which you mentioned earlier)? At this point Yâjñavalkya goes on to say that those are all manifestations of the thirty-three primary gods of the Vedic framework., and then he explains who the Rudras, the Âdityas, etc. are. What is interesting in this dialogue is that when Yâjñavalkya comes up with large numbers for Shakalya's question, though the answer is based on Vedic statements, the latter does not to take him seriously. This suggests that it is not always wise to take what we read in the scriptures literally. The persistent questioning by Shakalya means that one needs to probe more and more to fully understand what the core meaning of it all is. The final answer, there is but one God, is as true as the initial one that there are more than three thousand gods, because the one God is manifest in countless different forms in air and water, in earth and sky, in sun and moon and stars, with countless different names. That is the meaning of saying that God is omnipresent: The Divine is implicit in every aspect of the perceived universe. This vision of a unity behind the multiplicity is at the core of the Hindu vision of the Divine. God, in the Hindu framework, is too grand and magnificent to be declared as One, and just left at that. To say that the Divine has only one Prophet is even more restrictive of the capacity of the Divine for self-expression. If anything, every single manifestation of God, whether as minute atoms or as mammoth stars, as mindless animals or as thinking humans, needs to be vast in numbers. Or else, God can be only a finite entity. Thus it is quite true to say that in the Hindu framework there are millions of gods. It is equally true to say that there is only one God. The Divine is like music. There is but one Music, but it finds countless expressions. It is through a particular song or sonata that we experience music. So it is that we get a glimpse of God through every form or name. V. V. Raman February 23, 2005
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posted February 28, 2005 05:51 PM
More Upanishadic shlokas Some more shlokas come to mind from the Taittirîya Upanishad. The first that had an impression on me is part of its invocatory shloka. After paying homage to the Vedic deities Mitra, Varuna, Âryamân, Indra, Brihaspati, Vishnu, and Brahmâ, it declares Vâyu (Air) to be the perceptible Brahman, recognizing that it is the most fundamental element for the sustenance of life. References to Vedic gods also remind us that the Upanishads are extrapolations of the Vedas. Indeed, most Upanishads are offshoots of Vedic literature, and are linked to the Âranyakas and the Brâhmanas. The invocation continues:
ritam vadishyâmi; satyaM vadishyâmi; tan mâm avatu; tad vaktâram avatu; avatu mâm, avatu vaktâram. I will speak about what is right; I will speak the truth. May that protect me! May that protect the speaker! Let that protect me! Let that protect the speaker! We note here the insight that ultimately what matters in life are right conduct and truthfulness. Our highest ideals should be adherence to ethical principles and to truth. That would keep us safe and sound in life, no matter what. In history there are forward and backward steps on two planes: the conduct plane and the knowledge plane. Positive steps along the conduct plane is what enlightenment is all about: the kind of actions, whether by individuals or by nations, that are kindled by caring, compassion, and kindness, and are beneficial to others. Positive steps on the knowledge plane lead us to a better understanding of the world. We acquire this knowledge from dispassionate inquiry and science. Its pursuit is often colored by emotional factors and past misconceptions. When one rids oneself of such constraining factors, the resulting apprehension of truth would be clear and mind-freeing. Uttering this prayer daily is a mode of reminding ourselves of these values on a regular basis. This can help even those who don't attach importance to routine rituals, visiting temples, or fasting on appropriate days. The next shlokas I have in mind is also a widely known prayer: sa ha nâv avatu saha nau bhunaktu saha vîryam karavâvahai tejaswi nav adhîtam astu mâ vidvishâvahai May He protect us! May he be pleased with us! May we labor together with vigor! May our studies bring us enlightenment! May there be no discord among us! Actually, this is a prayer that a master and pupil are supposed to offer together, so that the us stands for the two of them. But it is also pronounced by a group. Knowing the meaning, one would never recite it when one is alone in a worship mode. This prayer starts with the customary appeal for security which is a motivation for prayer, but it quickly expresses the wish that the Divine must be pleased with us. This is a poetic way of saying that we need to act responsibly, righteously, and in non-hurting ways. These are to be defined, not by what we think, but by universal standards. This is implied by the statement that the Divine must be pleased by our actions. The prayer reminds us of the work we must do. The idea of working together reflects as sense of community, of working for the common good. Furthermore, the prayer distinguishes between the acquisition of knowledge and the wisdom that must accompany it. All the knowledge in the world would be useless if it is not nourished with enlightenment. Most of all, the prayer seeks peace and harmony in the world. During my years as a professor at the university I used to recall the following lines from the Tattirîya Upanishad: â mâyantu brahmacârinah svâhâ, vi mâyantu brahmacârinah svâhâ, pra mâyantu brahmacârinah svâhâ, da mâyantu brahmacârinah svâhâ, sa mâyantu brahmacârinah svâhâ. I used to have my own rough translation of this, making it relevant to my situation. The word brahmacârin traditionally refers to an unmarried male student and seeker of spiritual knowledge. The term svâhâ is a ritual invocation at the altar of a sacrifice. For my purposes, however, I took the lines to mean: May students come to me from everywhere! Amen. May students come to me in different ways! Amen. May students come to me well prepared! Amen. May students come to me with self discipline! Amen. May students come to me in peace! Amen. I cannot say that my prayers were always granted, or rather that my wish was always fulfilled. But I felt good I was starting the academic semesters with a quote from an Upanishad which, in my translation, seemed very meaningful. Traditionally one utters these prayers in their rhythmic Sanskrit meters in religious contexts in a worshiping mode. This is fine. But when reflects on their meanings also, they become so much more beautiful. At least has been so for me. V. V. Raman February 14, 2005
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posted February 28, 2005 06:01 PM
Levels of Consciousness and Om All our awareness of the world recedes into temporary oblivion when we fall asleep. What is the nature of the reality that we experience when we are in the sleep state relative to the one that impresses us in our waking state?
The question has intrigued keen minds since time immemorial. Recall the famous story in Chinese philosophy about Chuang Tzu who is said to have dreamt that he was a carefree butterfly hopping happily from flower to flower. When he woke up suddenly and realized he was Chuang Tzu, he wondered if he was Chuang Tzu who had dreamt he was a butterfly or a butterfly which was dreaming it was Chuang Tzu. The Upanishadic seers had a different view on the matter. The Mândûkya Upanishad offers a theory of the modes of human awareness. Human beings, it says, can be in one of three possible states: the waking state, the dreaming state and the profound dreamless sleep state. It names these as vaishvânara, taijasa and prâjña respectively. While awake, we interact with the external world through sensory organs, feeling pleasure and pain. What we experience in our dreams are not material things. They are subtle, creating the impression of being real. Here, we still have the deep desires in which we are often enmeshed. We are still touched by pseudo-enjoyments and unpleasantness. In the level of deep sleep, all distinctions between experiencer and the experienced are dissolved. There is merger of the separated consciousness with Totality. Though this is bliss, one is not aware that one is a part of the Whole: a case of bliss in ignorance. The Mândûkya Upanishad says that there is a fourth stage. It is known as turîya, and it is the purest state of awareness. This is the true and legitimate state of the self. In this state, consciousness transcends all categories. This is the state of cosmic consciousness, and it defies verbal descriptions. This does not happen with all brains, but only with some. This is the pinnacle of spiritual enlightenment. Turîya-yoga, which the Siddhas are said to have practiced, promises such experiences. All these states belong to the continual changes to which all finite and perishable things are subject. Modern science has revealed two stages in sleep: One involves the rapid eye movement (REM) cycles which occur several times when we dream. The other is the non-rapid eye movement (NREM) stage with which sleep starts. During these phases, different types of brain activities are known to occur. It is interesting that Indic thinkers of ancient times recognized different phases of sleep, and interpreted them as stages of awareness. This translates in current paradigm into different types of brain activity. The insight of Hindu thinkers was in considering the sleep state as another mode of awareness, suggesting that awareness is a function of the type of processes in the brain. Now to a related matter. The most universally recognized sound associated with Indic traditions is om: a prolonged sonorous invocation which is as much Buddhist as it is Hindu. Its representation as a written symbol resembling the number three with a curly appendage with a crescent with a dot is as much a signature of Hinduism as the star of David and the Cross are in other traditions. No one knows the origin of this ancient sacred Vedic sound which has been reverberating in the Hindu world for ages. Many Upanishads speak about this mystical invocation. The Chândogya Upanishad begins by saying that we should meditate on om. It also says that this is a syllable of assent, of agreement. It has been noted that in ancient Tamil, one used to agree to things by repeating om twice: om-om, which later become âmâm (word for yes in current Tamil). In the same Upanishad we read that this sound emerged from Prajâpati, the progenitor of humankind. "As the leaves are all held together by the stalk," it says, "in the same way all spoken words are held together by aum." The Taittirîa Upanishad says that om is Brahman. The Shetâshvatara Upanishad says that using the body to chant om is like using a stick to rub against a surface to generate fire: In this case, the fire of the Divine. The Mândûkya gives another interpretation by relating om with the states of consciousness. Phonetically the sound om may be analyzed into three constituent sounds: A-U-M. Vaishvânara or the waking state corresponds to the A sound; taijasa or the dream state to the U sound, and prâjña or deep sleep to the M sound. And the sacred syllable, taken as a whole, represents the fourth state of turîya. It stands for ultimate realization, for supreme spiritual knowledge, for the transcendental experience of cosmic consciousness. This is why om is invoked on all spiritually significant occasions. Finally, the Mândukya Upanishad also says that all the past, the present, and the future are enshrined in om. In other words, om is a capsule-sound of what was, is, and will be; a transformation, as it were, of temporal eternity into an audible vibration. As much as for their spiritual loftiness, it is in such poetic, profound, and provocative conceptual sweeps, that Upanishadic insights become most interesting. V. V. Raman February 16, 2005
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posted February 28, 2005 06:06 PM
Keen Thinker Gârgî Practically all great civilizations have had their keen women thinkers. The vast majority of them rarely had opportunities to express themselves. But a few did manage to do that, and some of them managed to assert themselves in a normally male-dominated world. In the Hindu tradition, Gârgî Vâcaknavî was such a one. She is known to have argued with the illustrious Yâjñavalkya who is generally regarded as the author of the White Yajurveda.
Gârgî‚s name occurs more than once in the Brihadâranyaka Upanishad. On one occasion she pushes Yajñvâlkya to a logical impasse by asking, if everything is woven, like warp and woof, in water, in what was water thus woven? On air, came the reply. And on what was air woven?, asked Gârgî. On the ethereal world, was the answer. But what about the ethereal world, persisted Gârgî. So on and on the questioning went, even when the master said that Brahman was the ultimate one. Whereupon, Yâjñavalkya replied, in typical guru-mode, "Ask not too many questions, your head may fall off if you do. You are asking too much about Divinity about which we shouldn't be asking so much." Thereupon Gârgî Vâcaknavî remained silent: tato ha gârgî vâcaknavî upararâma. When I read this for the first time, I was most impressed with Gârgî. She was certainly not a yes-woman to even the greatest guru. She made the wise man admit, albeit indirectly, that he could not answer her question. This passage tells us two things: At the deeper level, we learn that questions concerning the Ultimate Mystery can never be answered even by the wisest among us. We learn too from this passage that when logically awkward questions are raised to gurus and swamis, they tend to say that we shouldn‚t be asking such questions or that such questions would lead us into trouble, rather than admit they don‚t know the answer. Traditionally, the Upanishads are regarded as the treasure-chest of spiritual wisdom, which they certainly are. But no less importantly, sometimes they reveal the weaknesses in human reasoning and they also speak occasionally, perhaps with a touch of sarcasm, about the God-talk of scholars. Then too, there are instances where the sheer power and poetry of scholars is brought out. Consider, for example, the rhetorical eloquence of Yajñavâlkya when he explains, again in answer to Gârgî, about the nature of Brahman: "It is neither course nor fine, neither short nor long; has neither blood nor fat. It has no shadow or darkness. It is sans air or space, nor contact, taste, or smell. No sight or hearing it has, no speech or mind. It is without energy, breath or mouth. It is beyond measure, with nothing without or without. It eats nothing, and nothing eats it. "This is the undecaying principle. Sun and moon stand apart at its command. It causes the subdivisions of hour and day, of months and seasons and years. From the snowy peaks rivers flow along different directions at its command. People flatter the givers, and gods depend on the patrons of sacrifices. Everything at its command. "This is the imperishable principle. It sees, but it cannot be seen. It hears, but it cannot be heard. It thinks, but it cannot be thought of. It perceives, but it cannot be perceived.." After listening to this torrent of exposition of the nature of the indescribable Brahman, Gârgi, perhaps remembering that she had been somewhat impertinent earlier to the supreme master, declares to all the scholars who had assembled there that he (Yâjñavalkya) was surely invincible in theological disputations. We are grateful that there are feminine names like Gârgî, Vâcaknavî , Vadaya Aitreyî and Sulabha Maitreyî and a few others sprinkled in our lore. This gives us the opportunity to show in the face of criticisms that, contrary to what one says, women were always held on a high pedestal in the ancient Hindu world. Perhaps so, perhaps not quite. All we can be certain about is that there are references in ancient Hindu literature to great women-thinkers. That they are few in numbers is a sad reflection of the lack of freedom and opportunity in the classical world for many of our sisters, and to the fact that much of their wisdom has vanished with the spoken word. But what is relevant is that as recently as in 1994, the Shankaracharya of Puri declared that Arundhati Rai Chaudhuri should get off a podium where she had gone to recite Vedic chants. This was not a pretty sight. The holy man went on to explain that as per the shastras women had no business doing such things. When some women protested, they were summarily thrown out. Later, the spiritual leader called for a press conference, not to apologise, but to explain that he did not mean to insult the women, but only wanted to preserve the sanctity of the tradition. God-men work in mysterious ways. Long after such Shankaracharyas have left the scene, Gârgî will be remembered. V. V. Raman Feb 25, 20 [This message has been edited by Webmaster (edited February 28, 2005).]
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posted March 03, 2005 05:24 PM
Truth and Caste: The Story of Satyakâma There are still schools and colleges in India where applicants for entry have to declare their caste affiliation. Caste-exclusiveness and caste-prejudice are as ancient as society. But there have also been thinkers who have spoken out, bluntly or indirectly, against these. A story in Chândogya Upanishad refers to this.
A young man by the name of Satyakâma once asked his mother for his paternal lineage (gotram) which is an attribute of all dvijas (those entitled to the sacred thread): kim gotro nv aham asmîti? The mother gave a frank answer: She did not know. In her younger days she had worked as a maid-servant in many homes. Her own name was Jabâlâ. So she suggested to her son that he could call himself Satyakâma Jabâlâ. The young man went to a guru and said he wanted to become his disciple. Sure enough, the guru asked him, as part of the admissions policy: kim-gotro nu, saumya, asîti?: What is your gotram, dear one.? Satyakâma frankly told the master the story of his mother, and introduced himself as Satyakâma Jabâlâ. The guru was very impressed by this honest answer. He readily accepted him, saying: naitad abhâhmano vivaktam arhati: One who is not a Brahmin could not have stated it thus. Then Satyakâma was given appropriate assignments from which he learned many spiritual truths. He took care of cows, and bred them too. A bull taught him the four-fold aspect of Brahman: East, West, South, and North which are ruled by Agni (Fire), Prithivî (Earth), Dyaus (Sky), and Samudrah (Ocean), and more such esoteric wisdom. Meditating upon such knowledge, Satyakâma became Prakâshavân: the Shining One. The Shining One now went back to his guru. The guru was astonished. "Who was your teacher?" he asked. "Other than humans (anye manushyebhya)," replied Satyakâma, and added: "But I wish that you, Respected Sir, teach me, because I have been told by people like you that knowledge learned from a teacher is most helpful in attaining one's goal." This episode provokes many reflections. For one thing, Jabâlâ‚s confession reveals that in ancient times too, some maid-servants were taken advantage of by the (Brahmin) masters of the household. However, Shankarâcharya interpreted this differently. He said that Jabâlâ was so busy serving guests and with other household chores that she had no time to find out about the gotram of her husband: This does not sound like a very credible explanation, given that the woman says she had been a maid-servant (paricârini), which is not exactly what a Brahmin‚s wife used to do. But it is an honest attempt to show that Jabâlâ was not a loose woman, and that Brahmin masters did not sire sons on their maid-servants. The guru‚s reaction is interesting. He admires Satyakâma‚s honesty, but is quick to add that only a Brahmin youth can be so truthful. I am not sure how a Non-Brahmin would appreciate a comment like this. It would have been nicer if the guru had said, "Higher knowledge is certainly within reach of one who is so truthful ." Indeed, I take this episode to signify just that. But then, the notion that only Brahmins are capable of speaking the truth was, and in many instances continues to be, an inherent feature of the caste mindset. Satyakâma's learning from an animal may sound strange at first blush. But it may well be taken as reminding us that there is much that we can learn from the non-human world. Indeed, animals often teach us more by example than by precept. The young man telling the guru that he would like to learn from the master does sound very respectful. However, when he adds that he wants this because that was what others like the guru had told him, it sounds as if this was more a propaganda of gurus than a fact. It must be remembered that the Upanishadic thinkers were bold commentators, and they were not always sympathetic to ritualism and chanting. Sometimes they made fun of such things. The notion of Brahman being on all the four quarters is a metaphorical way of referring to the omnipresence of the Divine. No matter where you go, you are sure to find God there. Also, the idea that Fire, Earth, Sky, and Water are all aspects of Brahman stems from the recognition that we cannot survive without heat or land, or without the world above: the atmosphere and sun in the sky, and the waters that surround us. Again and again we find that there are nuggets of truth in the Upanishads regarding the human condition and the societal values of the time which go beyond spiritual truths. Viewed thus, the Upanishads become (at least for me) far more interesting and study-worthy than when they are regarded simply as mystical or metaphysical insights. V. V. Raman Maryville, TN Feb 28, 2005
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posted March 03, 2005 05:29 PM
Brahman in the Upanishads It is an ancient question: Is there anything in the universe beyond the matter and energy that have been recognized as its fundamental phenomenal ingredients. Nothing really, says modern science. Most certainly there is, say the traditional religions. Furthermore, religions have given different names and different descriptions and versions of that something which transcends matter and energy, space and time.
In the Hindu vision, beyond gods and god-like beings, there is Brahman (not to be confused with the brahmin caste, or the creator-God Brahmâ). Brahman is the spiritual substratum of the cosmos. It is also a theme in the Upanishads. There is hardly an Upanishad that does not make a reference to Brahman, each in its own unique way. The Brihadâranyaka Upanishad devotes many chapters and sections to Brahman. The Chândogya Upanishad describes Brahman as the Whole, and adds that it is from Brahman that we have all emerged. In the Taittirîya Upanishad, we read that Brahman is the essence of all existence and the source of everything., and that its recognition brings us spiritual ecstasy (ânanda). The Kathopanishad says: "Beyond the senses is the mind; above the mind is its essence; beyond the essence is the great Self; beyond this is the unmanifest; Beyond the unmanifest is the all-pervading purusha who has no mark. This form is not within any field of vision; He cannot be seen with the eye, He is apprehended by the heart, by thought, by the mind. " The Mundaka Upanishad describes the imperishable Brahman as that which is "luminous, subtler than the subtle, wherein are centered all the worlds and all who inhabit them,. Brahman is life, speech, and mind." The Prashna Upanishad makes a distinction between the higher, unqualified, abstract, nirguna Brahman, and the lower, Îshavara, personified, saguna Brahman. The Shvetâshvatara Upanishad talks about that which is "subtler than the subtle, greater than the great, the undecaying, primeval Brahman which is present in everything." The Îshopanishad says that Brahman "moves and does not move, it is both far and near, it is within everything and outside of everything." The Kaushîtaki-Brâhmana Upanishad of Brahman as a person (purusha) who is behind many aspects of the perceived universe: the sun, the moon, lightning, thunder, air, space, fire, water, reflection on the mirror, sound, echo, dream, body, and eyes. The Maitrî Upanishad describes that purusha as subtle, beyond anyone‚s grasp, and one that cannot be seen. As I understand it, Brahman refers to a Consciousness that existed even prior to the first instant of cosmic creation. It spans the entire reach of space and time, and spills over to dimensions beyond. Brahman is not a He-God or a She-God that oversees our behavior to reward or punish at some future day of reckoning - though, as in other religions, Hindu mythopoesy also speaks of the celestial heaven (svarga) and hell (naraka). Brahman is rather an innate awareness that lies deep in the core of the universe - not unlike the vacuum fluctuations that palpitate in the physical universe, which twentieth century physics revealed. Brahman is to consciousness what quarks and leptons are to gross matter: the ultimate root of it all. In the Upanishadic view, every sentient being is a feeble echo of the thunderous bang that proclaimed the birth of the universe, not unlike the faint initials of great artist on a magnificent painting. As it says in Kenopanishad, "If you think you have understood Brahman well, you know it but slightly. For these are but words and descriptions. They have meaning the same way that the phrase sweetness of honey has meaning. Unless one tastes honey one can never know what that sweetness is. For this, as it states in Kathopanishad, "as desires that dwell in the human heart" must be cast away. When this happens, says the Mundaka, "just as the flowing rivers cast off their name and shape when they merge with the ocean, the knower, freed from name and shape attains purusha, higher than the high." The Subâla instructs that the esoteric dimensions of Brahman should not be revealed to one who has not achieved inner peace. But even in the midst of all this lofty metaphysics, we sometimes see matters of profound relevance to everyday living. The one that I like most is in the Paingala Upanishad where it says that the notion of mine-ness (mameti) is what keeps one in bondage (bandha), whereas the eradication of mameti leads to liberation (moksha). I interpret this to mean that a self-centered life is like being in a prison, while caring for others makes us truly free. In other words, what really matters in life is whether we have touched others in positive ways. V. V. Raman March 2, 2005 Maryville, TN
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posted March 05, 2005 03:22 PM
Infrequently Quoted Passages In previous reflections on the Upanishads I mentioned passages which have spiritual, enlightening, and moral values. Most modern (Hindu) exponents of our culture refer to these when they speak or write about the Upanishads.
However, there are also passages in these works which reflect aspects of the ancient Hindu world of which some do not wish to talk or know about. So, such passages are seldom mentioned in standard writings on the subject. However, for a fair and intelligent understanding of one's culture one should be aware of all its facets. Therefore, I will recall some of these here. Once I was under the illusion (shared by many Hindus) that vegetarianism is intrinsic to Hinduism. Some people continue to wave ahimsa as part of universal Hindu values. When I looked into the epics and the Upanishads in their originals, I discovered that this is not entirely so. For example, we read in the BrihadAraNyaka Upanishad (VI.4.18) that if one desires to have a son who will be learned, famous, and a frequenter of gatherings, will be a student of the Vedas, and will live a full life, the potential parents should eat rice cooked with meat and clarified butter. The passage goes on to specify that the meat may be veal or beef. [In this and the following I am using S. Radhakrishnan's translations.] The Upanishad also gives explicit instructions as to what mantras are to be uttered during the intercourse whose goal is to beget such a son. In the Upanishadic framework, sexual congress is looked upon as a sacrifice. It is stated explicitly (BU: VI.4.3) that a women's lower part is the altar, her (pubic) hair is the grass, her labia are the fire.., an imagery repeated in the Chândogya Upanishad (V.8.1) where we read that "a woman is the sacrificial fire, her sexual organ is the fuel, what invites is the smoke, the vulva is the flame, what is done inside is the coals, the pleasures are the sparks." That most of the Upanishads are male-centered also becomes obvious when we read a passage like the following (BU:VI.4.7): If a woman does not grant a man his desire, he should buy her (with gifts). If she still does not grant him his desire, he should beat her with a stick or his hand, and subdue her with his power and glory, saying "I will take away your glory.' The caste mindset of the Hindu world is also apparent in some contexts. Thus, in the Chândogya Upanishad (IV.2) there is the story of Jânashruti who took with him 600 cows, a gold necklace, and a chariot to offer to the sage Raikva in exchange for knowing about the deity whom the sage worshipped. Whereupon the sage rejects the offerings, and dismisses the man as a shûdra. Radhakrishnan offers the following explanation: "it may be that the king (Jânashruti) is addressed a Shûdra because he comes for instruction with an offering of riches like a Shûdra and not with proper obeisance and attendance as befits the higher castes." No shyness about political correctness here. The Chândogya Upanishad declares flatly (V.10.7) that those whose conduct on earth has been good will soon pass into a good womb, and will be born as a brâhmin, a kshatria, or a vaishya. But those who behave in evil ways will soon enter an evil womb, and be born as a dog, a hog, or as a candâla (untouchable). Not many enlightened Hindus of the twenty-first century feel comfortable reading such things. Some re-interpret them in ingenious ways. As I see it, there is no need for such reactions. Every great civilization has its positive and negative expressions. Indeed, the greater a civilization the more some of its unhappy manifestations tend to be. It should also be remembered that what strikes us as shocking, embarrassing, or untenable in this day and age was not necessarily so in a different era. It is not fair to be judgmental about people of a different generation. Rather than condemn or awkwardly defend our ancestors some of whom were clearly racist or sexist, what matters is that we ourselves should try not to be so ourselves, nor permit such behavior in our own times. In dynamic, growing, and creative civilizations there are always thinkers who point to what may not be its best qualities. They are the ones who serve their culture best. In this context, we may recall an episode from the Chândogya (I.12) in which a certain Baka Dâlabhya goes to study the Vedas, and sees a white dog. Other dogs gather around this dog and say, "Get us food by your chants, for we are very hungry." The dogs acted like priests, and made a mantra-like sound. And they chanted, "Om, may we eat! Om, may us drink. Om, may Varuna, Prajâpati, and Savitr bring us food! Oh, God of Food, bring us food here! Bring it here, Om!" This is clearly a satire on rote ritualistic chanting by someone with a sense of humor who was also a fearless commentator on orthodoxy. What a brilliant galaxy of observers, thinkers, philosophers and mystics those great rishis were who authored what have become classics in humanity's heritage! V. V. Raman March 4, 2005 [This message has been edited by Webmaster (edited March 05, 2005).]
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posted March 08, 2005 04:09 PM
Some Greek Parallels Worldviews in places far apart have sometimes overlapped. There are similarities between Norse and Roman gods, between Babylonian religion and the Judaic tradition, between Hindu deities and the Greek pantheon. It is known that there were mutual interactions and influences among ancient peoples, but questions as to who influenced whom, and where an idea first arose are still matters of controversy, often colored by nationalistic sensitivity. I have seldom been interested in such matters because, on final analysis, we all belong to Homo sapience, trying to figure out what it is all about.
Wisdom is not the monopoly of any one people, any more than that intelligence is the characteristic of any one race or caste. So, just as we had our rishsis and kavis, the Greeks had their hoi sophoà (the wise ones) and hoi poietaà (the poets). Thales of Miletus was the foremost of the Seven Wise Men (sapta rishi) of Greece. He is remembered, among other things, for his pithy saying: panta udor estin: All things are water. This reminds us of the idea expressed in the Upanishads that water is Brahman. This is only one example of the parallels between some Upanishadic visions and those of some ancient Greek thinkers. Anaximander, a fellow Miletian, spoke of an immaterial apeiron as the arche (beginning) of everything. His book On the nature of things begins with the statement: "That from which all things are born is also the cause of their coming to an end....." He imagined that in the beginning a seed of hot and cold was separated from the boundless apeiron, whence emerged a huge sphere of flame around the air, like the bark of a tree. There are similar cosmologies in the Hindu world also. Anaximenes talked of pneuma: air as the ultimate substance. Pneuma refers to something more than the physical air we experience. It is the life-principle, and corresponds to the chih of the Chinese and the prâNa of the Upanishads. It says in the Kaushîtaki-BrâhmaNa Upanishad, prâNo brahmeti: prâNa is the Creator. Heraclitus of Ephesos declared that fire is at the root of all changes, reminding us of the passage in the BrihdâraNyaka Upanishad where it says that Agni is in the sun, in the rain-bearing cloud, on earth, indeed that men and women are also fire. Heraclitus also spoke of opposite tensions by which everything was characterized by the coexistence of opposite tensions which were normally in a state of balance. The balance is upset when one of the forces gets the upper hand. The break in the equilibrium causes change. This is like the three-guNa theory in Hindu thought. Parmenides was the greatest of the Eleatic philosophers. His famous line is hen ta panta: all things are one. It very simply sums up the advaitic worldview. But then we do observe changes. Parmenides explains this by saying that these observed changes are not real. They appear to be so because of our inability to recognize the unchanging principle beneath it all. For him, the universe was a large, unchanging, unmoving body which remains the same for ever and for ever. This was Ultimate Reality, not unlike the Upanishadic Brahman. The universe with all its changes is an illusion, in the minds of those who have not realized that Ultimate Reality, he added. The Shvetâshvatara Upanishad reminds us that the phenomenal world (prakriti) is an illusion (mâyâ). Parmenides also argued, like some Hindu thinkers, that instead of trying to explain lightning and the rainbow, we must strive to uncover the true nature of reality. Empedocles of Acragas was a physician, philosopher, poet, and physical theorist. He believed that he had been a bird and a fish, even a shrub, in previous incarnations. He was not the only Greek thinker to subscribe to reincarnation. According to one interpretation of his writings, he propounded the notion that the world passes through four successive stages which repeat themselves. In the first stage, Love reigns supreme. All the elements were fused together. In the second stage, Strife gradually enters the scene, and begins its disruption. In the third stage, Strife takes over completely, and the elements are separated out. In the fourth and final stage, Love re-enters: little by little, the elements come back together. This was his idea of the cosmic cycle. Parallels with the Hindu concept of the yugas are inescapable. One can go on and on. Clearly, the visions of the Upanishadic seers were not unique to them. Other thinkers in other regions and climes had similar inklings as to the ultimate. The urge to see unity behind multiplicity, commonalty beneath diversity is an ancient urge that inspires the human spirit in its quest for meaning in existence and purpose to life. The sages and seers of the ancient world, like scientists in our own times, knew no boundaries of nation or religion. They expressed in the language of their times the deepest insights they came upon whether through reflection, intuition, or meditation. It is not surprising that we find parallels between Upanishadic visions and the writings of Greek philosophers. V. V. Raman March7, 2005
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posted March 10, 2005 01:15 PM
The Ramayana I vaguely recall hearing from my grandmother the story of Rama breaking a most extraordinary bow, and thereby winning the hand of the fair princess Sita. My older brother and sister were also listening to the story which did not mean much to me, as I was as yet too young to know about winning the hand of a fair princess. But I was fascinated by the narration in my own ignorant way.
When I was a little older I used to attend expositions on the Ramayana, presented ever year by a scholar-musician who was a master in that characteristically Indian art form in which a religious classic is narrated with reverence and erudition, accompanied by devotional music, and spiced with commonsensical wisdom and humorous commentaries on human folly. Kathâ-kâlashepam, it is called in Tamil, which literally means spending time by listening to a (religious) story. I am glad I wasn't mature enough to ask my grandmother why a bow had to be broken for Rama to win Sita, for that would have spoiled all the charm of the episode. I am happy too for not having blurted out other such irrelevancies to the learned man who was re-telling the epic to an audience that was experiencing the joys that come from listening to a familiar and moving story. But questions used to pop up in my mind. Great stories - whether historical or fictional - have to be read or listened to while grazing in the realm of the imagination, for their truth lies not so much in factuality as in the meaning, message, and inspiration they impart. So it has been with me all through the years. The Rama and Krishna I read about in the epics are not the same that I sometimes pay homage to in a temple. The epic characters are grand heroes whose words and deeds may be analyzed and admired, even criticized and castigated here and there. They are trans-denominational and trans-national, universal like Agamemnon, Hamlet and Faust. The icons in the temples to which we sing kîrtans and bhajans are indelible cultural imprints that carry the weight of centuries with a mysterious spiritual significance to those who have blended into the tradition. The Ramayana is the saga of the divine personage Rama and his consort Sita. The two have become the ideals of truthfulness and chastity in the Hindu tradition. Few other names in human history have provoked the love and respect that Rama and Sita have done in millions of Hindu hearts. The Ramayana has nourished the Hindu spirit and India's culture for many centuries now. Yet, we have no idea of when it merged into our collective psyche. When was the Ramayana composed? Even after centuries of scholarship, no one has a definitive answer. The traditional view is that the work is several thousand years old. Rama's reign is said to have been during the treta yuga which, according to Hindu traditional reckoning, was at least a million years ago. If we take the findings of modern archaeology and geology seriously, this contention will have to be moderated. There seems to be some literary evidence to suggest that even before the actual composition of the epic masterpiece, certain more ancient ballads treating the story of a Rama and a Sita were popular in northern India. It has been suggested that it was perhaps from these that a great poet took his germinal ideas. Specifically, some Buddhist Jataka tales speak of a brother and sister called Rama and Sita. Sita's name is also mentioned as a furrow in some Vedic hymns, while there is mention of a King Janaka (Sita's father in the epic) in the Brihadâranyaka and the Kaushîtaki Upanishads. A related question is the historicity of Rama and of the other characters in the epic. In other words, is the Ramayana literature or history? This may be a matter of enormous interest from the perspective of history and comparative literature; but it is also an extremely sensitive question from the point of view of a dynamic living religion. Dispassionate scholars may explore the genesis of what they regard as one of the most marvelous creations of the human spirit with great reverence and admiration for the work. When the eminent scholar Dr. Suniti Kumar Chatterjee wrote on the Ramayana from this perspective he was severely criticized by orthodoxy, fearing that questioning the historicity of a divine hero knowledge thus might shake the stability of ancient practices. Such reaction is not unique to the Hindu tradition. When scholars began to examine the historicity of Jesus in the 18th century, there was uproar from the religious establishment. In some other traditions, there would be more than uproar. But as long as minds are free to think and express their thoughts, such explorations will continue. Such inquiries could have a negative impact on some aspects of religions. In other ways they enrich the culture by deepening our understanding of our own past. In the next few reflections I will recall the Ramayana as a magnum opus in humanity's heritage: a work that, besides its spiritual value, is beyond question unique as a literary composition. V. V. Raman March 9, 2005
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posted March 12, 2005 03:44 PM
On the author of the Ramayana I once asked a teacher in my school who had authored the Ramayana. "Valmiki," he said unhesitatingly. "And who was Valmiki?" I asked further. "He was the author of the Ramayana," the teacher said. "When and where did he live?" I persisted. "Why do you want to know that?" he replied, somewhat testily. "When you eat a rasagulla, do you ask who made it, or do you just enjoy it?"
This seemed reasonable, but I was unhappy that my curiosity was not quenched. Gradually I came to realize that it is an intrinsic feature of the Hindu tradition: the original authors and originators have slid into the background, leaving their mantras and messages resound for themselves. Nevertheless, I continued to wonder many times about who the master poet was who wrote the saga of Sri Ramachandra in Sanskrit. When did he live and where? What were his other interests? How old was he when he composed the work? How was his family like? Who was his guru? How did he put down thousands of poetic lines long before the invention of paper and pen? How did the first listeners and readers of the work react to the work? How was the epic conveyed to distant places in ancient times? Unfortunately, very little of historical credibility is known on these matters. Among the lost treasures of humanity's heritage are details on the lives and doings of the creative minds of the ancient world. We know next to nothing about the geniuses who first contrived the wheel and the shovel. Our knowledge of the architects of the Pyramids and the Stonehenge, of the authors of the Vedas and the epics of India is just as lost in humanity's erased memory. A veil has come down between us and the personalities of those great minds: We are unable to see them any more as mortals in flesh and blood. But we do have traditions which have preserved tales about those real people. Thus, the Ramayana is attributed to sage Valmiki. He is surely the most prestigious name in all of Sanskrit literature. We honor him as Adikavi: the first of poets. What little we know about Valmiki's life is gathered from the Ramayana itself, and from assorted writings, like the that blend fact and fancy with the same teasing indifference to physical possibilities as many other puranic episodes. As per the Balakanda, at the sight of a bird which had been cruelly killed by the arrow of a hunter, Valmiki exclaimed in sorrow. Then he said, "May this utterance (with its prosodic measure) issuing from my sorrow become the Shloka mode and none other!" (SokArtasya pravRtto me Shloko bhavatu nAnyathA.) This has become the legendary etymology for the word Shloka which is actually one of the five standard meters in Sanskrit prosody, often used in aphorisms. In the opening canto of the Bala Kanda we are told of how the sage Narada revealed to Valmiki the entire epic in answer to a query, and how the Creator Himself appeared before the poet and induced him to compose the work as magnificent poetry. In the Ayodhya Kanda we meet Valmiki in a hermitage which Rama and Sita visit along with Lakshmana. In the Uttara Kanda we read that it was in Valmiki's hermitage that Sita spent her years after being renounced by Rama on the suspicion that Ravana had violated her. Lava and Kusha, the twin sons of Rama and Sita, are said to have been under Valmiki's care and guidance in their boyhood years. True or symbolic, there is also a story to the effect that this noble author of the saga of Rama was once a highway robber who plundered innocent travelers to add riches to his family. It occurs in the Adhyatma Ramayana [which is part of the Brahmânda Purana, and expounds the spiritual significance of the Ramayana]. Here we read that the great Valmiki confessed to Rama: "I was born in a family of a Brahmin, but kept myself in the company of thieves and hunters. I lived their life. My wife was a Shudra woman and I had many children from her. I knew of no other profession and was therefore turned into a way-layer and a bandit..." One of his victims once asked him if his kith and kin would share the fruits of his sins. When the robber put this question to his wife and children, they frankly told him they would take a share of his loots, but certainly not of fruits of his sins. Having thus learned the lesson that we alone are responsible for our actions, even if their benefits may be used by others, the robber went to the sages for counsel. a variant of the story, it was Narada who instructed the man to mend his ways. The future poet is said to have been in a meditative posture for so many years that his whole body was eventually covered up by a huge anthill. The sages now came back to the scene and named him Valmiki, which is Sanskrit for ant-hill. Incredible, for fascinating as most of our puranas are. V. V. Raman March 11, 2005
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posted March 15, 2005 03:04 PM
Thoughts on Mantharâ Mantharâ is the evil-minded hunch-back maid who served Queen Kaikeyî, Bharata's mother and Rama's step-mother. When all Ayodhya was rejoicing at the announcement of Rama's imminent coronation, Mantharâ barged into Kaikeyî's chambers, and conveyed the news. The queen was overjoyed, but the maid was furious. She called the queen a foolish woman for not realizing that her own son would miss out. When Kaikeyî replied she regarded Rama as her own son, Mantharâ persuaded her to demand of the king that her son Bharata be crowned, and Rama be exiled to the forest for fourteen long years.
In the Mantharâ-Kaikeyî dialogue we witness with sadness the gradual transformation of a generous Kaikeyî into a mean and malicious woman. Every trace of love and compassion is erased from her being, as she is goaded to pierce a deadly arrow in Dasaratha's heart by her demand for Rama's exile. We see in the Mantharâ episode the power of speech. This simple servant had an understanding of maternal psychology, but also eloquence. By making Kaikeyî feel that her own son would be cheated out, Mantharâ succeeded in injecting venom into the queen's attitude. We note from this episode how susceptible we are to the influence of the wicked, and how we can commit heinous deeds when we feel threatened. Though much hated, Mantharâ is the most important character in the Ramayana, because she is the most pivotal person in the epic. Without her there would have been no exile of the hero. Without that exile Ravana could not have kidnapped Sita, and the tyrant would have misruled for ages. Take her away, and the Ramayana would have ended in the second book with Rama crowned in glory. Strange that a deformed and misguided woman made the Ramayana such a great epic! Why was this maid so much against Rama? Kamban's explanation is that as a lad Rama had flung mud balls at Kooni's hump, and she never forgave him. Tulasi Das says it was Goddess Saraswati who instigated Matharâ at the behest of jealous gods. He also throws in an ancient prejudice: "the one-eyed, the lame, and the hunchbacked are always mean and malicious, especially if they are women and slaves ." "Rise, you stupid one!," Mantharâ told the queen, "How can you be lying down when danger is confronting you? Are you not aware that a flood of misery is about to engulf you? . Exactly as an enemy or a serpent would do if unnoticed, King Dasaratha has treated you and your son . You and your family will be destroyed by this wicked king who utters insincere words of kindness, when he installs Rama as king." she said. We know she was crooked in mind and in body too. Yet, after Kaikeyî had been brainwashed, this is what she told the hunchback: "Though gently bent like a lotus in a breeze, you are good-looking. your body is of slight size with a fair navel, as if it were shy. Your behind is broad, and your breasts are wholesome. You have the features of the spotless moon. You look so beautiful .. Your shanks are close, and your feet are exceptionally long. You are charming with your long thighs as you walk in front of me, Oh lovely Mantharâ, who are draped in fine linen!..." And Maikeyî promised to adorn her maid's hump with a chain of molten gold of the highest caliber, decorate it with sandal-paste, and place on it a lovely golden disk with gems. The queen addressed the her as Sundari (beautiful woman). The poet reminds us through this that when one listens some advice, believing it will bring glory and happiness, one becomes absurdly grateful. When the mind is clouded by evil and petty thoughts we pay homage to that which is not in essence good. This is the sad story of Mantharâ: a despicable character, but she is indispensable for the epic. We recognize from this episode that we need a grain of evil to instigate good in the world. Would there have been a Gandhi without the oppressive British, or a Martin Luther King without racists in the American South? Or the Ramayana without Mantharâ? Causality is a complex matter, especially when it relates to human affairs. Superficially insignificant events and apparently unimportant persons can cause things to happen that have great impact on the course of history. Thus, when slavery was abolished, some British plantation owners enticed bonded laborers from India to work in places from Fiji to the Caribbean. In due course the Indians grew in wealth and education, became powerful citizens, and laid the foundations for caste-free Hinduism. A deranged Austrian painter became the notorious Hitler who caused death and destruction to countless millions. From the ashes of the war he unleashed arose a unified Europe, stronger than ever before. In these instances we find that the road to heaven is sometimes paved with evil intention. This is the truth that Valmiki illustrates through the character of Mantharâ. She was indeed an evil creature, but it was her deed that brought to the attention of the world Rama's greatness. V, V, Raman March 14, 2005
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posted March 17, 2005 10:15 AM
Bharata of Kekaya: His dream and his character When I started reading the Ramayana in the original in four different languages, I discovered that the standard abridged versions often skip many interesting sections. My reflections here based on some of the notes that I took in such contexts.
India's ancient geography is lost: Places like Mohendodaro and Harappa are described as the seats of ancient Pakistani civilization. Sindh, which gave India her modern name, is no longer in the Hindu world. Kashmir, which is to remind us of Rishi Kashyapa, has been seeing conflict for decades, created by the descendants of converts to Islam generations ago. And of other places there are hardly any relics. The Kekaya kingdom in the North-West of India was between Gandhâra and the River Beas. The puranas say that Kekayans were half Sanskritic. They once had a king called Ashvapati. His daughter (Kaikeyî) so fascinated Dasaratha that (long before Mantharâ) he promised his kingdom to her son, if she would be given in marriage to him. Kaikeyî's son Bharata was a remarkably righteous person who, like practically everyone in the epic, had enormous respect and reverence for Rama, his elder brother. Bharata was at his uncle's residence in Girivraja when he was summoned to Ayodhya. He did not know that Rama and Lakshmana gone into exile, and that king Dasaratha had died. When the messengers arrived, a cheerless Bharata was narrating to his companions a foreboding dream that had tormented him the previous night. In the dream he a dejected Dasaratha plunge from a mountain peak into a quagmire of cow-dung where he was swimming, drinking oil from the hollow of his palms and laughing intermittently. He smeared his body with sesame oil. Bharata also witnessed the oceans dry up, and the moon fall on earth, and the world thrust into darkness. He saw the tusk of the king's elephant shattered, and raging fires suddenly extinguished. Young women, of dark and reddish brown complexion, clad in black, attacked the king, and took over his seat. Then, with red flowers and painted in sandal paste, the great king departed southwards in a donkey-driven chariot. An ugly demonic woman who mocked the king was dragging him. Such had been the scenes in Bharata horrible dream. Now he was asked to return to Ayodhya forthwith. We are reminded of the Latin poet Ovid's words: Somnia me terrent, veros imitantia casus: Dreams frighten me that imitate a real fall. When, upon his return, Bharata heard what had happened, he became furious. He gave a severe tongue-lashing to his mother, calling her sinful, greedy, contemptible, and more. Describing this emotional tempest, the poet introduces two animal-similes in one sentence by saying: Having thus spoken, the very enraged Bharata hissed like a serpent, and fell down unconscious like an elephant pierced by a javelin. Kaikeyî had misread Bharata, and so did Kausalyâ Rama's mother. She suspected that Bharata was going to greedily accept the crown. However, learning that Lakshmana too had left with Rama, he began to curse him in the strongest terms, wishing him the consequences of many awful kinds of sins for going away with Rama, instead of preventing him from leaving the kingdom. Bharata saw Mantharâ bedecked in the jewels Kaikeyî had given her, and wearing ostentatious robes, looking, says the poet, like a female monkey bound with a number of strings. When a guard handed Mantharâ to Shatrughna the latter seized the poor woman with rage and dragged her on the floor. Tulasi Das describes the scene starkly: "Her hump was smashed, her head split, her teeth were broken, and there was a stream of blood from her mouth." Bharata calmed Shatrughna's anger by saying that women did not deserve to die at the hands of men, and that Rama would be much upset if he knew they mistreated the wretched woman. Bharata ordered engineers to build broad roads to where Rama and Lakshmana were, so that he could march there with his army to persuade or force Rama, if necessary, to return to Ayodhya and rule the country. Lakshmana mistook his advance, thinking Bharata had sinister intentions, until Rama calmed him down. Upon Rama's adamant refusal to return, Bharata went back reluctantly, placed Rama's sandals on the throne with a parasol. The Rama-Bharata encounter is reckoned as one of the most moving episodes in the epic. He ruled the land for fourteen years from outside the capital, in Nandigrâma where he lived modestly, without any royal splendor. In the Uttara Kânda we read about a terrible battle which lasted for seven nights in which three million Gandharvas are said to have perished in an instant. One has to take the figure as a poetic exaggeration, unless nuclear weapons were involved. At the end of that war, Bharata's sons Taksha and Pushkara were installed to rule over those regions. Such was Bharata, another hero. He was strong, yet unassuming. Valmiki reminds us through him that many good people are often misunderstood by their own kith and kin. V. V. Raman March 16, 2005
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posted March 22, 2005 05:26 PM
Urmila When I was in high school, in a Hindi course at school we had to read a short story by Maithili Saran Gupt. While talking about this great Hindi writer, our teacher said that he had written a version of the Ramayana called Saket, in which Lakshmana's wife Urmila is the central figure. Our teacher also told us that the poet Rabindranath Tagore had listed Urmila among the forgotten heroines of Indian literature.
Some years later, I looked into the three major versions of the epic (Valmiki, Kamban, Tulasi Das) and discovered how true this was. The most glaring episode is when Lakshmana fervently pleads with Rama to take him along in the fourteen-year exile to the forest. Rama tries to persuade Lakshmana to stay in Ayodhya to serve Kausaly and Sumitr (their mothers), with no mention of Urmila. But Lakshmana absolutely wants to accompany Rama. What is sorely missing is that he does not inform Urmila of his decision, nor even take leave of her, let alone consult with her on the matter. I searched for any other reference to the neglected wife, but could find nothing. Then, during a chance conversation with a Telugu scholar, I discovered that there is an ancient song in Telugu that is entitled Urmila Devi Nidra (Divine Urmila's Sleep). I believe this is the source of a story to the effect Urmila was an artist who was painting when her husband walked into her chamber, calling aloud her name. Somewhat concerned, she stood up hastily, and in the process, spilled the paint from the pot. She explained to Lakshmana that she was painting a picture of Rama on the day of his coronation, and was planning to send it to her father Janaka. Lakshmana explained that because of Kaikey?he coronation had been cancelled, and he went on to say that he was going away with Rama to the forest for fourteen years. According to the story, Urmila was happy for her husband since he had this wonderful opportunity to serve Rama and Sita. She even asked Lakshmana to go right away, without wasting time with her. She ad ded something that would seem strange to many. She asked Lakshmana never to think of her as this would be a distraction from focus on his service to Rama and Sita which, after all, was the primary motivation for his going with them. She didn't want to accompany him so as not to take away his attention from Rama. We may note two things here. First this is an entirely new creative episode by a later-day poet, for such an incident is not reported in Valmiki's original. Secondly, this author has beautifully constructed a story in which we see Urmila as a selfless and extraordinary wife. At the same time, one may also interpret her reaction as arising from deep disappointment, not to say resentment, at Lakshmana's devotion to Rama and Sita at her expense. She knows that it would be of no avail asking Lakshmana to stay or to take her along with him, for his devotion to Rama was way beyond his attachment to her or to anyone else in the world. By letting him go without her, she is accepting with wisdom what would happen anyway: What is unavoidable is to be accepted cheerfully. The Telugu trans-creator of the Ramayana also introduces a scene in the last book in which Urmila, along with the wives of the other two brothers, protests Rama's treatment of Sita. They even demand that, if that is how he would treat Sita, he should kill them. In our own times, the Malayalee playwright Srikantan Nair wrote a play entitled Kanchana Sita in which, during the fourteen years when her husband was separated from her, Urmila undertook serious studies of the shastras (canonical texts) under the guidance of learned scholars. Furthermore, she engages Rama in a debate when the hero banishes his wife. When the hero justifies it on the basis that he had to submit to the will of the people who suspected Sita's chastity during her stay in Ravana's prison, Urmila wonders how Rama managed to ignore the will of the people and went on his exile, inspired by his own will and judgment. Rama does not say, touchÌ∫ Whether Valmiki so intended or not, the story of Urmila is a sad one. A young bride, beautiful and devoted to her fine and handsome husband, she was forced to spend the better part of her youthful years in solitude, with no communication with her beloved. Some have said, we don't know on what basis or authority, that during those years Lakshmana kept in touch with Urmila, by means of prnic energy: some sort of magical cell-phone, one would imagine. I am inclined to think that Valmiki introduced Urmila and her plight precisely to provoke thoughtful people to reflect on how it was/is not uncommon for men - especially the idealistic ones - to plunge into the pursuit of their grand goals at the expense and to the neglect of their wives who often bear it with equanimity. Neglect of women and wives is ancient in human culture. That later writers brought this out explicitly shows that there are keen observers and thinkers in the Hindu world. But unless realization affects attitudes and actions, there will always be Urmilas all over the world. V. V. Raman March 18, 2005
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posted March 22, 2005 05:31 PM
Shurpanakha I remember once when I was traveling by train from Calcutta to Bombay and the train stopped at the town of Nsik, a gentleman got out and made a worshipful gesture on the platform. Back in the compartment he said he always paid his reverence to the place where Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita had stayed. It was from here that Ravana kidnapped Sita, he explained, adding triumphantly that it was also the place where Lakshmana cut off Shurpanaka's nose, which is how the town got its name. Nasik (nsik) means nose.
Shurpanakha is a tragic figure in the Ramayana. She was no paragon of beauty. She was a rakshasi, a giantess of horrendous proportions and ugly features. Her nails were like a winnowing basket (which is the etymological meaning of her name). Valmiki describes her as having a large belly, deformed eyes, coppery hair, a frightful voice, hard-hearted and aged, vile and repulsive, and deformed to boot. In the same sentence where this description is given the poet refers to Rama as having a charming face, a slender waist, large eyes, beautiful locks of hair, a pleasant aspect, a sweet voice, youthful, righteous and amiable, as if to say that the entire epic is about the confrontation between whatever is ugly and evil with whatever is beautiful and good. When Shurpanakha saw Rama, infatuation for him was blaze in her heart. She wondered why such a man was clad in ascetic garb and what brought him to the forest where ogres and beasts dwelt. Rama calmly told about his exile, and asked her who she was, albeit with a touch of sarcasm for he described her as possessing charming limbs. Shurpanakha told Rama about herself and her five brothers, and confessed her passion for him, asking him to become her husband, while also deriding fair Sita whom she called ugly and unworthy of him. Recognizing perhaps that she was making a fool of herself, Rama tried to have some fun at her expense. He pointed to Lakshmana who, he informed, was without a wife. "Take my brother as your husband, large-eyed beauty," he teased her. When she came to Lakhsmana, he too decided to have some fun. Humbling himself as a slave at the service of his brother, he re-directed the ogress to Rama. The infatuated Shurpanakha now rushed to Rama, and in attempted to attack poor Sita who was merely observing the comical scene. Rama thwarted this attempt to assault his beloved and advised Lakshmana not to jest with cruel and unworthy persons, forgetting, it would seem, that he himself had done just that. Furthermore, he asked Lakshmana to "mutilate that ugly, vile, fat woman." The angry Lakshmana obeyed right away, and cut off the ears and nose of the unfortunate Shurpanakha. Bereft of nose and ears, bleeding profusely and writhing in pain, she fled into the woods to complain to her brothers Khara and Dhushana (Dh?a). Though in her extreme rage she wanted Ravana to punish Rama, she also recognized Rama's supreme strength. That is why she advised him to go in disguise to ravish Sita. But in the end, when Ravana set out to fight Rama face to face, she begged him not to dare, for she was sure that would end in a terrible disaster. Though swayed by passion Shurpanakha was also intelligent. I never liked the nose-cutting episode. There is something needlessly savage in this inhuman treatment of a woman by the two noble brothers. Not long ago I read a tasteless re-telling of this incident by someone who had clearly not read the original, and was thought he was writing a humorous piece. In contrast, Sharmila Biswas produced a more sensitive and enlightened treatment of the story in an Odissi dance drama, raising such questions as: How could Rama and Lakshmana - said to be incarnations of Vishnu - mutilate a woman? Most male interpreters simply say that Surpanakha was evil and so deserved the treatment, and that it was because of the merciful nature of Rama and Lakshmana that they simply cut off her nose and ears, instead of killing her right away. Practically all the great literatures (and histories) of the ancient world were authored by men whose view of women did not include the respect which at least some in our own times are trying to cultivate. What this means is that while it may be unfair to judge past generations by the standards of present values, it would be dark-age-minded to offer defensive explanations for such behavior which amounts to justifying it. Nose-cutting and other forms of mutilation were not uncommon modes of punishment in many ancient societies. Vestige of such practices still remain in some languages. Sometimes on warns a child to behave, or else one would cut off the nose. The practice has been reported in some present-day Islamic countries. Whether symbolic or not, Shurpanakha and Manthara, the two personages who are ultimately responsible for the downfall of Ravana, were both women. Manthara managed to send Rama to the forest by instigating Kaikeyi which she did by arousing her jealousy; Shurpanakha sent Ravana to the same forest by arousing his lust. V. V. Raman March 21, 2005
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posted March 24, 2005 05:12 PM
Ravana the Rakshasa When I first heard about ten-headed Ravana I told my mother this was impossible. She explained to me he was a rakshasas, and rakshasas were abnormal beings, huge and with magical powers. Once this was granted, it was easier to accept the idea. I discovered that the key to appreciating any mythology or belief-system is to agree to the rules, and then proceed. Ravana, the best known rakshasa, is a mixture of some fine qualities and many horrible ones. We get a a glimpse of his stature when we read this: When furious Shurpanakha showed up without a nose, this mighty rakshasa of dazzling glory was on the pinnacle of his seven-storied palace, clad in heavenly attire, adorned with a garland and with jewels studded with stones that glittered like stars, and surrounded by ministers.
After ten thousand years of austerities, he had obtained from Brahma a boon by which no god or demon, no bird, serpent, beast or monster could kill him, nor vanquish him in combat. Armed with such power he wrought untold havoc, killed pitilessly whoever dared to raise a head. His body was marked by scars from battles with demons and deities, from which he always emerged victorious with his awesome ten heads. Enraged by the sight of his noseless-sister, and aroused by the description of Sita she gave him, Ravana schemed to grab Rama's wife. With his appetite for women, he had ravished Rambha who was married to his brother Kubera, as also the Naga queen. Before the abduction of Sita, he bragged to her about his prowess. Boasting that he had seized Kubera's aerial chariot, he said that even gods fled from him in fright. The winds were afraid of him, the sun cooled off in his presence; bustling leaves and flowing waters stood still when they saw him. He vaunted about his great capital where buildings were of gold, the city gates were bejeweled; where, amidst horses, elephants and chariots, one heard the sound of soothing music. Valmiki devotes several chapters to a description of Lanka. Ravana claimed, Archimedes-like, that he could lift up the earth, but without a lever, with his own bare hands; that he could drink the oceans dry, kill even Death, and torment the sun. So stupendous was his power. But he committed the most unpardonable sin of all when he kidnapped Sita. He had gotten away with similar offenses before. But this time, all his might was brought to naught. His crime eventually spelled humiliating disaster and death. The climactic sections of Yuddha Kanda (War Book) of the epic are replete with notes on ancient (epic) warfare where mantras and magical missiles breathe life into archery of the highest caliber. The battle is between Rama and Ravana, one representing untarnished Good and the other embodying Evil pure. The scenes are like what we sometimes see in science-fiction movies. How remarkable that an ancient poet gave so many details on war! It was a tough battle. In Kamban's version, at one point Rama exclaimed: "Though arrows numbering more than grains of sand have struck Ravana's eyes, and arrows sharper than the thoughts of scholars have gone into his wounds, he is alive!" At last, after countless men and monkeys had died, and the sky was darkened by the arrows flying every which way, Ravana was felled down by an arrow from Rama's bow. That was the end of a life that had lasted 30 million days. Kamban says that Rama noticed the fatal wound on Ravana's back, and felt ashamed that he had killed a fleeing man. This he regarded as a personal dishonor. In one stroke the poet exposes Ravana as a coward and Rama as noble. Ravana is remembered as a vicious giant who ruled Lanka and ravished Sita. But his grieving brother Vibhishana reminded the world in his eulogy that Ravana was generous in gifts to mendicants, he enjoyed life, and supported his dependents. He gave riches to friends and avenged his enemies. He had practiced austerities, mastered the Vedas, and been a master of rituals. He had deep devotion to Lord Shiva. Ravana reminds us of the ancient truth that power corrupts. Francis Bacon wrote: "It is a strange desire . to seek power over others, and to lose power over oneself." How true this was of Ravana who had no self-control in his craving! Power swells people's head, and enables them to subdue the weak and the defenseless. In the hurt and harm they inflicted, every conqueror from Alexander and Attila the Hun to Genghis Khan and Ibrahim Lodi, was a Ravana in his own way. Most traditional writers portray woman as the temptress to whom man as succumbs. In the Ravana-Sita episode man tries to seduce a woman, and she resists. The story tells us that lust, left loose, results in the downfall of even the most powerful, and that marital chastity is virtue supreme. Sometimes I have wondered: Sita was saved because of who she was. But what about the thousands of others who were harvested for his pleasure? The world often needs a powerful victim to bring down a powerful oppressor and establish justice in the world. [Recall what happened Lebanon last month.] V. V. Raman March 23, 2005
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posted March 26, 2005 04:08 PM
Dasaratha Aside from the usual history, we have in the Hindu world a sacred history whose elements are etched in the framework of the culture. The personages and episodes in our sacred history are at the root of many aspects of Hindu thought and observances. It is difficult to know the origins of this history, but it could be that it sprang from personages and events of ordinary history and took on a creative life of its own.
Per this sacred history, there once was a great king by the name of Raghu. Like other great kings he made many conquests. Kalidasa's Raghuvamsam says he subdued the Persians (Parasikas) and the Ionian Geeks (Yavanas). Emperor Raghu had a son named Aja, which means one who was not born. Aja's son was the emperor Dasaratha who, as everyone in the Hindu world knows, was the father of the hero of the Ramayana. Dasaratha's glory is described with poetic flair by Kamban. Rendering this into English would be like making a papier-machÌ∂ersion of a Michelangelo. Fully aware of this, let me try to spell out some of what Kamban says: The qualities of a good ruler are wisdom, compassion, serenity, strength, unblemished heroism, generosity, meting out justice, and fairness. Dasaratha had these qualities twice in measure as any other king. His love for his subjects was like that of a mother for her child. He guided, led, and took his people along the righteous path. He cured their ailments too. He traversed the ocean of the indigent by answering to them their needs, the ocean of knowledge by vast reading, the ocean of enemies by felling them with his sword, the ocean of pleasures by wisely enjoying them. This glorious king held sway over turbulent rivers, birds, beasts, and even the minds of women of questionable morals. From the heights of his well guarded capital whose hills resembled palaces with precious stones, the world seemed to the king like his own capital. His spear was often blunted by use against enemies, and his golden anklets suffered wear and tear as they often rubbed against the crowns of the kings he subdued. Sounds awkward in (my) English. But the Tamil is a delight to read. India's genius for hyperbolic poetry is among her great treasures. Dasaratha's love for Rama was extraordinary, bordering on abnormal attachment. He could not live without Rama whom he literally adored. If Freud had read the Ramayana he would have called excessive love to one's son Dasaratha complex. Once during a hunting excursion, the great marksman Dasaratha shot a fateful arrow in the direction of a gurgling sound, imagining it was from a wild elephant at a water hole. But the arrow pierced a young ascetic who was drawing water from a well for his aging blind parents. "Which fool did this to me!" he wondered aloud, and upon seeing Dasaratha, said, "Be not tormented by the thought that you have killed a Brahmin, for I was born of a Vaishya father and Shudra mother." [Neo-Hindu apologists notwithstanding, caste hierarchy is found in many episodes in our epics.] The remorseful king duly carried the water to the blind parents. When he told them what had happened, the father cursed the king that some day he too would die of putrashoka: the pain ensuing from the loss of one's son, and promptly died. This was one of two major events in Dasaratha's life which were to serve as a springboard for the saga of Rama. The second occurred in the course of a battle. An axle of his chariot lost grip on the wheel. His queen Kaikeyi who was with him then used her own hand as the axle. Deeply moved by her service, the king promised her two boons whenever she would ask. Years later, Kaikeyi chose to ask for the coronation of her son Bharata and for fourteen years of exile of Rama. Dasaratha's end came as per the imprecation of the old man in the forest. He writhed in pain and fell unconscious at the sight of Rama leaving for the forest, watching the dust rise and fall on the road as Rama walked away. The next few days were sheer agony. Six nights after Rama's departure, alone in his chamber with queen Kaushalya, he recalled to her in great detail the incident with the young man with blind parents, saying: "One reaps the fruits of one's actions, good or evil. If one cuts a mango grove and plants straws, what fruits can he expect?" After recounting the whole story, King Dasaratha exclaimed "Oh Raghava who relieves me from my suffering, who is so precious to your father! Oh Kaushalya, I cannot see anymore! Oh austere Sumitra,! Oh cruel Kaikeyi, enemy and disgrace to family!" After uttering these words, he left his physical frame. Dasaratha got four wonderful sons as a result of an elaborate sacrifice. He had the joy of seeing them grow till they were adolescents, he was happy to see them married. Not long after that, events got out of control. It was an even greater sacrifice when Rama left, and this turned out to be for the benefit of humankind. In this sense we are all Dasarathas in our own little ways, for we put in some effort to obtain things for ourselves. Sometimes we do greater sacrifices for the welfare of others. V. V. Raman March 25, 2005
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posted April 01, 2005 11:38 AM
In the Ashoka Grove The Ramayana is a religious work, for sure. But it is also rich in history and geography, in poetry and philosophy. Valmiki was as much a nature poet as a keen observer of human nature. His opus is rich in meticulous descriptions of birds and beasts, plants and trees, rivers and streams and more.
Consider, for example, some of his descriptions of the botanical garden in Lanka. Hanuman sneaked into that garden in his quest for Sita. He discovered it to be abundant in trees like Bhavya, Champaka, Udd?ka, N?kesara, and most of all, Ashoka (Saraca indica) [sacred for Jains since Mahavira attained enlightenment under it, for Buddhists since Buddha was born under it, and for Hindus because Sita was found under an Ashoka tree.] That orchard had mango trees galore. There were herds of deer sauntering amidst trees which looked golden and silvery. The ruddy thickets looked like the rising sun. The plants were in full bloom, countless crimson fruits were hanging from the branches of mango trees. As Hanuman stepped stealthily in the grove, he jolted some of the sleeping birds. But he also heard lots of cuckoos. The creatures were in heat, declares the poet. Sometimes the breeze caused by the flapping of the wings of the birds made flowers fall on Hanuman. Thus covered, he looked like a multi-hued floral mountain. The trees, thinking he was spring embodied, shed their blossoms and leaves, and looked like gamblers who had lost all in a game, including their clothing. The giant stride of Hanuman with his long whipping tail battered some trees, making the grove look like a young woman with disheveled hair with her tilak removed, and whose red lips, accentuated by shining teeth, had faded away. Then Hanuman came upon an absolutely magnificent ground with sheets of gold and silver studded with gems. He saw pretty ponds with crystal bottoms with various contours containing sparkling water, with steps adorned with precious stones. They were surrounded by sands of pearls and corals. Tall golden trees were standing around the ponds. Valmiki reminds us in this way that Ravana was not a wild savage, but a super-rich potentate with sophisticated tastes who had grand mansions erected, magnificent groves planted, and beautiful ponds carved out, all for his pleasure. We also realize how in the midst of such material abundance there can occur fatal moral decay. Hanuman spent the whole night in that garden. At dawn he heard the chanting of Vedas by Brahmin rakshasas. If you thought some Brahmins were like rakshasas, this passage tells us that some rakshasas were also Brahmins. Hymns lauding Ravana were sung to wake up the sleeping king whose attire was chaotic for he was tossed by a passion for Sita. But now he wore rich and adorning ornaments and walked to the Ashoka grove which was filled with fruits and flowers, plants and trees and birds and deer and lotus ponds. A bevy of a hundred lovely rakshasis followed him. Some were carrying torches with golden handles. Others bore water jugs, yet others carried circular cushions. Some of the pitchers they brought were studded with gems and filled with wine. One woman was holding a canopy which had the shape of a swan and was shining like the full moon. The rakshasis were transpiring due to their exertions. So their jewelry got displaced, the sandal paste on their bodies rubbed off, their hair was messed up, and their faces were moist. The flowers they wore had shriveled. Some of them were intoxicated, but all were eager to see Sita. Hanuman could hear their tinkling bangles and anklets. He spotted Ravana from his hiding place, his face illumined by torches, his body smeared with fragrant oils. The rakshasa king was full of lust, looking like Kama (Cupid) without his bow. He adjusted his garments which were white as foam from churned milk. Thus did Ravana ready himself to see Sita. Then he approached Sita who is described here as one with charming limbs and well-formed breasts, with tresses black like the corners of her eyes. When Sita saw Ravana, she sat and wept, hiding her abdomen behind her thighs and her breasts with her arms. She looked miserable in her pain, left there like a bark on a beach. Her limbs were covered with dirt from the ground, she looked like a lotus stalk mired in mud. She was charming and yet not charming. Her thoughts were with Rama as she wept. The poet goes on to say that Sita seemed like fame that had dimmed, faith that had been held in contempt, understanding grown feeble; she looked like shattered hope and doomed prospects, like an order disobeyed, worship intruded upon; like full moon in eclipse, an army whose soldiers were killed, sunlight obscured; she was like an altar desecrated, flame extinguished, a flock of birds scared away .. Such are some of the similes of poet Valmiki who refers to sunset and seasons, to moon and mountains, to creepers and creatures all through his work. He reveals enormous knowledge of nature and of geography. He must have traveled much and meticulously observed the sceneries. His lines couldn't have come from pure imagination. V. V. Raman March 330, 2005
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posted April 01, 2005 11:48 AM
Discussions on 'In the Ashoka Grove. But I'm intrigued as to why you would want to describe this epic as 'a religious work, for sure'. I have only full praise for persons who take the puranas-itithasas as works of poetry, like Macbeth, Illiad, and so on, but once we take it literally, as actual events in history, as scriptures, as doctrines - then we may be moving into controversial waters. The way I see it even the vedas as we have today, is not 'for sure'.
Is there a compelling reason why you use these words - 'for sure'? Generations to come may be arguing over these selection of words. I see nothing in the actuality of these Ramayana events. Thanks. Pathma This is a valid and understandable reaction. I had in mind the view of millions of traditional Hindus when I used the phrase Perhaps I should have added, Thank you for your input. V. V. Raman March 30, 2005. Many Hindus refer to Trinidad as, 'This is Ramayan Country'. This is because of the status of the Ramayan here; and by Ramayan, we mean, Goswami Tulsidas Krit Ramayan. The Ramayan has played a critical role in shaping the Hindu community in religious, social, political and ideological matters. Ramayan for most Hindus in Trinidad and Tobago is 'a religious work, for sure'. In fact, we refer to the text as Holy Ramayan. While in earlier times, the Bhagvaat Puraan was the popular text of the 'singhaasana' (gadi/gaadi/seat of the pravachan or kathaa kartaa); the Ramayan of Tulsidas Ji has become the first text of Hindus here as well as in Guyana and Suriname. In 1995, when Indians commerated 150 the anniversary of Indian Arrival, Goswami Tulsidas was given the title ' "Father of Hindu Caribbean' to acknowledge the role of Ramayan in the Caribbean. There was also one International conference on Ramayan in Trinidad. Ramdilla/Ramleela, which takes the Ramayan into open theatre is popular in Trinidad, and present in Suriname...Guyanese are now deeply desirous of organizing the open air theatre there; some only dimly remember Ramleelaa there, there is interest in its revival now. Derek Walcott, Noble Prize Winner a few years back, was moved to use Ramdilla as a metaphor for the Caribbean in his speech on 'Fragments of an Epic Memory'. In it he describes Ramdilla as , 'faith', not theatre. Last year, the Kendra, of which I am a member, began Baal Ramdilla, in which children wrote, narrated and acted many episodes from the Ramayan in a village called Raghunanan Road, Central Trinidad Young Shiva played Rama, Kamla played Mother Sita, Joey Maraj played Ravan, Reshma Toolsie played Manthara - she received the best actor award and Preetam played Hanooman. The children all fasted for one month before the Ramdilla. Here; in TT - Trinidad and Tonago and the wider Hindu caribbean - Ramayan is Scripture - for sure. raviji Sri Aurobindo has made very perceptive observations as to the 'spiritual' and 'religious' nature of Indian poetry and philosophy in his 'Foundations of Indian Culture'. The difference in what made 'poetry' to the Western and Indian mind can be easily highlighted by the fact that a Milton's 'Paradise Lost' or even a Dante's 'Divine Comedy' could never be a mind-forming element as did the Ramayana and the Mahabaratha (even if we do not take into account the countless 'religious' literature of the various Indian languages). It is not to mean that a Milton or a Dante were inferior poets but that the 'poetry' that made their works have something significantly different and a grasp of which is essential not to compare the spirit of their works with the 'religio-cultural' spirit that permeated Indian poetry.
The various chapters titled 'Indian Spirituality and Life' in 'Foundations...' are those that clarified me when I had similar questions. Here is a quote: "Volume: 20 [CWSA] (The Renaissance in India), Page: 178 The whole root of difference between Indian and European culture springs from the spiritual aim of Indian civilisation. It is the turn which this aim imposes on all the rich and luxuriant variety of its forms and rhythms that gives to it its unique character. For even what it has in common with other cultures gets from that turn a stamp of striking originality and solitary greatness. A spiritual aspiration was the governing force of this culture, its core of thought, its ruling passion. Not only did it make spirituality the highest aim of life, but it even tried, as far as that could be done in the past conditions of the human race, to turn the whole of life towards spirituality. But since religion is in the human mind the first native, if imperfect form of the spiritual impulse, the predominance of the spiritual idea, its endeavour to take hold of life, necessitated a casting of thought and action into the religious mould and a persistent filling of every circumstance of life with the religious sense; it demanded a pervadingly religio-philosophic culture." ovishvesh [..and for Hindus because Sita was found under an Ashoka tree.] This is a misconception. Sita was found under a simsapa tree in the ashoka garden. Vide Sundara Kanda Chapter 14 Verses 42 and 43. PKRamakrishnan
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posted April 01, 2005 11:54 AM
The spiritual vs the literary dimensions of the RamayanaTension between scholarship and devotion: Is the Ramayana literature or history? This is a matter of great interest from the perspective of history and comparative literature; but it is also a very sensitive question in a dynamic living religion. Dispassionate scholars, even with great reverence and admiration for the work, may explore the genesis of this grand creation of the human spirit. But to those of the tradition, the work carries far more significance than its literary richness. Sometimes there is the fear that a purely scholarly approach might shake the stability of sacred icons and time-honored practices. The tension between scholarship and tradition is nothing new. It is a cultural manifestation of the perennial conflict between the head and the heart. All through human history, in practically every society touched by civilization, the behavior and beliefs of tradition have been analyzed, not to say challenged, by inquiring minds. Such efforts often result in newer insights and greater understanding, but they also cause discomfort, not to say shock, on many people. In spiritual matters, the conquests of the mind tend to upset the joyous heart. An impeccable proof to the effect that no almighty God lovingly holds His protective hand over our heads when we go to sleep could result in restless and worrisome insomnia in some. Whether one should accept the evidence of facts and the logic of arguments, or respond to the tantalizing call of faith that assures emotional security and spiritual ecstasy is the delicate dilemma that many have to face in certain contexts. Some make a decisive choice, and having done this, plead for their own preference as the only right one to make, sometimes even deriding those who have made a different choice. Wisdom probably lies in the recognition that there is no such thing as the right approach in this matter, if only because one is as human as the other, and not everyone thinks or feels the same way. We may see in this dichotomy of human inclinations an illustration of the ancient Hindu wisdom which sees the world and all life as a concoction of contradictions. The same sky that is dazzlingly bright at noon is pitch dark at midnight. The same ocean on which boats sail can also drown ships. The same person who is loving and kind at one time can become harsh and mean at another. We may also look at it in terms of what physics calls the principle of complementarity, by which ultimate reality is recognized as consisting of apparently contradictory, but in fact mutually complementing, features. Physicist Niels Bohr used to say that there are two kinds of truths, small ones and great ones. A small truth is one whose contrary is clearly false. That milk is white is a small truth, because to say that milk is black is clearly wrong. But a great truth is one whose contrary is no less true. To say that religions have done much good is as true a statement as that religions have done much harm. Centuries ago, Jaina insight spoke of anek?a v? which recognized the multiple aspects of higher truths: Any grasp of truth depends on one's perspective, and so can only be partial. This is an enlightened synthesis of modesty and wisdom. As long as we are experiencing one side of a coin, we cannot perceive the other. But it would be a grave error to imagine that the coin has but one side. For the analytical scholar to maintain that the spiritual dimension of the R?yana is without significance would be as partial a vision as that of the religious devotee who does not recognize that bhajans and images are meaningful symbols and instruments towards a greater goal, and have evolved over the ages in human culture. However, it would also be rash to conclude that those who regard the Ramayana as only literature are devoid of spirituality, or that those who sing Ram bhajans are necessarily spiritually more evolved. One can drink deep of the spiritual fountain of the R?yana if one has grown up in the rich tradition whose sources are in the India of the ages. It is equally possible, perhaps no less satisfying to some, to consider the R?yana as the work of a poet of extraordinary genius. The charm of Aesop Fables lies not so much in the conversations and actions of the animals as in the morals they spell out. Keen thinkers have seen behind the stories and characters of the epic deeper truths about the human condition and about the spiritual side of existence. That is why the works of the great masters stand out. There is a subtle substance in the works of Homer, Dante, Virgil, Shakespeare, and Goethe that permeates their narratives and rhymes and meters. But what has made Valmiki unique and unequaled is that from his creation have arisen voices and values that have breathed life into a civilization that has lasted the shocks of centuries. His work has inspired more art and music, more dances and reflections, more festivals and celebrations than perhaps all the others put together. And this, not only because it is the most ancient of them all, but also because it has become inextricably intertwined with the life and ideals of the common person such as the others have not been able to do. So, when I reflect on the magic that is the Ramayana, I do so with an acute and humble awareness of its majesty, marvel, and spiritual grandeur. There are times when Rama and Sita become the foci of my meditation. But when I reflect on their saga, I do so from the perspective of one who has experienced it as poetry and as a rich source of India's ancient cultural history. These aspects of our great epics are usually marginalized, ignored, or unrecognized. Even scholars often tend to shy away from them. V. V. Raman March 31, 2005
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posted April 03, 2005 01:23 AM
Kumbhakarna (KumbakarNa) There is hardly a mythology without beings stupendously larger than humans. Titans (Greek), Gigantes (Roman), Bestla (Norse), Fachan (Celtic), and Rakshasas are all are species of mythological giants. Giants were good, bad, or both in ancient tales. Later writers like Jonathan Swift in Gulliver's Travels and Rabelais in Gargantua-Pantagruel created their own mythical giants.
The giant Kumbhakarna was Ravana's brother. He too did years of austerities to obtain power. But before he was to receive a boon, the gods begged Brahma not to grant him anything because he had devoured nymphs, rishis and others, and might gobble up all the three worlds with his prowess. Whereupon Brahma summoned Saraswati to cast a spell on the rakshasa. When Kumbhakarna was about to ask for nityatvam (permanence or immortality), Sarasvati twisted his tongue, so he asked for nidratvam (state of sleepiness) instead. [Example of wordplay which Hindu writers enjoyed.] Brahma granted this, but out of pity, let him be awake one day every six months. So Kumbhakarna became a sleeping giant of Hindu lore. Kamban gives a hair-raising description of this giant. He slept on a stupendous bed in a hall seven yojanas (56 miles?) wide. He looked like the embodiment of sin. Breeze from his garden, bearing the fragrance of heavenly karpaga trees was refreshing him. Celestial nymphs were caressing his limbs. Water was gently sprinkled on his face from moonstones in the pillars of the hall. The giant breathed so heavily that had Hanuman not been careful, he would have been sucked into the giant's nostrils. When Ravana's troops were almost routed out, he ordered Kumbhakarna to be woken up, for the giant was a great fighter who could ability to defeat anybody. The methods by which they tried to wake up Kumbhakarna are incredibly humorous. They took perfumes, garlands, and vast quantities of food to Kumbhakarna's bedroom. The food consisted of antelopes, bullocks and pigs, and huge pots of blood as drink. They smeared his body with sandal paste, burnt incense in the hall, made loud noise, blew conches, and shouted. Kamban's says that myriad horses (?ram parigaL) galloped on Kumbhakarna's body. Valmiki says a thousand elephants (v?N?sahasram) ran up and down his body. Finally, when the giant woke up, all the worlds shook. His head touched the sky, his eyes were grander than the sea. He gulped 600 cartloads of rice, countless pots of liquor, and 1200 buffaloes. He gobbled elephants, even steel weapons! Gargantua's gluttony seems pale and puny compared the outrageous omnivoraciousness of Kumbhakarna. Yet, when the half-drunk and glutton went to Ravana's palace and heard about his brother's misdeed, he reprimanded him with a sermon on how to behave, and with much wisdom too. Ravana, with a touch of repentance, declared there was no point looking back, and asked for Kumbhakarna's fraternal love. Friends console us when we are in trouble, he said, but kinsmen come to our rescue when we have morally strayed. Recognizing Ravana's predicament, Kumbhakarna resolved to destroy Rama with his awesome might. He spoke with extreme confidence that he would route out the enemy's army and promised to bring Rama's head to Ravana. Then, ignoring the counsel of those who tried to dissuade him, Kumbhakarna marched to the battlefield and took hold of the most fearsome arms made of iron, adorned with garlands, generating flames. The battle between Kumbhakarna and the monkey horde fighting for Rama, narrated in a lengthy chapter (LXVII) of the Yuddhakanda, is one of the most brutal and bloody scenes in any narrative, historical or fictional. Beatings, gushing blood, maiming and mutilation: the sheer violence in it all is stunning! The only mitigating factor is that it all sounds all too fantastic: When Hanuman's chest was struck by Kumbhakarna's weapon, blood oozed from his mouth and he shrieked so loud that it sounded like the cosmic thunder at the end of the world. Kumbhakarna's body was covered by monkeys galore, but he gobbled up many of them. The parties hurled mountain chunks at each other. Kumbhakarna's nose and ears were cut, then his arms and feet, and Rama decapitated the monstrous rakshasa. His body plunged into the sea, killing crocodiles and other creatures. Thus ended the life of the tragic-comic Kumbhakarna who lived for but a day during the entire Ramayana. The poet shelly spoke of death and his brother sleep. Here the brother woke him up from sleep and sent him to death. Kumbhakarna, the symbol of sleep and sloth in our framework, was also wise and loyal to his brother. And he has added color and excitement to the epic. Like Kumbhakarna, we all wake up periodically from our sleep in eternity. And during our day that is life, we too can be wise and give good counsel. We too can be mindlessly consuming. And by misplaced loyalty we too can wreak havoc and perish. V. V. Raman April 1, 2005
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posted April 04, 2005 10:07 PM
Jabali Ravana is physically strong but morally weak. There is another personage in the epic who is rationally bright but misguided in ideals. He was a rishi, an illustrious Brahmin too, descended from Kashyapa. He was a counselor to Dasaratha. His name was Jabali.
When Rama embarked on his exile, Jabali was one of the many who tried to dissuade him from the heroic sacrifice. He described Rama's decision as not worthy of a wise man, arguing that we all must live just for our own self. In truth, he said, none is a friend, and one can't gain something through someone else. We are born alone in this world and we die alone. It is mindless to be attached to father and mother. Just as we stay for a while at a resting place when we are on a journey; our family is but a temporary place of shelter. With such logic Jabali tried to influence Rama into thinking that he ought not to follow that arduous path with potential for pain and suffering. He belittled the role of the father as no more than having been the passing guardian of the sperm from which one is born. Now that Dasaratha was no more, Rama was undergoing all the hardship for nothing. Jabali went on to denigrate funerary rites (shraddha) by which food is offered to the spirits of the departed. He called this a waste: how could dead people eat? If one could feed those who are far away, one should be able to feed one's traveling friends too. Jabali said that those who instruct us to give religious gifts, perform sacrificial rites, and renounce wealth were clever schemers who try to draw us to charity for their own benefit. Jabali also propounded the materialistic philosophy by which the tangible world is everything, there is nothing beyond what tickles the senses. He advised Rama to forget about promises and principles, and return to the kingdom that was legitimately his. Rama, the embodiment of virtue and righteousness, was appalled that one who had served as his father's minister uttered such words. He rejected Jabali, calling his ideas unwholesome, sinful, unclean and worse. He would follow the righteous path, not only because that was the right thing to do, but also because if he abandoned truth and returned, he would become a terrible role model for the people. "Truth alone is the eternal royal path," he declared, an ideal that is as valid today as whenever it was spoken. It is in statements like this that the core wisdom of Indic seers may be found. Rama went on to elaborate on righteous conduct to the confused Jabali, reminding us of Krishna's preaching to Arjuna in the Gita; except that, unlike Krishna (who spoke from his own divine wisdom), Rama kept saying what Vedic rishis and other sages had told so, reminding us that the Rama of Valmiki is noble, but still only human. In this reply of Rama, as stated in Valmiki, there is an intriguing statement: "It is well known that one who follows the Buddha should be punished as one would punish a thief, and an unbeliever is equal to Buddha." A reference to Buddha (600 B.C.E) by Rama who is said to have lived in another yuga, raises serious questions about the date of Valmiki's composition, not to say of Rama himself. When the Ramayana was composed, there were unbelievers (n?ikas) in India, as there have always been in any dynamic civilization. That a rishi would make a cynical remark about the shraddha ceremony sounds incredible. Perhaps the poet wanted to bring to our atention the fact that such views were entertained even by some in the upper caste. The episode also says that skeptics and unbelievers often lived in fear of the establishment, and quickly disavowed their views if those in power were upset. Thus, upon seeing Rama's reaction, Jabali retracted, saying, "Normally I don't champion the ideas of unbelievers. I do it only if I think it would serve some purpose." The purpose here was to bring Rama back to Ayodhya. Since that did not work, Jabali said that he became a believer again. Indeed, Vasishtha came to his colleague's defense, telling Rama that Jabali was only pretending to be an unbeliever in his commendable effort to bring Rama back home. As in all great works, there are several conflicts in the Ramayana: The initial conversation between Manthara and Kaikeyi was a conflict between jealousy and generosity. The Kaiyeyi-Dasaratha conflict is between self-centered heartlessness and paternal love. The Rama-Ravana conflict is between nobility and depravity, between supreme good and supreme evil. And the Jabali-Rama conflict is between materialistic atheism and enlightened righteousness. All these reveal that human life is multi-faceted and wrought with perennial conflicts. Through the poet's exaggeration we see the deeper roots of superficial confrontations. If these situations had been presented in a milder manner, we might not be able to see their full implications. By painting them in all their gory monstrosity the poet helps us better appreciate where meanness, jealousy, self-centeredness, lust, ignoring righteousness, and the like can eventually lead us to. Jabali's story shows that India was a complex civilization with many streams of thought even in that distant age. V. V. Raman April 4, 2005
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