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

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

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

onDRenDRiru - 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

peTRiDum 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

TEnukkuL 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.

aRam 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.

ponGkazakam 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

ODan 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

munnai 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

naranilan 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

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.

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

Nataraja 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).

People 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

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

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

As 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

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

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), Sűrya (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 Yâjńavalkya (Y).

VS: kati devâh, Yâjńavalkya? (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 Yâjńavalkya 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 Yâjńavalkya 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.

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

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

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 c