THE SACRED LAND
Round about the town of _Thanesar_ lies _Brahmavarta_ the sacred land
of the Hindus, and within a short walk of the town is Kurukshetra.
Thanesar itself is in ruins, and the lake near which the Pandavas and
Kauravas fought their great battle is now a dismal swamp, yet adorned
on one side by a beautiful fringe of really magnificent banyan trees,
under whose leafy covering are sheltered a few of those unimposing
brick and plaster temples so common in Upper India.
Unsparing time has strewn the whole world with the ruins of man’s
handiwork. The crumbling remains of cities, temples and palaces may be
found in every country under the sun; and, according to circumstances,
appeal to widely different feelings and evoke widely different
sentiments in the heart of the spectator. Thus, it is with a profound
sense of the reality and greatness of Roman power that we muse amidst
the columns of the Forum, or recall to mind in the mighty Colosseum
the tragic pastimes of the imperial people. It is with a respectful
admiration, not unmingled with pity, that we see in old Delhi the
considerable ruins of the lordly mosque constructed out of the spoils
of more ancient Hindu temples. But it is only with a feeling of simple
depression, unrelieved by any other sentiment, that we wander amongst
the extensive brick ruins of Thanesar, unredeemed by a trace of either
beauty or grandeur, and largely tenanted by monkeys, in whom a pious
Punjabi graduate recognizes “defunct Brahmans ... watching as it were
over their old habitations.”[108]
I visited the town in December, 1892, and never have I seen a place
which looked more utterly forlorn. Whole streets of brick-built houses
quite modern in appearance falling into ruins, which are too mean
to be interesting, too recent to be picturesque and, for the most
part, entirely uninhabited, except by the “defunct Brahmans” already
referred to. Where shops and dwellings still exist they partake of the
general tumble-down character of the town; but the wares for sale are
by no means ancient, and show that the remnant who burrow in Thanesar
still indulge in the rich confectionery of the country and still take
pleasure in the gay-coloured _saree_ and the glittering _chowree_ of
glass.
Amidst the general decay a few Hindu temples with tall, tapering spires
still show a brave front, and the tomb of the Mussulman saint, Shaikh
Chilli, built on a slight elevation, rears its marble dome into the air
with something of pride; but the rest, as I have said, is meanness and
squalor itself.
Within the precincts of Shaikh Chilli’s tomb is a school where I saw
the boys at their tasks as I passed in to see the place. “What unlucky
boys,” thought I, “to be brought up amidst the unwholesome moral
atmosphere of a decaying city!”
Although there is no present glory or grandeur about Kurukshetra, a
visit to it will repay the thoughtful student of Indian history and
religion.
In an expanse of flat country, from which, however, the blue outlines
of the Himalayas may be traced in the distance, the traveller finds,
a short way outside Thanesar, a shallow swamp about three miles in
circumference and overgrown with weeds. This is the historic lake
which, according to General Cunningham, was a sacred place long
anterior to the great war; indeed, as far back as the time of the Rig
Veda itself. “Can it be possible,” I mused, as I stood beside this
weed-covered pool, “that for a hundred generations the affectionate
devotion of the Hindu race has consistently and persistently clung to
this unattractive bit of water in an open plain?” “And how is it,” I
asked myself, “that their piety never adorned its banks with temples
(for there are here no ruins worth speaking of), and why is it now so
neglected?”
Will the reader accompany me round the lake and survey it from all
points of view?[109] On the east side are the only important buildings,
the largest being a temple of very modern date and no architectural
pretensions. It is an ordinary _Mandir_; but has just a slight local
character in the fact that it contains five coloured clay statues of
the Pandavas, railed off from the too curious or too pious spectator
by a strong, rudely constructed railing of bamboos. It rejoices in
the possession of a huge iron frying-pan--not less than eight feet
in diameter and about nine inches deep--to which my attention was
specially directed. This gigantic frying-pan is much in demand on
festival days, when the multitude pays to be fed by the Brahmans.
A flight of steps leads from the temple into the water, and runs
nearly along one-half of the eastern and northern sides of the lake.
A causeway on arches extends into the lake and ends in a small temple
picturesquely shadowed with trees. Another bridge, now but little above
the level of the water, parallel to the causeway just mentioned, leads
right across the lake, joining to both east and west banks a small
island in the middle, on which that famous bigot, the Mughal Emperor
Aurangzeb, erected a diminutive fort to accommodate a small garrison,
intrusted with the duty of preventing the Hindus from bathing in their
sacred pool.
Proceeding along the east bank we pass a number of small tumble-down
shrines, overshadowed by majestic banyans, extending their mighty arms
in graceful curves over the tranquil green water. We still follow the
steps and arrive at the north end which has quite a recent look about
it. Our guide tells us that this modern addition was the work of one
“Larkeen Sahib,” an official in these parts, who was very fond of the
Hindu, and had built this _ghat_ for them out of a feeling of gratitude
because his wife had owed her recovery from a mysterious illness to
the intercession of the Brahmans. Oh! “Larkeen Sahib,” I wonder if the
pious local legend which is told about you has ever reached your ears!
On the western side we find a little brick cenotaph which commemorates
the _suttee_ of the five wives of a Brahman whose name is now forgotten.
Somewhat in advance of this cenotaph, and a little away from the
lake-side, we are conducted to a “_bythuck_” of Guru Nanak, the
original founder of the Sikh sect, and we take shelter within its walls
from a pelting shower of rain which makes the landscape more cheerless
than ever. Here our guide informs us Guru Nanak used to sit beside the
sacred pool to practise contemplation. But the admiring crowds who
came to visit him would give him no peace; so one day, to avoid their
unwelcome attentions, he just sank into the ground and, following a
subterranean tunnel, emerged at Hurdwar on the Ganges. There could
be no doubt about this miraculous underground journey, for there was
the very tunnel itself to support the truth of the story, with a
substantial flight of steps leading down into it. Yes, true enough,
there were three or four steps leading down into a small hole within
the walls of the shrine. But how about the tunnel? My son descended
into the hole to explore it. A look of chagrin passed over the face of
our Brahman guide. Why this unnecessary and irreverent curiosity? The
story _must_ be true, for _every one_ believed it; and, certainly, the
position of this _bythuck_ of Guru Nanak is interesting, for it shows
how persistently the Sikhs attach themselves to the old Hindu faith to
which the vast majority of professing Sikhs now practically belong.
[Illustration:
[_To face p. 200._]
THE TEMPLE AND BATHING GHÂTS ON THE SACRED LAKE AT KURUKSHETRA.]
If there is anything that strikes one at Kurukshetra--and similar
places in India--it is that the Brahmans have clung with wonderful
tenacity through the vicissitudes of ages to their sacred _spots_;
and that though they have, according to universal belief, enjoyed
considerable revenues, they have, through all these ages, done nothing
to adorn their sacred places, which owe what temporary embellishment
they have to the not too magnificent and not too frequent liberality
of individuals. It strikes one also that, with each changing fashion
of belief, each rise of a new sect, the Brahmans having willingly
accommodated it with a convenient local habitation and have hastened to
associate its glories with those of its predecessors. Hence the shrine
of Guru Nanak at Kurukshetra, alongside which we shall, no doubt,
some day have one in honour of Swami Dayanand, when the Aryan sect is
sufficiently grown to impress the Brahmans with its importance; the
mere matter of orthodoxy or unorthodoxy being somewhat unimportant.
The reason for the wonderful persistence with which the affectionate
regard of the Hindus has hovered round their old shrines and holy
places for thousands of years, though at first sight rather strange,
is not difficult of explanation. _They have a hereditary priesthood_, a
priesthood that lives by the proceeds of the shrines, and to whom the
shrines are what land is to the cultivator. In this simple fact lies
the explanation of the matter, and of other points in Hindu religious
history, and probably in the history of other nations with hereditary
priesthoods. Successive generations of priests have, for their own
subsistence, to attract to the shrine they have inherited successive
generations of pilgrims, by keeping alive the old traditions, or
inventing new legends to suit the altered tastes of the times. As the
weeds that flourish in the lake are lineal descendants of the weeds
that grew in the same place time out of mind, so are the Brahmans
on the banks of the lake the lineal descendants of the Brahmans who
flourished there in times immemorial. As the weeds live on the rank
soil and stagnant water of the pond, so live the Brahmans on their wild
legends and stale pretensions.
Guru Nanak’s _bythuck_--the presence of which on the lake-side led to
the above digression--is but a few hundred yards from the west end of
Aurangzeb’s bridge and, as there appeared to be nothing of interest on
the south side, we crossed over to the island, inspected the Mughal
fort and, following the bridge, returned to the principal temple; but
before doing so we managed to secure a few photographs of the pretty
scene on the east bank as viewed from the bridge.
In the region round Kurukshetra, within a “circuit of one hundred and
sixty miles,” says General Cunningham, “there are popularly said to
be three hundred and sixty holy sites,” most of which are connected
with the names of the heroes of the ‘Mahabharata.’ Many of these are
no doubt genuine ancient places, as attested by their high mounds and
brick ruins. But the greater number appear to me to be the inventions
of modern days. According to the Mahatmyas, of which only one is said
to be old, the holy places had lain desolate for several centuries
after the Muhammadan conquest, when a _Dandi_ or mendicant, named Ram
Chandra Swâmi, came from Kâsi to Kurukshetra. He was grieved to see the
desolation and determined to stop there and try to restore the holy
places. But, as even the sites of many were unknown, he professed to
have obtained a knowledge of them in his dreams; and, accordingly, he
wrote a book describing them, which is called the “Mahatmya of 6000
slokas,” and also the “Dandi Mahatmya.” Long afterwards a Pandit of
Thanesar, named Banmáli, traced all the holy sites from the positions
given by the Dandi, whose account is now accepted as genuine by all
Brahmans, although “his only authority for the identification was a
dream.”[110]
With the foregoing in mind I was not very eager to visit the sacred
places, which have neither scenic nor architectural attractions.
However, I could not leave Brahmavarta without seeing the holy
Saraswati. The only form of conveyance available at Thanesar was the
_Ekka_ and, though I knew from sad experience what ekkas could do in
the way of producing discomfort to every limb, I was fain to call them
into requisition as the time at my disposal was short. Two ekkas were
engaged, one for my son and myself, the other for the indispensable
_Babu_ and the Brahman guide. What a sight we two _unhindu_ pilgrims
did present as we contorted ourselves into the springless vehicle
and set off for the Saraswati! In a drenching downpour of rain our
_Ekka-wallah_ drove us, almost jolted to bits, over the worst roads
ever made, to a spot where the _Samadh_ of a deceased Rajah of
Faridekote now stands. Here we had to dismount and proceed on foot to
the river, famous since the time when the Aryans settled in India.
Dripping wet, and aching all over, I proceeded with the rest through
the grass and slush a hundred yards or so, to find myself on the banks
of a tiny stream not twenty yards wide, which was sluggishly flowing
at my feet. I had now seen the historic Saraswati and my visit to the
sacred land was practically over.
It is at the time of a lunar eclipse, when the waters of all other
sacred tanks mingle mysteriously with those of the ponds near Thanesar,
that the Brahmans of Kurukshetra reap their harvest of gains; for then
tens of thousands of pilgrims crowd to bathe in the sacred pool, and,
of course, fee the priests according to the measure of their means and
their piety.[111] The Punjab University graduate, already quoted, gives
us some curious particulars in regard to the largesses distributed on
such occasions by the wealthy. He tells us, with reference to solar
eclipses, that “The Rajahs and Maharajahs of the land, too, are not
absent on such occasions. They untie their purse-strings, and hundreds
and thousands of rupees are considered as nothing when compared with
the importance of the moment. The Brahmans, with loads of sweetmeats
on their backs and with money in their unknown (_sic_) pockets, go
home cheerfully and thankfully. They do not fail to get many cows in
addition, and some fortunate few even receive at the hands of the
Rajahs, and other big men, presents of villages or of elephants, which
are returned for a paltry sum on the following day. Maharajah Narendra
Singh of Patiala is said to have gone the length of parting with one of
his wives on a similar occasion and, when on being asked to name her
price, the _parohit_ seemed willing to accept a lakh of rupees, the
Rani was very angry with him for demanding such a low sum in return for
the wife of such a wealthy Rajah.”[112]
The writer of the above curious passage seems strangely unconscious of
the real significance of the facts he records, and apparently finds
nothing to condemn in the vain display of ostentatious liberality,
masking actual meanness, to which he refers, and which is especially
noteworthy as supplying a probable standard by which to measure the
overpowering munificence of many personages who figure in the Indian
epics. This, too, is not mere conjecture. We have a similar instance in
the case of King Dasahratha, referred to at p. 20.
Although the attractions of Kurukshetra are greatest on the occasion
of eclipses, a tiny stream of visitors to the shrines trickles through
Thanesar all the year round. Of their visits particular note is taken
by the Brahmans, who keep a record of the names and family connections
of the several visitors. On the arrival of a pilgrim the Brahmans
inquire his name, caste and _gotra_, his native place, his place of
residence, and the objects of his visit. With these facts in their
possession some one amongst them is almost sure to be able to produce
the record of the visit to Thanesar, at some previous time, of some
relative of the pilgrim. When the Brahman has established this, from
one of his books, he thereby becomes the family priest, _pro tempore_,
and the privileged guide of the new arrival, out of whom he makes as
much money as he can. I shall not readily forget how the Babu, who
kindly accompanied me, was pounced upon by the priests; how by the
light of a flickering lamp he had read out to him all about the visits
which had been paid to Thanesar by his relatives; and how, having come
to the sacred land, he could not well leave it until, even in the
pitiless December rain, he had to enter a sacred tank and take sundry
dips under the water, while the Brahman, standing on the bank in the
shelter of some trees, repeated the _mantras_ which gave, as it were,
the approval of the church to this pilgrimage of his to Brahmavarta.
APPENDIX I
+THE “BHAGAVATGITA” OR DIVINE SONG+
“How much more admirable the Bhagvat-Gita than all the ruins of the
East!”--+H. D. THOREAU.+
It is undoubtedly in religious speculation that the genius of the
Indian people has risen to the highest level of its possibilities. And
one of the noblest products and best specimens of this theological
spirit is the “Bhagavatgita,” or Divine Song. The date of this grand
philosophical poem is very doubtful. European scholars generally
consider that it has no claim to great antiquity, and that it was
composed _after_ the commencement of the Christian era; some of them
even hold that it bears unmistakable traces of the influence of
Christian doctrine, and evidence of the acquaintance of its author
with the Christian scriptures. On the other hand, some Indian scholars
endeavour to assign a high antiquity to the poem, and suggest that what
resemblance there may be between the ideas in the “Gita” and in the
sacred books of the Christians, must have been borrowed by the latter
from Hindu sources.[113]
The “Bhagavatgita” early attracted the attention of Europeans, and was
translated into English by Sir Charles Wilkins in the time of Warren
Hastings, who himself wrote an introduction to it. Wilkins’ translation
has been followed by those of Thompson and Davis, and by Sir Edwin
Arnold’s metrical version entitled “The Song Celestial.” The poem has
been rendered into both Latin and Greek, and into most of the leading
languages of Europe, and has secured the highest encomiums possible
from literary and philosophical men in all countries, on account of its
lofty tone and striking conceptions.
The reader will remember that the “Bhagavatgita” is a dialogue
between Krishna and Arjuna, on the eve of the tremendous struggle at
Kurukshetra, and that the dialogue arose out of the refusal of the
latter to take part in a contest destined to lead to such unprecedented
slaughter of kinsfolk.
It appears from the “Gita” that Arjuna was not only moved by feelings
of tenderness towards his kinsmen, but was appalled at the thought of
the far-reaching consequences of the impending slaughter of so many
men. His prescient mind foresaw that the wholesale destruction of the
Kshatriyas would tend to serious immorality amongst their women, and
thus lead to that most dreadful of all calamities--_the mingling of
different castes!_ Such an evil was not to be contemplated, except with
the extremest religious horror, since so great a sin as a _confusion
of castes_ would inevitably lead men to the hell prepared for the
wicked, and even entail the fall of ancestral spirits from the religion
of the blessed, “their rites of Pinda and water ceasing” through the
defilement of their descendants. This was a terrible prospect to face,
but a more immediate if less weighty objection presented itself to
Arjuna in a doubt as to whether it was lawful for him to contend with
his ancient relative Bhisma and his Brahman preceptor Drona, both of
whom were eminently worthy of his highest respect.[114]
Krishna proceeds to overcome Arjuna’s scruples, first by dwelling upon
the indestructibility of the soul, and then by insisting that the duty
of a Kshatriya being to fight, it was right and proper for Arjuna to
take part in the battle, regardless of consequences. He further assumes
the responsibility for the deeds that may be done by Arjuna at his
suggestion. On these points Krishna says: “Those that are really wise
grieve neither for the dead nor the living. It is not that I or you or
those rulers of men never were, or that all of us shall not hereafter
be.... As a man casting off robes that are worn out putteth on others
that are new, so the embodied (soul) casting off bodies that are worn
out entereth other bodies that are new. Weapons cleave it not, fire
consumeth it not, the waters do not drench it nor doth the wind waste
it.... There is no (objective) existence of anything that is distinct
from the soul, nor non-existence of anything possessing the virtues of
the soul.”
Plainly the life of the individual was, according to Krishna’s
teaching, of little account, and this is strictly in harmony with
Brahmanical ideas. To comprehend such an attitude of mind it is
absolutely necessary to guard carefully against the mistake of
supposing that the Hindu conception of the indestructibility of the
soul is the same as the Christian idea of the immortality of the
individual spirit. In the opinion of the Hindu the individual soul is
part of the world-soul, a sort of animating force which may be joined,
on an unlimited number of successive occasions, to any corporeal frame,
high or low, adapting itself to the conditions of its dwelling-house.
Except when joined to matter of some sort, gross or subtle, it is void
of self-consciousness.[115] Conscious existence in the estimation of
the Hindu being a distinct and positive evil, the object and desire of
every sentient being should be to obtain final and complete extinction
of separate individual consciousness by emancipation from the trammels
of matter through suppression of all the senses. Thus far in regard
to Arjuna’s objection to the impending wholesale slaughter of his
Kshatriya kinsmen. But other subtle questions of theology arise in the
course of the colloquy which Krishna proceeds to elucidate and settle
for his dear friend and disciple.
We do not propose to follow, step by step, the intricacies of the
dialogue, but merely to set forth, as far as we can disentangle
them from the theological mysticism in which they are involved, the
fundamental doctrines and precepts inculcated by Krishna on this
occasion.
Work or labour, in any form, has always in Brahmanical theology been
regarded as an evil. Krishna, too, recognizes it as such, though
he holds it to be tolerable and even unobjectionable in certain
cases. Work for its own sake or for the attainment of any object
is undesirable, though it is lawful to do such work as may be
necessary for the performance of sacrifices[116] or the support of
one’s body; but even this work should be done without thought of
reward. As to Vedic rites, _i.e._, the old ceremonial observances,
these duly carried out lead, no doubt, to the attainment of pleasure
and power, and even heaven itself for a time.[117] But the highest
attainable good--_absorption in the Supreme Being, and consequent
emancipation from re-births_--cannot be obtained by even Vedic rites.
It is only to be reached by _knowledge_ or by _faith_. Now both the
terms _knowledge_ and _faith_ require special elucidation. What
then is the nature of this _knowledge_ which is so efficacious for
emancipation? Not assuredly what the Western world understands by
that term, but something very different, viz., subjugation of the
senses and a complete suppression of all affections and dislikes, all
hopes and fears, all desires and aversions, all pride and humility.
This condition of utter indifference to every thing, sensual or
intellectual, is the state of _knowledge_ leading to absorption in the
Supreme Being or world-soul.[118]
One method of arriving at this blissful condition, though not the
shortest or most certain, is through the _Yoga system_, which meets
with the approval of Krishna, who gives general directions as to
how the devotee, eating little, should sit in some lonely place;
how he should concentrate his gaze on the tip of his nose; how he
should mingle the “upward and the downward life breath; and how,
finally renouncing all desires without exception that are born of
resolves, restraining the entire group of the senses on all sides by
mind alone, he should by slow degrees become quiescent, (aided) by
(his) understanding, controlled by patience, and then, directing his
mind to self, should _think of nothing_.” When the devotee arrives
at _this_ stage he is emancipated, for surely he has found _true
knowledge_! While thus indicating the inefficiency of the Vedas for
_final emancipation_, and while bestowing only a qualified commendation
upon the Yoga system, Krishna inculcates very forcibly the doctrine
of the efficacy of _faith_ and, above all, faith in himself which, it
would seem, it is the special object of the dialogue to bring into
prominence. For himself Krishna claimed that he was “the productive
cause of the entire universe and also its destroyer.” He asserted that
he was “the beginning, the middle, and the end of beings,” and that
there was “nothing higher than himself.” To give weight to his claims
the god vouchsafed to show himself to Arjuna in “his supreme sovereign
form,” with many mouths and eyes, many wondrous aspects, many celestial
ornaments, many celestial weapons uplifted, wearing celestial garlands
and robes (and) with unguents of celestial fragrance, full of every
wonder, resplendent, infinite, with faces turned on all sides. If
the splendour of a thousand suns were to burst forth at once in the
sky (then) that would be like the splendour of that mighty one. The
son of Panda then beheld there in the body of that god of gods the
entire universe divided and subdivided into many parts, all collected
together. Then Dhananjaya (Arjuna), filled with amazement, and with
hair standing on end, bowing with (his) head, with joined hands,
addressed the god.
“Arjuna said: I behold all the gods, O God, as also all the varied
hosts of creatures (and) Brahma seated on (his) lotus seat, and all
the Rishis and the celestial snakes. I behold thee with innumerable
arms, stomachs, mouths (and) eyes, on every side, O thou of infinite
forms. Neither end, nor middle, nor also beginning of them do I
behold, O lord of the universe, O thou of universal form. Bearing
(thy) diadem, mace, and discus, a mass of energy glowing on all sides,
do I behold thee that art hard to look at, endued on all sides with
the effulgence of the blazing fire or the sun, and immeasurable. Thou
art indestructible (and) the supreme object of this universe. Thou
art without decay, the guardian of eternal virtue, I regard thee to
be the eternal (male) being. I behold thee to be without beginning,
mean, end, to be of infinite prowess, of innumerable arms, having
the sun and the moon for thy eyes, the blazing fire for thy mouth,
and heating this universe with energy thy own. For the space betwixt
heaven and earth is pervaded by thee alone, as also all the points of
the horizon! At sight of this marvellous and fierce form of thine,
O supreme soul, the triple world trembleth. For these hosts of gods
are entering thee! Some afraid are praying with joined hands. Saying,
_Hail to thee_--the hosts of great Rishis and Siddhas praise thee
with copious hymns of praise. The Rudras, the Adityas, the Vasus, they
that are (called) the Sáddhyas, the Viçwas, the Açwins, the Maruts,
also the Ushmapas, the Gandharvas, the Yakshas, the Asuras, the hosts
of Siddhyas, behold thee and are all amazed. Beholding thy mighty form
with many mouths and eyes, O mighty-armed one, with innumerable arms,
thighs and feet, many stomachs (and) terrible in consequence of many
tusks, all creatures are affrighted, and I also. Indeed, touching the
very skies, of blazing radiance, many-hued, mouth wide open, with eyes
that are blazing and large, beholding thee, O Vishnu with (my) inner
soul trembling (in fright) I can no longer command courage and peace of
mind. Beholding thy mouths that are terrible in consequence of (their)
tusks, and that are fierce as the (all-destroying) fire at the end
of the Yuga, I cannot recognize the points of the horizon nor can I
command peace of mind. Be gracious, O god of gods, O thou that art the
refuge of the universe. And all these sons of Dhritarashtra, together
with the hosts of kings, and Bhisma and Drona and also Suta’s this son
(Karna) accompanied by even the principal warriors of our side, are
quickly entering thy terrible mouths rendered fierce by thy tusks!
Some, with their heads crushed, are seen striking at the interstices
of (thy) teeth. As many currents of water flowing through different
channels roll rapidly towards the ocean, so these heroes of the world
of men enter thy mouths that flame all around. As moths with increasing
speed rush for (their own) destruction to the blazing fire, so also
do (these) people, with unceasing speed, enter thy mouths for their
destruction. Swallowing all these men from every side thou lickest them
with thy flaming mouths. Filling the whole universe with (thy) energy,
thy fierce splendours, O Vishnu, are heating (everything). Tell me who
thou art of (such) fierce form. I bow to thee, O chief of the gods, be
gracious to me! I desire to know thee that art the primeval one, for I
do not understand thy actions.”
After such an overwhelming argument addressed to the senses of his
disciple, after such an astounding proof that he alone is not only the
universal soul of nature but the universe itself, Krishna discloses to
Arjuna the efficacy of _faith_ above both _works_ and _contemplation_.
Thus says the god: “Fix thy heart on me alone, place thy understanding
on me. Hereafter then shalt thou dwell in me. There is no doubt (in
this);” and again: “Exceedingly dear art thou to me, therefore I will
declare what is for thy benefit.... Forsaking all (religious) duties
come to me as thy sole refuge, I will deliver thee from all sins.”
To assert the doctrine of the efficacy of _faith_ is obviously the
special object of the _Gita_; but, with the conciliatory spirit of
Hinduism, it is inculcated without too great a rupture with the
orthodox notions in respect to those time-honoured props and refuges of
the pious Hindu,--the Vedas and Yogaism. Both these are, however, shorn
of a good deal of their importance by comparison with the _new_ mode of
attaining heaven and final emancipation--_through faith in Krishna_.
Though the caste-system is strongly upheld in the “Bhagavatgita,” and
the practices of the Yogis sanctioned, many of the most liberal and
lofty sentiments find expression in this highly remarkable poem; as
when Krishna says: “Whatever form (of godhead or myself) any worshipper
desireth to worship with faith, that faith of his unto that form I
render steady. Endued with that faith he payeth his adoration to
that (form) and obtaineth from that all his desires, since all those
are ordained by me. The fruits, however, of those persons endued
with little intelligence are perishable. They that worship the
divinities go to the divinities, while they that worship me come even
to me.” Again: “Even those devotees who, endued with faith, worship
other godheads, even they, O son of Kunti, worship me alone, though
irregularly.” And in another place: “In whatever manner men come to me
in the self-same manner do I accept them.” Krishna also says: “I am
alike to all creatures, there is none hateful to me, none dear. They,
however, that worship me with reverence are in me and I also am in
them.”
In this serene and lofty impartiality of sentiment the unknown author
of the “Gita” has reached a level of generous and noble theology not
to be surpassed and probably never before expressed. But, alas! it
was impossible for him to stand alone upon this giddy height of calm
philosophy, and he descends to a lower plain of sympathetic insight
when his Krishna declares, that “there are two kinds of created beings
in this world, viz., the godlike and the demoniac. These latter are
impure, given over to their desires, and unholy, asserting that the
universe is void of truth and guiding principle, and even without a
ruler. Wedded to vanity, power, pride, lust and wrath, these revilers
hate me in their own bodies and those of others. Those haters (of me),
cruel, the vilest among men and unholy, I hurl continually down into
demoniac wombs. Coming into demoniac wombs, deluded birth after birth,
they, O son of Kunti, without attaining to me, go down to the vilest
state.”
In regard to divine incarnation, which is an old accepted idea in
Hinduism, Krishna says: “Many births of mine have passed away, O
Arjuna, as also of thine; those all I know, but thou dost not, O
chastiser of foes! Though I am unborn and of essence that knoweth no
deterioration, though (I am) the lord of creatures; still, relying on
my own (material) nature, I take birth by my own (powers) of illusion.
Whensoever, O Bharata, loss of piety occurreth and the rise of impiety,
on those occasions do I create myself. For the protection of the
righteous, for also the destruction of evil-doers, for the sake of
establishing piety, I am born age after age.”
Whether the author of the “Bhagavatgita” borrowed ideas from
Christianity or not, this, at least, is certain, that Krishna-worship
is a comparatively new phase of Hinduism; that its doctrine of
salvation or final emancipation by _faith_ is also comparatively new;
and that the tendency of this doctrine of _faith_, as taught in the
“Gita,” is to wean men from rites and ceremonies, and to discourage
them from the practice of _Yoga_.
But since it seems to be a characteristic of each successive stage
of Hinduism to keep on amicable terms with those that have preceded
it, the “Gita” endeavours to lead men to more doctrine of _faith_ in
Krishna, without more disparagement of orthodox ideas and practices
than appeared absolutely necessary for the object in view--hence the
qualified approval of Vedic rites and of Yogaism which we find in this
treatise.
Of the “Bhagavatgita,” which has been extolled as a complete system of
Indian _religious philosophy_, this brief note will, I believe, give a
sufficient idea.[119] It is, as regards Hinduism, an eclectic system
upon which has been grafted a new principle, the doctrine of salvation
by faith, which may or may not be of foreign origin. Its lofty ideas
and transcendental philosophy appeal with subtle force to the higher
feelings of the thoughtful Hindu. I have known a clever young student
of the “Gita” so powerfully affected by its teaching as to lose mental
balance to the extent of believing himself to be Arjuna. When this
hallucination passed away his one burning desire was to retire from the
world in order to live the life of the Rishis of old.
For my own part I leave this highest attainment of Indian religious
philosophy with mingled feelings of admiration and sadness.
In every nation men have allowed their speculative imaginations to play
around the great mystery of the Universe. The author of the “Gita” has
dreamed his dream as well as the others; and, like Plato[120] and the
rest, has presented as a solution of the grand problem of existence
his own fancies and his own guess-work. And these dreams, fancies and
guesses--labelled _theology_ or _philosophy_ as the case may be--have
been accepted as eternal verities and passed down from generation to
generation, only to be superseded, in their turn, by other equally
substantial fancies, equally irrefragable verities.
In leaving the “Gita,” however, let us at least admit that the Indian
poet’s dream was not deficient in nobility of sentiment and grandeur of
conception.
APPENDIX II
+THE CHURNING OF THE OCEAN+
Once upon a time the gods, having practised penances according to the
prescribed ordinances, assembled in solemn conclave on the golden
summit of Mount Meru, to consider how they might obtain _Amrita_--the
water of life. “Seeing the celestial assembly in anxious consultation,
Narayana[121] said to Brahma”: “Do thou churn the ocean with the
Suras (gods) and the Asuras. By doing so, _Amrita_ shall be obtained,
together with all drugs and all gems.”
In order to carry out these instructions the gods uprooted from its
base the towering mountain named Mandara,[122] and placed it in the
sea on the back of the tortoise king. This was their churning pole,
and for a cord they used the mighty hooded serpent, Vasuki. The Asuras
taking hold of him by the head and the gods by the tail commenced the
churning of the ocean. As they laboured in their gigantic task of
whirling Mandara round and round in the seething ocean, the serpent’s
body became heated by the friction to which it was subjected, and
volumes of black vapour, mingled with red flames, issued from his awful
mouth. These vapours were condensed in the upper regions and fell in
refreshing showers upon the tired gods. With the rain came abundance of
flowers shaken from the trees of rapidly revolving Mandara.
As the work proceeded with more and more vigour, the inhabitants of the
troubled ocean were destroyed in great numbers, and the forests on the
sides of rotating Mandara took fire from the friction of the branches
of the trees which were driven into conflict with one another. However,
this conflagration was extinguished by Indra, and the churning was
continued. Then the gums of various trees and many gems began to mingle
with the water, but the sought for nectar itself did not appear. Almost
spent with their exertions, the gods appealed to Narayana for help, and
he, renewing their vigour, directed them again to “insert the mountain
and churn the waters.”
Their fresh and vigorous efforts were crowned with success. First of
all the moon emerged from the waters, then “Lakshmi”[123] dressed in
white, and wine, and the white steed, and then the celestial gem,
Kaustuva, which graces the breast of Narayana. Lakshmi, wine, and the
steed fleet as the mind, all came before the gods on high. Then arose
the divine Dhanvantari himself with the white vessel of nectar in his
hand. And, seeing him, the “Asuras set up a loud cry, saying: ‘Ye have
taken all, _he_ must be ours.’”
Although the object of their quest, the nectar of immortality, had
been produced, the churning was continued apparently in the hope of
further treasures. Airavata, a huge elephant, now emerged from the
troubled waters, and was at once appropriated by Indra. But after his
appearance a baleful poison, the terrible Kalakuta, “blazing like a
flame mixed with fumes,” began to overspread the earth and to threaten
the destruction of the universe. At this perilous juncture, Mahadeva,
at Brahma’s solicitation, “swallowed the poison and held it in his
throat,” which acquired and ever after retained a blue colour. Hence
Mahadeva is often known by the name Nilakantha, the blue-throated.
[Illustration:
+THE CHURNING OF THE OCEAN.+
(Reduced from Moor’s “Hindu Pantheon.”)]
The Asuras having got possession of Dhanvantari with the vessel of
nectar, were preparing to defend their acquisition by force of arms,
but Narayana, assuming the bewitching form of lovely _Maya_, easily
induced the Daityas, ravished with her charms, to part with their
treasure.
As soon as the deception practised upon them became apparent, the
Daityas and Danavas pursued the gods, who, in the meantime, had been
hurriedly taking draughts of this wonderful elixir of immortality.
Along with them a Danava, named Rahu, in the disguise of a god, was
also slyly partaking of the _Amrita_, but, before the nectar had gone
beyond his throat, he was detected by the sun and moon and had his head
severed from his body by the discus of Narayana.
The severed head of Rahu was, of course, immortal, and ascended into
the sky with loud cries. And ever since that eventful day it has
pursued the sun and moon with revengeful feelings, swallowing them up
periodically, as is evident in the solar and lunar eclipses which have
attracted the awed attention of mankind through the ages.
To these events succeeded the commencement of a terrible battle between
the gods on one side, and the Asuras, Daityas and the Danavas on the
other. The gods, being victorious, carried the _Amrita_ to heaven, and,
“offering due respect to Mandara, placed him on his own base.”
Such, in brief, is the wonderfully grand old myth which could have
been conceived by no common mind, which is still believed in, and
gives rise to practices and ceremonies still observed by two hundred
millions of the Indian people, for whom even now it is the malignant
Rahu that periodically threatens the destruction of the greater and
lesser lights of the firmament. On these dire occasions the Hindus beat
their drums and blow their conchs to terrify away the demon. They throw
away their earthen cooking-pots, observe a rigid fast during the period
of obstruction, and crowd the bathing-places for a purifying plunge as
soon as the light of sun or moon is once again fully restored to the
delighted eyes of mankind.
APPENDIX III
+THE STORY OF NALA AND DAMAYANTI+
There was once a powerful King of the Nishadhas, named Nala, who was as
beautiful as the god of love himself. He was, moreover, an honourable
man, highly accomplished, and especially well-versed in the management
of horses, but he had a weakness for dice.
Contemporary with Nala was Bhima, King of the Vidharbas, a formidable
monarch, and father of Damayanti, the most lovely maiden in the world.
Fame had carried to Nala the report of Damayanti’s unrivalled charms
and had made him quite love-sick. The fair lady, too, had often been
told of the manly beauty and grace of the King of the Nishadhas, and
had had a tender chord in her heart touched by what she had heard. Thus
were these two young people actually in love with each other, although
they had never met or even exchanged glances.
The enamoured king naturally sought solitude; and one day, while
moodily lounging in the inner gardens of his palace, he saw some
strange-looking swans with golden wings. He caught one of them with his
hands. The bird immediately addressed his captor, asking to be spared,
and promising to speak to Damayanti about him “in such a way that she
will not ever desire to have any other person for her lord.” Of course
the swan was liberated there and then and, proceeding at once along
with his fellows to the land of the Vidharbas, alighted in the gardens
where Damayanti was sporting with her maids. The fair princess was
eager to catch the strange birds as soon as she observed them; so she
and her attendants began to run after the golden-winged swans, who fled
in all directions without taking wing. One of these birds led the eager
Damayanti away from her companions, and then, seizing the opportunity,
told the charming girl about Nala and his beauty, winding up with
these words: “Thou also art a jewel among thy sex as Nala is the prime
among men. The union of the best with the best is happy.” To which the
gratified princess replied: “Do thou speak thus unto Nala also.”
The adventure with the swan had such an effect upon the princess that
she became melancholy, pale-faced, and lean. Her thoughts were of Nala
only, and she could find no pleasure in her surroundings. Her father
noticed the change with much anxiety and, after weighing the matter,
concluded that the best thing he could do would be to find a husband
for his daughter.
He accordingly gave notice, far and wide, to the kings and princes of
the land that Damayanti would hold her swayamvara on a certain date.
From every direction suitors thronged to Bhima’s capital in the hope
of winning the much-coveted beauty whose fame filled the whole earth.
The celestial Rishi, Narada, on a casual visit to Indra’s Heaven,
made passing reference to Damayanti’s transcendent beauty and to her
approaching swayamvara. The gods, excited by his words, exclaimed in
rapture: “We also will go there,” and four of them, the Lokapalas or
guardians of the world--Indra, Yama, Varuna and Kuvera--set out without
delay for the country of the Vidharbas, accompanied by their attendants.
On the way they met the handsome and virtuous Nala bent on the same
errand. Leaving their celestial cars in the sky, they descended to
the earth and entered into converse with the king. Without revealing
themselves to him they cunningly got him to promise to help them,
and when he had done so requested him to go to Damayanti and inform
her that the Lokapalas were amongst the suitors for her hand, and to
request her to choose one of them for her lord.
Poor Nala explained his own feelings with respect to the fair princess,
and the hopes with which he was hastening to the swayamvara. He also
protested that it would be impossible for him to have an interview
with Damayanti in her well-guarded palace. But the gods removed this
last difficulty, Indra simply saying: “Thou shalt be able to enter.”
And so it proved; for it was not long before Nala found himself in the
inner apartments of the palace. His wonderful beauty created a great
sensation amongst the astonished women of the zenana. Damayanti was the
first to recover from the surprise of his unexpected presence in the
inner apartments, and smilingly addressed the intruder in these by no
means harsh words: “What art thou, O thou of faultless features, that
hast come here, awakening my love. O sinless one, O hero of celestial
form, I am anxious to know who thou art that hast come hither, and why
thou hast come hither. And how it is that thou hast not been discovered
by anyone, considering that my apartments are well-guarded[124] and the
king’s mandates are stern.”
Nala with a sad heart told her who he was, and honourably discharged
the distasteful duty imposed upon him by the celestials. Undazzled by
the prospect of having a god for her husband, Damayanti, with charming
simplicity, said to Nala with a smile: “O king, love me and command me
what I shall do for thee. Myself and what else of wealth is mine are
thine.... If thou forsake me who adore thee, for thy sake will I resort
to poison or fire, or water, or the rope.” Nala dwelt upon the danger
of offending the gods, and advised the princess to choose one of her
celestial suitors for her lord and no blame would attach to him; but
she told him to come himself to the swayamvara and she would there give
him her hand in the presence of the celestials.
Nala returned to the Lokapalas, who were eager in their inquiries about
the details of his mission. He faithfully related what had passed
between himself and Damayanti, even so far as to tell them that the
maiden had expressed her determination to choose him for her husband.
Having discharged his obligations with strict fidelity, Nala left the
issue in the hands of the gods.
On the day of the swayamvara the astonished princess saw, on entering
the hall, not one but five Nalas before her, all seated together.
Unable to discriminate from amongst them the King of the Nishadhas,
the fond maiden tremblingly prostrated herself before the five and,
in an appeal full of sweet confidence, begged the gods to reveal
themselves to her, as she had in her heart chosen Nala for her lord.
Touched by her simple prayer, the Lokapalas resumed their celestial
attributes, and the fair maiden thereupon bashfully caught the hem of
Nala’s garment and placed the garland round his neck. The gods were
pleased with the issue, and generously bestowed many boons upon their
successful rival, who, appreciating the great honour that had been
shown him, addressed Damayanti in these words: “Since thou, O blessed
one, hast chosen a mortal in the presence of the celestials, know
me for a husband ever obedient to thy command. And, O thou of sweet
smiles, truly do I tell thee this that as long as life continueth in
this body of mine I will remain thine and thine alone.” The charming
damsel, of course, made a suitable response. Everything was arranged
satisfactorily, the wedding was duly celebrated, and the King of the
Nishadhas returned home with his lovely bride.
But, as the course of true love never does run smooth, there was sorrow
awaiting the young couple. It happened that, as the gods were returning
from Damayanti’s swayamvara, they met Kali with Dwapara on the way to
the capital of the Vidharbas. It was to seek Damayanti’s hand that
Kali[125] was journeying thither, and it was with great displeasure
that he learned that the swayamvara was over and that Nala had obtained
the prize.
In his wicked heart he planned to ruin the happiness of Nala,
and with that object in view proceeded to his city. Watching his
opportunity--which presented itself in the neglect by the king of
some trifling ceremonial observance--Kali entered his person and took
complete possession of him. The fiend also stirred up Pushkara to
challenge Nala to play with him with dice. Nala could not refuse, and,
being under the influence of Kali, gambled recklessly and, needless to
say, unsuccessfully; for the dice were not ordinary dice, but _Dwapara
himself_ transformed. The gambling match lasted for months, and Nala
lost everything he possessed, including his kingdom. During the
continuance of the match Nala was like one deprived of reason, so his
wife sent her two children away to her parents in charge of a faithful
charioteer. His successful opponent suggested that he might now stake
Damayanti as he had lost everything else; but Nala, his heart full
of rage, rose with silent dignity and, stripping himself of all his
ornaments, left the city. Damayanti, clad in a single piece of cloth--a
_sari_, no doubt--followed him into exile.
Pushkara issued an order that no one should assist Nala under pain
of death, so the ex-king and his consort were left to shift for
themselves. In the hope of capturing some wild birds in the wood
Nala threw his cloth over them, but they rose and flew away with it,
leaving him naked. He now shared Damayanti’s single garment, and the
pair were soon in the greatest extremities of distress. He could not
humble himself to seek the assistance of his wife’s people, but,
thinking that if she were alone, Damayanti might find an asylum with
them, Nala, instigated still by vindictive Kali, abandoned his lovely
wife one night in the lonesome forest. Her grief and despair upon
finding herself deserted were most pathetic. With loud lamentations she
wandered hither and thither like a maniac, and came unexpectedly upon
a huge serpent, who quietly coiled himself about her gentle form and
would have killed her very soon, had not a hunter come to her rescue
and, with his sharp sword, cut off the serpent’s head. Inquiries and
explanations followed, with the result that, “beholding that beautiful
woman clad in half a garment, with deep bosom and round hips and limbs
delicate and faultless, and face resembling the full moon, and eyes
graced with curved eyelashes, and speech sweet as honey, the hunter
became inflamed with desire.” But virtuous Damayanti in great anger
repulsed the wretch and cursed him so that he fell down dead at her
feet.
Alone in the vast forests, peopled by wild beasts and infested by
thieves and Mleccha-tribes, poor bewildered Damayanti wandered about
in quest of Nala; asking, in her trouble, the fierce tiger and the
silent mountain to tell her where her lord had gone. After wandering
about for three days and three nights the unfortunate queen came to
the delightful asylum of some ascetics, and, entering it fearlessly
but with great humility, she was welcomed by the holy men, who, struck
by her beauty, inquired whether she was the presiding deity of the
forest, the mountain, or the river. Damayanti explained her situation
and received from the ascetics most comforting assurances of early
reunion with Nala and great future happiness. After which “the ascetics
with their sacred fires and asylum vanished from sight,” to the great
amazement of the queen.
Further wanderings in the denser parts of the forest brought Damayanti
into a somewhat open space, where she found a party of merchants
encamped beside a stream with their horses, elephants, and other
beasts of burden. The merchants could give her no information about
Nala, for, as the leader of the party assured her, she was the only
human being they had met in those vast forests. However, as they
were bound for the city of Suvahu, Damayanti attached herself to the
caravan. The distance to be traversed was evidently a very long one
and the forest very extensive; for, after they had proceeded many
days, they were still in the woods, and one evening encamped on the
border of a lovely lotus-covered lake. In the dead of night a herd of
wild elephants coming down to the lake discovered the tame elephants
belonging to the merchants and instantly made a furious onslaught upon
them. Indescribable confusion followed. Some members of the party were
trampled to death under the feet of the mighty beasts, some perished
by their huge tusks, others fled for safety in all directions. The
fugitives concealed themselves in the thickets or took refuge in
the branches of trees. Horses, camels and elephants, fighting with
each other and rushing about in frantic terror, added to the wild
confusion of the dreadful scene of disorder and uproar, which was
intensified by the outbreak of a terrible fire. Amidst the general
panic, the shouts and cries of men and the noise of wounded and furious
animals, Damayanti naturally awoke in the greatest alarm; but she soon
had occasion for special fear for her own personal safety from an
unexpected quarter.
“And those of the caravan that had escaped unhurt, met together, and
asked one another, ‘Of what deed of ours is this the consequence?
Surely we have failed to worship the illustrious Manibhadra, and
likewise the exalted and graceful Vaisravana, the King of the Yakshas.
Perhaps we have not worshipped the deities that cause calamities,
or perhaps we have not paid them the first homage. Or perhaps this
evil is the certain consequence of the birds (we saw)! Our stars are
not unpropitious. From what other cause, then, hath this disaster
come?’ Others, distressed and bereft of wealth and relatives, said,
‘That maniac-like woman who came amongst this mighty caravan in guise
that was strange and scarcely human, also, it is by her that this
dreadful illusion has been pre-arranged. Of a certainty, she is a
terrible Rakshasa or a Yaksha or a Picácha woman. All this evil is
her work, what need of doubts. If we again see that wicked destroyer
of merchants, that giver of innumerable woes, we shall certainly slay
that injurer of ours, with stones, and dust, and grass, and wood,
and cuffs.’[126] And hearing these dreadful words of the merchants,
Damayanti, in terror and shame and anxiety, fled into the woods
apprehensive of evil.”
Damayanti, however, managed to secure the protection of some Brahmans
who had been travelling with the merchants, and in their company
succeeded in reaching the city of Suvahu. Her strange, unkempt and
almost maniac-like appearance, coupled with her scanty clothing,
excited the curiosity of the citizens, who rudely followed her about.
Her painful situation in the street of the town, and her beauty, which
nothing could destroy, attracted the attention of the queen-mother, who
was looking out of one of the windows of the palace. As a consequence
Damayanti was sent for and installed in the household as a sort of
humble companion to the princess.
We have now to trace the fortunes of Nala. After he had deserted
Damayanti he came upon a mighty conflagration in the forests. From
the midst of the fire a voice addressed him thus: “O righteous Nala,
come hither.” Nala obeyed without fear or hesitation, and found in
the midst of the fire a mighty Naga or serpent, lying in great coils.
The snake explained that he was suffering from the curse of a great
Rishi “of high ascetic merit,” whom he had deceived, and that he was
doomed, under the conditions of the curse, to lie where he was until
Nala should remove him to another place, when he would be free again.
The snake contracted his dimensions till he was no bigger than a man’s
thumb. Nala took him up and carried him to a place free from fire. Here
the snake bit Nala and resumed his natural form. The effect on Nala
of the snake’s bite was startling indeed, for he underwent a strange
transformation of person and assumed an unprepossessing appearance.
The snake explained that what had occurred was for Nala’s good, and
advised him to go to Ayodhya and offer his services to the king of that
city as a charioteer and trainer of horses, on condition of receiving
instruction in the art of gambling. The snake also presented Nala with
a garment, the wearing of which would immediately restore him to his
proper form. Nala did as directed, and was duly installed as king’s
charioteer and superintendent of the royal stables, under the name of
Váhuka.
In the meanwhile Brahmans sent out by King Bhima, Damayanti’s father,
were searching the country far and wide for the lost couple. One of
them met Damayanti and recognized her by a remarkable lotus-shaped
mole which she had between her eyebrows. This discovery led to her
return to her father’s house, where her children were being reared in
comfort, but nothing could console her for the absence of Nala. Through
her mother she caused Brahmans to go forth into all countries, to cry
in every assembly, “O beloved gambler, where hast thou gone, cutting
off half of my garment, and deserting thy dear and devoted wife asleep
in the forest,” etc. Of course this appeal touched Nala--transformed
into Váhuka--to the heart, and certain remarks which he let fall, to
the effect that a virtuous woman should not be angry with one who had
been deprived by birds of his garments, and so on, having been reported
to Damayanti, she suspected who that Váhuka really was, although so
changed in person.
To bring him to her she had it proclaimed in the city of Ayodhya that
Damayanti, unaware whether Nala was alive or not, had decided to hold
the very next day another swayamvara, at which she would choose a
second husband[127] for herself.
King Ritupama of Ayodhya desired to be present on this occasion, but
the distance to Kundina was over one hundred _yojanas_. However, Nala
in a most wonderful manner managed to do the distance within the
appointed time, not without adventures on the way and the acquirement
from his royal master of the whole science of dice-playing.
When they arrived at Kundina they found to their astonishment that no
preparations were being made for Damayanti’s swayamvara, and discovered
that they had been deceived by a false report.
From the remarkable way in which Ritupama’s chariot came rattling into
Ayodhya, Damayanti suspected that it was driven by Nala and Nala only,
but she was sore distressed when she saw Váhuka--so unlike her dear
lord in appearance. Yet, as wonders were common in those days and the
charioteer might, after all, be her dear husband in a natural disguise,
she opened communication with him through her maid-servant, and by
various indications satisfied herself that Váhuka was no other than her
lost Nala.
With the consent of her father and mother she caused Váhuka to be
brought to her apartments. She received him clad in a piece of
red cloth, wearing matted locks and covered with dirt and dust.
Explanations followed. The wind-god, invoked by Damayanti, testified
that it was only to bring Nala to herself that the lovely queen had
proclaimed her swayamvara in Ayodhya, and that she was faultless in the
matter. Flowers descended from the air and celestial kettle-drums began
to play.
Casting away all doubts about Damayanti, Nala put on the pure garment
which had been given to him by the serpent, and thus regained his
own beautiful form. “And, beholding her righteous lord in his own
form, Bhima’s daughter of faultless limbs embraced him, and began to
weep aloud. And King Nala also embraced Bhima’s daughter, devoted to
him as before, and also his children, and experienced great delight.
And, burying her face in his bosom, the beauteous Damayanti, of large
eyes, began to sigh heavily, remembering her griefs. And, overwhelmed
with sorrow, that tiger among men stood for some time clasping the
dust-covered Damayanti of sweet smiles.”
After these events Nala proceeded to his own country of the Nishadhas
and challenged his brother to a game of dice, offering to stake all
the wealth he had acquired, and lovely Damayanti as well, against
the kingdom of which he had been dispossessed. He gave his brother
the choice of an alternative--the dice or battle. Pushkara willingly
accepted the offer, remarking insultingly: “It is evident that
Damayanti, adorned with this wealth of thine that I will win, will
wait upon me like an Apsara in heaven upon Indra.” However, fortune
had changed sides. Nala recovered his kingdom, but generously shared
it with his unworthy brother, and everyone, of course, lived happily
thereafter.
NOTES
I. _Date of the compilation of the “Mahabharata.”_--Like the
“Ramayana,” the “Mahabharata” is based on popular legends of
considerable antiquity which, according to European scholars, appear to
have been _collected together_ into a more or less connected whole at a
comparatively recent date.
“The earliest direct evidence of the existence of an epic, with the
contents of the ‘Mahabharata,’ comes to us from the rhetor Dion
Chrysostom, who flourished in the second half of the first century
A.D.; and it appears fairly probable that the information in question
was then quite new, and was derived from mariners who had penetrated as
far as the extreme south of India.... Since Megasthenes says nothing
of this epic, it is not an improbable hypothesis that its origin is
to be placed in the interval between his time and that of Chrysostom;
for what ignorant sailors took note of would hardly have escaped his
observation, more especially if what he narrates of Herakles and his
daughter Pandai has reference really to Krishna and his sister, the
wife of Arjuna; if, that is to say, the Pandu legend was actually
current in his time.... As to the period when the final redaction of
the work in its present shape took place, no approach even to direct
conjecture is in the meantime possible, but, at any rate, it must have
been some centuries after the commencement of our era.”[128]
II. _Translation of the “Mahabharata” into Persian._--The following
account of the translation of the “Mahabharata” into Persian, in the
reign of the Mogul Emperor Akbar, is worth reading, as it exhibits an
estimate of the great epic from the standpoint of a bigoted Muslim:
“In the year 990” His Majesty assembled some learned Hindus and gave
them directions to write an explanation of the ‘Mahabharata,’ and
for several nights he himself devoted his attention to explain the
meaning to Nakib Khan, so that the Khan might sketch out the gist of
it in Persian. On the third night the king sent for me, and desired me
to translate the ‘Mahabharata,’ in conjunction with Nakib Khan. The
consequence was that in three or four months I translated two out of
the eighteen sections, at the puerile absurdities of which the eighteen
thousand creations may well be amazed. Such injunctions as one never
heard of--what not to eat, and a prohibition against turnips! But such
is my fate, to be employed on such works. Nevertheless I console myself
with the reflection that what is predestined must come to pass.
“After this, Mulla Shi and Nakib Khan together accomplished a portion,”
and another was completed by Sultan Haji Thanesari by himself. Shaikh
Faizi was then directed to convert the rough translation into elegant
prose and verse, but he did not complete more than two sections.
The Haji aforesaid again wrote it, correcting the errors which had
appeared in his first translation and settling the conjectures which
he had hazarded. He had revised a hundred sheets, and, nothing being
omitted, he was about to give the finishing touch when the order was
received for his dismissal, and he was sent to Bakar. He now resides in
his own city (Thanesar). Most of the scholars who were employed upon
this translation are now with the Kauravas and Pandavas. May those
who survive be saved by the mercy of God, and may their repentance be
accepted.
“The translation was called ‘Razm-nama,’ and, when fairly engrossed
and embellished with pictures, the nobles had orders to take copies,
with the blessing and favour of God. Shaikh Abul Faizi, who had already
written against our religion, wrote the Preface, extending to two
sheets. God defend us from his infidelities and absurdities.”[129]
III. _English Versions of the “Mahabharata.”_--For full details of
this epic the reader may be referred to “The ‘Mahabharata’ of Krishna
Dwaipayana Vyasa,” translated into English prose by Pratab Chandra Roy
(Calcutta), of which several volumes have been published.
A tolerably detailed account of the poem, with a running commentary,
occupies about 500 pages of vol. i. of the “History of India,” by J.
Talboys Wheeler.
A summary of all the eighteen sections of the epic is to be found in
Sir Monier Williams’s “Indian Epic Poetry” (Williams and Norgate,
1863).
CONCLUDING REMARKS
Having presented to the reader the foregoing condensed epitomes of
the great Hindu Epics, it only remains for me to offer a few brief
observations upon some of the more abiding features of the national
life and the religious and moral sentiments of the Hindus, as
illustrated by these gigantic poems, in which we see, as in a mirror,
an unconscious reflection of the ideas and tendencies, the intellectual
cravings and the moral instincts, of the age to which they belong.
It may seem superfluous to remind the reader that the “Ramayana”
describes the adventures of Rama, including amongst them a war which he
undertook in order to avenge an insult and to recover the person of his
wife, who had been carried off by an unscrupulous enemy. The campaign
against Ravana had not for its object extension of territory, but the
punishment of an evil-doer and the righting of a personal wrong; while
the protracted struggle, which is the basis of the “Mahabharata,” is
purely a contest for supremacy between kindred families, each side
being backed by friends and allies from amongst their own race, as well
as from amongst alien tribes (the Mlecchas). In neither poem, be it
noted, does any question of patriotism arise; for the contest in which
the heroes are involved are not against foreign invaders or national
enemies.
The India known to the compilers of the “Ramayana” and
“Mahabharata,”--the extensive theatre upon which their heroes played
the stirring drama of their lives--was evidently a land covered with
vast tracts of dense forest, whose mysterious gloom, pervaded with
the aroma of incense and burnt-offerings, has cast a vague and mighty
shadow over the hearts of the Hindu bards, as surely as the breezy
atmosphere and the restless waves of the Ægean have imparted a healthy
buoyancy to the Homeric rhapsodists.
The dreamy solitudes in which Valmiki and Vyasa love to linger have a
restfulness about them which the European, unused to Eastern lands,
can hardly comprehend. They have also a mystery only to be found in
primæval forests, and they possess a dark background of horror, in the
roar of the ferocious tiger, the hiss of the deadly serpent, and the
grip of the invisible fever-fiend, enough to awaken strange and gloomy
imaginings.
The few who have lived, as I have done, through changing seasons in the
dense forests of Eastern India, can hover in spirit through Valmiki and
Vyasa’s woodlands of the past.