The two dogs of Yama derive their proper names from their color
epithets. The passages above make it clear that Çy[=a]ma (rarely
Çy[=a]va), "the black," is the moon dog, and that Çabala, "the spotted,
or brindled," is the sun dog. In one early passage (_Rig-Veda_, x. 14.
10) both dogs are named in the dual as Çabal[=a]u. But for a certain
Vedic usage one might think that "the two spotted ones" was their
earliest designation. The usage referred to is the eliptic dual: a close
or natural pair, each member of which suggests the other, may be
expressed through the dual of one of them, as when either
_m[=a]tar[=a]u_ or _pitar[=a]u_, literally, "the two mothers," and "the
two fathers," each mean "the two parents."[18] From this we may conclude
that Çabal[=a]u means really Çabala and Çy[=a]ma, and not the two
Çabalas, that is, "the two spotted ones."
IS ÇABALAS = [Greek: Kerberos]?
More than a hundred years ago the Anglo-Indian Wilford, in the _Asiatick
Researches_, iii., page 409, wrote: "Yama, the regent of hell, has two
dogs, according to the Pur[=a]nas; one of them named Cerbura, or varied;
the other Syama, or black." He then compares Cerbura with Kerberos, of
course. The form Cerbura he obtained from his consulting Pandit, who
explained the name Çabala by the Sanskrit word _karbura_ "variegated," a
regular gloss of the Hindu scholiasts.
About fifty years later a number of distinguished scholars of the past
generation, Max Müller, Albrecht Weber, and Theodor Benfey, compared the
word Çabala with Greek [Greek: Kerberos] (rarely [Greek: Kerbelos]),
but, since then, this identification has been assailed in numerous
quarters with some degree of heat, because it suffers from a slight
phonetic difficulty. One need but remember the swift changes which the
name of Apollo passes through in the mouths of the Greeks--[Greek:
Apollôn], [Greek: Apellôn], [Greek: Appellôn], [Greek: Apeilôn], [Greek:
Aploun][19]--to realize that it is useless to demand strict phonetic
conservation of mythic proper names. The nominative Çabalas, translated
sound for sound into Greek, yields [Greek: Keberos], [Greek: Kebelos];
_vice versa_, [Greek: Kerberos?] translated sound for sound into Vedic
Sanskrit yields Çalbalas, or perhaps, dialectically, Çabbalas. It is a
sober view that considers it rather surprising that the two languages
have not manipulated their respective versions of the word so as to
increase still further the phonetic distance between them. Certainly the
burden is now to prove that the identification is to be rejected, and, I
think, that the soundest linguistic science will refuse ultimately to
consider the phonetic discrepancy between the two words as a matter of
serious import.
But whether the names Çabalas and Kerberos are identical or not, the
myth itself is the thing. The explanation which we have coaxed step by
step from the texts of the Veda imparts to the myth a definite
character: it is no longer a dark and uncertain touch in the troubled
visions of hell, but an uncommonly lucid treatment of an important
cosmic phenomenon. Sun and moon course across the sky: beyond is the
abode of light and the blessed. The coursers are at one moment regarded
as barring the way to heaven; at another as outposts who may guide the
soul to heaven. In yet another mood, as they constantly, day by day,
look down upon the race of men, dying day by day, they are regarded as
picking daily candidates for the final journey. In due time Yama and his
heaven are degraded to a mere Pluto and hell; then the terrible
character of the two dogs is all that can be left to them. And the two
dogs blend into a unit variously, either a four-eyed Parsi dog, or a
two-headed--finally a plural-headed--Kerberos.