Often, in this state, to show their unquestioning devotion, followers shower the guru with gifts, many of them quite futile. Consider the case of a well-known guru who had a number of Rolls-Royces rusting in a yard somewhere! To be sure, the guru needs to live and may quite legitimately accept gifts in cash or kind to live moderately, especially if the guru has a family. But according to the best traditions the guru lives an austere life and discourages gifts that appear unsuitable to such a life-style.
Is the guru necessary for attaining spiritual enlightenment? There are different views on this. It also depends on the form that the guru is perceived to take. In traditional Brahminic Hinduism the guru was deemed necessary for salvation. He – it was usually a male – was required to belong to a twice-born caste (preferably Brahmin) in order to initiate the disciple into the study of the Veda and its accessories and into the Vedic way of life or dharma (see Suthren Hirst 2005). But as Hinduism diversified and the traditions of bhakti became more and more popular, these requirements were waived. There are numerous instances in Hindu literature and practice, including in Tantra and Śāktism, of persons from non-twice-born castes acting as gurus, not least for people of the upper castes, and of ‘caste gurus’ taking on members of low castes or outcastes as disciples. A tendency developed in Hinduism to regard someone with proven spiritual wisdom as transcending the barriers of caste and gender. In modern times, this tendency is more apparent. Low castes and Untouchables, however, often follow gurus of their own socio-religious strata, but there are many exceptions.
A Hindu might often think the guru necessary for enlightenment but then ascribe the role of guru, either additionally or substitutively, to non-human things. Thus scripture might be reckoned as the guru, teaching and guiding the disciple through a discipline of meditation or reflective study. Though Rāmānuja thought it necessary for a devotee to have a human guru, he also said more than once that the scriptures love those who resort to them with a love greater than that of a hundred mothers and fathers. Others regard some inner voice, perhaps the voice of conscience, as their guru (Gandhi sometimes spoke of an inner voice guiding him;Ambler 1989:99). This idea may have derived from the well-known Hindu teaching that God indwells one as the ‘inner controller’ (antar-yāmin). We may mention in passing that the term guru is used in Indian (and in some Western) contexts not only for spiritual preceptors, but also for mentors in other disciplines: in the Mbh. Droṇa was the Pāṇḍavas’ guru in archery, and today exponents of classical Indian music, song and dance might speak of their teachers as gurus (see, e.g. India Today, 30 September 1988:80ff.). In the latter case, there may be lines of succession too, and the guru–disciple relationship often crosses sectarian (e.g. Hindu–Muslim) divides.
Whatever the emphasis or form it may take, the voice of experience is generally regarded by Hindus as indispensable for shaping their religious orientation. In combination with the voices of scripture and tradition, it can issue to each attentive Hindu a compelling summons to spiritual growth and fulfillment. No doubt sectarian and personal circumstances will impose their stamp, but in the end each person must respond to a voice unique in its configuration. What we have sought to do in these few chapters is to tease out some of the main elements that go to make up this triune, multi-vocal summons.
Part II
Reason and morality
11
A story with a tale
Part I
Let us return to dharma, a regulating action-concept so pervasive of the Ancient Banyan of Hinduism. We have considered at some length the tension in dharma between order and chaos. This includes the relationship between potential and actual being, between the duties of men and women, varṇa and jāti (from Brahmin to Untouchable), purity and impurity. It is time now to consider dharma’s second constituent tension, that between chance and necessity on the natural level, and freedom and determinism on the human. It will be more interesting and instructive to do so by means of a good story.
This is the tale of one of the best-known and important episodes of the Mahābhārata. The episode occurs in the second book of the epic, the Sabhā Parvan or Book of the Assembly Hall (Sabhā: assembly-hall, assembly), and is about a dicing match played between Duryodhana, the arrogant, ambitious eldest son of the king Dhṛtarāṣṭra, who reigns from Hāstinapura, and law-minded Yudhiṣṭhira, Dhṛtarāṣṭra's nephew, eldest of the five Pāṇḍava brothers and regent of the adjoining Khāṇḍava territory with its seat at Indraprastha. Now to the story.1
Sporadic but increasing rivalry is growing between the Kaurava brothers and their cousins, the Pāṇḍavas. This has led to the separation of the two sides and an unequal partitioning of the kingdom. The Pāṇḍavas take up residence in the smaller portion, the still wild Khāṇḍava tract, while the Kauravas continue to live in the main part of the territory with their blind father, Dhṛtarāṣṭra, as king. Both sides defer to Dhṛtarāṣṭra as the ruling patriarch of the family, and though Dhṛtarāṣṭra is inordinately fond of his eldest son, Duryodhana, he is conscious of his role as guardian to the Pāṇḍavas (the royal heirs through their father Pāṇḍu, who has died prematurely; see Chapter 8 for the story).
A fabulous assembly-hall has been built in Indraprastha for the Pāṇḍavas by Maya, a superhuman being, who is a renowned architect. It was common for ruling Houses to have an assembly-hall. Here, in the centre of an open-plan complex (which may well have been built on more than one level) was an arena for the men of the family and their male associates to be entertained or to discuss policy for the welfare of the House. Women of the House and their female guests could be present in a section of the complex (female entertainers and servants had access as a matter of course), but they were expected to be on their best behaviour and were generally not allowed to participate in the policy discussions of the assembly-hall.
Yudhiṣṭhira is going to inaugurate the assembly-hall, and his role as king for that matter, by holding a solemn Vedic ritual, the rājasūya sacrifice, during which he intends to declare himself emperor of greater India. This was more a display of aspiration than of fact, but it was an important statement of royal influence. For this, Yudhiṣṭhira needs as many regional rulers as possible to acknowledge his imperial claim, at least theoretically. Helped by his brothers and, with some wile, by his cousin and well-wisher, Kṛṣṇa Vāsudeva (whom the critical edition does not reveal to be the God of the Bhagavad Gītā at this stage), many regional kings acquiesce by offering tributes. The rival Kauravas themselves and one or two other ruling Houses are exempt because they are family. Duryodhana, as eldest son of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, is invited to the occasion and, not very wisely, is placed in charge of collecting the tributes. As Yudhiṣṭhira's rival, he is hardly going to enjoy this role.
In one way or another, Duryodhana has a difficult time of it. Already at odds with his cousin(s), his stay at Indraprastha raises his animosity to fever pitch. To begin with, he is humiliated by some of the marvellous contrivances Maya has placed in the Pāṇḍavas’ assembly-hall.
On one occasion, the great king Duryodhana approached a crystal surface in the middle of the hall. Suspecting that it was water, the confused king raised his garments. [But it was not and] angry and embarrassed he wandered about that hall. Then, thinking that a pool adorned with crystalline water decorated with crystal lotuses was a solid surface, he fell into the water with his clothes on. Seeing him there, fallen into the water, the servants laughed heartily and, on the orders of the king [Yudhiṣṭhira], gave him fresh clothes. When they saw him thus – mighty Bhīmasena, Arjuna and the twins – they all laughed. Furious, he did not forgive their mockery, and to save face, didn't even look at them.
Once more, as if after crossing [a watery surface] one would ascend to dry land, he raised his clothes – and everyone laughed at him again! He bumped his forehead on a door that seemed to be open; next, thinking that a door was closed, he hesitated at the doorway ....
(2.43.3–10)
To cap it all, Duryodhana fumes at the number of kings offering tribute and the fabulous wealth they bring.
With his maternal uncle Śakuni who had accompanied him to the Pāṇḍavas’ assembly-hall, Duryodhana returns to Hāstinapur, consumed by resentment and envy. ‘Fate (daiva), I think, is supreme’, he says bitterly, ‘and human effort pointless when I see such glorious wealth offered to Kuntī’s son [Yudhiṣṭhira]’ (2.43.32). But he does not really believe this, and neither does the scheming Śakuni. Together they hatch a plan to topple Yudhiṣṭhira from his high place and replace him with Duryodhana. Not by battle, advises Śakuni, for the Pāṇḍavas are too good at that (besides, all the tributary rulers would have to take their side), and not by upsetting their own allies, adds Duryodhana (most if not all of whom were busy sending tribute to Yudhiṣṭhira). Śakuni suggests a dicing match:
The Kaunteya [Yudhiṣṭhira] loves gambling but he doesn't know how to play ... But I'm expert at gambling, there's none like me on earth. Challenge the Kaunteya to a dicing game ... and for sure I'll wrest his glorious kingdom and wealth for you, bull among men.
(2.44.18–20)
So, under the guise of fate, namely the outcome of the dicing match, they will attempt to manipulate fate to their advantage. But first they must win the approval of Dhṛtarāṣṭra. They approach the blind king.
Duryodhana complains eloquently to his father about how miserable he is at his cousin's rise to fame and his own eclipse. Śakuni and he suggest a dicing match to turn the tables. Dhṛtarāṣṭra is doubtful. He wants to consult Vidura on the matter. Vidura is his illegitimate half-brother and also his counsellor. He has great wisdom, says Dhṛtarāṣṭra, ‘for, putting dharma first, he's far-sighted enough to see what's best. He will surely say what's right for both parties’ (2.45.41–2). Duryodhana does not like this at all. He knows that Vidura will disapprove and he wants to put himself first, not dharma. So he accuses Vidura of disloyalty to the family, and threatens to kill himself if his father won't agree to his plan. And the blind king, ‘knowing the evils of gambling’, nevertheless acquiesces ‘because of his love for his son’, and gives orders that a grand hall be built for the dicing match. But he sends for Vidura to consult him, all the same.
Vidura, however, has heard about the proposed dicing match, and arrives hotfoot to advise against it. But it is too late. Dhṛtarāṣṭra has made up his mind to indulge his son and justifies his decision by making fate and the gods responsible.
‘Don't worry, the gods in heaven will give us their blessing’, he says. ‘For good or bad, for better or for worse, let the friendly game take place;it's doubtless been ordained. While Bhīṣma and I are present nothing amiss ordained by fate will happen ... Fate is supreme, I think, so this will happen’.
(2.45.53–7)2
Well now, first the gods will help, either by overruling fate or by contriving it;then, for better or for worse, the match must be played, for fate has ordained it. Then Dhṛtarāṣṭra and Bhīṣma (the king's staunch and righteous adviser – here Dhṛtarāṣṭra is spreading the responsibility) will see to it that bad fortune is kept at bay. Ultimately, we are told, it is in the hands of fate again. Under the pretext of fate, of supra-human decree, and a raft of weak arguments to cover up for his own and his son's weakness, Dhṛtarāṣṭra commands Vidura to summon the Pāṇḍavas to the contest. But Vidura is not fooled by the king's appeal to fate. ‘It is not so’ (naitad asti), he thinks dejectedly, as he leaves the royal presence (2.45.58).
There is a forlorn tendency among some scholars, when interpreting iconic Hindu texts, to probe for inner textual correlations with some favourite theme or theory of their own, usually at the expense of the texts’ obvious meaning or context. So it is with this story. Some, concluding that the narrative of the dicing match has covert textual correlations with the ancient rājasūya sacrifice, then interpret it in a deterministic way to suit their views. Others pronounce that the dicing match is the earthly counterpart of some predetermined heavenly contest between the forces of good and evil, and launch forthwith into a tendentious justification of this stance – and so on. Perhaps it is reverence for the past, shown by these otherwise hardheaded scholars, that results in ascribing to the authors of these ancient texts an almost divine ability to construct elaborate coded works whose ‘inner meaning’ is discernible only by the application of some hidden interpretive key. There may be some truth to some of these interpretive theories, but they cannot be applied in such a way that artistic licence or the plain sense of the texts under scrutiny is overlooked in a quest for some subterranean meaning. This is a form of ‘revelatory’ hermeneutics, a surrogate religious enterprise, whose high priests inhabit the sacred spaces of privileged knowledge.
But first and foremost, the Mahābhārata is, on the whole, a cracking good story through which its narrators explore, for the benefit of a wider public, the meaning of dharma in the circumstances of their times, by way of humour, drama and instruction – and must be read as such. In this sense it remains an open-ended text, inviting the hearer to share in this exploration. Only secondarily can one look for regulating themes or theories as hidden keys to the meaning of some portion of the text or the text as a whole, all the more so when we are dealing with a sprawling narrative like the Mbh. which, in its received form, is the product of more than one hand (or mouth) over a span of centuries. It seems patent here that current views which used fate as a cover for self-will, or which sought to explain events by resorting to fate's decree, are being challenged by the wise Vidura – without any authorial solution being offered.3 But let us return to the story.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra has second thoughts. He knows that the contest will lead to trouble and he does not wish to have to preside over such trouble among his wards. So again he tries to persuade Duryodhana to give up his idea of the dicing match. But to no avail. Duryodhana launches into an impassioned description of his experiences at Indraprastha – his humiliations and the extent and variety of the tributary wealth. ‘Son, coveting what belongs to another is the quick way to disaster’, says the king. ‘The one who abides by his own dharma (svadharmastha), content with what he has, prospers’ (2.50.6). ‘Great king, the way of the Kṣatriya is fixed on victory’, counters Duryodhana, ‘whether there's dharma or adharma in his way’ (2.50.15). He has just quoted the sage Bṛhaspati, who, according to tradition, taught the corrupting doctrine of acquisitiveness and self-gratification to bring about the ruin of the anti-gods and the demonically inclined. In his rage and envy, Duryodhana too thinks like a demon as his true motives surface again and again: ‘The power, even of an insignificant enemy, gradually increases to excess, just as an anthill at the root of a tree devours the tree in the end’ (2.50.24). The debate about the meaning of dharma continues; one does not have to look for coded locks and covert keys.
Finally, Dhṛtarāṣṭra, ‘his mind obsessed with fate’ (daivasaṃmūḍhacetāṣ), gives in, ‘thinking fate supreme and unavoidable’ (2.51.16). The hall is built, Vidura is overruled, and he is dispatched to summon Yudhiṣṭhira to that ‘friendly’ game of dice. ‘For this whole world runs under the sway of the Disposer's decree, not by itself’, says the king piously (2.51.25).
When Yudhiṣṭhira receives the summons, he sees trouble ahead and asks Vidura's advice. Vidura's answer is direct: ‘The game will lead to disaster, but do what you think is best. Yudhiṣṭhira accepts the invitation, but clearly this is not what he thinks is best. He is told that Śakuni, master-gambler, and other tricksters await him. Yet he makes excuses for agreeing to play: the king, his ‘father’, has summoned him, he must obey; he knows Śakuni is waiting to challenge him, and he has taken a vow never to refuse a challenge. This repeated appeal to obligation echoes Dhṛtarāṣṭra's words: ‘This world runs under the sway of the Disposer's decree’ (2.52.14f.), and is no more than a psychological ploy to indulge his addiction to gambling – which is explored through the characters of the narrative. It is significant that the
most put-upon characters of this drama, the two most passively inclined – Dhṛtarāṣṭra and Yudhiṣṭhira – appeal most to superior powers to justify their actions.
In the Introduction to his English translation of the Sabhā Parvan, van Buitenen has argued that structurally the book requires Yudhiṣṭhira to play the dicing match because a token dicing game was a formal part of the rājasūya sacrifice which Yudhiṣṭhira was performing: ‘I wish to submit that [the Book of] The Assembly Hall is structurally an epic dramatization of the Vedic [rājasūya] ritual’ (1975:6). Perhaps. But how Yudhiṣṭhira plays this game is open to the story-teller's art, and it can be a means to explore the nature of dharma in the context of the development of characters in the story. This doesn't mean that, from the narrative's point of view, Yudhiṣṭhira cannot overcome his addiction or irresponsibility in enacting this formal requirement of the sacrifice. He could have insisted on playing a personally inconsequential ‘match’. But he didn't. From the viewpoint of examining the tension between freedom and determinism inherent in the outworking of dharma, it was open to the narrator to exploit Yudhiṣṭhira's weakness. And this has been done. We know what leads Yudhiṣṭhira to obey Dhṛtarāṣṭra's summons;the text has been careful to tell us: Yudhiṣṭhira loves to gamble. This adharmic addiction is a big chink in his dharmic armour. This is why he is made to perform the rājasūya sacrifice rather than the aśvamedha ritual, which on the face of it would have been more appropriate for his royal ambitions.4
As the story shows, Dhṛtarāṣṭra is passionate about his eldest son and Yudhiṣṭhira is passionate about dice, and both can be quite unsubtle in covering up their actions when they want to indulge their passions. They cover up by appealing to fate – even in the same words on one occasion. In fact, Yudhiṣṭhira admits as much: ‘Fate blinds reason as light dazzles the eye. Man obeys the Disposer's sway as if bound with nooses’, he says resignedly as he starts his journey to Hāstinapura (2.52.18). But we know, just as Vidura does, that this is a doubtful explanation. We are being given a master lesson by the story-teller about the complexities of human psychology in relation to dharma's demands. We are in the midst, first and foremost, of a human drama, not a cipher of some secret teaching lurking beneath the surface. And the human drama continues to unfold.
Hindus: Their Religious Beliefs and Practices (The Library of Religious Beliefs and Practices) Page 41