What we may deduce, however – such philosophical assumptions apart – is that here Yudhiṣṭhira represents each one of us entangled in the tensions of dharma's nooses amidst life's complexities. Each of us is at the centre of an array of conflicting, multivalent dharmic pulls in the unique circumstances of our lives. These ethical tensions demand continuing attention and the resolution of decision. So far as Yudhiṣṭhira and others are concerned, the story does not offer any solutions to their questions. As we pointed out, the intrusive jackal's cry is the occasion for Dhṛtarāṣṭra to arbitrarily terminate the crisis by nullifying, at one fell stroke, the one-sided gains of the dice game. No dharmic conundrum is solved, least of all Draupadī’s riddle.
In effect, the text teaches that dharma cannot be absolutized. As the drama's protagonists say repeatedly, dharma is subtle and hard to discern. We cannot look for ready-made solutions to life's knotty problems. On the contrary, each one of us must decide a course of action in the context of the dharmic pulls and constraints of his or her own situation, based on counsel and the responsible use of reason. If this were not so, Draupadī would not have pressed her question so persistently or demanded a considered reply: ‘Having looked carefully (samīkṣya) at all I've said, duly answer my question’ she insists (2.60.45). In the context of narrative, this treatment of dharma is not anomalous. This is the point of the teaching about dharma, in fact. Though guidelines may be given aplenty – the numerous Law Codes bear this out – dharma’s actual implementation in a particular situation of a life calls for judicious thought and an active sense of responsibility. Draupadī’s unanswered question attests to dharma’s continuous demand upon each of us to think its ramifications through amidst the conflicting tensions of our lives.
But a popular conception of modern times is that of sanātana dharma, viz. ‘eternal dharma’. Is there a dharma, we may ask, that is eternal, universal, unchanging? It is important to clarify what this expression might mean. Some use it as a justification for following a particular course of action, politically or otherwise, allegedly laid down from ancient times. ‘Hindus follow sanātana dharma’, they declare, ‘and this is what it means ...’. But sanātana dharma, whatever it might mean, is per se a species of the genus dharma, and as such cannot be used to override dharma’s essentially open-ended nature, as discussed above. The expression certainly has ancient roots. In the Gītā (1.40), Arjuna tells Kṛṣṇa, as he decries the effects of war: ‘When the clan is vitiated, the sanātana-dharmas [plural] of the clan are destroyed’. Here he laments the inevitable loss of certain established codes of practice peculiar to a clan in the aftermath of social and other upheaval;he is not endorsing the existence of some moral teaching or rule laid down for all! Draupadī uses the same expression with reference to established Kuru conventions (this time in the singular) when she challenges the Kauravas to come to her defence in the assembly hall: ‘That ancient, eternal dharma is lost for the Kauravas (sa naṣṭah kauraveyeṣu pūrvo dharmaṣ sanātanaṣ)!’ (2.62.9).
We saw in Chapter 6, when we introduced the concept of sanātana dharma, that it tends to be implemented, somewhat misleadingly, in modern times as a catch-all device to justify innovation or endorse a particular view or course of action. ‘Misleadingly’ because the stance endorsed is legitimated, often on the flimsiest of grounds, with reference to antiquity: it is allegedly the ‘eternal law’ in action. Antiquity in Hinduism has a high premium. But, in the excerpt from Bankim Chatterji's novel quoted in Chapter 6, sanātana dharma is spoken of as subtle, like dharma in general, manifesting in different ways in different times. It is not some discernible static teaching. I noted that this fits in with our own analysis of dharma. So, when the philosopher Radhakrishnan equates sanātana dharma in his work with some kind of eternal philosophy (philosophia perennis) to be identified with an Advaitic interpretation of the world and to be endorsed by all, he is making yet another ideologically motivated move. Perhaps ‘sanātana dharma’ might be used properly, if at all, as an indication of one's desire to be rooted in a long-established, distinctive ‘Hindu’ orientation to the world that is yet susceptible to continuing innovation and change – no more. How this is to be implemented is open to discussion.
That the actualization of dharma is traditionally understood to require a free and deliberate response is further indicated by its definition in an influential text, the Mīmāṃsā Sūtra of Jaimini (200 B.C.E–200 C.E.; see Chapter 9). The second verse of this text declares: ‘Dharma concerns some directive’ (codanā lakṣaṇo'rtho dharmaṣ) – no doubt, at that time, a directive bearing on Vedic ritual. The point is, however, that according to this definition, dharmic behaviour has to do with a recommended course of action. Such a directive would paradigmatically be expressed in Sanskrit in the optative mood (vidhi-li), i.e. ‘One should/may [not] do so-and-so’. This would make no sense unless it were assumed that the subject of the directive were free to act accordingly. In general, different kinds of directive obtained: some were always obligatory, others were obligatory at specific times, and still others were entirely optional. This implies the obligation of duty and the freedom to obey. Since such directives invariably required contextualization in accordance with the particular circumstances of those who implemented them, deliberation and counsel concerning their implementation were often called for. In other words, the pursuit of dharma was envisaged as a fully rational process. In his interpretation of a passage in the Gītā, Rāmānuja endorses this interpretation by flagging up the importance of intention – assumed to be free – in the performance of an action:
Behold this great wonder! That with respect to those who perform the very same action (outwardly), it is through difference of intention alone that there are some who, partaking even in the smallest measure of the fruit [of karma], move about naturally [in the realm of rebirth], while there are others who, partaking this time of that fruit which is the attainment of the highest Person who is unlimited and unparalleled bliss, never return.
(9.24; emphasis added)
The Gītā has remained a seminal text in important strands of Hinduism from its inception to the present day, not least as a source of spiritual instruction. None of its Hindu religious commentators of note, to my knowledge, gives it a deterministic interpretation; thus Rāmānuja is no exception. Perhaps enough has been done to show that in Hinduism the implementation of dharma is generally acknowledged to depend on the belief that we have real potential to act freely and rationally.
In the next chapter, let us continue our discussion about dharma in relation to other important Hindu concepts.
12
Morality and the person; the belief in karma and rebirth
The Law Code of Manu, which has acted as a sort of official billboard for Hinduism in matters legal and moral for many, comments on dharma in several places. ‘Understand that dharma which is followed by the learned, and which the good, who have neither hatred nor attachment, ever recognize by means of the heart’ (2.1). Who are the ‘wise’ and ‘good’, and what does ‘recognize by means of the heart’ mean here? B.K. Matilal, in an essay entitled ‘Dharma and Rationality’, has pointed out that these words have been glossed by traditional commentators in different ways (see Ganeri 2002:54). At the time Manu's Law Code appeared on the scene, the ‘wise’ and the ‘good’ would no doubt have acknowledged the dharma of following Vedic ritual, not to mention the varṇasrama dharma of normative orthodoxy. But, as Matilal also points out, most commentators agree that discerning dharma involves debate and consultation, and that the resolution of one's dharmic uncertainties required guidance and deliberation.
This encompassing dharma endorsed by Manu was distinguished further into what was called general (sādhāraṇa) dharma and individual dharma (sva-dharma). We read in Manu: ‘Non-injury (ahiṃsā), truth (satya), non-stealing (asteya), control of the senses (indriya-nigraha) – Manu has said that in short this is dharma for the four castes’ (10.63). The Law Code of Vasiṣṭa (ca. beginn
ing of the Common Era) declares: ‘Avoiding backbiting, envy, pride, egoism, unbelief, guile, boasting, insulting others, hypocrisy, greed, infatuation, anger and discontent is approved dharma for all the [four] stages of life’ (10.30).1 This injunction would have been directed first at the ‘twice-born’ male, but it would have applied circumstantially to all within the pale of ‘Hindu’ dharma, women and the low castes too. We can illustrate this by reference to the dharma of non-injury or ahiṃsā.
Manu includes ahiṃsā (which in its broadest sense means ‘non-injury’ to all living beings) as a representative virtue of general dharma, so, clearly, practising ahiṃsā was regarded as of great importance for moral progress. But from what we have learned about Hinduism so far, we can see that a problem now presents itself. What about the Kṣatriya, whose caste-duty it is to defend and protect, even at the cost of killing and being killed? The answer is that, in the line of duty, the Kṣatriya was exempt from the injunction not to injure. In this context, his personal dharma, his sva-dharma, overrode sādhāraṇa dharma. In fact, a number of exceptions were made, under the broad canopy of Hinduism, to the general injunction not to harm living beings. Consider further the case of those Vedic rituals that involved injury not only to vegetative life, namely plants, trees and so on (for the making of sacrificial implements, etc.), but that also required the performance of animal sacrifice. How to resolve the clash between the directive to practise ahiṃsā and the injunction to undertake such sacrifices? Manu has a ready answer: ‘One may regard the Veda-prescribed injury to moving and non-moving things, with its accompanying rules, as ahiṃsā, for dharma itself has arisen from the Veda’ (5.44). Thus such injury can be reckoned as non-injury, or at least as permissible injury, since both injunctions derive from the Veda, and the Veda cannot contradict itself. Moral and legal directives must be accommodating in accordance with circumstances. Dharma, as we have seen, is a flexible concept.
There are Purāṇic texts which say that animal sacrifice may be performed at sacred fords or cross-over points (tīrthas) only. Indeed, a number of dharmic authorities have declared that the ritualized death of animal sacrifice is quite deceptive, for in fact the animal thus despatched does not really ‘die’ but passes on to heaven (perhaps as a result of expended karma). Kṛṣṇa uses a similar argument in the Gītā when encouraging the Kṣatriya, Arjuna, to do his duty (sva-dharma) and fight in the great Mahābhārata war:
The one who regards this [embodied self] as a slayer and the one who thinks it slain –
Both do not know: it does not kill, nor is it killed (2.19) ...
Just as a man casts of f used clothes and puts on other new ones,
So the embodied self casts off used bodies and enters other new ones (2.22) ...
If you take note of your sva-dharma you should not hesitate,
For there is nothing better for a Kṣatriya than battle [arising] from dharma (2.31).
Happy the Kṣatriyas, Arjuna, who gain such a battle, offered by chance and with the
door of heaven open (2.32).
In fact, a case can be made for saying that the whole of the Gītā is based on the view that taking part in a bloody, internecine war is perfectly acceptable provided that this can be interpreted as performing one's sva-dharma. Kṛṣṇa goes on to teach that such sva-dharma is best undertaken not for personal gain (a kingdom or heaven) but out of disinterested duty in the name of Kṛṣṇa, who is the Supreme Being. There is a very robust strand of appreciation in Hinduism for the need for (legitimate) violence, and violent action of one sort or another is commonplace in the epics, both in their Sanskrit and vernacular versions. In this light, it is a surprising thing that so little physical violence was resorted to during India's struggle for independence from colonial rule (though this restraint broke down spectacularly after Partition of the land in 1947 when so many Hindus and Muslims in particular sought an elusive refuge in their adopted homelands). No doubt Gandhi's advocacy of non-violence played a major part in quelling pre-Partition violence, as did disunity and poor organization on the part of Indians themselves. This is not to say that most Hindus would resort in the first instance to physical violence to solve disputes (hardly), but it is also not to say that there is no salient tradition of endorsing violence, in both literature and moral debate.
Similar thinking about interpreting violence as non-violence applies with respect to the animal sacrifice (bali) recommended in some forms of Tantric ritual, which lies outside the obvious Vedic pale. Some Tantric sects even practised human sacrifice. As in the case of Vedic animal sacrifice, Tantric/Śākta sacrifice (which can be performed not only actually, but also symbolically) was a highly ritualized act, on occasion taking many months to enact from the time of the selection of the victim to its eventual slaughter and disposal. This was regarded either as permissible violence or as ‘non-violence’. The Mahānirvāṇa Tantra, a late (eighteenth-century) Sanskrit text, declares: ‘Except for a divine cause (devoddeśa), injury must always be avoided. But if a man commits injury in accordance with precept, he is not tainted by evils (pāpair na lipyate)’ (11.143). Under Tantric influence, animal sacrifice – the victims often being goats and chickens – is common today in Śākta shrines (see Fuller 1992, esp. Chapters 4 and 6). The famous Kālī temple of Kolkata is one such place.
We can add suttee, a suicidal form of self-injury, to our list of relevant examples. We have seen in Chapter 6 that suttee was by no means universally endorsed in Hindu tradition, and that even when it was recommended or permitted, it was hedged round by qualifications. Thus the Mitākṣara (eleventh–twelfth century), the most authoritative and well-known commentary on the Yājñavalkya-smṛti, recommends, but does not enforce, suttee for all wives, including the Caṇḍāla (one of the lowest castes: ‘ā caṇḍālam’ says the text), provided that they are not pregnant or have young children to care for (1.86). In that case, suttee is not to be done. Thus suttee may override the directive to practise ahiṃsā, but the value accorded to new and vulnerable life outweighs the directive to practise suttee. Note that the text includes the Caṇḍāla within the scope of this dharmic recommendation;the Caṇḍāla wife is permitted both to commit suttee and to desist, depending on circumstances. So the conflict between sādhāraṇa dharma and svadharma, and the need to resolve it, apply to her no less than to the twice-born woman. Dharma is an all-embracing concept. The text mentioned actually says that it is the ‘general dharma’ (sādhāraṇa dharma) of wives to act in the manner described. Thus sādhāraṇa dharma is also a relative concept: relative to place, gender, time, and so on. In fact, where ahiṃsā is concerned, it has been pointed out that there have always been conflicting views within Hindu theory and practice (see Tahtinen 1976).
This brings us to the view opposing violence in the tradition. This is also very strong and ancient, and may well have been encouraged by early Buddhist and Jain critiques not so much of war but of the practice of animal sacrifice in Vedic religion.2 Thus Tahtinen has called this the view of the ascetic tradition. There is no doubt that, even in Brahminic Hinduism, general non-violence is the recommended practice especially for those embarking on stages of life after that of the householder. For such people, the dharmas of sacrificial and other ritual, of war and so on, are to be left behind. Texts specifically for those who wish to develop an ascetic way of life (and incorporating ways of thinking which may have originated as reactions to the Vedic sacrificial cult but which in time were absorbed into general orthodoxy) generally laud nonviolence as a supreme virtue. For example, the Yoga Sūtra of Patañjali, an ancient and authoritative text (which we have met before) not least for Tantric schools, says under 2.30–1:‘Non-injury (ahiṃsa), truth(fullness), not stealing, celibacy, and non-covetousness, are the restraints. They apply at all levels irrespective of caste, place, time and circumstance’.
But there were – and are – ascetics and ascetics. All those calling themselves ascetics have not felt bound by the highest ideals of non-violence, suc
h as the Gandhian ideal that physical violence and ill-will must be shunned at all costs (though an exception may be made for physical violence, for example, in the case of self-defence or the defence of others when life is threatened). Evidence indicates that it was during the consolidation of Mughal rule in the second half of the sixteenth century that an increase in the numbers of bands of armed itinerant ascetics occurred, mainly in the northern half of the subcontinent. Countering attacks by various Muslim groups may have had something to do with the increase if not the origin of these bands, though we also know that the ascetics developed bloody rivalries among themselves (see Pinch 2006: Chapters 1 and 2). For these bands it was a small step from this to preying on the general populace and/or enlisting as mercenaries or soldiers in the armies of the various rulers of kingdoms and principalities around.
These were ascetics of a kind. They belonged to different sects, both Vaiṣṇava and Śaiva, with Brahmins and Śūdras among them. They often went about naked, or wore only a minimal loincloth;they had matted hair, sectarian marks about their persons, and smeared their bodies with ash as a sign of their ascetic lifestyle. They had their own codes of conduct, to some of which they tended to sit lightly, notably the vows of celibacy and abstention from covetousness and intoxicants. The most striking among these ascetics, perhaps, were the Kānphaṭās or ‘Split-Ears’, of whom mention has been made in Chapter 1. These got their name from the heavy stone or metal earrings they wore, and they appear on our medieval scene with a long and colourful history behind them (see Lorenzen 1991). These ascetics and others like them – somewhat scary to look at, sometimes with a human cranium in their hands as a drinking vessel, and not slow to take offence – were the forebears of the later, naked holy-men that can still be seen in India. Here is an early description of the latter:
Hindus: Their Religious Beliefs and Practices (The Library of Religious Beliefs and Practices) Page 45