In February 1962, Indian newspapers carried numerous articles describing measures to meet a predicted aṣṭāgraha, an astronomical conjunction of earth, sun, moon, and five planets. The astrologers were unanimous in considering it an extremely evil omen, possibly the harbinger of the end of the world ... Despite the fact that, astronomically speaking, the aṣṭāgraha was not quite accurate, millions of Hindus were frankly worried, expecting a ghastly catastrophe. Many sold all their belongings and went to Prayāga, Kāśī, or some other holy place, from which one goes directly to heaven at the time of death or one can attain mokṣa. The rich engaged thousands of pandits and Brahmins to organize Vedic yajñas that would go on for weeks, reciting millions of Vedic mantras. The dreaded event passed without a major disaster.
(Klostermaier 1989:148)
What really happened? The Vedic yajñas worked, no doubt ... Such practices retain a powerful hold on the Hindu mind. But in the eyes of the devotee proper – the ardent worshipper of a supreme deity, whichever it is – the path of monism or of the Ritualists is either misguided or inadequate. Ritual and works must be integrated into devotion for the one God, whilst monism, whether Advaitic or other, is a sham, since it seeks to do away with the inviolate distinction between a supreme personal God and the finite world. Indeed, in the theist Rāmānuja's words, the true bhakta wants to ‘glide away’ (sarpati) from what is propagated as the Advaitic goal!
We can now go on to consider the most popular path to salvation or spiritual fulfilment followed in Hinduism today, that of devotion or bhakti to a deity. I shall not rehearse here the history of the development of bhakti, details of which we have already encountered in several places in this book. It will suffice if we first recall important moments of this history as an aide-memoir to the discussion of different kinds of bhakti that will follow.
We can begin by recalling the religion of the Vedic Saṃhitās and their unfolding belief in an underlying One to which the Vedic hymns and the ‘gods’ or devas ultimately refer in different ways;many of these hymns exhibit clear devotional content, as we have glimpsed (Chapter 2), which may indicate the religious sentiment that underlay their implementation in the sacrificial ritual or yajña or indeed in other contexts (whether there was a similar sentiment in the religion of the Indus civilization we have no clear means of knowing; see Chapter 2).4 The Vedic religion of the One, if we can call it that, eventually came to a head in the Upaniṣads in two principal forms: (i) as a sought identity with the One, and (ii) as a desired relationship with the One, regarded in personal terms as Maker, Mainstay and End of all creaturely being, i.e. as ‘God’ (see, e.g. the Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad). There is archaeological evidence that already by the latter half of the first millennium B.C.E., temples to individual deities were being built, doubtless with images of these deities inside (see Chapter 14).
Textual evidence for the growth and consolidation of bhakti religion appears clearly in the two Sanskrit epics (the Bhagavad Gītā of the Mbh., datable perhaps to about the beginning of the Common Era, being a prime example) and from early in the Purāṇic tradition, as also in some of the Tantras. Such religion incorporated devotional worship to Śiva, Viṣṇu and the Goddess (devī), where each was exalted as the supreme deity in his or her own right. The religion of the Āvārs and Nāyamārs in south India (from the sixth century onwards) was another clear expression of monotheistic Vaiṣṇava and Śaiva bhakti respectively. Similarly, in eastern regions of the subcontinent at about the same time, there was a surge in worship to the Goddess (as evidenced textually by some Purāṇic works). By the time we reach the beginning of the second millennium C.E., the religion of bhakti to one deity or other is prevalent throughout the subcontinent, and it is not long before this trend is developed in different ways (e.g. by the Sants), sometimes in theological mode. Devotion to the deity has been the most popular form of religious faith in Hinduism ever since.
Whilst it is true, I think – and I have tried to indicate this in various places in this book – that bhakti can reach the heights of monotheistic expression, though with a distinctive Hindu stamp to it, no doubt, I do not wish to imply that we do not on occasion encounter what appear to be ‘polytheistic’ forms of bhakti or devotional religion. Evidence for this seems to arise in the context of the worship of ‘folk’ gods and goddesses, not least in rural environments. Ongoing field-research indicates that some votaries relate to these deities on a kind of feudal basis, without any clear idea, apparently, of a single, underlying divine source. In Bengal, for instance, the goddess Manasā is invoked to protect from the venom of snakes while the god Dakṣin Ray is worshipped to guard against tigers. These roles are quite specific (in other parts of the subcontinent some of these folk-deities seem to have counterparts, with different names and attributes). If these deities are not duly acknowledged or placated by their worshippers, they can be punitive or vengeful. On the other hand, if they are given their due, they had better live up to their responsibilities, or else their votaries will want to know the reason whyl Thus we are informed:
Because of what can seem to be very well-defined functions, folk gods have sometimes been called ‘departmental’: god A performs function A, as Śītalā’s function is, for example, to cure smallpox. Such neat classifications ... have a limited validity. It is not at all certain that god A, who apparently has a very definite function in village A, would be readily identified by the villagers themselves with a god with the same function in village B. Śītalā, neatly catalogued as a smallpox goddess, also serves as the chief deity of the Bengali Lodhas. Mariamman, the South Indian smallpox goddess, not only protects against smallpox, cholera or any other disease, but can also grant practically anything a worshipper may desire from her. Villagers themselves do not seem able to make such identifications easily. W. Crooke notes ... that ‘the jurisdiction of these gods is purely local, and when ... (the villager) leaves his village, he finds himself in the land of new gods, whose hostility he knows not how to appease’.
(W.L. Smith 1976:68)
Several questions come to mind: is this form of religion bhakti proper? It depends on how exactly one wishes to define bhakti, viz. as a faith of commitment or attachment to a particular deity (in which case this may be a form of bhakti), or as an expression of genuine devotion to God (in which case this may not be describable as bhakti). Again, could a form of Socratic questioning reveal an implicit monotheism here (or at least in some cases), where all these so-called departmental or functional deities are seen to arise from a single underlying Source? We must not forget that even in village contexts, as we have seen, the process of Sanskritization, where more or less explicit attempts are made to re-frame local or regional phenomena in terms of pan-Indian Brahminical criteria, continues apace. In other words, folk gods and goddesses too are, as in the case of deities in the ‘high tradition,’ deities in transition. Let us give an example.
The goddess Śītalā is a rural goddess of the eastern regions of the subcontinent who in the past has been associated specifically with smallpox (though other diseases, such as measles, malaria and TB, also come under her jurisdiction). Iconographically, she ‘is a young, fair-complexioned virgin with dishevelled hair who rides an ass (gādhā), is crowned with a winnowing-fan (śūrpa), and holds in her right hand a short broom (jhāṛu), while in the left one she keeps an earthen pitcher (khālśī)’ (Ferrari 2007:99;though variations in her description occur). However, India had been certified as free from smallpox in the late 1970s. This has certainly not rendered Śītalā redundant. When AIDS came to the subcontinent in the late 1980s, in West Bengal ‘local Śītalās started to be sporadically worshipped to keep away AIDS from the mid-1990s ... She is believed to cause AIDS and at the same time she is invoked as a healer’ (ibid.:95). So Śītalā’s role is changing among her devotees to adapt to circumstances. It is important to note, for our purposes here, that Śītalā is not AIDS, just as she is or was not smallpox. She commands the disease(s) she is associated with, for
she can cause, and she can take away. Indeed:
although PLWAH (People Living With AIDS/HIV) tend to be ostracized, the belief that these people live in a state of possession by – or at least, in a condition of closeness to the goddess – persists. As smallpox victims were totally identified with Śītalā, so it is for HIV/AIDS. They are experiencing the kiss of the goddess [debīr cumu], an extreme form of love which can eventually devour them.
(ibid.:96)
This is how the villagers speak about the disease and the goddess in their exclusivist relationship with her; there is a mixture here of apprehension, commitment and, apparently, devotion in the complex attitudes that characterize the very pragmatic dealings votaries have with such deities. Perhaps we can say, after all, that though such gods and goddesses may not explicitly be given universal divine attributes, as in the monotheistic theologies we have been considering, there is a case for saying that they are the object of genuine devotion/bhakti from their votaries.
Here we may point out generally that many traditions in Hinduism make a distinction between aparā bhakti or lower-order devotion and parā bhakti or higher-order devotion. The former kind of bhakti is at best admixed: hopes and desires for personal welfare and that of one's loved ones are mixed occasionally with more selfless attitudes. Some theologians call those who resort to such bhakti, arthins, viz. devotees with personal ends in view. In theological discourse, both the theologians and the deity are, in general, very tolerant of the arthin, for they realise that such devotion is perfectly human;it forms the stuff of vows, fasts, pilgrimages, everyday worship etc. But the treatises are adamant that on the whole this is an inferior form of the love of God. It may be commendable, for it is far better than an ungodly way of life, but it is also at heart self-centred;as such, it generates fresh karma and leads potentially to rebirth. Devotees must be weaned away towards an attitude of higher-order bhakti. Here, the deity is loved and obeyed for his or her own sake alone, with a love that tends by its nature towards universal benevolence for all being. By its ingrained selflessness, this love transforms one's life and consciousness, consumes past karma, and leads to ultimate fulfilment. Parā bhakti, it is often said hyperbolically, delights the deity more than the devotee;is the most congenial way to salvation, more congenial than the path of works and knowledge. It is the way of the saints.
In Part II we shall look more carefully, from a particular perspective, at various kinds of bhakti that tend towards higher-order devotion to the deity.
Part II
With the passage of time, the various Hindu sects and denominations have evolved numerous understandings about paths of selfless devotion to God. Some of these paths are meant to be practised separately, others are supposed to be followed in combination. We cannot list them all. However, a good idea of the range can be given by considering a particular verse from a well-known masterpiece on bhakti, the Nārada Bhakti Sūtras. This is not a very long work, though it is quite condensed, consisting of only about 84 sūtras (the precise number depending on the edition used). As its name implies, this text is ascribed to the sage Nārada, who is supposed to have lived in ancient times. In fact, it is the work of more than one unknown hand, and can be dated to about the tenth to twelfth centuries C.E.5 Sütra 82 is particularly relevant for our purposes:
Though bhakti is one, it has eleven forms. [It is] of the form of (1) the Attachment to the Greatness of the [divine] Qualities; (2) the Attachment to the [divine] Form(s); (3) the Attachment to the Worship [of the divine image]; (4) the Attachment to Remembering [the deity]; (5) the Attachment to the Service [of the deity]; (6) the Attachment to the [divine] Companionship; (7) the Attachment of Parental Affection; (8) the Attachment of the Beloved; (9) the Attachment of Self-Offering; (10) the Attachment of being Suffused by [the deity]; (11) the Attachment of the most profound Separation.6
Each form of bhakti listed here has been followed either as a separate way of devotion or in combination with others. Further, it is not clear if the above modes are intended simply to comprise a list or to form a hierarchy culminating in the last mode. The whole text has a Vaiṣṇava bias, no doubt, but the range of modes of ‘attachment’ described in this sūtra covers more or less the scope not only of ‘devotion,’ but also where applicable, of other forms of commitment to the deity in Śaiva and Śākta contexts as well, not excluding Tantra, so we can use it as a convenient template for a general discussion of bhakti and other approaches of commitment to the deity.
The term bhakti is generally derived from the root bhaj, which means ‘to share, to share in, to participate, to become one with’ (see end of Chapter 6). In the verse above, it is rendered as āsakti, which comes from āsañj, meaning ‘to stick or cling to, to fasten on, to attach or be attached’ (hence my translation, Attachment’). The word ‘attachment’ can apply to both selfish and selfless forms of clinging, so in view of our earlier comments about lower-order and higher-order bhakti, this is a convenient translation. The bias in the sūtra tends towards the latter form of bhakti, and we shall reflect this bias in the discussion that follows. Further, in the context of the text we are considering, the prime object of bhakti is the deity, the Supreme (personal) Being. In Vaiṣṇava theology, the generic term for God as the object of bhakti is Bhagavān, ‘the Adorable One. In Śaiva and Śākta thought, counterparts might be Mahādeva (‘Great Lord’) and Mahādevī (‘Great Goddess’) respectively. Similarly, whereas the devotee is generally the bhakta, the votary (in Tantra and Śākta) is the sādhaka. Let us now comment briefly on each kind of asakti or attachment mentioned in the list given earlier.
(1) Attachment to the Greatness of the divine Qualities
For the devotee, the deity is one, supreme, all-powerful, all-knowing, omnipresent, benevolent, etc. Some schools of Vaiṣṇava theology speak of Bhagavān as characterized by the six bhagas or qualities, namely, majesty or sovereignty (aiśvarya), power (vīrya), glory (yaśas), beauty (śrī), wisdom (jñāna) and freedom from constraint (vairāgya; minor variations may occur). In addition to this, in almost every theology of the ‘great tradition’ (includin Tantra), one could, without too much difficulty, make a case for describing the deity as ‘creative’ in the strong (Abrahamic) sense of the term, viz. as producing creaturely being in such a way that such being depends ontologically entirely on the will of the deity; this would include the action of all secondary causes such as demiurgic beings instigating the periodic emission and dissolution of the world(s), the interim suspension of some of the world's constituents, and so on. Where practice is concerned, the devotee delights in chanting and meditating upon the divine attributes, as recounted, say, in the various sahasranāmas that are around (see end of Chapter 14).
Here we may raise the following question: in this context of a good, omniscient, omnipotent divine being, how to explain the relationship between the deity and the origin and/or presence of evil, especially since Hindus exhibit a tendency to lay everything at the Supreme Being's door, even events that we may describe as natural and moral evils such as plagues and wars? We have seen that one major answer would be to place the deity at one or more removes away from the arising of evil by recourse to the doctrine of individual and collective karma and rebirth for which creaturely agents are held to be directly responsible (see Chapter 12). But other responses to the enigma of the existence of evil vis-à-vis the omnipotence of a good God can also be found. Here are some of them:
(a) ‘God is not evil, but good. “Good” and “evil”, however, are relative terms. What is good, even morally good in one situation, may not be so in another. Often “good” and “evil” are what appear to be good and evil to someone in a particular situation. So sometimes God and his/her saint may seem to do something “evil” but we must try to see or accept it as good, for it comes from a higher source that knows better and we cannot always see the whole picture’.
Various assumptions are being made here, no doubt, about the relativity of evil (in every situation?), about one's inabili
ty to judge absolutely between good and evil perhaps, and so on, all of which need further ethical discussion. But this kind of response to the problem is often given. Another answer may be:
(b) ‘Some actions are always wrong and God neither sanctions nor does them. Myths, however, sometimes cast the deity or a sage in an ambivalent light, or as perpetrating or inciting wrongdoing. But stories are stories, and myths are myths: all religious scriptures have them. Understand their rationale. They may be teaching us about the power or sovereignty of God, or that the divine ways are not our ways, or something like that. They are not meant to be taken literally’.
It is true that, although there are plenty of Hindus who do tend to take their scriptures with a large measure of literalism, Hinduism has always had a strong tradition of understanding sacred texts in terms of layers of meaning. Hindu story telling and its reception, even among unlettered folk, is a developed art. We have adverted to this fact in more than one place, and, especially in the last generation or so of scholarship, this feature of Hindu narrative has been the object of perceptive study (see e.g. the writings of Philip Lutgendorf ). Hindus are not that prone to being misled by racy myths about the deity as some might think.
Yet a third response might be:
(c) God is good, yet God has made us free, and God permits us to exercise this freedom, even to the point of doing much wrong. This may be interpreted in some contexts as if God is not good, but God is not condoning the evil done, only permitting it in order to let karma and rebirth run their course. Further, it is only in the face of evil that so many admirable human virtues can develop and grow. So in this and other ways God can bring good out of evil, though exactly how or when, we may not be able to understand.’
This is how the Śrī Vaiṣṇava theologian Rāmānuja, for example, whose acquaintance we have made in more than one place already, explains the moral freedom of human action under the overarching scrutiny of God: it is as if one member of two parties who jointly and equally own some property, wishes to transfer the property to another, and requires no more than the consent of the other joint property-owner to do so. Legally, this consent is a minimal act in so far as it makes the transfer of property possible;the consenter need not be regarded as initiating or morally approving of the transfer of the property. Similarly, when a finite agent performs some moral action, the Lord as the agent's ontological support simply consents to bring the action into existence; he neither morally determines nor necessarily approves of it. The indwelling Lord notes the ‘effort of will’ (prayatna-udyoga) of the agent and consents to its realization in order to sustain the moral freedom of the agent. It is the agent who is morally responsible for the deed, not the Lord: ‘the Supreme Self [merely] witnesses the doing and remains impartial (udāsīna āste). Thus, all is in order’.7
Hindus: Their Religious Beliefs and Practices (The Library of Religious Beliefs and Practices) Page 61