Woman and Goddess in Hinduism

by Tracy Pintchman

  Recently, at the end of an article on the various usages of words and rites for miscarriage, stillbirth, and abortion (Patton, 2002: 51– 69),1 I suggested the possibility of using basic prama sources, such as Veda itself, as mantras to restore and protect women’s health. Within a Mms worldview, we might well argue for a continued form of ritual action performed for the health of women in contemporary India, not unlike the Rma-raka stotra with which I began this essay.

  This task is, if we do it well, neither an attempt to legitimize ancient myths in order to valorize the current situation for women in India nor an attempt to raid ancient myths for equally problematic fem i n i st pu r pose s. We m ight i n stead b e fem i n is t M m msakas, or traditional interpreters of Vedic ritual. Mary McGee (2002: 32–51)2 has discussed the ways in which particular arguments of Jaimini might be useful for contemporary women. Here, I argue that certain forma l pers pect ive s a nd k nowledge f rom t he M m ms a nd ot her I nd ia n philosophical traditions could also be of great use.

  As I have argued previously (Patton, 2002: 53–63), our method might be to focus on the power of metaphor in the very kinds of Vedic texts that I have laid before you. Our modus operandi might be fourfold: first, following Mark Johnson’s work Moral Imagination (1993), we assume that ancient texts can provide us with both metaphors and narratives, which Johnson argues are the stuff of more informed and complex ethical thinking. Second, we assume that this idea of ethical thought is the Sanskrit equivalent of prama, or right reasoning, of traditional Vedic interpretive philosophy. Third, an inquiry into strdharma, or the codes of conduct by and about the lives of women, is a legitimate and necessary form of inquiry that should be the appropriate topic of Mms . Fourth and finally, because prama can and does outrank sadcara, or traditional practice, as a form of reasoning about Vedic texts, reinterpretation of Vedic texts can and should provide a critique of sadcara, or contemporary traditional practices, such as female infanticide in present-day India. In other words, basing our arguments on these four principles, we might use Vedic texts to provide a sophisticated, traditional argument against religious practices concerning abortion, or indeed, any other practices that harm women. I am arguing, in effect, that the reasoning of prama can and should be understood in ethical as well as “logical” ways.

  MMS

  Let us begin with what we might mean by Mms philosophy. As I have written elsewhere (Patton, 1996), and as is known in Hindu philosophy more generally, Mmsa’s core stras are those of Jaimini, who is credited with systematizing Vedic knowledge to a point of transcendental elegance. They are known commonly as the Prva Mms Stras (PMS). The text’s central problem is the investigation of dharma, or duty, as it is stated within the Vedas. Because the Vedas are the main source of dharma, they have no author, but are eternally valid and uncreated—as Sheldon Pollock (1989: 608) puts it, an “always-already-given discourse.”3 Most importantly, dharma is taught by Vedic injunction (codan)—that which is laid down in the Vedas as “to-be-done” within the ritual sphere. All of Vedic language is organized according to this basic principle. Mms, then, is Vedic ritual philosophy based on an inquiry into dharma (dharmajijñs: PMS 1.1.1).

  Mms divides the Vedic literature into four different categories—mantra, brhmaa, brthavda, and nmadhcya. Though an extended discussion of these distinctions need not detain us here, some important points should be noted. For Mms thinkers, the most important distinction is between mantra and brhmaa. Mantras are those texts that merely make an assertion (PMS 2.1.32) but are not themselves injunctive. They function only during the performance of an act. The brhmaa texts have been defined as all that which is not mantra (PMS 2.1.33). While arguments abound as to how the brhmaa,which contains “all the rest,” is to be divided up, what remains clear is that, whatever else they contain, brhmaass do contain injunctions that are indicative of dharma. The brhmaas portion of a text is where injunctions are primarily to be located. The third category, arthavda, consists of those brhmaas texts that are not injunctive in character, but are purely descriptive or declamatory. They commend the act of sacrifice to a deity, or describe the reason for performing a certain act. The final division, nmadhcya, consists of those texts primarily made up of the proper names of sacrifices and other things, and whose meaning depends upon the knowledge of those names. (See Biderman, 1984; and Gosvami, 1986, for helpful elaborations on these ideas.)

  For Mms, the deities are a purely hypothetical entity, posited for the sake of the sacrifice, which would not be an act of “sacrifice” unless there was a deity to whom the offering is made (PMS 9.1.6-10). Yet even with this proviso, Mms deities are clearly subordinate— they have no physical body, they are neither satisfied nor dissatisfied, nor do they reward and punish people as the results of sacrifices (see Jha, 1942: 317; and Clooney, 1988a: 277-98).

  ARTHA AS A BASIC CATEGORY FOR

  SOCIAL THINKING ON BEHALF OF WOMEN

  In his 1989 article, “Mms and the Problem of History in Traditional India,” mentioned earlier, Sheldon Pollock discusses the suppression of historical consciousness in India via the claims of the religio-philosophical school of Mms4 about the transcendental nature of the Vedas. According to the PMS, the status of the Vedas as apaurueyatva texts—texts “existing beyond the human”—is proven by two basic strategies. The Vedas are transcendent because they have no beginning in time and no author; those men whose names are associated with particular recensions (such as Paippaldaka) are simply scholars specializing in the transmission of the Vedas (PMS 1.1.29-30). Moreover, according to Mms, the Vedas have no historical contents. All those references that are suggestive of historical contents are, via the strategy of word-derivation, proven to be merely phonemic resemblances to the names of historical persons (PMS 1.1.31).5

  In light of this important analysis, one might infer that, in its lacking historical consciousness, and its focus primarily on ritual categories, Mms is of little help for purposes of social reform, which would demand a knowledge of how things are practiced outside of ritual as well as how social conditions have changed over time. However, in my own thinking (also following Bilimoria6), Mms is quite helpful for purposes of social critique. Its flexibility about the nature of artha allows us to rethink purposes in such a way that we can engage in ritual performances (such as the Rma-raka stotra cited earlier) that help change injustice or work effectively for the betterment of those who need justice. Most significantly, it goes without saying that Mms must be undertaken in tandem with serious moral reflection about the nature of contemporary dharma. But surely the phrase at the very beginning of the Jaimini stras, dharmajijns, “wanting to know dharma” suggests just that. Dharmajijñs does not imply a Vedic sacrificial worldview that is frozen in time or ritually oriented for the sake only of ritual orientation. While the Vedic worldview entirely encompasses Mms and is co-extensive with it, Mms is also concerned with what Francis Clooney (1990: 139) calls “the underlying pattern of word-purpose-action upon which every ritual rests: dharma includes codan, a verbal power instigating certain kinds of action.” Thus, Mms might also be interpreted as a call for constant and continuous reflection on dharma and therefore a redefining of artha according to purposeful action, even justice, based on contemporary issues.

  Let us delve further into the nature of artha. As Francis Clooney also argues (1986: 205), dharma is defined as codanlaksano’rtha (1.1.2)—”dharma is that purpose which is characterized by injunction or injunctive force.” Codan is thus a command, driven and made coherent by a purpose that impels the sacrificial performer into action. Clooney translates artha here as purpose, but he also joins other scholars in understanding it as meaning “goal,” “wealth,” “object,” and so forth. The dharma discovered everywhere in the performance and in the relationship of all its elements is identified with what is purposeful (ibid.).

  Clooney goes on to outline the three key compounds used in the Jaimini Stras—purua-artha (or pururtha), kratu-artha (or kratvrthd), and abda-artha (or abdrtha). Purua-artha
is self-interest for something of benefit to human beings, even and including renunciation (PMS 4.1.3–6). The three kinds of sacrificial action (permanent obligation, occasional obligation, and optional undertaking) can be measured with an idea toward the results. Even those actions with no stated results are presumed to be focused on heaven (PMS 4.3.11). What is more, the idea of “heaven” could also be that state of happiness that all human beings desire (Clooney 1986: 205–206). For our purposes, such pura-arthas might well include women giving birth, women in need of protection from violence, and so on. Kratu-artha is the internal cohesion of the sacrifice, the internal cohesion of the sacrificer’s implements and the sacrificer’s actions, regardless of what his or her purpose actually is. For example, a concern with kratu-artha might be focused on the presence of unnecessary implements or mantras when a sacrificial rule is being “transferred” from one rite to another.

  The third form of artha is abda-artha—the meaningfulness of Vedic words, particularly explained in the ninth adhyya of the PMS. In PMS 1.2.31-53, we see a long discussion of this issue. How does Rg Vedic mantra fit within this larger scheme? Does this Mms system mean that mantras, being merely assertive statements, are useless, or even “meaningless,” as Staal (1979) has argued, given the centrality of injunction? On the contrary, as Ganganatha Jha (1942: 162) notes, if the mantra texts were meaningless, they could not convey any information regarding dharma, and this would vitiate the authority of the Veda.

  To argue this point, in Stras 1.2.31-53, Jaimini picks up the skeleton of the arguments provided by the ancient etymologist Yska against Kautsa, an early proponent of “meaninglessness,” and develops them in more elaborate detail.

  For Mms, mantras serve two purposes—the purpose of asserting things in connection with the acts enjoined by injunctive texts, and the purpose of recalling such injunctions to mind. Thus, meaningful mantras are clearly helpful in providing knowledge of dharma. As Clooney (1986: 207) also states, the abda-artha is not a detached meaningfulness, but rather a sacrificial purposefulness.

  The discussion of artha can be extended to grammatical terminology as well. Peter Scharf (1995: 66-67) discusses the early grammarians’ idea of intention (vivaka) in relationship to artha in an intriguing and helpful way. He refers to Subramania Iyer’s (1945) helpful observation that, “for the grammarian, ‘artha’ does not mean the external reality but whatever the word brings to the mind . . . It is the intention of the speaker which calls up particular words for use.” Words are, therefore, looked upon as the effects of that intention (assuming that the speaker’s intention is not simply individual whim, but grounded in a speech community).

  Thus, both the basic meaningfulness of the sacrifice and the basic purposefulness of action are established through the idea of artha. Moreover, the basic universality of artha, understood as both the meaning of individual words and purposefulness of the sacrifice overall, is crucial to our argument. There are many reasons why one would want to undertake a sacrifice, and these are stated at length in the Jaimini Stras. As Clooney (1986) also argues, Mms constructs artha so that there is an over-arching yajñrtha, or purpose of ritual itself. In this way, the impetus of the sacrifice subordinates the abd rtha of the Veda, the kratvartha of particular ritual activities, and the pururtha of the performer himself. “Every element of the ritual whole, including the performers, the deities and the results, are secondary or accessory to the overall project of action” (208).

  As we shall discuss more extensively later, this perspective can and should be, and indeed has been, open to women’s practice. Jaimini 6.1.14 states explicitly that because they, too, desire results, and are thus connected with the purpose of sacrificing, women are eligible to be sacrificers, in addition to owning property. Like all beings, they are desirous of results (6.1.20)—not understood in a utilitarian fashion, but in the sense of human flourishing (Clooney, 1990: 141-42)7 Thus, the idea of artha is intimately connected with women’s capacity as ritual actors.

  These goals are differently stated in the rauta Stras and the Grhya Stras, the public and domestic manuals discussing the overall procedures of seasonal, royal, and household sacrifices. However, as I will discuss later, there are indeed pururthas that could be understood to be in favor of promoting women’s health and the welfare of women overall. Such rites tend to be found in the later literature, such as the Grhya Stras and the Vidhna literature—for the safe birth of a child, rites against domestic disharmony, rites against a rival who has been cruel, rites against illness, and even rites for the yajamni, the wife of the sponsor of the sacrifice, in the rajasya and other more public rituals.8 The situations of today may not be the Vedic versions of those same situations, in which women’s roles in society were differently configured than they are now. But if wanting to inquire into the nature of dharma is as strongly based a force as the Mms tradition would like to claim for it, then those situations are as relevant and important to address today as they were then.

  VEDIC WORDS AS PRAMNA HELPFUL TO

  WOMEN’S HEALTH: SOME CASE STUDIES

  In order to think through feminist M mmsaka ideas, I thought it worth taking several case studies and looking at them differently than they have been looked at in the past. I begin with the most difficult case, RV 5.78, a hymn used for successful childbirth, which also contains a blatant wish for a boy-child in its final verse. How might this hymn, difficult as it is, be used as a resource for women?

  In my earlier interpretations of this hymn (Patton, 2002: 57–59), I have focused on the hermeneutics of suspicion. The hymn 5.78 was just one hymn among many I examined in an earlier study on the history of usage of Vedic hymns about birth and the changing attitudes toward the embryo over time. I argued that we see a movement from the concrete, maternal meaning (wherein the embryo is referred to as part of the mother, and therefore something that the mother might lose) to a symbolic and paternal one (wherein the embryo is a kind of storehouse for sacrificial knowledge, and therefore something that the father might waste or even murder).9

  RV 5.78 is a hymn to the i Saptavadhri and focuses on his story. In the earlier Vedic ritual texts, it is not used for any specific purpose, and yet it is used in the later Vedic text of the Vidh na in a very specific manner. It reads as follows:

  1. Avins, rich in food, find pleasure in my offering as you wish; fly like two geese upon the Soma juice.

  2. Just as Atri, escaping from the fire, propitiates you like a solicitous wife, therefore come with the speed of a falcon, bringing happiness.

  3. Open yourself up, o tree, like the womb of the woman in labor. Hear, you Avins my cry and free Saptavadhri.

  4. For the anxious i Saptavadhri, who is in misery, through magic you Avins climb the tree up and down.

  5. Like the wind moves the lotus pond all around, so may your embryo stir; may it emerge ten months old.

  6. Like the wind, the forest, and the sea moves, like this may your ten-month child be released along with the afterbirth.

  7. After the boy has lain in the mother for ten months, may he emerge from the living woman alive, unharmed, alive.10

  The story of Saptavadhri is contained in several commentarial texts. The background given by commentators to this hymn is as follows:

  Having committed seven failures in a childless marriage, the king Avamedha of the race of Bharata employed the i Saptavadhri— presumably to beget a son upon his queen. On his eighth failure, the king, throwing him into the trough of a tree [and] into an abyss, restrained the i, described as “the one who had shed his seed at night.” The i praised the Lords of Light with the hymn RV 5.78. The Avins, having raised him from that [abyss], made him fruitful again. The commentary states that the triplet in the hymn that refer to the embryo (RV 5.78.7–9) is for the purpose of an embryo for him-self—as the commentary says, because the i slept like an embryo in the tree. But commentators also say that the earlier two Vedic verses, 5 and 6, referring to the tree opening itself to free Saptavadhri, are to be known as be
longing to the Avins. These verses are also seen as a mantra for embryos that miscarry. (BD 5.82–87)11

  In addition to this small story about the fate of the i Saptavadhri, RV 5.78 is also used ritually. Specifically, in the late Vedic text the Rg Vidhna, certain hymns are used in a rite to prevent garbharava, or the flowing forth of an embryo. The Vidhna tells us that many Rgvedic hymns should be employed for the same purpose: RV 1.1.62, a hymn to the demoness Am v ; RV 5.78, the hymn to the i Saptavadhri, who was childless; and RV 1.101,12 the hymn to Indra to drive away the “outsider” people of Knagarbh.

  As I stated in my earlier article, the Vidhna is not simply a text that focuses on difficulty in childbirth but also one that contains instructions for which Rgvedic mantra is appropriate in which situation. The vedic mantra is usually a single verse dedicated to a particular deity, with a particular purpose in mind—agricultural prosperity, long life, material wealth, sons, and the like. So the Vidhna describes a difficult situation—getting lost in the woods, the sudden flight of an unwanted pigeon into one’s kitchen, the theft of cows from a rival, the bickering of cowives—and tells us which mantra to recite from the ancient text to solve the problem. Thus, the historical assessment of this hymn might go in the following manner: Hymn RV 5.78 and its related story of Saptavadhri explicitly address the anxiety provoked by the continuation of the male line, combined with the ways in which the birth can be invoked as proceeding smoothly. Thus, just as Saptavadhri himself escaped from the tree, so, too, must the embryo stir in an uncomplicated emergence from the mother. Moreover, the Rgvedic hymn explicitly compares the birth process, the bending of the tree together and apart, with the process of the composition of sacred formulas, which allow the stirring to occur. Finally, the commentarial tradition about the hymn compares Saptavadhri to an embryo—”he who slept like an embryo” in the tree where he had been thrown. Therefore, as others have also noted, the escape of the i and the birth of the child are straightforwardly homologized in this hymn. In addition, some attention must be paid to the fact that Atri is mentioned as a paradigmatic figure in this vedic hymn. Atri is in both the ritual and mythical texts the very symbol of a failed birth and second birth.13