by Roopa Pai
‘Fair lady,’ said Indra, ‘I wonder if you know who or what that strange apparition was.’
‘That?’ said Uma. ‘That was Brahman, of course. Did you not recognize him?’ Indra shook his head.
‘Look at you all,’ chided Uma, ‘celebrating Brahman’s victory as your own! Do you not see that all your power and glory comes from Him, and Him alone?’
Instantly, Indra realized the truth of Uma’s words. He returned to the gods, ecstatic, singing Brahman’s praises.
‘Know this, my son,’ continued the teacher, ‘that Agni, Vayu and Indra are considered among the greatest of the gods, for it was they who approached closest to Brahman. Know this – that Indra surpasses the other two, for he was the one to whom the identity of the Being was revealed.’
The student bowed. How cleverly his teacher had comforted him, by letting him know that even the gods did not quite ‘get’ Brahman, that even they did not know Him when they saw Him, without some help from someone wiser than them – in this case, the goddess Uma. A surge of hope filled the student’s heart. If the gods had Uma, he had his teacher to help him!
‘Now join me, if you will,’ said the teacher, ‘in a prayer to the Supreme One.’
‘It would be my pleasure and privilege, sir.’
‘He is the flash of lightning on a moonless night,
He is the twinkle in our eye,
Brahman, we meditate on your glorious light
For You are the I in the I!
Hail dearest One, who drives our mind
And our heart and our spirit and our will,
He who knows You thus will forever find
That he is dear to all; he will!’
‘That was a great story, sir,’ said the student. ‘I know now that I can never hope to approach or recognize Brahman without your help. So teach me, sir! Teach me the Secret! Teach me the Upanishad!’
The teacher placed his hand on the boy’s head, blessing him. Such impatience to learn, such eagerness to uncover the greatest mysteries of the universe! Blessed were the teachers who found students like these.
‘It has already been taught to you, my son,’ he said. ‘This is the Upanishad, this is the great secret about Brahman. Be moderate in your thoughts and actions. Exercise self-restraint. Perform the rituals. Serve self lessly. Live the wisdom of the scriptures. Stay honest to yourself.
‘That is how the demonic in you is slain and the divine nourished. That is how Brahman is attained.’
Aum Shantih Shantih Shantih ||
THE AFTERSTORY
How do you describe someone or something that, by definition, is unperceivable, inconceivable and, well, indescribable? The Upanishads tell us that neither does language have the words nor imagination the pictures to describe the phenomenon we know as Brahman. Nor can our senses grasp Him (not at all surprising, that, considering that our senses are pretty limited; our ears can’t even hear the range of frequencies that dogs can!).
Worse, all the methods we have of classifying something – by type, quality, function or special attribute (in Sanskrit, jaati-guna-kriya-visheshanaih) – fail spectacularly when it comes to describing the One – for He is, again by definition, beyond classification!
Given these insurmountable constraints, the only way to get closer to a ‘profile’ of Brahman is by contradiction – saying two seemingly contradictory things about Him – or by negation – stating what He is not rather than what He is, a technique called Neti, Neti – not this, not that. By eliminating all the possibilities that were not true, the sages hoped to take us closer to what was; sort of like what good detectives or doctors do – eliminating possibilities one by one to arrive at the identity of the perpetrator of the crime, or the disease.
The teacher in the Kena does this via statements like ‘To whomsoever It (the Supreme Truth) is not known, to him It is known; to whomsoever It is known, he does not know he knows.’
Wow! That makes it all crystal clear. Not!
But never mind that for now.
One good lesson that you can take away from all this seeming obfuscation is this – if it is a given that you will not recognize Brahman when you see Him/Her/It, simply because you don’t know what It looks like, wouldn’t it makes sense to treat everyone and everything like you would Brahman? Just to make sure that you don’t miss It when and if It does choose to come into your sights – maybe as the old and frail person standing behind you in a queue, maybe as the hoity-toity aunty honking at you at a traffic light, maybe as one of the 171 trees that the City Corporation has decided to chop to make way for yet another flyover, or maybe as something else altogether?
You bet it does. What does that mean, though – ‘treating everyone like Brahman’? Well, if you knew that someone or something was the One Supreme Power of the universe, without which you could not yourself exist or live a happy, comfortable, sentient life, how would you treat it? With equal parts respect, gratitude, love and reverence, right? If that Power was in trouble, you would rush to its aid, if It was losing its spirit, you would move heaven and earth to cheer It up, because you knew your very survival depending on It being vibrant and cheerful. In short, you would treat It as you would treat yourself.
And that’s really what ‘seeing’ Brahman really means – seeing the power that sustains the universe not just in the sun and the rain and the earth, but in every tree and rock and creature and person around you, and treating them all as you would treat yourself.
Do it!
११
KATHA
The Upanishad of the Secret of Eternal Life
In which a teenager coolly walks up to Death and has a long conversation with him
Aum!
May He in the Highest Heaven
Protect both of us, teacher and student;
Nourish both of us together
So that we may work together with great energy,
So that we may learn from each other,
So that our learning is effective,
So that we steer clear of dispute and discord.
Aum Shantih Shantih Shantih ||
THE BACKSTORY
The Katha Upanishad (aka the Kaathaka Upanishad or the Kathopanishad) is one of the most popular, most beloved and most studied Upanishads of all. Part of the Krishna Yajur Veda, its impact has extended well beyond Indian shores, its philosophy inspiring writers like British poet Edwin Arnold (whose translation of it is called ‘The Secret of Death’), British novelist W. Somerset Maugham (who used a phrase from one of its verses as the title of one of his novels, The Razor’s Edge), Irish poet W.B. Yeats and American essayist Ralph Waldo Emerson (whose poem ‘Brahma’ encapsulates the Katha’s philosophy), apart from philosophers like German greats Max Mueller and Arthur Schopenhauer.
The jury is still out on when the Katha was written – while scholars they agree that it was written after the 7th century BCE, they differ about whether it was written before the Buddhist texts (thus influencing them) or after (thus being influenced by them). Be that as it may, there are other, more interesting, things about the Katha, like the wordplay in its name.
The Katha is pronounced KaTHa – with a hard TH, as in the Hindi word meeTHa (sweet) – which means ‘distress’ in Sanskrit. This seems apt, as the Upanishad kicks off with the distress of the teenager Nachiketa. But if pronounced Katha, with a soft ‘th’, the word means story, legend or report, all of which apply too, for this Upanishad reports a conversation between the teenager Nachiketa and the god of Death, Yama.
The Katha is composed as two chapters, each with three sections. It narrates the legend of Nachiketa, a boy so steadfast in his pursuit of Moksha that he demanded that the god of Death teach him the secret of eternal life (sounds ironic, but who else but the god of Death would know all about life beyond it, eh?).
It is no wonder then, that today, Nachiketa has become a metaphor for single-mindedness of purpose. Swami Vivekananda, who loved the Kathopanishad, once said that if he could get hold of a doze
n boys with the faith and focus of Nachiketa, he could turn ‘the thoughts and pursuits of this country into a new channel’. In fact, even the Swami’s rousing call to the youth of India – ‘Arise, awake, and stop not until the goal is reached!’ can be traced to a verse in the Katha, which begins with the words ‘uttishtatha jaagrata’ (‘Arise! Awake!’ – see page 228).
But enough with the prelude. On to the story!
THE STORY
Once upon a time, the sage Vaajashravas, famous across the land for his generosity, was giving away all that he possessed. His young son, Nachiketa, stood by his side as a good son should, and Vaajashravas was well-pleased.
Nachiketa was well versed in the word of the scriptures and had always had an unshakeable faith in them, just as he had in his father. But as he silently watched the scene, the spirit of the scriptures entered him and nudged that faith awake, turning it from a blind, passive thing that accepted what it was told, into ‘shraddha’ – a faith that believed intensely, but was not afraid to question, analyze and respectfully demand answers. The trusting child was gone, never to return; in his place stood a curious, sceptical young man who saw the hypocrisy of those around him with a sudden clarity.
‘What is my father doing?’ thought Nachiketa to himself. ‘These cows he is giving away – old, weak, devoid of milk – what use are they to anyone? This kind of joyless gift is surely not what the scriptures recommend? Surely there is no place in Heaven for the man who gives such gifts as these?’
Convinced that his father hadn’t realized what he was doing, Nachiketa decided to alert him before it was too late.
‘Father,’ he began. Vaajashravas took one look at his son’s face, noticed the change in him and understood what he was about to say. Brusquely, he motioned to Nachiketa to keep silent and went on with his gift-giving.
Nachiketa was stunned. His father knew full well that what he was doing was a hollow, empty thing! But he was pretending that the gifting was more important than the gift, the ritual more worthy than its purpose. This was far worse than he had imagined! Worried that no rewards awaited such a man in the afterlife, the dutiful son came up with a master plan – he would request his father to give him away as well. For Nachiketa knew well that he was his father’s dearest possession – if his father gave him away, the gods would regard it as the ultimate sacrifice, and Vaajashravas would gain all the blessings of Heaven.
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘you are giving away all that is yours. To whom, pray, will you give me?’ His father pretended not to hear. ‘Sir,’ said Nachiketa again, ‘to whom will you give me?’ Vaajashravas did not turn around. ‘Father,’ said Nachiketa for a third time, stubbornly, ‘to whom will you give me?’
Riled, Vaajashravas whirled around. ‘You?’ he yelled. ‘I will give you away to Death! Happy now?’
Nachiketa started as if he had been slapped. But his dismay lasted only a moment. His father had spoken and it was his duty to honour his father’s word.
Vaajashravas, by now ashamed of his outburst, was casting about for ways to make amends when he saw the steely determination in his teenager’s eyes. ‘I did not mean that, Nachiketa, you know I didn’t!’ he begged. ‘Forgive me, lad, don’t leave me!’
‘Father, don’t fret,’ said Nachiketa calmly. ‘Everyone must make this journey some day – you told me so yourself. After all,
I go as the first of many to come,
One among legions that have passed this way;
I go to meet the Lord of Death
To see what plans he has for me today.
A mortal man ripens, on the stalk, like grain;
Like grain, he falls, to be born again.’
And leaving his distraught father behind, Nachiketa walked, straight-backed and purposeful, towards the abode of Death.
***
Only to find there was no one at home! Death was out, rounding up his next victims, or some such, and Nachiketa was forced to wait on the stoop. For three days and three nights, without a bite to eat or a drink of water, he sat there, uncomplaining, patiently waiting. When Death finally lumbered in on his big, placid water buffalo and saw the young boy sitting there, he was most sincerely apologetic.
How often have I told you, Vaivashvata,
That a guest must never be neglected?
Run now, bring him water and food –
May his curse on our heads be deflected!
I ask pardon, my boy, this is right bad form,
But I will make it up to you, never fear;
You will be compensated for each day you’ve waited –
Ask for three boons, loud and clear!
‘This isn’t necessary at all, sir, but thank you, I will,’ said Nachiketa, delighted at the unexpected turn of events. No one had told him that Death was so affable. Oh, he would make those boons work for him, and how!
‘For my first boon, sir, I ask that my father’s temper be cooled. I cannot bear the thought of having upset him, so if you could ensure that he is well disposed towards me when I return...?’
‘Not bad,’ thought Death to himself, impressed. ‘Of all the possible things, the boy asks for this!’ Aloud, he said, ‘You may rest assured on that point, my boy. Any father, on seeing his beloved offspring released from the jaws of Death, cannot be anything but ecstatic.’
Nachiketa bowed, his heart brimming with gratitude. ‘Thank you, sir. For my second boon, then, I request instruction. I have heard that in the place we call Heaven, there is no fear. The reason? You, sir, cannot enter there! There is no old age, either, they tell me, in Heaven, no sickness of mind or body or spirit, only the greatest joy. You, Lord of Death, are the master of the yagna that throws open the doors of Heaven to mortals – teach it to me!’
‘Gladly,’ said Death. And he proceeded to teach Nachiketa the secrets of the great fire sacrifice that leads to Heaven – exactly how to build the altar – how many bricks, their dimensions, the angles at which they were to be laid and so on, what offerings to prepare, which incantations to recite; and all the rest of it. The boy listened intently. When Death had finished, the boy repeated it all back to him, verbatim, not a word missed.
‘What a joy you are to teach, Nachiketa!’ exclaimed the delighted teacher. ‘I’m throwing in a special reward for you – henceforth, this fire sacrifice shall bear your name. That man who has performed the Nachiketa yagna three times; who lives in perfect harmony with three people – father, mother and teacher; who faithfully executes the triple rite – performing the sacrifice, studying the scriptures and giving alms to the needy in the true spirit of giving; he goes beyond death and attains everlasting peace. Such a man shakes off the dread noose and crosses over to realms joyous, never to return!’
Nachiketa bowed, overcome. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Now, ask for your third boon!’
Nachiketa hesitated. What he was about to ask for was enormous, audacious, unprecedented. Death, he felt deep in his gut, would resist, and resist mightily. Did he, Nachiketa, have it in him to wrest this boon and also to honour it afterwards? Did he really have the single-mindedness of purpose, the dogged determination, that it would take? Or should he just settle for something more commonplace and easier to fulfil?
‘Stop it!’ he chided himself. ‘Stop second-guessing yourself! Look at the opportunity before you – how many people are privileged enough to get an audience with Death himself? You know this is the question that has plagued you, and humankind, forever. What could be a nobler quest than to learn the answer, so that generations to come may benefit from it? Go on, ask!’
‘For my third boon, Sir,’ said Nachiketa, ‘I would like an answer to the most important question of all.’
‘Ask, boy,’ said Death, indulgent, unsuspecting.
‘When a man dies, sir, there are some people who say “It’s all over now. He’s dead.” There are others who say, with great conviction, “He still lives.” What is the truth, sir? What happens after death?’
Too late, Death r
ealized he had been blindsided. ‘Even the gods are not sure of the answer to that one, Nachiketa,’ he stammered. ‘It’s a very complex thing to grasp. Ask for anything else, my boy. but do not, I beg you, press me for the secret of death!’
‘I believe you,’ returned Nachiketa calmly. ‘But if the answer is as complex as you say it is, where in the world will I find a better teacher than you to explain it to me? I’m afraid I cannot change my wish.’
‘How about,’ said Death eagerly, changing his tack, ‘I make you an offer you can’t refuse?
Sons and grandsons, noble and true,
Cows and elephants, horses too,
Gold and earth, pretty maidens to woo,
Nachiketa, I will give them all to you.
Do you wish to live through a hundred springs?
Do you crave success, and beautiful things?
Do you covet the pleasures that great wealth brings?
Speak, and I will give your dreams wings!
But ask not about death, I beg of you –
It isn’t what well-brought-up teenagers do.’
But Nachiketa was steadfast. ‘Oh Lord of Death,’ he said, smiling sadly, ‘how could I ever find pleasure in life again, however long it be, now that I have gazed upon your face? For as long as I live, O King, you will stalk me like a spectre, your shadow tainting every fleeting breath of worldly happiness. No, sir, it isn’t life that interests me any more, but death. Tell me the secret, reveal to me the Great Mystery. I will settle for nothing less.’
Death sighed. This one would not be shaken from his goal. ‘Listen, then,’ he said.
***
‘Two kinds of action constantly present themselves to us, Nachiketa,’ said the Lord of Death. ‘One is good action, the other merely pleasant. The first leads to good things – peace, contentment, lasting joy, the welfare of the world; the second leads to pleasure, sure, but selfish pleasure that does no one any good, and does not last.
‘On the surface, there seems not to be much difference between the good and the pleasant, but we must choose wisely, for the choice is entirely ours to make.