by Roopa Pai
That which mind cannot grasp, and eye cannot see,
That which has no hands, nor feet, nor family,
No caste, no colour, nor eyes, nor ears has He –
From that Deathless One, springs all life, verily.
As silken strands from the spider issue,
As plants sprout from the earth, on cue,
As hair grows on a man, without much ado –
The universe springs from Him, in the sages’ view.
Shaunaka nodded, rapt. ‘Please go on, sir.’
‘This is the truth, Shaunaka. Perform all the rituals as recommended – at the new moon, the full moon, the harvest, once every four months; make offerings to all the gods, feed guests and give alms – all this must be done. Pour your oblations into the sacred fire, in between the first and last pourings of ghee, so that it can lap them up with its seven flaming tongues – Kali the Black, Karali the Terrible, swift-as-thought Manojava, blood-red Sulohita, smoky Sudhumravarna, Sphulingini – spitting sparks, and beautiful Vishwaruchi.
‘Do that, and those offerings will beckon you – “Come, come!” – and whisk you away, on the shining rays of the sun, to a beautiful world you have won by your good deeds.’
Well, that was good to know, thought Shaunaka to himself. He had always been very particular about doing everything that had been recommended by the scriptures. Of late, though, he had begun to feel a weariness with the humdrum routine of worldly life and it simply would not go away. Surely there was something bigger than the ritual, something he could do that would fill him with bliss and make him love his life again? However, the sage seemed to suggest that the rituals were indeed all.
But Angiras was speaking again. Shaunaka leaned in to listen.
‘Beware, Shaunaka! Such rafts are unsteady craft by which to cross the ocean of samsara!’
A-ha! There it came! Shaunaka focused harder. He did not want to miss a word now.
‘Those who delight in the ritual itself, believing it to be enough, believing it to be all, are truly deluded. They are like the blind leading the blind. Again and again, wallowing in ignorance, the fools congratulate themselves when they reach the world of the gods, saying, “We have reached our goal! Glory be!”
‘But they only abide there for a while, for once the rewards of their good deeds have been exhausted, their raft sinks and they fall back into the sea of samsara, to experience all the trials of life, and old age, and death, all over again.
‘But those who practise austerities and faith in the quiet places of the mind, who live the life of one who craves nothing from the world, they go, sinless, spotless, through the sun’s radiant door, to where the Imperishable One dwells, never to return.
‘When he sees how transient are the worlds of pleasure won by mere rituals and good deeds, a true seeker understands the futility of doing them. Thoroughly disgusted, he declares – “What’s made cannot make That which is unmade!”* And firewood in hand, off he goes to find a teacher, someone who not only knows the scriptures but also knows Brahman, for only such a one can help the seeker build a sturdier ship for the stormy voyage across samsara. And to such a student, who approaches him with commitment and faith, and whose mind is tranquil, the wise teacher imparts, with delight, the higher knowledge.’
*In other words, mere physical actions (i.e., ‘what’s made’ by a man) like pouring offerings into a fire or giving away alms, cannot create the experience (‘cannot make’) of something that is as subtle, as non-physical, as difficult to grasp, as impossible to describe, as different from everything we know, as Brahman (‘That which is unmade’).
Then Angiras began to describe Brahman, and Shaunaka was transported.
‘Like the thousand sparks a blaze throws out,
No one spark like another –
So from Him, countless beings arise,
Each one unlike the other.
From Him come life, and mind, and sense
And the elements, the light, and more,
Moon and sun are His eyes; the doors to space
Are the ears of the One we adore.
His speech is the scriptures, His breath the air,
The earth from His feet emerges;
Fire, rain and gods from Him are born,
From Him the ocean surges.
Mountains, birds, food and faith,
The very sap in plant and tree,
Breath and actions, form and name –
The source of it all is He!’
Moved beyond words, Shaunaka bowed to the teacher.
‘My heart yearns for Brahman, venerable one,’ he said. ‘But what can I do to gain Him? Tell me, teach me, how this can be done!’
Angiras smiled. ‘Pick as your weapon the mighty bow of the Upanishad, beloved one,’ he said, ‘and place in it the arrow that is you, honed and made fierce by meditation. Draw on the bowstring with a mind focused unwaveringly on the Imperishable One, for He is your target. Now unleash it! With unstinting faith, let the arrow go, and you will be united with Brahman!
‘Dismiss everything else that you know, except this one truth – He who is Brahman is indeed the Self which shines forth in you, and in every other creature. This is the knowledge that cuts the knots of self-doubt that strangle the heart, saumya*, this is how He is gained.
*Saumya simply means dear one, someone who is beloved. In the Upanishads, the teacher often uses this word to address his students.
‘Now let me tell you a story, Shaunaka, about two birds on a tree. They are inseparable, these two, always within sight of each other, always coming to rest on the same tree. One of them is usually perched on a lower branch – let’s call her the “lower bird” – the other, golden and radiant, perches on a higher one. The lower bird knows well that her companion is around, somewhere near her, and dearly wants to spend more time with her, but even as the thought crosses her mind, she spots a luscious-looking fruit. Waves of desire wash over her, wiping the thought of her friend from her mind, and she hops eagerly towards the fruit and begins to eat, enjoying the taste of it.
‘Once she has finished, her mind begins to drift towards her friend again, but suddenly, another fruit catches her eye, even more juicy-looking than the last. Friend forgotten, she races towards it greedily, even though she is no longer hungry. She gobbles this one up too, and as she is scooping up the last bits, she spots yet another fruit. She thinks about waiting a while, even till the next day, but she is suddenly nervous and insecure. “What if that fruit is not there tomorrow?” she asks herself. “What if some other bird grabs it? What if I never find any other fruit again and, horror of horrors, die of starvation?” Working herself up into a state, she hops frantically to the new fruit and swallows it too.
‘And what of her friend, the higher bird? She does not move at all from her perch. She sits there, calm and composed, undistracted by all the delicious-looking fruit around her, quietly watching the frenzied activity below. She is not troubled by the fact that her friend does not seem to want her company, for she trusts that she will arrive eventually, when she is ready.
‘So this lower bird continues hopping from fruit to fruit, until, one day, something completely unexpected happens. She takes a bite of the fruit that has just popped into her line of sight, and... gags. The fruit is bitter, so bitter that it is almost unbearable! As she wallows in self-pity, she remembers her friend, the higher bird. “Oh, how good it would feel to narrate my tale of woe to a friend who truly understands!” she thinks, and looks up, seeking her. And there she is, that golden-hued friend, patiently waiting, exactly where she had first perched.
‘Full of gratitude, and feeling vaguely guilty that she has neglected her all this while, the lower bird begins to fly up to her friend, but it is a long journey, and soon enough, her mind – and her eyes – begin to wander. Needless to say, they soon light upon... what else but another succulent fruit! All thoughts of her friend vanish, and she flutters away towards it, to begin her cycle of frantic, pointless activi
ty all over again.’
Angiras paused, and Shaunaka smiled.
‘Thank you for that beautiful story,’ he said. ‘I understand now. The lower bird is the lesser Self, comprised of the senses, the mind and the intellect. The higher bird is the Supreme Self. Both of them rest in the tree that is the body. But the lower Self is too distracted by the luscious fruit, the temptations of the material world, and chases after them, forgetting the friend who accompanied it here, who is even now waiting, patiently, above. Only when she comes across a bitter fruit – a bitter life experience – does the lower Self finally go in search of the higher one, looking for solace, compassion and reassurance.’
‘That’s not all,’ said Angiras. ‘When the lesser Self finally reaches the Supreme Self, on its tenth, hundredth, thousandth attempt, it realizes that it had been deluded on this count as well – there has never been another bird! As she merges into that golden radiance that has been her constant companion, it finally dawns on the lower bird that the friend she had looked up to and adored is... none other than herself!’
‘How I wish I could get there myself some day, Venerable One!’ sighed Shaunaka.
Angiras was touched by the yearning in the student’s voice. ‘As you can see, saumya,’ he said, ‘this flight towards the higher bird is not an easy one. It cannot be attempted by the weak, the witless, or those who flounder aimlessly through life. But through right knowledge, and the constant practice of chastity, and by living a life of truth, you can most certainly get there.
‘Satyam eva jayate na anritam – it is truth alone that triumphs, not untruth. Casting off desire, walk the paths laid out by truth alone, and you cannot but reach the supreme abode of Truth, where dwells the Imperishable One. Just as the rivers flowing into the ocean lose their name and shape and disappear into it, so does he who has understood well the meaning of Vedanta lose name and form as he becomes one with the Immortal.
‘Know this, Shaunaka – he who knows the supreme Brahman becomes Brahman Himself. It is only to those who perform the rites (with dedication), know the scriptures (and understand them), make themselves the offering in the inner sacrificial fire (with faith) and are devoted to Brahman, that the knowledge of Brahman may be revealed.’
Tad etat satyam. This is the truth. This is what the sage Angiras declared, in ages long past.
All hail the wise sages! All hail the great seers!
Aum Shantih Shantih Shantih ||
THE AFTERSTORY
What is our takeaway from the Mundaka Upanishad? It begins by saying that performing rituals and doing good action, like giving charity to the needy, takes one to the realms of the gods, and then proceeds to roundly condemn the people who do exactly that, calling them ‘moodhaah’ or fools. So should you, or should you not?
Let’s see now. While it’s true that it talks of ritual-performers with disdain, the Mundaka also clarifies, almost immediately, that the people it is calling ignorant are those who believe that the ritual is all there is to it, or those who only follow the word of the scriptures, not its spirit. We all know people like that. People who, for instance, spend an hour in prayer each morning at home, or visit places of worship, and drop undisclosed amounts into the donation box there, and so on, but who will also kick a dog out of their way on the street, snarl at a beggar child who comes to their car window, or treat the waiter at a restaurant like scum. It is such people that the Mundaka calls ignorant fools, for they haven’t understood the core message of whichever scripture they follow.
But even such people, says Angiras, who are proficient in the ‘lower knowledge’, gain rewards – after all, they have performed the rituals (all of which help them develop discipline), studied the scriptures (which are full of wisdom) and done some charity. But if they think that just doing those actions is going to give them the kind of mental peace they are seeking, they are so mistaken. Anyone who snarls at a child or hurts an animal without cause is clearly full of anger and bitterness and hate, and is the sort of person who sees those who are not his own as different, and therefore threatening or repulsive. Never mind Heaven, such people make their own lives, and the lives of those around them, absolute hell. The most incredible part? They think they are among the best people in the world because they’ve done their charity and said their prayers! What else would you call such people but ignorant fools?
On the other hand, if you can see the essence of the Supreme Soul in every person and creature and tree and shrub, you will be full of love, not just for yourself but for everything around you. You will perform your duties and fulfil your responsibilities to your family, your community and the world – for instance, help your parents clean up the kitchen without being asked, cheerfully take on a tiny role in the school play without being resentful about the classmate who bagged the bigger one, join a rally against a plan to build a parking lot in place of a charitable hospital, and so on – with as much dedication and enthusiasm as you would fulfil a responsibility to yourself (like spending an hour watching TV after school, because you’ve worked so hard that day; or treating yourself to a giant chocolate milkshake because you’ve been running two kilometres every morning).
What’s more, you will do all the nice stuff you do for everyone else for no other reason than that it makes you feel good, just like watching that hour of TV or having that milkshake does. You will not expect mom or dad to thank you for your help, or your friends to pat your back for playing even your tiny role with gusto, or want to be featured in the newspapers the next morning as the youngest person who took part in the protest rally.
See what happened there? You focused hundred per cent on joyful effort, and zero per cent on the outcome of that effort. In the process, without even realizing it, you left anger, bitterness, jealousy, resentment, hate and expectation behind. You threw yourself into the work, whole-heartedly, dedicatedly, joyfully, but completely ‘renounced’ the results of that work. In other words, you became detached from the outcome of your actions, thus gaining the ‘higher knowledge’.
Combine that ‘higher knowledge’ – detachment - with ‘lower knowledge’ – performing the rituals (being disciplined about homework and exercise), studying the ‘scriptures’ (reading an inspiring book or watching a movie that confirms your faith in humanity) and doing charity (by donating part of your pocket money to someone who needs it) – and what do you think will happen? Well, if the wise sages of the Upanishads are to be believed, you, boys and girls, will be well on your way to creating your own little piece of heaven for yourself, right here on earth. Try?
१४
MANDUKYA
The Upanishad of the Frog
In which we learn that there’s no grace like Aum
Aum! Ye gods, bless us
That we may hear words that are pleasant
And see things that are blessed,
That we may live our lives in ways that nourish you.
O great Indra, O All-Knowing Poosha,
O Garuda, destroyer of evil, O great teacher Brihaspati,
Take care of us, blessed ones!
Aum Shaantih Shaantih Shaantih ||
THE BACKSTORY
Many ancient Indian texts tell the story of Janaka, the great philosopher-king of Videha* (aka Mithila), one of the well-known kingdoms of the Vedic age. In the Upanishads, Janaka is hailed as a saint-king who was a great patron of sages and scholars. In the Ramayana, he is cast as the adoptive father of Sita. One of the best-known stories about him is about a dream he had. This is how it goes.
*Today, Videha would occupy a part of north and east Bihar, and a bit of eastern Nepal as well.
One night, the great king Janaka fell asleep, as usual, on the soft pillows and silken sheets draped over the soft mattress on the gilded cot in his royal bedchamber (you get the idea – King Janaka was wealthy beyond your wildest dreams). But no sooner had he drifted off into a deep sleep than he was woken up again, by a commotion right outside his door.
Janaka sat up instantly, all
his senses on high alert, as the general of his army rushed in. ‘All is lost, O King!’ cried the general. ‘The enemy has stormed our gates and is swarming across the city, making for the palace. We must leave before it is too late!’ Leaping out of bed, the king grabbed his sword and followed the general through the safe route out of the palace and into the forest, along with his most trusted soldiers.
In the dark depths of the forest, however, the king was fatefully separated from his companions. For three days and three nights, Janaka roamed the forest alone, finding nary a morsel to eat. On the fourth day, exhausted and ravenous, he stumbled upon a few edible roots. Relieved, he dug them out with his bare hands and was about to begin eating when two wild boars rushed out of nowhere and gobbled the roots up. Janaka let out a howl of frustration, and immediately wished he hadn’t, for in the next instant, he heard a yell of triumph – ‘I think I’ve found one of them!’
Janaka reached for his sword, but realized too late that he had lost it while crossing a river the previous day. Picking himself up with the last ounce of his strength, he began to run. But the enemy soldier had him within his sights! As the horse thundered towards him, Janaka turned around and saw the soldier draw his bowstring and let the arrow go...
‘Sire, sire! Wake up! What has happened to you? Why are you screaming?’
Janaka sat up and looked around him with wild, disoriented eyes, his heart thudding in his chest, his body – and the luxurious sheets that draped his soft bed – drenched in sweat. His queen was by his side, looking very concerned.
‘Calm down, sire,’ she said soothingly. ‘You have had a nightmare, that’s all. However bad it was, it is over now. You are back in the real world.’
But Janaka would not be quieted. ‘I wish it were that simple, my queen,’ he said, in between shallow, ragged breaths. ‘But it isn’t. The question is, which one is real – this world, with you in it, or that world, where I was about to be killed by the arrow of an enemy soldier? Is this real, my love, or is that real?’