by Roopa Pai
***
Life begins in a man’s body, strong, swift, gathered from the vitality of his limbs. It is the Self, indeed, that bears the Self. This is the Self’s first birth.
When man releases life into woman, a new life begins. This is the Self’s second birth.
The mother nourishes the child in her womb, as the life of her life, breath of her breath; that’s why she should herself be nourished. This is the father’s responsibility, and he fulfils it, remembering that it is his own Self he is nourishing. Thus is the world kept going. In time, the child emerges from the mother’s body. This is the Self’s third birth.
The child grows, taking the place of his father, adding to the good deeds of the father, continuing his work in the world. And this goes on, over and over, across generations – first the father becomes the son, then the son becomes the father. Thus is the world kept going.
***
And now for the big reveal – what function did the Self choose for itself in the human body?
‘Who is this Self, anyway? Who is the one we venerate here?
Is it the one which helps us see? Is it the one which helps us hear? Is it the one which helps us smell, taste? Is it that which makes speech possible? Is it the heart and the mind? Is it thought and desire? Is it Awareness? Perception? Insight? Intuition? Understanding? Cognition? Purpose? Memory? Intention? Impulse? Control? But these are all just different names of Intelligence, they are all only servants of the Self.
This Self is Brahman, it is the primordial father Prajapati, it is all the gods. It is the five immense beings – earth, wind, space, the waters, light. It is all creatures great and small – born of eggs, born of wombs, born of sweat,* born from sprouts; it is horses, elephants, cows and men; it is all beings that walk, and all beings that fly, and all beings that neither walk nor fly.’**
*Born of sweat? Yup. Sometimes these sweat-born creatures were also described as being born of heat, or moisture, but since a combination of heat and moisture is sweat, that word covers all the bases. What are these creatures born of sweat and heat and moisture, though? All kinds of creepy-crawlies – mosquitoes, lice, ticks, mites and bugs that come out of nowhere (or so it seemed to the ancients)! Now we know that mosquitoes are born from eggs, but those eggs are laid, and hatch, in standing water, especially in the hot summer months. In that sense, the ancients were not too far off the mark.
**In other words, plants and trees. Rocks and metals don’t fit into this category, because they are not living, breathing creatures. Even non-living things are believed to carry the essence of Brahman, but in them, it is dormant, pure potential energy, which cannot become kinetic energy without external help.
The Self is Prajna, Knowledge. Prajna guides all, sees all, is the foundation of all else. Prajna is the eye of the world; on Prajna is the world supported.
Prajnanam (say praj-naa-nam) Brahma. Knowledge is God.
Those who realize this truth live in joy, and go beyond death.
Aum Shaantih Shaantih Shaantih ||
THE AFTERSTORY
Afterstory 1: The Small Matter of the Mechanics of Rebirth
So you know now, after reading the Aitareya Upanishad, that the Self is believed to have three births – the first happens when a soul finds its way into a man’s body, the second when a baby is created, and the third when the baby is born.
Ever wondered how the first birth of the Self happens? What are the actual mechanics involved in rebirth? How does a soul enter a man’s body? Are millions of souls floating around us as disembodied spirits, waiting for a man to lower his guard so that one of them can sneak into his body, fighting off all other souls who have the exact same idea?
There could be a million theories, but one of the most popular in Hinduism is a fascinating one, involving the water cycle, photosynthesis, digestion of food in the body, the assimilation of food, and a lot more. Here’s how it goes.
When the body dies, the soul leaves for the heavenly realms, where it has a great time until the credit in its good Karma account drops to zero and it is forced to fall back into the sea of samsara. It does this ‘falling back’ in a literal way, seeding itself into a cloud and dropping to the earth as rain. The rain seeps into the soil, and rises as sap in plants, taking the soul along with it. Nourished by water and sunshine, the plant, the only being that can manufacture its own food, grows and matures, creating leaves and fruit and seed for other less capable creatures (less capable in terms of being able to manufacture their own food, that is), to enjoy and grow strong on.
When a man eats a plant (or eats the meat of a herbivore that has feasted on plants, or eats the meat of a carnivore that has feasted on herbivores), the sap enters his body, where it is digested and assimilated. Part of the assimilated food – including, most importantly, the soul part – becomes all-powerful, life-giving water, ‘drawn from the vitality of his limbs’. When the seed in a woman is nourished, a new life begins. Nine months later, a baby is born.
Hurray! The soul has successfully made its way back into a freshly minted human body!
Afterstory 2: Spot the Mahavakya – Part 2!
Yup, there’s a Mahavakya in the Aitareya as well! And yes, it is indeed Prajnanam Brahma – Knowledge is Brahman. This is the Mahavakya of the Rig.
And what kind of knowledge are they talking about here? Not the information you get out of books, not the skills required to make or destroy things, but ‘true’ knowledge, the kind that is a combination of intelligence, instinct, intuition, wisdom and the empathy that allows you to sense someone’s feelings even before they have been expressed, apart from the deep-in-your-gut understanding that you, like everyone else, carry the essence of the Supreme Energy that makes the universe possible.
PS: Maybe that’s why, when you understand someone else’s emotions or intentions without any words being spoken, it is called ‘divining’ – for e.g., ‘She divined from his body language that the news was not good’. See?
१७
CHANDOGYA
The Upanishad of the Sacred Metre
In which, through Shvetaketu, we discover who we really are
Aum!
I seek blessings
That my limbs, speech, breath, eyes, ears, strength
And all my senses, be nourished;
I pray
That I may never deny Brahman or be disloyal,
That Brahman may never forsake or reject me;
I, the seeker, ask
That all the wisdoms of the Upanishads
Shine in me,
That they all shine in me.
Aum Shaantih Shaantih Shaantih ||
THE BACKSTORY
Remember when we talked about the different rhythmic structures, or metres, of the Vedic shlokas, in Chapter 4? Remember what ‘metre’ is called in Sanskrit?
That’s right – chanda!
And since the ninth Mukhya Upanishad is (1) part of the musical Sama Veda; (2) written in lilting rhythmic verse that has a musical quality to it even when it is simply recited; and (3) talks so extensively about speech, words, chants, language and sound, the ancient seers felt it was appropriate to name it the Chandogya Upanishad – the Upanishad of the Sacred Metre.
The Chandogya is considered one of the oldest Upanishads, and it is certainly one of the longest – only the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad, which occupies the tenth position in Adi Shankara’s list of the ten Principal Upanishads, beats it in length. With eight lectures (or ‘prapaathakas’), each comprising several volumes of verses, the Chandogya can seem highly intimidating, especially because there is no single theme to bind it all. Most scholars agree that the eight chapters are a motley collection of works by different authors, which have been compiled into one Upanishad by some wise person who felt that they belonged together. Despite that, however, it is considered a most important Upanishad – Shankara himself, in his commentaries on all ten main Upanishads, referred to this one more times (810!) than he did any other Upanishad!
> What are the main themes of the Chandogya? One big theme is the significance of that most sacred of sounds, the High Chant, the Udgitha – otherwise known as Aum. Another is the perennial question of where the universe comes from, what it is made of and what its driving principle is (Ans: Brahman, Brahman, and Brahman.) And the third, of course, is the core question of the Upanishads – Who am I, really? (Ans: Why, you’re Brahman, of course!)
In the Chandogya, these themes are explored both through mystical metaphors (complex and hard to figure out) and through stories (far easier to understand). The metaphors are best left for another, more advanced reading of the Upanishad, and there isn’t enough room in this book to explore all the stories, but two especially lovely stories must be told. One is the story of Satyakama, the other of Shvetaketu – both of them young, both eager as heck to find the answers to the mysteries of the mind and the universe, and willing to work hard for it, but otherwise worlds apart from each other.
Ready to hear their stories? Let’s go!
THE STORY
PRAPAATHAKA 4
Mother is the necessity of invention: The Story of Satyakama
Satyakama lived with his mother Jabala (say ja-baa-laa) in a village at the edge of a forest. Like everyone else in the village, he had heard of the great sage Gautama, who taught students in his gurukul somewhere deep inside the forest. All of Satyakama’s friends were happy enough living their small, circumscribed lives – tending to the cows, swimming in the village pool, playing with the other boys and generally raising hell when they felt like it – but Satyakama, who was about twelve, had always been curious and deeply introspective by nature, and dreamed of bigger things.
One night, he was lying down with his head in his mother’s lap, when the desire to do something more with his life came upon him like a flood. ‘Mother,’ he said, sitting up, ‘I would dearly like to study the Vedas at Rishi Gautama’s gurukul. But I hear one of the first questions gurus ask, before they accept you as a student, is who your father is. So tell me, mother – who is my father?’
Jabala baulked. This was one question she had hoped she would never be forced to answer. She looked into her little boy’s eager face and wished he didn’t have these big, impossible dreams – everyone knew teachers of the Vedas only accepted brahmin, kshatriya and vaishya students, and she couldn’t be sure at all that Satyakama’s father had belonged to one of those varnas.
For a brief instant, Jabala considered lying to her son, creating a rosy backstory about a fond brahmin father – life would be so much easier for him if he, and everyone else, believed that. But she rejected the idea almost immediately. He was such a good, honest child – how could she, who had spent all these years raising him to be just such a one, now ask him to base his future on a lie? No, she would simply place before him the bald, unadorned truth and hope that he – and she! – could deal with the rejection that the world was sure to heap upon him.
‘I don’t know who your father is, Satyakama,’ she said. And cupping the suddenly worried face in her hands, continued, ‘But no one can deny that I am your mother, and that my name is Jabala. So when the teacher asks, tell him what I told you and tell him also that your name, therefore, is Satyakama Jaabaala.’
The next morning, a cheerful Satyakama set off for Rishi Gautama’s gurukul. Jabala watched him go, her heart in her mouth, praying that the guru would find it in his heart to let her boy down gently. When he got to the ashram, Satyakama bowed before Gautama and said, in a high, clear voice, ‘Sir, I want, more than anything, to live with you and be taught the scriptures. Please do me the honour of accepting me as your student.’
Gautama beamed. Such eagerness in one so young, such clarity about goals, was rare – it was usually the parent who was chafing at the bit, wanting his ward to be accepted at the gurukul. ‘What is your lineage, saumya?’ he asked. ‘Who is your father, and your grandfather before him?’
‘Now that I’m afraid I do not know, sir,’ said Satyakama, whose name means ‘one who hankers after nothing but the truth’. ‘When I asked my mother, this is what she said: “I do not know who your father is. But no one can deny that I am your mother, and that my name is Jabala.” And so, sir, my name is Satyakama Jaabaala.’
Gautama was overwhelmed. ‘None but a brahmin would speak the truth so fearlessly!’ he declared joyously. ‘Fetch the firewood quickly, my boy, and let us begin.’
After Satyakama had been initiated, Gautama picked out 400 of the feeblest and skinniest of his cows and handed them to his newest acolyte. ‘You are now responsible for their care,’ he said. ‘Look after them well.’
‘Of course, sir,’ said Satyakama, thinking to himself, ‘I will not return, sir, until I have swelled this herd to a thousand healthy cows.’ And he drove the cows into that part of the forest where the grass was sweetest and most plentiful, and threw himself into their care.
Years rolled by. Satyakama was blissfully happy in the lap of nature. He spent his days looking after the cows, and his evenings in quiet contemplation. One afternoon, when he was dozing under a tree, Satyakama was awakened by a voice calling his name. It was the bull.
‘Satyakama,’ said the bull, who was really the god of the air, Vayu, ‘you have succeeded in your endeavour, saumya. We are now a thousand. Take us back to the teacher’s house.’
‘I will, Bhagavan,’ said Satyakama.
But the bull wasn’t done speaking. ‘You have taken such good care of us, and that kind of love and dedication needs to be rewarded. Let me tell you what I know about Brahman, although that is only a quarter of what Brahman really is, just one of his four feet.’
‘Thank you, Bhagavan,’ said a grateful Satyakama.
‘Listen, then,’ said the bull. ‘There are four directions – east, west, north and south – and these form one foot of Brahman, called Prakashavan (say prakasha-vaan), the Shining. Understand that Brahman rules every direction, and you will become the ruler of far-flung worlds, and shine in this one.’
Satyakama bowed.
‘When the time comes,’ said the bull as it moved back into the herd, ‘the fire will tell you about another quarter, another foot, of Brahman.’
The next morning, Satyakama began to drive the herd back to Gautama. That night, he penned the cows, lit a fire and sat next to it, warming himself, when he heard a voice call his name. It was the fire, which had suddenly blazed up.
‘Satyakama,’ said the fire, who was really the god Agni, ‘Let me tell you, saumya, about another quarter of Brahman.’
‘I am all ears, Bhagavan.’
‘Listen then,’ said the fire. ‘The earth, the sky, the space between the two, and the ocean form the second foot of Brahman, called Anantavan (say ananta-vaan) the Endless. Understand that Brahman is all of these, and meditate upon them as Brahman, and you will win worlds unlimited, and become boundless in this one.’
Satyakama bowed.
‘When the time comes,’ said the fire, as it withdrew into itself, ‘the swan will tell you about another quarter, another foot, of Brahman.’
The whole of the next day, Satyakama drove the herd further towards Gautama. That night, he penned the cows, lit a fire and sat next to it, warming himself, when he heard a voice call his name from somewhere above him. He tilted his head to look, and a swan flew down to him.
‘Satyakama,’ said the swan, who was really the sun god Aditya, ‘Let me tell you, saumya, about another quarter of Brahman, about his third foot.’
‘I cannot wait, Bhagavan.’
‘Listen then,’ said the swan. ‘The sun, the moon, the fire and the lightning form the four quarters of the third foot of Brahman, called Jyotishman (say jyotish-maan), the Luminous. Revere these four as Brahman, and you will win luminous worlds, and be radiant in this one.’
Satyakama bowed.
‘When the time comes,’ said the swan, as it rose into the air, ‘a diver bird will tell you about the last quarter, the fourth paada, of Brahman.’
The
whole of the next day, Satyakama drove the herd further towards Gautama’s ashram. That night, he penned the cows, lit a fire and sat next to it, warming himself, when he heard a voice call his name from somewhere above him. He tilted his head to look, and a diver bird flew down to him.
‘Satyakama,’ said the diver bird, who was really the lifebreath, Prana, ‘Let me tell you, saumya, about the last quarter of Brahman.’
‘I am overwhelmed with gratitude, Bhagavan.’
‘Listen then,’ said the diver bird, ‘The breath, the eye, the ear and the mind are the four quarters of the fourth foot of Brahman, called Ayatanavan (say aa-yata-na-vaan), the Enduring. Know that all these are none but him, and meditate upon them with reverence and devotion, and you will win worlds enduring, and endure eternally in this one.’
Satyakama bowed.
The next morning, he drove the herd the final short distance to his guru’s home.
‘Satyakama,’ said Gautama.
‘Bhagavan,’ bowed Satyakama.
‘Saumya,’ exclaimed the teacher, ‘you verily shine with the knowledge of Brahman! Who taught you?’
‘No human, sir,’ smiled Satyakama. ‘It was the bull, the fire, the swan and the diver bird. But I will not be content until I hear it from you. Please, Bhagavan, do me the honour of teaching me about Brahman, for I have heard that knowledge learnt from a guru best helps the student gain worlds that are far-flung, unlimited, luminous and everlasting.’
Then Gautama taught Satyakama everything he knew, leaving nothing out, yea, leaving nothing out.
***
As you can see, there are two distinct parts to this story. The first part is about Rishi Gautama accepting Satyakama as his disciple, and the second is about Satyakama learning about Brahman from the birds and the beasts. While both parts have lessons for us, the first part carries a far more important truth.
From all we have read about the gurukuls of the Vedic age, we know that there were very strict rules of eligibility for students – they had to be male (in most cases), and they had to belong to the brahmin, kshatriya or vaishya varna. Why the story of Satyakama is so important is that it reveals, in very clear, simple prose, that while those rules existed, they were not altogether inflexible – when an evolved guru who truly understood the spirit of the scriptures came across a prospective student who displayed honesty, courage, dedication and a passion for learning, he could, and often did, choose to disregard the rules.*