by Roopa Pai
*And that’s a great lesson to take away from the Upanishads. Rules are meant to be followed, of course, but since rules are made by humans, to suit a particular time, place and culture, it is our responsibility as thinking individuals to re-examine them from time to time, and to challenge, tweak or change them when they seem unfair, unsuitable or no longer relevant.
Satyakama, we are told, was the son of the maid Jabala, who was in a profession that involved manual labour. In other words, she was a shudra by occupation. But a boy’s lineage was traced through his father’s varna, not his mother’s, so if Satyakama’s father had belonged to one of the other three varnas, he still stood a chance of being accepted. Not knowing what caste your father belonged to, or even who he was, was a far worse social sin than knowing that he was a shudra.
And yet, and yet, Gautama accepted Satyakama as a student. In the story, he justifies his action by declaring that ‘no one but a brahmin’ would have spoken an inconvenient truth so fearlessly. In saying this, Gautama, and through him, the authors of the Chandogya, are echoing what Krishna declared so unequivocally to Arjuna in a famous shloka in the Bhagavad Gita – it is neither birth nor occupation, Arjuna, that determines a man’s varna, but his nature. (More correctly, it is Krishna who echoes Gautama in the Gita – the Gita is the condensed version of all Upanishadic wisdom and was composed well after the early Upanishads).
Krishna goes on to explain this further. Those who are calm and compassionate, possess great self-control and self-discipline, make no distinction between people, and are role models to everyone around them in knowing the right thing to do in every situation – such men and women (and boys and girls), reveals Krishna, never mind the family they are born into, are brahmin by nature. Knights in shining armour who plunge into the battlefield at every given opportunity, defending what is right, fearlessly leading heroic campaigns against all manner of unfairness and injustice, never turning their backs on the good fight – whether it is against a bully in the playground, a law that doesn’t honour the country’s Constitution, or animal cruelty – such people are kshatriya by nature. Those who are willing to brave the heat and dust of the marketplace to create and sell the products and services that society needs to function, thus keeping the wheels of trade and economy turning – such people are vaishya by nature. And those happy cogs in the wheel who want to be neither thinkers nor activists nor entrepreneurs, but are content executing work and giving their best to the job at hand with no desire for personal glory – such people are shudra by nature.*
*By Krishna’s classification, which ‘nature-category’ do you think you most identify with? Of course it is entirely possible that you have bits of all four in you, but some self-reflection will reveal which one is most dominant in your nature. This is important to know, for acting according to one’s nature (i.e., staying true to yourself) is, according to the Gita, one of the vital keys to happiness.
In Part 2 of the Satyakama story, we are told that Satyakama was taught about Brahman not by humans but by the birds and the beasts and the elements. What can we take away from this? That we discover more about ourselves and the universe when we spend quiet time by and with ourselves, preferably around trees and animals? Perhaps.
And while lessons from trees and animals may be difficult to arrange at short notice, be sure to put aside some time each day for quiet contemplation. Maybe you can reflect about your day, all the things you have to be grateful for, all the things you did today that you would have done differently if you could have another chance, and all the things you will do better tomorrow. At the end of a week or two, evaluate what that quiet time by yourself has done for you – has it helped you discover more about yourself? Do you feel calmer, more grateful, more in control of each day?
Yes? Great! Stick at it, and one day, while you’re walking along the street, as happy as a clam, you might hear a koel calling your name!
And what of Satyakama’s belief that his knowledge of Brahman would not be complete unless he had been taught it by a ‘proper’ teacher? Think of it this way. Sure you can learn to play the guitar using all the lovely video turtorials that people put up on YouTube, but once you have learnt the basic chords, would your skills be enhanced far more quickly if you had a few one-on-one sessions with a good teacher? What do you think?
PRAPAATHAKA 6
Tat Tvam Asi – The Story of Shvetaketu
When Shvetaketu, the beloved son of the sage Uddalaka Aruni, was of age, his father said to him, ‘There has never been a one in our family, saumya, who was a brahmin only by birth. They were all of them well versed in the scriptures, and so should you be.’
So Shvetaketu went away to a gurukul to be educated, and when he came back to his father’s house twelve years later, he had grown into a handsome (and somewhat conceited) young man, with self-assured (and somewhat arrogant) eyes, and more than a hint of a swagger, for he thought himself a master of the Vedas.
Deciding that his son needed taking down a peg or two, Uddalaka said to him: ‘Welcome home, son! Congratulations on completing your education! You are now familiar with that wisdom, I hope, by which you can hear the unheard, think the unthought and know the unknown?’
‘Eh?’ Shvetaketu was taken aback. His shoulders slumped a little and his arrogance retreated. ‘I thought I had learnt a lot and discovered a lot these past dozen years, sir, but I’m afraid I am not familiar with the wisdom to which you refer. Perhaps it is best that you teach it to me.’ And he sat at his father’s feet, his face upturned and eager, and it was as if twelve years had rolled away in an instant.
‘I will tell you, my son,’ said Uddalaka. ‘It is like this. If you know well the essence of something, you will “know” everything that carries that essence, even if it takes on a hundred different forms that bear a thousand different names.’
Shvetaketu was puzzled.
‘It is like this, saumya. By knowing a lump of clay – its texture, its feel, how it moves on a wheel or in your hand – you understand intimately everything that is fashioned out of it, even if you have never seen those different forms or known their names, for their true reality is not their forms, or their names, but their essence, which is clay.’
Shvetaketu’s face cleared a little. He nodded.
‘It is like this, saumya. By knowing just one trinket made of copper, one knows and understands everything else made of copper, for everything else is just a name, just a form, whose true reality is copper.
‘It is like this, saumya. By observing closely just one pair of nail-clippers made of iron, one understands everything else made of iron, for while we may give iron different names and forms, we know the underlying reality of all those forms and names is just this: iron.
‘It is like this, saumya. By understanding the one true reality of the universe, you understand every other thing in the universe, never mind that it is present in a million different forms with a billion different names.’
Shvetaketu sat up straighter. ‘That makes a lot of sense, Father. But all those wise men who taught me all these years never taught me about this one supreme reality, the one universal essence, by understanding which everything in the universe may be understood. Please do teach it to me, sir!’
‘Very well, saumya. Listen carefully now.
‘In the beginning, there was only Being, and only that, without a second. Now, some people will tell you that in the beginning, there was only Non-Being, and only that, without a second. But that theory has always seemed flawed to me, for how can all this Being that we see around us emerge from Non-Being? How can anything emerge from Non-Being? I prefer to think of Being – not Non-Being – as the first.’
‘I agree,’ said Shvetaketu.
‘Now this Being said to itself, “Come now, let me become many.” And it began to emit heat, which is essential for life. And the heat, not to be outdone, thought to itself – “Now let me become many. Let me propagate myself.” And the heat produced water, which is essential for life
. (And that’s why, when a man feels hot, he sweats, and when he feels stressed, he weeps, for heat emits water.)
‘Now the water, not a one to sit around quietly twiddling its thumbs, thought to itself – “Let me become many.” And out of water came food. (And that’s why, when it rains, there is no shortage of food.)
‘Now look around you, Shvetaketu, at all the creatures in the universe. All of them are only born in three ways – from sprouts, from eggs and from creatures. And the Divine Being thought to itself, “Let me infuse life into these three – sprouts, eggs and creatures.”
‘That life-essence, Shvetaketu, combined with heat, water and food in a million different ways to produce a million different manifestations of the original Being. There is nothing in the universe that isn’t a mix of these!
‘Realizing this, the ancient sages were well pleased, and said to themselves, “Now nothing in the world, however new and different it looks, can surprise us, for we know that it is made only of these three – heat, water, food – and we know that its life-essence is the essence of the one original Being. Truly, there is nothing else.”’
Shvetaketu was struck with wonder. ‘Really? Then tell me, father, how do these three divinities – heat, water and food – manifest in my body and in yours? Which part of my body is heat, father? Which part water? Which part food? Tell me, sir, for I must know.’
‘Very well,’ said Uddalaka. ‘Now listen. All the food that you eat splits into three parts. The densest part passes out of the body, the not-so-dense part becomes flesh, and the lightest, airiest portion becomes the mind.
‘All the water that you drink splits into three parts. The most viscous part passes out of the body, the less viscous part becomes blood, and the lightest, airiest part rises in the body and becomes the breath.
‘All the heat that you eat* splits into three – the coarsest becomes bone, the not-so-coarse portion marrow and the lightest, airiest part becomes speech.
*’Heat that you eat’ translates to food like oil and ghee, which are produced by the application of heat – to oilseeds in the case of oil and to butter in the case of ghee. It also translates to the heat of the sun, which we ‘eat’ through our skin, and which, modern science tells us, provides the body with vitamin D, important for building bones. Which is exactly what the Chandogya says the ‘heat that we eat’ turns into!
‘Thus, saumya, does everything consist of three elements and every element consist of three parts. Thus is the mind made of food, the breath of water and speech of heat.’
‘How are you so sure of this, sir?’ asked Shvetaketu. ‘Tell me, please, for it is fascinating what you say, that mind is made of food, breath of water and speech of heat.’
‘Go away for fifteen days and eat nothing in that period,’ said Uddalaka. ‘But be sure to drink water, for the breath is made of water and will be cut off if you don’t drink.’
So Shvetaketu went away for fifteen days, during which he drank only water. When he came back, he was pale and wan, and much reduced in appearance, but he was very much alive.
His father welcomed him and said: ‘Now recite to me the verses of the Rig, my son, and the verses of the Yajur, and the chants of the Sama.’
‘I don’t recall them, sir,’ said Shvetaketu wonderingly, his voice unable to rise above a whisper. ‘I studied them for twelve years, but cannot recall a word.’
‘And no wonder,’ chuckled Uddalaka, ‘for the mind is made of food and you have eaten nothing for fifteen days. Just as, in a barely-there fire, a tiny ember the size of a firefly blazes up again when covered with straw, thus will your mind be revived when you fan the small spark of your breath with food. And the heat the food produces will revive your tongue and allow speech to flow. Go and eat your fill now, and come back to me.’
And of course, when Shvetaketu returned, he recalled all the verses of the Rig and the Yajur and the chants of the Sama, and was able to recite them to his father in a strong, full voice. And he understood that the mind is indeed made of food, and the breath indeed of water, and speech indeed of heat.
‘Tell me more, sir, teach me more.’
‘So be it, saumya,’ said Uddalaka.
‘Learn from me what really happens in sleep. In the waking state, saumya, the mind is like a tethered bird, flying hither and thither in a rare frenzy, never finding rest. When sleep comes, just as the fettered bird returns to her perch, the mind-bird, exhausted by all the frenetic activity, returns to its true resting place, to its purest state, to breath itself, for the mind is bound to the breath. And that’s why, when a man is in deep sleep, they say that he has returned unto himself.
‘Now learn from me what it means when they say a man is hungry. It means that water has led away all the food he has previously eaten to various parts of his body. And when they say a man is thirsty, it means heat has led away all the water he has earlier drunk. And thus we know that the root of the body is food, and the root of food is water, and the root of water is heat. And the root of heat is of course that original Being from whence heat first sprang.
‘Now learn from me what it means when they say a man is dead. It is speech that goes first, merging into the mind – so that even when his voice is weak, a man is able to think and recognize and remember and understand. Then the mind goes, merging into the prana or life-breath – so that even when a man does not understand any more, he is able to breathe and thus stay alive. Then the life-breath goes, merging into heat. Very soon after, heat leaves, merging into the same Pure Being from whence it came.
‘And it is that Pure Being that is the root, the finest essence, of all there is. That is the truth of the universe, the only real there is. And that, the very same That, Shvetaketu, is your essence too. That, dear one, is who you are.
‘That Thou Art, Shvetaketu, Tat Tvam Asi!’
Shvetaketu’s hair stood on end as the tremendous revelation crashed into his consciousness like a storm crashes into the coast. The essence of his being, the thing that made him him, was no different, apparently, from the essence of the universe! The same energy that allowed him to think and understand and remember and imagine and speak also caused the sun and the stars to shine and the seas to rise and the rain to fall. He, Shvetaketu, contained within him the power of the cosmos!
‘Tell me more, sir,’ cried Shvetaketu, ‘teach me more!’
‘So be it, saumya,’ said Uddalaka.
‘Now consider the bees that gather nectar all day from a variety of different flowers and turn them into golden honey. Once the honey is ready, the different nectars are no longer able to say, “I am the nectar of this flower”, or “I was gathered from that flower”, for their individual sweetnesses have now merged into a homogeneous, delicious whole. In the same way, son, do all the individual, separate, different existences you see around you – be it tiger or wolf, boar or lion, worm or moth, gnat or mosquito – merge into pure Being. That is what they all become, when they pass from their physical bodies, with no memory of ever having been separate or different from each other.
‘That is the Self, the Atman, of the world. That is the finest, most subtle essence of everything, the soul of everything, the root of everything, the scaffolding on which everything else stands. That is the true. That is the real. And That is your Self, your Atman, too.
‘That Thou Art, Shvetaketu, Tat Tvam Asi!’
‘Tell me more, sir,’ cried Shvetaketu, ‘teach me more!’
‘So be it, saumya,’ said Uddalaka.
‘Now consider the rivers that flow into the sea. Some rivers flow eastwards, into the eastern sea. And some flow west, into the western sea. But all the seas flow into each other. Once the rivers have become the sea, they are no longer able to say, “I am this river” or “I am that river”, for their individual waters have now merged into the only ocean there is. It is from this very ocean that the rivers were born, although they do not know it, and it is into this ocean that they eventually return. In the same way do tiger and wolf, boar a
nd lion, worm and moth, gnat and mosquito emerge from the one Being, although they do not realize it, and return to it when their time here is done.
‘That is the Self, the Atman, of the world. That is the finest, most subtle essence of everything, the soul of everything, the root of everything, the scaffolding on which everything else stands. That is the true. That is the real. And That is your Self, your Atman, too.
‘That Thou Art, Shvetaketu, Tat Tvam Asi!’
‘Tell me more, sir,’ cried Shvetaketu, ‘teach me more!’
‘So be it, saumya,’ said Uddalaka.
‘Now consider this huge tree here, son. If someone should hack away at its bottom, living sap would flow out of it. If someone should hack away at its middle, living sap would flow out of it. If someone should hack away at it close to the top, once again, living sap would flow. You see how jiva, the life-essence, pervades the entire tree? And that’s why, even though the sap flows out of it on hacking, the tree itself does not die – it stands straight and tall, thriving in its soil, nourishing itself with water. But should that life-essence withdraw from a single leaf, saumya, that leaf is instantly as good as dead. It withers and falls, never to rise again. Should that life-essence leave a branch of the tree, that branch withers instantly. And should the Self leave the entire tree, this tree, huge as it is, vibrantly alive as it is in this moment, will instantly begin to wither away.
‘Do you see how this works, Shvetaketu? As with the tree, so it is with us. The body dies when the living Self leaves it, certainly, but the Self itself does not die.