Splendour of Knowledge (

Splendour of Knowledge (Part 1)

[[Splendour of Knowledge (Part 1) Source: prekshaa]]

Now I’m setting out to reminisce about my teachers.

The almighty has blessed me in myriad ways and has given me several shortcomings as well. Of those shortcomings, two are related to the aforementioned scenario.

1. I do not have prospects to indicate my relationship to eminent personages and feel proud that my teacher was that great paṇḍita or this brilliant vidvān. My teachers were remarkable men in my view but were unknown to the world; they did not boast of great titles such as ‘Mahāmahopadhyāya,’ ‘D.Litt.,’ and so forth; they had not roared in large assemblies. They were among the commonest of commoners.
2. I cannot even claim that a certain famous personality or an exceptionally competent individual was among my classmates. Those who studied with me were also among the commonest folk. Nobody ascended to the rank of a great scholar. They did not rise to positions of power. They did not gain fame by becoming an advocate or a doctor.

Classmates

I shall name a few of my classmates. From that alone their position and status will become clear. Suṇṇakallu ¹ Nāga, the laundryman’s son Subba, Veṅkaṭadāsari’s son Veṅkaṭaśāmi, the blacksmith’s son Gurappācāri, the school peon Mādayya’s son Munitimma, Baṇajiga ² Guruvayya.

Such were my classmates. One or two among them hailed from cultured families. But most of the boys came from households of those engaged in village chores.

This being the case, in my education history, matters that will please the learned are extremely scarce.

Even so, there’s a dash of audacity. A confidence, that there exists a place on earth for immature, unripe souls like us too. “We have a right to live!” is a belief that hasn’t been erased in me. It is from that courage I dare to write this essay.

Shortcoming

What I termed as ‘shortcoming’ earlier comes from a genuine feeling in my heart; it is not for theatrics. Although I was a boisterous scamp in my childhood, I’ve come to realise only recently that education is a matter of great consequence. Fifty years ago if I had recognised this, probably I would’ve gained proximity to great scholars and [under their tutelage] perhaps attained mastery of one or two śāstras! I didn’t learn any of the śāstras from great scholars and so attain cultural refinement; I wasn’t acquainted with geniuses and greats [of that era] – I will always harbour sorrow and a sense of apprehension in my heart for this [shortcoming]. To feel pride in having learnt from a great guru and to remember him time and again, bowing to him with reverence – this is a great fortune; the Almighty did not bestow upon me such a fortune.

~

In ancient times, before the akṣarābhyāsa saṃskāra ³ was performed, the child would not be made to write even a single letter of the alphabet. It was a belief among our people that this [i.e. not writing a word before the akṣarābhyāsa] would be auspicious to the child and his education would take place holistically and without hurdles.

Akṣarābhyāsa

The first day of akṣarābhyāsa—learning the letters of the alphabet—was a day of festivity at home. The joisaru (astrologer) would fix a date for it. On that particular day, the child would be bathed and presented with fresh clothes. He would be around five years old. A tilaka or candana would adorn his forehead. Once he got ready, he was made to perform a pūjā. A painting of Sarasvatī, or that of any other Devī or a vigraha, the painting of Gaṇeśa or a piḻḻāri ⁴, one or two books, an inkpot, a pen, a slate, and chalk-piece – these would be the paraphernalia for the pūjā. The Sarasvatī-pūjā would be performed with sandalwood, flowers, turmeric, vermillion, incense, and lamp ⁵. The child’s father or grandfather would assist him. The purohita would perform the pūjā by recitation of mantras and then bless the child. Puri, coconut, and jaggery would be distributed to the friends of the boy. And then the main śloka taught by the purohita would be –

sarasvatī namastubhyaṃ
varade kāmarūpiṇī।
vidyārambhaṃ kariṣyāmi
siddhirbhavatu me sadā॥
Sarasvatī! I offer my salutations to you
O giver of boons! You are the embodiment of enjoyment!
I am starting my education –
let excellence always be with me!

After getting the boy to recite this śloka, he would be made to write a line on the slate – ‘śrī gaṇeśāya namaḥ’ [Salutations to Gaṇeśa!], ‘śrī śāradāyai namaḥ’ [Salutations to Śāradā], ‘oṃ namaśśivāya’ [Om! Salutations to Śiva!], or ‘oṃ namaśśivāya siddhaṃ namaḥ’ [Salutations to Śiva and the siddhas!]

Since the first line that the student wrote on that occasion comprised the words ‘oṃ namaḥ,’ this ceremony came to be known as the ‘onāma lesson,’ or the ‘teaching of onāma.’ Just as the introductory lesson is called the ‘ABC lesson’ in English, it is called the ‘onāma pāṭha’ in Kannada.

The very first sentence of the child’s lesson is the closing sentence of the wise elders. The great jñānis utter ‘oṃ namaḥ’ at the end. What was the Beginning is also the End.

Puṭṭappa

I remember my elders saying that this saṃskāra was conducted for me as well. The people who involved in the saṃskāra were my father and our kula-guru ‘Vedamūrti’ Veṅkaṭarāmabhaṭṭa. After this, a tutor by name Puṭṭappa taught me the letters of the alphabets methodically in his lessons, day after day.

Puṭṭappa was a school teacher in some village near Mulbagal. He taught the first standard. My grandfather respected him immensely. Puṭṭappa visited Mulbagal once every two or three months. He would then visit our home without fail. On the day of his visit, a culinary specialty would be prepared at home. Puṭṭappa would partake of that savoury; he would chew beetle leaves with betel-nut ⁶; he would inquire after everyone’s well-being; I would touch his feet and offer my salutations. This went on for a long time. Technically speaking I didn’t study in Puṭṭappa’s school. He only introduced me to the letters of the alphabet and did not have the chance to introduce me to any higher knowledge. Although the knowledge imparted by him was minimal, everyone respected him for his humility and courtesy.

This is the first part of a three-part English translation of the fifteenth chapter of D V Gundappa’s Jnapakachitrashaale – Vol. 8 – Sankirna Smrti-samputa. Edited by Hari Ravikumar.

Footnotes

Splendour of Knowledge (Part 2)

[[Splendour of Knowledge (Part 2) Source: prekshaa]]

‘Kurrāya’

I was better acquainted with Puṭṭappa’s younger brother Srinivasa Rao. This Srinivasa Rao was a disciple of my guru Candraśekhara-śāstri. When I was in third or fourth standard, Srinivasa Rao was in the fifth. Candraśekhara-śāstri had named him ‘Kurrāya.’ All the villagers called him as ‘Kurrāyuḍu’ [a respectful form of the word]. ‘Kurrāya’ was a transformation of ‘Kuru-rāya.’ Some poems from the Kumāra-vyāsa Bhārata were introduced in the Lower Secondary textbook that year. Those poems would end with “eṃda kuru-rāya” [“So said the king of the Kurus”] or “kuru-rāya kèḻeṃda” [“Listen, O king of Kurus!”] While reading these lines, our Srinivasa Rao would join the two ‘r’s [and read it as ‘kurrāya.’] The headmaster made that into his pet name. This is the origin of the nickname Kurrāya.

As time progressed, Srinivasa Rao became a school teacher. Along with that, he also cleared the Upper [or Higher] Secondary exams that used to be conducted those days. While he was a student of Upper Secondary, Attikunte Subba Rao and Śeṣappa of Srinivasapura were his classmates. They also became school teachers. (I have discussed about them elsewhere.)

Telugu Literature

My intention here is not to mention my father or my maternal uncle. But I wish to share an incident that explains the nature of my education. My maternal uncle is the protagonist of this episode. He was a teacher in the Telugu School for the primary classes. I feel he had a fairly good understanding of Telugu literature. He used to sing songs and recite poems. All of them were in Telugu. He used to recite a certain drama about Prahlāda from beginning to end. He would also utter the stage directions of the play, such as –

“dūtuḍu vaccènu” [“The messenger came.”]

kaṃcuki iṭlaniyè [“The chamberlain told so”]

He also recited from memory several śatakas ⁷. He used to recite Sumati-śataka and other poems. One among them was –

eŕakumī kasugāyala
dūŕakumī baṃdhujanula doṣamu summī
pāŕakumī raṇamaṃduna
mīŕakumī guruvulājña medira sumatī
[Verse #21]
[Loosely translates into “On this earth / choose not unripe fruit to eat / blame not the faults of your relatives / retreat not from the battlefield / transgress not your guru’s words, O wise one!”]

His voice would sound melodious to my ears. I was a favourite of his. He always made me stay close to him. He carried me and roamed about. The Telugu School was eight to ten yards from our home. And so he would lift me up and take me to school in the mornings and afternoons.

Knicker Nut Cap

Our classroom in school did not have benches or tables. All the students sat on the floor in rows and practised writing the letters of the alphabet on the sand spread in front of each of us. A few students made tiny caps out of the knicker nut (gajjuga) shells and used it to write [on the sand] as they were afraid of losing their fingers in the process of rubbing them in the sand. But none of them could sustain writing with this delicate material for too long. Within two or three days, a fight would erupt for the knicker nut caps. The caps would break, the boys would be rebuked by the teacher, and they would forget all about the fight.

In those days we didn’t have fountain pens; in fact even paper and pens were not in use. Slate and chalk-pieces were also rare. Whatever I learnt was by writing on sand spread on the floor. These are matters related to writing.

Combining Vowels and Consonants

Next comes the combining of vowels and consonants. This had to be memorised. All the students of our class had to stand up at four in the afternoon. The teacher would appoint one of us as a leader. We would have to repeat after him. The lesson would be thus –

ಕಕ್ಕೆ ತಲೆಕಟ್ಟು ಕೊಟ್ಟರೆ ಕ
ಕಕ್ಕೆ ದೀರ್ಘ ಕೊಟ್ಟರೆ ಕಾ
ಕಕ್ಕೆ ಗುಡಿಸು ಕೊಟ್ಟರೆ ಕಿ
ಕಕ್ಕೆ ಗುಡಿಸಂದೀರ್ಘ ಕೊಟ್ಟರೆ ಕೀ
ಕಕ್ಕೆ ಏತ್ವ ಕೊಟ್ಟರೆ ಕೆ
ಏತ್ವಂದೀರ್ಘ ಕೊಟ್ಟರೆ ಕೇ ⁸

Like this, we would memorise until the last letter of the alphabet – kṣa. After this, we would learn conjoined letters and then, the mathematical tables.

Mathematical Tables

These mathematical tables were a source of headache for me. I could somehow manage the tables of one to ten. There would be repeated mistakes starting from the tables of twelve. But that teacher was not one who would forgive easily.

“ಹನ್ನೆರಡೊಂದಲ ಹನ್ನೆರಡು… ಹನ್ನೆರಡು ಹತ್ತಲ ನೂರಿಪ್ಪತ್ತು” [“Twelve ones are twelve… twelve tens are one hundred and twenty.”] After this we had to recite the same in the reverse order –

ಹನ್ನೆರಡು ಹತ್ತಲ ನೂರಿಪ್ಪತ್ತು
ಹನ್ನೆರಡೊಂಬೋತ್ಲ ನೂರೆಂಟು
ಹನ್ನೆರಡೆಂಟಲ ತೊಂಬತ್ತಾರು

[Twelve tens are one hundred and twenty
Twelve nines are one hundred and eight
Twelve eights are ninety six]

Like this it would continue until “ಹತ್ತೊಂಬತ್ತು ಹತ್ತಲ ನೂರ ತೊಂಬತ್ತು” [“Nineteen tens are one hundred and ninety.”] From there we had to complete the recitation of the tables until “ಹತ್ತೊಂಬತ್ತೊಂದಲ…” [“Nineteen ones are…”]

After this, the days, months, seasons, and the sixty saṃvatsaras starting from Prabhava, Vibhava, etc. would be taught. ⁹

~

The reason why I’m describing all that is because I believe strongly that such a system of education is really good. I’m not aware if the current system of education follows this method or not.

A Recent Incident

There is an experience that is firmly imprinted in my memory. Around five to six years ago, I was going to the Gokhale Institute on a Sunday morning for a Book Study Meet that was to take place there. It was around half past eight in the morning. I was walking down the road that lies on the southern side of Acharya Pathashala.

A person came in hurry on a bicycle, got down, and asked me, “Sir, which is the East?” He must have been around sixteen or eighteen years of age. He had a smart hair-cut and wore a wristwatch. Affluent clothes. He also spoke some English. I was a little confused when he asked for ‘East.’ At half past eight, the sunlight is visible. So his question could not have been about the direction. He’s saying ‘East’ for something else. ‘Yeast’ is known for fermentation. A salt-like powder is used to ferment the dosa batter. That is known as yeast.

I reasoned thus and asked him, “What is your view of east?” He could not think of even of the eastern direction and remained speechless.

By that time, perhaps his elder brother—around twenty-two years old—arrived there. He too was dressed in a civilized manner, got down from his bicycle, and asked me the same question. Yet again I asked, “What do you mean by ‘east,’ my good man?”

He said, “East Anjaneya Street, sir”

I said, “You want the direction! Look above your head.”

Even then he failed to understand.

I said, “Observe, the sun rises and comes up. The direction of sunrise itself is east. That is east.”

From there on I continued walking to the Gokhale Institute and then shared my experience with the eight to ten members of the study group. Among them was a friend of mine practicing law after completing his M.A., B.L; he told me, “Sir, this is not surprising at all! There are many amongst our advocates like this.”

“Oh really?” I asked in surprise.

“Come near the court tomorrow around noon. I will show you four members like this.”

This is one of the traits of the new civilisation.

~

To be concluded.

This is the second part of a three-part English translation of the fifteenth chapter of D V Gundappa’s Jnapakachitrashaale – Vol. 8 – Sankirna Smrti-samputa. Thanks to Sreelalitha Rupanagudi for translating the Telugu verse. Edited by Hari Ravikumar.

Footnotes

Splendour of Knowledge (Part 3)

[[Splendour of Knowledge (Part 3) Source: prekshaa]]

My Dedication to Lessons

My maternal uncle prepared me for all the above lessons. A special part of this was dedicated to mathematics. Its machinations went something like this –

He would sit in a dark corner in the central hall of our house and would make me sit near him. My grandmother would give me some snacks like koḍubaḻe, cakkuli, and so on. My uncle would ask me in a loud voice, “Eighteen sixes are?” Immediately he would whisper into my ears, “One hundred and eight!” I would shout out, “One hundred and eight” in a loud voice. Then my mouth would receive a small piece of koḍubaḻe.

You should listen to the inner workings of this. My uncle knew that I was unaware of six times eighteen. If I replied with a wrong answer, my father would listen to that. Then I would be beaten black and blue. My uncle and grandmother could not bear the pain of looking at me crying after getting beaten up. Unable to bear this sorrow, my uncle would protect me with a good lie. The people of the olden days who made laws have given lenience under five situations (pañcānṛtāny-āhur-apātakāni!) The lie created by me and my uncle is not included in this list. But I’m confident that it was not a crime in my uncle’s view. But if my part in this had not been criminal in nature, my prowess in calculation would not have been so laughable.

After some time, my father discovered this dark-corner ploy and appropriately punished me and my uncle.

Candraśekhara-śāstri

I’ve written separately regarding my headmaster Vedamūrti Candraśekhara-śāstri (Volume 5). The lessons taught by him on the streets, outside the temple, at home, and in the town, are equal to if not greater than what he taught us at school. He was the teacher in a real sense. Clear pronunciation, usage of words appropriate to the situation, joining of words, the beauty in the meaning of what he uttered – all these were the highlights of his literature lessons. The beauty of his kāvya-vācana and his śloka-recitation were similar. It would be heartfelt too. His way of teaching the recitation of the Vedas was also of this manner. Even to this day, I remember hearing first from his mouth the ātma-rakṣā mantras like ‘brahmātmanvadasṛjata…’ and feeling ecstatic. The ruler he carried with him, and the beating we used to receive on our knuckles from him, was on one side; the aroma and the taste of his cooking as well as the affection with which he served it, was on the other side. His dedication towards ācāra [loosely ‘customs’] was at one end and his variegated swear words while rebuking us was at the other. Like this, from all four corners we appreciated him with a mixture of fear. It was a fright combined with admiration. If a student gave a wrong answer, or if some friend said something irrelevant, our Śāstri would say “Divyaḥ!” We would feel as if we should enter the bowels of the earth. Sometimes in Telugu he would say, “Wonderful. Just like washing one’s face with tears!” I can go on telling about numerous things about him.

Nañjuṇḍayya

My father was an associate teacher under Candraśekhara-śāstri. He would praise Śāstri as being an equal to his guru Nañjuṇḍayya. I’ve never seen the person named Nañjuṇḍayya. He’s one who gave me a bad name. It seems Nañjuṇḍayya passed away a day or two before I was born. Remembering this, my father would always deride me saying, “He ate my teacher for the sake of his birth!”

Among Nañjuṇḍayya’s disciples, there was a one Vegamaḍugu Śīnappa who was my father’s friend as well. It seems Nañjuṇḍayya had taught kāvya [‘literature’ in general] to both of them. My father and Śīnappa had great interest in Haḻagannaḍa literature. My father would read poetical works like Jaiminī-bhārata, Kumāra-vyāsa-bhārata, Rājaśekhara-vilāsa, Hariścandra-campū; Śīnappa would explain the verses [i.e. do the vyākhyāna]. Or Śīnappa would read and my father would explain the meaning. I have heard this. Śīnappa was extremely enthusiastic about śabdālaṅkāra ¹⁰. Whenever he encountered words like “Pāvanatulābharaṇam” or “Kètta balgattalègè,” he would twist together the index and middle fingers of his right, and explain it with great zeal as if he were expounding a logical argument. We would be happy not to just listen to it, but also to look at it. Śīnappa was addicted to snuff. His singing would be even more enjoyable when he was searching for his snuff box or his cloth. He would split every word in various ways, and would explain the various meanings associated with it.

Śīnappa was a poor śānubhoga [village accountants] by profession. If the degree-holders of my time had the possessed the same amount of knowledge as he did in literature, the country would have been a lot happier! A statement of Mahāmahopādhyāya R Narasimhacharya comes to the surface of my memory – “The eminent people of your time are extremely wealthy – they are adversaries of music and enemies of [Goddess] Śāradā.” ¹¹

Multifaceted Nature

How were we to make a rasika-vidvāṃsa [connoisseur-scholar] such as Nañjuṇḍayya as the headmaster during our time? Nañjuṇḍayya was a scholar in Kannada as well as Telugu; Our Telugu School’s headmaster Tiruveṅgaḍayya was a disciple of Nañjuṇḍayya while in the Andhra country. Nañjuṇḍayya was well-versed in Sanskrit. It seems he knew some English as well.

Apparently he knew painting and sculpting too. He had lost his wife. He had, apparently, sculpted an idol of his deceased wife with his own hand, and had decorated with colours, and had placed it on a table.

He was respected by all the villagers. He used to wear pure dhoti, aṅga-vastra, and a turban. When he was roaming in the town, every shopkeeper would stand up, offer salutations, and then look after their customers. Such was the respect shown towards education and humility.

Concluded.

This is the third part of a three-part English translation of the fifteenth chapter of D V Gundappa’s Jnapakachitrashaale – Vol. 8 – Sankirna Smrti-samputa. Edited by Hari Ravikumar.

Footnotes