[[Mohan K.V 2013-10-17, 01:32:51 Source]]
सदास्वादः
सन्नामिव महाकीर्तिं श्रद्धामिव विमानिताम् /
प्रज्ञामिव परिक्षीणाम् आशां प्रतिहतामिव
(sannāmiva mahākīrtiṃ śraddhāmiva vimānitām /
prajñāmiva parikṣīṇām āśāṃ pratihatāmiva)
Meaning
“Like once-great fame that has decayed, like faith insulted, like intelligence withered, like hope dulled”. All words are in the dvitīyā vibhakti (accusative), meaning that this entire verse can be the X in a sentence that says, ‘He saw X’. This kind of ‘embedded description’ is one of Sanskrit’s prime features. So who is this evidently unhappy lady, being described thus? Read on!
Context
Today’s verse is taken from the Sundara-kāṇḍa of the Rāmāyaṇa. This seminal work by Valmīki is known to be older than 2500 years, and is revered as the Ādi-kāvya by Sanskrit poets of antiquity. We can summarize several millennia of thought on this work by saying that the Rāmāyaṇa is a major part of the very foundation of Indian culture; there is nothing in all of world literature that even comes close to it in influence – on people’s lives and stories and myths and proverbs, on poems and plays and songs and movies, on art and sculpture and dance and architecture, and all this across the length and breadth of India and beyond, all the way to Nepal, Thailand, Cambodia and Java.
The greatest assets of the Rāmāyaṇa are its characters. We can find more striking descriptions, cleverer verses, wittier worldplay, perhaps even more sophisticated emotions in later poets; but the Rāmāyaṇa’s characters have a certain pull, a certain infinite extensibility that is almost life-like, that make for its universal appeal. We will discuss here a few verses to demonstrate, and hope to repeatedly come back in future editions; In fact, starting with our very first edition, a number of our past editions have involved the Rāmāyaṇa or its echoes off the minds of later geniuses in some form or another!
Consider the character of Hanumān. His devotion to Rāma, mighty prowess and great intelligence are all very well known, but we also see that he is a source of gentle humour. For example, after arriving in Lankā, he is snooping around Rāvaṇa’s palace trying to find Sītā, when he sees Rāvaṇa’s wife Mandodarī sleeping. Hanumān for a moment thinks he’s found Sītā, and is ecstatic:
आस्फोटयामास चुचुम्ब पुच्चम्
ननन्द चिक्रीड जगौ जगाम ।
स्तम्भान् अरोहन् निपपात भूमौ
निदर्शयन् स्वाम् प्रकृतिं कपीनाम् ॥5.10.54॥
āsphoṭayāmāsa cucumba puccam
nananda cikrīḍa jagau jagāma |
stambhān arohan nipapāta bhūmau
nidarśayan svām prakṛtiṃ kapīnām ||5.10.54||
“He clapped his arms, kissed his tail, sang, played, jumped up the pillars and back down on the ground and became a really happy ape!”
Even if we’d never heard of this scene before, we can completely imagine Hanumān doing this! This kind of ‘consistent detailing’ is a major strength, especially of a work that one encounters multiple times from childhood to maturity, at multiple levels of depth.
Of course, Hanumān soon realizes that it couldn’t have been Sītā, and continues his search. After a very long and tiring investigation, he starts to lose hope. What if Sītā was dead? What if all this was for nothing? What face could he show to an expectant Rāma? Just as these thoughts start to coalesce, another distinctive character trait of his takes control. He pauses, gathers himself, and tells himself this:
अनिर्वेदः श्रियो मूलम् अनिर्वेदः परं सुखम् ।
अनिर्वेदो हि सततं सर्वार्थेषु प्रवर्तकः ॥5.12.10॥
anirvedaḥ śriyo mūlam anirvedaḥ paraṃ sukham |
anirvedo hi satataṃ sarvārtheṣu pravartakaḥ ||5.12.10||
“Liveliness is the source of all good; Liveliness is the ultimate happiness; Liveliness is always the origin of all action.” [The word anirveda is difficult to translate – literally ‘not depressed’, it covers the general space of emotions around courage, liveliness, high spirits, action, etc.]
This is Hanumān’s fundamental bias towards action giving him strength. If the Rāmāyaṇa was just one other story that one read, a verse like this wouldn’t mean much. We may momentarily note the character’s trait and move on. But given that the Rāmāyaṇa is a foundational text, given that one’s entire culture is suffused with it, given that Hanumān is a god whose every good feature is celebrated – a verse like this can verily become a personal manifesto. It can give us strength in our difficult times.
Indeed, people who are going through difficult times are advised to read the Sundara-kāṇḍa. This is usually said in a religious context, but the practical reason is also apparent: the Sundara-kāṇḍa is a hope-inspiring piece, showing the overcoming of depression on the part of Hanumān, of Sītā, and of Rāma. Even in the broader context of the Rāmāyaṇa it serves this purpose, starting at the darkest hour: Rāma has lost his wife, made no progress for an entire year and is reduced to seeking help from monkeys; the vānaras who after much delay set out in the four directions in search of Sītā have all been fruitless and have almost given up hope; Sītā is utterly distraught in captivity, filled with fear, uncertainty and loneliness. Then the Sundara-kāṇḍa starts, and like a thriller novel, in a flurry of activity one sole character accomplishes so much, ending with “Dṛṣṭā Sītā” and the ultimate reward of an embrace by God himself.
Thus, the Prāṇa-svarūpī Hanumān, symbolizing life, is a pervasively inspiring figure: even today, we hear cries of “Jai Bajrang Bali!” used to access inner reserves of strength. The economist Keynes used the phrase ‘animal spirits’ to describe this very same spontaneity as the single most important feature of an economy:
[…] a large proportion of our positive activities depend on spontaneous optimism rather than mathematical expectations, […] Most of our decisions to do something positive, the full consequences of which will be drawn out over many days to come, can only be taken as the result of animal spirits—a spontaneous urge to action rather than inaction, and not as the outcome of a weighted average of quantitative benefits multiplied by quantitative probabilities.
Moving on, Hanumān eventually does find Sītā. Vālmīki devotes many verses to describing her sad state, of which one of the most insightful ones is today’s verse:
सन्नामिव महाकीर्तिं श्रद्धामिव विमानिताम् ।
प्रज्ञामिव परिक्षीणाम् आशां प्रतिहतामिव ।5.19.12।
sannāmiva mahākīrtiṃ śraddhāmiva vimānitām |
prajñāmiva parikṣīṇām āśāṃ pratihatāmiva |5.19.12|
“[Hanumān saw Sītā, who was] Like once-great fame that has decayed, like faith insulted, like intelligence withered, like hope dulled.”
All four similes describe a deep state of vulnerability, with a painful, unresolved tension between past memory and current experience. This is really the most insidious effect of a tragedy: it splits us up into multiple voices within ourselves. Consider the simile of insulted faith. Having faith is one of the most unifying of experiences; one fully believes in something with every atom of one’s being, and that state of unity alone appears to be a sufficient reward, nevermind the object of the faith. But when Life rudely interrupts and insults even the most dearly held values, we are no longer one. There is a part of us that still tries to hold on; another part that begins to doubt; yet another that searches for something else to hold on to, perhaps even the very thing that caused the insult; there may even be a meta voice that worries about the divergence and yearns for peace. As Krishna so aptly says in the Gītā: bahu-śākhā hyanantāśca buddhayo ’vyavasāyinām (“The minds of the disturbed have infinitely many branches”).
Hanumān is aware of all this, and is very gentle with Sītā, reassuring her every step of the way and dexterously carrying out the very dangerous task of giving hope. After all that finesse, he is understandably exhausted, and we imagine he was quite relieved when Vālmīki put him to work on some other burning matters ;-)
Thought for today
Part of the greatness of works like the Rāmāyaṇa and Mahābhārata undoubtedly has to do with the vast stretch of time they have had to percolate deeply into society; over that time, pedantries and finding fault with them gradually lost favor, and they gained respect and recognition. Here’s a later poet, Dharmakirti, (jokingly) complaining about how hard it is to compete :-)
शैलैः बन्धयति स्म वानर-हृतैः वाल्मीकिः अम्भोनिधिम्
व्यासः पार्थ-शरैः तथापि न तयोः अत्युक्तिः उद्भाव्यते ।
वाग्-अर्थौ च तुलाधृतौ इव तथाप्यस्मन्-निबन्धानयं
लोको दूषयितुं प्रसारित-मुखः तुभ्यं प्रतिष्ठे नमः ॥
śailaiḥ bandhayati sma vānara-hṛtaiḥ vālmīkiḥ ambhonidhim
vyāsaḥ pārtha-śaraiḥ tathāpi na tayoḥ atyuktiḥ udbhāvyate |
vāg-arthau ca tulādhṛtau iva tathāpyasman-nibandhānayaṃ
loko dūṣayituṃ prasārita-mukhaḥ tubhyaṃ pratiṣṭhe namaḥ ||
“Vālmīki bridged the ocean with rocks carried by monkeys.
Vyāsa got Arjuna to fire arrows to do the same thing, but no one accuses them of hyperbole.
In contrast, I try so hard to balance sound and sense, and yet the world delights in finding fault with my work! “O Reputation, I bow down [to your strength]!”
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