[[Mohan K.V 2013-11-18, 06:54:57 Source]]
सदास्वादः
स्यान् मीन-मेष-गणना त्रिदशान्तराणाम्
(syān mīna-meṣa-gaṇanā tridaśāntarāṇām)
Meaning
“The other gods dilly-dally and hesitate!”. ‘dilly-dally’ in the original is the delightfully idiomatic ‘mīna-meṣa-gaṇanā’ – ‘counting mīna (the astrological sign Pisces) and meṣa (Aries)’, i.e. deliberately delaying by consulting astrological charts, etc. This phrase has carried over intact to many daughter languages like Kannada and Telugu. Now why are the gods themselves consulting astrological charts?! Read on!
Context
Today’s verse is taken from the Bhārāvatāra-stava of Dr. R. Shankar. Dr. Shankar is a contemporary Sanskrit poet residing in Bangalore, and practices as a professional psychiatrist. His foray into Sanskrit poetry is the stuff of legend: he learnt Sanskrit entirely by himself, and by the age of 16, was already making waves with the poetry he was composing. A wide array of commentators have been amazed by the stylistic purity of his work: his verses are well-nigh indistinguishable from the best of 4th-century Gupta-era writing, be it in the imagery, choice of words, or even the kind of visarga-sandhi that has been deliberately chosen for the sound. His other calling card is that he could rank among the very best writers of citrakāvya (poetry in constrained writing) in all of Sanskrit, and indeed, seems to compose high-quality padya-citras with about the same ease as a casual coffee-table conversation! He is also an avadhāni, and has performed seven aṣṭāvadhānas.
The Bhārāvatāra-stava is a devotional poem in praise of Lord Śiva. Bhārāvatāra is a beautiful name – literally it means ‘easing down a burden’, and is a conversation with Śiva on a number of topics. It is very hard to find a devotional poem that does not use sentimentality as a crutch to support itself. Indeed, the vast majority of such poems are little more than attendance roll-calls or charge-sheet pronouncements of a poor chosen god’s putative past activities. In contrast, high quality devotional poetry, like all good poetry, should observe the shared context, highlight the inherent poetic imagery in the conception of a deity and apply to our larger experiences of life. Happily, the Bhārāvatāra-stava does all this, as we’ll see in some example verses.
कस्मै-चन प्रणमते मुदितो विभुर्माम्
विश्राणयेद् इति शिरःशशिनोऽस्ति शङ्का ।
त्वन्-मात्र-भोज्य इति यो विहितो विधात्रा
धन्यः स एव पुनरीश्वर! कालकूटः ॥
kasmai-cana praṇamate mudito vibhur mām
viśrāṇayed iti śiraḥ-śaśino’sti śaṅkā |
tvan-mātra-bhojya iti yo vihito vidhātrā
dhanyaḥ sa eva punarīśvara! kālakūṭaḥ ||
“ ‘Oh, which devotee will he give me away to!’
– the moon on his head constantly worries thus;
‘Only you will want me, I’m safe’ – thinking thus,
that Kālakūṭa poison is surely blessed!”
Everyone has seen an image of Śiva, with a crescent moon on his head; everyone knows the story of Śiva saving the world by drinking the dreaded Kālakūṭa poison, which settled in his throat giving him the name Nīlakaṇṭha. This is the shared context. The poet now uses this shared context to make a novel observation. He imagines the moon to be very worried, because of Śiva’s reputation as being overly generous, sometimes without even thinking (one of his most popular names is Bhole-nath, the naive god). The poor moon is so worried that he’s a waning crescent, not a luminous full one! In contrast, the dreaded poison is secure in the knowledge that no else wants it, and the poet refers to it happily resting in peace. The beloved moon is worried thin, while the dread poison sleeps happily! By bringing out this contradiction, what emerges is a mild nindā-stuti, a ‘censure-prayer’, that pokes friendly, gentle fun at the object of devotion. This delicious genre is very unique to the Bhakti tradition!
A lesser poet could have tritely appealed to sentimentality, even using the same image, saying something like, ‘O Kālakūṭa, you are truly fortunate, because you are always with the Lord’. Imagining a verse like that, and seeing Dr. Shankar’s multi-layered efforts here, shows how much more devotional poetry is than mere devotional mood.
Moving on, today’s phrase appears in a verse that is tantalizingly close to a nindā-stuti:
आलम्बने जड-तमस्य मम त्रपा-तः
स्यान् मीन-मेष-गणना त्रिदशान्तराणाम् ।
भूरी-करिष्यति हि माम् अमृतांशु-मौलिः
देवो दिगम्बरतयाऽपि न लज्जते यः ॥
ālambane jaḍa-tamasya mama trapā-taḥ
syān mīna-meṣa-gaṇanā tridaśāntarāṇām |
bhūrī-kariṣyati hi mām amṛtāṃśu-mauliḥ
devo digambaratayā’pi na lajjate yaḥ ||
“The other gods dilly-dally out of fear,
wondering if they can take on a sinner like me.
But the Moon-crested Śiva is sure to save me:
he isn’t even ashamed of his own nakedness!”
We know Śiva is often described naked, or covered in ashes or generally in a very poor sartorial state. There are a number of reasons for that, but what’s important is that the poet takes off from that common point. He, as the devotee, wonders if the other gods would worry about their status if they stooped down to the level of saving someone like him. After all, they have their reputations to take care of! What if this fellow turns out to be a liability? In contrast, the poet is confident that he’ll be saved by Śiva, because he seems to have no shame at all, and so nothing to lose by taking on a challenge! Come to think it, that is quite a profound truth: saviours can’t have shame, or worry about reputations. This holds from Schindler to Śiva!
Let’s step back for a minute, and consider this verse from another angle. Readers familiar with admission procedures in prestigious universe will know of a famously open secret: if the university will be the biggest name on your resume, you will almost certainly not be admitted. Only if the applicant’s past is illustrious enough that admission to the elite university will count as the latest in a long line of triumphs, can any sort of success be expected. It is the business of taking gold and churning out stamped gold, while often the perception is that of creating gold. Doesn’t our verse apply here, too? In contrast to this, a true savior, a true gateway to upward social mobility, would not hesitate to take on any student and endow him with skills, not merely certify their presence. Thus, looking at this verse, we see another feature of great poetry – applying to life experiences beyond the poet’s directly intended topic.
Next,
आरोप्य तस्कर-पतिं परमेश्वरत्वे
स्वस्थाः कथं भवथ नाम चिराय लोकाः ।
युक्त्या हरिष्यति यदा समये समस्तं
विज्ञास्यथ स्वयम् अमुष्य तदा स्वरूपं ॥
āropya taskara-patiṃ parameśvaratve
svasthāḥ kathaṃ bhavatha nāma cirāya lokāḥ |
yuktyā hariṣyati yadā samaye samastaṃ
vijñāsyatha svayam amuṣya tadā svarūpaṃ ||
“O Worlds, how can you be at peace for long,
when you have installed the King of Thieves as your ruler?
When the time comes, he will take away everything –
and you will know his true form.”
A most profound verse, which subtly and coherent refers to many ideas in theory and practice. In theory, Śiva’s designation as ‘taskara-pati’, ‘king of thieves’ is as old as the vedas; one of his oldest and most popular names is ‘Hara’, ‘Taker’. In practice too, Śiva is the patron-god of thieves. The poet is pointing to the world’s “choice” in having a master thief as its supreme ruler. His triumph is in highlighting a deeply poetic notion that is inherent in the conception of Śiva. Loss is one of our greatest worries throughout life, be it of wealth, reputation, relationships or even just a feeling of ‘Time’s winged chariot hurrying near’; But it is also Life’s surest inevitabilities, and what’s even more tickling, one of our deepest cravings, an innate sense of freedom, can only be realized if we do not have possessions possessing us. As that famous lyric goes, ‘Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose’. What a masterstroke then, to make Hara, the ultimate Taker, the ruler of the world and arbiter of this delicate balance! :-)
Thought for today
Dr. Shankar has made appearances as a pṛcchaka (one of the challengers) in other avadhānas, and his verses from there are also worthy of the highest attention. Describing the feeling of loneliness of a traveler who has set forth on an uncertain mission, he writes:
ते नाम सन्तु सरसी-तटिनी-समुद्राः
धीरः प्रवासिषु जनेषु स एक एव ।
प्राप्ते प्रयाण-समये न रुणद्धि यान्तम्
यं द्वारि वारि दयिता-नयनान्त-लग्नम् ॥
te nāma santu sarasī-taṭinī-samudrāḥ
dhīraḥ prāvasiṣu janeṣu sa eka eva |
prāpte prayāṇa-samaye na ruṇaddhi yāntam
yaṃ dvāri vāri dayitā-nayanānta-lagnam ||
“Those mighty lakes and rivers and oceans – let them be.
The bravest voyager is one who manages to cross,
the tears, pooling at the tips of her eyes, of a dear one standing by the door.”
How trivial the travails of travel must seem to a man who’s tried thus! There’s a subtle cultural reference with the ‘nayanānta-lagnam’ – it is considered inauspicious for a wife to shed tears as her husband departs on a voyage. The poor girl can’t even cry openly! We had seen a similar circumstance in edition #16, on Bhāravi.
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