[[Mohan K.V 2014-01-20, 21:29:58 Source]]
सदास्वादः
53
अङ्केनाङ्कं च संक्रम्य रुरुदुर् भूतले तदा
(aṅkena aṅkaṃ ca saṃkramya ruruduḥ bhūtale tadā)
Meaning
“Passing him from lap to lap, they cried sitting on the ground”. A very touching and distinct image — it automatically brings in a setting of mourning and bereavement.
Context
This phrase is from the Mahābhārata (Śānti (12th) parva, chapter 149). The Śānti parva is full of moral stories and dialogues between the main characters in the aftermath of the great war. As if representing the turmoil in the minds of the characters after the destruction of the war, the narrative-Gaṅgā of the story is interrupted by thousands of small streams that join it from all directions. One such small stream, called the Gṛdhra-Jambuka-Samvāda (The dialogue between the Vulture and the Jackal) is the subject of this chapter.
दुःखिताः केचिद् आदाय बालम् अप्राप्त-यौवनम् ।
कुल-सर्वस्व-भूतं वै रुदन्तश् शोक-विह्वलाः ॥12.149.2॥
duḥkhitāḥ kecid ādāya bālam aprāpta-yauvanam |
kula-sarvasva-bhūtaṃ vai rudantaḥ śoka-vihvalāḥ ||
बालं मृतं गृहीत्वाथ श्मशानाभिमुखास् स्थिताः ।
अङ्केनाङ्कं च संक्रम्य रुरुदुर् भूतले तदा ॥3॥
bālaṃ mṛtaṃ gṛhītvā atha śmaśāna-abhimukhāḥ sthitāḥ |
aṅkena aṅkaṃ ca saṃkramya rurudur bhūtale tadā ||
“One day, a grieving family brought the body of their young son to a cremation ground. The boy, light of their lives, had barely reached his youth before he’d passed away. Passing him from lap to lap, they cried sitting on the ground”.
A very tragic scene, indeed. As they grieve, a vulture that is a long-time resident of the cremation ground walks up to them and says this:
संपश्यत जगत् सर्वं सुख-दुःखैर् अधिष्ठितम् ।
संयोगो विप्रयोगश् च पर्यायेणोपलभ्यते ॥6॥
saṃpaśyata jagat sarvaṃ sukha-duḥkhair adhiṣṭhitam |
saṃyogo viprayogaḥ ca paryāyeṇa upalabhyate ||
गृहीत्वा ये च गच्छन्ति ये ऽनुयान्ति च तान् मृतान् ।
ते ऽप्यायुषः प्रमाणेन स्वेन गच्छन्ति जन्तवः ॥7॥
gṛhītvā ye ca gacchanti ye anuyānti ca tān mṛtān |
te api āyuṣaḥ pramāṇena svena gacchanti jantavaḥ ||
कर्मान्त-विहिते लोके चास्तं गच्छति भास्करे ।
गम्यतां स्वम् अधिष्ठानं सुतस्नेहं विसृज्य वै ॥11॥
karma-anta-vihite loke ca astaṃ gacchati bhāskare |
gamyatāṃ svam adhiṣṭhānaṃ suta-snehaṃ visṛjya vai ||
“O Men, learn that the whole world goes through joys and sorrows in turn. Union and bereavement follow each other. Those who carry the bodies of their loved ones, and those who grieve beside them, will themselves pass on when their time comes. [Therefore, do not grieve]. It is evening, and the sun is setting. Return to your homes safely before dusk; your bond with your son has ended.”
This is sound advice from the vulture. What can one do when faced with the most fundamental of all sorrows, that of existence itself? Many scholars of rituals opine that the most important function of last rites is to give those who are grieving a trusted action plan to follow. The vulture here reminds the family of eternal truths that the śāstras also proclaim, and gently asks them to move on.
The family heeds its words, and prepare to return, when suddenly a black jackal appears out of a nearby burrow. It understands the scene, and immediately scolds the family!
आदित्यो ऽयं स्थितो मूढास् स्नेहं कुरुत मा भयम् ।
बहुरूपो मुहूर्तश् च जीवेतापि कदाचन ॥15॥
ādityo ayaṃ sthito mūḍhāḥ snehaṃ kuruta mā bhayam |
bahurūpo muhūrtaḥ ca jīveta api kadācana ||
यूयं भूमौ विनिक्षिप्य पुत्र-स्नेह-विनाकृताः ।
श्मशाने पुत्रम् उत्सृज्य कस्माद् गच्छथ निर्घृणाः ॥16॥
yūyaṃ bhūmau vinikṣipya putra-sneha-vinākṛtāḥ |
śmaśāne putram utsṛjya kasmāt gacchatha nirghṛṇāḥ ||
न वो ऽस्त्यस्मिन् सुते स्नेहो बाले मधुर-भाषिणि ।
यस्य भाषित मात्रेण प्रसादम् उपगच्छथ ॥17॥
na vaḥ asti asmin sute sneho bāle madhura-bhāṣiṇi |
yasya bhāṣita mātreṇa prasādam upagacchatha ||
“You fools!! The sun still shines! This is a time for hope, not fear! Anything can happen in the right moment, perhaps he may still rise! How can you so cruelly abandon this young boy, throwing away all your affection! Just sometime ago, even his very babblings were your greatest boon, and now, you leave without the slightest care?”
The jackal goes on to berate the family in this vein, telling them that even animals show more affection to their young than these so-called humans. What does it say of the fickleness of their affections that they want to rush back to the comforts of their home not two seconds after the boy appears to have passed on?
From several perspectives, the jackal is right, too. In the most practical sense, the boy may not even be dead. Even in these ultra-modern times, we hear every other week of some fellow who was declared dead waking up just as the grave was being dug. What then in ancient times, when the chances of making a mistake were much higher? The boy supposedly died during the day, and it’s not even sunset — so the family hasn’t even had a few hours. The most effective language at this moment is that of emotion, and the jackal rightly uses it to get his point across. Why aren’t they even giving the poor boy a chance!
Even from a philosophical perspective, the jackal’s words are very profound. How quickly the family is ready to abandon their darling child! Possibly one of the most inscrutable of human capacities is the ability to move on. No matter how strong the bond, no matter how intertwined the past, no matter how rosy the commonly-dreamt future — in the face of loss, the human spirit finds a way to cope. Relationships that once seemed to define life itself quickly become mere memories in the relentless march of Time. Indeed, a common sequence in Sanskrit literature is a character who has faced a deep personal loss bemoaning that he can continue to live. A classic example is from Bāṇabhaṭṭa’s Kādambarī — in one of the most moving passages in the work, the parrot Vaiśampāyana relates his response to the death of his beloved father-parrot at the hands of a hunter, and his own escape:
नास्ति जीविताद् अन्यद् अभिमत-तरम् इह जगति सर्व-जन्तूनाम् । एवम् उपरते ऽपि सुगृहीत-नाम्नि ताते यद् अहम् अविकलेन्द्रियः पुनर् एव प्राणिमि । धिङ् माम् अकरुणम् अतिनिष्ठुरम् अकृतज्ञं । … खलं हि खलु मे हृदयम् । मया हि लोकान्तर-गतायाम् अम्बायाम् नियम्य शोक-वेगम् आप्रसव-दिवसात् परिणत-वयसा अपि सता तैः तैः उपायैः मत्-संवर्धन-क्लेशम् अति-महान्तम् अपि स्नेह-वशाद् अगणयता यत् तातेन परिपालितः तत् सर्वं एकपदे विस्मृतम् । अतिकृपणाः खल्वमी प्राणाः । यद् उपकारिणम् अपि तातम् अद्यापि क्वापि गच्छन्तं नानुगच्छन्ति ।
na asti jīvitād anyad abhimata-taram iha jagati sarva-jantūnām | evam uparate api sugṛhīta-nāmni tāte yad aham avikalendriyaḥ punar eva prāṇimi | dhik mām akaruṇam atiniṣṭhuram akṛtajñaṃ | … khalaṃ hi khalu me hṛdayam | mayā hi lokāntara-gatāyām ambāyām niyamya śoka-vegam āprasava-divasāt pariṇata-vayasā api satā taiḥ taiḥ upāyaiḥ mat-saṃvardhana-kleśam ati-mahāntam api sneha-vaśād agaṇayatā yat tātena paripālitaḥ tat sarvaṃ ekapade vismṛtam | atikṛpaṇāḥ khalvamī prāṇāḥ | yad upakāriṇam api tātam adyāpi kvāpi gacchantaṃ nānugacchanti |
“There is nothing dearer than life to any being. Even after my dearest father passed away, I continue to breathe! Shame! Shame on me, merciless, cruel, ungrateful wretch that I am! What a villain my heart is! When my mother-parrot passed away after giving birth to me, even though he was of advanced age, he suppressed his grief and cheerfully took on the massive task of raising me. He devoted his very life to me, and yet, the wretch that I am, I seem to have forgotten all that in an instant — even my breaths do not follow him as he passes on.”
[Some textual notes: Note that in this passage Bāna wisely abandons all bombast, and achieves very great effect by using simple Sanskrit. ‘sugṛhīta-nāma’ is used to refer to those who have passed away, somewhat like a respectful form of ‘Late’]
So yes, the jackal makes a very poignant point. On hearing its words, the family is overrun with grief and comes back to sit beside the boy’s corpse. The vulture then seems annoyed, and tells them very sharply,
पञ्च-भूत-परित्यक्तं शून्यं काष्ठत्वम् आगतम् ।
कस्माच् छोचथ निश्चेष्टम् आत्मानं किं न शोचथ ॥29॥
pañca-bhūta-parityaktaṃ śūnyaṃ kāṣṭhatvam āgatam |
kasmāt śocatha niśceṣṭam ātmānaṃ kiṃ na śocatha ||
किं करिष्यथ शोचित्वा मृतं किम् अनुशोचथ ।
सर्वस्य हि प्रभुः कालो धर्मतः समदर्शनः ॥40॥
kiṃ kariṣyatha śocitvā mṛtaṃ kim anuśocatha |
sarvasya hi prabhuḥ kālo dharmataḥ samadarśanaḥ ||
“This corpse has become one with the five elements. It is empty of life, and I even see rigor mortis setting in. Why do you grieve for it, you fools? Why don’t you grieve for yourselves?! What will you do, grieving for this dead heap? Time is the ruler of all, and levels all with an equal eye.”
Very harsh words, but their truth dazzles forth. In fact, all of the vulture’s words have a very strong basis in philosophy, and can be related with several examples from texts such as the Upaniśads and the Bhagavad-Gīta (which even begins, ‘gatāsūn agatāsūn ca nānuśocanti paṇḍitāḥ’ — ‘The wise neither grieve for the living nor the dead’)
The jackal is no less knowledgeable. It shoots back:
यत्नो हि सततं कार्यः कृतो दैवेन सिध्यति ।
दैवं पुरुषकारश् च कृतान्तेनोपपद्यते ॥46॥
yatno hi satataṃ kāryaḥ kṛto daivena sidhyati |
daivaṃ puruṣakāraḥ ca kṛtāntena upapadyate ||
अनिर्वेदस् सदा कार्यो निर्वेदाद्-धि कुतस् सुखम् ।
प्रयत्नात् प्राप्यते ह्य् अर्थः कस्माद् गच्छथ निर्दयाः ॥47॥
anirvedaḥ sadā kāryo nirvedāt hi kutaḥ sukham |
prayatnāt prāpyate hy arthaḥ kasmād gacchatha nirdayāḥ ||
“One must put forth effort by all means. If then Fate wills it, it will succeed. Only when exertion meets destiny is the right fruit produced. One must always be hopeful — what is the point of despondency?! You can succeed only by effort, you hard-hearted fools, where will you go from here?”
“anirvedaḥ sadā kāryo” — Hanumān’s words from the Rāmāyaṇa! The jackal’s call to action is absolutely right. What is the point of philosophizing about life and death, go do something, try to revive the boy! The jackal goes on to say, try something at least till the sun sets. After that, there’s nothing you can do in the darkness, and you might as well choose to leave. But till there is light, do your best!
Even as a philosophy, this is worthy of the highest attention. We’re getting into quite a quandary here! Both the vulture and the jackal seem to be right! The verbal duel continues, and goes very deep into philosophy. For example, the vulture says that in his entire life, he has never seen anyone being revived in the cremation ground. The jackal in turn quotes several examples from the scriptures of people who have come back from the dead; the vulture in turn says this:
अहं च क्रोष्टुकश् चैव यूयं चैवास्य बान्धवाः ।
धर्माधर्मौ गृहीत्वेह सर्वे वर्तामहे ऽध्वनि ॥74॥
ahaṃ ca kroṣṭukaḥ caiva yūyaṃ caiva asya bāndhavāḥ |
dharma-adharmau gṛhītvā iha sarve vartāmahe adhvani ||
“Myself, this jackal, you, your relatives, everyone — we’re all on the same road as this boy has taken” — meaning, we all have to leave one day, stop this nonsense of attachment.
The jackal of course promptly counters this, and the argument goes back and forth for about a hundred verses. It is only then that the genius of Vyāsa drops the bomb:
स्व-कार्य-दक्षिणौ राजन् गृध्रो जम्बुक एव च ।
क्षुत्-पिपासा-परिश्रान्तौ शास्त्रम् आलम्ब्य जल्पतः ॥103॥
sva-kārya-dakṣiṇau rājan gṛdhro jambukaḥ eva ca |
kṣut-pipāsā-pariśrāntau śāstram ālambya jalpataḥ ||
तयोर् विज्ञान-विदुषोर् द्वयोर् जम्बुक पत्रिणोः ।
वाक्यैर् अमृत-कल्पैर् हि प्रातिष्ठन्त व्रजन्ति च ॥104॥
tayoḥ vijñāna-viduṣoḥ dvayoḥ jambuka patriṇoḥ |
vākyaiḥ amṛta-kalpaiḥ hi prātiṣṭhanta vrajanti ca ||
“The vulture and the jackal were both hungry and arguing with their own selfish end in mind. They knew the śāstras, and spoke beautifully, making the family go hither and thither.”
The vulture couldn’t see at night, and so was asking the family to leave so that it could eat up the corpse. The jackal on the other hand could see well at night, but couldn’t fight the vulture during the day. So it was asking the family to stay till sundown, so that afterward it could peacefully eat the body all for itself.
At every stage of the conversation, the vulture and jackal were both perfectly logically consistent, and made very well-supported arguments. Even a learned scholar would have to agree with the points being made on both sides. The fact that the intention behind the arguments was something entirely different could only be understood if one “stepped out of the frame”.
Vyāsa thus lays bare the two-faced nature of politics of all time. Even today, when we study the most iconic issues of our times, we are forced to wonder if justification, debate, reasoning and argumentation have any point at all if there isn’t an independent way of establishing genuine goodwill. Without genuine goodwill, all scholarship and learning merely seem to be either just tools of injustice, or ways of devising explanations in hindsight, no better than grandpa’s consolation stories. But can we even know what genuine goodwill is, let alone verify its existence in someone else?
Vyāsa doesn’t seem to want to end on a tragic note, so he writes that Lord Śiva, goaded on by Umā’s compassion, appears in the cremation ground to resolve the matter. He brings the boy back to life, and relieves the hunger of the vulture and the jackal. The story ends happily with a moral that energetic effort coupled with a firm resolve is the best way to bring about results, with a little help from up above :-)
Parting Thought
Earlier in the epic, just as the Pāṇḍavas are leaving to the forest after having lost everything in the game of dice, sage Vaiśampāyana has a bit of advice to Yudhiṣṭhira:
अतश् च धर्मिभिः पुम्भिर् अनीहार्थः प्रशस्यते ।
प्रक्षालनात् हि पङ्कस्य दूराद् अस्पर्शनं वरम् ॥3.2.47॥
ataḥ ca dharmibhiḥ pumbhiḥ anīhārthaḥ praśasyate |
prakṣālanāt hi paṅkasya dūrād asparśanaṃ varam ||
“For righteous men, staying away from wealth can be the best option —
after all, not stepping into filth is better than stepping into it and cleaning up later”
The original uses ‘artha’, which can mean a lot of things. One can debate about whether this applies to money today — after all, we have developed and demonstrated systems where money is no longer a zero-sum game, and vyāpāro is no longer drohacintanaṃ; but one definitely can see the truth in it when one observes other zero-sum situations, like power. Adam Smith wrote about the psychology of discarded statesmen thus:
To those who have been accustomed to the possession, or even to the hope of public admiration, all other pleasures sicken and decay. Of all the discarded statesmen who for their own ease have studied to get the better of ambition, and to despise those honours which they could no longer arrive at, how few have been able to succeed? The greater part have spent their time in the most listless and insipid indolence, chagrined at the thoughts of their own insignificancy, incapable of being interested in the occupations of private life, without enjoyment, except when they talked of their former greatness, and without satisfaction, except when they were employed in some vain project to recover it. Are you in earnest resolved never to barter your liberty for the lordly servitude of a court, but to live free, fearless, and independent? There seems to be one way to continue in that virtuous resolution; and perhaps but one. Never enter the place from whence so few have been able to return; never come within the circle of ambition; nor ever bring yourself into comparison with those masters of the earth who have already engrossed the attention of half mankind before you.
This idea is beautifully adapted in some of the best TV art of our time, in series like The Wire and Breaking Bad.
There is of course an Indian version of this too, expounded in a fascinating interview of the very perceptive former deputy chief minister, M. P. Prakash:
Power achieved here, Prakash said, was very great, in the surroundings of India life, the surroundings of struggle and making do. And the fall, the loss of power, was equally great, and could be very hard to bear.
Prakash said, “When the average politician falls he will have nowhere to go, and no cushion. He may be an advocate in a country area, or a son of a peasant or landlord, or son or brother of a petty merchant; but not a man with a lot of money. And many may not come from a movement.’
‘The power gives so much of comfort, perks, and status – a bungalow, all fully furnished, all personal attendants and secretarial staff. A chauffeur-driven car, and facilities to stay in government bungalows and guest houses when you travel out, and air tickets – you can fly around at the expense of the government. But when you come out of power, if you have no means, you may have to go back to the semi-urban area from where you came. There you can hardly afford to have a secretary or servants. You may have one servant, but not the bunch of servants you had as a minister. Or the free telephone calls.’
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