काव्ये विश्वासटिप्पन्यः

[[Mohan K.V 2014-08-10, 09:18:26 Source]]

सदास्वादः

वधू-माष-मापन-न्याय

(vadhū-māṣa-māpana-nyāya)

Meaning

Literally, “Daughter-in-law – dal – measuring – rule”, or “The example of the daughter-in-law measuring the dal”. It has just enough information to remind one of something, but the full story is tantalizingly hidden. What might it be?

Context

One of the most remarkable features of Sanskrit is the incredible depth to which seemingly simple forms of expression have been developed. The nyāya genre is a great example.

The word ‘nyāya’ has multiple interesting connected meanings — in most of Sanskrit, it is in the space of ‘method’, ‘system’, ‘reasoning’, or ‘rule’. In languages derived from Sanskrit, it has primarily taken the hues of ‘law’, ‘justice’ and ‘the right thing’. There is also a school of philosophy founded by Gautama which is named ‘nyāya’ and is based on a system of inferences.

Our nyāyas in this chapter, also called ‘laukika-nyāya’s, are best understood as ‘idioms’. But unlike our modern English idioms which are somewhat limited to informal, spoken language, and which are heavily regionalized, Sanskrit nyāyas are freely used everywhere from the most profound metaphysical treatise to the most bawdry street plays. Sanskrit writers of all eras and all kinds — Vedantins, Buddhists, Bhaktas, Cārvākas poets, polemicists, philosophers, all — have poured forth their creativity into the nyāya genre, so much that the only qualification needed to enjoy it is to be interested in human life. Nyāyas are a shorthand to recall stories and ideas from the vast ‘shared context’ of the Sanskrit thought-space. In making such connections, nyāyas strengthen the cohesion of that shared context and nourish it.

Some nyāyas are so common that they’re a part of regular speech. For example, ‘kūpa-maṇḍūka-nyāya’, ‘[The example of] a frog in a well’, is present in virtually every Indian language as a metaphor to describe a person with limited experience and imagination. The story that it recalls, that of an ocean-frog meeting a well-frog, is well-known. The ‘sthālī-pulāka-nyāya’, ‘[The example of] boiled rice-grain in a pot’, which recalls the idea that one need only test one grain of rice in a pot to see if every grain is cooked, is also famous. Wise public commentators have used the ‘araṇya-rodana-nyāyā’ ‘[The example of] wailing in a forest [where no one hears you]’ to describe their anguish. The ‘matsya-nyāya’ ‘[The example of] the fish [Small fish get eaten by big fish, which in turn get eaten by bigger fish]’ has been used by authors as ancient as Kamandaki in his Nītisāra (Cāṇakya’s time, ~2300 years ago), to those as modern as Upamanyu Sen in his satire on the Indian Civil Services.

In some cases, the nyāya is the only word for a concept. In most Sanskrit-derived languages, the clearest word for ‘coincidence’ is ‘kāka-tālīya’, which comes from the ‘kāka-tālīya-nyāya’ ‘[The example of] the crow and the palm fruit’. The story behind it is about how a palm-fruit happened to fall on a crow out of sheer coincidence, with no specific cause. We had seen a more sophisticated variant of this in the ‘ghuṇākṣara-nyāya’ in the chapter on Māgha: ‘[The example of] termites and letters’ is about a particular form of coincidence where a chance, unintentional action causes the creation of something very profound. In early days of palm-leaf manuscripts, termites were a big concern. Sometimes, termites would attack a manuscript and carve out what looked like a letter, by sheer chance. Not all coincidences are coincident in meaning!

Nyāyās, like any creative medium, cover the range of many spectra. From banal to profoundly insightful; ancient to hot-off-the-press (or keyboard); almost (but not quite) self-sufficient to having intricate back-stories; — there’s something everywhere. For an example of nyāyās without back-stories, consider the hilarious ‘kāka-danta-parīkṣā-nyāya’ ‘[The example of] Examining a crow’s teeth’ and ‘kambala-roma-mīmāṃsā-nyāyā’ ‘[The example of] profound thought on the number of hairs in a blanket”. They are funny ways to refer to useless questions, much funnier than English’s ‘splitting hairs’ — though of course, zoologists and purveyors of fine Persian rugs would disagree! In a similar vein, the ‘samudra-vṛṣṭi-nyāya’, ‘[The example of] rain over the ocean’, also talks of waste, but with a stoic feel to it.

Another of this type is the ‘asi-dhāra-madhu-leha-nyāya’, ‘[The example of] licking honey off a sword’s edge’, referring to the irresistible allure of danger. Note how smoothly the phrase rolls off the tongue — poetry at every level, down to the syllables!

The next level of nyāyas need some explanation, but not a full-blown anecdote. For example, the ‘hrada-nakra-nyāya’, ‘[The example of] the crocodile and the lake’ is shorthand for, ‘If you have to live in a lake with a crocodile, strive not to irritate it’. The ‘Āmra-seka-pitṛ-tarpaṇa-nyāya’, ‘[The example of] watering the mango tree when offering libations’ is a brilliant, hilarious way of saying ‘two birds with one stone’. ‘tarpaṇa’ here refers to a Vedic ritual where water is offered as libation to one’s ancestors. When making such an offering, why not do it by the side of the mango tree? The nyāya can also be taken much further than just achieving multiple objectives, into the realm of making practical uses for symbolic rituals.

Many nyāyas arise from references to literary works and characters. A similar funny one is called the ‘vṛddha-kumārī-vākya-nyāya’, ‘[The example of] the old virgin woman’. This comes straight from an example in the Mahābhāṣya of Patañjali. Indra appeared before a poor, old virgin woman and asked her to make one wish. She promptly asked,

पुत्रा मे बहु-क्षीर-घृतम् ओदनं कांस्य-पात्र्यां भुञ्जीरन् (8.2.3)

putrā me bahu-kṣīra-ghṛtam odanaṃ kāṃsya-pātryāṃ bhuñjīran

“May my sons eat food rich with milk and ghee in brass bowls.”

In one stroke, the poor, old virgin woman asked for a husband, children, riches and multiple levels of enjoyment of all these! We wonder why she stopped at brass!

Next, The ‘jvara-hara-takṣaka-śiromaṇi-nyāya’, ‘[The example of prescribing] the crest-jewel of Takṣaka to ward away fever’ is about offering solutions that are more complicated than the problem itself, a case of the cure being deadlier than the disease. Takṣaka is the Prince of Snakes, the most poisonous of them all, who was one of the proximal causes of the Mahābhārata being recited to King Janamejaya. There is a myth that snakes have a jewel in their hood, and that such a jewel can ward off various deadly diseases. But what is one to do when a doctor prescribes Takṣaka’s crest-jewel for a trivial fever?

Many nyāyas carry very profound observations of society and human nature. The ‘śikhā-no-cet-pāda-grahaṇa-nyāya’, ‘[The rule of] catch the head if you can, else the feet’ refers to behavior where one either acts like a king or a servant. This is unfortunately a regular experience in our ultra-hierarchical society — as the physicist Subrahmanyan Chandrasekhar said to his biographer,

“Yes, complete asymmetry between your relations with people infinitesimally higher than you and those infinitesimally lower than you”

One of our beloved professors, V. Balakrishnan, phrased this in terms of a physics course we were taking:

I have another way of saying the same thing: we are 2-level systems, with only spin up and spin down states — no S = 0 projection which would mean equality in dealings, as opposed to total oppression or total servility.

Another serious nyāya of this kind is the ‘pravāha-nityatva-nyāya’, ‘[The example of] the flow being permanent’. No drop of water in a river is stationary, and yet, any given point always has water. This is offered in the Mīmāṃsa literature as a different kind of permanence than ‘kūṭastha-nityatva’ ‘permanent fixedness’. It’s the same concept we come across in chemistry as dynamic equilibrium vs. static equilibrium, and in fluid mechanics as Eulerian vs. Lagrangian descriptions of flow. This is the greatest benefit of the nyāya form — encapsulating a concept that finds echoes in diverse places.

Of course, the most fascinating nyāyas are the ones with their own intricate backstories. Many of these are so ancient that their actual sources go back several thousand years and are lost in the mists of time. Consider the ‘śva-pucchonnāmana-nyāya’, ‘[The example of] straightening a dog’s tail’ is used to refer to pointless labour. As children, we all probably heard the Chandamama version of the story of the industrious Brahma-rākṣasa (demon). A village was plagued with ghosts, so as a final resort the elders summoned a fearsome demon to drive them away. The demon came with a condition — he would do whatever the elders said, but they should never ever keep him idle, lest he destroy the village himself. (A fascinating variant of Aladdin’s genie!) The elders wanted to get rid of the ghosts first, so they hastily agreed. The demon easily succeeded, and turned up for his next task. Whatever task the elders managed to give him, the demon completed in minutes. Soon the elders ran out of ideas and were worried what would become of them. A little girl of the village solved all their troubles — she asked the demon to straighten her puppy’s tail, and he’s been busy at it ever since!

The ‘andha-gaja-nyāya’ recalls the ancient story of six blind men trying to describe an elephant by feeling it. One feels its trunk and declares that the elephant is like a tree. Another feels its tail and disagrees — clearly, an elephant is like a rope. Another rubs its belly, and has no doubts that an elephant is like a smooth rock, and so on. This story has been a multi-millennial superhit to explain how perspectives of the same reality can be different. Even today, it has been used to explain everything from an immune system cell’s functioning to inversion jokes leading up to quantum physics:

Six blind elephants were discussing what men were like. After arguing they decided to find one and determine what it was like by direct experience. The first blind elephant felt the man and declared, ‘Men are flat.’ After the other blind elephants felt the man, they agreed.

Moral: “We have to remember that what we observe is not nature in itself, but nature exposed to our method of questioning.” – Werner Heisenberg

The ‘śvaśrū-nirgacchokti-nyāya’, ‘[The example of] the mother-in-law commanding [him] to go away’ is another doozy. A beggar came by a house and begged for alms. The daughter-in-law of the house asked him to go way. The mother-in-law was incensed at this – and immediately ordered the beggar to come back. The hopeful beggar came back. The mother-in-law then said, “Look, I am the sole mistress of this house. You have to obey me, not anyone else. Now I command you: go away!”

This nyāya appears in a 1200-year-old Advaita text by Sureśvara, where a challenger goes on a long detour to arrive at the same conclusion. We are reminded of a modern joke:

Jean-Paul Sartre is sitting at a French cafe, revising his draft of Being and Nothingness. He says to the waitress, “I’d like a cup of coffee, please, with no cream.” The waitress replies, “I’m sorry, Monsieur, but we’re out of cream. How about with no milk?”

This chapter’s nyāya, ‘vadhū-māṣa-māpana-nyāya’, “The example of the daughter-in-law measuring the dal”, also has a hilarious story. A very miserly old man used to have his old wife give out a fistful of dal to every beggar who came by to their house. He didn’t want to part with his grains, but had to follow social custom. Then, when his son got married, an idea struck him — the young daughter-in-law had smaller hands, so if she gave out the dal measured by her fist, he’d save on costs as well as meet his social obligations! He set her to the task, but soon the plan failed — the beggars were overjoyed to see a young girl in place of the old wife, and even people who weren’t beggars came by just to look at her with the pretext of asking for dal! The old man started losing much more dal than when his old wife was giving it away!

There’s a concept called Jevons’ Paradox in economics:

The Jevons paradox was first described by the English economist William Stanley Jevons in his 1865 book The Coal Question. When James Watt introduced his coal-fired steam engine, it greatly improved the efficiency of earlier designs. This reduced the amount of coal required for any given use.

However, Watt’s innovations made coal a more cost-effective power source, leading to the increased use of the steam engine in a wide range of industries. This in turn increased total coal consumption, even as the amount of coal required for any particular application fell. Jevons argued that improvements in fuel efficiency tend to increase, rather than decrease, fuel use.

This paradox is seen virtually everywhere. When computers started becoming popular, there were many fears about how it would drive offices ‘paperless’ and put paper companies out of business. It turned out that computers allowed people to produce many more documents than before, and in the net, the use of paper actually increased. Increasing road capacity has been consistently shown to slow down traffic, because whatever gain occurs because of bigger roads is washed away by more vehicles using the road. Who would’ve thought an old man’s miserliness could find echoes in such diverse places!

Some nyāyas are very cryptic, and can be interpreted at multiples levels. Consider the ‘kāka-kokila-nyāya’, ‘[The example of] the crow and the koel’. A superficial interpretation is that both the crow and koel are black, but the koel’s is gifted at singing; one shouldn’t judge a bird by its colour. A deeper interpretation would be about their behaviour. A koel does not build its own nest, and instead lays its eggs in the crow’s nest. The crow then brings up the koel baby, which often demands far more than the crow’s own babies! And after all this, poets praise the koel, while the poor magnanimous crow gets only ridicule!

The natural world is far too complex for any one narrative, of course. Crows are not the only ‘hosts’, and there are several species of koels which act as parasites. Recently, researchers have found that there is a fascinating series of responses to this parasitic behaviour. One kind of ‘host’ bird, the fairy wren, has evolved to teach its babies a secret password tune when they are still in the egg!! When the koel sneaks in its own egg, the koel baby doesn’t have enough time to learn the password tune before it hatches, and so the mommy wren knows exactly who the intruder is! More on this fascinating discovery.

Another cryptic nyāya is ‘śalabha-nyāya’, simply, ‘[The example of] the moth’. Its purpose appears to be simply to recall the entirety of a moth’s life. In much of Sanskrit literature, it is derided as foolish; in other places, it is taken to be an allegory of inexorable Fate; a modern American poet had a different take on it:

and before i could argue him

out of his philosophy

he went and immolated himself

on a patent cigar lighter

i do not agree with him

myself i would rather have

half the happiness and twice

the longevity

but at the same time i wish

there was something i wanted

as badly as he wanted to fry himself

One more of this kind is the ‘iṣukāra-nyāya’, ‘[The example of] the arrow-maker’. This appears as early as in the Mahābhārata, and refers to the intense concentration of an craftsman when he is at work. Even if a king were to stand in front of him, the arrow-maker wouldn’t notice. This kind of concentration is a fascinating state of mind, and some commentators think it is at the very root of happiness. For example, David Brooks writes in the New Yorker,

“I guess I used to think of myself as a lone agent, who made certain choices and established certain alliances with colleagues and friends,” he said. “Now, though, I see things differently. I believe we inherit a great river of knowledge, a flow of patterns coming from many sources. The information that comes from deep in the evolutionary past we call genetics. The information passed along from hundreds of years ago we call culture. The information passed along from decades ago we call family, and the information offered months ago we call education. But it is all information that flows through us. The brain is adapted to the river of knowledge and exists only as a creature in that river. Our thoughts are profoundly molded by this long historic flow, and none of us exists, self-made, in isolation from it.

“And though history has made us self-conscious in order to enhance our survival prospects, we still have deep impulses to erase the skull lines in our head and become immersed directly in the river. I’ve come to think that flourishing consists of putting yourself in situations in which you lose self-consciousness and become fused with other people, experiences, or tasks. It happens sometimes when you are lost in a hard challenge, or when an artist or a craftsman becomes one with the brush or the tool. It happens sometimes while you’re playing sports, or listening to music or lost in a story, or to some people when they feel enveloped by God’s love. And it happens most when we connect with other people. I’ve come to think that happiness isn’t really produced by conscious accomplishments. Happiness is a measure of how thickly the unconscious parts of our minds are intertwined with other people and with activities. Happiness is determined by how much information and affection flows through us covertly every day and year.”

Parting Thought

A famous Jain/Buddhist nyāya is:

इतो व्याघ्र इतस् तटी

ito vyāghra itas taṭī

“Here a tiger, there a precipice.”

This appears to be a precis of a very beautiful zen koan about life and and moments of happiness:

One day while walking through the wilderness a man stumbled upon a vicious tiger. He ran but soon came to the edge of a high cliff. Desperate to save himself, he climbed down a vine and dangled over the fatal precipice. As he hung there, two mice, one white and one black, appeared from a hole in the cliff and began gnawing on the vine. As he gazed on in slow panic, he accidentally noticed on the vine a plump wild strawberry. He plucked it and popped it in his mouth. How sweet it was!

What do you think it means?

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