ACTA ORIENTALIA
EDIDERUNT
SOCIETATES ORIENTALES DANICA FENNICA NORVEGIA SVECIA
CURANTIBUS LEIF LITTRUP, HAVNIÆ HEIKKI PALVA, HELSINGIÆ ASKO PARPOLA, HELSINGIÆ TORBJÖRN LODÉN, HOLMIÆ SIEGFRIED LIENHARD, HOLMIÆ SAPHINAZ AMAL NAGUIB, OSLO PER KVÆRNE, OSLO WOLFGANG-E. SCHARLIPP, HAVNIÆ
REDIGENDA CURAVIT CLAUS PETER ZOLLER
LXXVI
Contents
ARTICLES
STEFAN BOJOWALD: Zu den ägyptischen Wortspielen mit dem Gottesnamen „Amun“ ...... 1 PER-JOHAN NORELIUS: Strīkāmā vai gandharvāḥ. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India ...... 13 DR JEYAPRIYA RAJARAJAN: ‘Paṉṉirunāmappāṭṭu’ of Nammāḻvār. Dvādaśa-mūrti in Tamil Tradition ...... 91 STEFAN BOJOWALD: Zur Elision von „p“ in der ägyptischen Sprache ...... 119
R.K.K. RAJARAJAN: Vañcaikkaḷam Past and Present. Rāmāyaṇa Panels in Kēraḷa-Mahādeva Temple ...... 127 HEINZ WERNER WESSLER: Premchand 1915: Moving inside the language continuum from Urdu to Hindi ...... 159
BOOK REVIEWS
GUPTA, LATIKA. Education, Poverty and Gender. Schooling Muslim girls in India, reviewed by Stella Sandahl ...... 181 KOCKELMANN, HOLGER. Untersuchungen zu den späten Totenbuch- Handschriften auf Mumienbinden, reviewed by Stefan Bojowald ... 184 M. SIDERITS AND S. KATSURA (EDS.). Nāgārjuna’s Middle Way. Mūlamadhyamakakārikā, reviewed by Claus Oetke ...... 190
Acta Orientalia 2015: 76, 1–11. Copyright © 2015 Printed in India – all rights reserved ACTA ORIENTALIA ISSN 0001-6483
Zu den ägyptischen Wortspielen mit dem Gottesnamen „Amun“
Stefan Bojowald Bonn, Germany
Abstract
This contribution is dedicated to Egyptian plays on words with the god name “Imn“ “Amon“. In previous research the question has been dealt with only marginally. Sixteen examples are introduced in the present article. The plays on words can often be traced back to phonetic origins, which are followed in every case.
Keywords: Egyptian philology, Egyptian plays on word, Egyptian plays on word with the god name “Imn” “Amon”.
Die ägyptische Sprache hält bekanntlich ein reichhaltiges Reservoir an Wortspielen bereit. Die Forschung ist schon früh auf diesen Tatbestand aufmerksam geworden1. In der Vergangenheit konnte das
1 Zu Wortspielen im Ägyptischen vgl. Maria Theresia Derchain-Urtel, Wortspiele zu „Ort“ und „Bewegung“ in Edfu und Dendera, Mélanges Adolph Gutbub, Montpellier 1984, 55–61; Waltraud Guglielmi, Zu einigen literarischen Funktionen des Wortspiels, Studien zu Sprache und Religion Ägyptens, Band 1, Festschrift für W. Westendorf, Göttingen 1984, 491–506; Waltraud Guglielmi, Lexikon der Ägyptologie VI, 1287–1291, s. v. Wortspiel; Yekaterina Barbash, The Mortuary Papyrus of Padikakem Walters Art Museum 551, Yale Egyptological Studies 8, New Haven 2011, 16ff; Coleen Manassa, The Late Egyptian Underworld: Sarcophagi and Related 2 Stefan Bojowald diesbezügliche Wissen stetig vertieft und eine Fülle von neuen Erkenntnissen hinzugewonnen werden. Die allgemeine Tendenz scheint bei anderen orientalischen Sprachen in durchaus ähnliche Richtung zu gehen. In den letzten Jahren ist durch Verf. mit ersten Vorarbeiten zur Untersuchung von ausgewählten Wortspielen begonnen worden. Der vorliegende Beitrag stellt ein weiteres Glied in dieser Kette dar. Im Rahmen dieses Artikels sollen die Wortspiele mit dem ägyptischen Gottesnamen „Imn“ „Amun“ behandelt werden. In die Erörterungen soll zunächst mit einigen allgemeinen Bemerkungen eingeführt werden. Der Gott Amun hat wohl mit zu den prominentesten Vertretern im ägyptischen Pantheon gehört. Der Aufstieg vom unbedeutenden Lokalgott zum Reichsgott hat sich schon im Mittleren Reich vollzogen. In der Frage der Bedeutung des Namens hat Fecht 2 wichtige Impulse gesetzt, der die Alternativen „Verborgenheit“, „Verborgener“, „Bleibender“ und „Komme zu mir“ für theoretisch denkbar hält. Die gleichen Begriffe werden unten nicht ganz zufällig als Bestandteile von Wortspielen wiederkehren. Die „jeux graphiques“ bei den Schreibungen des Namens in den ptolemäischen Texten des zweiten Pylons von Karnak sind von Broze/Preys3 als Gegenstand gewählt worden. Die religiösen Aspekte sind ebenfalls aus verschiedener Warte betrachtet worden. Die Studie von Sethe4 stellt sich darunter immer noch als einschlägig heraus. Die Amuntheologie im frühen Neuen Reich und während der
Texts from the Nectanebid Period, Part 1: Sarcophagi and Texts, Ägypten und Altes Testament 72, 1, Wiesbaden 2007, 9 n. 55; Richard Jasnow/Karl Theodor Zauzich, The ancient Egyptian Book of Thot, A Demotic Discourse on Knowledge and Pendant to the Classical Hermetica, Volume 1: Text, Wiesbaden 2005, 114–117. 2 Gerhard Fecht, Zum Text der Votivstatue für Amun, publiziert in MDAIK 38, 1982, 334–337, in: Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 40 (1984), 7–11, hier 9. 3 Michèle Broze/René Preys, Les „noms cachés“ d´ Amon, jeux de signes et rituals sur la porte ptolémaïque du deuxième pylône du temple de Karnak, in: Christiane Zivie-Coche/Ivan Guermeur, „Parcourir l´ Éternité“, Hommages à Jean Yoyotte I, Bibliothèque de l´ École des Hautes Études Sciences Religieuses 156, Turnhout 2012, 183–193. 4 Kurt Sethe, Amun und die acht Urgötter von Hermopolis, Eine Untersuchung über Ursprung und Wesen des ägyptischen Götterkönigs, Aus den Abhandlungen der Preussischen Akademie der Wissenschaften Jahrgang 1929, Phil.-Hist. Klasse Nr. 4, Berlin 1929, 7–126. Wortspiele mit dem Gottesnamen „Amun“ 3
Ramessidenzeit ist von Assmann5 genauer unter die Lupe genommen worden. Die Epitheta des Gottes sind durch Leitz 6 einer zusammenfassenden Betrachtung gewürdigt worden. Der Nieder- schlag der Amunvorstellungen auf die religiöse Literatur und Dichtung der Ramessidenzeit hat im Mittelpunkt der Betrachtungen von Oswalt7 gestanden. Die Arbeit von Guermeur8 sollte bei dieser Gelegenheit ebenfalls nicht unerwähnt bleiben. Die Wortspiele mit „Imn“ „Amun“ sind dagegen nur ganz am Rande zur Sprache gekommen, so dass sich eine größer angelegte Untersuchung durchaus lohnen könnte. Das Thema wird hier daher zum ersten Mal in etwas ausführlicherer Form behandelt. Die folgende Liste wird insgesamt sechzehn Beispiele umfassen. Die Vorschläge werden mit der Hoffnung unterbreitet, dass wenigstens ein Teil davon die Akzeptanz des Lesers finden wird. Die Thesen sind lediglich als Beitrag zur Diskussion zu verstehen. Die Wortspiele können häufig auf bestimmte Lautgesetze zurückgeführt werden. In vielen Fällen werden sich außerdem Metathesen zeigen. Die Belege werden der Einfachheit halber in alphabetischer Reihenfolge aufgeführt. Die Angaben in den Klammern sollen der groben zeitlichen Einordnung der Belege dienen. Das Alte Reich hat kein einziges Beispiel beigesteuert, was in Anbetracht der obigen Bemerkung zum Auftreten des Gottes kein Wunder ist. Die Blütezeit der Wortspiele hat im Neuen Reich und in der Spätzeit gelegen. Das erste Wortspiel ist zwischen „Imn“ „Amun“ und „im“ „Meer“ erzeugt worden, das durch den Personennamen „Imn–pA–im“9 (Spätzeit) „Amun vom Meer“ überliefert wird. Das Wort „im“ „Meer“
5 Jan Assmann, Re und Amun, Die Krise des polytheistischen Weltbildes im Ägypten der 18.–20. Dynastie, Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 51, Freiburg (Schweiz)/Göttingen 1983, 145ff/189–277. 6 Christian Leitz (Hrsg.), Lexikon der ägyptischen Götter und Götterbezeichnungen, Band I, A – y, Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 110, Leuven – Paris – Dudley, MA 2002, 308–320. 7 John Newell Oswalt, The concept of Amon – Re as reflected in the hymns and prayers of the Ramesside Period, Ann Arbor 1968, 1–294. 8 Ivan Guermeur, Les cultes d´ Amon hors de Thèbes. Recherches de géographie religieux, Bibliothèque de l´École des Hautes Études – Sciences Religieux 123, Turnhout 2005 (non vidi !). 9 Günther Vittmann, Drei thebanische Urkunden aus dem Jahre 175 v. Chr. (Papyri Louvre E 3440 A + B und Berlin P 3112), Enchoria 15 (1987), 97–146, hier 133. 4 Stefan Bojowald ist dort als Bezeichnung für das Fayyum verwendet worden. Das Wortspiel kann mit dem Wegfall von „n“ am Ende des Wortes erklärt werden, zu dem alles Nötige bei Sethe10, Westendorf11 und Jansen- Winkeln12 gesagt worden ist. Die Einbeziehung von Wortspielen in Personennamen lässt sich übrigens gar nicht so selten beobachten. Die Reihe wird weiter unten durch zwei ähnlich gelagerte Fälle komplettiert. Das zweite Wortspiel ist zwischen „Imn“ „Amun“ und „imn“ „verbergen“ abgelaufen, das sich seitens des Ägypters offenbar besonders großer Popularität erfreut hat. Die Erscheinung kann hier an fünf Beispielen verdeutlicht werden. Das erste Beispiel kann in „ntk Imn, imn=f cw r stS m idH.w n.w smA-
10 Sethe, Aegyptisches Verbum, 130 §233. 11 Westendorf, Grammatik der medizinischen Texte, 27–28. 12 Karl Jansen-Winkeln, Spätmittelägyptische Grammatik der Texte der 3. Zwischen- zeit, Ägypten und Altes Testament 34, Wiesbaden 1996, 36. 13 Dieter Kurth, Edfou VIII, Die Inschriften des Tempels von Edfu, Abteilung I, Übersetzungen, Band 1, Wiesbaden 1998, 17. 14 Jan Zandee, Der Amunshymnus des Papyrus Leiden I 344, verso, Band I, Leiden 1992, 120. 15 Jan Zandee, De Hymnen aan Amon van Papyrus Leiden I 350, Oudheidkundige Mededelingen uit het Rijksmuseum van Oudheden, Nieuwe Reeks XXVIII, Leiden 1947, 66. 16 Zandee, Hymnen aan Amon, 75. Wortspiele mit dem Gottesnamen „Amun“ 5 itnw=k m xpr.w=k m itn, tA – tnn ctnw cw r nTr.w“17 empor geholt werden, für das die Übersetzung „Du verbirgst dich als (?) der große Amon, du bist … in deiner Gestalt als Sonnenscheibe, Tatenen, der sich über die Götter erhebt“ nahe liegt. Die Grundlage des Wortspiels hat die Homonymie der beiden Wurzeln gebildet. Die Bedeutung „verbergen“ war von Fecht als möglicher Hintergrund des Gottesnamens angesehen worden. Das dritte Wortspiel hat zwischen „Imn“ „Amun“ und „mAi“ „Löwe“ bestanden, das im Personennamen „mAi Imn“18 (Neues Reich) „Amun ist ein Löwe“ klar vor Augen tritt. Der Lautwandel zwischen „A“ und „n“19 empfiehlt sich bei diesem Wortspiel als Erklärung, der hier mit einer Metathese kombiniert worden ist. Das vierte Wortspiel hat sich zwischen „Imn“ „Amun“ und „mi.t“ „Weg“ offenbart, das in „tA mi. t n Imn“20 „Weg des Amun“ nachvollzogen werden kann. Das Wortspiel ist durch den Abfall von „n“ unterstützt worden, der bereits am ersten Beispiel beteiligt war. Das Wortspiel ist zweitens durch eine Metathese zustande gebracht worden. Der betreffende Weg hat laut Grieshaber auf der thebanischen Westseite den Nil mit Medinet Habu verbunden. Im Anschluss werden noch weitere geographische Bezeichnungen folgen, die Wortspiele mit „Imn“ „Amun“ enthalten. Das fünfte Wortspiel ist zwischen „Imn“ „Amun“ und „m in.t“ „im Tal“ zustande gekommen, das durch den Personennamen „Imn– m–in.t“ 21 (Neues Reich/Spätzeit) „Amun ist im Tal“ repräsentiert wird. Die Grundlage des Wortspiels hat sich aus der jeweils unterschiedlichen Verteilung derselben drei Radikale ergeben.
17 H. O. Lange, Der Magische Papyrus Harris, Det Kgl. Danske Videnskabernes Selskab, Historisk-filologiske Meddelelser XIV, 2, Kobenhavn 1927, 33–34. 18 Hermann Ranke, Die ägyptischen Personennamen, Band I, Verzeichnis der Namen, Glückstadt 1935, 144; Pierre Grandet, Catalogue des ostraca hiératiques non littéraires de Deir El-Médînéh, Tome X Nos 10001–10123, Documents de Fouilles de L´IFAO 46, Le Caire 2006, 7. 19 Westendorf, Grammatik der medizinischen Texte, 11–12. 20 Fr. Grieshaber, Lexikographie einer Landschaft, Beiträge zur historischen Topographie Oberägyptens zwischen Theben und Gabel as-Silsila anhand demotischer und griechischer Quellen, GOF IV: Reihe Ägypten 45, Wiesbaden 2004, 44. 21 Ranke, Personennamen, 27 22. 6 Stefan Bojowald
Das sechste Wortspiel hat zwischen „Imn“ „Amun“ und „mi n=i“ „Komm zu mir“ bestanden, das in „mi n=i Imn Sdi …“22 (Neues Reich) „Komme zu mir, Amun, und rette…“ tradiert ist. Der Schlüssel zum Verständnis des Wortspiels würde auch hier in der unterschiedlichen Verteilung derselben drei Radikale liegen. Die Bedeutung „Komme zu mir“ war von Fecht als möglicher Kern des Gottesnamens vermutet worden. Das siebte Wortspiel tritt in deutlichen Konturen zwischen „Imn“ „Amun“ und „mn“ „bleiben, dauern“ hervor, das hier an zwei Beispielen illustriert werden kann. Das erste Beispiel kann aus „iAw.t rnpi cbb nHH, Imn mn m (i)x.wt nb(.wt)“ 23 (Neues Reich) herauspräpariert werden, für das die Übersetzung „du Alter, der du dich verjüngst und die Ewigkeit durchlebst, Amon, der in allem fest ist.“ am weitesten führt. Das zweite Beispiel lässt sich in „nxb(.t)[=f] m Dw.w r nwn [m] Imn mn m x.t nb, nTr pn Spc SAa tA m cxr.w=f“24 (Spätzeit) feststellen, wofür die Übersetzung „[seine] Namensreihe reicht von den Bergen zu der See [als] „Amun, Der Dauert In Allem“, dieser ehrwürdige Gott, der die Welt durch seine Pläne begonnen hat” die beste Wahl darstellt. Die Basis für das Wortspiel ist im Ausfall von i” zu Beginn des Wortes zu finden, zu dem Westendorf einige wichtige Hinweise gegeben hat25 . Das Wortspiel kann durch die Defektivschreibung „mn“26 für „Imn“ „Amun“ von einer weiteren Seite abgesichert werden. Die gleiche Erscheinung ist bei den Schreibungen „mn.t“ 27 für „imn.t“ „Westen“ und „mn.tiw“ 28 für „imn.tiw“ „westliche (Götter)“ in Kraft getreten. Die Bedeutung „bleiben“ war ebenfalls unter den Vorschlägen von Fecht für den
22 Jaroslav Černý/Alan H. Gardiner, Hieratic ostraca, Volume I, Oxford 1957, Pl. VIII. 23 Lange, Magischer Papyrus Harris, 34. 24 David Klotz, Adoration of the ram, Five hymns to Amun-Re from Hibis Tempel, Yale Egyptological Studies 6, New Haven 2006, 74. 25 Westendorf, Grammatik der medizinischen Texte, 12/13. 26 Wolfgang Helck, Urkunden der 18. Dynastie, Übersetzung zu den Heften 17–22, Berlin 1961, 187 n. 4; Karl Jansen-Winkeln, Inschriften der Spätzeit Teil 1: Die 21. Dynastie, Wiesbaden 2007, 188. 27 Daniel A. Werning, Das Höhlenbuch, Textkritische Edition und Textgrammatik, Teil II: Textkritische Edition und Übersetzung, Göttinger Orientforschungen, IV. Reihe: Ägypten 48, Wiesbaden 2011, 18. 28 Barbash, Mortuary Papyrus, 152. Wortspiele mit dem Gottesnamen „Amun“ 7
Gottesnamen zu finden. Die Wortspiele würden sich perfekt in dieses Szenario einfügen. Das achte Wortspiel deutet sich zwischen „Imn“ „Amun“ und „mni.t“ „Landepflock“ an, für das ein sicherer Beleg vorhanden ist. Der locus classicus findet sich in der Passage „xAa=i cf hrw Hr a.wi Imn, gmi.n.tw=i wDA.kw, cxr.w mn. Iri=i n=i mn.t nfr.t r km aHaw=i, rdi (wi) n=f r Dr.w=i, ntf mni.t=i“29 (Neues Reich), für welche die Übersetzung „Ich habe Gestern und Heute in Amuns Hände gelegt, ich war heil befunden und meine Pläne beständig. Ich mache mir ein schönes Bleiben, bis meine Zeit erfüllt ist, indem ich (mich) ihm ganz zu eigen gebe: er ist mein Landepflock“ gut zu passen scheint. Der Hauptbeitrag zu diesem Wortspiel ist von einer Metathese geleistet worden. Das Bild wird durch die Wortspiele mit „mn“ „beständig“ und „mn.t“ „Bleiben“ zusätzlich ergänzt. Das neunte Wortspiel ist zwischen „Imn“ „Amun“ und „mniw“ 30 „Hirte“ anzusetzen, das in einer ganzen Reihe von Beispielen präsentiert werden kann. Das erste Beispiel stammt aus der Verbindung „pA mniw nfr nA nTr.w rmT, pA nw (r) nHH D.t, ntk mniw nfr bnr irT.t rn=k“31 (Dritte Zwischenzeit), wofür die Wiedergabe „Oh guter Hirte der Götter und der Menschen, der bis in die Ewigkeit sieht. Du bist der gute Hirte, „Dattel“ und „Milch“ ist dein Name“ am besten gelungen scheint. Die Verbindung „cxai.t n Imn Dc=f Hr nc.t=f, m Iwn – Sma, ctp.n=f r mniw km.t, r nr pa.wt rxii.wt“32 (Neues Reich) gehört als zweites Beispiel ebenfalls in diesen Rahmen, wofür die Wiedergabe „die, die Amun selbst auf seinem Thron in Hermonthis erscheinen ließ, die er ausgewählt hat zum Hirten Ägyptens, zum Hirten der pa.wt – Leute und rxii.wt – Leute“ in Frage kommt. Die Worte haben auf die Königin Hatschepsut Bezug genommen. Die Palette kann durch das dritte Beispiel „Imn – Ra, pA mniw n Hr. w – nb.w nmH.w“33 (Neues Reich) noch erweitert werden, das mit „Amun-
29 Černý/Gardiner, Hieratic ostraca, Volume I, 39, 1. 30 Zum Wort „mniw“ „Hirte“ vgl. Dieter Müller, Der gute Hirte, Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte ägyptischer Bildrede, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 86 (1961), 126–144. 31 Mourad Zaki Allam, Papyrus Berlin 3031, Totentexte der 21. Dynastie mit und ohne Parallelen, Bonn 1992, 164. 32 Urk. IV, 361, 16–362, 1. 33 Georges Posener, La Piété Personelle avant l´Âge Amarnien, Revue d´Égyptologie 27 (1975), 195–210, hier 204/205. 8 Stefan Bojowald
Re, der Hirte für alle Bedrängten“ übersetzt werden kann. Das vierte Beispiel schließlich wird durch „Imn mniw, cdwA iH.w, hd wxd r cm.w, hd mniw iH.w (r) cm.w, Imn hd=k wxd r aq.w, Hr nti r=f Imn mniw bw gAw.n=f“34 (Neues Reich) gebildet, wofür die Wiedergabe „Amun, du Hirte, der die Rinder früh ausführt, der die Leidenden zum Kraute treibt! Der Hirte treibt die Rinder zum Kraut – Amun, du treibst den Leidenden zum Brot. Denn Amun ist ein Hirte, der nicht ermattet.“ in Betracht gezogen werden kann. Der Abfall von „w“ bleibt als erste Voraussetzung für das Wortspiel festzuhalten, über den z.B. Westendorf gehandelt hat35. Die Ursache für das Wortspiel lässt sich außerdem in einer Metathese erkennen. Das zehnte Wortspiel zeichnet sich zwischen „Imn“ „Amun“ und „mnw“ „Denkmal“ ab, das im Personennamen „Imn – m – mnw=f“36 (Neues Reich) „Amun ist in seinem Denkmal“ betrachtet werden kann. Die Basis für das Wortspiel ist durch den Lautwandel zwischen „i“ und „w“ gelegt worden, der in der ägyptischen Sprache regelmäßig wiederkehrt37. Das Wortspiel ist durch eine Metathese besiegelt worden. Das elfte Wortspiel hat sich zwischen „Imn“ „Amun“ und „mnx.t“ „Linnen“ zugetragen, das an einer Stelle vorzukommen scheint. Die Worte „i-ir(=i) tm di.t di=w n=k Ss-ncw Dd pA Sp n tA mnx.t n Imn mtw=k c“38 (Spätzeit) sollen dazu in Erinnerung gerufen werden, die mit „Ich habe dir kein Byssos geben lassen, weil der Empfang des Linnens des Amun bei dir ist“ übersetzbar sind. Die Erklärung für das Wortspiel bietet sich in Form des Lautwandels zwischen „x“ und „i“ an, von welchem die Fachwelt z. B. durch Westendorf39 Kunde erlangt hat. Die zweite Stütze des Wortspiels hat eine Metathese gebildet. In seinem Kommentar zur Stelle schreibt
34 Černý/Gardiner, Hieratic ostraca, Volume I, Pl. LXXXIX (oBritish Museum 5656a rto, 6–7). 35 Westendorf, Grammatik der medizinischen Texte, 20. 36 Yvan Koenig, Les ostraca hiératiques inédits de la Bibliothèque nationale et universitaire de Strasbourg, Documents de Fouilles de L´IFAO 33, Le Caire 1997, Pl. 75. 37 Edel, Altägyptische Grammatik, 62 §142; Westendorf, Grammatik der medizini- schen Texte, 21. 38 Günther Vittmann, Der demotische Papyrus Rylands 9, Teil I, Text und Übersetzung, Ägypten und Altes Testament 38, Wiesbaden 1998, 162 (Text)/163 (Übersetzung). 39 Westendorf, Grammatik der medizinischen Texte, 27–28/36. Wortspiele mit dem Gottesnamen „Amun“ 9
Vittmann, dass die Herstellung des „mnx.t“ – Leinens in den Tempelwerkstätten erfolgt sein könnte. Die enge Verbindung würde durch das Wortspiel noch deutlicher zum Ausdruck gebracht. Das zwölfte Wortspiel lässt sich zwischen „Imn“ „Amun“ und „mhn“ „Milchkanne“ zeigen, das einige Male gebildet worden ist. Der immer gleiche Satz lautet dabei „pA ihii n pA mhn n Imn“40 (Spätzeit), für den die Übersetzung „der Stall der Milchkanne des Amun“ passabel erscheint. Die Erklärung des Wortspiels könnte theoretisch über den Lautwandel zwischen „i“ und „h“ laufen, der bisher allerdings nur in ägyptisch – semitischer Richtung dokumentiert zu sein scheint41. Die Entstehung des Wortspiels hängt außerdem von einer Metathese ab. Der „Stall der Milchkanne des Amun“ wird von Spiegelberg42 als Örtlichkeit im Tempelland des thebanischen Amun interpretiert. Das dreizehnte Wortspiel kann zwischen „Imn“ „Amun“ und „mTn“ „Weg“ dingfest gemacht werden, das gleich doppelt belegt ist. Das erste Beispiel lässt sich in „Imn Hr mTn“ 43 (Neues Reich) erblicken, das mit „Amun auf der Straße“ wiederzugeben ist. Die Verbindung „Imn pA nb nA mTn.w“44 (Neues Reich) schließt sich als zweites Beispiel an, für das die Wiedergabe „Amun, der Herr der Wege“ gewählt werden kann. In der Erklärung des Wortspiels müssen zwei Faktoren berücksichtigt werden. Der Lautwandel zwischen „i“ und „T“ hat als erste wichtige Ursache zu diesem Wortspiel beigetragen, zu dem an anderem Ort eine eigene Untersuchung erscheinen wird45. Die zweite Vorraussetzung hat aus einer Metathese bestanden. Das vierzehnte Wortspiel stellt sich zwischen „Imn“ „Amun“ und „rmn“ „tragen“ ein, für das es zumindest ein Beispiel gegeben
40 George Robert Hughes, Saite Demotic Land Leases, Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilizations 28, Chicago 1952, 45/51/68. 41 Aaron Ember, Semito-Egyptian sound changes, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 49 (1967/Neudruck der Ausgabe 1911), 87–94, hier 89. 42 Wilhelm Spiegelberg, Zwei Kaufverträge aus der Zeit des Königs Harmachis (Papyrus Carnarvon I und II), in: Recueil de Travaux relatifs a la Philologie et a l´Archéologie Égyptiennes et Assyriennes 35 (1913), 150–161, hier 159. 43 Sven P. Vleeming, Papyrus Reinhardt, An Egyptian land list from the tenth century B.C., Hieratische Papyri aus den Staatlichen Museen zu Berlin II, Berlin 1993, 18. 44 Labib Habachi, Five Stelae from the Temple of Amenophis III at Es-Selua now in the Aswan Museum, Kusch 8 (1960), 45–52, hier 47. 45 Stefan Bojowald, Acta Orientalia (im Druck). 10 Stefan Bojowald hat. Die Stelle „Di.n=i mD.t r Ha.w – nTr, cXkr.n=i Imn – Mnw, iw rmn.n=i Imn m Hb=f, wTs.n=i Mn r xtiw=f“46 (Neues Reich) hat hier besondere Beachtung verdient, die mit „Ich habe Öl auf die Gottesglieder gegeben und den Amun – Min geschmückt. Ich habe Amun an seinem Fest getragen und Min auf seine Treppe gehoben.“ zu übersetzen ist. Die Verantwortung für die Entstehung des Wortspiels ist dem Lautwandel zwischen „r“ und „i“ zuzuschreiben, der im Ägyptischen nicht gerade selten begegnet47. Das fünfzehnte Wortspiel hat zwischen „Imn“ „Amun“ und „cmn“ „festsetzen“ stattgefunden, das in einem Fall aufgetaucht ist. Das Interesse richtet sich hierbei auf das Satzgefüge „Dd mdw in pcD.t aA.t/iw ib=n hrw wr/Ssp Imn cA=f/cmn=f cw m ni.cwt pD.t psD.t“48 (Spätzeit), wofür die Übersetzung „Es spricht die große Neunheit: Unser Herz ist gar froh, denn Amun empfängt seinen Sohn und setzt ihn fest als König über die neun Bogenvölker.“ bemüht werden kann. Die Basis des Wortspiels ist in der Ähnlichkeit von „c“ und „i“ im Hieratischen zu suchen. Das sechzehnte Wortspiel ist zwischen „Imn“ „Amun“ und „cmn“ „Nilgans“ vonstatten gegangen, für das sich mehrere Beispiele aufzählen lassen. Die erste Erwähnung soll das Beispiel „Imn pA cmn nDm xrw“49 „Amun, die cmn – Gans mit süßer Stimme“ erhalten. Die Rede muss sodann auf das Beispiel „cmn nfr n Imn“50 (Neues Reich) „schöne cmn – Gans des Amun“ gebracht werden. Die Wirkung der Wortspiele ist wieder durch die Ähnlichkeit von „c“ und „i“ im Hieratischen herbeigeführt worden. Die Verehrung der „cmn“ – Gans als heiliges Tier des Amun darf hier stillschweigend als bekannt vorausgesetzt werden51. Der enge Bezug zwischen dem Gott und
46 Urk. IV, 1031, 3–5. 47 Westendorf, Grammatik der medizinischen Texte, 32. 48 Hermann Junker/Erich Winter, Das Geburtshaus des Tempels der Isis in Philä, Wien 1965, 107. 49 Waltraud Guglielmi/Johanna Dittmar, Anrufung der persönlichen Frömmigkeit auf Gans- und Widder-Darstellungen des Amun, in: Ingrid Gammer-Wallert (Ed.), Gegengabe, Festschrift für Emma Brunner-Traut, Tübingen 1992, 141. 50 KRI I, 379, 13. 51 Charles Kuentz, L ´oie du Nil (Chenalopex Aegyptiaca) dans l´antique Égypte, Lyon 1926, 48; Sethe, Amun und die acht Urgötter, 26; G. A. Wainwright, Some Aspects of Amun, in: The Journal of Egyptian Archeology 20 (1934), 139–153, hier 149; Eberhard Otto, Lexikon der Ägyptologie I, 239, s. v. Amun; Lothar Störk, Wortspiele mit dem Gottesnamen „Amun“ 11 seinem Begleitvogel wird durch die Wortspiele noch verstärkt. Das Wortspiel hat sich auch auf den Personennamen „cmn.t–Imn“ 52 (Mittleres Reich) „Gans des Amun“ erstreckt. Die weibliche Form der Gänsebezeichnung lässt sich auch in anderem Kontext nachweisen53.
Das Ende des Artikels soll für ein abschließendes Fazit genutzt werden. Die Wortspiele mit „Imn“ „Amun“ haben eine unerwartet hohe Zahl ergeben. Die Häufigkeit der Wortspiele ist wohl im Zusammenhang mit der herausgehobenen Stellung des Götterkönigs zu sehen. In kleinem Maßstab ist dessen Person so auch mit sprachlichen Mitteln gehuldigt worden. Im Prinzip lässt sich der gleiche Fall bei anderen Göttern beobachten. Die Zahl der dortigen Wortspiele scheint zwar niedriger als bei Amun zu liegen. Die vorsichtige Schätzung des Verf. hat zu je fünf bis sechs Beispielen bei Re, Sachmet und Anubis geführt. Die Situation wird aber ähnlich zu interpretieren sein. Die Andeutungen in diesem Artikel mögen vorläufig genügen. Der Autor hofft bei späterer Gelegenheit auf das Thema zurückzukommen.
Lexikon der Ägyptologie IV, 484, s. v. Nilgans; Sven P. Vleeming, The gooseherds of Hou, Studia Demotica III, Leuven 1991, 2. 52 Hermann Ranke, Die ägyptischen Personennamen, Band II, Glückstadt 1952, 185. 53 Selim Hassan, Excavations at Gîza, with Spezial Chapters on Methods of Excavation, the False – door, and other Archaeological and Religious Subjects, Vol. V 1933-1934, Excavations of The Faculty of Arts, Fouad I. University, Service des Antiquités de l´ Égypte, Cairo 1944, 117; Karl Jansen-Winkeln, Ägyptische Biographien der 22. und 23. Dynastie, Ägypten und Altes Testament 8, Wiesbaden 1985, 163 12.
Acta Orientalia 2015: 76, 13–87. Copyright © 2015 Printed in India – all rights reserved ACTA ORIENTALIA ISSN 0001-6483
Strīkāmā vai gandharvāḥ. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India1
Per-Johan Norelius Gothenburg, Sweden
Abstract
The nature of the Vedic gandharvas, and their female counterparts, the apsarases, has been the subject of much controversy. While often appearing in Vedic texts as a spirit of procreation, opinions have differed as to whether the pali gandhabba-, mentioned in the Buddhist Nikāyas as a being whose presence is necessary for the conception of a human being, should be understood in this light, or (following Buddhist commentarial tradition) as a disembodied soul entering the womb in order to reincarnate. The present study, opting for the first alternative, will explore the older, Vedic gandharva’s nature not only as a genius of fertility and procreation, responsible for conception as well as miscarriage, but also as a lusty, potentially harmful spirit with a taste for mortal women – even married ones. The gandharva’s (in post-RV texts usually in plural) desire for women sometimes expresses itself in his taking possession of mortal females; thus explaining text-passages where gandharvas are said to cause mental illness. This possession could however have positive aspects, as the
1 I would like to thank professor emeritus Folke Josephson for reading a draft of this article, and for checking the references to ancient Iranian texts. 14 Per-Johan Norelius gandharva could speak through the possessed woman and leave oracular answers on questions of esoteric and ritualistic matters. This belief, it will be argued, shows affinities to possession cults around the world, where the role as possessed oracle is frequently played by girls or women – a fact well-known from anthropology. But gandharva- possession must also be understood in the light of a conception of the gandharva as mediator between this world and the other; as a being with a knowledge of divine secrets, which he could impart to mortals in exchange for the enjoyment of their women. This same kind of exchange often appears in myths, such as that of the contest between gods and gandharvas for the soma and the goddess Speech. In mythology, the gandharvas and apsarases are frequently depicted as youthful, good-looking, and fond of games and sports, music and dancing, and erotic activities. A case will be made for a connection between these beings and the adolescent period of life in Vedic society. In the domestic ritual, offerings are made to “the gandharva” by girls about to get married, thus asking for his permission; while young men who have completed their studies and are about to settle down and marry, are given a staff representing the gandharva, to “guard” them in their new life. All this suggests that the single gandharva of older Vedic times was thought of as a tutelary deity of unmarried adolescents, male as well as female (the latter being “married” to him). There are also instances in the priestly ritual where “young, beautiful” boys and girls impersonate the gandharvas and apsarases. Some sort of bond between these deities and people in the adolescent, pre-married stage of Vedic life (the prathama-vayasá- or “first age-span”), is also suggested by the association of these beings with the sabhā – described by some scholars as a “men’s house” in the anthropological sense of the term – and with the vrātya or member of the Vedic “sodalities” of young men.
Keywords: spirit possession, Vedic religion, Mahābhārata, apsaras, soma, women, marriage ceremonies, rites of passage, Männerbünde.
Early Buddhist gandhabba-
A fair amount of the discussions around the beings of Indian mythology called gandharvas has tended to take as its point of Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 15 departure a couple of comparatively late passages, found in the Buddhist Majjhima Nikāya. One of them, in the Assalāyanasutta (MN 2.156ff), appears in the context of a discussion, retold by the Buddha, between the seer Asita Devala and seven birth-proud brahmins, on the topic of class and birth. The passage may be rendered as follows: [Asita Devala:] “But do you know, sirs, how the descent of the embryo takes place?” [Brahmins:] “We do know, sir, how the descent of the embryo takes place. Here the mother and father are come together, and the mother is in season, and the gandhabba is present. With these three things thus having come together, the descent of the embryo takes place.”2 Next, Asita Devala asks the brahmins if they know what class this gandhabba might belong to: [Asita Devala:] “But do you know, sirs, if this gandhabba is a nobleman, or a brahmin, or a commoner, or a serf?” [Brahmins:] “We do not know, sir, if this gandhabba is a nobleman, or a brahmin, or a commoner, or a serf.” [Asita Devala:] “In that case, sirs, do you know who you are?” [Brahmins:] “In that case, sir, we do not know who we are.”3 The lines quoted first appear almost verbatim in another sutta of the same Nikāya: the Mahātaṇhāsaṅkhayasutta (MN 1.265-266). Post- canonical Buddhist texts like the Milindapañha and the Divyāvadāna present similar readings,4 which are, however, easily recognized as being based on the MN passages.5 What, then, is the gandhabba (Sanskrit gandharva-) in these passages, and what exactly is its part in the process of conception? Buddhaghosa’s commentary on the MN – composed in the fifth century C.E., and thus much later than the text commented upon – explains the word as a being (eko satto) that,
2 jānanti pana bhonto yathā gabbhassa avakkanti hotīti? jānāma mayaṃ bho yathā gabbhassa avakkanti hoti. Idha mātāpitaroca sannipatitā honti. mātā ca utunī hoti, gandhabbo ca paccupaṭṭhito hoti. evaṃ tiṇṇaṃ sannipātā gabbhassa avakkanti hotīti. 3 jānanti pana bhonto yagghe so gandhabbo khattiyo vā brāhmaṇo vā vesso vā suddo vāti? na mayaṃ bho, jānāma yagghe so gandhabbo khattiyo vā brahmaṇo vā vesso vā suddo vāti. evaṃ sante bho jānātha ke tumhe hothāti? evaṃ sante bho, na mayaṃ jānāma ke ca mayaṃ homāti. 4 Quotations in Haas 2004, pp. 32ff. 5 Hillebrandt 1987, p. 184. 16 Per-Johan Norelius
“driven on by the mechanism of karman” (kammayantayantito), appears at the scene of conception and, as it seems, enters the womb of the female as an embryo.6 Buddhaghosa’s interpretation is repeated in texts like Vasubandhu’s Abhidharmakośabhāṣya, while the Amarakośa and other classical Sanskrit dictionaries gloss the word with the distinctly Buddhist term antarābhava-sattva-, a “being of the intermediate state”, specifying that this means a being in the state between two incarnations, i.e., a deceased individual waiting to be born in a new reincarnation.7 This is, indeed, the meaning of the antarābhava- or “intermediate state” of learned Buddhist speculation.8 How are we to evaluate this younger tradition? Scholarly opinion on the matter has mainly been divided along two lines, between those who accept the traditional interpretation, and those who see no support for this in the older Pali texts, preferring instead to see the gandhabba here as a genius of procreation. Among the latter we find Lord Chalmers, who, without taking notice of the traditional interpretation, rendered the word as “presiding deity of generation” in his translation of MN;9 as well as the Pali Text Society’s Pali-English Dictionary in its entry on gandhabba, which, referring only to MN and the Milindapañha, states that this being is “said to preside over child- conception”.10 The other line of interpretation seems to be by far the most widespread one. First, as it seems, put forward by Oldenberg11 and Windisch12, the view of the gandhabba as a disembodied being in between two incarnations has been accepted by a series of nameworthy scholars.13 It is thus argued that, while the MN does not explicitly describe the being as a deceased individual awaiting its next incarnation, the words paccuppaṭṭhito hoti (“is present”) suggest that it is not merely a deity presiding over procreation, but is actually taking part in the act in some way; and further, Asita Devala’s question to the brahmins, whether they know what class the gandhabba might have belonged to (which they don’t), followed by
6 Quoted by Wijesekera 1994a, p. 208 n. 164. 7 Hillebrandt op.cit., p. 180. 8 Cf. e.g. Wayman 2002, and the bibliography in Haas 2004. 9 Chalmers 1926, p. 189. 10 Rhys Davids & Stede 1952. 11 Oldenberg 1894, p. 249 n. 1. 12 Windisch 1908, pp. 112ff. 13 Wijesekera 1994a (1945), 1994b (1964); Wayman 2002 (1970); Keith 2007 (1925), p. 376 n. 1. Cf., more recently, Haas 2004. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 17 the question, “In that case, sirs, do you know who you are?”, is seen as clear evidence that the gandhabba is the very being that is reborn (the brahmins not knowing what class they belonged to in their former lives). While acknowledging that early Buddhism had no concept of a transmigrating soul, a few scholars have sought to identify the gandhabbha with the consciousness, viññāṇa-, which is elsewhere in the Nikāyas said to survive the destruction of the body and “descend” (ava-kam-) in a womb in order to be reborn.14 Assuming that this interpretation is correct, one important question remains: what connection, if any, is there between this Buddhist conception and the older, Vedic concept of the gandharva – considering that the belief in transmigration does not appear in Vedic literature until the early Upaniṣads, and is not even there in any way connected with the gandharvas? Those scholars who have addressed this issue have mostly pointed out the Vedic gandharva’s function as a fertility deity, with a somewhat unclear connection to marriage and conception, and have seen the Buddhist notion as a development of these ideas, having been reinterpreted under influence of the transmigration doctrine. Keith, for instance, points to a well-known practice described in the Gṛhyasūtras: a newly-wedded couple should, for the first three nights following the wedding, abstain from intercourse, sleeping with a staff in the bed as a symbolic barrier between them. This staff is addressed as “the gandharva Viśvāvasu”, the underlying idea apparently being that the wife during these three nights was in Viśvāvasu’s possession. “This position of the Gandharva is clearly a relic of more primitive thought than that which makes, as a result of the belief in transmigration, the Gandharva the being which at conception enters the womb, and it is to this popular and ancient belief that we must look in the main for the choice of this name15 rather than (as does Windisch, Buddha’s Geburt, pp. 13 ff.) to transmigration into a Gandharva.” 16 Similarly Hillebrandt, who provides much evidence for the gandharvas’ being connected with fertility and generation;17 a subject to which we will return in some more detail.
14 Wijesekera 1994a, 1994b. More tentatively Oberlies 2005, pp. 107f. 15 I.e., the designation of the being-to-be-born as gandhabba. 16 Ibid. 17 Hillebrandt 1987. 18 Per-Johan Norelius
Mention should also be made of the work of Pischel,18 who, writing before any of the above-mentioned authors, and apparently unaware of the traditional Buddhist interpretation of the MN passages, made an attempt to explain these in the light of Vedic beliefs. Interpreting the gandhabba of MN as a being entering the womb to become an embryo, Pischel made a detailed survey of the gandharvas in Vedic literature, seeking to prove that the concept there is basically the same as the early Buddhist one. Pischel even sought to establish an etymological connection between the words gandharva- and garbha-, “fetus”; an unhappy conjecture which he later seems to have rejected.19 While his attempts to equate gandharva- in obscure ṛgvedic passages with “fetus” appear untenable and do not seem to have won much acceptance even in his days, Pischel’s study does, however, point out some passages from later Vedic texts that are of great interest in view of the alternative interpretation of gandharva/ gandhabba as “genius of procreation”, mentioned above. Thus, the Pañcaviṃśa Brāhmaṇa (19.3.2) advices someone who wishes for offspring to make an offering to the gandharvas and their female counterparts, the apsarases; for these beings preside over offspring.20 A similar idea seems to underlie a passage in the Śāṅkhāyana Gṛhyasūtra (1.19.2, = Kauṣītaka Gṛhyasūtra 1.12.2), which, describing the garbhādhāna- or sacrament for begetting offspring, has the husband touch the wife’s genitals with the words, “You are the mouth of the gandharva Viśvāvasu”, 21 before uniting with her. The Pañcaviṃśa Brāhmaṇa passage is especially clear as regards the role of the gandharvas in procreation: they “preside over a man’s offspring or childlessness” (manuṣyasya prajāyā vāprajastāyā veśate) – they are not, as Pischel and others have suggested, the germ of that offspring. An exhaustive criticism of the (re-)incarnation theory was presented by Hillebrandt22 in an article that, however, appears to have been strangely overlooked in most discussions. Hillebrandt points out the total lack of evidence for a belief in the gandharva’s descending into the womb at conception, both in the brahmanical traditions and in
18 Pischel & Geldner 1889, pp. 77–90. 19 Hillebrandt, p. 180. 20 Pischel in Pischel & Geldner, p. 78. 21 gandharvasya viśvāvasor mukham asi. 22 Hillebrandt 1987 [first publ. 1906]. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 19
Buddhist texts not based on those discussed. Although the gandharva/gandhabba plays a rather prominent part in brahmanical as well as Buddhist mythology, it is nowhere else said to be a discarnate spirit awaiting its next incarnation. Remarkably, the numerous discourses on transmigration and karman in the Pali and later Buddhist texts do not include the gandhabba in the role of a being in a state between two incarnations.23 Hillebrandt summarizes: Es ist also gegenüber der gesamten Literatur und den Kunstzeugnissen eine verschwindende Anzahl von Stellen, die für diese absonderliche Bedeutung von gandharva eintreten. Die Stellen im Majjh. Nikāya, Assalāyanasutta und Divyāvadāna sind sehr ähnlich und scheinen ein freies Zitat zu sein, das aus einem älteren Text entlehnt ist. Im Assalāyanasutta soll bewiesen werden, daß zwischen den verschiedenen Kasten kein wesentlicher Unterschied bestehe … Es ist nun keineswegs ausgemacht, daß ,der Faden der Argumentation, wie Oldenberg meint,24 total zerschnitten würde’, wenn wir Gandharva hier als einen Genius der Fruchtbarkeit ansehen wollten, der ja ebenfalls keiner Kaste angehören würde …25 Rejecting, thus, the view of the gandhabba in MN as a spirit entering the womb, Hillebrandt identifies the Milindapañha passage as the earliest text expressing this belief; it must, he suggests, have been composed when the MN passages (which it quotes) were no longer fully understood, and the ancient conception of the gandharva as a fertility deity had become obsolete. “Mir scheint daher, daß die Auffassung der Milindapañho nichts anderes ist als ein Mißverständnis brahmanischer Mythologie.”26 I agree with Hillebrandt’s conclusions. A close look at the contexts of the two MN passages raises serious objections to the traditional interpretation of these. We will first discuss the one in the Mahātaṇhāsankhayasutta, which has not received as much comment as the passage in the Assalāyanasutta. What is the context that makes the Buddha bring up the topic of procreation, including the gandhabba, in this sutta? The reason for his entire sermon here is the heretical view propagated by a certain monk, who holds that a transmigrating being is constituted by one and the same consciousness
23 Ibid. pp. 181ff. 24 Apparently referring to Oldenberg 1894, p. 249 n. 25 Ibid. pp. 184f. 26 Ibid. p. 186. 20 Per-Johan Norelius
(viññāṇaṃ), which enters ever new bodies. This view being completely incompatible with the Buddhist “no-self” doctrine, which denies any lasting soul or essence that transmigrates, the Buddha forcefully rejects the monk’s belief, demonstrating how an individual is actually a conglomerate of numerous constituents, put together by various causes. The sermon mainly consists of an exposition of the “conditioned arising” (paṭiccasamuppāda-), the chain of causes responsible for the rebirth and formation of an individual. At the end, this teaching is illustrated with an exposition on how these causes work in a person’s life, beginning with conception; and it is here that we find the passage on the gandhabba. The entire sermon is, thus, intended to reject the theory of a transmigrating being; each individual creature is the result of numerous causes – among which we find “the three things” facilitating conception: the parents, and the gandhabba. The case is similar with the Assalāyanasutta. While, as we have seen, Asita Devala’s question as to the social class of the gandhabba has been seen as confirming the theory of an incarnating spirit, Devala does, in fact, question the brahmins in a similar vein on the social class of their mothers, fathers, and ancestors: do they know if their mothers have been only with their (brahmin) husbands, or their fathers only with brahmin women? Or if their mothers’ mothers, and fathers’ fathers, seven generations back, have only been with men or women belonging to the same class? And, finally, do they know the class of the gandhabba, the third cause (after the parents) of their conception? The entire discourse is meant to humble the haughty brahmins, who consider their own class the very highest. Finally, some words should be said on the “hopelessly confused”27 presentation in the Milindapañha.28 While even Hille- brandt acknowledged that this text connects the gandhabba with rebirth, its account is remarkably dissimilar from the later ones, which identify the gandhabba as a being of the “intermediate state”. Instead, we appear to be facing two different definitions of the word in this text, as it attempts to clarify the old MN passage. We are given a description of how “a certain gandhabba, coming from somewhere or else”,29 enters a womb (yoni-) in a family of some species (egg-born,
27 Wijesekera 1994a, p. 196. 28 Trenckner’s ed., pp. 123ff, 128ff. 29 yo koci gandhabbo yato kutoci āgantvā. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 21
“sweat-born” etc.). The being is not specified to be a spirit between two incarnations, and the phrasing suggests an uncertainty on the part of the author as to the gandhabba’s sphere of origin. This is markedly different from the later account of Buddhaghosa, who has the gandhabba take birth “driven on by the mechanism of karman”; in fact, the Milindapañha does not expressly mention re-birth at all in this context. The cause of the gandhabba’s taking birth in some species or another is said to be kulavasena, “by the power of family [or ‘species’]”, perhaps implying that the gandhabba is attracted to various kinds of species;30 in any case, this is expressly different from birth caused by karman – kammavasena – which is only one of four ways in which the “descent of the embryo” might take place. The birth caused by kulavasa- is the only one of these explicitly involving the gandhabba.31 All this suggests that the integration of the gandhabba into the transmigration doctrine took place successively, long after the composition of the Nikāyas. This holds especially for its being identified as a being of the “intermediate state” (antarābhava-), a concept which, though fairly ancient, first appears as a topic of the doctrinal disputes of post-canonical Theravāda Buddhism.32
The Vedic gandharva as a procreation-divinity
Now, there are clear indications of a connection between gandharvas and fertility in older, Vedic literature; not least in the spells and
30 “If, thus, the gandhabba, coming from somewhere or else, appears in an eggborn family, he becomes eggborn. If, thus, the gandhabba, coming from somewhere or else, appears in a placenta-born family, he becomes placenta-born.” (The same applies to “sweat-born” etc.) (yadi tattha gandhabbo yato kutoci āgantvā aṇḍaje kule uppajjati, so tattha aṇḍajo hoti. yadi tattha jalābuje yato kutoci āgantvā jalābuje kule uppajjati, so tattha jalābuje hoti.) 31 In the case of birth caused by prayer (āyācanavasena; p. 129), a deity (devaputta-) is sent down from heaven by Sakka to take birth in a virtuous family “with many offspring but no sons”; the “deity” does not, however, seem to be identical with the gandhabba. 32 Only after finishing the above discussion did I come upon the important work of Langer (2000), whose first chapter deals with the problem of the gandhabba. Langer’s conclusions come close to ours: the gandhabba is deemed to be an ancient spirit of procreation, as evinced by Vedic texts, and the stereotyped formula in the Pali texts is, suggests the author, drawn from popular beliefs or sayings. In later times, it was no longer understood and had to be reinterpreted. 22 Per-Johan Norelius incantations of the Atharvaveda. In AV 4.4 (Śaunaka recension), the gandharvas are mentioned as having restored the virility of the god Varuṇa by means of a “penis-erecting herb” (óṣadhi- śepahárṣaṇī-, v. 1). An association with virility seems again implied in 4.34.2-4; verses with the purpose of making sure that deceased men will not dwell in the next world bereft of their virile force, but will be able to indulge fully in the celestial pleasures awaiting them. “Jātavedas [the cremation fire] burns not their male organ; in the heavenly world, lots of women-folk are theirs”,33 says v. 2, and the second half of the next verse states about the dead person that he “stays with Yama [the god of the dead], goes to the gods, revels with the soma-drinking gandharvas” (transl. Whitney, slightly modified).34 The notion of the gandharvas as “reveling” (mad-), often together with the apsarases, recurs several times in AV, as we shall see, and probably has some erotic implications; in light of v. 2, it would seem that the dead man partakes of the same kind of pleasures, and this seems to be confirmed by the next verse (v. 4b), which carries on the theme of preserved virility in stating of the dead men that “Yama robs them not of their seed (retas)”.35 Though not actually bestowing virility in these verses, the gandharvas clearly appear as associated with it; indeed, as these beings do not usually appear in the heaven of the dead, their mention here seems to be facilitated exclusively by their typical indulgence in sensual – especially erotic – pleasures. The same association with virility no doubt underlies the offering, at the aśvamedha-sacrifice, of the penis of the sacrificial horse to the gandharvas (and the testicles to the apsarases) as prescribed in TS 5.7.15; as well as the term mūrdhanvām̐ s … gandharvaḥ, “the gandharva with the head”, used in a wedding hymn as, apparently, a designation for the penis.36 A
33 náiṣāṃ śiśnáṃ prá dahati jātávedāḥ svargé loké bahú stráiṇam eṣām. 34 ā́ ste yamá úpa yāti devā́ nt sáṃ gandharváir madate somyébhiḥ. 35 Transl. Whitney (in Joshi 2004), slightly modified. (náinān yamáḥ pári muṣṇāti rétaḥ.) 36 The hymn is found in the Kāṭhaka Gṛhyasūtra 25.23; parts of it are quoted in other sūtras (Caland 1929). Mūrdhanvant is also found as a name in the list of gandharvas in Taittirīya Āraṇyaka 1.9.3 (cf. ibid., p. 309). Of interest in this context is also the derivation of Kandarpa, a name of the god of love in later mythology, from gandharva-, proposed by Barnett (1928, p. 704 n. 2), who states: “I would explain Kandarpa as a Prakrit form of Gandharva. In some of the vernaculars classed together by the grammarian as ‘Paiśācī’, particularly the Drāviḍī, the word gandharva Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 23 fertility function also seems implied in the offering of three measurements (mā́ trā) of grain to the gandharvas at harvest in AV 3.24.6; a connection with vegetation is echoed in some younger texts.37 In some Middle Vedic texts, we find the gandharvas and, especially, the apsarases expressly associated with sexual intercourse (mithuna-): ŚB 8.6.1.21, 9.4.1.4; JUB 3.25.8. The connection with procreation and birth, whatever be its exact nature, is thus a recurring theme in the Vedic depiction of the gandharva. The designation, in a wedding hymn, of the penis as “the gandharva with the head”, and, at the rite for conception, of the wife’s genitals as the mouth of Viśvāvasu (implying an identification of the gandharva with the womb, or perhaps locating him inside it?), are clearly late echoes of the same kind of conception as encountered in some AV hymns. It may be noted that the notion of a deity responsible for placing and protecting the embryo inside the womb (if something like that is indeed the function of the gandharva/gandhabba) is not foreign to later Indian mythology, where we find Naigameṣa or Nejameṣa filling this function.38 The Vedic gandharvas and apsarases have an ambivalent relationship to marriage and wedding-ceremonies. We have already mentioned the staff representing Viśvāvasu, which is placed between the newly-wedded couple during the three nights of abstention. As Slaje has shown,39 this custom – including the three nights of celibate – is not to be found in early Vedic literature, appearing first in the Gṛhyasūtras.40 It does, however, have older precedents. Middle Vedic texts tell us that the wife was in a state of impurity not only during her period, but also for the first three days following it; no intercourse was
might either become directly kandarpa, or first change to kandappa and thence by a false etymology from darpa be sanskritised into kandarpa.” 37 In Vādhūla Śrautasūtra 4.116, the gandharvas and apsarases are connected with draught-oxen and ploughs, respectively, because “these gandharvas and apsarases generate food (i.e., crops)” (ete gandharvāpsarasa evānnaṃ janayanty). (Text in Caland 1928, p. 237.) ŚB 11.2.3.9 mentions the gandharvas Yavamān (“possessing barley”), Uddālavān (“possessing uddāla-grain”) and Antarvān (“pregnant”), as connected with winnowing baskets, agriculture, and grain, respectively. Cf. possibly JB 3.226, where the “Svāśira apsarases” are identified with the herbs (oṣadhayaḥ). 38 So already in RVKh. 4.13.1, and some Gṛhyasūtras; see Winternitz 1895. 39 Slaje 1997. 40 For the practice – the so-called caturthīkarman – cf. in general Kane 1974, pp. 202ff; Pandey 2002, pp. 222ff; Gonda 1980, p. 394. 24 Per-Johan Norelius to take place during this period, but only on the fourth night, after the wife had changed her soiled garment. The first time of cohabitation thus occurred as soon as the wife was clean from menstrual impurity; not after a specific number of nights following the wedding.41 A similar practice is, furthermore, prescribed for the newly initiated Veda-student, who had to spend the first three days after initiation in penance, eating non-salted food (so also the newly-wedded couple) before being fit to learn the Sāvitrī mantra.42 The concept of three “dangerous” nights, with suspension of certain activity, was thus an integrated part of certain Vedic rites of passage. There is no mystery about how this practice came to be included also in the rites of marriage and procreation; what has to be answered is rather how Viśvāvasu came to be a fundamental ingredient of the rite – neither he nor any other gandharvas having any part in the older practice. Presumably the notion of Viśvāvasu and the use of the staff were added fairly late to the practice, as some Gṛhyasūtras do not include either in the prescription of three nights’ sexual abstention;43 where the staff appears but Viśvāvasu is not mentioned,44 the prescription that the staff be smeared with perfume (gandhalipta-) has, however, been interpreted as a reference to the gandharva; 45 the frequent association of these beings with fragrance (gandha-) being due to the traditional etymology of the word gandharva-.
41 The Gobhila Gṛhyasūtra (2.5.8) still prescribes the end of menstrual impurity as the time for cohabitation, besides this mentioning the three nights of abstention as an alternative being prescribed by “some” (7: eke). 42 Slaje thus rejects the theory of an Indo-European origin of the marriage practice; for the use, in legends and in actual practice, of a stock or a sword as a symbolic sexual barrier between a sleeping couple, cf. e.g. West 2007, pp. 436–37. 43 E.g. Pāraskara Gṛhyasūtra 1.8.21; Jaimini 1.22; Śāṅkhāyana 1.17.5ff. 44 Āpastamba Gṛhyasūtra 8.9; BGS 1.5.16ff. 45 E.g., Oberlies 2005, p. 103. Oberlies (ibid., n. 26) expresses doubt as to the connection with this staff and the one given to the snātaka or Veda student who has completed his studies and is about to return home – this staff, too, being addressed as “Viśvāvasu”; the identification is, according to Oberlies, “nicht unproblematisch”, as the snātaka’s staff is said to be vaiṇava-, made of bamboo, while the one used during the nights of chastity is to be made of udumbara. While it may be true that this is not unproblematic, the identification of both staffs with Viśvāvasu can hardly be considered a coincidence. It is possible that the snātaka’s staff, being mentioned in Gṛhyasūtras which do not yet know the marriage custom (Jaimini 1.19; Gobhila 3.4.27), belongs to the older practice, and has been borrowed into the marriage rites; but what its original meaning was, is far from certain. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 25
The most common, and likely, interpretation of the practice is that the wife during these three nights “belonged to” Viśvāvasu.46 While the rite is late, the notion of Viśvāvasu claiming his rights to the newly-wedded woman appears very clearly already in RV and AV. In the “wedding hymn” RV 10.85, two verses (21-22, = AV 14.2.3-4) are directed to Viśvāvasu, imploring him to go away from the bride: Rise up from here – for this one has a husband! I worship Viśvāvasu with obeisance and words of praise. Seek another one, dwelling in her father’s house, [though] mature; that is your share by birth – seek it out! Rise up from here, Viśvāvasu! We worship you with obeisance. Find another, attractive one; let the wife unite with her husband!47 More light on the nature of the relationship between Viśvāvasu and the bride is thrown by the verses 40-41: Soma knew you first, the gandharva knew you next; Agni was your third husband; the fourth one is of human birth. Soma gave you to the gandharva, the gandharva gave you to Agni; Agni has given me wealth and sons, and now this [wife].48 Agni, the fire god, is here clearly the nuptial fire;49 the gandharva thus possessed the bride until the performance of the nuptial ceremonies. Viśvāvasu is now implored to seek another woman, who is still living with her father (pitr̥ ṣádaṃ50). The same conception of Viśvāvasu is found in the Atharvaveda; AV 14.2.33ff implores him, partly with words echoing those of RV 10.85, to go away from the bride and seek out a girl living with her father (v. 33), or return to the apsarases –
46 See for example Keith 2007, pp. 375–76. 47 úd īrṣvā́ taḥ pátivatī hy èṣā́ viśvā́ vasuṃ námasā gīrbhír īḷe / anyā́ m icha pitr̥ ṣádaṃ vyàktāṃ sá te bhāgó janúṣā tásya viddhi // úd īrṣvā́ to viśvāvaso námaseḷā mahe tvā / anyā́ m icha prapharvyàṃ sáṃ jāyā́ m pátyā sr̥ ja //. 48 sómaḥ prathamó vivide gandharvó vivida úttaraḥ / tr̥ tī́yo agníṣ ṭe pátis turī́yas te manuṣyajā́ ḥ // sómo dadad gandharvā́ ya gandharvó dadad agnáye / rayíṃ ca putrā́ ṃś cādād agnír máhyam átho imā́ m //. 49 E.g., Oberlies 2005, pp. 101–102. 50 The meaning of this word being uncontroversial, I see no reason for seeing, with Vasilkov (1990, p. 395 and n. 6), the first member pitr̥ - as meaning the Ancestors, and the compound as referring to a Männerbund whose members, called gandharvas, represent or impersonate the spirits of the dead. 26 Per-Johan Norelius
“those are your kin” (tā́ s te janítram, v. 34); “go away toward your wives, the apsarases” ('bhí jāyā́ apsarásaḥ párehi, v. 35). The gandharva, whose lustful nature we are going to explore, has had legitimate claims to the woman before her marriage, but may not give up those claims even after the ceremonies, and has to be made to leave with implorations and spells.51 The notion of the gandharva’s right to unmarried girls may underlie a rite prescribed in the KGS, according to which a girl reaching puberty, and thus becoming marriageable, is to perform a worship that in some way involves gandharvas (and a feminine Gandharvāṇī);52 the gandharva is also included among the deities to which a young girl sacrifices before leaving her parents’ house to get wedded (Śāṅkhāyana Gṛhyasūtra 1.11.4); similarly at KGS 17.1, where “Viśvāvasu the king of gandharvas (gandharvarāja- )” appears at the end of a list of mostly abstract deities (e.g. Kāma, Bhaga, Hrī, Śrī, Lakṣmī, Puṣṭi), to whom offerings are made at the giving away of a girl for marriage. It appears that the girl, upon entering adulthood and a married life, had to propitiate the gandharva, to whom she had previously belonged. When Viśvāvasu or the gandharvas and apsarases in general are worshipped at wedding rites,53 we may be dealing either with the same kind of belief, or simply with the old association with fertility.
51 This is still the case in Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad 6.4.19, a text which is in all likelihood older than any of the Gṛhyasūtras; here, in the context of the rites for begetting offspring, Viśvāvasu is asked to go away with (a variant of) the verse RV 10.85.22, no reference being made to any preceding nights of chastity. 52 KGS 19-20. It is not very clear what is meant when the girl is admonished to lit two fires gandharve devakule vā, “in/at a gandharva or a shrine” (19.3). According to Devapāla’s commentary, the gandharva- here is a place where water flows without cause (nimitta-); if so, the connection with gandharvas might be due to their association with water (for which see below). “Gandharvāṇī” in 20.2 is invoked with two other deities whose name are but feminized versions of those of male gods – Indrāṇī and Varuṇāṇī – and may conceivably be based on the male gandharva of an older version of the rite. 53 Cf. Joshi 1977, pp. 37–8, 48–9. In KGS 25.30, 35, describing the marriage ceremonies, the “maiden” (kanyā), is said to have sacrificed to Aryaman, the old Vedic god of marriage, and to the gandharva- pativedana-, “gandharva knowing/finding the husband”; as the offerings to the two deities are described in more or less identical words, and closely following each other, they appear to fill similar functions. The maiden’s words, “May that divine gandharva release us (me) from here; not from that dwelling” (25.35: so ‘smān devo gandharvaḥ preto muñcātu māmuṣya gr̥ hebhyaḥ; similarly of Aryaman, 25.30), obviously are a prayer for leaving the parents’ house for that of the husband. (Aryaman pativedana- is addressed with Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 27
AV 4.37 is a spell for warding off a menacing gandharva, who appears to be approaching a (married?) woman. The general tone of the spell is considerably more violent than the pleadings of RV 10.85 and AV 14.2; the gandharva appears as a more explicitly demoniacal being,54 and the words used to chase him off are forceful, even describing the physical injuries their magic inflicts upon the lustful demon. Though the spell has been considered yet another series of protective formulas used against the wife-coveting Viśvāvasu, I think this is doubtful; the gandharva is nowhere called Viśvāvasu, nor is there any reference to a recent wedding. The underlying conception may simply be the gandharvas’ lust for women, wedded or not.55 Parts of the spell will be quoted:
similar words in AV 14.1.27-8.) Of interest are also some words uttered by the husband in connection with the first sexual intercourse of the newly-married couple (variants in KGS 29.1; Hiraṇyakeśi-Gṛhyasūtra 1.7.24.6): “The (magic charm of) concord that belongs to the cakravāka birds, that is brought out of the rivers, of which the divine Gandharva is possessed, thereby we are concordant” (transl. Oldenberg 1886, vol. 2 p. 198 [transliteration modernized]: cākravākaṃ saṃvananaṃ yan nadībhya udāhr̥ tam / yad yukto devagandharvas tena saṃvaninau svake). In all these texts, the gandharva is invoked to grant a (happy) marriage. Finally, the Āgniveśya Gṛhyasūtra, 2.5.61ff, includes a nuptial litany in which various Vedic deities and forces are identified with the gandharva (sing.) and his apsarases. 54 The gandharvas here are mentioned together with rákṣases (1-2) and piśācás (10); likewise in AV 11.9.16, 12.1.50. Kuiper (1996, p. 246 ) sees the “original” gandharva as a comparatively benign creature, and holds the lofty ṛgvedic gandharva (see below) to be an older conception than the menacing being seen in the AV; the possibility that this contrast has to do with different “genres” is considered, but rejected. Instead, Kuiper suggests “that a foreign influence has contributed to a ‘demonization’ of the Gandharvas, in that a group of non-Aryan demons was grafted upon the Gandharva”, but concedes that “this cannot well be connected with the fact that Rig-vedic references to Indra’s slaying the Gandharva […] are only found in the Kaṇva book VIII” (ibid.). Judging from the Iranian parallels (for which see below), this might actually be the oldest conception of the gandharva. Personally, I believe that the gandharva was an ambiguous creature – neither god nor asura – who could appear in a positive function (as an intermediary between heaven and earth), but also carried darker characteristics (lustfulness, jealousy; causing insanity or miscarriage). 55 Kuiper’s statement (1996, p. 253), “It is obvious that this charm was pronounced three days after the wedding, when the Gandharva(s) had to be expelled,” cannot be accepted in consideration of what we now know about the development of this practice (I refer to the study by Slaje). Perhaps Wijesekera (1994a, p. 190) is more correct in stating that “the reference is to the gandharva’s power of ‘possessing’ human beings and causing madness rather than to their general connection with women”. 28 Per-Johan Norelius
May the apsarases go to the river, to the ford of the waters […]. Gulgulū, Pīlā, Naladī, Aukṣagandhi, Pramandanī – go away thither, apsarases; you have been recognized! Where there are fig-trees, banyans, huge trees with crowns – go away thither, apsarases; you have been recognized! Where your swings, golden and silvery, are, and where cymbals and lutes sound jointly – go away etc. […] Of the hither-dancing, crested gandharva, husband of the apsarases, do I crush the testicles, I tear off (?) the penis … One like a dog, another like a monkey, a boy all hairy – having become pleasant to behold, the gandharva goes after women. Him do we make disappear from here with a potent spell. The apsarases are your wives; you gandharvas are their husbands. Hurry off, immortal ones; don’t go after mortals!56 The notion that the gandharvas are by nature ugly, but take on beautiful forms in order to seduce women, is very unusual; elsewhere, only their famed beauty is referred to.57
56 nadī́ṃ yantv apsaráso ‘pā́ ṃ tārám avaśvasám/ gulgulū́ ḥ pī́lā nalady àukṣágandhiḥ pramandanī́/ tát páretāpsarasaḥ prátibuddhā abhūtana// yátrāśvatthā́ nyagródhā mahāvr̥ kṣā́ ḥ śikhaṇḍínaḥ/ tát páretāpsarasaḥ prátibuddhā abhūtana// yátra vaḥ preṅkhā́ háritā árjunā utá yátrāghātā́ ḥ karkaryàḥ saṃvádanti/ tát páretāpsarasaḥ prátibuddhā abhūtana// […} ānr̥ ́tyataḥ śikhaṇḍíno gandharvásyāpsarāpatéḥ/ bhinádmi muṣkā́ v ápi yāmi śépaḥ// […] śvéváikaḥ kapír iváikaḥ kumāráḥ sarvakeśakáḥ/ priyó dr̥ śá iva bhūtvā́ gandharváḥ sacate stríyas/ tám itó nāśayāmasi bráhmaṇā vīryā̀ vatā //jāyā́ íd vo apsaráso gándharvāḥ pátayo yuyám/ ápa dhāvatāmartyā mártyān mā́ sacadhvam//. (4.37.2-5, 7, 11-12.) 57 For example, the gandharvas and apsarases are represented at the horse sacrifice by “beautiful” (śobhanāḥ) young boys and girls (ŚB 13.4.3.7-8); they are elsewhere associated with gandha-, “fragrance” (due to etymologizing), and rūpa-, “shape, beauty” (9.4.1.4; 10.5.2.25), “whence if any one goes to his mate he cultivates sweet scent and a beautiful appearance” (9.4.1.4, tr. Eggeling). In the epics and in early Buddhist texts, the beauty of the gandharvas is a common motif; the handsomeness of the gandharva king Citraratha is proverbial (cf. Hopkins 1915, pp. 156-57). Their fondness of garlands, ornaments and fine clothes (ibid.) is notable, and may be traced to Vedic beliefs; cf. TĀ 3.10.3 (gandharvāpsarābhyaḥ sragalaṃkaraṇe) and perhaps already the celestial gandharva of RV 10.123.7, wielding bright weapons and clothing himself in a scented garment “to look like the sun” (dr̥ śé káṃ svàr ṇá). Apparently, the gandharvas and apsarases have elaborate hairdresses, a topic which will be discussed later. Lastly, it may be mentioned that the gandharvas are quite often Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 29
The gandharvas and apsarases, dwelling in trees, are also implored not to harm a wedding procession, and specifically not the bride (AV 14.2.9). The lascivious nature of these beings is a cause of fear, but is also befitting deities of fertility and procreation. There is, thus, no actual contradiction when the Śāṅkhāyana Gṛhyasūtra 1.19.1- 2, describing the sacrament for begetting offspring, implores Viśvāvasu to go away (with the verse RV 10.85.21, quoted above), only to invoke him again as the actual act is about to take place: “You are the mouth of the gandharva Viśvāvasu”, says the husband as he touches the wife’s private parts. While the gandharva’s desire for the wife is feared, his powers are nonetheless invoked (as it seems) for successful procreation.58 The lust for women is a common theme in Middle Vedic literature, where the gandharvas are given the epithet strīkāma- (to be discussed later on). In the law-texts of later times (the Dharma Sūtras and -Śāstras), the “gandharva marriage” appears in the canonical list of eight forms of marriage, as a union based on love or likened to the sun in splendor; besides RV 10.123.7, we have a “sun-hued” (sū́ ryatvag) gandharva in AV 2.2.2; a gandharva named Sūryavarcas (“having the splendor of the sun”) is mentioned in Baudhāyana Śrautasūtra 18.46 and TĀ 1.9.3, and in the Mbh (Hopkins, p. 153); the gandharvas Citraratha and Vasuruci share the patronymic Sauryavarcasa- in AV 8.10.27, and the wedding hymn of KGS has (v. 14) an apsaras Sūryavarcasinī, surely to be identified with Suriyavaccasā, daughter of the gandhabba Timbarū and lover of Pañcasikha, in the Dīgha Nikāya 2.263. When speaking of her five “gandharva husbands” (see below), Draupadī repeatedly uses the adjective sūryavarcasa- for them (Mbh 4.15.33; 21.15), suggesting that this was a standing description of gandharvas. 58 If, as the commentarial literature claims, the gandha-smeared staff represents the gandharva even in texts where Viśvāvasu is not mentioned, then the procedure laid down in BGS 1.5.17ff is of great interest; after the husband and wife have spent three nights in chastity with the staff placed between them, the husband lifts it up with the words, “From nourishment, from the earth are you sprung, o Tree; grow with a hundred shoots! …” (ūrjaḥ pr̥ thivyā adhyutthito ‘si vanaspate śatavalśo viroha). He then hands it over to the wife with the words, “I unite you with offspring, like the surā-drink with māsara-!” (prajayā tvā saṃsr̥ jāmi māsareṇa surām iva). The wife takes it, saying, “May I have offspring!” (prajāvatī bhūyāsam); then hands it back to the husband with words wishing him to obtain offspring and cattle (a wish repeated by the husband). It is obvious that the staff is invested with powers of fertility; it is, furthermore, to be made of udumbara-wood, which in Vedic ritual is frequently connected with fertility and abundance. Cf. also the commentaries on Āpastamba Gṛhyasūtra 8.9, where Haradatta states that the staff should be made from “a tree rich in sap” (kṣīrivṛkṣodbhavaḥ), while Sudarśana specifies that the wood should be from a banyan, an udumbara, an aśvattha or a plakṣa, since “these are the homes of the gandharvas and apsarases” (ete vai gandharvāpsarasāṃ gṛhāḥ; quoting TS 3.4.8.4). 30 Per-Johan Norelius desire, disregarding societal conventions; it therefore belongs to the four “lower” forms of marriage, which are forbidden to brahmins.59 AV 8.6 presents us with a much more harmful aspect of the gandharvas in relation to offspring. This is a spell against creatures causing miscarriage. In 8.6.19, at least some of them are identified as gandharvas: They who […] cause the [new-]born ones to die; who lie next to the birthgivers – may the Yellowish one (a talisman?) drive the women- enjoying60 gandharvas away, like the wind a cloud.61 The direct cause of the miscarriage is the cohabitation of the gandharvas with the pregnant woman; their lust for women may thus have sinister consequences.62 While demons causing miscarriage are a common feature in Vedic as well as later Indian mythology,63 the explicit reference to the gandharvas as strī́bhāga-, enjoying or partaking of women, definitely connects the passage under discussion to the general mythology around gandharvas, who are, in somewhat later Vedic texts, described as strīkāma-. The potentially harmful nature of their relationships with mortal women64 is also made clear in
59 Cf. e.g. Kane 1974, pp. 516–523. 60 Lit. ”sharing in women”. 61 yé amnó jatā́ n māráyanti sū́ tikā anuśérate/ strī́bhāgān piṅgó gandharvā́ n vā́ to abhrám ivājatu//. 62 This is not surprising, considering the often dangerous influence of similar semi- divine beings; cf. Winternitz 1895, pp. 154-55, who, commenting on Nejameṣa, notes “how closely connected the two ideas are of a deity dangerous to children, and a deity helpful in the procreation of children”. 63 Note already the short hymn RV 10.162, imploring Agni the Slayer of Demons (rakṣohan-) to chase away an incubus hurting the embryo inside the womb; the sexual aspect is brought out clearly in v. 4: “Who separates your thighs, [who] lies between the married couple; who licks the inside of the womb – him do we make disappear from here.” (yás ta ūrū́ viháraty antarā́ dámpatī śáye / yóniṃ yó antár āréḷhi tám itó nāśayāmasi //) In 5-6, the demon is said to lie down with the woman, having assumed the form of her brother, husband, or lover, or after having overwhelmed her with sleep. 64 Kuiper (1996, p. 243) rejects the notion that the gandharva’s claims to the bride were originally thought of in negative terms. The bride, like the soma (see below), was under the guardianship of the gandharva while in a sort of “quarantine”, required to divest her of potentially dangerous influences. Afterwards, the gandharva was simply asked to leave, without any threat or force being necessary. This is the picture gained from RV 10.85, where Viśvāvasu is said to have possessed the bride after Soma but before Agni, and is later implored to leave her to her husband and seek out another, unmarried girl. The later conception “may have had its origin in feelings of Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 31 these texts, where, as we shall see, the gandharvas often appear as possessing women. In this particular context, however, it can also be seen as a negative side of their power over procreation;65 note that the gandharvas and apsarases, according to the PB passage quoted earlier, preside over a person’s “offspring and childlessness”.
Almost all the texts discussed so far belong to post-ṛgvedic times. An outline of the historical development of this mythological being will, of course, not be complete without taking into account the references in the earliest Veda, however sparse, scattered, and obscure these may be. It should be made clear already here that the conception of the gandharvas in the RV seems to differ in some respects from that presented in the AV and Middle Vedic texts. This is, no doubt, partly due to changes or developments in the later conception – this, I suspect, is particularly true as regards the gandharvas’ role in rituals – but at the same time, the nature and style of the ṛgvedic hymns may account for some of the differences; and as the references to the gandharva in this Veda are sparse, too much should perhaps not be made of its silence concerning some typical traits of the gandharva (many of which do appear already in the AV). gandharvá- in the Ṛgveda
We have neither the space, nor the need, to give an exhaustive survey of the earliest evidence, as this has already been studied in detail several times.66 The most prominent traits may be summarized as
frustration (not to say Freudian castration) on the part of the husband” (ibid.) while his bride was in the care of someone else. Kuiper is probably right as far as the “quarantine” is concerned, though the three-day period is, as we have seen, a younger custom. I do not, however, think that the dismissal of the gandharva must “originally” have been so unproblematic as Kuiper claims; the gandharva’s desire for women is already a prominent motif throughout the AV, the oldest parts of which cannot be much later than RV 10.85, and though the lasciviousness of this kind of being is only hinted at in the RV (e.g. 10.123.5, quoted below), this is so prominent a characteristic of the gandharvas from the AV onwards that it is hard to see how it could have been derived simply from a reinterpretation of the marriage custom (as Kuiper suggests), rather than vice versa. 65 Thus Oberlies 2009. 66 A handy summary is given by Macdonell 1897, pp. 136-38. More in-depth studies include Oldenberg 1894, pp. 244-50; Hillebrandt 1999, pp. 248-57; Wijesekera 32 Per-Johan Norelius follows: the gandharvá- (almost always sing.) of the Ṛgveda is a celestial creature, with a somewhat unclear relationship to the gods, often appearing in the company of his lovers, the apsarases; his abode is in the waters (ap-), which are often specified as the heavenly waters – there is thus no discrepancy between passages locating the gandharva in the heavens (e.g. 9.85.12 and 10.123.7: “the gandharva stood upright upon the firmament”67) and those that simply speak of “the gandharva of/in the waters”. Some later texts have the gandharvas and apsarases residing in trees (AV 4.37.4; 14.2.9; TS 3.4.8.4 68 ), like the yakṣas of post-Vedic religion, or (as for the apsarases) in rivers (AV 4.37.3; JB 1.42, 4469); and this might reflect more popular beliefs. The antiquity of the “gandharva of/in the waters” (9.86.36; 10.10.4) is, however, clear from parallels in ancient Iranian texts; here we find (Yašt 5.38; 15.28; 19.41) the gandarəßa- as a monster inhabiting the celestial sea Vourukaša, where it is eventually slain by the hero Kərəsāspa. Traces of some similar myth have been seen in RV 8.1.11 and 8.77.5, where Indra is said to have defeated and “pierced” (abhí … atṛṇad) the gandharva under unclear circumstances. This is in striking contrast to the hymn 10.139, where the gandharva appears as Indra’s helper, aiding him (according to Lüders’ interpretation70) in his search for the sun that was lost in the waters. The apparently demoniacal nature of the gandharva in book 8 being in contrast to his rather lofty appearance elsewhere in the RV, Iranian influence can perhaps not be entirely ruled out.71 The Iranian
1994a; Oberlies 2005; Barnett 1928. Haas (2004) gives all the RV occurrences of the word, with Sāyaṇa’s commentary and a German translation; though one may not always agree with the author’s conclusions. 67 ūrdhvó gandharvó ádhi nā́ ke asthād. Cf. AV 14.2.36, where it is said of Viśvāvasu, when he has been driven away from the bride: “This god has gone to the highest dwelling.” (ágant sá deváḥ paramáṃ sadhástham.) 68 Cf. Saṃyutta Nikāya 3.250, where the gandhabbas are said to inhabit the fragrant parts of trees; and DN 3.203-4, where they are grouped together with yakkhas and other, terrestrial, demons that haunt travelling or meditating monks and nuns (presumably in the wilderness). 69 Cf. already RV 5.41.19 (Urvaśī and the rivers). In the story of Urvaśī and Purūravas, the apsarases are swimming in a lotus-pond in the shapes of aquatic birds (āti-; ŚB 11.5.1.7; cf. RV 10.95.9). 70 Lüders 1959, pp. 537–41. 71 Oberlies (ibid., p. 100) notes in this regard that the eighth book of the RV, in which both passages are found, has been considered as having a more westerly origin than other books; cf. also Hillebrandt 1999, p. 252. Significantly, RV’s book 8 was Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 33 evidence does, however, confirm that there was originally only one gandharva; the plural of the word being, with a single exception,72 found only in the younger parts of the RV, and only twice.73 Though it is of slight relevance to the present study, it may be noted that the word gandharva- – and thus, it seems, the being designated by it – is usually considered a substrate word in Indo- Iranian.74 This assumption would be supported by the fact that the word is not found in any of the “family books” of the RV (with the single exception of 3.38.6), thus pointing, as Hillebrandt noted,75 to a late acceptance of this kind of being into the brahmanical religion. While Indian tradition, from the earliest times, has derived the word from gandha- “fragrance”,76 and the beings are said to subsist on the mere fragrance of plants and herbs,77 this has commonly been rejected as a pseudo-etymology; indeed, “fragrance” does not occupy a prominent place in the lore around the gandharvas, and the notion of their feeding on fragrance (as well as the part played by scents in their composed by the Kāṇvas and Āṅgirasas, who are also (as is now generally recognized; cf. Parpola 2015, pp. 131-33) the poets behind the Atharvaveda, where the gandharva’s demoniac nature reminds one of RV 8.1.11 and 8.77.5. A reminiscence of a connection with the atharvavedic seers may be seen in the BĀU 3.3.1 and 3.7.1, where two gandharvas who have possessed women identify themselves as “Sudhanvan Āṅgirasa” and “Kabandha Ātharvaṇa”, respectively. 72 RV 3.38.6c-d, in which the poet addresses some unnamed gods with the words, “Having come here with my mind, I saw even the wind-haired Gandharvas under your commandment” (transl. Brereton and Jamison; ápaśyam átra mánasā jaganvā́ n vraté gandharvā́ m̐ ápi vāyúkeśān). 73 In 9.113.3 and 10.136.6. Cf. Hillebrandt 1999, pp. 252–53. 74 Thus Kuiper (1996, pp. 225–26): “Since an interchange v/b is excluded in words of IE origin, the different names [gandharva- and gaṇdərəßa-] point to a foreign (that is, non-Indo-European) origin … The interchange of a phoneme /ṛ/ with ar in Indo- Aryan cannot represent an IE ablaut, nor is /ṛ/ likely to have occurred in a non-Indo- European language. The name that was adopted into Proto-Indo-Iranian may have been *G(h)andh(a)rba-/*G(h)andh(a)rwa- or, if Skt dh is due to popular etymology, *gand(a)rb/wa-.” Witzel (2003, pp. 39, 55) considers the word as part of a Central Asian linguistic substrate in Indo-Iranian, comparing it with other terms having the “suffix” *-arwa-, “which is seen only in religious terms”; cf. Vedic atharvan-, Śarva-. Cf. also Witzel 2004, esp. p. 605 n. 41, pp. 615, 620ff. 75 Hillebrandt 1999, p. 252. 76 Probably already in RV 10.123.7, where the heavenly gandharva clothes himself in a scented (surabhi-) garment. 77 Thus AV 8.10.27, 12.1.23; cf. ŚB 9.4.1.4, JUB 3.25.4. The Buddhist Saṃyutta Nikāya, 3.250, has the gandhabbas inhabiting “fragrant” roots, leaves, and other parts of trees. 34 Per-Johan Norelius ritual, as seen above) is perhaps more likely to have been derived from the “etymology”.78 Of doubtful derivation is also the word apsaras, denoting the female partners of the gandharvas. The meaning “moving (sṛ-) in the waters (ap-)”,79 though in keeping with their nature as nymphs dwelling in rivers and other bodies of water, is now usually rejected in favor of the reading a-psaras, “shameless”,80 apparently referring to their promiscuous character. Whether they were “originally” the spouses of the gandharvas (as they are already in RV), or have been paired with them later due to their similar characteristics, is a question of no greater bearing to this study; while the late passage 10.10.4 (cf. 10.11.2) speaks of “the gandharva in the waters and the water-maiden” (gandharvó apsv ápyā ca yóṣā) without explicitly calling the “water-maiden” an apsaras (she is referred to as gandharvī́- in 10.11.2), it seems precocious to infer that the gandharvī́- was the “original” spouse of the single gandharva. 81 In my view, the characteristics shared by gandharvas and apsarases already in the RV – among which are, as we shall see, beauty, eroticism, dwelling in water – are too prominent to permit the conclusion that these groups of beings are of separate origins. Kuiper82 saw the “gandharva of the waters and the water-maiden” of 10.10.4 as the original conception of the single gandharva, living with his wife in the primordial waters, and believed that this conception survived in the legend (to be discussed later) told in JB 1.125-27, where we meet with a gandharva and his spouse – what kind of being she is we are not told – in their home floating on the waters. While not contesting that there was originally only one gandharva, I am not fully convinced by these isolated passages – one occurring in the very latest stratum of the RV, the other in one of the younger Brāhmaṇas. In the AV and some later texts, we find a single gandharva in a polygamous or even
78 Cf. however Mayrhofer, s.v., who considers the possibility of a derivation from *gandhas-/*gandhar-. 79 This is the etymology given in the Nirukta (5.13); the same understanding of the word seems to underlie AV 2.2.3c-d, where the apsarases are described as moving to and fro in the ocean (samudrá āsāṃ sádanaṃ ma āhur yátaḥ sadyá ā́ ca párā ca yánti). 80 Cf. e.g. Mayrhofer, s.v. (who also considers the meaning “shapeless”). 81 Cf. e.g. Joshi 1977, p. 32. 82 Kuiper 1996. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 35 promiscuous relationship with several apsarases;83 in RV 10.123.5, quoted below, we do indeed find the heavenly gandharva accompanied by a single apsaras, but he is here described as her “lover” (jārá-), perhaps suggesting something like the promiscuous relationships of these beings as known from later texts. This is perhaps the only ṛgvedic passage where the erotic associations of the gandharva, well known from the AV onwards, appear clearly. Otherwise, there are notable differences in the conceptions of the lofty, celestial gandharva of the RV and of the semi-demoniac being of later texts. Its incubus nature is implied only in the late wedding hymn 10.85, which is also one of the few ṛgvedic references to its potentially harmful or menacing nature. Conceivably, the two references in book 8 to a gandharva-demon defeated by Indra may point to a conception of this being more in keeping with that found in the AV and later texts. The tendency of the ṛgvedic singers to elevate deities and spirits by associating them with celestial gods like Soma or the Sun, might be responsible for the very different conception of the gandharva which appears in several hymns. Passages like 3.38.6 (the only mention of the gandharvas in one of the family books), where we encounter the “wind-haired gandharvas” under the command of some unnamed gods, and 10.136.6, describing the journey of a flying shaman along “the course of the apsarases and gandharvas and the wild beasts” (apsarásāṃ gandharvā́ ṇām mr̥ gā́ ṇāṃ cáraṇe), seem to imply a parallel, perhaps more popular, conception of these beings as terrestrial or atmospheric spirits. However, the ṛgvedic references to the gandharva(s) are scanty and often cryptic, and probably do not allow us to paint a complete picture of the earliest conception of these beings. A few passages have been interpreted as implying a connection between the gandharva and the womb, or birth. These induced Pischel to consider the gandharva as identical with the fetus, and have more recently been treated by Haas (2004) in comparison with the Buddhist material. 84 Unfortunately, most of the relevant verses appear in
83 AV 2.2.3-5, 14.2.35; TS 3.4.7; VS 18.38-43; PB 12.11.10. Possibly already in RV 9.78.3 (Soma in the waters surrounded by apsarases). 84 This latter publication consists of a translation and study of all the RV passages mentioning the gandharva(s), in the light of Sāyaṇa’s medieval commentary; this choice of method is of course open to criticism, and the author devotes some space to defend it. Hardly any attention is given to AV or to Middle or Late Vedic texts. The 36 Per-Johan Norelius
(intentionally) obscure hymns of riddle-like poetry, and their exact import is far from clear. It should also be noted that words like garbhá- (“womb” or “fetus”) and yóni- (“womb”) occur frequently in this kind of hymns, usually in a mystical sense as referring to the divine “births” of Agni, Soma, or the sun. RV 10.123.5 refers to the gandharva and apsaras in a kind of love-play: The apsaras, the young woman, smiling towards her lover, bears him in the highest heaven. Moving inside the dear one’s womb, being dear, this Vena sat down on the golden wing.85 The “lover” of the apsaras is the gandharva, being mentioned in the immediately preceding 10.123.4d (“the gandharva knew the immortal names”86) and again in v. 7 (“The gandharva stood upright upon the firmament, wielding his bright weapons, turned hitherwards”87). The notion that he moves inside her womb may refer either to sexual activity or to pregnancy; the latter interpretation seems to be supported by the word bibharti “bears”; the verbal root bhar- being often used to denote pregnancy or birth-giving. Possibly, the reference
ultimate purpose of the work is to demonstrate that the gandharva of the RV is an atmospheric “Zwischenzustand”-creature, mediating between heaven and earth, and thus an immediate precursor of the much later concept of the gandhabba, as (in the interpretation embraced by the author) a deceased spirit waiting to be reborn. Haas further attempts to read seeds of the later transmigration doctrine into the passages concerned. While any study of the elusive ṛgvedic gandharva should be welcome, there are obvious problems with the author’s choice of method (cf. the wholly negative review by Jamison [2008]), in adducing late Buddhist texts and medieval exegesis to illuminate the RV passages, while passing over the later Vedic literature. The mediating character of the gandharva is, as we shall see, probable enough, but the passages studied by Haas are often enigmatic enough for an interpretation placing the gandharva in any kind of “middle” position to be, more or less forcefully, applied. (Cf. Jamison, p. 395: “[Haas’] other means of handling the problem is to see all sorts of “in-between” positions and states in the Rigvedic Gandharva passages, and then to argue that any kind of “zwischen” is equivalent to the Zwischenzustand between death and rebirth. Thus, sunrise, the production of words from thoughts, the freeing of the Vala cows, the Gandharva’s role as intermediate bridegroom in the wedding hymn, and name-giving can all be used as evidence for the Rigvedic origins of the later, specifically Buddhist, function of the gandharva.”) 85 apsarā́ jārám upasiṣmiyāṇā́ yóṣā bibharti paramé vyòman/ cárat priyásya yóniṣu priyáḥ sán sī́dat pakṣé hiraṇyáye sá venáḥ//. 86 vidád gandharvó amŕ̥ tāni nā́ ma. 87 ūrdhvó gandharvó ádhi nā́ ke asthāt pratyáṅ citrā́ bíbhrad asyā́ yudhāni. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 37 to the gandharva moving in his lover’s womb may have an intentional double meaning, in which case the verse would give expression to a kind of mysticism with the gandharva being both the lover and the child of the apsaras. In any case, it does refer to the lustful nature of the gandharva(s), which elsewhere seems implied only in 10.85. Another difficult passage is RV 9.83.4. The immediately preceding half-verse (9.83.3c-d) runs as follows: “The magicians have measured it out through magic; the fathers, watching over mankind, have placed the germ (gárbha-).” 88 Then follows verse 4: “The gandharva guards its place here; the awesome one protects the generations of gods. With his noose the noose-lord seizes the foe; the supreme well-doers have consumed the honey.”89 The hymn is, like all others in RV,s book 9, dedicated to Soma, and the “honey” is, as usual, the soma-drink, apparently consumed by the pious dead in heaven. As Kuiper and Oberlies have shown, and as we will discuss later on, the ṛgvedic gandharva is the guardian of the soma in heaven; and it is obviously in this function he appears in this verse. But the preceding, somewhat less clear, verse may indicate yet another function; here, the soma is, as often, likened to a germ or fetus (gárbha-). May the immediately following mention of the gandharva indicate a role as protector of the fetus or embryo in the womb? The mention of the gandharva’s protecting the generations or births (janiman-) of the gods would perhaps support such an interpretation, though its meaning is not very clear. If the proposed interpretation is correct, however, the gandharva’s association with the fetus, as well as its guardianship of the soma, may both be expressed in these verses through the poetical designation of soma as a “fetus”. A connection with the womb is again met with in RV 10.177.2. I quote here the first two verses of this short (three verses) but obscure poem: The bird, anointed with the magic of the asura, the discerning ones behold with their heart, with their mind. Inside the ocean the seers discern [it]; the masters long for the place of the sun-rays.
88 māyāvíno mamire asya māyáyā nr̥ cákṣasaḥ pitáro gárbham ā́ dadhuḥ//. 89 gandharvá itthā́ padám asya rakṣati pā́ ti devā́ nāṃ jánimāny ádbhutaḥ/ gr̥ bhṇā́ ti ripúṃ nidháyā nidhā́ patiḥ sukŕ̥ ttamā mádhuno bhakṣám āśata//. 38 Per-Johan Norelius
The bird carries Speech in its mind; the gandharva proclaimed it inside the womb. That flashing, sun-like inspiration the seers guard in the place of Truth.90 “The bird” is presumably the sun (thus Sāyaṇa) in the ocean of heaven; here appearing in a mystical sense as connected with esoteric insight (Geldner: “das innere Licht der seherischen Erkenntnis und Erleuchtung im Herzen”). The gandharva is mentioned as having proclaimed (sacred) Speech to it, “inside the womb”. Whatever the symbolic import of all this, the gandharva here, again, appears to be connected with the womb. Some similar conception may be the basis of a passage in the oft-discussed dialogue-hymn 10.10. In an attempt to make her twin- brother, Yama, agree to an incestuous relationship, Yamī appeals to divine will, stating that the gods have preordained this incestuous union. In v. 4, Yama counters her arguments; the second half-verse runs thusly: “The gandharva in the waters and the water-maiden – that’s our origin [lit. ‘navel’], that’s our ultimate kinship-bond.”91 The meaning of these words has been the subject of much discussion. The mention of the “kinship-bond” (jāmi-) and the nābhi-, meaning “navel” but often used in the sense of origin or connection through birth (Jamison and Brereton: “umbilical tie”), has led a number of scholars to the conclusion that the gandharva and the “water-maiden” – clearly an apsaras92 – are the parents of Yama and Yamī. Such a conclusion, however, has some difficult implications, as Yama’s (and therefore, presumably, Yamī’s) parents are elsewhere (RV 10.17.1ff, etc.) said to be the semi-divine Vivasvant and Saraṇyū, daughter of the god Tvaṣṭṛ; the patronymic Vaivasvata is used of Yama even in post-Vedic tradition. The evidence being unanimous on this point, the question is what to do with the gandharva and the water-maiden of RV 10.10.4. Some scholars have tried to solve it all by simply identifying the gandharva as Vivasvant. 93 However, Vivasvant is
90 pataṃgám aktám ásurasya māyáyā hr̥ dā́ paśyanti mánasā vipaścítaḥ/ samudré antáḥ kaváyo ví cakṣate márīcīnām padám ichanti vedhásaḥ// pataṃgó vā́ cam mánasā bibharti tā́ ṃ gandharvò 'vadad gárbhe antáḥ/ tā́ ṃ dyótamānāṃ svaryàm manīṣā́ m r̥ tásya padé kaváyo ní pānti//. (10.177.1-2.) 91 gandharvó apsv ápyā ca yóṣā sā́ no nā́ bhiḥ paramáṃ jāmí tán nau. 92 Cf. the ápyā … yóṣaṇā of the following hymn (10.11.2), who is called a gandharvī́-. 93 E.g. Barnett 1928; Wijesekera 1994a, p. 187; Haas 2004, p. 137 (following Sāyaṇa who, indeed, makes this identification). Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 39 nowhere else referred to as a gandharva, or even put in connection with these beings; nor is Saraṇyū ever called an apsaras, or a “water- maiden”. Unless we assume an alternative, otherwise unattested, tradition, according to which Yama and his sister were begotten by a gandharva and an apsaras, we must therefore conclude that the verse in question does not refer to their parentage. Of what kind, then, is their relationship to these beings? Schneider, after refuting the parenthood-theory, proposes, with some caution, “bei Gandharva und die Wasserfrau an eine weiter zurückliegende Abkunft zu denken, etwa an das Urpaar eines clans der Amṛtas [immortals; gods], für den das Gebot der Exogamie … gilt, das ja, religionssoziologisch betrachtet, nicht vom Verbot des Inzests zu trennen ist”94. Yama’s argument against the proposals of incest would, then, refer back to the “immortals”, mentioned by Yamī in the preceding verse (v. 3) as wishing for the intercourse to take place. According to Schneider’s interpretation, Yama would thus counter his sister’s argument by referring to the will of even higher immortals. This explanation of the passage differs from some others in actually considering what relevance Yama’s invoking of the (will of the) gandharva and the maiden may have for his argumentation: these beings are, clearly, of another kind than the “immortals” invoked by Yamī, and constitute the “ultimate” kin of the twins. The same kind of interpretation has been proposed by Kuiper,95 who takes paramá- to
94 Schneider 1967, p. 15. 95 Kuiper 1996, p. 252. He rejects the possibility that the conception of gandharvas as deities presiding over offspring might explain the passage under discussion, claiming that, “Yama’s appeal to the Gandharva as his ultimate origin, while declining Yamī’s proposal, is even a strong argument against the Gandharva’s being a genius of procreation”; the latter notion is, according to Kuiper, not to be found in the oldest Vedic texts. He does not, however, discuss those RV passages which, however obscure, connect the gandharva with the womb or the embryo. In support of his belief that the gandharva and his consort constitute a primordial couple, more ancient than the gods, Kuiper depends exclusively on the much later JB 1.125-27 and 1.154-55 (to be discussed later); yet even these passages do not state that these beings are older than the gods, but only that they did not take part in the war between gods and asuras. – Oberlies (2009; 2012, p. 144) sees the gandharva and the apsaras of RV 10.10.4 as presiding over procreation, but also seems to connect this function with their being primordial begetters: “the gandharva and the apsaras who dwell in the heavenly waters and near the sun beget the first human beings, who are believed to descend from the sun” (2009). Assuming that the sun here, as the begetter of mankind, is 40 Per-Johan Norelius mean that the gandharva and his consort are the primordial ancestors of Yama and Yamī, as well as the gods. This is certainly possible. But the idea of a gandharva and an apsaras constituting some sort of “Urpaar” or being older than the gods does not, to my knowledge, find any support either in the RV or in younger texts. Rather, the true nature of the gandharva and the water-maiden may be explained in the light of the first half of the next verse (v. 5 a-b), in which Yamī counters her brother’s argument: “In the womb, the Begetter made us husband and wife – god Tvaṣṭṛ, the Impeller, possessor of all forms.”96 Tvaṣṭṛ is, as is well known, the artisan of the gods, who among other things is credited with shaping the embryo in the womb (cf., for instance, RV 10.184.1); this activity of his usually being referred to as the shaping of “forms” (rūpa-) – thus his epithet Viśvarūpa-, “(possessor of) all forms”. 97 The argument, which is as clear as it gets, is that the shaper of embryos intended the incest of the twins to take place already when shaping them inside the womb. It seems likely that the gandharva and the water-maiden stand for some similar, but not identical, activity; for instance, the placing of the embryo inside the womb. Yama’s argument against incestuous intercourse would, then, be something like this: while Yamī invokes the will of the immortals – among which the twins, as Schneider points out, belong – her brother counters this argument by pointing beyond their own generation, or that of their parents; declaring the gandharva and the water-maiden to be their ultimate (paramá-) kin and origin, having brought them as embryos to the womb, perhaps from some supra-terrestrial sphere like the heavenly waters. This may not necessarily mean that these two beings are opposed to incest, but rather nullifies the authority – through kinship – of the immortals. (Possibly, however, there is an implicit reference to the sexual habits of the gandharvas and apsarases, which are clearly not incestuous but rather, as we shall see, promiscuous.) Yamī, in her turn, counters this argument by invoking the will of the god Tvaṣṭṛ, whose part in their creation was similar to that of the gandharva and the water-maiden – he shaped them as embryos in the womb and, presumably, decided their destinies. This
Vivasvant (cf. Oberlies 2012, pp. 218–19, 321), i.e., Yama’s and Yamī’s father, I am not sure who begets whom according to this reconstruction. 96 gárbhe nú nau janitā́ dámpatī kar devás tváṣṭā savitā́ viśvárūpaḥ/. 97 See in general Macdonell 1897, pp. 116–18. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 41 interpretation is, however, by no means certain. Wholly implausible is, in any case, Pischel’s attempt to identify the gandharva here with the fetus.98
Gandharvas, soma, women, and the notion of exchange between the worlds
One important trait of the ṛgvedic gandharva is its connection with sóma-.99 As Lüders100 demonstrated, this sacred herb was thought to have its origin in the waters of heaven, i.e., in the abode of the gandharva; and indeed, we find the gandharva as guardian of the soma in the heavenly waters: here is the “firm place of the gandharva” (gandharvásya dhruvé padé, 1.22.14), dripping with ghee and milk (i.e., probably soma); “here the gandharva guards his place” (gandharvá itthā́ padám asya rakṣati, 9.83.4), where the well-doers drink the “honey” (mádhu-; soma);101 here is the “flood” (síndhu-) in the “highest heaven” (paramé vyòman), where “they lick the streams of ambrosial honey” (rihánti mádhvo amŕ̥ tasya vā́ ṇīḥ) and the gandharva stands “upon the firmament” (ádhi nā́ ke) (10.123.3-5, 7). In 9.113.3, the gandharvas (pl.) are mentioned as placing the juice (rása-) in the soma (plants),102 apparently having brought it from the celestial waters. Oberlies has postulated an Indo-Iranian proto-myth in which the gandharva, dwelling in the waters of heaven, was defeated by a god or hero in a struggle for the divine beverage (i.e., *sáuma-)
98 Pischel & Geldner, pp. 78–9. 99 See especially Kuiper 1996; Oberlies 2005; Hillebrandt 1999, pp. 248ff; cf. also Barnett 1928. 100 Lüders 1951-59. 101 For the gandharva as guardian of soma, see further Oberlies 2005. I do not think, however – like Oberlies and others before him – that Soma is “identified” with the gandharva in some passages. As Hillebrandt pointed out (1999, p. 249), gandharva- is several times used in the RV as an appellative for various other entities. When Soma in 9.78.3 is described as surrounded by the “apsarases of the ocean” (samudríyā apsaráso), it is a matter of mere comparison: the soma-stalk soaked in water is (by implication) likened to the gandharva amidst the apsarases in the heavenly waters (cf. AV 2.2). If 9.85.12 and 86.36 actually do identify Soma and the “heavenly gandharva”, then these are isolated instances, and the identification an expression of typical priestly speculation. 102 parjányavr̥ ddham mahiṣáṃ táṃ sū́ ryasya duhitā́ bharat/ táṃ gandharvā́ ḥ práty agr̥ bhṇan táṃ sóme rásam ā́ dadhur índrāyendo pári srava //. 42 Per-Johan Norelius guarded by it.103 This may be possible, but it should be noted that, while the haoma- is indeed situated in the lake Vourukaša, it has no part in the gandarəßa-myth; nor does soma, in those passages which mention the gandharva’s defeat at the hands of Indra. Moreover, the gandharva is, as Oberlies himself notes and as Kuiper was the first to emphasize, elsewhere in the RV clearly guarding the soma for the benefit of the gods. In fact, as late as in the Kauṣītaki Brāhmaṇa (12.4.2) we find the notion that “the Gandharvas as commissioners in the waters guard the Soma of Indra”104 (transl. Keith).105 This raises some questions as to the exact relationship between the gandharva(s) and the gods. In Middle Vedic texts we do find a myth – the most common one which involves the gandharvas – in which the soma is wrested from the gandharvas by the gods by means of trickery. This myth appears in several texts, but its plot is basically the same, except for a few variants:106 the gandharvas barter the soma in exchange for the goddess Speech (Vāc), the personification of Vedic sacred utterances. It usually begins with the gods obtaining the soma from heaven, only to have it stolen from them by the gandharva Viśvāvasu.107 This might seem strange if the view is accepted that the gandharvas originally guarded the soma for the gods; conceivably, the nature of these beings as intermediaries (for which see below), holding the soma between its descent from the highest heaven and before its reaching the gods or humans, has played a part in the formation of the younger myth. Possibly the mention of the gandharvas as “seizing” (gṛbh-) the heaven-born soma in RV 9.113.3 may have contributed too. I quote here the version of the myth found in the Śatapatha Brāhmaṇa. After the theft of the soma, the gods ponder on how to retrieve it:
103 Oberlies 2005, pp. 99f. 104 gandharvā ha vā indrasya somam apsu pratyāhitā gopāyanti. 105 Also in MS 3.8.10, where some gandharvas are designated the “soma-guardians of the gods” (devānā́ m̐ somarákṣaya); cf. Kāṭhaka Saṃhitā 24.6, TS 1.2.7h; Kuiper 1996, p. 252. 106 MS 3.7.3; Kāṭhaka Saṃhitā 24.1; Kapiṣṭhala-Kaṭha Saṃhitā 37.2; TS 6.1.6.5-6; AiB 1.27; ŚB 3.2.4.1-7. Cf. quotations in Lévi 1898, p. 33. Ludvik (1998) makes a comparison of all the versions, including the one from the recently edited Vādhūla text. 107 In the soma ritual, concern are sometimes expressed that the gandharvas may steal or attack the soma: TS 1.2.9a, ŚB 3.6.2.19-20. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 43
They said, ‘The Gandharvas are fond of women: let us send Vāc (speech) to them, and she will return to us together with Soma.’ They sent Vāc to them, and she returned to them together with Soma. The Gandharvas came after her and said, 'Soma (shall be) yours, and Vāc ours!’ ‘So be it!’ said the gods; ‘but if she would rather come hither, do not ye carry her off by force: let us woo her!’ They accordingly wooed her. The Gandharvas recited the Vedas to her, saying, ‘See how we know it, see how we know it!’ The gods then created the lute and sat playing and singing, saying, ‘Thus we will sing to thee, thus we will amuse thee!’ She turned to the gods; but, in truth, she turned to them vainly, since she turned away from those, engaged in praising and praying, to dance and song. Wherefore even to this day women are given to vain things: for it was on this wise that Vāc turned thereto, and other women do as she did. And hence it is to him who dances and sings that they most readily take a fancy.108 (Transl. Eggeling; transliteration modernized.) There is an intended irony in this story which seems to have passed unnoticed in most discussions:109 the usual roles of the gandharvas and
108 ŚB (Mādhyandina) 3.2.4.3-6: te hocuḥ, yoṣitkāmā vai gandharvā vācam evaibhyaḥ prahiṇavāma sā naḥ saha. somenāgamiṣyatīti tebhyo vācam prāhiṇvant sainānt saha somenāgachat. te gandharvā anvāgatyābruvan, somo yuṣmākaṃ vāg evāsmākam iti tatheti devā abruvann iho ced āgān mainām abhīṣaheva naiṣṭa vihvayāmahā iti tāṃ vyahvayanta. tasyai gandharvāḥ vedān eva procira iti vai vayaṃ vidmeti vayaṃ vidmeti. atha devāḥ vīṇām eva sṛṣṭvā vādayanto nigāyanto niṣedur iti vai vayaṃ gāsyāma iti tvā pramodayiṣyāmaha iti sā devān upāvavarta sā vai sā tan mogham upāvavarta yā stuvadbhyaḥ śaṃsadbhyo nṛttaṃ gītam upāvavarta tasmād apy etarhi moghasaṃhitā eva yoṣā evaṃ hi vāg upāvartata tām u hy anyā anu yoṣās tasmād ya eva nṛtyati yo gāyati tasminn evaitā nimiślatamā iva. 109 Ludvik (1998, pp. 348–49 n. 10), in discussing this myth, brings up the fact that “song is the domain of the gandharvas”, but then concludes, “By the time of the Mahābhārata, the gandharvas are indeed musicians (see Hopkins 1915: 154), but this does not seem to have been the case in Vedic texts. At most, the AV (4.37.7ab) mentions the ‘dancing’ gandharva: ānr̥ ́tyataḥ… gandharvásya…” While this may be true, gandharvas do appear as celestial singers fairly early; the gandharva Pañcasikha of the Buddhist Nikāyas is both a singer and a player of the vīṇā or lute (like the epic Nārada), and gandharvas carrying this instrument appear on the reliefs of Bharhut, Sikri, and Loriyan (3rd to 1st cent. BC.; cf. Hillebrandt 1987, p.184). This widespread conception, found in the brahmanical as well as Buddhist traditions, must be more ancient than the early Buddhist texts. The Vedic notion of the gandharvas and apsarases as constantly frolicking and feasting, furthermore, should probably not be separated from the conception of them as singers and dancers; note also that the apsarases are depicted in JB as indulging in “dance and song and the sound of the vīṇā” (nṛttagītaṃ vīṇāghoṣo, JB 1.42, 44), and their abode is in AV 4.37.5 said to be resounding with cymbals and lutes. On the other hand, I am not sure if the vīṇā in the 44 Per-Johan Norelius the gods, respectively, are temporarily switched. It is, usually, the gandharvas who are occupied with dancing, singing and music; in post-Vedic mythology (Buddhist; epics, etc.) we find them typically as musicians of heaven (cf. gāndharvaveda-, the art of music), and their wives, the apsarases, as celestial dancers.110 But already in the Atharvaveda (4.37.7) there appears a menacing, “hither-dancing, crested” (ānr̥ ́tyataḥ … śikhaṇḍíno) gandharva, and the gandharvas and apsarases in general are said to “revel in feasting” (sadhamā́ daṃ mad- ; 7.109.3,5; 14.2.34; cf. 4.34.3; 4.38.3 [dancing apsarases]). This is a constant feature in later literature, which associates them with frolicking, games, and coquetry; the “swings” referred to in AV 4.37 recur in PB 12.11.10, where the gandharva Ūrṇāyu is introduced while “swinging amidst the apsarases” (apsarasāṃ madhye preṅkhayamāṇam), and in JUB 3.25 the gandharvas are connected with the attributes fragrance (gandha-), joy (moda-), and pleasure (pramoda-), and the apsarases with laughter (hasa-), play (krīḍā), and sexual intercourse (mithuna-). This corresponds well to the nature of these beings as depicted in the epics and early Buddhist texts.111 Believing, thus, that the goddess of sacred speech will not be enticed by such fleeting pleasures as dance and song, the gandharvas in the myth revert to reciting the Veda, laying off their old style; but the gods, understanding the mind of women, start imitating the gandharvas’ old habits, and win over the goddess.
myth is to be connected with that belonging to the goddess Sarasvatī (often identified with Vāc) in post-Vedic mythology (Ludvik, p. 357). 110 Hillebrandt 1987 (1906), pp. 183–84; Wijesekera 1994a, pp. 192–93; Hopkins 1915, pp. 154ff. Although the singing and vīṇā-playing gandharva Pañcasikha of early Buddhist tradition (Dīgha Nikāya, etc.) is not (to my knowledge) found in Brahmanical texts, it is certainly interesting that an apsaras named Pañcacūḍā, “Five- Plaits” (the same meaning as pañca-śikha-) appears in the Mbh (Poona edition: 12.319.18; 13.3.11, 38.2ff, 151.10), and apparently already in TS 5.3.7.2, which prescribes the laying down (on the fire altar) of a pañcacoḍā brick for winning the company of apsarases in the next world. Cf. also ŚB 8.6.1.11ff (the pañcacūḍā bricks and apsarases). The epithet śikhaṇḍin- of the gandharva in AV 4.37.7 indicates a similar hairstyle. The Sikhaṇḍin of Dīgha Nikāya 2.263, son of Sakka’s charioteer Mātali, is apparently a gandhabba; he married Suriyavaccasā, daughter of the gandhabba Timbarū (Tumburu of Sanskrit texts), but later lost her to Pañcasikha. Elaborate hairdressing may reflect the usual concern of these beings with beauty and sensuality; cf. also Vasilkov 1990, pp. 394–95, for some different suggestions. 111 Cf. Hopkins 1915, pp. 153ff; Bhattacharyya 2000, pp. 57–8, 123ff. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 45
The ritualistic import of parts of the myth has long been recognized, and is indeed made explicit in the sources themselves. The cow used for (ritualistically) buying the soma-stalks is thus declared to be Vāc; and, before its preparation, the soma is left exposed for three days, during which it is said to be in the ward of the gandharvas. 112 Kuiper pointed out the parallel between the latter practice and the three nights during which the bride was (apparently) in the care of Viśvāvasu, and provided the following interpretation: “The two parallel cases confirm the conclusion that the Vedic ‘Tobiasnächte’ involved a kind of quarantine, which was required in order to divest the bride and Soma of their inauspicious nature.”113 This theory of a “quarantine” has been expanded on in a paper by Oberlies,114 who explains the main function of the Vedic gandharva as connected with transfer and mediation: besides guarding the soma in the heavenly waters, the gandharva is also responsible for transferring it to earth, as reflected in the ritual but also hinted at already in RV 9.113.3, where the gandharvas are said to have put the soma-juice (rasa-) in the plants (on earth): The buffalo, caused to grow by Parjanya, that the daughter of the sun has born – that one the gandharvas received and placed as sap in the soma. Flow, O Soma, for Indra!115 The notion that the daughter of the sun “bore” (bhar-) the heavenly soma is interesting; this word often has the meaning “to be pregnant”. There may, thus, be an intended analogy to the gandharvas’ connection with embryos – the gandharvas place the sap in the soma plant, in the same way as the embryo in the womb. The gandharvas in this passage appear in a sort of intermediary position; they possess the soma after the “daughter of the sun” (in heaven), but before its descent to earth. The case is similar with the bride: as for 10.85.40-41, where the bride is said to have belonged first to Soma, then to the gandharva, to the (nuptial) fire, and finally to the bridegroom. Oberlies points out that the gandharva here appears in a mediating position, possessing the bride before the marriage
112 Cf. Kuiper 1996, pp. 234ff. 113 Kuiper 1996, p. 252. 114 Oberlies 2005. More generally in Oberlies 2009; 2012, pp. 142-45. 115 parjányavr̥ ddham mahiṣáṃ táṃ sū́ ryasya duhitā́ bharat/ táṃ gandharvā́ ḥ práty agr̥ bhṇan táṃ sóme rásam ā́ dadhur índrāyendo pári srava//. 46 Per-Johan Norelius ceremonies, but after Soma (whatever his role here might be). He suggests that this is a recurring trait of the Vedic gandharva; the later notion of the bride being under the care of Viśvāvasu for three nights is thus explained with reference to the same idea: the bride, as a stranger coming from a different clan, must initially become divested of her “inauspicious nature” (Kuiper); the Gṛhyasūtras also prescribe rituals for neutralizing those of her “aspects” or “forms” (tanu-) which are harmful to the husband, as well as her evil eye (ghora- cakṣus-). The soma, believed to originate in the other world, must similarly be put to three days’ “quarantine” under the care of the gandharvas. To this are also compared the three days between initiation and the beginning of study required for the Veda-student, as well as the three days of inactivity following a funeral; the newly initiated student still being a stranger in his teacher’s house, like the bride in the husband’s, and the family of a deceased person having to go through a kind of “quarantine” to get rid of their impurity.116 This is an ingenious theory which would account for a great deal of the beliefs and practices surrounding the gandharvas. It has, however, aspects which are not unproblematic. The gandharva is nowhere in the source-texts mentioned in connection with the three days following the student’s initiation, or the three days after a funeral. The three nights of chastity are, as Slaje has shown and as has been discussed above, a practice belonging to the latest strata of Vedic literature; and when it first appears, it is only in some texts put in connection with the gandharva. The staff in the bed is likewise a late element added to the practice; it is probable, if not certain, that the gandha-smeared cloth wrapped around it is an allusion to the gandharva.117 Oberlies accepts Slaje’s outline of the development of the “Tobias-nights”, adding that, though these may be a late feature, their precursor – the three nights following the end of the wife’s period, after which cohabitation may take place – must “zu den dreitägigen ‘Quarantänen’ gehören”.118 Even so, the precursor is not, either, associated with gandharvas. The only possible way to account for the three nights of chastity by means of Oberlies’ theory would,
116 Oberlies op.cit., p. 98. 117 May this have been inspired by the gandharva’s “clothing himself in a scented garment” in RV 10.123.7? But as mentioned in a previous note, the connection with both perfume and garments is common in Vedic and later literature. 118 Ibid., p. 103 n. 28. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 47 then, be to explain them as a late development based on an ancient belief. This is probable enough; but it might also be that these nights are directly inspired by the “quarantine” of the soma. If that is the case, then there remains only one example of the three days’ quarantine that can be directly connected with the gandharvas: that period during which the soma was believed to be under the care of these beings. This, in turn, could well be accounted for with reference to the gandharva’s mythical function as guardian of the soma in heaven. While the theory of the gandharva’s intimate connection with the “quarantine”-period – however attractive – can be brought into question on some points, I do find convincing the characterization of gandharvas as beings responsible for various kinds of transfer. Similar suggestions have indeed been put forward, in less elaborated forms, by previous scholars. Barnett, for instance, suggested a parallel between the ṛgvedic gandharvas’ placing the sap in the soma plants, and the later view making them responsible for successful procreation: “Both the waters and the Sōma are in the highest heaven […] thence the waters, divine life-saps, are brought to earth by Gandharvas and Apsarases, who therewith impregnate men, animals, and vegetation. The Gandharva was thus constantly travelling from heaven to earth (rájasō vimā́ naḥ, RV. X, CXXXiX. 5) for the benefit of the world …” 119 Gonda, similarly, pointed to the gandharvas’ function as mediators of sacred knowledge in the RV: There can be hardly any doubt that “the gandharva” is represented as a mediator between the divine secrets and the minds of men: revealing speech and stimulating dhīḥ [inspired thoughts] he disclosed to them what they did not know previously … The gist of the various statements of the character and activities of these deities is, in my opinion, that they are genii of conception and procreation, who keeping watch over the place of conception come as “lords of being” (AV. 2, 2, 1), dwelling in heaven, as “Wesenskeime” or “Seelen- wesen”, into touch with various divine beings and phenomena of a similar nature. As such they know and reveal the immortal (AV. 2, 1, 2) and the divine secret, found the immortal names (ṚV. 10, 123, 4,
119 Barnett 1928, p. 706. 48 Per-Johan Norelius
cf. 10, 139, 6; 177, 2), proclaim that highest abode that is in secret (AV. 2, 1, 2) and Vāc (Speech) in the womb.120 This association with hidden knowledge from the other world has also been pointed out by Kuiper,121 and, following him, by Oberlies;122 it is found in the RV and AV as well as in Middle Vedic literature. The gandharva found or proclaimed the “immortal names” (RV 10.123.4; 139.6); proclaimed (sacred) Speech in the womb (10.177.2); Viśvāvasu is asked to proclaim hidden things, “that which is reality and which we do not know” (10.139.5123); the gandharva, “knower of the deathless” (amr̥ ́tasya vidvā́ n), should proclaim the supreme, hidden order (dhā́ ma; AV [Śaunaka and Paippalāda] 2.1.2; RVKh 4.10.2).124 I believe this knowledge of divine things, as well as the association with soma, are to be explained as due to the gandharva’s dwelling in the highest heaven. Its abode, the heavenly waters, in which soma is found (before its descent to earth), are, as Lüders has shown, the highest sphere of the Vedic cosmos; in their affinity we find the vault or firmament (nā́ ka-), the “back” or ridge (sā́ nu-, pṛṣṭhá-) of the universe. Here is “the heavenly gandharva of the waters, watching over mankind” (nr̥ cákṣasa-; 9.86.36), standing on or above (adhi) the firmament (RV 9.85.12; 10.123.5) and “watching all his forms (i.e., beings)” (víśvā rūpā́ praticákṣāṇo asya; 9.85.12b).125 The epithets indicate an omniscience of sorts; as to the latter one, we also find that “all forms” (víśvā rūpā́ in early Vedic frequently denoting all beings, or the entire world) are “his” (asya), implying a
120 Gonda 1963, pp. 91, 199. 121 Kuiper 1996, pp. 239ff. 122 Oberlies 2005, pp. 104–105. 123 Transl. following Kuiper (1996, p. 241): yád vā ghā satyám utá yán ná vidmá. 124 The “gandharvic path of Order” (gā́ ndharvīm pathyā̀ m r̥ t á s y a ) that Agni knows, according to RV 10.80.6, is interpreted by Geldner, and Lüders (p. 540 n. 2), as the correctly performed sacred formula, connected with the gandharva in 10.123.4 and 10.139.6. 125 Prati- cakṣ- can mean “behold” as well as “display, make visible” (cf. examples in Böhtlingk and Roth s.v.; Grassmann s.v.); Geldner takes the word here in the latter sense (“seine Farben alle offenbarend”; cf. also Haas, p. 214), while Brereton and Jamison translate, “gazing upon all his forms”. “Watching all forms” is, however, a figure used elsewhere in connection with celestial beings; thus RV 10.139.3 (víśvā rūpā́ bhí caṣṭe; of the sun-god) or 10.136.4, where the “long-haired” shaman, leaving his body, “flies through the air, beholding all forms” (antárikṣeṇa patati víśvā rūpā́ vacā́ kaśat). Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 49 power over all creation126 – cf. the lavish praise of Viśvāvasu in AV 2.2 as “the heavenly gandharva, sole lord of the entire universe”.127 Having his abode on top of the firmament, the gandharva occupies the function of transferring things – knowledge; the soma – from the celestial spheres to earth.128 In Middle Vedic texts, the knowledge possessed by the gandharvas is, of course, ritualistic. We have tales of gandharvas interfering in ritual or liturgical matters, correcting the performers on various points (MS 1.4.12; JB 2.126; ŚB 11.2.3.7, 11.5.1.14ff). The tale of the gandharva Ūrṇāyu (PB 12.11.10; JB 3.76-7129) is of great mythological interest here. It explains the origin of the aurṇāyava liturgy, on which JB has the following to say: Ūrṇāyu the gandharva was lusting for apsarases. He saw this sāman (liturgy). He praised with it. Whomever he desired he approached and won over with it, [saying,] “This one!” and touching her. Thus, this is a wish-fulfilling sāman; this wish that he had, that wish came true for him. Whatever one may wish for, who praises with this sāman, that
126 It may be noted that the all-god Rohita, the “ruddy” sun, is praised in almost identical terms in AV 13.1.11a-b: “Rohita stood upright upon the firmament, bringing forth all forms, the young sage” (ūrdhvó róhito ádhi nā́ ke asthād víśvā rūpā́ ṇi janáyan yúvā kavíḥ). 127 V. 1: divyó gandharvó bhúvanasya yás pátir éka. Also RV 9.86.36, where the gandharva “rules over the entire world” (víśvasya bhúvanasya rājáse); note, however, that the “gandharva” here is Soma. 128 Kuiper (1996, pp. 249ff) has questioned the original celestial nature of the gandharva, arguing that it originates with the gandharva’s occasional identification with Soma, or from a priestly “tendency to situate figures and events in heaven(s)” (p. 251). Instead, he attempts to locate this kind of being within his own theoretical framework, which posits a primeval war between gods and asuras and a resulting formation of the ordered cosmos by the victorious gods. Supporting himself on RV 10.10.4 (where he interprets the gandharva of the waters and the water-maiden as the ultimate ancestors of gods and humans), Kuiper sees the gandharva as a primeval being existing before the cosmogonic battle, and ascribes its knowledge of things hidden (pp. 239ff, 253; cf. Kuiper 1979, pp. 94-5) to this fact; thus the three-headed gandharva of the (much younger) JB already knows the outcome of the war. I see very little support for the interpretation of the gandharva’s abode as being the primeval waters from which the earth arose; his watery abode is frequently located in heaven. As Oberlies has pointed out, the notion of the gandharva as guardian of the heavenly soma – which, probably already in Indo-Iranian times, was located in the celestial sea – is well in keeping with its celestial nature (Oberlies 2005; 2012, pp. 76ff; cf. 33ff, 79ff). 129 Cf. Caland 1970, pp. 237–38; 1931, pp. 298–99. 50 Per-Johan Norelius
wish comes true for him. As Ūrṇāyu the gandharva saw it, therefore it is called aurṇāyava.130 Then the story turns to a priest of the Aṅgiras clan, named Kalyāṇa (PB) or Śvitra (JB). The Aṅgirases were performing a sattra sacrifice for attaining heaven, but without result; searching for a solution, this priest came upon Ūrṇāyu, “who was swinging amidst the apsarases”;131 as soon as the gandharva pointed to one of these, she became his. Ūrṇāyu taught him the wish-fulfilling liturgy, but had him promise not to claim himself as its discoverer (i.e., the one who had “seen” it through revelation). Kalyāṇa/Śvitra returned to the Aṅgirases, and with the help of the new liturgy their sacrifice became successful; but when asked about its origin, Kalyāṇa/Śvitra declared himself to have discovered it, and so he was left behind when the others attained heaven. We also hear of knowledge of future events. In one myth on the frequent theme of the war between gods and asuras, the former seek information from a three-headed (triśīrṣan-)132 gandharva who knows the outcome of the war, and what could change it (JB 1.125-27; variant in Baudhāyana Śrautasūtra 18.46 133 ). By seducing the gandharva’s wife, and then eavesdropping on their conversation, Indra obtained the desired information.
Possessing women
Mostly, however, the gandharvas transmit their esoteric knowledge through the mouth of a mortal – a person possessed by one of them. Thus JB 2.126,134 which tells of the wife of the brahmin Udara Śāṇḍilya, who was possessed by a gandharva (gandharviṇī, lit.
130 ūrṇāyur vai gandharvo ‘psaraso ‘kāmayata. sa etat sāmāpaśyat. tenāstuta. tena yāṃ yām akāmayata tām iyām iti yāṃ yām evābhyamṛśat tām upait tām avārunddha. tad etat kāmasani sāma. etaṃ vai sa kāmam akāmayata, so ‘smai kāmas samārdhyata. yatkāma evaitena sāmnā stute, sam asmai sa kāma ṛdhyate. yad ūrṇāyur gandharvo ‘paśyat tasmād aurṇāyavam ity ākhyāyate. 131 apsarasāṃ madhye preṅkhayamāṇam. 132 I assume that the three heads are indicative of omniscience, or ability to see on all sides; cf. the four-headed Brahmā of later mythology. 133 Both texts translated in O’Flaherty 1985, pp. 87–90; JB 1.125-27 in Bodewitz 1990, pp. 71–2. 134 Cf. Caland 1970, pp. 163–64; O’Flaherty 1985, pp. 91–3. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 51
“having a gandharva”). Through the wife, this gandharva warned the brahmin that the ekatrika sacrifice, which he intended to perform, was of a dangerous (dāruṇa-) kind; thus greatly surprising the brahmin, who had told no one about the sacrifice. In AiB 5.29.2 and KB 2.8.13, we find a “maiden possessed by a gandharva” (kumārī gandharvagr̥ hītā) quoted among the authorities invoked in a doctrinal dispute (on whether the agnihotra-rite is to be performed before or after sunrise). The most famous cases of gandharva-possession are found in the BĀU, 3.3.1; 7.1: during a brahmodya-, or contest in metaphysical knowledge, Yājñavalkya is on two occasions confronted by brahmins who have studied the Vedas in the house of Patañcala Kāpya. This man’s wife and daughter were both possessed by gandharvas, who, through them, revealed knowledge on certain esoteric matters. Yājñavalkya is now questioned on whether he, too, possesses this knowledge (which he does). What is considered spirit possession in pre-modern societies can, of course, often be identified as (especially mental) illness. The gandharvas and apsarases are indeed associated with madness, and so already in the AV. “The gandharvas and apsarases madden him who is about to go mad”, states the TS.135 In AVP 1.29 the apsarases are unmādayiṣṇavaḥ, causing madness; they are “mind-bewildering” (manomúhaḥ; AV(Ś) 2.2.5); they are also said to be fond of dice, and to preside over gambling (2.2.5; 4.38; 6.118; 7.109). “As gambling is repeatedly called an addiction, there seems to be a relationship with their causing madness”;136 and here one might also point to the well- known Nala episode of the Mbh, where an obsessive gambling addiction is caused by possession by the evil spirit Kali. In AV(Ś) 6.111.4, the apsarases, together with Indra and Bhaga, are called upon to cure a person from insanity (lit. “give back” his mind);137 in RVKh
135 TS 3.4.8.4: gandharvāpsaráso vā́ etám ún mādayanti yá unmā́ dyaty. 136 Oberlies 2009. In AV 6.130.1, the apsarases are implored to induce lovesickness (smará-) in a person; another kind of loss of mind, as it were. 137 “This fits well with the notion that madness was considered to be characterized by the mind leaving the body; and in order to become sane, it must be returned.” (Zysk 2009, p. 188.) Cf. also Baudhāyana Śrautasūtra’s (18.4.396; text and German transl. in Gotō 2000, pp. 100ff) version of the legend of king Purūravas and the apsaras Urvaśī, where the love-smitten apsaras stops the king’s chariot by making an illusory hole appear in the road, then making it disappear, leaving the king wondering whether he is going mad (dr̥ pya-). 52 Per-Johan Norelius
4.8.3 we find the prayer (repeated in some younger texts138), “The intelligence that is with the apsarases, the mind that is with the gandharvas – that intelligence which is divine or human; may it enter me now!”139 These lines are part of a longer prayer or spell for intelligence or wisdom (medhā-); apparently, the gandharvas and apsarases had the power to bestow as well as take away one’s reason.140 It may be mentioned that the apsarases and their association with madness have often been compared to the nymphs of ancient Greece,141 who were sometimes said to cause madness by their mere appearance, but could also, in their more positive aspect, possess a person who then – as a nympholêptos – became endowed with great intellectual skill or inspiration, and the gift of prophecy. 142 The question of a common origin of these beliefs is not easily answered; while there certainly do exist similarities between the apsarases and the nymphs – such as otherworldly beauty, and being inhabitants of trees and rivers – similar beings can be found also in the myths and folklore of non-Indo-European peoples. The association with madness, however, is certainly intriguing. There also seems to be a more positive connection between gandharvas and apsarases, and mind or intellect.143 As we have seen, they are implored to give (back) a person’s manas, and bestow medhā upon him. In TS 1.7.7.1 and VS 30.1 (quoted in ŚB 5.1.1.16), we find the line, “May the heavenly gandharva, purifier of thoughts, purify our thoughts”. 144 In RV 10.11.2a-b, “the gandharvī, the water-maid” (gandharvī́r ápyā ca yóṣaṇā), is invoked by the poet to “protect my mind” (pári pātu me mánaḥ); in 10.139.5, Viśvāvasu, the “heavenly gandharva” (divyó gandharvó; obviously identical with the one of TS
138 I refer to Bloomfield 1906, p. 343. The verses are later used for invoking wisdom to enter a Veda-student; cf. Gonda 1975, p. 168. 139 yā medhā apsarassu gandharveṣu ca yan manaḥ/daivī yā mānuṣī medhā sā mām āviśatād iha. 140 Elsewhere in this prayer, this wisdom is called gandharvajuṣṭām, “enjoyed by the gandharvas”. While several other divinities are invoked to bestow it, it is, notably, said to actually be among the gandharvas and apsarases – not with any other deity. This indicates, I think, that these beings could have possession of a person’s mind and intelligence, and seize or withhold it at will. 141 Cf. e.g. West 2007, pp. 284–92; Oberlies 2009. 142 Cf. Connor 1988; more generally, e.g., West 2007, p. 287. 143 Cf. Wijesekera 1994a, p. 189–90. 144 divyo gandharvaḥ ketapūḥ ketaṃ naḥ punātu. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 53 and ŚB), is invoked for similar purposes: “to stimulate our thoughts, to aid our thoughts” (dhíyo hinvānó dhíya ín no avyāḥ).
As appears from the cases cited earlier, the gandharvas possess – as it seems, exclusively – women.145 This brings us to the subject of spirit- possession studies in comparative anthropology and religion. It is a well-known fact, albeit variously interpreted, that women are particularly (though by no means exclusively) prone to possession by spirits or deities; this is, or has been, the case in culturally unrelated societies around the world. I. M. Lewis’ study of possession cults,146 which is probably the most widely read work to date on the subject, argued that spirit possession is most prominent in marginalized groups (among which women are usually one); individuals belonging to these groups may, according to Lewis, raise their status and make their voices heard by letting themselves become the instruments of spirits or deities, who are believed to speak through them. As such, possessed persons often become the center of local cults, and their words carry great authority. While Lewis’ theory is still widely influential, there are, of course, others; not least the high occurrence of possession among women has been the subject of a fair amount of theory-construction in a variety of fields (psychology, gender studies etc.). 147 Thus, traditional gender roles, which make women the “passive”, “receiving” sex, have been invoked as one important reason why women are entered by spirits and become their passive instruments. Then there is the sexual aspect: the fact that the possessing spirits and deities are mostly of the male gender, and the possessed females are thought of as objects of their enjoyment.148
145 Though the apsarases are frequently said to cause insanity, I cannot find any explicit reference to possession by them. Nonetheless, possession was most likely thought to be the means by which they induced madness in people. If so, the question arises as to whether they only possessed men, like the gandharvas possessed women. As the gambler or kitavá- apparently was one of their main targets, this seems to have been the case; for the kitavá- as typically a young man, see Falk 1986, p. 99. The gambling hall or sabhā- is well known to have been an exclusively male area. 146 Lewis 1975. 147 See, for example, Sered 1994, Keller 2002, Schmidt and Huskinson 2010. Lewis’ theory still remains one of the most valuable, despite the criticisms levelled in some of these works. 148 For the erotic undertones of possession, and the belief that spirits mainly possess persons of the opposite gender, cf. Lewis, pp. 58ff, 84. 54 Per-Johan Norelius
Both these kinds of approach – the socio-anthropological and the psychological – seem to be applicable to the Vedic situation, as far as we can glimpse the beliefs and realities behind the legends. The wife and daughter of Patañcala Kāpya in the BĀU are clearly in the center of a kind of possession cult, filling the function of oracles and being questioned on esoteric matters.149 Whether these cases are actual historical reality or not is unimportant; what matters here is that such cults obviously were in existence. An actual case of spirit possession appears, on the other hand, to be referred to in the AiB and KB, where a certain “maiden possessed by a gandharva” is cited as an authority on matters of doctrinal dispute (even though the view of the maiden/the gandharva on these matters is ultimately rejected by the authors). It seems clear that possession by gandharvas made it possible for certain women to take part in learned discussions from which they were otherwise barred; such as brahmanical disputes on the subject of ritual. At the same time, it can’t be denied that there is a sexual dimension to the possession by gandharvas – beings who are so often referred to as “fond of women” (strīkāma-). We have already quoted AV 8.6.19, where mention is made of the “women-sharing (strī́bhāga- ) gandharvas” who cause the embryo in the womb to die; this refers, most likely, to a fatal sexual enjoyment of pregnant women.150 Very likely, this enjoyment was thought to take place through possession; we have already referred to the fact that demon possession was believed, in Vedic as well as younger times, to be the cause of miscarriage. Indeed, there seems – judging from the texts – to be no better explanation as to why gandharvas only possess women. (Only in much later texts, like the medical compendia of Suśruta and Caraka, do we meet with possession by gandharvas also of men or boys.151)
149 Cf. Smith 2009, p. 230: “Did Bhujyu Lāhyāyani simply wander into his friend Patañcala Kāpya’s house on a couple of occasions and discover his wife and daughter occupied with housework, possessed by gandharvas, ready to take questions? This is highly unlikely. More likely, given the evidence of later texts, a ritual was taking place and Bhujyu Lāhyāyani showed up for the occasion.” 150 Kuiper (1996, p. 245) points out that the designation as strīkāma- seems to occur only in the context of the myth of the soma-barter. While this may be true, the lustful nature of these beings is well in keeping with atharvavedic and later materials. 151 Suśruta Saṃhitā, 6.60.10, declares the symptoms of gandharva-possession to be laughing and dancing, and a fondness of singing, perfumes and garlands; thus, “in gewisser Übereinstimmung mit dem Grundcharakter der Gandharven”, as Hillebrandt Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 55
Spirit possession never became an integrated part of the brahmanical religion, nor in the Buddhist or Jainist traditions; possession-cults were mainly confined to the more popular religious life, as a consequence of which possession has long been a neglected subject in the historical study of Indian religions. Some of the lacuna has recently been filled by Frederick M. Smith’s extensive survey of possession in South Asian religions, from Vedic to modern times.152 Dealing with questions of comparative anthropology, Smith notes that possession has occurred especially in women and children; this holds for almost all the epochs treated, from the gandharva possession of Vedic times to classical “Hindu” beliefs and even up to the present day.153 Of interest here is also his survey of the terminology of ancient Indian spirit possession, where two terms in particular are singled out as the most prominent ones: formations from the verbal root viś- “to enter” (with prefixes pra- or ā-), and the verbal root gr̥ h- “to grasp, to seize”; the former occurs in connection with more “positive”, often ritually controlled forms of possession, in which a deity “enters” a human being (though pra- viś- usually refers to possession independent of the possessed person’s will), while cases where gr̥ h- is used are of a more sinister nature: the possession is here caused by spirits or demons of disease or madness, who forcefully take control over (“seize”) a person’s body. From this root is derived the word graha-, referring to demons of sickness (several times already in AV).154 It is formations from gr̥ h- that are used in depictions of gandharva possession; thus the gandharvagr̥ hītā- (“seized by gandharvas”) women in AiB, KB, and BĀU.155 This confirms the general impression from the source-texts that possession caused by gandharvas was an unwelcome thing – usually leading to insanity –
(1987, p. 183) noted. In Caraka Saṃhitā, 6.9.21.4, it is rather the gandharva-like character of a person that causes the possession: “The gandharvas attack a person of pure behavior who is fond of hymns of praise, singing, and musical instruments, who is fond of other men’s wives, perfumes, and garlands, generally on the twelfth and fourteenth lunar days” (quoted from Smith 2009, p. 409). 152 Smith 2009. 153 On spirit possession and women, see esp. pp. 68-75, 430ff, 545ff; on gandharva possession, pp. 224-32. 154 Cf. Smith, Index, s.v. graha, grā́ hī. 155 The word gr̥ hīta- is, however, not used in the story of Yavakrī and the apsaras (pace Smith, p. 228); nor is any other word from the same root. 56 Per-Johan Norelius though it could be used to the advantage of the husbands or relatives of the possessed woman (divination). Such divination rituals are well attested in somewhat later times. Of special interest in this connection is Smith’s study156 of a medieval tantric ritual of oracular possession, called svasthāveśa-, or simply praśna-, “questioning” (prakrit pasiṇa-; later, falsely re- sanskritized as prasenā-). In this ritual, a spirit (itself often called prasenā) is invited to enter an object, a body-part, or a person – usually a young girl or a child; the spirit is then questioned on future events. In one form of the ritual, a maiden serves as an oracle, while being in a state of trance and, sometimes, looking into a mirror.157 According to Hemacandra,158 a deity (devatā) is made to enter the mirror, through which it reveals the desired knowledge to a young girl (kanyā) looking into the mirror. The question answered through this divination practice is here, specifically, said to concern the time of one’s death. Now, while this and the other texts collected by Smith all belong to medieval times – the oldest being from the second half of the first millennium C.E. – it may be noted that the Sāmavidhāna Brāhmaṇa, 3.8.1ff (one of the very youngest Brāhmaṇa texts, but certainly older than any of the tantric texts treated by Smith), prescribes a very similar ritual, with the purpose of preventing one’s rebirth after death. Here, a kanyā, with plaited hair (śikhaṇḍinī-) and noose in hand, serves as oracle in a preparatory, nightly ritual; she reveals to the person wishing not to be reborn the year, half-year, season, month, etc., down to the day or night and muhūrta when he is going to die, thereupon to be reborn (3.8.3). With this knowledge, that person may then, using spells and penance, avert the rebirth awaiting him, and instead attain the realm of air (ākāśa-) after death. The Dīgha Nikāya, 1.26, in a list of divinatory and magical practices prohibited for Buddhist monks, mentions kumārīpañha-, “questioning a young girl”; the word appears between ādāsapañha-, “questioning a mirror”, and devapañha-, “questioning a god”, and obviously refers, as Rhys Davids (following Buddhaghosa) translated it, to “Obtaining oracular
156 Smith, chap. 11. 157 “One might argue that this is not possession of the girl; rather, it is an allied divinatory practice. However, in South Asia, people, especially women, are considered possessed if they transmit such messages in trance states.” Ibid, p. 431. 158 Yoga Śāstra 5.173-6; quoted in Smith, p. 431. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 57 answers from a girl possessed”.159 In devapañha- too, a girl serves as the oracle, according to Buddhaghosa’s 5th century commentary; but here, it is a temple prostitute (devadāsī), while the kumārī is said to be of good family and respectable. Using young girls – usually in a state of trance, but perhaps also insane ones – as oracles was, as it seems, a long-standing tradition in ancient India.160 Now, it may be suggested – but this is only a speculation – that the association with possession could explain some of the more prominent traits of gandharvas; such as their fondness of garlands, ornaments, scents, music and singing. Lewis gives numerous examples of possession cults centered around women, where “the spirit” speaking through the possessed woman demands luxuries such as clothes and ornaments; song and music are frequently part of the “treatment” of the possession. The often very specific requests of the spirits are believed to mirror the particular nature of these beings; the Islamic jinns, for instance, were in Somalia “thought to be consumed by envy and greed, and to hunger especially after dainty foods, luxurious clothing, jewellery, perfume, and other finery”.161 In the medical compendia of Caraka and Suśruta, people possessed by gandharvas are indeed said to be hankering for the same things as these beings: garlands, scents etc.162 The youthful and careless nature of these deities, to which we will return, is, however, also likely to have contributed to these conceptions.
159 Cf. also the entry under this word in Rhys Davids and Stede 1952 [1921]. 160 Cf. possibly the female vipraśnikās consulted by king Dhr̥ tarāṣṭra Vaicitravīrya (Kāṭhaka Saṃhitā 10.6) to find out the cause of a disaster that has befallen his domain (they reveal that it is caused by the black magic of an insulted brahmin). While we learn next to nothing from the text about these vipraśnikās, it is remarkable that women seem to have been employed as psychics at the, otherwise male-dominated, Vedic royal court. 161 Lewis p. 75. 162 See n. 148 above. Similarly in Viṣṇudharmottara Purāṇa 1.231.36ff, quoted by Thite (1987), p. 58. Noting that this passage prescribes music as part of the possessed person’s treatment, and that similar “cures” for possession are to be found in other cultures, Thite suggests a connection between the gandharva’s association with music, and his possessing people. Smith (p. 230) proposes to see gandharva-possession in “a context … in which music was played as part of a ritual to abet the onset of trance states, such as possession”, but provides no further basis for this assumption. 58 Per-Johan Norelius
Apsarases and men: fleeting relationships and gandharvic jealousy
The conception of “women-desiring” gandharvas seizing females and, at will, revealing sacred knowledge through them, brings us to what may be the core of the Vedic mythology around gandharvas: there takes place a kind of exchange during the possession, wherein the gandharvas enjoy mortal women who are often married, but, on the other hand, may provide their husbands or relatives with esoteric knowledge. This is, more or less, the same kind of exchange as that which takes place in the myth of the bartering of soma: there, a sacred and powerful substance is traded by the gandharvas for Vāc – who, sure enough, embodies the Vedic sacred formulas, but is desired by the strīkāma- gandharvas solely as an object of sexual enjoyment. For the somewhat more pious gods, however, her presence is of the highest importance, and so they have to win her back. The case is similar in the story of Ūrṇāyu, who, knowing a wish-fulfilling liturgy capable of ensuring mortals of heaven, himself put it to no better use than for obtaining women. The gandharva was, as we have seen, thought to dwell in the highest celestial spheres, where he was in direct contact with sacred substances such as soma, and in possession of superhuman knowledge; this heavenly realm was, however, thought of merely as a depository, from which these things were seized by the gods in ancient times (e.g., in the various myths of the soma-robbing, finding the hidden Agni etc.), and from which they may be brought to earth by the gandharvas, who, as intermediaries between heaven and earth (Oberlies), bring the sap to the soma plant, embryos to mortal wombs, and sacred knowledge to certain humans. The gandharvas themselves, being merely the keepers and carriers of these things from the “depository” realm, seem to make no actual use of them – except, sometimes, for the sake of enjoying women. A rather clear example is the primeval war between gods and asuras, as told in some versions in the JB.163 Here, it is related that “the Kali gandharvas”164 did not take part in this war, maintaining a neutral stand (antasthā-); yet after the war asked the victorious gods for a share in the conquered worlds, as
163 Cf. translations in O’Flaherty 1985, pp. 86ff; Bodewitz 1990, pp. 71–2, 86–7. 164 Also mentioned in AV 10.10.13; what makes them distinct from other gandharvas is not clear. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 59 they had been supporting their side in their minds (1.154-55). Then there is the story of the three-headed gandharva who knew the outcome of the ongoing war, and how to change it, yet did not enclose this information to the gods (nor to the asuras), who had to obtain it through trickery (1.125-27). The knowledge or sacred substances possessed by the gandharvas are, so to speak, not “activated” or used to their full potential, until they leave these deities. Interestingly, a woman appears in an intermediary function also in the tale of the three-headed gandharva: the gandharva’s wife, who is seduced by Indra in a successful attempt to obtain the desired information; here it is, thus, the gandharva who is cuckolded, not the other way around. This tale throws some further interesting light on the gandharvas’ relationships with women. Of the three-headed gandharva it is said that “he had a boat-mansion165 floating about in the waters”.166 “The waters” are apparently the heavenly ocean, the traditional home of the gandharvas; āpaḥ or its locative form, apsu, being often used, without further qualification, to denote the celestial waters.167 Now, a reason is given for the gandharva’s unusual choice of abode: although the readings of the manuscripts are corrupt, Hoffmann168 is no doubt right in his emendation to sa herṣyur āsa – “he was jealous” (1.125). Hoffmann supports this reading on a parallel
165 The version in Baudhāyana Śrautasūtra 18.46 has a “golden boat” (hiraṇmayyā nāvayā; O’Flaherty’s rendering “a golden palace” must be a slip). 166 tasya hāpsv antar naunagaraṃ pariplavam āsa. This is one of the earliest occurrences of the word nagara-, later meaning “city”, though cities may still have been unknown at the time of the text’s composition; still, the compound nau-nagara- has been rendered as “ship-town” (Bodewitz), “boat-city” (O’Flaherty 1985), “Schiffsburg” (Hoffmann 1960, p. 7). Kuiper (1996, p. 238), however, gives “house- boat”, commenting: “In Dravidian, from which nagaram has doubtless been borrowed … nakar ‘town, city’ originally denoted a single building: a temple (Tamil), a palace (Old Tamil, also Telugu nagaru) and even a ‘house, abode, mansion’ (Old Tamil, in Akanāṉūṟu 15) … The Old Tamil Sangam literature dates from the first centuries A. D., and naunagaram, lit. a ‘house on a boat’, reflects the older meaning of nakar in Dravidian.” Personally, I suspect that nagara- in the text concerned denotes something bigger – a mansion or a palace – as the proper name Nagarin occurring in some Brāhmaṇas would seem rather pointless if simply denoting a “house-dweller.” 167 Cf. e.g. JB 1.292: “the lightning in the waters” (vidyud apsu); JUB 1.34.4 (the sun and moon being seen in the waters, apsu); ŚB 7.5.1.8 (the sun giving heat deep in the waters). 168 Hoffmann 1960, p. 7. 60 Per-Johan Norelius in JB 3.197, where it is said of the demon169 Asita Dhāmnya that he protected his daughter’s virginity in a similar way: “Now, Asita Dhāmnya was jealous (īrṣyur āsa). He had a palace in the air.”170 (As in the case of the gandharva’s wife, these efforts at protection are ultimately frustrated.) That the palace is said to be in the sky would seem to support our assumption that the gandharva’s “boat-mansion” is floating in the heavenly waters; one is reminded of the aerial “cities of the gandharvas” (gandharva-pura- or -nagara-), a kind of fata morgana often mentioned in later literature.171 The gandharva of the tale thus has a jealous nature, and seeks to guard his wife at any costs. That this is not an individual characteristic of this specific gandharva may be established through a comparison with JB 2.269-72; the story of the brahmin Yavakrī.172 This man used to take advantage of his brahmanical status and power for having whatever woman he wanted; “Whomever he called upon would make love to him and then die; and who did not make love to him would also die”.173 (This easily reminds one of Ūrṇāyu’s ability, though in a more sinister form.) One day he called in this way upon the wife of the brahmin Yajñavacas Rājastambāyana. When her husband later found her ornamented and crying, prepared to make love to Yavakrī and then die, he performed a fire sacrifice; and from the oblation rose an apsaras in the likeness of the wife. She was sent to Yavakrī in the wife’s place. As they were about to have intercourse, the apsaras started giggling and showed the brahmin the hairy soles of her feet (lomaśau … adhastāt pādāv), thus revealing her true nature (cf. the “hairy boy” of AV 4.37.11, donning a pleasant guise before
169 An “Asita Dhānva” is mentioned as the leader of asuras in ŚB 13.4.3.11; one line in JB 3.197 implies that his kin are rakṣases. 170 atha asito dhāmnya īrṣyur āsa. tasya hāntarikṣe prāsāda āsa. For the entire story, see Caland 1970, pp. 269-70; O’Flaherty 1985, p. 95. 171 See references in Hopkins 1915, p. 157; Böhtlingk & Roth 1855-75, s.v. gandharvanagara, gandharvapura. The term does not appear in Vedic, though the Ṣaḍviṃśa Brāhmaṇa, 6.8.13, mentions a “palace in the sky” (ākāśe rājakulaṃ) in a list of bad omens; Sāyaṇa glosses this as gandharvanagara-. Might the “golden palace” (hiraṇyavimitāni) of the gandharvas and apsarases, appearing before Purūravas in ŚB 11.5.1.11, be related to the later conception? 172 Cf. Caland 1970, pp. 190-94; O’Flaherty 1985, pp. 105-11. (The version edited and translated by Caland is somewhat shorter than the one in Vira and Chandra’s edition, and leaves out some of the passages discussed here.) 173 sa ha sma yām acchābrūte yā ha smainaṃ kāmayate mriyate ha sma, yo ha smainaṃ na kāmayate mriyata u eva. (2.269.) Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 61 women 174 ); meanwhile, Yajñavacas had been performing another offering, this time producing “a jealous (īrṣyu-) gandharva with an iron axe in his hand”.175 “He [Yajñavacas] said to him, ‘That wife of yours has gone to Yavakrī!’”;176 and so the gandharva went there, finding the brahmin in bed with the apsaras. Terrified, Yavakrī asked him about some penance (prāyaścitta-) to atone for his offense; the gandharva told him to cut the heads off all his and his father’s cattle before sunrise. Yavakrī did not survive the night; he was, according to the text, either killed by the gandharva, or by a local carpenter who wanted to put an end to the outrageous cattle-slaughter. There are a few hints in the text that seem to imply that Yavakrī was in fact possessed, or perhaps was so in an earlier version; people seeing him behead his cattle are said to have told each other, “Yavakrī has gone insane!” (adr̥ pad yavakrīr) – gandharvas and apsarases were, of course, believed to be responsible for mental illness in people – and his father then replied that his son seemed to be “driven by gods” (deveṣito).177 What is important for the present discussion is the fact that the gandharva is described as īrṣyu-, jealous, and that it is jealousy that drives him to take Yavakrī’s life; apparently, Yajñavacas could not simply produce a gandharva and command him to kill Yavakrī, but had first to make his enemy cohabitate with an apsaras, thereby provoking the gandharva’s wrath. The motif of the gandharvas’ jealousy is also present in the famous legend of Purūravas and the apsaras Urvaśī, as told in the ŚB
174 Though references to an ugly, “true” form of the (usually handsome) gandharvas and apsarases are rare, enticing and seductive beings of folklore often are, partly or at some times, ugly or hairy; even when appearing in a beautiful guise, lower parts of the body (which are hidden under clothes) are said to be hairy. Thus the forest nymph of Scandinavian and German beliefs is depicted as a beautiful woman bent on seducing wanderers, but can be recognized by her having furry legs, a tail, or goat’s feet (Mannhardt 1875, p. 95 n. 1, 128ff). In Arabian and Jewish legend, the beautiful queen of Sheba, being the daughter of a jinni and a mortal man, was recognized as such by king Solomon, who tricked her into lifting her skirts and revealing her hairy feet (see, e.g., al-Tha’labī and al-Kisā’ī, transl. in Lassner 1993, pp. 188ff, 208ff). 175 hāyaḥkūṭahastaṃ gandharvam īrṣyum (2.270). What follows is part of the motif of “the shattered head” (Witzel 1987), wherein an offender is threatened with having his head split open by a supernatural being. 176 [a]sau te jāyā yavakrīyam abhyagāt. 177 The very same word is used for the possessed muni- of RV 10.136, for which see more below. 62 Per-Johan Norelius
(11.5.1). This is, basically, the traditional tale of a mortal man espousing a supernatural woman, only to lose her after breaking some taboo;178 but it also appears to reveal much regarding the nature of the gandharvas and apsarases. The “taboo” in this story is laid down by the apsaras when she agrees to live with Purūravas: if he would ever show himself naked to her, she would leave him.179 When Urvaśī had lived with Purūravas for a while, and had become pregnant, “the Gandharvas said to one another, ‘For a long time, indeed, has this Urvaśī dwelt among men: devise ye some means how she may come back to us.’”180 In the night, they robbed away a sheep that was tied to Urvaśī’s bedstead; the apsaras called for Purūravas to go after the thieves, and as he hurried out in the night without putting on any clothes, the gandharvas caused a lightning-flash to light up the place and reveal the undressed Purūravas to his wife. (This event is already alluded to in v. 3 of the dialogue between Purūravas and Urvaśī in RV 10.95.) The apsaras consequently disappeared. Purūravas, having “wandered all over Kurukṣetra” in his sorrow, eventually came upon his lost wife as she and other apsarases were sporting in a pond in the shapes of water-birds; after several attempts at persuading her to return to him (the dialogue is derived from RV 10.95), he is told to return to the place after one year has lapsed. When he returns, a golden palace (hiraṇyavimitāni) has appeared on the spot; Purūravas is there met by Urvaśī, who declares, ‘To-morrow morning the Gandharvas will grant thee a boon, and thou must make thy choice.’ He said, ‘Choose thou for me!’ She replied, ‘Say, Let me be one of yourselves!’ In the morning the Gandharvas granted him a boon; and he said, ‘Let me be one of yourselves!’181 (11.5.1.12, transl. Eggeling.) The gandharvas then instruct Purūravas on how to perform a fire- sacrifice, which makes him one of them and allows him to reunite with his wife.
178 Cf. Aarne-Thompson No. 400: “The Man on a Quest for his Lost Wife.” 179 “Originally”, it may have been the apsaras who was not to be seen in her true form, as comparative folklore (e.g., the story of Cupid and Psyche) suggests; thus Oldenberg 1894, p. 253, Keith 2007, p. 183. 180 ŚB 11.5.1.2, transl. Eggeling (transliteration modernized). 181 gandharvā vai te prātar varaṃ dātāras taṃ vṛṇāsā iti taṃ vai me tvam eva vṛṇīṣveti yuṣmākam evaiko 'sānīti brūtād iti tasmai ha prātar gandharvā varaṃ daduḥ sa hovāca yuṣmākam evaiko 'sānīti. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 63
The gandharvas here appear as a group that does not want their women to establish long-term relationships with outsiders, or at least not with mortals.182 (Though preventing such relationships must have been quite a task, considering the well-known licentiousness of the apsarases.) They break up Purūravas and Urvaśī’s relationship because they think she has dwelt too long among mortals; when the apsaras finally gives in to Purūravas’ pleadings and agrees to take him back, he is told that he first has to become one of the gandharvas. Even if the story’s happy ending, which is not alluded to in RV 10.95, should be considered a late, brahmanical addition reflecting the priestly sacrificial ideology, 183 it nonetheless appears to tell us something about the conception of the gandharvas: though both they and (at least in post-Vedic mythology) the apsarases frequently indulge in fleeting relationships with humans, they seem to marry exclusively within their own group. This is well in keeping with the epic legends which have apsarases consorting for a while with mortal kings and heroes, only to later abandon them and the children that usually are the outcome of the relationship. Only in paradise, it seems, are the pious deceased – and especially heroes slain in battle – actually married to apsarases, 184 though this theme, too, may be a late 185 development; it appears first in late Vedic texts. The case of Purūravas is similar: he is not accepted as a proper husband of Urvaśī until he himself has become a gandharva and joined their numbers in heaven. A late expression of the belief in the gandharvas’ dangerous jealousy is found in the Virāṭaparvan – the fourth book of the Mahābhārata.186 As the five Pāṇḍava heroes and their wife Draupadī, during their last year in exile, live disguised as servants at the court of king Virāṭa, Draupadī – who has donned the guise of a maidservant (? sairaṃdhrī-) and, pretending to be unmarried, worries about her beauty attracting men – seeks to scare away suitors by claiming to be
182 But apparently not with several gandharvas, as their relationships are usually promiscuous; see below. 183 Cf. Oldenberg 1894, p. 254 n.1; Keith 2007, p. 183; for a different opinion: Geldner in Pischel and Geldner 1889, p. 259. 184 Cf. the materials in Hara 2001; cf. Hopkins, pp. 161, 163. Note that in Mbh 11.26.13, the slain heroes are said to join the gandharvas. 185 It is first foreshadowed in JB 1.42, 44, and Kauṣītaki Upaniṣad 1.4. 186 Cf. van Buitenen 1978 for a complete translation. 64 Per-Johan Norelius married to five bellicose gandharvas. These supernatural husbands will not tolerate any man making approaches to her: I am not to be obtained by Virāṭa, nor by any other man at all. I have for husbands five youthful gandharvas, O splendid one, sons of a certain glorious gandharva king. They always protect me; so I am dangerous to approach … The man who covets me like other, lowborn women, he will that very night enter another body [i.e., die].187 Later on, she is forcefully approached by the king’s commander, Kīcaka, who doesn’t heed her warnings about the wrath of the gandharva husbands. She eventually has one of her real husbands, Bhīma, secretly kill the harasser, squeezing him into a ball with his bare hands; Draupadī then declares to everyone that this was done by the jealous gandharvas. After Kīcaka’s vengeful kinsmen are similarly slain by Bhīma for assaulting Draupadī, the king wants her to leave the court for everyone’s safety, but has his queen telling her this, not daring to do so himself – as a man – for fear of the gandharvas (4.23.8-10).
Weddings and initiations: the gandharva and rites de passage
A similar struggle for women as seen in these tales may be pointed out in the myth of the bartering of the soma: the gandharvas ask the gods for Vāc – not in her function as goddess of sacred speech, but simply as an object of enjoyment – but are made to promise (in the ŚB version) not to restrain her against her will (as they may have been prone to do with their women; cf. the three-headed gandharva in JB). The competition for her ends with their defeat and Vāc’s return to the gods. There is some evidence that connects this myth with the notion of the gandharvas’ right to a girl before her marriage, and their unwillingness to let go of her even after the wedding. The late Vedic wedding-hymn recorded in the Kāṭhaka Gṛhyasūtra has some stanzas that are based on the myth, speaking of the goddess who is being evoked by two contending parties:
187 Mbh 4.8.27-28, 30: nāsmi labhyā virāṭena na cānyena kathaṃ cana/ gandharvāḥ patayo mahyaṃ yuvānaḥ pañca bhāmini// putrā gandharvarājasya mahāsattvasya kasya cit/ rakṣanti te ca māṃ nityaṃ duḥkhācārā tathā nv aham// … yo hi māṃ puruṣo gṛdhyed yathānyāḥ prākṛtastriyaḥ/ tām eva sa tato rātriṃ praviśed aparāṃ tanum//. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 65
We, both gods and gandharvas, call upon you together in contest. Go to those of them (us) whom you desire, Sarasvatī! (The goddess:) “I turn to the gods, I desire those who sing. Women desire him who sings, not the one who utters a bráhman.”188 The gandharvas and apsarases are mentioned throughout the hymn; in the half-verse immediately preceding the verses quoted (v. 18c-d), the singer (that is, the bridegroom) refers to his own “gandharva with the head” – the male organ – which wins over the bride for him: “May the gandharva with the head make you stay with me.”189 The Vādhūla Śrautasūtra’s account of the contest for Vāc follows, word for word, the version given in TS 6.1.6.6; the only difference being that it includes four stanzas from the above- mentioned wedding-hymn. This is the more interesting as the prose- text from TS makes explicit mention of marriage. I quote here the relevant part of the Vādhūla text: The gandharvas uttered a sacred formula (brahman); the gods sang. “Those people who existed formerly”, was the sacred formula the gandharvas uttered; “Those who formerly brought weal to them – for them the gandharva with the head gave heat before the gods. Those people who existed formerly, before the former ones – the one with the head, the son of Subhrū (?), also gave heat for them before the sun.” “The one first choice of women”, was the song (gāthā-) that the gods sang, “in which is found this entire world – that song will I sing today, that which is the highest glory of women. Support this one, fortunate Sarasvatī, rich in rewards! We sing to you, prior to all existence!” She turned to the singing gods. Therefore women desire one who sings; women become desirous of him who knows thus.190
188 ubhaye tvā devagandharvāḥ sadhryañco vihvayāmahe/ teṣāṃ yatarāv kāmayase tān abhyehi sarasvati// abhyāvarte ‘haṃ devān gāyataḥ kāmayāmahe/ gāyantaṃ striyaḥ kāmayante na tathā brahmavādinam//. (19-20; text from Caland 1929, p. 311.) 189 mūrdhanvā́ m̐ s tvā gandharvó mā́ m abhíniyacchatu. 190 Text and discussion in Caland 1928, pp. 157ff: brahma gandharvā avadann agāyan deva, ye ha pūrve janā āsur iti brahma gandharvā avadan yebhyaḥ pūrvevaho hitam/ śīrṣaṇvām̐ s tebhyo gandharvaḥ puro devebhya ātapat// ye ha pūrve janā āsuḥ pūrve pūrvaratarebhyaḥ/ mūrdhanvām̐ s tebhyaḥ saubhruvaḥ purā sūryād utātapad iti yā strīṇāṃ varyetīti gāthāṃ devā agāyan yasyāṃ viśvam idaṃ jagat/ tām adya gāthāṃ gāsyāmi yā strīṇām uttamaṃ yaśaḥ// sarasvati predam ava subhage vājinīvati/ tāṃ tvā viśvasya bhūtasya pragāyāmasy agrata iti. sā devān gāyata upāvartata tasmād gāyantam̐ striyaḥ kāmayante, kāmukā enaṃ striyo bhavanti ya evaṃ veda. 66 Per-Johan Norelius
The TS text concludes: “So if there is in a family one person who knows thus, men give their daughters in wedlock to that family, even if there be other (wooers) in plenty.”191 All these stanzas appear, though in a different order, in the hymn in KGS. While the Vādhūla text presents some of them as a (profane) song, gāthā, and the others as a bráhman or sacred formula, they are in fact all, as Caland noted,192 part of the same wedding-song. He also pointed out193 that the association of the myth with weddings appears already in MS 3.7.3, which concludes its version of the story with the following words: Therefore a song is sung at a wedding. Therefore one who sings is dear to a woman. That is why one knowing thus, singing a song, marries [lit. “grasps the hand (of the bride)”]. Then the two (the married couple) age together. They live their whole lifespan. They do not get into difficulty.194 While this dimension of the myth is no doubt secondary, it is thus, nonetheless, very old. It appears from the wedding-hymn that the bride was thought of as the object of a struggle between two parties, here referred to as gods and gandharvas. We may point here again to the belief recorded in AV 14.2.9, that the gandharvas and apsarases, hiding in trees, sought to attack the wedding-procession. Vasilkov195 has suggested that this notion may be connected with a custom known from several societies, in which, at a wedding, a mock-battle between two contending parties is fought over the bride. There would, in that case, have been people present who impersonated the gandharvas and apsarases. Vasilkov believes that these people are to be recognized in the “long-haired people” (keśíno jánā) and “young sisters” (jāmáyo … yuvatáyo), dancing in the bride’s house and wailing over her departure, who are mentioned in the same hymn (14.2.59-61). These have some characteristics in common with the gandharvas and apsarases – youthfulness, dancing, long hair (for which see below).
191 [a]tho yá eváṃ vidvā́ n ápi jányeṣu bhávati tébhya evá dadaty utá yád bahútayāḥ. (TS 6.1.6.6, transl. Keith.) 192 Caland 1929; 1928, p. 159. 193 Caland 1928, p. 158. Cf. Ludvik 1998, p. 349. 194 tásmād vivāhé gā́ thā gīyate tásmād gā́ yant striyā́ ḥ priyás. tád yá eváṃ vidvā́ n gā́ thāṃ gā́ yan hastáṃ gr̥ hṇā́ ti sáṃ hí jī́ryataḥ sárvam ā́ yur ito nā́ rtiṃ nī́tas. (Transl. Ludvik, ibid.; brackets mine.) 195 Vasilkov 1990, p. 395. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 67
Who, then, are these people? Vasilkov’s study suggests a connection between the gandharvas and apsarases of mythology and age-set groups of young boys and girls who have not yet entered the adult, married life. The bride would have belonged to such a group before her marriage; thus the notion that she used to be married to the gandharva(s). This assumption may find some support in the stanzas 14.2.59-61, which seem to imply that the bride used to be one among the “dancing” youths who are now wailing: If these long-haired people have danced together in your house, doing evil through wailing – may Agni and Savitṛ release you from that sin! If this daughter of yours has wailed with dishevelled hair in your house, doing evil through wailing (etc.). If these young sisters have danced together in your house, doing evil through wailing (etc.).196 The word jāmí-, “sister”, used for the young women (yuvatáyo) in v. 61, is of interest; when Viśvāvasu is implored, in the same hymn (v. 33), to leave the bride, he is told to “seek out a sister (jāmí-) who, [though] mature, dwells in her father’s house; that is your share by birth – seek it out!”197 But in the two following stanzas (34-5), he is instead implored to return to the apsarases, who are his “kin” (janítram; 35) and his “wives” (jāyā́ ; 36). The imprecation to leave the mortal woman to her husband and go to his own wives, the apsarases, occurs, as we have seen, elsewhere in AV. There thus seems to be a parallelism between the apsarases and the unmarried young women who are considered to belong to the gandharva(s). Vasilkov suggests that jāmí- was the designation for those unmarried girls who belonged to the youth-societies. There can be no doubt as to the fact that unmarried girls were considered “wives” of the gandharva(s); and, as we have seen, propitiatory offerings to Viśvāvasu or the gandharvas in general were performed either when the girl entered marriageable age, or before they were married off. The evidence for unmarried young men being
196 (Transl. partly following Whitney.) yádīmé keśíno jánā gr̥ hé te samánartiṣū ródena kr̥ ṇvánto 'ghám/ agníṣ ṭvā tásmād énasaḥ savitā́ ca prá muñcatām// yádīyáṃ duhitā́ táva vikeśy árudad gr̥ hé ródena kr̥ ṇvaty aghám/ agníṣ ṭvā tásmād énasaḥ savitā́ ca prá muñcatām// yáj jāmáyo yád yuvatáyo gr̥ hé te samánartiṣū ródena kr̥ ṇvatī́r aghám/ agníṣ ṭvā tásmād énasaḥ savitā́ ca prá muñcatām//. 197 jāmím icha pitr̥ ṣádaṃ nyàktāṃ sá te bhāgó janúṣā tásya viddhi. 68 Per-Johan Norelius connected to this kind of beings is sparser. Conceivably, the bamboo- staff which is handed over to the snātaka-, the graduated Veda- student, and which is addressed with the words, “Thou art the gandharva Viśvāvasu; protect thou me, guard thou me”198 (Jaimini Gṛhyasūtra 1.19; transl. Caland), may once have had some function cognate to the girl’s offerings to the gandharva; the student, freed from his vow of celibacy (brahmacarya-) and entering the life of a married householder (gṛhastha-), is in a position similar to the girl who is about to marry, finding himself between two major life-stages. The gandharva’s role as a being of transfer, responsible also for safely establishing the bride in her new home, may be of importance here too. I would suggest, with some caution, that the single gandharva of old Vedic times filled the function of a tutelary deity of young boys and girls who had not yet entered the adult, settled life. This single gandharva seems to have lived on in the – generally conservative – domestic ritual of the Gṛhyasūtras: it is to be noted that it is frequently the original gandharva, Viśvāvasu who appears in connection with the rites of passage preceding marriage or at the end of studentship; only occasionally is he given the qualifying epithet gandharvarāja-, as if to show why he, among all gandharvas, appears alone in this role. Vasilkov has put forward the theory that the gandharvas and apsarases were seen as the celestial counterparts of the youths living together in a “men’s house”, known from many tribal societies, where they indulged in promiscuous relationships. The unmarried girls serving the young men as objects of their common enjoyment (an institution also known from ancient Iran) would correspond to the apsarases, who are indeed frequently described as celestial courtesans in the classical literature. My own interpretation, as given above, is slightly different, and attempts to pin down the “original” function of the single Vedic gandharva, as reflected not least in the later domestic ritual; but I think Vasilkov has collected enough evidence (to be discussed below) to establish a connection between the gandharvas and the “men’s societies” of Vedic times. Conceivably, this is a later development; the single gandharva of the RV and parts of the AV is more likely to have been a tutelary deity of the pubescent youths, rather than identified with them. This is also the picture given by the
198 gandharvo ‘si viśvāvasuḥ; sa mā pāhi, sa mā gopāyeti. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 69 domestic rites. The exact relationship between the gandharva(s) and the “men’s societies” is, however, difficult to decide on due to the scarce information we have on this kind of institution in ancient India. What can be ascertained is, first of all, that a “men’s house” can be identified in the oft-mentioned sabhā- or “assembly hall”;199 second, that this sabhā is fairly clearly put in connection with gandharvas, as well as prostitutes. Before proceeding with a survey of Vasilkov’s evidence, some words should be said on the nature of the Vedic sabhā. Well known from Vedic and epic literature to have been an exclusively male assembly hall with various functions – one of the most prominent being as a gambling hall – we have some very clear statements as to what kind of person used to frequent the sabhā. According to ŚB 13.1.9.8 and Taittirīya Brāhmaṇa 3.8.13.1, the sabhéya- or sabhā-goer is defined as a “young man” (sabheyo yuveti), who is in his first age- span (prathamavayasī); “therefore [because he is a sabheya-], one who is in his first age-span is likely to become loved200 by women”.201 The last statement is important in the light of what we know about the sexual activities in the sabhā, to which we will return later. The young age of the sabheya-, which is confirmed by some other texts,202 is of interest here; this holds especially for the term prathama- or pūrva- vayasin-. As Harry Falk has pointed out,203 the terms pūrva-, madhya-, and uttama-vayasá- (the first, middle, and last age-spans) are used elsewhere in ŚB (12.9.1.8; 12.2.3.4) to distinguish between three periods of a man’s life: during the first of these, he still subsists on his father, though we may conclude from his frequenting the assembly hall and being attractive to women that he is considered an adult. Falk postulates that the term pūrvavayasá- pertains to the years immediately following the end of studentship or brahmacarya-; as this used to last between ages 8 and 16, the pūrvavayasá- would be the last years of adolescence, preceding the man’s entering a settled life. This
199 For the various meanings of Vedic sabhā-, see Rau 1957, pp. 75–81. 200 For uses of the suffix –uka-, cf. Delbrück 2009, pp. 181–182. 201 sabheyo yuveti eṣa vai sabheyo yuvā yaḥ prathamavayasī tasmātprathamavayasī strīṇām priyo bhāvukaḥ. The Taittirīya Brāhmaṇa-passage is identical, except for some slight variations. 202 See Rau, pp. 77–8. 203 Falk 1986, pp. 93–4. 70 Per-Johan Norelius seems, as Falk points out (and here he is followed by Oberlies204), to be the remnant of a very ancient system, closely paralleled in ancient Persia,205 where the student years occurred between ages 7 and 15, followed by the years (15-20) as a “young man”, yuvān mart (cf. yuvan- as a synonym of sabheya-), then adulthood and lastly old age. Furthermore, the years following brahmacarya- also coincide with the young man’s living as a vratacārin-, vrātya- or sattrin-, which terms, as Falk’s study in particular has made clear, denote the member of a sort of Männerbund, subsisting on cattle-rustling while studying the “esoteric” parts of Vedic lore in the wilderness, and frequenting the sabhā-, where they indulged in (ritualistic) dicing, feasting, and promiscuous sexual relationships. This tallies more than well with Vasilkov’s view of the sabhā- as a “men’s house” for youngsters living in a Männerbund, though he doesn’t seem to have taken notice of Falk’s work on the topic. Another important fact is that the sabheya- was always a male; “men go to the sabhā, not women” (MS 4.7.4206). The only women allowed in the assembly hall were courtesans. 207 According to Vādhūla Śrautasūtra 3.93, a woman who was “free to run off to the sabhā” was called sāhā-, and was considered impure from the “heat of mating” (mithunasya … śucā). That women who used to go to the sabhā were not considered respectable is clear also from other texts (e.g., ŚB 1.3.1.21); most well-known, albeit late, is Mbh 2.62.8-9, where, in the context of the fateful game of dice in the sabhā of the Kauravas, Draupadī is dragged into the assembly hall after having been staked and lost. There she complains, “What greater humiliation than that I, a woman of virtue and beauty, now must invade the sabhā? … From of old, we have heard, they do not bring law-minded (dharmyāḥ) women into their hall.” 208 (Transl. van Buitenen, modified.) As protests are raised against her being forcedly led into the hall dressed in a single garment, Karṇa replies, “The Gods have
204 Oberlies 1998, pp. 207ff; cf. 209 for a table showing the life-stages and their defining contents. 205 The Iranian system was described by Widengren (1969, pp. 92–95), to whom Falk also refers. 206 tásmāt púmāṃsaḥ sabhā́ ṃ yánti ná stríyo. 207 Falk, ibid. pp. 90ff. 208 kiṃ tv ataḥ kṛpaṇaṃ bhūyo yad ahaṃ strī satī śubhā/ sabhāmadhyaṃ vigāhe ‘dya … // dharmyāḥ striyaḥ sabhāṃ pūrvaṃ na nayantīti naḥ śrutam/. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 71 laid down that a woman shall have one husband, scion of Kuru. She submits to many men and assuredly is a whore! Thus there is, I think, nothing strange about taking her into the hall, or to have her in one piece of clothing, or for that matter naked!”209 (2.61.35-6; transl. van Buitenen.) Here it appears that a prostitute (bandhakī) – which Draupadī is considered to be, due to her having five husbands – is fit to bring into the sabhā, and that her slight clothing is only proper in this regard; what follows after these words of Karṇa is the famous episode where the Kauravas attempt to strip Draupadī naked, to make her humiliation complete. The people frequenting the sabhā were thus, at least in Vedic times, young men, and courtesans. In this connection, mention should be made of ŚB 13.4.3.7-8, where the gandharvas and apsarases are represented, at the horse sacrifice, by “beautiful young men” and “beautiful young women” (yuvānaḥ/yuvatayaḥ śobhanā). We have already seen that yuvan- earlier in the same book of ŚB is given as a synonym of sabheya-. Intriguing is also the commentary on Śāṅkhāyana Śrautasūtra 16.2.11 (being a quotation from the ŚB passage), where the apsarases’ being represented by “beautiful young women” is explained with the words, “Because no other (women; anyāsām being feminine) enter the sabhā”210 (this being the scene of the sacrificial rite). The apsarases are thus, in the commentator’s mind, defined by their being able to enter a sabhā; and this they have in common with the girls representing them at the ritual. The only reasonable explanation seems to be the view, prominent in the epic and classical literature, of the apsarases as celestial courtesans; a view which also seems to account, as Vasilkov suggests, for the presence of dancing and music-playing apsarases at the sabhās of gods like Indra or Brahmā, receiving the spirits of heroes slain in battle.211 The evidence provided by Vasilkov for a connection between gandharvas and the sabhā is mainly based on materials from the epic,
209 eko bhartā striyā devair vihitaḥ kurunandana/ iyaṃ tv anekavaśagā bandhakīti viniścitā// asyāḥ sabhām ānayanaṃ na citram iti me matiḥ/ ekāmbaradharatvaṃ vāpy atha vāpi vivastratā//. 210 tasyaitāḥ (Eggeling’s emend. tasyaitābhyaḥ) sabhāyām anyāsām apraveśāt. Quoted by Eggeling, n. 2 on ŚB 13.4.3.8. 211 Vasilkov p. 392. For the motif of the apsarases’ receiving – and marrying – the dead heroes in paradise, like the Islamic houris (and, to some extent, the Nordic Valkyries), see Hara 2001. 72 Per-Johan Norelius and thus late; but he also finds some support in Vedic texts. To begin with the epic part: Vasilkov notes a parallelism between the episode in the gambling hall in book 2, and the events at the court of Virāṭa in the beginning of book 4. In the latter episode, the exiled Pāṇḍava princes and their common wife live in disguise at the court of a foreign king; Draupadī, posing as a chambermaid, attempts to avert any sexual approaches by claiming to be the wife of five mighty, jealous gandharvas, but is nonetheless courted by the king’s marshal, Kīcaka. When rejected, the enraged marshal chases her into the royal sabhā and beats her up (4.15.6ff). After this, Draupadī invites him to a nightly meeting in the royal “dancing hall” (nartanāgāra-), where girls learn dancing by day, but which is empty at night – yet there is a large bed there. When Kīcaka arrives in the dancing hall, he is met, not by Draupadī, but by Bhīma, the strongest of her husbands, who has been hiding in the bed; he kills Kīcaka by pushing his limbs into his trunk, a deed which Draupadī, when later questioned, attributes to her enraged gandharva husbands. Vasilkov suggests that the dancing hall, where erotic activity seems to take place at night, is to be compared to the “common dormitories” found in the young men’s houses in many tribal societies; he also believes that the somewhat unusual term sairaṃdhrī- used for Draupadī’s profession at the court, while meaning “chambermaid” in later Sanskrit, should be understood as a euphemism for the similar-sounding word sādhāraṇī-, “common (to several men)”. The wife of the five gandharvas would thus have been considered a prostitute, and her running away from Kīcaka into the sabhā, which she in book 2 considered it shameful for a woman to enter, would here be natural: “this time her appearance in the sabhā created no scandal, evidently the <
212 Ibid. p. 394. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 73 hymns (AV 20.136; RVKh 5.22), of highly obscene content and believed to have been employed in some fertility rite, depicts the mahānagnī in the act of cohabitation with a male counterpart, the mahānagna- (mentioned only here). Presumably, the ritual context may have been comparable to the copulation act forming part of the mahāvrata rite, where a prostitute (puṃścalī-) had intercourse with a man from Magadha.213 In the AiB account, the mahānagnā goddess is clearly given away to the, plural, gandharvas as an object of their common sexual enjoyment; she is thus comparable to Draupadī in the dicing episode of Mbh 2, who is, first of all, married to several men; second, is called a “whore” for this reason; and lastly, is dragged half- dressed into the sabhā, where the Kauravas then try to strip her entirely – make her “stark naked”, like the mahānagnā. Draupadī’s posing as the wife of several gandharvas in book 4 makes the parallelism to AiB 1.27 even more striking. And in both episodes, a sabhā – known to have been the scene of sexual activity between adolescent males and prostitutes – plays an important part. Vasilkov points out that there seems to be a connection between the mahānagnā and unmarried young women in the wedding-hymns AV 14.1-2; in the first of these, there is a prayer (vs. 35-36) for the bride to be bestowed with the splendor (varcas-) of “the hind-parts of the mahānagnā”, as well as from liquor (surā-) and dice. The last two items are, as Vasilkov notes, prominent elements in the activity in the sabhā (as a gambling hall and scene of feasting);214 and so are prostitutes. The blessing, he suggests, is meant to let the bride, who is leaving the adolescent life behind her, carry with her the best things of the sabhā, where she would previously have been among the girls serving the young men as concubines.215 A connection between gandharvas and the assembly hall is also pointed out in the episode of Arjuna’s visit to Indra’s heaven in book 3, where the hero enters the god’s sabhā, which is filled with singing,
213 Cf. Hauer 1927, pp. 274–78; Rolland 1972, pp. 64–7. 214 Ibid. p. 391; for surā- in the sabhā, cf. Falk 1986, pp. 89f. 215 Vasilkov, p. 393, writes that, “in the next hymn (AV. XIV.2) it is the apsarases who are asked to turn over to the bride their varcas”, thus suggesting a parallelism between these beings and the mahānagnā. However, I have been unable to find such a prayer either in the hymn referred to or in the preceding one (14.1); at best, the gandharvas and apsarases are asked to be “good”, not harmful, to the wedding procession, and Viśvāvasu is implored to return to his wives, the apsarases. 74 Per-Johan Norelius music-playing and dancing gandharvas and apsarases. At Indra’s behest, Arjuna is further given dancing lessons by the gandharva Citrasena. Noting that dancing is considered a manly sport in many societies – no doubt even in the r̥ gvedic one, where we find warrior- gods like Indra and the Maruts depicted as dancers – Vasilkov suggests that the Mbh tale reflects an initiation into the “men’s house”, where the adolescent boys were taught the skills and knowledge befitting an adult man. When Arjuna later rejects the sexual invitations of the apsaras Urvaśī, and is cursed by her to be deprived of his virility, this is interpreted as a failed sexual initiation; in the “men’s house”, the boys would learn about sex through relationships with courtesans; by not taking part in these, they would not attain real manhood, and would be considered like impotent. According to Vasilkov, the promiscuous relationships associated with the sabhā would explain the concept of “gandharva marriages”, which has been described above. He further suggests that the origin of classical Skt. gaṇikā-, “courtesan”, is to be sought in the gaṇas (“hosts”), which is the common term by which the ancient sodalities or Männerbünde were referred to in Vedic and later literature;216 a
216 “The word gaṇa is used in the Vedas mostly for the host of the Maruts, the young warriors <
While not suggesting that each and every trait in the conception of gandharvas and apsarases can be explained with reference to their connection with adolescence and the “men’s house”, I do believe such a connection to be well established, and a likely explanation for some of these traits. This holds for the frequent association between apsarases and dicing (this being one of the most prominent activities in the sabhā); some similar association on the part of the gandharvas might possibly be implied in the name of the “Kali gandharvas” (AV 10.10.13; JB 1.154-55).217 As (decent) women were barred from the gambling hall, it seems remarkable that the female apsarases are to be found there, presiding over the dicing. Considering the traditional conception of these deities as celestial courtesans, however, this fact becomes less remarkable. Promiscuous sexual activity was most certainly an established part of life in the sabhā;218 and so were amusements such as dancing, feasting, and drinking. Telling is the association of the sabhā with the rare words naríṣṭ(h)ā- and narmá- in AV 7.12.2 and VS 30.6. The former passage – occurring in an invocation of the sabhā and the samiti- (“assembly”) – runs, “We know your name, O Sabhā – Naríṣṭā is your name!”219 A hint of what naríṣṭā- might be is provided by AV 11.8.24, where the word appears among a number of feelings and activities entering Man upon his creation by the gods: various forms of joy and pleasure (ānandā́ módāḥ pramúdo 'bhīmodamúdaś), laughter (hasó), and dance (nr̥ ttā́ ni). The word was rendered as “sport” by Whitney, “mirth” by Bloomfield. In VS 30.6, TB 3.4.1.2 (dealing with the human sacrifice, where various deities and abstract powers are assigned victims with different professions), it appears again together with the same or similar terms: “To Dance, a bard (sūta-); to Song, an actor (? śailūṣa-
217 The name would thus be connected with káli-, the losing throw in the dice game (and the demon of gambling in the epic). The accent is not the same; yet the connection has been considered by Mayrhofer and others (see Mayrhofer s.v. kalí-, with references). 218 Falk, pp. 90ff. 219 vidmá te sabhe nā́ ma naríṣṭā nā́ ma vā́ asi. 76 Per-Johan Norelius
220); to Dharma, a sabhā-goer; to Nariṣṭhā, a formidable one (bhīmala- ); to Narma, a panegyrist (rebha-); to Laughter, an artisan; to Sexual Pleasure (ānanda-), a womanizer; to Joy, a bastard; to Intelligence, a chariot-maker; to Firmness, a carpenter.”221 In VS 30.20, on the other hand, narma- is assigned a harlot (puṃścalū-). The mention of a sabhācara- in the list is certainly interesting; his association with the seemingly out-of-place deity Dharma is to be attributed to the assembly hall’s well-known function as a court of justice.222 The words nariṣṭhā- and narma- are, as has long been recognized, to be derived from the same root and would have similar meanings; the latter is probably not to be separated from classical Skt. narman-, “joke”. The same root nṛ- or nar- appears in ṛgvedic nṛtí-, which also occurs next to hása- “laughter” in RV 10.18.3. 223 A suggested correspondence between the root nṛ- and nṛt- “to dance” is now commonly rejected, 224 and Kuiper has instead suggested a meaning “to be manly”, and approximate translations of the two derivative words as “manifestation of strength” or “manifestation of one’s social prestige”. This “manifestation” could take the form of dance (as said, a most manly sport in many societies), festivities, and sports in the ritualized milieu of the sabhā; the assigning of a bhīmala- to the abstract Nariṣṭhā points to the prestige placed in the mastering of such activities. Kuiper stresses the ritualistic, contest nature of these activities – the sabhā also being the scene of (ritualistic) dice games and verbal contests – and is no doubt right that we shouldn’t take “dance” etc. as mere forms of frolicking around, though he may arguably be downplaying the amusement aspect a bit. In any case, the association of the sabhā with words denoting a manifestation of manly strength is certainly fitting for a “men’s house”, where the young boys learnt the “manly” arts and sports. It is now largely accepted that age-group societies consisting of young men – a form of Männerbünde – existed in Proto-Indo-Iranian
220 The meaning of the word in Vedic times is not certain. Note that Śailūṣa appears as the name of a gandharva prince in the epics (Böhtlingk & Roth, s.v.). 221 nr̥ ttā́ ya sūtáṃ gītā́ ya śailūṣáṃ dhármāya sabhācaráṃ naríṣṭhāyai bhīmaláṃ narmā́ ya rebhám̐ hásāya kā́ rim ānandā́ ya strīṣukháṃ pramáde kumārīputráṃ medhā́ yai rathakāráṃ dháiryāya tákṣāṇam. I must admit that I don’t know what the last two “deities” and their victims are doing in this enumeration. 222 Rau, pp. 80-81. 223 Kuiper 1960, p. 275. 224 Ibid.; Mayrhofer 1986, s.v. narmá-. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 77 times, and that their members were designated as *marya-, lit. “young man”, secondarily “warrior”. They seem to have been bellicose groups subsisting on raids and cattle-rustling. The word márya- fell into disuse in post-ṛgvedic times, but it now seems established through studies like those of Bollée (1981) and Falk (1986) that the “sodalities” (Bollée) lived on throughout the Vedic period, and probably longer. The most likely candidates when we look for inheritors of the máryas, are undoubtedly the vrātyas or “vow-takers”. Long believed to have belonged outside the boundaries of Vedic culture proper, being associated with rites and customs considered impure by the authors of the sacrificial texts, the vrātyas are now225 considered to have formed an important part of a Vedic age-group system; according to Falk, they were Veda-students who had completed their brahmacarya- and now spent a few years in sodalities, living in the wilderness (araṇya-) and studying the “esoteric” parts (āraṇyaka-, the “wilderness-lore”) of the sacred knowledge while subsisting on raiding neighbouring territories. (This lore included, i.a., the sattra and pravargya rites.) They were certainly closely associated with the sabhā (which was located in the wilderness, outside the village boundaries) and the ritualistic dice- game that took place there;226 as well as to courtesans – those women who were allowed in the sabhā, first of all, but also – through the mahāvrata ritual – to the puṃścalī- or harlot (cf. AV 15.2) who performed an obscene dialogue with a brahmacārin, followed by ritualistic intercourse with a man from Magadha. Now, it is certainly interesting to find the gandharvas and apsarases, in the context of the human sacrifice, being assigned – a vrātya (VS 30.8, TB 3.4.5.5). Though such a direct connection is, to my knowledge, limited to this passage, the (as I think, well established) association of the gandharvas with adolescence and the sabhā makes it difficult to reject it as simply ad hoc. That men’s societies across the globe have been posing as representatives or embodiments of spirits or ancestors is well-known from ethnography, and this appears to have been the case also among several Indo-European peoples.227
225 Heesterman 1962; Falk 1986. 226 This is the main subject of Falk’s study. 227 See Kershaw 2000 for a survey of old and newer studies; cf. also Oberlies 1998, pp. 206ff. 78 Per-Johan Norelius
It may be noted in this regard that there is some kind of connection, pointed out by several scholars,228 between gandharvas and the sage Keśin (or Baka) Dārbhya, likely to be identical with the “shaman” Keśin (“the long-haired one”) of RV 10.136, who travels “along the course of the apsarases and gandharvas and the wild animals”. This Keśin Dārbhya also has clear affinities to the vrātyas and the (with them closely associated229) sattra sacrifice,230 which he, for instance, teaches to the gandharvas and apsarases in MS 1.4.12, and which is in AVP 2.52.1 said to have been instituted by “the keśins”. Indeed, the last verses of the vrātyastoma are called keśinīḥ according to JB 2.226, which is explained by the fact that vrātyas “keep themselves with long hair” (keśair iva hy ete caranti). 231 Elsewhere, Keśin has a group of followers called keśinīḥ (ŚB 11.8.4.6) or kaiśinīḥ (Vādhūla Śrautasūtra 4.37); and in older times these appear to have been called simply by the plural keśinaḥ, “keśins”.232 As Falk and others have noted,233 long hair is a very common characteristic of young males in age-group societies,234 and both brahmacārins and vrātyas let their hair and beards grow long. Long hair is also typical for the gandharvas, who, as we have seen,
228 Koskikallio 1995; Deeg 1993, pp. 107, 114-115. In JB 3.312, Keśin Dārbhya’s teacher is mentioned as Kabandha Ātharvaṇa; this is precisely the name by which the woman-possessing gandharva of BĀU 3.7.1 presents himself, suggesting that Kabandha is dead but has returned as a gandharva. In Baudhāyana Śrautasūtra 18.26, Keśin and his band of sattrins are associated with a priest named Gandharvāyaṇa Vāleya Āgniveśya, who puts a curse on a rivalling band of vrātyas. 229 “In der ältesten uns faßbaren Zeit gab es kein Sattra ohne nachfolgenden Auszug (vrātyā) und keine Vrātyas, die nicht als Sattrins begonnen hätten … Sattra-Opfer und Vrātya-Wesen trennten sich zur Brāhmaṇa-Zeit und durchliefen eigene Entwicklungen.” (Falk 1986, pp. 30-31.) According to Falk, the distribution of booty from their raids took place at the sattras. 230 Heesterman 1962, p. 16; Falk 1986, pp. 18, 40, 55, 59, 69; Koskikallio 1995. 231 Less likely “go about with (long) hair” (Heesterman, ibid.); for the use of car- with the instrumental, cf. Delbrück, pp. 134-5. 232 This plural still appears in KS 30.2 (which talks about “the keśins of Dārbhya”) and ŚB 11.8.4.1, as has been pointed out by Deeg (p. 107), who, however, does not relate this usage to the keśinīḥ. 233 Falk pp. 18, 69ff; Bollée 1981, p. 174; for long-haired vrātyas cf. also Heesterman 1962. 234 For instance, in ancient Iran, whose societies of young warriors were probably historically related to those of India; cf. Widengren 1969, pp. 19, 34–37. Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 79 had their hair arranged into plaits.235 In this connection, a passage from the Jain Sūyagaḍaṃga Sutta (1.7.10) is certainly interesting; as it happens, I came upon it only after finishing the above discussion. I quote here from Jacobi’s translation: Men die as embryos, or as babies who do not yet talk, or who do so already; other men, as boys wearing five tufts of hair (paṃcasihā, Skt. pañcasikha-), or as youths, or in the middle age; at the expiration of their life all leave the body and die.236 (Jacobi 2004 [1895].) Pañcaśikha is, as we have seen, the name of a prominent gandharva (cf. already the śikhaṇḍín- of AV), and wearing five plaits is a characteristic also ascribed to apsarases.237 In the passage quoted, pañcaśikha- clearly designates an adolescent boy; the commentator Śīlāṅka glosses it as kumāra-, “boy, youngling”. A similar hairstyle seems to have been customary among the ancient Tamils, though in this case, amongst girls: “Many girls had their hair done into five plaits. After marriage the plaits gave place to a coiffure, known commonly as ‘Koṇḍai’.”238
Concluding remarks
There are some further features of the gandharva mythology which are reminiscent of activities connected with the vrātyas – for example, the mahāvrata- or New Year festival, which is associated with them,239 features music (e.g., from the lute or vīṇā), dance, ritualistic swinging, and cohabitation with a prostitute.240 But a mere enumeration of common characteristics would be futile. What I think can be reasonably well established is a connection between gandharvas and the non-settled life of young males, characterized by activities such as
235 Possibly, already their designation in RV 3.38.6 as “wind-haired” (vāyúkeśa-) – i.e., with windblown hair? – points to this conception. 236 gabbhāi mijjaṃti buyā-‘buyāṇā ṇarā pare paṃcasihā kumārā/ juvāṇagā majjhima theragā ya cayaṃti te āukhae palīṇā//. 237 See above, n. 109. 238 Pillay 1975, p. 303 (cf. 341). Similarly, Vasilkov (p. 394 n.) refers, in connection with the apsarases, to “the custom of Tamil girls to wear five plaits during the season of their love-play with boys in the rice-fields”; the study (in Russian) to which he refers was not accessible to me. 239 As made clear by Hauer 1927, chap. II: “Die Vrātya und das Mahāvrata”. 240 Clearly a sort of vegetation magic. 80 Per-Johan Norelius dancing and feasting, and some which are frequently connected with the sabhā: most notably promiscuity and dicing. As the celibate Veda- student would be unlikely to engage in such activities, the sabhā- attending youth, yuvān, who has completed his brahmacarya- but has not yet married and settled down, is the most likely candidate when we look for an earthly “counterpart” of the gandharvas (as the yuvānaḥ indeed are in ŚB 13.4.3.7). As the vrātyas clearly constituted at least a branch of this age-group, their association with gandharvas, though occasional, seems to be accounted for. As this was also the age when the esoteric parts of Vedic lore were studied in the wilderness, and sacrifices like the sattra- were performed, it would be tempting to connect this with the gandharvas’ well-known knowledge of sacred mysteries (and especially rituals). Summing up the results of this study, it has to be admitted that it is hard to find a single dominating trait that could explain the formation of the mythological being under discussion. The gandharva appears as a mediator (of knowledge, etc.) between heaven and earth; as guardian of the soma in heaven; as a mischievous spirit possessing women and causing insanity and miscarriages; as a fertility deity, etc. An attempt has, however, been made to show that many of these various traits and functions are interconnected; thus, the conception of the gandharva as beautiful, lusty and pleasure-seeking would be befitting a spirit of generation, while at the same time being closely connected with his possessing mortal women. At the basis of the Middle and Late Vedic mythology around gandharvas, it has been argued, is the exchange of sacral knowledge and substances for profane, especially sexual, enjoyment; this exchange takes on the one hand the form of possession of women, on the other, it is enacted in myths such as that of the soma-barter. A similar “intermediary” function of the gandharva, as noticed especially by Oberlies, could arguably explain a fair deal of the myths and rituals involving this kind of being: the transfer of soma to earth, of divine secrets to mortals, of pubescent girls to the married life. It may certainly be responsible for the gandharva’s connection with rites of passage, such as weddings, and his being a sort of guardian deity of pre-married girls and, it seems, boys. Himself of youthful appearance and character, he appears to be especially connected with the “first” or adolescent life-stage (following childhood and studies, and thus a sort of “intermediary” stage before marriage and a settled life). This would Spirit-possession, women, and initiation in Vedic India 81 also explain the gandharvas’ and apsarases’ association with the sabhā, with dice, with vrātyas and with prostitutes. All this being said, it should be clearly stated that the subject is in need of deeper study; as is the entire, rather loose and confusing mythology around gandharvas and apsarases and its development through the ages. Hopefully, the present attempt will be a step in this direction.
Abbreviations and bibliography
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VS: Vājasaneyi-Mādhyandina-Śukla-Yajurveda-Saṃhitā. Ed. with the commentaries of Uvaṭa and Mahīdhara by Jagadīśa Lāl Śāstri. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1999 [1971]. Wayman, Alex, 2002. “The Intermediate-state Dispute in Buddhism.” Buddhist Insight: Essays by Alex Wayman, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, pp. 251–68. [Originally published in Buddhist Studies in Honour of I. B. Horner, Dordrecht: D. Reidel, 1974, pp. 227–37.] West, Martin L., 2007. Indo-European Poetry and Myth. New York: Oxford University Press. Wijesekera, O. H. de A., 1994a. “Vedic Gandharva and Pali Gandhabba.” Buddhist and Vedic Studies: A Miscellany. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, pp. 175-212. [Originally published in University of Ceylon Review 3, 1945, pp. 73–107.] ——— , 1994b: “The Concept of Viññāṇa in Theravāda Buddhism.” Buddhist and Vedic Studies: A Miscellany. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, pp. 103-112. [Originally published in Journal of the American Oriental Society Vol. 84, No. 3 1964, pp. 254– 259.] Windisch, Ernst, 1908. Buddha’s Geburt und die Lehre von der Seelenwanderung. Leipzig: B. G. Teubner. Winternitz, Moritz, 1895. “Nejamesha, Naigamesha, Nemeso.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 27, pp. 149–55. Witzel, Michael, 1987. “The Case of the Shattered Head.” Studien zur Indologie und Iranistik 13-14, pp. 363–415. ——— , 2003: “Linguistic Evidence for Cultural Exchange in Prehistoric Western Central Asia.” Sino-Platonic Papers 129, pp. 1–70. ——— , 2004. “The Ṛgvedic Religious System.” In Arlo Griffiths and Jan E.M. Houben (eds.), The Vedas: Texts, Language & Ritual, Gröningen: Egbert Forsten, pp. 581–636. Zysk, Kenneth G., 2009 [1985]. Medicine in the Veda: Religious Healing in the Veda. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass.
Acta Orientalia 2015: 76, 91–117. Copyright © 2015 Printed in India – all rights reserved ACTA ORIENTALIA ISSN 0001-6483
‘Paṉṉirunāmappāṭṭu’ of Nammāḻvār Dvādaśa-mūrti in Tamil Tradition
Dr Jeyapriya Rajarajan Tamil Nadu, India
Abstract
Dvādaśa is an iconographical concept adumbrated in the Ahirbhudhnya-saṃhitā of the Pāñcarātrāgama. The thought had an impact on the hymns of Nammāḻvār, who deals with the theme in the seventh tirumoḻi of the second ten in Tiruvāymoḻi, known as ‘Paṉṉiru- nāmappāṭṭu’. The article examines the parallels and discordances in Tamil and Sanskrit. The concordance is that both the versions are unanimous in arranging the twelve epithets of Viṣṇu in sequential order. The varṇa (colour pattern) and emblems carried by the Mūrtis present a case for comparison. Dvādaśa seems to have had an impact on the art of Tamilnadu by about the eighth century CE. To explain the impact of literature and philosophy on art, the Nārttāmalai rock- cut images are examined. The article is illustrated with photographic evidence to enhance the notion how literary propositions and philosophical speculations are consummate when compared with art historical evidences. A study of literature vis-à-vis art is emphasized. The “Attachment” attempts the Roman transcription of Tamil hymns, and summary in English.
92 Jeyapriya Rajarajan
Keywords: Āḻvārs, Nammāḻvār, Tiruvāymoḻi, ‘Paṉṉirunāmappāṭṭu’, Pāñcarātra, Ahirbhūdhnya-saṃhitā, Dvādaśa, varṇa “colour”, Nāttāmalai, rock-cut temple, iconography .
Nammāḻvār (shortly Nam “our”) in Tamil Vaiṣṇava tradition comes next to Tirumaṅkkai in as far as the contribution to Indian1 sacred literature is concerned. His works consist of the following hymnal compositions: Tiruvāciriyam (7 hymns), Tiruviruttam (100 hymns), Periya-tiruvantāti (87 hymns) and Tiruvāymoḻi (1,102 hymns). Zvelebil (1974: 107) assigns Nam to the later half of the ninth and early tenth century, exactly 880-930 CE. Nam is by traditional classification brought under the intermediary Āḻvārs2 and dated during the eight-ninth century3. The tendency among Tamil scholars is to assign him various dates ranging from the fifth to the tenth century4. He was known as Māṟan, Caṭakōpaṉ, Caṭāri and Tiruppuḷiyāḻvār. He was by birth a veḷḷāḷa (landlord or serf). He is considered a manifestation of Viṣvaksena, Tamil Cēṉai-mutaliyār. His disciple was Maturakavi 5 , a brāhmaṇa. Born in Kurukūr (modern Āḻvār- tirunakari), a majestic temple of the Nāyaka period is today found in
1 R.K.K. Rajarajan (2014: 1-14) employs the term, ‘Hinduan’. 2 The Āṟāyirappati-Kuruparamparāprapāvam (pp. 8-101) chronicles the list in the following order: Poykai, Pūtam, Pēy, Tirumaḻicai, Kulacēkaraṉ, Periyāḻvār, Āṇṭāḷ, Tonṭaraṭippoṭi, Pāṇ, Maṅkai, Nam and Maturakavi. Maṇavāḷa-māmuṉikal (fourteenth century) ranks Nam fifth in the lineage, next to Maḻicai; the predecessors were Poykai, Pūtam and Pēy: ‘Poykaiyār Pūtattār Pēyār pukaḻ Maḻicai ayyaṉ aruḷ Māṟaṉ…’ (Naiḍu 2012: I, xi). Mythical date for the “twelve” is 4203-2706 BCE (Zvelebil 1974: 91). 3 Totally twelve, the Āḻvārs are brought under three chronological frameworks: Early (e.g. Poykai and Tirumaḻicai - sixth-seventh), Middle (e.g. Nam – seventh-eighth) and Later (e.g. Tirumaṅkai – eighth-ninth century). Vide, Kalidos 1976: 103-106, 1999: 223-24, 2014; Rajarajan 2012: 60-63). 4 Zvelebil’s date 880-930 CE is improbable because it was the high tide of Cōḻa imperialism under Āditya I and and Parāntaka I (871-955). Nāmmāḻvar frequently refers to Teṉṉaṉ (Tiruvāmoḻi 3.4.11, 5.2.11), the Pāṇḍya. Nam’s given name, Māṟaṉ has a Pāṇḍyan root. Zvelebil (1974: 91) dates Nātamuṉi, who codified the Nālāyiram “sometime in the tenth century” that must fall during 930-999 CE. Tradition says (Āṟāyirappaṭi p[p]. 118 [114-26]) the ‘Nālāyiram’ was lost during the time of Nāṭamuṉi. He was destined to discover and codify the hymns by visiting Kurukūr. The 4,000 + hymns could not have mysteriously disappeared within a short range of seventy years. 5 Maturakavi’s nativity is Kōḷur that is close to Kurukūr at a distance of five kms to the east. Dvādaśa-mūrti in Tamil Tradition 93 this city-like-village. Nearby nine divyadeśas are located that are collectively known as Navatiruppati6. By and large the divyadeśas in Kerala (totally thirteen) and the far south of Tamilnāḍu do figure prominently in the hymns of Nam, including Kuṟuṅkuṭi. Nam’s forefathers on the mother’s side hailed from Vaṇparicāram (Malaināḍu-divyadeśa, i.e. ancient Kerala) as mythologies say (Āṟāyirapppati p. 89). The saint’s Tiruvāymoḻi and other three masterpieces are considered the Tamil Caturveda and held in high esteem by Vaiṣṇavas in the Tamil-speaking region of Drāviḍian India. The aim of the present brief communication is neither philosophy nor literary excellence of the Āḻvārs’ hymns. It deals with thirteen hymns in the seventh ten of the second Tiruvāymoḻi that is known as ‘Paṉṉirunāmapppāṭṭu’ (Hymns on Twelve Sacred Names, i.e. Dvādaśa-mūrti) shedding light on Sanskritic sources for comparison.
At the outset it may be noted though Viṣṇu is credited with 1,000 epithets as it may appear in the Viṣṇusahasranāma (‘Śāntiparva’ of the Mahābhārata cf. Mahadevan 1976, Kalidos 2013)7, the Lord’s divyavigraha “sacred icon” or rūpa “forms” are brought under certain categories for iconographical studies (Desai 1973: 1-7), viz., Vyūha – Four: Vāsudeva, Saṃkarṣaṇa, Pradyumna and Anuruddha; cf. VSN-138, 767 Caturvyūhaḥ and VSN-765 Caturmūrtiḥ Avatāras – Ten: Matsya “Fish”, Kūrma “Tortoise”, Varāha “Boar”, Nṛsiṃha “Man-Lion”, Vamana/Trivikrama “Dwarf/Virāṭ”, Paraśurāma “Battleaxe-Rāma”, Dāśarathi-Rāma, Balarāma “White-
6 For a bird’s eye view of these temples and their iconography see Rajarajan 2011. The “nine” are Cīvaramaṅkai, Vaikuntam, Varakuṇamaṅkai, Puḷiṅkuti, Tolaivillimaṅkalam (Iraṭṭaittiruppati “twin-divyadeśas”), Kuḷantai, Kōḷūr, Pērai, and Kurukūr (Rajarajan 2012: fig. 0.2) that fall within a radius of twenty-five kms. During a recent visit we discovered a rare post-Nāyaka painting of the Āḻvārs and Ācāryas on the ceiling of the agramaṇḍapa in the Nikarilmukilvaṇṇaṉ (Matchless Lord of Rain- cloud Mien) or Makarakkuḻaikkātaṉ (Lord fitted with makarakuṇḍalas) temple at Pērai (Fig. 1). This rare icon is unpublished. 7 The rūpa “form” and nāma “name” of the Lord are myriad. Vide, Ananatarūpaḥ (VSN-932), one who had innumerable forms. For a detailed examination of the VSN epithets from the art historical point of view see Kalidos 2013. 94 Jeyapriya Rajarajan
Rāma”, Kṛṣṇa “the Black” and the future Kalki (Basham 1971: 304- 309)8 Dvādaśa – Twelve: Keśava, Nārāyaṇa, Mādhava, Govinda, Viṣṇu, Madhusūdana, Trivikrama, Vāmana, Śrīdhara, Hṛṣīkeśa, Padmanābha, and Dāmodara Caturviṃśati – The following twelve in addition to the Dvādaśa- mūrtis9: Saṃkarṣaṇa, Vāsudeva, Pradhyumna, Aniruddha, Puruṣotta- ma, Adhokṣaja, Nārasiṃha/Nṛsiṃha, Acyuta, Janārdana, Upendra, Hari and Kṛṣṇa10. Literature may present fantastic catalogues of names but the question is whether art historical vestiges are reported in the meant order. Raju Kalidos 1989 and Mevissen 2010 have traced the daśāvatāras in north Indian and south Indian iconographic art. Do we find art historical evidences to support the literary mandate on Dvādaśa or Caturviṃśati Mūrti-s? The present article answers the questions11.
Dvādaśa concept
It is interesting to note the Dvādaśa-mūrti have been codified in the meant order in the Tiruvāymoḻi (2.7.1-12) of Nammāḻvār. It has not received the serious attention of scholars in the field. We will return to
8 For a comprehensive study for the daśāvatāras in sculptural art see Mevissen (2010: 171-286). Raju Kalidos (1989: 338-40, figs. 35 & 43) has reported not less than fifty- five panels from the temple cars of Tamilnadu. See also Rajarajan, Jeyapriya & Kalidos 2012. R.K.K. Rajarajan (2006: pl. 125) has reported the Nāyaka period paintings of daśāvatāras on the ceiling of the maṇḍapa in the early medieval rock-cut temple at Malaiyaṭippaṭṭi (Kalidos 1988: 57-69, pl. 2b). See also a recent report in Acta Orientalia 2012. 9 For consolidated list see Desai (1973: 151). This authority cites the Rūpamaṇḍana and Padma Purāṇa for the Caturviṃśati, and the Ahibhūdhnya-saṃhita and Pārameśvara-saṃhita for the Dvādaśa. Caturviṃśatimūrtilakṣaṇa presents more iconographical details. 10 The lakṣaṇas of the other twelve Caturviṃśati Mūrti-s are enumerated in the Caturviṃśatimūrtilakṣaṇa (pp. 18-29). Four among the “twenty-four” are the catur- vyūhas. 11 Mankodi 1991 is an important study in the present context. The Caturviṃśati Mūrtis have been brought to light from the Rāṇī-ka-vāv at Paṭan, Gujarāṭa; e.g. Nārāyaṇa-81 (figure), Saṃkarṣaṇa-82, Śrīdhara-83, Keśava-Trivikrama-84, Hari-85/3, Govinda-81/1, Puruṣottama-81/2 and so on. Prof. A.J. Gail 1984 has reported wooden images from the temples of Nepāla. Dvādaśa-mūrti in Tamil Tradition 95 this point. Dvādaśa and Caturviṃśati Mūrti seem to have been cast in the same mould in caturbhuja-sthānaka aspect, and fitted with the cakra-C (disc), śaṅkha-Ś (conch), gadā-G (mace) and padma-P (lotus) alternating in each of the twenty-four Mūrtis (Desai 1973: 151). The Caturviṃśatimūrtilakṣaṇa fixes the emblems in the following pattern (clockwise from right parahasta to left parahasta, left pūrvahasta and right pūrvahasta):
Keśavaḥ Ś C G P Nārāyaṇaḥ P G C Ś Mādhavaḥ C Ś P G Govindaḥ G P Ś C Viṣṇuḥ P Ś C G Madhusūdanaḥ Ś P G C Trivikramaḥ G C Ś P Vāmanaḥ C G P Ś Śrīdharaḥ C G Ś P Hṛśīkeśaḥ C P Ś G Padmanābhaḥ P C G Ś Dāmodaraḥ Ś G C P
It may be noted here the iconographical enumeration in the given ślokas mainly emphasizes the fixation of the above four emblems, and not other aspects such as varṇāṃśa (colour combination), purāṇāṃśa (myth), ābharāṇāni (ornaments), vāhana (mount) and so on (cf. Santhana-Lakshmi 1914: 74).
The Śrītattvanidhi (2.19-42), citing the Pāñcarātrāgama-Kriyapāda presents the dhyānaślokas bearing on Caturviṃśati of which 19-30 deals with Dvādaśa. More information is obtained in this account.
Keśava: Ś-C-G-P (VSN-23, 648) Golden hued (svarṇa-varṇa*), white garments (pītāmbara), benign face (śānta-vadana), and ornaments in pearls (muktābharaṇa) * VSN-738 ‘Hemāṅgaḥ’ Ya eṣo’ntar’āditye hiraṇmayaḥ puruṣaḥ “the golden hued who lives in the sun” (Tapasyānanda 1986: 141) Nārāyaṇa: P-Ś-G-C (VSN-245) Mien (colour of the body) is of the rain-drenched cloud (meghaśyāma-varṇa), pītāmbara (silk is either white or pale yellow), and ornaments of uttama-ratnas
Mādhava: C-Ś-G-P (VSN-735) Mien like blue-lily (nilotpala), garments of many colours (citrāmbara) and eyes like lotus flowers12
12 The Lord’s eyes are lotus flowers: ‘tāmaraik-kaṇ’ (Tiruvāymoḻi 2.7.8), ‘tāmaraik- Kaṇṇaṉ’ Kṛṣṇa with lotus-like eyes (ibid. 5.3.2) or ‘paṅkayak-kaṇṇāṉ’ (Tiruppāvai 14). Nammāḻvār’s mysticism would find the Lord’s eyes are the sthalas or divyadeśas, ‘kaṇ-talaṅkaḷ’ (Tiruvāymoli 2.8.11). 96 Jeyapriya Rajarajan
Govinda: P-Ś-G-C (VSN-187, 539) Mien is white resembling the moon (Candrakalā), red-lotus eyes (cf. Tamil Ceṅkaṇ13) that is a pointer of raudra in Viṣṇu directed toward terrorist-demons, and golden ornaments (svarṇābharaṇa)
Viṣṇu: C-Ś-G-P (VSN- 2, 258) White silk garments, garland of holy basil, tuḷaci (vanamālā) and ornaments including keyūra and aṅgada Madhusūdana: Ś-P-G-C (VSN-73) Mien is the red-lotus and brilliant and padma-pīṭha
Trivikrama: Ś-C-G-P (VSN-530) Colour red 14 and fitted with kirīṭa, hāra, keyūra, kuṇḍalas and other ornaments
Vāmana: Ś-G-C-P White like the jasmine flower (mallikā), and eyes long like lotus-flowers (kayal-viḻi in Tamil tradition, aṅkayaṟ-kaṇ-Mīnākṣī Rajarajan & Jeyapriya 2013: 15)
Śrīdhara: Ś-C-G-P (VSN-610) White-lotus by mien, red-lotus eyes and pearl hāras
Hṛṣīkeśa: C-Ś-G-P (VSN-47) Golden mien, the body glitters like the lightening, the garlands and garments are red-hued and śirobhūṣaṇa is a white lotus
Padmanābha: C-Ś-P-G (VSN-196, 346) Mien is Indra-nīla-varṇa (blue), decked with the pītāmbara, wears odd garlands and is smeared with gandham (sandal-paste)
Dāmodara: G-P-C-Ś (VSN-367) Mien green like grass puts on pītāmbara, broad eyes (cf. Rajarajan 2012: fig. 5), and wears sakala- ratnabharaṇas
13 Appears in Caṅkam lore, Ceṅkaṇ in Paripāṭal (3. 60). See Tiruvantāti I 16, II 44, Tiruvāymoḻi 3.5.10. 14 Santhana-Lakshmi (2014: 78-81) finds some link between the hue of Hindu divinities and the racial elements in India. Varṇa “colour” (e.g. kṣatirya, brāhmaṇa, and avarṇas pañcama and mleccha) is an important brand in Indian socio-religious tradition. An ancient collection of Tamil poems (Kalittokai 103.7-14) talks of breed of bulls in different colours, and equates these with the gods; white-Baladeva – pālniṟa- vaṇṇaṉ-veḷḷai, black-Māl-Viṣṇu – tiṟalcāṉṟa-kāri, tawny-Śiva – mukkaṇṇaṉ-uruvē- pōl, pale red-Murukaṉ – vēl-vallāṉ-niṟamē-pōl (cf. Rajarajan 2014c: Annexure I, Part II). Dvādaśa-mūrti in Tamil Tradition 97
The Pāñcarātra tradition got a stronghold over the Vaiṣṇava tradition by about the fourth century CE, e.g. the Ahirbhūdhnya-saṃhitā (cf. Schrader 1973: 113-14) and so its impact on the Tamil Paripāṭal and hymns of the Āḻvārs is quite natural. The Paripāṭal and Cilappatikāram are clear pointers of the Vṛṣṇī-vīra worship of Vāsudeva-Kṛṣṇa and Balarāma (Jeyapriya 2012: 64)15; cf. umpiyum nīyum “you and your brother” (Tiruppāvai 17)16. Nammāḻvār was a non-brāhmaṇa scholar, who inspired the thoughts of Rāmānujācārya and Piḷḷai Lokācāya (Śrīvacanabhūṣaṇam and Ācāryahṛdayam)17 and provide raw material for their philosophies. Nammmāḻvār was an expert in the Vedas and other liturgical works such as the Pāñcarātra- saṃhitās. The impact of Ahirbhudhnya-saṃhitā may be discerned in the Paṉṉirunāmappāṭṭu at least the names in sequential order.
Paṉṉirunāmappāṭṭu (TNP)
The Tiruvāymoḻi consists of 10 x 10 x 10 hymnal collections that are arranged under pattu “ten (ten-s)” and tirumoḻi “ten (hymns)”. Pattu means “ten”, pāṭṭu (hymns or poems) and tirumoḻi “sacred saying”. Actually each ten consists of eleven hymns of which the eleventh is reserved for Caṭakōpaṉ alias Māṟaṉ and his nativity18, Kurukūr. The seventh tiruvāymoḻi in the second ten consists of thirteen hymns that
15 The vyūhas are naïvely pointed out in the Paripāṭal (3. 81-82, cf. Jeyapriya 2012): Ceṅkaṭ kāri karuṅkaṇ veḷḷai/ Poṉkaṭ paccai paiṅkaṇ māal. Ceṅkaṇ kāri Vāsudeva with red-eyes and black boy; Karuṅkaṇ veḷḷai Saṃkarṣaṇa/Baladeva with black eyes and white body; Poṉkaṭ paccai Pradhyumna with golden eyes and green complexion, and Paiṅkaṇ Māl Aniruddha of green or blue mien. The colour pattern in the Pāṉcarātrāgama (cited in Śrītattvanidhi 2.31-34) is Saṃkarṣaṇa – white, Vāsudeva – white, Pradhyumna – golden and Aniruddha – nīla “blue”. Some concordance is found in both the accounts. Caturmūrtiḥ (VSN-765) are Virāṭ, Sūtrātmā, Avyākṛta and Turīya or one with four horns hued white, red, yellow and black (Tapasyānanda 1986: 143). 16 Cf. Nīyē vaḷaiyoṭu puraiyum vāli yōṟkavaṉ/ Iḷaiyavaṉ “(Kṛṣṇa) You are younger to the white-man Baladeva whose mien resembles the conch-shell” Paripāṭal 3. 20-21). 17 See the Ācāryahṛdayam of Maṇavāḷa-māmuṉikaḷ in Naiḍu 2001. 18 Even if the hymns are eleven, Nammāḻvār takes into account only ten, and says āyirattuḷ ippattu “this ten among the 1,000”. Therefore, even if the total hymns are 1,102 (cf. Zvelebil 1974: 107) those accredited are 1,000; the remaining 102 are on the Āḻvār and his nativity (for details Rajarajan 2014a). 98 Jeyapriya Rajarajan deal with the Dvādaśamūrti-s 19 . The key-ideas are summarized hereunder (for Roman transcription and summary see ‘Attachment’). 1. Kēcavaṉ/Keśava and Nārayaṇaṉ/Nārāyaṇa are the foremost gods. Keśava is the Īśvara; the “Black-gem”, karumāṇikkam. He is Kṛṣṇa holding the scepter, ceṅkōlak-Kaṇṇaṉ. He is the nāyaka of the gods, viṇṇōr-nāyakaṉ. 2. Nāraṇaṉ and Mātavaṉ/Mādhava are the lords. Nārāyaṇa is the Lord of seven worlds. He is the Veda. He plucked the tusks of the wild elephant, Kuvalayapīḍa. In this hymn Śrī is aṇaṅku, a malicious deity (cf. aṇaṅku listed in Rajarajan 2014a)20. 3. Mātavaṉ and Kōvintaṉ/Govinda are the lords. Mādhava destroys evil in a terrorist mind. He is ambrosia. He is a hill of red-lotus flowers21. He is a lump of sugar, candy. 4. Kōvintaṉ and Viṭṭu/Viṣṇu are the lords. Govinda is the pot-dancer, Kuṭakkūttaṉ (Kalidos 1999: 234, Rajarajan 2012: 94-95) and Lord of Cows, Kōvalaṉ (cf. the hero of Cilappatikāram). Viṭṭu is the vallabha22. 5. Viṭṭu and Matucūtaṉ/Madhusūdana are the lords. Viṣṇu’s feet, hands and eyes are lotus-like. His body is a black-hill. He holds the caṅku/śaṅkha and cakkaram/pariti/cakra.
19 Empār (c. 1122-74), successor pontiff of the Order of Rāmānujācārya (c. 1017- 1137) is said to have observed on reading the Paṉṉirunāmappāṭṭu he was “converted a Śrīvaiṣṇava” (Īṭu/Naiḍu 2012: II, 174). Does it mean Śrīviṣṇuism did not exist anterior to his time? “Śrī-Vaiṣṇava” and “Śrī-Vaiṣṇavism” are brain-work of the Ācāryas during the high medieval period. Tiruvaiṇavam/Śrīvaiṣṇavism and Tiruvaiṇavaṉ/Śrīvaiṣṇava do not appear in the Āḻvārs’ hymns; see Nāraṇaṉ- kāppu/Vaiṇava-vāti in Maṇimēkalai 27. 98-99 (cf. Kalidos 2006 & Narayanan 2007). Nam Piḷḷai (c. 1147-1252), author of Īṭu “Humble Petition” (see Naiḍu 2012) was fourth in the order of pontifical succession (Rangaswami 2006: 1). The followers of the cult are called aṭiyār (“those at the feet” Tiruvāymoḻi 2.3.10), toṇṭar (“servants” ibid. 3.7.11) and Pakavar/Bhāgavata (ibid. 4.4.9). Furthermore, the VSN-943 says ‘Lakṣmiḥ’ is Viṣṇu himself (cf. TNP, v. 2), who bestows all that is auspicious. Viṣṇu- Lakṣman is Vidyā (Ātmavidyā ca devī tvam, cited in Tapasyānanda 1986: 170). 20 Aṇaṅku as an unorthodox female/male or neuter is repeatedly noted in the Tiruvāumoḻi (4.6.1-10). 21 Cf. v. 5 “lotus-like eyes of the Lord” (infra); VSN-40 Puṣkarākṣaḥ “lotus-like eyes” or VSN-111 Puṇḍarikākṣaḥ. 22 Viṭṭu (cf. Viṇṭu in Puṟaṉānūṟu 391, Jeyapriya 2012) is a very rare usage (cf. Rajarajan et al. 2012). Vallabhasvāmi is the presiding Mūrti of divyadeśa-Tiruvalla in Kerala. Dvādaśa-mūrti in Tamil Tradition 99
6. Matucūtaṉ and Tirivikkiramaṉ/Trivikrama are the lords. No God is Madhusūdana’s match23. 7. Tirivikkiramaṉ and Vāmaṉaṉ/Vāmana are the lords. Trivikrama’s eyes are red-lotus flowers. His mien is white marble, veḷḷaip paḷiṅku niṟattaṉ. His feet are lotus, pāta paṅkayam24. 8. Vāmaṉaṉ and Cirītaraṉ/Śrīdhara are the lords. Vāmana is of the colour of emerald (green gem), marakata vaṇṇaṉ. He is the father of Kāma/Kamaṉ. 9. Cirītaraṉ and Iruṭikēcaṉ/Hṛṣikeśa are the lords. Śrīdhara is the lotus-Kaṇṇaṉ/Kṛṣṇa. 10. Iruṭikēcaṉ and Paṟpanāpaṉ/Padmanābha are the lords. Hṛṣikeśa dislodged the demonic race in Laṅkā. 11. Paṟpanāpaṉ and Tāmōtaraṉ/Dāmodhara are the lords. Padmanābha is the kalpavṛkṣa, ambrosia and megha “cloud”. He is the Lord of Vēṅkaṭam. He is Lord of the hill, Veṟpaṉ25. 12. Tāmōtaraṉ is the exclusive Lord, taṉi mutalvaṉ. Dāmodhara is “my God”; ‘Āmōtaram’ like Jehovah or Yahweh in Jewish tradition. He is Lord of Śiva, Brahmā and all other little gods of other religions26. Other epithets that come under Caturviṃśati are notified in the ‘Nālāyiram’ sporadically (vide, Rajarajan et al. 2012). They are not coherently listed as it may appear in the TNP27. Santhana-Lakshmi Parthiban 2014 has rightly emphasized the colour combination is the iconographic modeling of images. In fact, the Śrītattvanidhi at the end of each dhyānaśloka concludes with the ear-mark varṇa noted within parentheses at the end. In case of Dvādaśa-mūrti, the two distinctive
23 Tiri (wander, ayaṇa in Sanskrit) is not the equivalent of Sanskrit tri (three). Such inconsistencies are pointed out in Rajarajan et al. 2012. Cf. Cirī (meaningless jargon) and śrī below; śrī is tiru in Tamil tradition. 24 The feet of Śeṣaśāyī in the Malaiyaṭippaṭṭi rock-cut image is fitted with a lotus (Kalidos 2006a: I, pls. I-II, see also Kalidos 1988). 25 Veṟpaṉ was hero of the kuṟiñci (hills and environs) land (Tamil Lexicon, VI, 3811). 26 Gods of the little tradition are nothing but the vyāpti of Viṣṇu in his Viśvarūpa aspect. All these little divinities, paradevatās of other cults and religions merge with Viṣṇu at the time of cosmic dissolution, pralaya (cf. Tiruvāymoḻi 4.10.1-10). 27 These are listed in the VSN (number of epithets listed in Tapasyānanda 1986): Vāsudeva (332, 695, 729), Pradhyumna (640), Aniruddha (185, 638), Puruṣottama/Puruṣa (24, 507/ 14, 406), Adhokṣaja (415), Nārasiṃha (21), Achyuta (100, 317), Janārdana (138), Upendra (151), Hari/Havir-hariḥ (650/359) and Kṛṣṇa (57, 550). 100 Jeyapriya Rajarajan marks of identification are the four emblems (C-Ś-G-P) and varṇa. Cakara and śaṅkha appear in one hymn relating to Viṭṭu/Viṣṇu. Padma is associated with Viṣṇu and Trivikrama. The gadā fails to appear in the TNP. The colour pattern is naïve in the TNP. The concordance or discordance is as follows:
Mūrti Pāñcarātra in Śrītattvanidhi TNP Keśava golden black-gem Nārāyaṇa megha-varna unnoted Mādhava nīlotpala (blue) red-lotus Govinda candrakalā (milk white) unnoted Viṣṇu white black hill Madhuṣūdana red-lotus unnoted Trivikrama red red Vāmana jasmine (white) emerald (green) Śrīdhara white lotus simply lotus Hṛṣīkeśa golden unnoted Padmanābha Indra-nīla megha28 Dāmodara grass-like (green) unnoted
TNP fails to emphasize colour pattern in case of four icons. There seems to be some concordance in case of Trivikrama, Śrīdhara and Padmanābha. Other icons do not agree. Therefore, it is a question whether Nammāḻvār was influenced by the Pāñcarātra codification. In any case, Nam’s aim was not to compile a śilpaśāstra. He was more worried about the adumbration of bhakti and rituals that he taught (see Attachment), and the exaltation of the personality of Viṣṇu as he retold them from the mythologies at his reach; e.g. the Harivaṃśa and Viṣṇu Purāṇa or as for the matter the Mahābhārata and the Rāmāyaṇa. It is singularly unique that the order of divinities from Keśava to Dāmodara is in the meant order, which is clear pointer of the Dvādaśa concept oriented toward the Pāñcarātra tradition. Dvādaśa-divyanāma is recast in Tamil ‘Paṉṉiru-tirunāmam’ (Twelve Sacred Names).
28 Black, blue and green are synonymous in Indian tradition (Santhana-Lakshmi 2014: 78). Dvādaśa-mūrti in Tamil Tradition 101
Iconographical representation
The main purpose of our research is to authenticate literary material or as for the matter the śāstra with archaeological evidences. This way we totally differ from literature-based scholars such as A.K. Ramanujan 1981 (see also Narayanan 2007)29. The only evidence of Dvādaśa-mūrti is the Nārttāmalai cave temple for Viṣṇu (Schwindler 1979: 235-52). Scholars of the Tamil University team (Gopalakrishnan 2005, Latha 2005) under Raju Kalidos (2006a: I, 221-22) are of the unanimous opinion that the twelve images of Viṣṇu in the Nārttāmalai rock-cut temple represent the Dvādaśa-murti. In all probability the Nārttāmalai images were wrought in stone under the spell of Nammāḻvār’s TNP. Raju Kalidos told in an interview, nowhere in the rock-cut art of early medieval South India such an array of Dvādaśa-mūrti is accommodated30. Experts in literature may view Nammāḻvār in their mental frame, but art historians find him come alive in the Nārttāmalai cave as far as the TNP is concerned. Sitting on top of the Nārttāmalai granite hill, one could listen to the voice of Nammāḻvār reverberated from Kurukūr at the southern end of peninsular India. This is the gift of Indian art to global literature, philosophy and religion.
The Nārttāmalai cave temple is easy to reach from Putukkōṭṭai, an erstwhile princely state and presently the headquarters of a district31. Nārttāmalai, Kuṭumiyāmalai, Cittaṉṉavācal and Tirukōkaṛaṇam are within easy reach from Putukkōṭṭai32. Inscriptional evidences in situ confirm the rock-cut work (kuṭaivitta “cut out”) was undertaken by Muttaraiya chiefs of the region. The donor was one Cāttaṉ Paḻiyiḻi (meaning “Faultless Śāsta”), son of Viṭēlviṭuku Muttaraiyaṉ and
29 The hymns are not for “drowning” and get lost but for “surfacing” from the whirlpool of karma and saṃsāra. Raju Kalidos 2014 coins the phrase, “wasseroberfläche nicht ertrinken”. 30 Professor Raju Kalidos had lectured to us in the Tamil University and could talk on any Hindu cave temple of South India extemporaneously. He had visited not less than 50% of the 1500 listed in Stella Kramrisch’s The Hindu Temple, Vol. I. 31 I am told the doyen, K.R. Srinivasan (see his icon [1986] in Kalidos 2006a: IV. ii, pl. VIII) to begin with worked in the Putukkōṭṭai Museum for some time. 32 Tirukōkaraṇam and Kuṭumiyāmalai were living entities down to the Nāyaka time. Ritual in these temples is ongoing today (Rajarajan 2006: 57-59, plan VII, pls.129- 35). 102 Jeyapriya Rajarajan architect is designated taccaṉ/takṣaka (IPS 11)33. The śrīkōyil (temple (Fig. 2), mukamaṇṭakam (mukhamaṇḍapa), and palipīṭam (balipiṭha) were added. This is to suggest the rock-cut temples of Nāttāmalai were the work of the early Muttaraiyars. Later under the early Cōḻa regime, they added a structural temple that stands opposite the main rock-cut cave for Viṣṇu. The Cōḻas that emerged in the historical limelight after 850 CE had nothing to do with the rock-cut art. S. Gopalakrishnan on iconometrical evidences had proved the images of Viṣṇu are in uttamadaśatāḷa, and are of Pāṇḍya style; maybe the Muttaraiyar were Pāṇḍya vassals at that point of later shifting allegiance to the Pallavas (e.g. the Meyyam and Malaiyaṭippatti rock- cut caves) and Cōḻas in later times. Our concern is the iconography of the images in the Nārttāmalai cave. The cave temple for Viṣṇu is incomplete and the cult images in the tiny garbhagṛha devoid of any cult image (cf. Cave XIV in Ellora). The mukhamaṇḍapa is oblong. A raised platform about two meters high exists that provides access to the cave temple (Kalidos 2006a: pls. LXXXV-LXXXVI). The oblong maṇḍapa on either side of the dvāra to the garbhagṛha houses 5+5 images of Viṣṇu on either side (Fig. 3). The lateral walls provide for an image each, totally making twelve. Thus the images are dvādaśa “twelve”, Tamil paṉṉiraṇṭu (cf. TNP). Cf. the simple diagram below
* Dvādaśa Mūrti-s
33 The Muttaraiyar were minor chiefs of the region during the seventh-ninth centuries CE (Govindasamy 1965: 38-49). Dvādaśa-mūrti in Tamil Tradition 103
The unique feature of the rock-cut temple is not in architectural marvel. It is in its iconographic alignment (Figs. 2-3). The iconography of the twelve images is not complicated. It is very simple. All images are uniformly samapāda-sthānaka. The parahastas carry the cakra (top right) and śaṅkha (top left); cf. Nammāḻvāt TNP, v. 5. These two that are weapons and ornaments (Tiruvāymoḻi 5.1.1, Īṭu/Naiḍu 2012: V, 4). The right pūrvahasta is in abhayamudrā. The left is in ūruhasta mode (Figs. 4-5). Other attributes are common to the twelve images. These include the pītāmbara, vaijayantimālā, tall kirīṭamakuṭa (Tamil nīṉmuṭi see Tiruvāymoḻi 2.5.5), makarakuṇḍalas, uttariya, kaṅkanas, keyūras and so on. All these idioms are not taken into account in the Pāñcarātrāgama and TNP account, cited above. That means the architect had exercised his liberty in casting the images. For why they do so is explained in Kalidos (2012: 57-59,). The corpus and canon are not the end-points for an architect with creative acumen.
Concluding Remarks
The earliest notation of Dvādaśa-mūrti seems to be the Ahirbhudhnya- saṃhitā of the Pāñcarātrāgama. The emphasis in the canon is on the four vital emblems of Viṣnu (cakra, śaṅkha, gadā and padma) and the colour pattern (black-blue-green, white, golden and red; emphasized in the recent study of Santhana-Lakshmi Parthiban 2014). Nammāḻvār was an expert in the Vedas, purāṇas, āgamas and other śāstras. He had exploited the material to suit the devotional cult; and retold the ideas with an emphasis on purāṇāṃśa, particularly the glories of the Lord, colour pattern of the images and weapons that the Lord carries. The commentator-Ācāryas of the high medieval period (e.g. Īṭu of Nam Piḷḷai) consider the weapons from the two-fold point of āyudha and ābharaṇa. That is to say the cakra is an ornament for the dharmātmas and āyudha for the dharmadrohin. The Pāñcarātra and Nam’s TNP agree in as far as they cogently present the twelve names in canonized order. These and the other twelve of the Caturviṃśati are sporadically notified in the VSN. This to confirm by about the fifth century CE the 1,000 nāmāvali was popular with the Sanskrit and Tamil traditions (cf. Paripāṭal cited in Rajarajan 2012: 63-64). The vision in Paripāṭal (v. 2) is fantastically 104 Jeyapriya Rajarajan inventive because it talks of 2 to 100,000 hands of the Lord that even the Āḻvārs could not speculate. The Tamil philosophers did not stop with literature. They exploited the plastic media for the expression of Theo-philosophical literary thoughts. The result was the Nārttāmalai cave temple accommodating rock-cut images of Dvādaśa-mūrti. It is a singularly unique venue in the entire range of Indian rock-cut art. Further investigations are warranted to find out the parallels that may be discovered in other parts of India (Mankodi 2001) or South (Gail 1984) and Southeast Asia. Philosophers and littérateurs visit Kurukūr to discover Nammāḻvār/Tiruppuḷiyāḻvār below the centuries old tamarind tree on the site; I would recommend they better visit Nārttamalai to find the living Caṭakōpaṉ/Māṟaṉ in the frozen twelve images of Viṣṇu. Viṣṇu is virtually uṟaikiṉṟāṉ (Periyāḻvār Tirumoḻi 4.4.8) as the Āḻvaṛs would mediate.
Attachment
‘Paṉṉirunāmappāṭṭū’ (Tiruvāymoḻi 2.7)*
* The traditional conjugation of words is not followed. The complex words are broken to help intelligible comprehension. Saṃpradāyam (cf. Hudson 1980: 540) is of no concern when we experience the Āḻvārs directly and not through the intermediaries (cf. Rajarajan 2012a: 249-60). 1. Kēcavaṉ tamar kīḻmēl emar ēḻ eḻu piṟappum Mācatir itu peṟṟu nammuṭai vāḻvu vāykkiṉṟaṉavā Īcaṉ eṉ karumāṇikkam eṉceṅkōlak Kaṇṇaṉ viṇṇōr Nāyakaṉ em pirāṉ emmaṉ Nārayaṇālē Kēcavaṉ tamar the possession of Keśava, kīḻmēl emarēḻ piṟappum (the worlds) seven below and seven upper, and for the seven births, mācatir itu peṟṟu we obtain the endless, nammuṭaiya vāḻvu vāykkiṉṟaṉavā our life-pattern is determined, Īcaṉ en karumāṇikkan Īśvara-Viṣṇu is my black-ruby, eṉ ceṅkōlak Kaṇṇaṉ my darling Kaṇṇaṉ that wields a scepter, viṇṇōr nāyakaṉ Lord of celestials, em pirāṉ my Lord, emmāṉ my Father, Nārāyaṇaṉālē (they belong to) Nārāyaṇa. “The seven worlds below and above are possession of Keśava. We obtain endless bliss for the seven births. Our well-being is determined Dvādaśa-mūrti in Tamil Tradition 105
by my black-ruby Īśvara-Kṛṣṇa. He wields a staff that is his scepter. He is the Lord of celestials, my Lord and my Father. We belong to the genealogy of Nārāyaṇa.” 2. Nāraṇaṉ muḻu ēḻ ulakukkum nātaṉ Vetamayaṉ Kāraṇam kiricai karumam ivai mutalvaṉ entai Cīraṇaṅku amarar piṟar palarum toḻutu etta niṉṟu Varaṇattai maruppocitta pirāṉ eṉ Mātavaṉē Nāraṇaṉ muḻuēḻ ulakukkum nātaṉ Nārāyaṇa is Lord of the entire seven worlds, Vetamayaṉ the Veda-incarnate, kāraṇam kiriyai karumam ivai mutalvan He is the principal of “cause”, “effect” and “result”, entai my Lord, cīraṇaṅku auspicious divinity-Periya-Pirāṭṭi, amarar pirar palarum toḻutētta niṉṟu the celestials and several others revere the sthānaka-Mūrti, vāraṇattai maruppu ocitta pirāṉ the Lord plucked the tusks of the elephant, Kuvalayapīḍa, eṉ Mātavaṉē He is my Mādhava. “Nārāyaṇa is Lord of the seven worlds. He is the embodiment of the Vedas. He is the principal of kāraṇam “cause”, kiriyai “effect” and karumam “result” (sṛṣṭi, sthiti and saṃhāra?). The Goddess Lakṣmī, the celestials and several other mortals and immortals offer obeisance to Thee. Thou plucked the tusks of Kuvalayapīḍa that was commissioned to kill you (Kṛṣṇa); my Mādhava.” 3. Mātavaṉ eṉṟatē koṇṭu eṉṉai iṉi ippāl paṭṭatu Yā tavaṅkaḷum cēr koṭēṉ eṉṟu eṉṉuḷ pukuntu iruntu Tītu avam keṭukkum amutam centāmaraik kaṇ kuṉṟam Kōtu avam il eṉ kaṉṉaṟ kaṭṭi emmāṉ eṉ Kōvintaṉē Mātavaṉ eṉṟē koṇṭu I repeatedly mutter Mādhava, the prime Mūrti, eṉṉai iṉi ippāl paṭṭatu hereafter I am bound to stick to the splendor (of the name), yātavaṅkaḷum cērkoṭēṉ do not give room for other philosophies, eṉṟu eṉṉuḷ pukuntu iruntu therefore Thou has entered me and are stationed (in my thoughts), tītu avam keṭukkum evils and its aftermath are destroyed (terrorism and its impacts), amutam the ambrosia (the Lord guides the terrorist to follow the righteous path), centāmaraik kaṇ kuṉṟam heap of eye[s]-like lotus flowers, kōtu avam il eṉ kaṉṉaṟ kaṭṭi He is the faultless and delighting juice of sugarcane, emmāṉ eṉ Kōvintaṉē Govinda is my father. 106 Jeyapriya Rajarajan
“I repeatedly mutter the prime-nom of the Lord Govinda. I am bound to cherish splendours of the Lord, and do not think of other philosophies. The Lord has entered me, and is stationed in my thoughts. His presence destroys evil and its aftermath. He is the quaffing ambrosia, and converts the terror-mongers (dharmadrohins) to follow the righteous path. The Lord is a hill of lotus flowers. He is the faultless and delighting juice of sugarcane.” 4. Kōvintaṉ kuṭakkūttaṉ Kovalaṉ eṉṟu eṉṟē kuṉittut Tēvum taṉṉaiyum pāṭi āṭat tirutti eṉṉaik koṇṭu eṉ Pāvam taṉṉaiyum pāṟak kaittu emar ēḻ eḻu piṟappum Mēvum taṉmaiyam ākkiṉāṉ vallaṉ empirāṉ Viṭṭuvē Kōvintaṉ kuṭakkūttaṉ Govinda, the Lord of cowherds is the pot- dancer, Kōvalaṉ eṉṟueṉṟē kuṉintut called Kōpālaṉ he stooped, tēvum taṉṉiyum pāṭi āṭat the gods and others sing and dance, eṉṉaik koṇṭu through me (the catalyst), eṉ pāvam taṉṉaiyum pāṟakkaittu get rid of my disfigured sins, emar ēḻeḻu piṟappum mēvum taṉmaiyam ākkiṉāṉ for the seven and seven more births to come I am elevated, vallāṉ empirāṉ Viṭṭuvē Viṣṇu is the competent Lord. “The Lord of cowherds, Govinda is the pot-dancer. God of cows (Govinda), he is charismatic for the gods and others to sing and dance. I am a bin of abstracted sins that the Lord annihilates. The Lord elevates the status of my soul for seven and seven more births past and future. He is the competent Lord Viṣṇu.” 5. Viṭṭilaṅku ceñcōtit tāmarai pātam kaikaḷ kaṇkaḷ Viṭṭu ilaṅku karuñcuṭar malaiyē tiru uṭampu Viṭṭu ilaṅku matiyam cīr caṅku cakkaram pariti Viṭṭu ilaṅku muṭi ammāṉ Matucūtaṉaṉ taṉakkē Viṭṭilaṅku ceñcōtit never disappearing red-light, tāmaraip pātam kaikaḷ kaṇkaḷ lotus-like feet, hands and eyes, viṭṭu ilaṅku blossoming light, karuñcuṭar malaiyē tiru uṭampu the sacred mien is smoky-light on the mountain, viṭṭu ilaṅku without any impurity, matiyamcīr caṅku the conch resembles the moon, cakkaram pariti the disc resembles the sun, viṭṭu ilaṅku muṭi all these form the summit, the tiara, Matucūtaṉaṉ taṉakkē of the Lord Madhusūdana. “The Lord’s lotus-like feet, hands and eyes are ever-shining like the red-beacon. The mien is a blossoming light and appears smoky on the Dvādaśa-mūrti in Tamil Tradition 107
mountain (cf. Kalidos 2006a: colour pls. II, III). The conch and disc are immaculate and shine like the moon and sun. All these characteristic marks of the Lord find a harmonious blend on the tiara of Madhusūdana.” 6. Matucūtaṉai aṉṟi maṟṟu ilēṉ eṉṟu ettālum karumam iṉṟit Tuti cūḻnta pāṭalkaḷ pāṭi āṭa niṉṟu ūḻi ūḻi toṟum Etircūḻ pukku eṉaittōr piṟappum eṉakkē aruḷkaḷ ceyya Viti cūḻntatāl eṉakkēl ammāṉ Tirivikkiramaṉaiyē Matucūtaṉai aṉṟi maṟṟu ilēṉ Madhuṣudana is the Lord, not others, eṉṟu ettālum karumam iṉṟit nothing is the meant duty for me, tuti cūḻnta pāṭalkaḷ pāṭi āṭa niṉṟu but to recite rhythmic songs and dance, ūḻi ūḻi toṟum aeon after aeon, etircūḻal pukku stand firmly without taking to other paths, eṉaittōr piṟappum in all my births, eṉakkē aruḷkaḷ ceyya shower graces on me, viti cūḻntatāl eṉakkēl destined for me, ammāṉ Tirivikkiramaṉaiyē the Father is Trivikrama. “Madhusūdana is the Lord, and not others (means paradevatās). Nor is the duty meant for me but to sing rhythmic songs, and dance. Age after age, I stand firmly (by faith) and do not take to other paths (of mleccha gods). Shower Thy grace on me during all my births. Lord Trivikrama is my Father destined for all times to come.” 7. Tirivikkiramaṉ centāmaraik kaṇ emmāṉ eṉ ceṅkaṉi vāy Uruvil polinta veḷḷaip paḷiṅku niṟantaṉaṉ eṉṟu eṉṟu uḷḷīp Paravip paṇintu pal ūḻi ūḻi niṉ pāṭa paṅkayamē Maruvit toḻum maṉamē tantāy vallai kāṇ eṉ Vamaṉaṉē Tirivikkiramaṉ centāmaraikkaṇ emmāṉ eṉ My Father Trivikrama’s eyes are red-lotus flowers, ceṅkaṉivāy mouth red-fruit, uruvil polinta veḷḷaip paḷiṅku niṟattaṉaṉ his bodily mien resembles shining white marble (sphaṭika or “sacred pearl” Naiḍu/Īṭu 2012: II, 192), eṉṟu eṉṟu uḷḷip other parts of the body are akin, paravip paṇintu worship in orgiastic fashion, palūḻi ūḻi niṉ pāta paṅkayamē for several aeons and aeons at Thy lotus-feet, maruvit toḻum maṉmē tantāy gifted with a mind to offer devoted worship, vallai kāṇ eṉ Vāmaṉaṉē Thou businesslike Vāmana! “My Father Trivikrama’s eyes are lotus-like flowers; mouth red-fruit, and his bodily mien shines like pure-white sphaṭika (marble). Other parts of the body, aṅga are akin and handsome. We worship in 108 Jeyapriya Rajarajan
orgiastic mode for several aeon and aeon at Thy lotus-feet. Business- like Lord Vāmana! Thou have gifted us the mind to offer Thee devoted worship.” 8. Vāmaṉaṉ eṉ marakata vaṇṇaṉ tāmaraik kaṇṇiṉaṉ Kāmaṉaip payantāy eṉṟu eṉṟu uṉ kaḻal pāṭiyē paṇintu Tū maṉat taṉaṉāyp piṟavit tuḻati nīṅka eṉṉai Tī maṉam keṭuttāy uṉakku eṉ ceykēṉ eṉ Cirītaraṉē Vāmaṉaṉ eṉ marakata vaṇṇaṉ My Vāmaṉa is of the emerald/green complexion, tāmaraik kaṇṇiṉaṉ eyes lotus-like, Kāmaṉaip payantāy gave birth to Kāmadeva, eṉṟu eṉṟu uṉ kaḻal pāṭiyē paṇintu all the time sing and worship Thy feet, tūmaṉat tanaṉāyp piṟavit tuḻati nīṅka pure mind to eradiate the great evils of birth, eṉṉai tīmaṉam keṭuttāy annulled my fiery terroritst mind, uṉakku eṉ ceykēṉ eṉ Cīrītaraṉē what shall I do for you my Śrīdhara. “My Lord Vāmana is of emerald (green-gem) complexion. His eyes are lotus-like. He gave birth to Kāmadeva (Vāmana was a boy- brahmacāri, cf. Mankodi 2001: cover plate). I sing all the time, and worship Thy sacred feet. I am pure at heart and willing to eradicate the evils born with me (karma/viṉai, karuma-viṉai). Thou have extinguished evil thoughts in terrorist minds. What shall I do for you, my Śrīdhara.” 9. Cirītaraṉ ceyya tāmaraik Kaṇṇaṉ eṉṟu eṉṟu irāp pakal vāy Verīi almantu kaṇkaḷ nīr malki vev vuyirttu uyirttu Marī iya tiviṉai māḷa iṉpam vaḷara vaikal vaikal Irīi uṉṉai eṉṉuḷ vaittaṉai en Iruṭīkēcaṉē Cirītaraṉ ceyya tāmaraik Kaṇṇaṉ Śrīdhara is the idolized lotus-like Kṛṣṇa, eṉṟu eṉṟu irāppakal vāy verīi night and day the mind whirls, alamantu kaṇṇīr malki with tears in eyes search here and there, vevvuyirttu uyirttu breath heavily, marīiya tīviṉai māḷa haunting terrors to annihilate, iṉpam vaḷara righteousness to increase, vaikal vaikal irīi every day that is passing, uṉṉai eṉṉuḷ vaittaṉai Thou are fixed in me, eṉ Iruṭikēcaṉē my Hṛṣīkeśa. “Śrīdhara is the idolized lotus-like Kṛṣṇa. My mind oscillates night and day, and with tears in eyes, and breathing heavily I search (for you) here and there. The mounting terrors pose a threat to cosmic peace that nāśa is to be annihilated in order that dharma may come to Dvādaśa-mūrti in Tamil Tradition 109
light. Days are passing like this. Thou are anchored in me, my Lord Hṛśīkeśa (come to rescue).” 10. Iruṭikēcaṉ em pirāṉ Ilaṅkai arakkar kulam Muruṭu tītta pirāṉ emmāṉ amarar pemmāṉ eṉṟu eṉṟu Teruṭi yākil neñcē vaṇaṅku tiṇṇam aṟi aṟintu Maruṭi yēlum viṭēl kaṇṭāy nampi Paṟpanāpaṉaiyē Iruṭikēcaṉ empirāṉ Hṛṣīkeśa is my Lord, Ilaṅkai arakkar kulam the demonic race of Laṅkā, muruṭu tīrtta pirāṉ the Lord torpedoed the regime (of demons), emmāṉ my Lord, amarar pemmāṉ dear to the gods, eṉṟu eṉṟu teruṭiyākil neñcē vaṇaṅku my mind, again and again offer worship to the Lord, tiṇṇam aṟi learn certainly, aṟintu maruṭi yēlum viṭēl kaṇṭāy do not give up the effort even if confused, nampi Paṟpanāpaṉaiyē Lord Padmanābha. “Hṛṣīkeśa is my Lord. He torpedoed the demonic regime and their family in Laṅkā. My Lord, He is dear to the gods. My mind is repeatedly keen in offering worship to the Lord. Learn certainly, and do not give up the effort even if mentally confused. The Lord is Padmanābha (ordains Brahmā in his umbilicus).” 11. Parpanāpaṉ uyaṟvu aṟa uyarum peruntiṟalōṉ Eṟparaṉ eṉṉai ākkik koṇṭu eṉakkē taṉṉait tanta Kaṟpakam eṉ amutam kārmukil pōlum Vēṅkaṭanal Veṟpaṉ vicumpōr pirāṉ entai Tāmōtaraṉē Paṟpanāpaṉ Padmanābha is the cosmic womb, Hiraṇyagarbha (VSN- 194, 411), uyarvu aṟa uyarum peruntiṟalōṉ the Great His might is incomparable, eṟpāṉ eṉṉai ākkikoṇṭu eṉakkē taṉṉait tanta the miracle-maker, he makes me His and offers Him to me, kaṟpakam the All-giving Tree, Kalpakavṛkṣa, eṉ amutam my Ambrosia, kārmukil pōlum Vēṅkaṭa nal veṟpaṉ Lord of auspicious Vēṅkaṭam Hills that is misted by black clouds, vicumpōr pirāṉ Lord of celestials, Tāmōtaraṉ Dāmodara is pet of the cowherds. “Padmanābha is the cosmic womb, Hiranyagarbha. He is the Great, whose efficacy is incomparable. His mind is concentrated on me, and reforms me and owns me. The omni-bestower, Kalpakavṛkṣa, He is my amṛta, Ambrosia. He is Lord of the sacred Vēṅkaṭam Hills always misted by black clouds. Lord of celestials, Dāmodara is the darling of cowherds (Yaldiz et al. 1992: 157-57 fig).” 110 Jeyapriya Rajarajan
12. Tāmōtaraṉait taṉi mutalvaṉai ñālam uṇṭavaṉai Āmōtaram aṟiyā oruvarkku eṉṟē toḻumavarkaḷ Tāmōtaraṉ uruvākiya Civaṟkum Ticaimukaṟkum Āmōtaram aṟiya emmaṉai eṉ āḻi vaṇṇaṉaiyē Tāmōtaraṉait taṉi mutalvaṉai the unearthly Lord Dāmodara is the singularly unique principle, ñālan uṇṭavaṉai the omnivorous; āmōtaram aṟiya oruvarkku is it possible to measure His magnitude? eṉṟē toḻumavarkaḷ adore the Lord, tāmōtaraṉ uruvākiya Civaṟkum Ticaimukaṟkum Śiva and the direction-facing Brahmā are impressions of Dāmodara, āmōtaram aṟiya is it possible for them to know the efficacy of the Lord? emmāṉai eṉ āḻi vaṇṇaṉaiye my Lord of the Cosmic mould. “The unearthly Lord Dāmodara is the singularly unique Principle. He is the omnivorous that gulps the cosmos (Viśvarūpa). Is it possible to measure His magnitude, whom we worship? Śiva and the direction- facing Brahmā are sparks of Dāmodara’s reflection. Is it possible to gauge the efficacies of the Lord? He is the multi-dimensional cosmic mould.” 13. Vaṇṇa māmaṇic cōtiyai amarar talai makaṉaik Kaṇṇaṉai Neṭumālait teṉ Kurukūrc Caṭakōpaṉ Paṇṇiya Tamiḻmālai āyirattuḷ ivai paṉṉiraṇṭum Paṉṉil paṉṉiru nāmap pāṭṭu aṇnaltāḷ aṇaivikkumē Vaṇṇa māmaṇic cōtiyai (The Lord is) the multi-coloured great gem, the Jyoti/Cōti (Light), amarar talaimakaṉaik chief of the gods, Kaṇṇaṉai Neṭumālait Kṛṣṇa and the Tall-Black, teṉ Kurukūr southern Kurukūr, Caṭakōpaṉ, paṇṇiya Tamiḻmālai knitted Tamiḻ wreath, āyirattuḷ ivai paṉṉiraṇṭūm these “twelve” among the one-thousand, paṇṇil paṉṉiru nāmap pāṭṭu by notes are verses after epithets (of the Lord, Dvādaśa), aṇṇal tāḷ aṇaivikkumē are placed at feet of the Lord. “The Lord is the multi-coloured (cf. citra-varṇa in Santhana-Lakshmi 2014: 80) Great Gem. He is the Cosmic Light. He is called Kṛṣṇa and the Tall-Black. Caṭakōpaṉ of southern Kurukūr has knitted the Tamiḻ garland in 1,000-verse of which the “twelve” set to notes are on the Dvādaśa Mūrti forms. These are placed at the sacred feet of the Lord.” Note: Transliteration and translation based on Kalidos 2015.
Dvādaśa-mūrti in Tamil Tradition 111
Figures
Figure 1: Āḻvārs and Ācāryas, Post-Nāyaka Painting (Nammāḻvār at top center), Makara-Neṭuṅkuḻaikkātaṉ Temple, Perai
Figure 2: Garbhagṛha and adjoining Mūrtis, Rock-cut Temple, Nārttāmalai
112 Jeyapriya Rajarajan
Figure 3: Dvādaśa Mūrti-s (computer graphics), Rock-cut Temple, Nārttāmalai
Figure 4: Sthānaka-Viṣṇu, Rock-cut Figure 5: Sthānaka-Viṣṇu, Rock-cut Temple, Nārttāmalai Temple, Nārttāmalai
Dvādaśa-mūrti in Tamil Tradition 113
References
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——— 1988. “The Maliayaḍippaṭṭi Cave Temples”, South Asian Studies, 4, 57-69, ——— 1989. Temple Cars of Medieval Tamiḻaham. Vijay Publications: Madurai. ——— 1999. “The dance of Viṣṇu: Spectacle of the Tamil Āḻvārs”. Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, Third Series, 9.2, 223-50. ——— 2006. “With the Earth as a Lamp and the Sun as the Flame - A Review”, Journal of the Institute of Asian Studies, XXIX. 1, 141-54, ——— 2006a. Encyclopaedia of Hindu Iconography: Early Medieval, Vol. I Viṣṇu. Sharada Publishing House: Delhi. ——— Idem 2006b. Vol. IV, Part II Brahmā and Other Deities. ——— 2012. “Tamil Literary Traditions and their Relevance in the Study of Indian Arts”, In Lorenzetti & Scialpi eds. 2012: 33-76. ——— 2013. “Viṣṇusahasranāma: An Analysis of Epithets in the Art Historical Context”. Conference Paper (MS). ——— 2015. Sacred Hymns of the South* (4,000 Tivviyappirapantam - Roman Transcription, English Translation and Summary - on- going). Kalittokai, In Caṅka Ilakkiyam pp. 312-84. Latha, Velu 2005. Cave Temples of the Pāṇḍya Country: Art and Ritual (with special reference to Putukkōṭṭai Region). Sharada Publishing House: Delhi. Lorenzetti, Tiziana & Fabio Scialpi 2012. Glimpses of Indian History and Art Reflections on the Past, Perspectives for the Future. Sapienza University of Rome: Rome. Mahadevan, T.M.P. 1972/1976. Viṣṇu-sahasra-nāma A Study. Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan: Bombay. Maṇimēkalai, ed. Po.Vē. Cōmacuntaraṉār, Kaḻakam: Chennai 1975. Mankodi, Kirit 2001. The Queen’s Stepwell at Patan. Project for Indian Cultural Studies: Bombay. Dvādaśa-mūrti in Tamil Tradition 115
Mevissen, Gerd J.R. 2010. “Corpus of Viṣṇu Images with daśāvatāras, predominantly from Bengal”. Berliner Indologische Studien, Band 19, 171-286. Naiḍu, B.R. Purushothama 1965/2001. Ācāriya Hirutayam in Tamil. University of Madras: Chennai. ——— 1951/2012. Tiruvāymoḻi (Tamil translation of Īṭu of Nam Piḷḷai, authentic commentary), 10 vols. University of Madras: Chennai. ‘Nālāyiram’: Nālāyirativviyappirapntam: 1. Ed. V.N. Devanadan, Chennai 1971. 2. Mayaṉ Patippakam: Chennai n.d. 3. 2 vols. The Little Flower Company: Chennai 1984/2008. 4. 4 vols. Vartamāṉaṉ Patippakam: Chennai 2011. Narayanan, Vasudha 2007. “With the Earth as a Lamp and the Sun as the Flame: Lightening Devotion in South India”, International Journal of Hindu Studies, 11. 3, 227-53. Paripāṭal, ed. Po.Vē. Cōmacuntaraṉār, Kaḻakam: Chennai 1957/1975. See also Caṅka Ilakkiyam (pp. 515-50) ed. Ca.Vē. Cuppiramaṇiyaṉ, Maṇivācakar Patippakam: Chennai 2006. Puṟaṉānūṟu in Caṅka Ilakkiyam (pp. 420-514). Rajarajan, R.K.K. 2006. Art of the Vijayanagara-Nāyakas: Architecture & Iconography, 2 vols. Sharada Publishing House: Delhi. ——— 2011. “Dakṣiṇāmūrti on vimānas of Viṣṇu Temples in the Far South”, South Asian Studies, 27. 2, 131-44. ——— 2012. “Antiquity of the Divyakṣetras in Pāṇḍināḍu”, Acta Orientalia, 73, 59-104. ——— 2012a. “Dance of Ardhanārī: A Historiogaphical Retrospection”. In Lorenzetti & Scialpi eds. 2012: 233-70 (cited in Kalidos 2012). ——— 2014. “Reflections on ‘Rāma-Setu’ in South Asian Tradition”, The Quarterly Journal of the Mythic Society, 105. 3, 1-14. 116 Jeyapriya Rajarajan
——— 2014a. Dictionary of Viṣṇuism with special reference to the ‘Nālāyiram’ (in progress, completed c. pp. 500). ——— 2014c. Tears of Kaṇṇaki: Annals and Iconology of Cilappatikāram. Sharada Publishing House: Delhi. Rajarajan, R.K.K., Jeyapriya-Rajarajan and Raju Kalidos 2012. “Morphological Riddles in Tamil Transcription of Viṣṇu’s Epithets”, East and West (communicated). Rajarajan, R.K.K. Jeyapriya-Rajarajan 2013. Mīnākṣī-Sundareśvara: Tiruviḷaiyāṭaṟ Purāṇam in Letters, Design and Art. Sharada Publishing House: Delhi. Ramanujam, A.K. 1981. Hymns for the Drowning. Princeton University Press: Princeton. Rangaswami, J. 2006. Śrīvacanabhūṣaṇam of Piḷḷai Lokācārya Translation and Commentary of Maṇavāḷamāmuṉi; Critical Evaluation of the Theo-Philosophy of the Post-Rāmānuja Śrīvaiṣṇavism. Sharada Publishing House: Delhi. Santhana-Lakshmi Parthiban 2014. “Śakti Iconography of the Śrītattvanidhi: A Case for Digitalization”, The Quarterly Journal of the Mythic Society, 105. 3, 72-85. Schrader, F. Otto 1916/1973. Introduction to Pāñcarātra and the Ahirbhudhnya Saṃhitā. The Adyar Library and Research Centre: Madras. Schwindler, Gary J. “Cave I at Narttamalai: A Reappraisal”, Artibus Asiae, XLI, 235-52. Śrītattvanidhi, ed. and Tamil transl. K.S. Subrahmanya Sastri, Sarasvati Mahal Library: Thanjavur 1964/2007. Tamil Lexicon, 7 vols. University of Madras: Chennai 1982 (reprint). Tapasyānanda 1986. See VSN. Tirumōḻi of Periyāḻvār, In ‘Nālāyiram’. Tiruppāvai, In ‘Nālāyiram’. Tiruvantāti I, In ‘Nālāyiram’. Tiruvantāti II, In ‘Nālāyiram’. Dvādaśa-mūrti in Tamil Tradition 117
Tiruvāymoḻi, In ‘Nālāyiram’. Tiruvāymoḻi, ‘Īṭu-urai’, 10 vols. See Naiḍu: 2012. VSN: Viṣṇusahasranāma (with the commentary of Śaṅkarācārya), ed. Svāmi Tapasyānanda, Sr Ramakrishna Math: Mylapore/ Chennai 1986. Yaldiz, Marianna, Claus and Barbara Fussman & V. Nadkarni 1992. Mythos und Leben: Indische Miniaturen aus der Sammlung Klaus and Barbara Fussman (Staatliche Museen zu Berlin). Verlag Peerlings: Krefiled. Zvelebil, Kamil Veith 1974. A History of Indian Literature. Otto Harrassowitz: Wiesbaden.
Acta Orientalia 2015: 76, 119–126. Copyright © 2015 Printed in India – all rights reserved ACTA ORIENTALIA ISSN 0001-6483
Zur Elision von „p“ in der ägyptischen Sprache
Stefan Bojowald Bonn, Germany
Abstract
This article considers in detail the elision of “p” in the Egyptian language. The phenomenon has already dealt with several times in the past. Here, the number of examples is increased by new material. The result shows that the elision of “p” has occurred at the beginning, middle or end of a word. In principle, the behaviour can be compared with the weakness of “b” at the same time.
Keywords: Egyptian Philology, Elision of “p”, possible explanation for the elision of “p”.
Der vorliegende Beitrag setzt sich intensiver mit der Elision von „p“ in der ägyptischen Sprache auseinander1. Die betreffende Gesetz-
1 Zu „p” vgl. Wilhelm Czermak, Die Laute der ägyptischen Sprache, Eine phonetische Untersuchung, I. Teil, Die Laute des Alt- und Mittelägyptischen, Schriften der Arbeitsgemeinschaft der Ägyptologen und Afrikanisten in Wien, 2. Band, Wien 1931, 1ff/142–143/166; Werner Vycichl, La vocalisation de la langue Égyptienne, Tome Ier, La Phonétique, Bibliothèque d´ Étude XVI, Le Caire 1990, 57. Zu einem demotischen Beispiel für die Elision von „p” (in einem makedonischen Monatsnamen) vgl. Y. El-Masry/H. Altenmüller/H.-J. Thissen, Das Synodaldekret von Alexandria aus dem Jahre 243 v. Chr., BSAK 11, Hamburg 2012, 71 (dort als 120 Stefan Bojowald mäßigkeit kann zu den durchaus geläufigen Erscheinungen gerechnet werden. Das Thema hat bereits mehrfach das Interesse der Forschung erregt. Der Gegenstand ist z. B. von Quaegebeur2 im Zusammenhang mit der Schreibung „Imn – Htp“ zur Sprache gebracht worden. Der gleiche Aspekt ist danach von Klotz mit wenigen Worten behandelt worden 3 . Die letzten Zweifel an der sprachlichen Realität des Phänomens dürften damit beseitigt sein. In den folgenden Zeilen wird der Elision von „p“ ein höheres Maß an Aufmerksamkeit gewidmet. Die Basis der Erscheinung soll dabei nach Möglichkeit verbreitert werden. Die Suche hat knapp zwanzig Beispiele ans Tageslicht gebracht, deren Menge sich in Zukunft durch neu entdeckte oder bisher übersehene Beispiele weiter erhöhen könnte. Die Publikation hat sich aber schon jetzt als lohnenswert erwiesen. Die Hauptbeweislast werden Schreibungen von einzelnen Wörtern tragen, deren äußere Gestalt durch die Elision von „p“ verändert worden ist. In kleinerem Umfang werden dann auch Wortspiele zu Demonstrationszwecken herangezogen, deren Entstehung ganz wesentlich von diesem Faktor abgehangen hat. Die Neigung der ägyptischen Sprache zur Bildung von Wortspielen ist in vielen Fällen zu beobachten. Die Quelle der Wortspiele haben – im weitesten Sinne – literarische Texte gebildet, wo sie nach den bisherigen Erfahrungswerten vermehrt auftreten. Die Vorschläge werden selbst auf die Gefahr hin gemacht, dass nicht alle der kritischen Überprüfung standhalten. Der Autor ist sich durchaus der Problematik des Ansatzes bewusst 4 . Der Artikel ist als reine Bestandsaufnahme konzipiert, wodurch der listenförmige Charakter
Defektivschreibung bezeichnet). Zur Elision von „p“ im Koptischen, wo z. T. eigene Ursachen gelten, vgl. Georg Steindorff, Mouilirung der Liquida r im Ägyptisch- Koptischen, in: ÄZ 27 (1889), 106–110, hier 106ff; Oskar von Lemm, Kleine koptische Studien, I–LVIII, unveränderter, um ein Vorwort von Peter Nagel, Halle/ Saale, vermehrter Nachdruck der 1899-1910 in den Petersburger Akademie-Schriften erschienenen Stücke, Subsidia Byzantina, Lucis ope iterata, Volume X, Leipzig 1972, 289–290. 2 Jan Quaegebeur, Amenophis, Nom royal et nom divin, Questions Méthodoliques, in: RdE 37 (1986), 97–106, hier 100. 3 David Klotz, On the Origin of the 3rd Masc. Sing. Suffix Pronoun (=f), A Comparative Approach, in: LingAeg 19 (2011), 247–250, hier 248 n. 14. 4 Zu den Schwierigkeiten, welche die Identifikation ägyptischer Wortspiele an den modernen Interpreten stellen, vgl. Antonio Loprieno, Puns and Word Play in Ancient Egyptian, in: S. Noegel (Ed.), Puns and Pundits. Word Play in the Hebrew Bible and Ancient Near Eastern Literature, Bethesda: CDL 2000, 7. Elision von „p“ in der ägyptischen Sprache 121 zu erklären ist. Das Material wird nach der jeweiligen Position der Elision von „p“ im Wort geordnet. Der Prozess hat den Anfang, die Mitte und das Ende des Wortes ergriffen. Die hier gewonnenen Ergebnisse lassen sich nur schwer mit der Aussage von Allen5 zur generellen Stabilität des „p“ in Einklang bringen. Die Informationen zum Alter der Belege können den Angaben in den Klammern entnommen werden. Die Belege decken ein zeitliches Spektrum vom Alten Reich bis in die Spätzeit ab.
1. Die Elision von „p“ zu Beginn des Wortes
Der erste Abschnitt wird unter dem Gesichtspunkt der Elision von „p“ zu Beginn des Wortes stehen. Die Diskussion wird mit der Schreibung „w“6 (Spätzeit) für das Pronomen „pw“ begonnen, hinter welcher die Elision von „p“ als Ursache zu vermuten ist. Die Schreibung 7 (Neues Reich) für „pri“ „herauskommen“ sollte bei dieser Gelegenheit ebenfalls nicht unerwähnt bleiben, die als weiterer möglicher Fall für die Elision von „p“ zu Beginn des Wortes gelten kann. In seinem Kommentar zur Stelle schreibt El-Kholi zwar, dass das „Hauszeichen“ von „pri“ auf völlig singuläre Weise ausgefallen ist. Die hier gegebene Erklärung würde sich aber durchaus als Alternative eignen. Die Annahme einer höchst seltenen Ausnahme könnte so jedenfalls problemlos vermieden werden. Das „i“ von „pri“ taucht bekanntlich so gut wie nie im hieroglyphischen Schriftbild auf. Die Schreibung (Neues Reich) für „p.t“8 „Himmel“ muss ebenfalls in diese Sammlung aufgenommen werden, die an min- destens zwei Stellen9 belegt werden kann.
5 James P. Allen, The ancient Egyptian Language, An Historical Study, Cambridge 2013, 43. 6 Andreas Pries, Die Stundenwachen im Osiriskult, Eine Studie zur Tradition und späten Rezeption von Ritualen im Alten Ägypten, Studien zur spätägyptischen Religion 2, Wiesbaden 2011, 192. 7 Mohamed Salah El-Kholi, Papyri und Ostraka aus der Ramessidenzeit, Monografie del Museo del Papiro 5, Siracusa 2006, 7. 8 Zum Wort „p.t“ „Himmel“ vgl. auch Wolfgang Schenkel, Zur Rekonstruktion der deverbalen Nominalbildung des Ägyptischen, GOF IV. Reihe: Ägypten, Band 13, Wiesbaden 1983, 119. 122 Stefan Bojowald
Das letzte Beispiel, das in diese Richtung weist, stellt die Schreibung 10 (Spätzeit) für „pD.t“ „Himmel“ dar, die auf der gleichen Ebene zu beurteilen ist.
2. Die Elision von „p“ in der Mitte des Wortes
Der zweite Abschnitt setzt sich inhaltlich mit der Elision von „p“ in der Mitte des Wortes auseinander. Die Schreibung 11 (Neues Reich) statt „Apd“12 „Vogel“ bietet sich als Einstieg an, die eindeutig unter die Beispiele für die Elision von „p“ in der Mitte des Wortes eingereiht werden kann Das Wortspiel zwischen „rn“ „Name“ und „rnpi“ „verjüngen“ passt ebenfalls sehr gut hierher, das offenbar in: „ctA.w n=k Hr m-x.t pXr X.wt, rnpi.ti m rn=k pwii n Ra“13 (Neues Reich) vorliegt. Die Übersetzung „Es wird für dich gezogen nach dem Herumgehen um die Leiber. Du bist verjüngt in diesem deinem Namen Re“ dürfte den Kern der Sache am besten treffen. Die Elision von „p“ würde eine durchaus passende Begründung für das Wortspiel liefern. Das „i“ ist als schwacher Konsonant gleich mit weggefallen, was überhaupt kein
9 Svenja A. Gülden, Die hieratischen Texte des P. Berlin 3049, Kleine Ägyptische Texte 13, Wiesbaden 2001, 78 (XVII, 1); Günther Roeder, Der Felsentempel von Bet- el-Wali, Les temples immergés de la Nubie, Service des Antiquités de l´ Égypte, Le Caire 1938, 30. 10 Yekaterina Barbash, The Mortuary Papyrus of Padikakem, Walters Art Museum 551, Yale Egyptological Studies 8, New Haven 2011, 145. 11 Günther Lapp, Totenbuchtexte, Synoptische Textausgabe nach Quellen des Neuen Reiches, Band 3, Totenbuch Spruch 125, Basel 2008, 45; ähnlich: Irmtraut Munro, Das Totenbuch des Bak-su (pKM 1970.37/pBrokklehurst) aus der Zeit Amenophis´ II., Handschriften des Altägyptischen Totenbuchs 2, Wiesbaden 1995, 22. 12 Zur Primärbedeutung „Vogel” von „Apd” vgl. Gabor Takács, Etymological dictionary of Egyptian, Volume One: A phonological introduction, Handbuch der Orientalistik, Erste Abteilung, Der Nahe und Mittlere Osten, Achtundvierzigster Band, Leiden – Boston – Köln 1999, 67; J. P. Allen, The Ancient Egyptian Language, An Historical Study, Cambridge 2013, 26, 28; zur Primärbedeutung „Ente“ vgl. Raymond O. Faulkner, Apd = “duck“, in: JEA 38 (1952), 128; zur Bedeutung „Vogel/ Ente“ vgl. Jürgen Osing, Die Nominalbildung des Ägyptischen, Textband, Sonderschrift Deutsches Archäologisches Institut Abteilung Kairo 3a, Mainz 1976, 120. 13 Jan Zandee, Der Amunhymnus des Papyrus Leiden I 344, verso, Band III, Leiden 1992, 837. Elision von „p“ in der ägyptischen Sprache 123
Einzelfall ist. Die Schreibung „rn
.ii
14 Daniel A. Werning, Das Höhlenbuch, Textkritische Edition und Textgrammatik, Teil II: Textkritische Edition und Übersetzung, GOF IV. Reihe: Ägypten, Band 48, Wiesbaden 2011, 465. 15 Zum Verb „Hai“ „jubeln“ vgl. auch A. Roccati, Lessico dinamico nell´ Egiziano Antico, in: A. M. F. W. Verhoogt/S. P. Vleeming (Eds.), The two faces of Graeco – Roman Egypt, Greek and Demotic and Greek – Demotic Texts and Studies presented to P. W. Pestman (P. L. Bat 30), Leiden – Boston – Köln 1998, 90. 16 Pries, Stundenwachen, 70. 17 Stefan Bojowald, Einige neue Bemerkungen zum ägyptischen Lautwandel zwischen „a” und „c”/ Some new remarks on the Egyptian phonetic change between “a“ and “c“, in: AuOr 32/1 (2014), hier 28; zu den Wortspielen mit „Hapi“ „Nil“ jüngst auch Christian Leitz, Die Gaumonographien in Edfu und ihre Papyrusvarianten, Ein überregionaler Kanon kultischen Wissens im spätzeitlichen Ägypten, Soubassementstudien III, Teil 1: Text, Studien zur spätägyptischen Religion 9, Wiesbaden 2014, 144 n. 20. 18 Zum Wort „cpd“ „spitz“ vgl. Igor M. Diakonoff/Anna G. Belova/Alexandre J. Militarev/Victo Ja. Porkhomovsky, Historical comparative vocabulary of Afrasian, St. Petersburg Journal African Studies 6 (1997), 12–35, hier 14/27. 19 CG 29304, 133–134; zu dieser Stelle vgl. auch Christian Leitz, Der Sarg des Panehemisis in Wien, Studien zur spätägyptischen Religion 3, Wiesbaden 2011, 161. 20 Alan H. Gardiner, The Instructions addressed to Kagemni and his Brethren, in: JEA 32 (1946), 71–74, hier 73; zu dieser Stelle vgl. auch Günter Vittmann, Altägyptische 124 Stefan Bojowald
Reich) vor, wofür die Übersetzung „Geschärft sind die Messer gegen den, der den Weg übertritt“ in Betracht gezogen werden kann. Das Wortspiel zwischen „cpd“ „spitz, geschärft“ und „dc“ „Messer“ baut zusätzlich auf einer Metathese auf.
3. Die Elision von „p“ am Ende des Wortes
Im dritten Abschnitt werden die Beispiele für die Elision von „p“ am Ende des Wortes aufgearbeitet. Die Schreibung 21 (Neues Reich) für „ip.t“ in „Hb – ip.t“ „Opetfest“ sollte ebenfalls in die Überlegungen einbezogen werden, deren äußeres Erscheinungsbild wohl auf die Elision von „p“ am Ende des Wortes zurückgeht. Die Schreibung 22 (Altes Reich) für „irp“ „Wein“ fordert das gleiche Interesse ein, die ebenfalls auf die Elision von „p“ am Ende des Wortes hindeutet. Die Schreibung 23 (Neues Reich) für die „nkp.t“ – Pflanze24 verdient an diesem Ort ebenfalls erwähnt zu werden, die in gleicher Weise durch die Elision von „p“ am Ende des Wortes erzeugt worden ist. Die feminine „t“ – Endung kann in diesem Fall der Einfachheit halber vernachlässigt werden. Die Schreibung 25 (Neues Reich) für „Hcp“ „Beet, Garten“ nimmt den nächsten Platz auf der Liste ein, die ebenfalls die Elision von „p“ am Ende des Wortes widerspiegelt.
Wegmetaphorik, Veröffentlichungen der Institute für Afrikanistik und Ägyptologie der Universität Wien 83, Beiträge zur Ägyptologie Band 15, Wien 1999, 123 (11, 1). 21 Christian Leitz, Tagewählerei, Das Buch HA.t nHH pH.wy D.t und verwandte Texte, Textband, Ägyptologische Abhandlungen 55, Wiesbaden 1994, 82. 22 Sélim Hassan, Excavations at Gîza, with Special Chapters on Methods of Excavation, the False – door, and other Archaeological and religious Subjects, Volume V, 1933-1934, Excavations of The Faculty of Arts, Fouad I University, Cairo 1944, 94/118; Heinrich Balcz, Die Gefäßdarstellungen des Alten Reiches, in: MDIK 3 (1932), 50–87, hier 63. 23 Jacobus J. Janssen, A twentieth-dynasty account papyrus (Pap. Turin no. Cat. 1907/8), in: JEA 52 (1966), pl. XVIa, rt. Col. II, 15. 24 Zur „nkp.t“ – Pflanze und ihrer mutmaßlichen Bestimmung als „menthe“ vgl. Gerard Charpentier, Recueil de matériaux épigraphiques relatifs a la botanique de l´ Égypte Antique, Paris 1981, 420 (659). 25 WB III, 162. Elision von „p“ in der ägyptischen Sprache 125
Die Aufmerksamkeit des Lesers soll als nächstes auf die Schreibung „xr“26 (Spätzeit) für „xrp“ „darbringen“ gelenkt werden, die als weiteres Indiz für die Elision von „p“ am Ende des Wortes gewertet werden kann. Die Schreibung „ci“27 (Spätzeit) für „cip“ „überweisen“ sollte aus dem gleichen Grund hervorgehoben werden, die den anderen Beispielen als durchaus gleichwertig an die Seite gestellt werden kann. Die Schreibung (Mittleres Reich) für „cSp“ „erhellen“ kann der Reihe noch hinzugefügt werden, die ebenfalls an der Elision von „p“ am Ende des Wortes zu identifizieren ist. Die entsprechende Schreibung präsentiert sich in der Passage: „in N.N. pn cS n=c kkw“28, wofür die Übersetzung „Es ist dieser N. N., der für es die Finsternis erhellt“ die beste Lösung zu sein scheint. Das Suffixpronomen „=c“ hat sich dort auf das durch Atum zur Suche von Schu und Tefnut ausgesandte Auge bezogen. Die Schreibung „Tr“ für „Trp“ „Gans“29 kann ebenfalls unter dem Aspekt der Elision von „p“ genannt werden. Das Wort „Tr“ war von Behrens30 noch als eigene Gänsebezeichnung aufgefasst worden. Die Dinge sind bereits von Westendorf31 dahingehend richtig gestellt
26 Andrea Kucharek, Altägyptische Totenliturgien Band 4, Die Klagelieder von Isis und Nephthys in Texten der Griechisch-Römischen Zeit, Supplemente zu den Schriften der Heidelberger Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philosophisch-Historische Klasse Band 22, Heidelberg 2010, 451. 27 Kucharek, Altägyptische Totenliturgien, 487. 28 Adriaan de Buck, The Egyptian Coffin Texts, II. Texts of Spells 76–163, The University of Chicago Oriental Institute Publications Volume XLIX, Chicago 1938, II 5c. 29 Zur „Trp“ – Gans vgl. Franz Calice, Grundlagen der ägyptisch-semitischen Wortvergleichung, Eine kritische Diskussion des bisherigen Vergleichsmateriales, Beihefte zur „Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes“, 1. HEFT, Wien 1936, 220; Wolfgang Helck, Materialien zur Wirtschaftsgeschichte des Neuen Reiches (Teil II), III. Eigentum und Besitz an verschiedenen Dingen des täglichen Lebens, Kapitel A–O, Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Literatur, Abhandlungen der Geistes- und Sozialwissenschaftlichen Klasse, Jahrgang 1963, Wiesbaden 1963, (504); Wolfhart Westendorf, Handbuch der altägyptischen Medizin, 1. Band, HdO, Erste Abteilung, Der Nahe und Mittlere Osten, Sechsunddreißigster Band, Leiden – Boston – Köln 1999, 510. 30 Peter Behrens, LÄ II, 504, s. v. Geflügel. 31 Wolfhart Westendorf, Bemerkungen und Korrekturen zum Lexikon der Ägypto- logie, Göttingen 1989, 27. 126 Stefan Bojowald worden, dass es sich um nichts anderes als eine Nebenform zu „Trp“ „Gans“ handelt.
Fazit
Die Resultate der voran stehenden Bemerkungen können auf folgende Weise zusammengefasst werden. Die Elision von „p“ konnte durch zusätzliche Beispiele gestützt werden. Die Erscheinung würde im Schwund von „b“ eine gewisse Entsprechung finden, der bereits durch Fecht32 als solcher festgestellt worden. Im ersten Moment könnte der Ausfall von „p“ auch auf graphische Ursachen zurückgeführt und mit der kleinen Gestalt des Zeichens erklärt werden. Die Wahrschein- lichkeit wird hier jedoch nicht für sehr groß gehalten. In seiner oben zitierten Arbeit hatte auch Quaegebeur von einem phonetischen Phänomen gesprochen.
32 Gerhard Fecht, Wortakzent und Silbenstruktur, Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der ägyptischen Sprache, Ägyptologische Forschungen 21 Glückstadt – Hamburg – New York, 1960, 80; weitere Beispiele: Jürgen Osing, Die Nominalbildung des Ägyptischen, Anmerkungen und Indices, Sonderschrift Deutsches Archäologisches Institut Abteilung Kairo 3B, Mainz 1976, 621 (630); zum irrtümlichen (?) Ausfall von b“ in der Mitte des Wortes vgl. Winfried Barta, Zu einigen Textpassagen der Prophezeiung des Neferti, in: MDIK 27/1 (1971), 35–45, hier 41.
Acta Orientalia 2015: 76, 127–158. Copyright © 2012 Printed in India – all rights reserved ACTA ORIENTALIA ISSN 0001-6483
Vañcaikkaḷam Past and Present Rāmāyaṇa Panels in Kēraḷa-Mahādeva Temple
R.K.K. Rajarajan Gandhigram Rural University, India
Abstract
Vañcaikkaḷam is a Śiva-sthala in the Kuṭṭanāḍu region of Kēraḷa. It is one among the + 280 sthalas extolled in the Tēvāram (7.4) hymns. Noted for the typical Kēraḷa temple-type, it is unique in several respects. Saints Cēramāṉ Perumāḷ and Cuntarar are associated with the venue, and they are supposed to have visited the Kailāsa on the Himālayas in person, a rare honour that Śiva confers on the Nāyaṉmār. This may be a metaphor for considering Vañcaikkaḷam as the Śiva-loka on earth or the Dakṣiṇa-Kailāsa. Research on the architecture and iconography of the temple is scanty excepting the tidbits in Sarkar 1978 and Paramesvaran Pillai 1986. The present article presents an account of the temple from literature, and field- based study of architecture and iconography with special reference to the rare Rāmāyaṇa wood-carved sculptures.
Keywords: Vañcaikkaḷam/Vañchikkuḷam, Vañci, Śrīkōvil, Cēramāṉ Perumāḷ, Cuntarar, Tēvāram, Tirukayilāyañāṉaulā, Rāmāyaṇa, Rāmāṣṭottaram, Rāma, Viśvāmitra, Paśupati, Dakṣiṇāmūrti, Kailāsa, wood-carved images. 128 R.K.K. Rajarajan
Vañcaikkaḷam (Malaiyāḷam Vañchikkuḷam) is a famous Śiva-sthala in the Kuṭṭanāḍu (Lowlands) region of Central Kēraḷa. Saint Cuntarar, a contemporary of Cēramāṉ Perumāḷ c. 800 CE (TAS II-I: 8-14, Sarkar 1978: 21, 59) has composed a patikam (collection of ten hymns) on the venue. The sthala is one among the + 280 (Spencer 1970: 232-44, Kalidos 2006: II, 292) listed from the hymns of the Tēvāram-trio (Sathyanathaier 1980: 408)1. The venue has been identified with the metropolis of the ancient Cēras, Vañci (Sarkar 1978: 13), and where Ceṅkuṭṭuvaṉ of Patiṟṟuppattu (5th Ten, Patikam) and Cilappatikāram fame erected a temple for Pattiṉi-Kaṇṇaki (Rajarajan 2014: chap. V). The temple for Bhagavatī-Kaṇṇaki of Koṭuṅkallūr2 is about a km from the Mahādeva at Vañcaikkaḷam. Of the two temples, Koṭuṅkallūr seems to be the earliest. The existing temple for Pattiṉi (also Bhadrakālī) is likely to have been erected on the debris of an early structure built by Ceṅkuṭṭuvaṉ (c. 150 CE), and dated since the sixteenth century CE. Vañcaikkaḷam emerges into the picture as a center of Śivaism (Gonda 1970) by about the time of Cēramāṉ Perumāḷ and Cuntarar in the early ninth century CE. The place-name is a pointer of its link with Vañci of the ancient Cēras. It has been the subject-matter of Cuntarar’s patikam; cf. Kulacēkara Āḻvār on the Viṣṇu temples in Kēraḷa3. It is not clear why Cēramāṉ Perumāḷ Nāyaṉār is silent about the sthala-Vañcaikkaḷam4. He was a devoted
1 The three are Ñāṉacampantar, Nāvukkaracar and Cuntarar (seventh-ninth centuries CE). Other sources list a total of 274 sthalas (vide, temple.dinamalar.com). Vañcaikkaḷam is the only Śiva-sthala in Kerala extolled in bhakti hymns (Tēvāram 7, Patikam 4). 2 The structure of the temple and the rituals has undergone thorough ramifications during the past millennium and a half (Gentes 1992, cf. Rajarajan & Jeyapriya 2014: chap. V). 3 The Vaiṣṇava hymnist, Kulacēkara Āḻvār has composed the Perumāḷ Tirumoḻi in about 100 hymns that encompasses divyadeśas such as Araṅkam (cf. Kalidos 1993- 95: 136-52, Jeyapriya 2001: 612-15, Rajarajan 2013: 70-71), Cittirakūṭam (Kalidos 1997: 17-24), Vēṅkaṭam (Jeyapriya 2014*), Kaṇ[ṇ]apuram (Kannan 2006: chap. I)**, and Vittuvakkōṭu (modern Miṭṭakōḍē in Malaiyāḷam; vide, Rajarajan 2013a). * Presents a brief summary of c. 200 Āḻvārs’ hymns. All the saints have contributed their share excepting Maturakavi and Toṇṭaraṭippoṭi. ** Presents a summary of 128 hymns. 4 Cēramāṉ Perumāḷ is credited with three works that come under the 11th Tirumuṟai (Zvelebil 1974: 197-98). They are Poṉvaṇṇattiruvantāti-PTA (100+1 quatrains), Tiruvārūr-mummaṇikkōvai-TMK (29 poems in ll. 4 to 20) and Tirukkailāyañāṉulā- TKN (long poem in ll. 304). These works do not spell out Vañcaikkaḷam. Tillai [later Citamparam] (PTA 77), Ārūr (TMK 1, 8, 10, 16, 22) and Kaṭavūr (TMK 24) are Rāmāyaṇa Panels in Kēraḷa-Mahādeva Temple 129
Śiva-bhakta and rāja-yogi that is attested by the TKN. His alleged conversion to Islam (Sastri 1971: 162) is due to Ṣūfi concoction of the post-ninth century5. Highly orthodox in ritual performances within the sacred precincts, temples in Kēraḷa were not accessible for field-based research until the last generation, and photography was and is in certain parts of temples strictly prohibited. Therefore, no illustrated account of the temples may be found in any published work, excepting a bird’s eye view (see plates and plans in Kramrisch et al. 1970, Sarkar 1978, Noble 1981, Pillai 1986, Jayashanker 1997).
The present study brings to light a brief account of the Vañcaikkaḷam temple with special reference to the wood-carved Rāmāyaṇa sculptures. It hopes to add to our existing knowledge on the temples of Kēraḷa. It may be of concern to scholars interested in Kēraḷa studies that are not permitted to enter the sacrosanct parts of the Hindu temples. The aim is three-pronged: 1. A brief description of the Vañcaikkaḷam temple (cf. Pillai 1986: 189) 2. Examination of the Rāmāyaṇa wood-carved images 3. A summary of the hymns bearing on Tiruvañcaikkaḷam (Attachment)
The Temple
The temple, called Mēl-taḷi (Upper Temple)6 is east facing and is in two prākāras. Entry into the oblong temple is provided in the east and
notified. It is likely the Civalōkam, Civapuram and Tirukkōyil appearing in TKN 5 is a metaphor for Vañcaikkaḷam. Several sacred centers of worship in the south are considered Dakṣiṇa-Kailāsa (e.g. Tillai and Ārūr), and Vañcaikkaḷam is one among the choicest. 5 Kēraḷa being midway between Rome and China was the meeting place of Semitic, Greek, Roman, Jew, Syrian Christian, Chinese (early settlements), Arabs (pre- and post-Islamic) from time immemorial. Conversion to the alien religions either voluntary or at the point of gun and Inquisition went on unabated (Kumar 2013: 21- 29). R.K.K. Rajarajan (2014: chap. V, note 14) reports a depressed community of Cērumāṉs (Thurston 1909: II see under Cheruman) has apparently disappeared from the anthropological map of Kēraḷa due to conversions. Interestingly, Thurston 1909 cites Indian informants that say the Cerumāṉs (cf. Cēramāṉ) were the ancient Cēras. 6 Kīḻtaḷi and Mēltaḷi stand for temples on the lower and upper part of a venue; cf. Kacci-mēṟṟaḷi (Tēvāram 4.62, 7.21) and Kuṭantaik-kīḻkkōṭṭam (ibid. 6.289). Taḷi and kōṭṭam mean “temple”. 130 R.K.K. Rajarajan west by gopuras in the typical Kēraḷite mode. Both the inner and outer prākāra entrances accommodate gopuras that is supposed to be unique feature in Kēraḷa7. Pillai (1986: 169) adds the following note: “Noted for its structural peculiarities, the most noteworthy feature is the presence of more than one gopuram. Srikovil [śrīkōyil]8 has a porch in front, a feature not commonly found in other temples. Numerous shrines are there within the sacred enclosure. The statues of Ceraman Perumal Nayanar [Cēramāṉ Perumāḷ Nāyaṉār] and his spiritual preceptor Sundaramurti Svamikal [Cuntaramūrti Cuvāmikaḷ] are set up and worshipped. In the temple precincts are found a pair of konna trees (Cassisus fistural [Tamil koṉṟai Cassia fistula])…Mural paintings… 100 sq. ft. (tenth and eleventh centuries) could be seen. Two Malayalam inscriptions… [of] Ravivarma, King of Cochin [Kocci], are dated 1801 and 1831…” [Box parenthesis mine] During a recent visit to the temple we were able to do some photographic job in the outer prākāra. A vast tank, kuḷam is found nearby after which the Malaiyāḷam place-name, Vañcaik-kuḷam takes root9. The Lord was known Añcaikkaḷattappaṉ (see Attachment), Vañchuleśa (early 19th century) and presently Mahādeva. A brief account of the layout is presented hereunder to better understand and locate the Rāmāyaṇa wooden sculptures that seem to have been added during the 17th-18th century. Casually it may note, the Rāmāyaṇa sculptures from the wooden temple cars (Tamil tēr, Sanskrit ratha) have received an adequate treatment (Kalidos 1988: 104 [figs. 1-10], 1989: 349-57, 1991: figs. 1-14, cf. Rajarajan 1998: 329-48 [figs. 1-20], cf. 2006: figs. 119-123, 231-233, 238, 2010: 101- 105 [figs. CP XIV-XVII 1-15]; Jeyapriya 2010: 113-16, figs. CP XIX.1-XXII-2). Raju Kalidos 1989 has registered 200+ wood-carved
7 Massive rāyagopuras at the cardinal directions appear in temples of Tamilnadu (Auboyer 1994: plans 1-2, Rajarajan 2006: II, pls. Maturai-1, Śrīraṅgam-10; Rajarajan & Jeyapriya 2013: pls. 1-2, cf. Harle 1963) reaching the apogee in Śrīraṅgam. For early dwarf-gopuras, called dvāraśobha see Rajarajan 2012: figs. 14, 46-47). 8 Cf. tirukkōyil in Tirukkailāyañāṉaulā [v. 5] of Cēramāṉ Perumāḷ. The author’s name is Cērarkōmāṉ (PTA 101) that is supposed to have travelled on a veḷḷāṉai (white elephant) to the Kailāsa. This event is illustrated in the Cōḻa murals of the Rājarājeśvaram at Tañcāvūr (Sriraman 2011: figs. pp. 181-882). 9 Kaḷam means “field”, maybe also kṣetra or sthala that appears in the hymns of Cuntarar (see Attachment). Kuḷam is “tank” or “water reservoir”. The vast tank close to the temple seems to have been enlarged during the later medieval period that was originally a pond (cf. Cuntarar’s hymns in Attachment). Rāmāyaṇa Panels in Kēraḷa-Mahādeva Temple 131 images on the subject (Dallapiccola 1994: 11-24, cf. Dallapiccola et al. 2005: 253-308, Kalidos 2006: II, pl. VIII). The present article demonstrates how the hidden temples of Kēraḷa open new avenues of research on Hindu iconography in general and the Rāmāyaṇa imagery in particular. Sarkar 1973 and 1978 has not illustrated any wooden sculpture on the Rāmāyaṇa theme10. Therefore, the present article is rewarding on Kēraḷa studies and the Rāmāyaṇa. The temple is provided with entrances in the east and west on the outer and inner prākāras (Fig. 1, Plan). The entrance on the east is fitted with a Kēraḷa-type gopura that is dvitala (Fig. 2)11. The outer wall on the west is fitted with a dvāraśobhā (detailed in Kāyapaśilpaśāstra and Mayamata chap. 24, Dagens 1985: 163; Ramakrishnan 1993-95: 91; Fig. 3). Tall gopuras appear on the entrances to the outer nāḷambalam (Jayashanker 1997: pl. 13, Rajarajan 2014: figs. 5-6). The Brahmasthāna, i.e. śrīkōvil/ garbhagha is encased in the inner sacred core of the temple. Spoken with reference to the majestic gopura on the east12, it could be presumed the main entrance to the temple is east13. Entering the east gopura and moved in pradakṣiṇa chapels for Dakṣiṇāmūrti (south Fig. 4) and Paśupati (southwest Fig. 5) are viewed on the southern sector. The western sector provides for a dvāraśobahā-gopura and ānapandal “porch”. On the northwest the well is found (Fig. 6). In between the porch and tank two more chapels are accommodated. The northern sector houses two konnai trees14, hypaethral Liṅga and votive nāgas (Fig. 7). The interlaying
10 A mural relating to the Paṭṭābhiṣeka of Rāma is inserted from the Pallimanna Śiva temple, Kumblanāḍ (Sarkar 1978: pl. LIII.B). Very few wood-carvings are reported in this work. See illustrations in Sarkar 1973. 11 Some try to find Chinese influence (see note 5) on the architecture of Kēraḷa and at the same time admit it “is doubtful” (Mitter 2001:73, fig. 48). 12 When we visited the temple sometime in January 2014, we proceeded from the Kaṇṇaki-Bhagavatī temple through the main streets of the twin-city, Vañcaikkuḷam- Koṭuṅkallūr, and were compelled to get into the complex by the western gateway. 13 Gateways to Maturai and Śrīraṅgam temples are found on four cardinal directions. However, in Śrīraṅgam the pilgrims usually get an access to the temple through the south. The popular entry points in the Mīnākṣī-Sundareśvara temple are east and south. 14 Cēramāṉ Perumāḷ in his hymns repeatedly notes the koṉṟai (Cassia fistula), the favourite of Śiva (PTA 35, 39-40, 49-51, 63, 90; TMK 18). Cf. Cuntarar (Tēvāram 7.24.1) adds: Miṉṉār ceñcaṭaimēl miḷirkoṉṟai yaṇintavaṉē “glittering koṉṟai decks the shining tiara”. 132 R.K.K. Rajarajan space in between the two eastern gopuras is occupied by a porch; tall brick and mortar pillars fitted with a tiled superstructure. The dvajastambha, vāliyabalikal and agramaṇḍapa are affixed in this venue.
Figure 1: Plan of the Mahādeva Temple, Vañcaikkaḷam Rāmāyaṇa Panels in Kēraḷa-Mahādeva Temple 133
The garbhagha for Añcaikkaḷattappaṉ-Mahādeva is located in the inner enclosure of the temple facing east (cf. Sarkar 1978: pls. LXXIII-LXXV). The images of Cuntarar and Cēramāṉ Perumāḷ are installed in this sacred zone15. They are supposed to have moved to the Kailāsa, and so there is every reason to suggest the venue is the Dakṣiṇa-Kailāsa (supra). Furthermore, Cēramāṉ Perumāl in TKN (ll. 8-9) makes a note of Civalōkam (also PTA 5)16, Civapuram and Tirukkōyil (Malaiyāḷam Śrīkōvil) thereby suggesting Vañcaikkaḷam is the Kailāsa17. Maheśvara or Mahādeva and his abode in the Kailāsa
15 Separate prathiṣṭha of Sapta Mātkas, Aṟupattumūvar (Nāyaṉmār-63), Naṭarāja, Caṇḍikeśvara, Unnideva, and other upadevatās are present. Totally twenty-five such installations are identified. 16 Cuntarar and Cēramāṉ Perumāḷ are supposed to have visited the Śiva-loka with their mortal coil. Cf. Varaguṇa Pāṇḍya taken to the Śiva-loka (Tiruviḷaiyāṭaṟ Purṇam of Perumpaṟṟappuliyūr Nampi, Episode 48). Vide, Rajarajan & Jeyapriya 2013: 7, 11, 33-34, fig. 66. 17 The TKN visualizes the ulā “procession” of Śiva on the Kailāsa decorated with all royal paraphernalia and a host of attendant-gods*. The ulā is meant for the darśana of women belonging to seven-age groups such as pētai 5-8 (age), petumpai 9-10, maṅkai 11-14, maṭantai 15-18, arivai 19-24, terivai 25-29 and pēriḷampeṇ 30-36 (Zvelebil 1974: 199). Presumably, they are in love with Śiva (TKN l. 85 notes Kāmaṉnūl/Kāmasūtra?). In those times pre-puberty marriages (down to the early twentieth century) were common. Kaṇṇaki was married at the age of twelve as maṅkai (Cilappatikāram 1.24). Now-a-days, a woman getting married at the age of 30 as pēriḷampeṇ is common. * They are Nanti (Nandi), Vacukkaḷ (Vasus 8), Eḻuvar-Iruṭikaḷ (Sapta-ṣis), Paṉṉiruvar-Ātittar (Dvādaśa-Āditys), Akattiyaṉ (Agastya), Yamaṉ, Niruti-mutalōr (Nairti, the dikapālakas – Wessels-Mevissen 2001: 98-100), Varuṇaṉ, Vāyu, Cōmaṉ (Candra), Īcāṉaṉ, Accuṉi (Aśvins), Tūya-Uruttirarkaḷ (Pure Rudras), Kupēraṉ (Kubera), Kaṅkai-Yamuṉai…tīttaṅkaḷ (Gaṅgā, Yamunā and other tīrthas), Nākam- eṭṭu/Aṣṭa-Nāgas (Nāgas eight), Tumpuru-Nāratar (Tumburu-Nārada), Cēṉāpati (Devasenāpati-Skanda), Intiraṉ (Indra), Ayaṉ (Brahmā), Karuṭaṉ (Garuḍa), Kāmaṉ, Vāmaṉ (Arhat or the Buddha), Viāyakaṉ, Maṅkai-eḻuvar (Seven Mātkas or Pattiṉis), Nīli riding lion, Viccātarar (Vidyadhara), Iyakkar (Yakṣa), Kiṉṉarar, Kimpuruṭar, Kiṅkarar, Kaṇam (ganas), Arakkar-Acurar (demons), Vālakilyar (Valakhilyas) and so on. The TMK adds Ñāyiṟu/Sun (PTA 26), Tiṅkaḷ/Moom and Pāṃpu “snakes” (Rāhu- Ketu? PTA 90), and Cevvāy/Mars (l. 5) an early vision of the Navagrahas, the Nine Planetary deities (cf. Tēvāram 2.221.1: Ñāyiṟu Tiṅkaḷ Cevvāy Putaṉ Viyāḻam Veḷḷḷi Caṉi Pāmpiraṇṭu “two serpents”; Rajarajan 2006: 104, 2015:169-96). It is only in the hymns of Cēramāṉ that such a cavalcade of minor gods is obtained, supposed to attend on the Cosmic Man, Puruṣa-Śiva who pervades through the celestial bodies in the Milky Way, Aṇṭattukkappāḷaṉ (TMK 4) as the Sthāṇu/Tāṇu “Pillar/Liṅga” (PTA 38), the Ādimūrti/Ātimūrtti “Primeval Lord” (TMK 10) on the Axis mundi, Mēru (PTA 88). 134 R.K.K. Rajarajan are detailed in the Śivapañcākṣarī (Śrītattvanidhi 1.3.1). The Lord in this account is presumably Paśupati (‘Pacupati’ PTA 30, 61 “Lord of Creatures”) full of compassion for bhaktas. The two chapels for Paśupati18 and Dakṣiṇāmūrti19 in southern nāḷambalam would confirm the benign aspect of Śiva20. Śiva’s basic ethos is tāmasa, and thereby the God of Destruction (Jeyapriya 2009: chap. I). He is viewed as a sustaining principle in the Vañcaikkaḷam tradition; cf.TKN: Ariyākik kāppāṉ Ayaṉāyp paṭaippāṉ Aranāy aḻippavanun tāṉē… Evvuruvil yāroruvar uḷkuvar vuḷḷattuḷ Avvuruvāyt tōṉṟi aruḷkoṭuppāṉ… [ll. 5-10] “The protector as Hari, the creator as Brahmā The destroyer as Hara, He is… Whoever those imagine in whichever form appears in their mind (The Lord in) such a design confers his grace…” It is to suggest Śiva compresses Viṣṇu and Brahmā within his own mega-personality as the Cosmic [Virāṭ-]Puruṣa (cf. the Puruṣasūkta of the gveda; Irukku in TKN l. 24; Viśvarūpa in Śivasahasranāma 44, 95; Maxwell 1983: 213-34). Śiva is supposed to be foremost among the Trimūrti: Mēvarāya viraimalarōṉ ceṅkaṇmā līcaṉṉeṉṉum
18 It stands to be verified whether independent chapels for Paśupati (cf. Lorenzetti 1996) exist elsewhere; the earliest imagery is of the Indic culture (Basham 1971: pl. 5f). 19 Dakṣiṇāmūrti normally appears in a devakoṣṭha in temples of Tamilnadu since the Pallava period, e.g. Takkōlam, Tiruttaṇi, Kaḻukkuṉṟam, and Puḷḷamaṅkai (Kalidos 1996: fig. 8) and not in a separate chapel (Kalidos 2006: II, pl. LXXVII.2, cf. LXXVIII.1, CIV.1). Interestingly the Lord is ṃūlabera in the Irunilaṅkōḍu/Kēraḷa rock-cut cave (Ibid. pl. CV, Sarkar 1978: pl. IV.B). 20 Dakṣiṇāmūrti (cf. the Dakṣiṇāmūrti-stotra of Śaṅkara) and Paśupati (Śivasahasranāma-409, 869 in the Anuśāsanaparva of the Mahābhārata) are the cumulative essence of Śiva’s total personality. Śaṅkara in the Dakṣiṇāmūri-stotra in ten stanzas (commented by Śrī Sureśvarācārya in Mānasollāsa) invokes (Vasanthakumari 2003: 12-13, 15): Tasmai Śrīgurumūrtaye nama yidaṃ Śrī Dakṣiṇāmūrttaye – “Extol the great Auspicious Teacher, He is Śrī Dakṣiṇāmūrti”. The Vaiṣṇavas claim the same status for Viṣṇu as Guruḥ and Gurutamaḥ (Viṣṇusahasranāma 209-210). Rāmāyaṇa Panels in Kēraḷa-Mahādeva Temple 135
Mūvarāya mutaloruvaṉ… (Tēvāram 1.53.1) “The three are He-on-flower (Brahmā), the red-eyed-Māl (Viṣṇu) and Īśvara; One, He is three …” That is to say Śiva is perceived as Paśupati in the Vañcaikkaḷam tradition (vide, Attachment v. 7). He is the Mahādeva “Lord Great”, an epithet that is shared by Śrī Rāma (cf. ‘Mahādevāya namaḥ’ in Rāmoṣṭottaram-58).
Rāmāyaṇa Sculptures
What is significant in the architectural setting is that Rāmāyaṇa sculptures are inlaid on the ceiling of the eastern porch at the level of prastara. These are bracket motifs as though supporting the roof with the prastara appearing on the four-pillars. The events illustrated are mostly from the Bālakāṇḍa of the epic. The reason for the selection of episodes from the first kāṇḍa and not the other seven is obscure21; may be arbitrary and random. Early narrative sculptures on the Rāmāyaṇa (e.g. Kailāsa of Ellora, Upper Śivālaya of Badāmī, Durgā temple of Aihole and so on) do not present a continuous array of episodes from the Bāla- to the Uttara- kāṇḍas (cf. Gail 1985: 177-86, Rajarajan 2001: 783-97, Kalidos 2006: II, chaps. II & III). The events are also not continuous as it may be found in Vālmīki or any vernacular version, and jump from one event to the other without any link. This strange phenomenon could not be explained (cf. Dehejia 1998: 80-106). We find both these paradoxes meeting in the portrayal of Vañcaikkaḷam-Rāmāyaṇa22. For the sake of continuity in narration the sculptures are rearranged as follows: 1. Rāma and Daśaratha, 2. Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, 3. Rāma as dhanurdhara, 4. Daśaratha, Sumantra and Viśvāmitra, 5. Viśvāmitra
21 The other kāṇḍas are named Ayodhyā-, Āraṇya-, Kiṣkinda-, Sundara-, Yuddha- and Uttara-. Vernacular versions of the epic have selected few of these kāṇḍas for rendering in Tamil, Malaiyāḷam, Telugu, and Kaṇṇaḍa. For example, Kampar in his Tamil Irāmāvatāram omits the Uttarakāṇḍa. Kōṇa Buddharāja’s (fourteenth century) sons wrote the Uttara-Rāmāyaṇa in Telugu. The anonymous Rāmacaritram (c. tenth- thirteenth centuries) in Malaiyāḷam deals with the Yuddhakāṇḍa (Sastri 1971: 418). 22 Bhaṭkal in coastal Karnāṭaka on the upper fringes of Kēraḷa illustrates incomplete Rāmāyaṇa reliefs (Dallapiccola et al. 2005: 253-308, Jeyapriya 2010: 112-16, Kalidos 2014: 113-38). 136 R.K.K. Rajarajan
teaching archery to Rāma, 6. Viśvāmitra, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, 7. Tāṭakā-vadham, 8. Viśvāmitra’s yajña, 9. Redemption of Ahalyā. Vālmīki’s narration of the epic would add Daśaratha begot four sons through his queens after a putrakāmeṣṭi-yajña. Rāma grew up to manhood trained in archery by his kulaguru, Vasiṣṭha. Sage Viśvāmitra approached Daśaratha to take Rāma to the forest in order to do away with the menace of rākṣasas. The reluctant Daśaratha consoles himself, and permits Rāma to accompany the brahmaṣi- Viśvāmitra to the forest. Lakṣmaṇa follows his brother. Rāma kills the demons in forest, including the ogress, Tāṭakā. Viśvāmitra completes his yajña for peace of the world. He conducts Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa to Mithilā. On the way Rāma sets his foot on a stone that was cursed Ahalyā, wife of sage Gautama. She is redeemed23 . The wooden sculptures on the east-porch of the Mahādeva temple at Vañcaikkaḷam mostly pertain to these events. It may add these are unreported in any scholarly study. 1. Dāśarathi-Rāma and Daśaratha appear together that may show the love of the mahārāja for his son (Fig. 8). Rāma is not armed, which means both the father and his beloved son discuss the question relating to the need of sage Viśvāmitra. He had arrived at the palace in Ayodhyā (contextually Vañcaikkaḷam temple24) seeking the help of Daśaratha. Both the king and prince are crowned and wear apparels in the Mughal fashion that is a clue the date the sculptures in the eighteenth century (cf. Jeyapriya 2009a: pl. VIII25). They are sthānaka (standing mode). The rich ornaments on both the persons display Kēraḷa exuberance imbibed partly with Kathakali influence. It is a set pattern in all illustrations under study. The right hands of both the personalities are in
23 All these events take place in sargaḥ (canto) 18 to 51 of Vālmīki-Rāmāyaṇa. 24 Considering a south Indian sthala-kṣetra the venue of Rāmāyaṇa event is not unpopular. For example, the Mātaṅga-parvata in Vijayanagara/Hampi is treated the Kiṣkinda of the Rāmāyaṇa (Settar n.d.: 24). The Viṣṇu temple of Citamparam, the Cillai-Cittirakūṭam is considered the Citrakūṭa of Rāmāyaṇa in Kulaśekhara Āḻvār’s hymns (see note 3, Kalidos 1997: 22). Kulaśekhara was a genius who compresses the mahā-Rāmāyaṇa, including the Uttarakāṇḍa in eleven hymns (Perumāḷ Tirumoḻi 10.1-11). 25 This is a wood-carved image from the temple car of the Rāma temple at Vaṭuvūr, Tañcāvūr district. See R.K.K. Rajarajan, ‘Rāmāyaṇa Paintings of the Tirukōkaraṇam Temple’ MS (Alexander von Humboldt post-doctoral report of the Free University Berlin, Berlin 2002 – Unquoted in References). Rāmāyaṇa Panels in Kēraḷa-Mahādeva Temple 137
vismayamudra, expressing wonder; perhaps at the warrant of Viśvāmitra and dismay of Daśaratha. 2. Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa are sthānaka (Fig. 9). Lakṣmaṇa appears behind Rāma. They perhaps discuss the prospects of war with demons in the forest that hinder the sacrifices of ṣis. A frieze of couchant peacocks with folded plumages extending backwards appears at the bottom to add to the aesthetics of composition. The apparel and ornaments are rich. 3. Rāma in Indian tradition is celebrated for three uttama-guṇas (cf. Rāmāṣṭottaram epithet 37 ‘Triguṇātma’); viz., i) Puruṣa-lakṣaṇa, ii) Dhanurdhara (expert archer) to uphold dharma, and iii) Rāma-rājya, champion of the best administered best government; the dreamland/utopia of Mahātma Gāndhi26. The present image shows Rāma majestically holding the dhanus, and so dhanurdhara (Fig. 10). It suggests he is equipped to go with Viśvāmitra to accomplish his manifest duty in the araṇya “forest”. The image is slightly tribhaṅga and royally decorated. The dhanus in the right hand is broken. The left is in kaṭihasta. 4. Daśaratha, Viśvāmitra and Sumantra are present (Fig. 11). Viśvāmitra is annoyed at the refusal of Daśaratha to depart with Rāma. Sumantra perhaps persuades Daśaratha to yield to the request of Viśvāmitra. It is only afterwards that the heroism of Rāma is let known to the world. Rāma’s association with Viśvāmitra not only led to the rendition of demons but also taking the hand of Ṣītā in Mithilā. The image shows Viśvāmitra holding a chhatrāvali, and moving away. Daśaratha follows him and is inclined to yield to the request of Viśvāmitra. 5. Viśvāmitra and Rāma are perhaps discussing how to do away with the demons that cause sacrilegious harm to the sacrifices. Viśvāmitra is seated in mahārājalīlāsana on an ornamental wooden pedestal. Rāma stands nearby meekly listening to the discourse of the sage (Fig. 12). He is perhaps teaching dhanurśāstra to Rāma. Vālmīki says the sage taught him how to obtain divine missiles, bāṇa and how to employ these in time
26 Cf. the following epithets of the Rāmāṣṭottara: Mahāpuruṣa-70 “Great Man”, Purāṇapuruṣottama-73 “Primeval Best Man”, Dhanurdhara-90 “Wielder of the Bow”, Harakodaṇḍakhaṇḍana-27 “Wielder of the bow of Hara/Śiva” (Śivadhanus broken in the svayamvara at Mithilā*), Rājīvalocana-5 “Face of (best) Administration” and so on. * The confrontation between kṣatriya-Dāśarathi-Rāma and brāhmaṇa-Paraśurāma led to the breaking of Viṣṇudhanus (Bālakāṇḍa, Sargas 75-76). 138 R.K.K. Rajarajan
of need 27 . The Rāmāṣṭottaram invokes the Lord with the epithet, Viśvāmitrapriya-13 “(Rāma) the beloved of Viśvāmitra”. 6. The illustration presents Viśvāmitra, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa standing in a row (Fig. 13). Having learnt the intricacies of dhanurśāstra from the sage, Rāma entreats the same be taught to Lakṣmaṇa (Rāmāyaṇa, Bālakāṇḍa, Sarga 28). 7. The next scene pertains to the slaughter of Tāṭakā by Rāma. Vālmīki says Rāma was reluctant to kill a woman. At that time Tāṭakā rushed toward Rāma lifting her arms and roaring. She threw a huge cloud of dust and rocks. Angry at these insinuating acts of Tāṭakā, Rāma cut off her arms. Lakṣmaṇa deprived her of her ears and tip of nose (Bālakāṇḍa, Sarga 26). She and her brothers were killed. The wood carving shows a gruesome creature of short and clumsy stature. The mouth is wide agape and canine teeth protruding (Fig. 14). She is covered with kaupīṇa-like garment. The ornaments consist of thick circular iron fittings such as kaṅkaṇa, keyūra and anklets. The Rāmāṣṭottara adds the epithet, Tāṭakānta-31 “Destroyer of Tāṭakā (the evil-monger)”. Of all the images examined so far, the figure of Tāṭakā is most striking from the iconographic point of view. Thematically, it purports to illustrate whatever may be thrust with which terrorism [dharmadroha] rock at a high pitch dharma wins the race in the long run. This is the basic message that Indian religion, philosophy and art teaches to the global community of peace-lovers [dharmātma]. The sculptors and poets of the Vañcaikkaḷam sthala (vide, Attachment) do tell us the manifest purpose behind the avatāras and manifestations of Devī-Bhagavatī, Viṣṇu and Śiva are annihilation of evil and installation of dharma. 8. The most striking illustration in the Rāmāyaṇa series is the yajña of Viśvāmitra. We do not know in which part of proto-historic India and at what point of time the sage conducted the yajña for global peace (infra). We find him readily present in the Vañcaikkaḷam temple in a corner performing the much-praised sacrifice, sanctified in literature since the
27 Certain miraculous missiles are supposed to be not invited under ordinary circumstances. Such missiles, e.g. Brahmāstra should not be solicited and once obtained they could not be kept in abeyance, and must be released; e.g. Karṇa and Aśvatthāma and in both the cases Kṣṇa had to intercede and save the victims, Arjuna and Parikṣit from impending catastrophe (Mani 1996: 159, cf. Dowson 1998: 29). In the Rāmāyaṇa (Bālakāṇḍa, Sarga 76, vv. 15-20) the problem arises when Rāma mounts a missile on the Viṣṇu-dhanus when challenged by Paraśurāma. It was released to curtail the pride of the brāhmaṇa-si. Rāmāyaṇa Panels in Kēraḷa-Mahādeva Temple 139
gvedic time. The sage is seated facing a fire-altar from which the combustion rises up. The sage is found pouring ingredients to cultivate the fire. Fire and illumination dispel darkness and evil, and usher in a paradise regained (Fig. 15). 9. Another illustration pertains to the redemption offered to Ahalyā, wife of sage Gautama forged and raped by Indra. The image shows Rāma standing majestically decorated in royal garments and ornaments. Ahalyā is already recovered from the cursed stone, and stands lifting the hands lifted up in namaskāramudra (Fig. 16). She is shown with full breasts not tugged with any upper cloth. The Rāmāṣṭottaram adds the epithet, Ahalyāśāpavimokcana-44, the Lord that confers grace to Ahalyā. Rāma was the friend of the unfriended poor. He went to the help of the needy and the destitute but stands on crossroads in contemporary politics. There may be several hundreds of sculptures and paintings on the Rāmāyaṇa in South and Southeast Asia (e.g. Prāmbanan in Central Jāva)28 but those in the Vañcaikkaḷam temple constitute a genre. They exhibit visible traits of the culture of Kēraḷa in as far as the coiffeur and ornamental details are concerned, and thematically Vālmīki. Kēraḷa is the homeland of the art in wood that is richly available in the hilly abode of the gods and goddesses. In fact, originally the temples of Kēraḷa were set against the background of the woods and water. However, a systematic survey of the temples in Kēraḷa is needed in spite of the pioneering efforts of Sarkar 1978. Jayashanker 1997 is an excellent work in respect of “rituals” but lacks in temple architecture and iconography. The history of art in Kēraḷa stands behind the veil and efforts are taken to bring the hidden treasures to the limelight.
By way of conclusion the selection of the Rāmāyaṇa sculptures in a Śiva temple may be explained. To begin with the Adhyātma Rāmāyaṇam by Tuñcat Rāmānujaṉ Eḻuttaccaṉ is an explication of the philosophy of the epic and glories of Rāma related by Śiva to Pārvatī29. At the pan-Indian level, the Rāmāyaṇa sculptures appear in temples of all sectarian lineages (e.g. the Chenna-Keśava and
28 The author had an occasion to visit the island (July 2012, International Conference of the Association of Historians of Asia) and collected photographic materials that are pending publication. 29 The poetic works in Malaiyāḷam are Rāmakathāp-pāṭṭu by Ayyipiḷḷai Āśān, Rāmāyaṇa-campu by Punam Nambūdiri and Kaṇṇaśśa-Rāmāyaṇam by Rāma Paṇikkar (fifteenth century). 140 R.K.K. Rajarajan
Hoysaleśvara at Bēlūr and Halebīḍu, cf. Settar 1992: II, pls. 188-189, 261). Therefore, it is no wonder if such heritages are imprinted in the Mahādeva of Vañcaikkaḷam. Two pan-Indian cultural idioms find a harmonious confluence in the art of Vañcaikkaḷam. They are Paśupati equated with Rāma-rājya30 and the Rāmeśvaram tradition in which Rāma is said to have instituted the Īśvaram at Setu (vide, the seventh century Tēvāram 3.268, 3.359; 4.61)31. Mythology says Vañcaikkaḷam was the prathiṣṭha of [Paraśu-] Rāma. The choice of themes from the Bālakāṇḍa of the Rāmāyaṇa by the Kēraḷaputras (attested since the third century BCE32, cf. Aśoka’s Girṇār Rock Edict in Mookerji 1972: 223) is unique because the kāṇḍa is full of joy and play, humour and seriousness at work33, and the great sages Viśvāmitra and Vasiṣṭha bringing up the children of Raghu-kula to the full magnitude of martial splendor to safeguard dharma “righteousness” patritrāṇāya sādhūnāṃ, and destroy evil vināśāya ca duṣktām (Bhagavat Gītā 4.8). By the way it proclaims the message of India to world thought by emphasizing the purpose of yajña (sacrifice) and result of siddha (accomplishment) directed toward cosmic peace: Oṃ Śāntiḥ Śāntiḥ Śāntiḥ, the invocatory verse in Upaniṣads (Gambhīrānanda 1995: I 2, 34, 98)
30 A popular Rāma-kīrti (or bhajan) song avowedly declars Rāma is Paśupati: “Daśaratha nandana Rāma Ram/Daśamukkha mardana Rāma Raṃa… Paśupati… Rāma Rām”. 31 Cilaiyaṇṇal ceytavi rāmēccuram “Rāmeśvaram established by Master- dhanurdhara” (Tēvāram 3.268.2). 32 Early authorities date the epic “before 500 B.C.” (MacDonell 1979: 200). Modern research and theatrical formulae are subject to controversy (cf. Brockington 1998: chap. 7). These scholars strive to bring down the two mega-epics down to 500 CE due to interpolation of later ideas, syntax and style. Even in such a case the epics may have to be dated during the pre-500 BCE to a convenient later date. Cf. Wendy Doniger (1994: 18) assigns the Skanda Purāṇa to 700-1150 CE. Doniger’s date for the Rāmāyaṇa is 200 BCE to 200 CE. In her scheme the Rāmāyaṇa is post-Buddha, which could not be historical. Again, Doniger and “her children” (Tailor 2011: 149- 68) are controversial authors. Two of Doniger’s (2009, 2013) books have been proscribed in India. 33 See the modern paintings in the ‘Rāmacaritamanas Temple’ at Vāraṇāsī where the children of ‘Raghuvaṃśa’ are found happily playing tops (Kalidos 2010: 9-12, figs. BW 30-31). Rāmāyaṇa Panels in Kēraḷa-Mahādeva Temple 141
This meritorious act is projected in the wood carvings of the Kēraḷa- Mahādeva temple (Fig. 15), which again emphasizes the guṇāmśa of Paśupati-Śiva. Paśupati is a cherished theme in the hymns of the Nāyaṉmār that Cēramāṉ Perumāḷ celebrates. Pantaṇainallūr (Tēvāram 3.379, all hymns) in the Cōḻanāḍu was a sthala, the hymns on which commemorate the celebrity of Paśupati. The same credit is shared by the hymns on Potu “Common-[Tillai/Citamparam]” (Tēvāram 4.111, all hymns). Paśupati is the Lord that eradicates karma, inheritances of the past; Pacupati-pāvanācaṉ34 (ibid. 4.51.10). The Lord is above all the Eternal, Pacupati-paramēṭṭi (ibid. 7.92.1). He is the creator, and sustains the worlds (Noble 1981: 2). To our knowledge no temple in South India accommodates a chapel for Paśupati. This architectural setting and philosophical input is important to understand the cultural value of Vañcaikkaḷam. Justifying the value of yajñas, Vālmīki in the Rāmāyaṇa says “The name of Siddhāśrama has been justified by being able to perform the yajña (without molestation from terrorists such as the asuras)”. The purpose of yajña is cosmic peace and prosperity. Śiva-Paśupati is Vedamaya and Yajñapriya35. Vālmīki unequivocally adds36: Atha yajñe samāpte tu Viśvāmitre Mahāmuniḥ/ Nirītikā diśo druṣdvā Kākusthamidamabravīt// Ktārtho’smi mahābāho ktaṃ guruvacastvayā/ Siddhāśramidaṃ satyaṃ ktaṃ vīra mahāyaśaḥ/ Sa hi Rāmaṃpraśasyaivaṃ tābhyāṃsandyāmupāgamat// Vālmīki-Rāmāyaṇa, Bālakāṇḍa, Sarga 30, vv. 25-30)
34 ‘Nārāyaṇa’ (Viṣṇusahasranāma-245) gets closer to the concept of Paśupati who pervades through the naras (nara + ayaṇa); cf. Nara-Nārāyaṇa (Williams 1983: fig. 206). Viṣṇu is Viśodhanaḥ (ibid. 637) that “destroys sins”. 35 Cf. the Śivasaharanāma epithets: Vedakārāya-426, Yajñāya-275/529, Siddhbhūtārtha-99, Siddhārthacchandovyākaranottara-677 (accomplished end of the Veda and vyākaraṇa). 36 Kampa-Irāmāyaṇam (Pālakāṇṭam, 8.38) adds: Vētanūl muṟaimaiyāl vēḷvi muṟṟuvōrkku, Ītu avātu illai… – “No evil haunts one that performs the Vedic sacrifice as told in the Vedas”. The same advice was given to Kēraḷaputra-Ceṅkuṭṭuvaṉ, supposed to be the uterine brother of Iḷaṅkō, author of Cilappatikāram (28.176-78): Perunal vēḷvi nī ceyal vēṇṭūm – “You must perform the good great sacrifice”. It is a pointer of the fact that Kēraḷa was the sacred venue of sacred sacrifices from time immemorial. 142 R.K.K. Rajarajan
An optimistic scholar steeped in pan-Indian heritage may add Vañcaikkaḷam is the Siddhāśrama where the great sage, Paraśurāma set his footprints in the creation mythology of Kēraḷa, and again he was the legendary founder of Mēltaḷi-Vañcaikkaḷam.
Attachment
Transcription and Summary of Hymns bearing on Vañcaikkaḷam (Tēvāram 7.4, Cuppiramaṇiyaṉ 2007: 510-11)
1. Talaikkut talaimālai aṇinta teṉṉē*/Caṭaimēṟkaṅkai veḷḷan tarittateṉṉē Alaikkum pilittōlkoṇ ṭacaitta teṉṉē/Ataṉmēṟ katanākam kaccārtta teṉṉē Malaikku nikarop paṉavaṉ tiraikaḷ/Valitteṟ ṟimuḻaṅ kivalam purikoṇ Ṭalaikkuṅ kaṭalaṅ karaimēl makōtai/Aṇiyār poḻilañ caikkaḷat tappaṉē * It is exclamatory alliteration and suggests “What a wonder?” “How marvelous a tour de force?” “How wonderfully done?” and so on. “How nice it is to deck the head with a tiara! How nice it is to hold the waters of Gaṅgā on the ochre-hued matted locks! How nice it is to put on the tiger’s hide! How nice it is to fit in the black snake! The abode of Lord of Vañcaikkaḷam is amid a landscape of pools where the waves of the sea rise up above the hills circumambulating the venue”.
2. Piṭittāṭṭi yornākat taippūṇṭa teṉṉē/Piṟaṅkum caṭaimēṟ piṟaicūṭiṟ ṟeṉṉē Poṭit tāṉkoṇ ṭumeymuṟ ṟumpūciṟ ṟeṉṉē/Pukarēṟu kantēṟal purinta teṉṉē Maṭit tōṭṭan tuvaṉtirai yeṟṟiyiṭa/Vaḷarcaṅkam aṅkāttu muttañ coriya Aṭittār kaṭalaṅ karaimēl makōtai/Aṇiyār poḻilañ caikkaḷat tappaṉē “Caught, tossed and ornamented a snake (on Thy mien [cf. Kalidos 2012: 43-48, fig. 4])! How nice to put on the crescent on hanging locks! How nice to smear the dust [bhasma] all over the body (cf. Tēvāram 1.202, Kalidos 2006: II 68-70)! How nice it is to mount the celebrated Bull! The abode of the Lord of Vañcaikkaḷam on the seashore is full of pools where waves of the sea dash on the shore and pearls pour from mature conchs”.
Rāmāyaṇa Panels in Kēraḷa-Mahādeva Temple 143
3. Cintit teḻuvārkku nellik kaṉiyē/Ciṟiyār periyār maṉattuēṟa luṟṟāl Muntit toḻuvā riṟavār piṟavār/Muṉikaḷ muṉiyē amarark kamarā Cantit taṭamāl varaipōl tiraikaḷ/Taṇiyātu iṭaṟuṅ kaṭalaṅ karaimēl Antit talaiccekkar vāṉē yottiyā/Vaṉiyār poḻilañ caikkaḷat tappaṉē “Thou are the nelli* (Phyllanthus emblica) fruit for those meditate on Thee! Thou ascend into the minds of the big and the small beings! They do not die and are not reborn! Sage among sages! God among gods! Thou Lord of Vañcaikkaḷam! Thou resemble the black-hill where the red-hot sun descends and that is dashed by waves of the sea”. * Believed to endow immortality (Subrahmanian 1990: 512).
4. Iḻaikkum eḻuttuk kuyirē yottiyāl/Ilaiyē yottiyā luṉaiyē yottiyāḷ Kuḻaikkum payirkkōr puyalē ottiyāl/Aṭiyār tamakkōr kuṭiyē yottiyāl Malaikku nikarop paṉavaṉ tiraikaḷ/Valitteṟ ṟimuḻaṅ kivalam purikoṇ Ṭalaikkuṅ kaṭalaṅ karaimēl makōtai/Aṇiyār poḻilañ caikkaḷat tappaṉē “Thou are the soul of letters. Though are the rims of the wheel, which if extolled offers grace even to the grass. The waves of the sea rise up as a hill and dash on the shore where the Lord Añcaikkaḷattapaṉ finds his resort”.
5. Vīṭiṉ payaṉeṉ piṟappiṉ payaṉeṉ/Viṭaiyē ṟuvateṉ matayāṉai niṟkak Kūṭum malaimaṅkai yoruttiyuṭaṉ caṭaimēṟ/Kaṅkaiyāḷai nīcūṭiṟ ṟeṉṉē Pāṭum pulavark karuḷum poruḷeṉ/Nitiyam palace takalac celavil Āṭuṅ kaṭalaṅ karaimēl makōtai/Aṇiyār poḻilañ caikkaḷat tappaṉē “What use is a house? What use is with a birth? How nice (the Lord) to unite with the hill-maid, and mount the she-Gaṅgā on matted-locks! The rhyming poets are richly rewarded. Añcaikkaḷattappaṉ is present amid a venue of pools where the sea dances on shore”.
6. Iravat tiṭukāṭ ṭeriāṭiṟ ṟeṉṉē/Iṟantār ta;aiyiṟ palikōṭa leṉṉē Paravit toḻuvār peṟu paṇṭa meṉṉē/Parmā paramēṭṭi paṇintaruḷāy Uravan toṭucaṅka mōṭippi muttam/Koṇarnteṟṟi muḻaṅki valampuri koṇṭu 144 R.K.K. Rajarajan
Aravak kaṭalaṅ karaimēl makōtai/Aṇiyār poḻilañ caikaḷat tappaṉē “What an awful bliss is to dance in crematorium during midnight! How wonderful to seek alms in skulls of the dead! What gratification do the intense prayers derive? Thou the Eternal Being do assure eternity! The Lord of Vañcaikkaḷam is on the shore of the sea that is scattered with conchs, pearls and the right-warped shells.”
7. Ākkum aḻivum amaivum nī eṉpavaṉ nāṉ/Colluvār coṟporu ḷavai nī eṉpaṉ nāṉ Nākkum ceviyum kaṇṇum nī eṉpavaṉ nāṉ/Nalaṉē iṉinā ṉuṉainaṉ kuṇarntēṉ Nōkkum nitiyam palavet taṉaiyuṅ/Kalattiṟ pukappeytu koṇṭuṟa nunti Ārkkum kaṭalaṅ karaimēl makōtai aṇiyār poḻilañ caikkaḷat tappaṉē “I say Thou are creation, destruction and the established order! I say You are the meaning of the words uttered! I say Thou are the tongue (that speaks), the ears (that hear) and the eyes (that see)! I have experienced Thou amply! Thou are the Lord of Añcaikkaḷam full of pools where on the shore of the sea riches are accumulated”.
8. Veṟuttēṉ maṉaivāḻk kaiyaiviṭ ṭoḻittēṉ/Viḷaṅkum kuḻaikkātuṭai vētiyaṉē Iṟuttāy Ilaṅkaik kiṟaiyā yavaṉait/Talaipattoṭu tōḷpala iṟṟu viḻak Kaṟuttāy kaṭalnañ cumutuṇṭu kaṇṭam/Kaṭukap Piramaṉ talaiain tilupoṉ Ṟaṟittāy kaṭalaṅ karaimēl makōtai/Aṇiyār poḻilañ caikkaḷat tappaṉē “I have discarded family-life and am detached. Thou! The Veda- incarnate wears the shining ear-pendant. Thou took to task the King of Laṅkā and severed his ten-heads and strong shoulders. Thou chopped off one of the five-heads of Brahmā. Thou are Lord of Vañcaikkaḷam of waves dashing against the shore that is full of pools”.
9. Piṭikkuṅ kaḷiṟē yottiyā yempirāṉ/Piramaṟkum pirāṉmaṟṟai māṟkumpirāṉ Noṭikkum aḷaviṟ puramūṉṟeriyac cilaitoṭ/Tavaṉē uṉaināṉ maṟavēṉ Vaṭikkiṉ ṟaṉapōṟ cilavaṉ tiraikaḷ/Valitteṟṟi muḻaṅki valam purikoṇ Ṭaṭikkuṅ kaṭalaṅ karaimēl makōtai/Aṇiyār poḻilañ caikkaḷat tappaṉē Rāmāyaṇa Panels in Kēraḷa-Mahādeva Temple 145
“My Lord is the bull-elephant, kaḷiṟu that mates the cow-elephant, piṭi (cf. Tēvāram 4.3.1). He is the Lord of Brahmā, and the Lord of Māl/Viṣṇu. By the stroke of a moment, he mounted the bow to topple the triple-forts, tripuras. I will not forget you. Thou are the Lord of Vañcaikkaḷam on the shore washed by the oceanic waters and are full of enchanting ponds*”. * Cuntarar says Vañcaikkaḷam was located on the sea-shore. The notation relating to “pools” or “ponds” maybe the backwaters in addition to the water- stores close to the temple meant for temple rituals (Fig. 6). Such a tank is also found close to the Kaṇṇaki-Bhadrakālī temple of Koṭuṅkallūr.
10. Entam aṭikaḷimaiyōr perumā ṉeṉakkeṉ/Ṟumaḷik kummaṇi miṭaṟṟaṉ Antaṇ kaṭalaṅ karaimēl makōtai/Aṇiyār poḻilañ caikkaḷat tappaṉai Mantam muḻavuṅ kuḻalum iyampum/Vaḷarnāva larkōṉ Nampiyū raṉcoṉṉa Cantam mikutaṇ Tamiḻmālai kaḷkoṇ/Ṭaṭivīḻa vallār taṭumāṟ ṟilarē “The Lord is the Mater of His servants, whose throat is smeared with the poison of the ocean. He is the Master of Vañcaikkaḷam. The venue resounds with the music of drums, flutes and other instruments (mattam, muḻavam and kuḻal cf. Kalidos 2006: II, 73). If one sings the hymns of Nampiyūraṉ of Nāvalūr, he is blessed.” 146 R.K.K. Rajarajan
Figures
Figure 2: East gopuras
Figure 3: West dvāraśobhā
Rāmāyaṇa Panels in Kēraḷa-Mahādeva Temple 147
Figure 4: Dakṣiṇāmūrti shrine
Figure 5: Paśupati shrine 148 R.K.K. Rajarajan
Figure 6: Temple tank and shrines nearby
Figure 7: Konnai trees and Liṅga
Rāmāyaṇa Panels in Kēraḷa-Mahādeva Temple 149
Figure 8 Daśaratha and Rāma Figure 9: Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa
Figure 10: Dharnurdhara-Rāma Figure 11: Daśaratha, Viśvāmitra and Sumantra
150 R.K.K. Rajarajan
Figure 12: Viśvāmitra and Rāma
Figure 13: Viśvāmitra, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa
Rāmāyaṇa Panels in Kēraḷa-Mahādeva Temple 151
Figure 14: Tāṭakā-vadham
Figure 15: Viśvāmitra’s yajña Figure 16: Ahalyā Redeemed
152 R.K.K. Rajarajan
References
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Acta Orientalia 2015: 76, 159–179. Copyright © 2012 Printed in India – all rights reserved ACTA ORIENTALIA ISSN 0001-6483
Premchand 1915: Moving inside the language continuum from Urdu to Hindi
Heinz Werner Wessler Uppsala University, Sweden
Abstract
Premchand (1880-1936) started his career as one of the most prominent Indian authors of the 20th century in Urdu. His change towards Hindi was gradual, and he continued to write in Urdu until his death. His choice of language was pragmatic, and driven by economic needs. Hindi offered him a larger readership. Much more important than the choice of language in his artistic development was the development of his literary style, for which in the crucial years around 1915, he wanted to develop his own narrativity much on the model of Russian literature and Lew Tolstoy in particular. The decade starting about 1908 was a formative phase not only for Premchand, but also for Hindi as well as Urdu prose literature.
Keywords: Premchand, Hindi, Hindi literature, Urdu, Devanagari.
Saut (“The co-wife”) 1 , Premchand’s 2 cherished first short story published in Hindi and in Urdu afterwards, was published in
1 PR 11: 371-379. For a summary of the story compare Goyankā 1981: 2, 435 (Saut 3). Not to be mixed up with another short story written by Premchand and published 160 Heinz Werner Wessler
December 1915 in Sarasvatī, the Journal of the Nāgarī Pracāriṇī Sabhā. This event, marks the starting point of his career as a Hindi author since his earlier publications in Hindi – or, to be clear, in Devnāgarī script – were adaptations from earlier publications in Urdu.3 The event itself does not mark a fundamental language change for Premchand, since at least for some years to come, Nastālīq script remained to be his preference. In any case, Premchand’s primary concern was literature and not the choice of a script, and the language associated with it. Improving his skills of narrative composition meant much more for him than anything else in his literary career. Having started with Urdu, his linguistic skills however spread out towards the other end of the Urdu-Hindi language continuum. Premchand mastered the extremely persianized code as well as the extremely sanskritised, which he occasionally used in his essays. The Premchand of the years between the publication of his first collection of short stories Soz-e vatan (The Dirge of the Nation) (1908) and his first important novel Sevāsadan (1918) was an author in the making. In a letter (in Urdu) to his editor of the Urdu literary journal Zamānā (published from 1903-1942 in Kanpur) and friend Dayānārāyaṇ Nigam dated 4.3.1914, Premchand writes “I am still undecided what style to adopt. Sometimes I follow Bankim4 and sometimes Azad. Recently I have read Count Tolstoy. Since then I am under his influence.” 5 These were formative years not only for Bengali poetry with Rabindranath Tagore’s famous collection Gītāṃjali (1910, Nobel price 1913) in spoken Bengali (calit bhāṣā),
16 years later (1931) under the same title (PR 14: 546-552; Goyankā 1981: 2, 435 [Saut 4]), translated by Ruth Vanita, in: Premchand, The co-wife and other stories. London 2008, p.124-134. 2 I spell “Premchand” according to the common spelling without diacritics in European languages in order to avoid confusion. 3 Different from the message of the main title of Tariq Rahman’s book From Hindi to Urdu (Rahman 2011), Premchand went from Urdu to Hindi. 4 Bankimchandra Chatterjee (Bankiṃcandra Caṭṭarjī, 1838-1894), famous Bengali author. 5 “Mujhe abhī tak yah itmīnān nahīṃ huā ki kaun-sā tarze tahrīr akhtiyār karūṃ. Kabhī to Baṃkim kī nakal kartā hūṃ, kabhī Ᾱzād ke pīche caltā hūṃ. Ᾱjkal kāuṇṭ Ṭālṭāy ke kisse paṛh cukā hūṃ. Tab se kuch usī raṃg kī taraf tabīyat mail hai.” PR 19: 34. This letter together with many others to Dayānārāyaṇ Nigam was handed over to the Nehru Memorial Museum and Library from the widow of the Premchand biographer Madan Gopal in 2012, compare http://www.thehindu.com/features/friday- review/history-and-culture/new-light-on-premchand/article3750272.ece (21.11.2015). Premchand 1915 161 but for Hindi as well as for Urdu modern literature in general, with the poetry of Maithilīśaraṇ Gupt (starting with Jayadrath vadh, 1910)6 and Muhammad Iqbāl (starting with Śikhvā, 1909 and Asrār-i khudī, 1915), and in prose Jayśaṃkar Prasād (first edition of short story collection Chāyā, 1912)7 and of course Navāb Dhanpat Rāī (Soz-e vatan, 1908), who published under the penname “Premchand” from 1910. Even though Urdu in Nastaliq script and also Kaithi8 script for parts of his private correspondence were still close to him, Premchand more and more understood the importance of turning towards Devnāgarī identified with the cause of Hindi in order to establish himself as an author. After the turn of the century, and particularly after the (unexpected) decision of the Government of the North- Western Provinces and Oudh to give Devnāgarī a status equal to Nastālīq in the year 1900 9 , Hindi saw a constantly widening readership and was more and more perceived as better than Urdu. Throughout 1914/15 he would start working on his Hindi-adaptions of some of Lew Tolstoy’s short stories, which however came out several years later in 1923. In a letter dated 24.11.1915 he informs his editor Nigam that he is writing stories in Hindi, and also translating into Hindi: “I am writing stories [kisse]. I’ll send them as soon as they are ready. Until now the Hindi collection is not yet ready. These stories will come out in Hindi first. Later in Urdu also.”10 Saut also forms part of his first collection in Hindi, Sapt saroj, published in June 1917, nine years after his famous first story collection in Urdu, Soz-e vatan. Parallel to composing the stories collected in Sapt Saroj – among them already several of the better known stories of his oeuvre – he started composing the first of his
6 Maithilīśaraṇ Gupt’s Jayadrath vadh, first published in the journal Sarasvatī (ed. by Mahāvīrprasād Dvivedī) is believed to be the first considerable piece of poetry in Khaṛī bolī Hindi. 7 Gaeffke 1970: 116ff. 8 Kaithi, now almost forgotten, had its stronghold particularly in Bihar and the present Eastern UP until the end of the 19th century, when the proponents of Devnāgarī managed to almost eradicate the once dominating Kaithi from educational syllabi. (King 1984: 65ff). 9 King1994: 153ff. 10 ”Kisse likh rahā hūṃ. Jyoṃhī taiyār ho gae bhejūṃgā. Abhī tak hindī majmūā taiyār nahīṃ huā hai. Yah kisse pahle hindī meṃ nikaleṃge. Iske bād urdū meṃ bhī.” PR 19: 48f. 162 Heinz Werner Wessler great novels, Bāzār-e husn (Hindi: Sevāsadan) in Urdu, published first in Hindi 1918. Besides, some of Premchand’s editorials and essays written during this time coinciding with the World War I demonstrate, how devoted he worked on translating, editing and composing in Urdu as well as Hindi, in which he strived to deepen his competence. Even though his long editorial for the January 1915 issue of Zamānā on the 60th anniversary of the Indian railways illustrates his interest in modern history, the silence on contemporary historical events, the ongoing warfare and its bloody battle fields in Europe and Africa with its hundreds of thousands Indian soldiers is astonishingly not taken up by him. Premchand is neither interested in language ideology nor world politics. His concern is social reform and world literature.His concern is social reform and world literature.
Transitions
Transition is a central element of identity. The negation of change is in itself a conditioned statement that involves change away from a living tradition to a tradition that requires assertion. Identity construction on the basis of a proposed primordial identity is traditionalism, and not to be confused with the living tradition itself. This must also be true in language and literature. Authors make choices of languages for all kinds of reasons. Why does Mohammad Iqbal continue to write in Persian, even though from the time of his composition of Asrār-e khudī his former appreciation for Persian mysticism is quickly losing ground? What made Agyey (1911-1987) to choose Hindi as his literary medium, while he was quite fluent in the more prestigious English at the same time? Or, to go to contemporary literature, why does one of the finest living Indian authors, Kiran Nagarkar, change his fictional language from Marathi to English – and what does this mean for himself as a creative writer? What is the effect of the change of language milieus on the composition of literature? Is the huge bulk of literature written in an elite language in India – be it Sanskrit, Persian or English, for example – an indication of the estrangement of the writing elite, or a demonstration of the domestication of an elitist code in the good sense? One should keep in mind that Hindi as well as Urdu are widely perceived as elite Premchand 1915 163 languages even by those who speak them as second languages, superimposed on the speakers of their so called “dialects”, which could for linguistic reasons in many cases easily go as grown-up languages distinct from Urdu/Hindi (or Hindustani). The case of Maithili is particularly revealing in this context, since the 19th century defined it as a dialect of Eastern Hindi, but it has received official recognition as national language according to the 8th schedule of the Indian constitution in 2002. In any case is the definition of a number of distinct linguistic codes as dialects of Hindi deeply related to the success story of Hindi in opposition to Urdu as national language or, to use the constitutional language, “official language of the union”. The linguistic diversity within what is constructed as Hindi since the second part of the 19th century is astonishing. While Gujarati with its separate script escaped the linguistic inclusiveness of Hindi, all kinds of mother tongues were defined as dialects of Hindi, from South-west Rajasthani over the Himalayas towards the Eastern languages bordering with Bengal. Taking this into consideration, it is all the more astonishing how the conceptualization of the Hindi language and its literature has managed to control any discourse on the national language in India, including an overwhelming dominance in regions ready to agree to claims that their tongues were to be considered as “dialects” and not as languages proper. Even though the linguistic evidence as such may point to a separate identity in terms of “language”, the Khaḍī bolī continually gained ground as the accepted standard Hindi, a kind of overarching norm in a process that Vasudha Dalmia has described as the “nationalization of Hindi traditions”. “At no time in the history of Urdu did it represent more of a ‘composite’ literary culture than just before that culture fell apart,”11 says Harish Trivedi in his profound article on the “progress of Hindi”. Premchand’s literary identity as a creative writer is sometimes ranked as one of the four pillars of modern Urdu literature as well as the most prominent prose fiction writer in Hindi. Premchand, i.e. Navāb Dhanpat Rāi (1880-1936) was himself very much a product of “the Urdu speaking elite”12 as it had developed in the last decades of the 19th century, but also personally marks the transition of a whole
11 Trivedi 2003: 971. 12 Robinson 1974: 33-34; compare Trivedi 2003: 971. 164 Heinz Werner Wessler generation of authors of Hindu fold with a profound Urdu and partly Persian educational background towards Hindi. This development reached its climax in 1947, when the Urdu-speaking authors of Sikh and Hindu denomination from the Western Panjab had to leave and move to independent India. Late in his life, in an essay and a speech from 1935, Premchand explores the question of the future national language, and clearly argues for Hindi as a distinct language from Hindustani and Urdu.13 In an editorial to “Hans” in April 1936, however, Premchand welcomes the efforts to bring specialists of Hindi and Urdu literature together (as in a conference at Jamia Millia university, Delhi at the occasion of the foundation of the Hindustānī Sabhā in Delhi), since it is a good purpose to “create opportunity to know and understand the thoughts and feelings of the other and develop the Hindustani language”14, which means, he sees Hindi and Urdu as languages and literatures having different identities, which he would like to be moderated, but continue to be distinct. Curiously, at the same time he wanted to let blossom Hindustani. Even though Premchand was aware of the Hindustani versus Hindi fallacy and the debate of the 1920s15, a certain ambivalence continued to be at the basis of Premchand’s own position. There was a time – i.e. the time before the nationalist discourses on language and the identity of Hindi and Urdu -, writes Premchand in the editorial of “Hans” from April 1936, when there was love (muhabbat) between the two and “no difference in the field of literature”16, even though there was not so much “progress” (unnati) in the arts and “awareness” (jāgriti) in politics. In the present time, however, Hindi has become the language of the Hindus, and Urdu that of the Muslims. Two camps (do kaimp) have been formed, and language as well as literature have fallen for the divide. The fact that literature has “no relationship to politics, since its subject is man
13 Particularly in his essay on ”Urdū, hindῑ aur hindustānῑ” (PR 7: 447-454, published in Urdu 1935 and in Hindi 1937) and “Hindῑ rāṣṭrabhāṣā hogῑ” (PR 7: 454-456, 1935). 14 “Ek dūsre ke vicāroṃ aur bhāvoṃ jānne aur samajhne kā maukā de aur hindustānī bhāṣā kā vikās kare” (PR 9: 230). 15 Compare chapter 2.1 in Orsini 2002: 126ff on “the nationalist discourse of language”. 16 “Sāhitya ke kṣetr meṃ to koī bhed hī nahīṃ thā” (PR 9: 230). Premchand 1915 165 himself”17, is forgotten. At the same time, there is an inherent decline in literature itself going on, since “Hindi and Urdu literature, driven by a tragic fate, go through a period, in which their relationship to simple life has broken down and all their power goes into wailing on the pains of separation and lamentation”18. The knowers of literature fail to do what they are supposed to do, “it is the knower of literature himself, who shows the way forward”19. Altogether, even though Premchand admits the identities of Hindi-Urdu to be different, he sees the divide as a typical example of the decadence of the present. In an editorial in “Hans” from December 1935, he is even more explicit. “Even nowadays, Hindus in hundreds of thousands in number study Urdu, write in it and see it as their mother tongue.”20 The crucial word is a particle, bhī (“even”): He refers to a state that he appreciates, but which is threatened, or simply a kind of leftover from an earlier phase of history with a higher degree of harmony and mutual understanding. Consequently, he relates the language question to religious identities, when he turns towards the Muslim part of the story – and again, the past was better than the present: “In the beginning, Muslims did accept Hindi, but now they see a fault in even just seeing a letter of Hindi.”21 “In the beginning” (śurū meṃ) seems to refer back to the beginning of the momentous campaign for the spread of Devnāgarī in the later 19th century particularly through the Nāgarī pracāriṇī sabhā and equally minded organizations, which was clearly suffering from a Hindu revivalist bias. The decline notwithstanding, Premchand’s ideal continues to be on the one side that both the languages and their scripts should be taught in educational institutions in general, but also that this should ultimately lead to “some day the two languages shall be one”22. This sounds like a contradiction in terms: He uses the term “languages” on one side, clearly marking distinct identities not only in script, which is
17 “Rājnīti se koī sambandh nahīṃ, uskā to insān hī hai” (PR 9: 230). 18 “Hindī aur urdū sāhitya badkismatī se aise jamāne se gujre, jab sāhitya ne ām jiṃdagī se nātā toṛ-sāliyā thā aur unkī sārī tākat virah aur vilāp ke dukhṛe rone meṃ kaṭtī thī” (PR 9: 230). 19 “Adīb hī kaum kā path-pradarsak hotā hai” (PR 9: 230). 20 “Hindū to āj bhī lākhoṃ kī saṃkhyā meṃ urdū paṛhte haiṃ, likhte haiṃ aur usko apanī mātṛbhāṣā samajhte haiṃ.” (PR 9: 219). 21 “Musalmānoṃ ne śurū meṃ hindī ko apnāyā thā, magar ab ve hindī kā akṣar dekhnā bhī gunāh samajhte haiṃ.” (PR 9: 219). 22 “Ek din donoṃ bhāṣāeṃ ek ho jāeṃgī” (PR 9: 219). 166 Heinz Werner Wessler not precisely the Gandhian interpretation of the identity of Hindi and Urdu as being one language in two scripts. On the other hand, Premchand sticks to the rhetoric of unity and falls to the description of the ultimate goal as non-distinctness of Hindi and Urdu – linguistic non-dualism, so to say. To be one or to become one sounds so attractive that Premchand as author of his editorial cannot avoid it. He ends the editorial with an interesting variant of the classical nationalist statement on displacing English: “As long as both languages [i.e. Urdu and Hindi] will not be brought close to each other, the dominance of English will continue”23. This statement relates the conflicting rivalry between Hindi and Urdu to the dominance of English in late colonial India. The title of the editorial is hindustān kī kaumī zubān (“Hindustan’s national language”), a statement Hindustani style. The statements are contradictory: on one side, Premchand states the distinct character of Hindi and Urdu – and the religious communities somehow related to them. On another occasion, he stresses the unity of the two – an inevitable part of the rhetoric of Hindustani in late colonial India.
Back to the beginnings
These late writings represent altogether a much later stage of reflexivity and echo his long engagement with the freedom movement after World War I, the repercussions of discourses on nation and identity, and a growing concern about future language politics in a more and more complex image of the future independent India. The Premchand of the period before the non-cooperation movement, before and during WWI, was in his formative years, developing his choice of topics, his language and rhetoric. It is amazing how WWI remained to be far away from Premchand. The only direct reference to WWI in his letters, which predominantly deal on publication matters and financial issues, is in a letter dated 4.9.1914: “While the noise of the war is on, it can be doubted that someone is interested to listen to accounts and short stories.”24
23 “Jab tak donoṃ bhāṣāoṃ ko samīp na lāyā jāegā, aṃgrejī kā prabhutv banā rahegā.” (PR 9:219). 24 “Jang kī dhun meṃ śāyad hī kisī ko kisse-kahānī kā śok ho.” (PR 19: 39). Premchand 1915 167
There is no equivalent to Gulerī’s famous short story Usne kahā thā among the 302 short stories in the PR. Astonishingly, there is a complete silence about Indian colonial soldiers suffering in huge numbers in the trenches of the frontlines in Western Europe, or in Africa in Premchand’s writings during and after the war. The kind of absence of the pangs of WWI are even felt in the spurious remark in Amṛtrāy’s biography of his father, where he goes on the events in 1914-15 on page 153ff (“In July [sic] 1914, the world war broke out”25 summarizing the (pre-)nationalist movement: “Whatever was the case, Tilak and over there Annie Besant both raised their voice in favour of ‘home rule’.”26 The letters from 1914-15 in PR 19 are full of the practical issues of writing, printing, proof-reading, interaction with editors and last but not least, of financial issues. Political or other events are only very occasionally referred to, and WW I is somehow too far away to leave any repercussion. Several authors have suggested models to divide Premchand’s life and writings into phases that correlate to his development as an author. These suggested periods often follow the analysis of the contents of Premchand’s fictional writing, or they follow the development of his political ideas (Gopal 1964) (Swan 1969). The changeover from Urdu to Hindi, i.e. from Nastālīq to Devnāgarī, is a shift that started in Premchand’s fiction in 191427 and manifested itself in his writings in 1915. The first short story originally written and published in Hindi – i.e. in Devnāgarī – is Saut (PR 11: 371-379) published in the magazine of Sarasvatī, in December 1915.28 He reports on writing in Hindi in a letter to Nigam from 2. October 1915, in which he first reports on suffering from Malaria, in the recent past, admitting that he is ok by the time of writing the letter. He then proceeds saying that he has written a story (kissā) for the Urdu journal Zamānā. He then
25 “Julāī 1914 meṃ mahāyuddh chiṛā.” (Amṛtrāy 1962: 153). 26 “Jo bhī ho, idhar tilak aur udhar ainī beseṇṭ, donoṃ homrūl kī āvāz uṭhā rahe the” (Amṛtrāy 1962: 154). 27 According to Goyankā, Premchand started to compose in Hindi “as per rule” in 1914 “…hindī meṃ niyamit likhnā ārambh kar diyā” (Goyankā 2005: 7). I could find no proof for Goyankā’s claim that the short story Parīkṣā (PR 11: 341-2) was originally written and published in Devnāgarī in 1914. Parīkṣā was published in Nastālīq in December 1914. The first publication in Hindi (before the Urdu version) (Saut) came out in December 1915. 28 On Sarasvatī compare Orsini 2002: 53-54 etc. 168 Heinz Werner Wessler continues: “I am also writing in Hindi. I sent an essay to Sarasvatī.” Later on, he mentions: “I am writing the ‘Fifty stories of love’ in Hindi.”29 However, the shift from Urdu to Hindi is not linear. Over the next couple of years, Urdu language and Nastālīq script continued to be used by Premchand for original compositions that were later transferred into Devnāgarī. The complications are illustrated for example by his first novel of his mature years, Bāzār-e husn (Hindi: Sevāsadan), composed originally in Nastālīq and in Urdu 1916-17, but published first in Devnāgarī in Kolkata 1918, and in a revised version in Urdu in Lahore 1924. The comparison of Hindi and Urdu versions and their complex relation in Premchand’s literary work is a subject of Kamal Kiśor Goyankā’s profound writing on Premchand and forms part of a recent study by Christine Everaert (2010), but needs further research. In any case it is quite clear that the change from Urdu to Hindi and back often turns out to be more than just a simple rendering in another script with slight changes in terminology, but often a kind of editorial and narrative remodeling, in some cases a complete transformation of a story. Anyway, “Bāzār-e husn” is taken by the famous critique Dr. Nagendra as an “unpreceded development from [Premchand’s] earlier fiction”30. I may add, the composition and publication history of Bāzār-e husn is not a singular event. One of the most prominent post- independence Hindi novels by Rahi Masoom Raza (Rāhī Māsūm Razā, 1927-1992), Ādhā gāṃv31 is a strong reminder of the earlier case. The original manuscript of Ādhā gāṃv is in Nastālīq, but it was published in Devnāgarī in 1966. The first Nastālīq-edition is from 2003!32 The language of the novel and its natural setting in Eastern UP is characterized by a constant code switching between Bhojpuri, Urdu and Hindi with their shared common stock for example of swear words that figure so prominently in this novel. Raza argued all his life that Urdu should not be related closely to the question of script, and
29 PR 19: 49ff. 30 “Pūrvavartī kathā-sāhitya kā abhūtpūrv vikās” (Nagendra/Hardayāl 2009: 558). 31 Published in an English rendering by Gillian Wright under the title ”The Feuding Families of Village Gangauli” in 1995, reprinted from 2003 under the more adequate title “Half a Village”. 32 Compare Harish Trivedi in his introduction to Raza, Rahi Masoom, Topi Shukla. Translated by Meenakshi Shivram. New Delhi 2005. Premchand 1915 169 actually advocated Urdu in Devnāgarī, with similar arguments as Premchand more than half a century earlier. Devnāgarī makes Urdu much more easily accessible to a wide readership in India than Nastālīq, which quickly loses ground even among the Muslim population in India. Beyond that, the rendering of novels of Nirmal Verma (Nirmal Varmā) and Uday Prakash (Uday Prakāś) by Ajmal Kamal from Hindi into Urdu demonstrate, how close the twin language still are to each other even today. Similar to Urdu text in Devnāgarī, Ajmal Kamal uses footnotes to explain difficult words and avoids translating them by a proper Urdu synonym. Premchand however always renders his text into the other linguistic context, which often leads him into recomposing and reinventing details of the plot itself. Since the 1960s, Hindi literature has seen a great number of Muslim authors. Namwar Singh (Nāmvār Siṃh) has stated that Gulsher Khān ‘Śānī’ (Kālā jal, 1965) was the first Muslim writer to emerge in Khaṛī Bolī Hindi after a gap of more than two hundred years. Asghar Vajāhat, Mehrunnīsā Parvez, Abdul Bismillah, Manzūr Ihtiśām followed suit.33 Raza is in a way different from these and more like Premchand and some of the Hindi authors from Western Panjab, who started composing in Nastālīq and Urdu before independence and changed over to Devnāgarī and Hindi later. Premchand belonged to the Kāyasth caste, a Hindu caste that came into existence together with Persian dominated administration, which explains their close association with Persian learning. “Munshi” (munśī) or, in colonial English terms, “writer” was the classical designation of this population group. In colonial India, and particularly from the 1830s onwards, Urdu had gained in importance and the Kayasths came to be associated with this language. The small number of authors of Hindu origin in modern Urdu literature are mostly Kāyasths. In the year of the publication of Sevāsadan, i.e. 1918, Premchand was busy finishing his BA from Allahabad University with English, Persian and History as subjects. He considered continuing to MA in English literature for a short while and sympathized with the Bolshevik revolution in Russia.34 According to a rather brief remark in his autobiographical minute jīvan-sār, published 1932 (PR 7: 362-369), Navāb Dhanpat
33 On Hindi novel writing by Muslim authors compare Stark 1994. 34 Bandhyopadhyay 1981: 40ff. 170 Heinz Werner Wessler
Rāī – he had not yet taken his later pen name 'Premchand' – wrote his first upanyās in 1901 after having made first experiences in writing Urdu by translating from English prose. According to jīvan-sār, this upanyās was published 1902, but the “novel” Asrār-i maāvid urf devasthān rahasya was actually published from 1903 to 190535 in the magazine Ᾱvāz-e-khalk, while the second novel Hamkhurmā va hamsavāb, composed 1903-1904, was published by the Naval Kishore Press in 1906. Even Shivrani Devi (Śivrānī Devī) is not particularly precise in her dating of the first novel writing of her future husband, but she self-consciously declares the publication year of the second novel to be the year of her marriage with Premchand, i.e. 1906 – but the Hindi version came out only in 1907, the calendrical year after her second marriage.36 Premchand does not lose many words on these first efforts in writing in his autobiography, even though the editor of the PR, Rām Ānand assures in his introduction (PR 1:15) that Premchand liked his first novel. In the jīvan-sār however, Premchand writes: “A novel of mine came out in 1902 and the next in 1904, but I didn’t write stories [galp] before 1907”37. Obviously, Premchand does not take his first two upanyās very serious, and he more or less relates the beginnings of serious writing with his composition of short stories. It is interesting that he uses the term “galp”38 here, a Sanskrit loanword that was used for “shorter tale” in early modern Bengali and Hindi literature, while upanyās would relate to longer prose pieces going back to the narration of fairy tales. Even in a brief essay from 1922, Premchand argues “Actually, the creation of novels is called light literature, because the readers are entertained by it.”39 In other words,
35 PR 1: 81-160. According to Goyankā, the publication of “Asrār-e maābid” started in the edition published on the 8th October 1903 (Goyankā 1981: vol.1, p.320). The first publication of Premchand altogether came out on the 1st of May the same year, the first part of a biographical text on Oliver Cromwell published between May and September 1903 in the weekly journal “Āvāz-e khalq”. 36 Shivrani 1956: 21: “Merī śādī ke sāl hī āpkā dūsrā upanyās ‘Premā’ nikalā…”. The first “upanyās” is “Kṛṣṇā”, according to the later Hindi title, the second “Premā” or according to the name later given to it, “Vibhav” (published in Hindi by Indian Press, Ilahabad 1907). 37 “Merā ek upanyās 1902 meṃ nikalā aur dūsrā 1904 meṃ, lekin galp 1907 se pahile maiṃne ek bhī na likhī.” (PR 7: 366). 38 As seen above, Premchand also uses “kissā” for the genre of short stories or short fictional prose texts appearantly synomymous to “galp”. 39 “Vāstav meṃ upanyās-racnā ko saral sāhitya (light literature [sic]) kahā jātā hai, islie ki isse pāṭḥakoṃ kā manoraṃjan hotā hai.” (PR 7: 253). Premchand 1915 171
Premchand’s statement in his autobiography confirms what he has already declared earlier. Some authors go back to the early 19th century for the origin of the long prose in Hindi and refer to the famous Rānī ketakī kī kahānī from Inśā Allāh Khān for the beginning of novel writing in Hindi- Urdu, but usually, Gauridatt’s Devrānī jeṭhānī kī kahānī (1870), Śraddhārām Phillaurī’s Bhāgyavatī (1877) or Lālā Śrīnivās Dās Parīkṣā guru (1882) is taken as the first novel in Hindi.40 In Urdu, this honour may go a little bit further back in time, i.e. to Nazir Aḥmad’s Mirāt ul’Arūs (The Bride’s Mirror, 1869) 41 – depending on the definition of a nāvil.42 To be on the safe side, we might have to go to Ruzvā’s famous Umrāo jān adā from 1908. In the world of Hindi, the landmark upanyās or the fairy tale novel in 19th century Hindi was Devkīnandan Khatrīs Candrakāntā and its follow-up Candrakāntā santati published serialized from 1890. In 1898, Kiśorīlāl Gosvāmī started to edit a monthly journal under the title Upanyās, in which he published as many as 65 novels composed by himself. These early novels often were of the tukbandī type, i.e. they include simple forms of narrative rhythms and occasional rhymes, which can also be found in Premchand’s two early Urdu novels. Didactic tendencies are clearly there in many of these early novels, as Premchand himself complains in 192243. They often consist of episodes within a loose framework of a larger narrative framework related to a main character that goes through all kinds of romances and life events. In comparison with the mature Premchand, the authors of earlier novels in Hindi were “second rank fictional authors”44
40 Compare McGregor 1974: 99. 41 Das (1991: 202ff.), the didactical and romantic nature of the “Mirāt ul-Urūs” notwithstanding, sees the works of Nazir Ahmad (1836-1912) as important steps towards the development of realism in Urdu prose. Compare Sadiq 1984: 409, who occasionally calls the Mirat ul-Urūs a “story”. He confirms however that “before Nazīr Ahmad there had been no novel, as such, in Urdu” (Sadiq 1984: 415). 42 If one believes Qurratulain Haider, the first “novel” in India is “The nautch girl” written by a certain Hasan Shah (b.1790) in Indian Persian (translated by Qurratulain Haider as Shah, Hasan, The nautch girl : a novel. Delhi 1992) sometime in the early 19th century. Compare Asaduddin 2002. 43 “The number of novels written with the purpose of some social or political progress is nowadays just too much in all languages.” (“koī sāmājik yā rājnaitik sudhār-kisī uddeśya viśeṣ se likhe gae upanyāsoṃ kī saṃkhyā ājkal sabhī bhāṣāoṃ meṃ bahut adhik hai.” PR 7: 258). 44 “dūsrī koṭi ke kathākār” (Nagendra/Hardayāl 2009: 558). 172 Heinz Werner Wessler
The discovery and the development of the novel and the short story as literary genres is related to colonial literary modernity in Indian languages and literatures in general. It has often been stated that the genre of the short story was more vivid than the novel. Even Rāmcandra Śukla states in his standard history of Hindi literature that the development of choṭī kahāniyāṃ (i.e. short stories) was “even more abundant” than novels45, in the context a statement on quantity and quality as well. At the same time, he admits that the framework of both genres was taken from “the West”.46 Some researchers have stated that the novel is “entirely a Western importation” (McGregor 1974: 98). Sisir Kumar Das (1991) however interprets the introduction of the modern novel in Indian literature in the pattern of “Western impact and Indian response”. Similarly, Harish Trivedi (2003) argues that the novel as a literary genre in Hindi is not merely an importation, but a hybrid product, owing its identity to the meeting of a Western long form of prose literature, and indigenous form of narration. A conclusion of this kind was already drawn earlier even by Western researchers, for example by Peter Gaeffke in his study of Jayśaṃkar Prasād’s narrativity.47 In her article on the development of the news press in 19th century Urdu, Gail Minault sees the indigenous genius in the power of Indian intellectuals to their own choice of what to select for adaptation, and what not: “far from being dominated or overwhelmed by Western ways of doing and thinking, literate Indians maintained continuities…”.48 Rāmdaraś Miśra sees in the modern Hindi novel the Western genre, but also “the great influence … of the Indian narrative literature”49. This scope of interpretation is available in the case of the novel. In any case, upanyās refers like the Urdu nāvil first of all to the
45 “Upanyāsoṃ se bhī pracur vikās hiṃdī meṃ choṭī kahāniyoṃ kā huā hai.” (Śukla 1986: 368). 46 “…Donoṃ ke ḍḥāṃce hamne paścim se lie haiṃ.” (Śukla 1986: 368). 47 Gaeffke 1970 is a kind of refusal of a position that he refers to on the first page of his excellent analysis: “Vom Standpunkt einer vergleichenden Literaturwissenschaft liesse sich dieses Phänomen folgendermassen beschreiben. Alle konstituierenden Elemente der Erzählliteratur finden sich in Indien entweder später und in Nachahmung westlicher Vorbilder entwickelt oder sie erreichen nicht den Grad artistischer Vollkommenheit, den man von einem Meisterwerk erwartet.” (Gaeffke 1970: 1). 48 Minault 2005: 116. 49 “… Bhāratīy kathā-sāhitya … kā baṛā prabhāv lakṣit hotā hai.” (Miśra 1968: 23). Premchand 1915 173 length of a piece of prose literature. Catherine Thomas has tried to define Premchand’s shorter narratives in four divisions: “conte”, “utopie”, “abrégé de roman”, “court roman” and “nouvelle”.50 This is not the place to go into the history of literary genres in Hindi and Urdu, but it is clear that the analytical tools for an understanding of this history are still in the making. Besides galp, Premchand also uses the term kahānī in the following remark in his autobiography. He writes that he wrote his first short story (kahānī) in 1907, naturally in Urdu in Nastālīq script (Jīvansār, PR 7: 366; compare Rai 1962: 91), Duniyā kā sabse anmol rattan (The most precious Jewel of the World), which figures among the five stories published in 1908 in his famous first book, Soz-e vatan (The Dirge of the Nation), naturally in Urdu. The story contains the famous romantic nationalist and pronounced anti-colonial notion – “the last drop of blood which may fall down for the freedom of the country – this alone is the most precious jewel of the world”51. Śaikh mahmūr, another story from Soz-e vatan, is on a romantic sense of honour and love to inherited values – a story on a brave king, who after his defeat in battle and in his death bed gives his crown and sword to his son together with a sermon on the honour of a king and his dynasty. Amrit Rai quotes from a description of Premchand’s friend and supporter Dayanarayan Nigam, who describes his father as rājnītik jhukāv garam dal kī taraf thā (“his political inclinations were hot-minded”)52. However, in his autobiography, Premchand reports the event when he was called by the sāhib, i.e. the British school inspector, after the secret service (khufiyā pulīs) had tracked him down: “So you guy [tum] have written this book?” In order to safe himself, he collects the left over 700 copies (from 1000) from the book that still were in stock in the publisher’s office (i.e. Zamānā) and delivers them “in the service to the Sahib”.53 He even believes – according to his own report - that he was fortunate to have got away with a mild punishment of that sort. I see no reason not to take this statement as an honest account.
50 Thomas 1974: 17ff. 51 „khūn kī vah ākhirī būṃd jo deś kī āzādī ke lie gire, vahī duniyā kā sabse anmol rattan hai”. 52 Rai 1962: 95. 53 “Śeṣ 700 pratiyāṃ maiṃne ’zamānā kāryālay’ se maṃgvākar sāhab kī sevā meṃ apraṇ kar dīṃ.” (PR 7: 366) Compare Amrit Ray 1962: 104. 174 Heinz Werner Wessler
This fate of the first short story collection of Premchand is well known and over and over referred to, but his non-literary writings particularly from this period before his active participation in the freedom movement are not much studied. In the same period, 1907, Premchand published a brief outline of the life of Garibaldi, which must have inspired his early romantic nationalism. In an essay on the different kingdoms of Turkey published in August 1908, he starts off with: “When in the 19th century the breeze of freedom started, it gave Italy, France, Switzerland, the United States of America and other countries its freedom”54. In other words “freedom” (āzādī) had an air of romantic nationalism for Premchand, even if the time frame and also the collection of countries can be questioned. He adds Persia to this list and finishes the paragraph stating that “news are coming in now that it [i.e. the breeze of freedom] gives spirit even to the old bones of Turkey.55 The capital punishment for Khudiram Bose in 1908 left Premchand disturbed, similar to later similar cases in his lifetime, particularly the hanging of Bhagat Singh in 1931. The capital punishment for individuals who were engaged in a violent fight against the British continually raised a sense of solidarity of the colonial subjects and sponsored anti-British sentiments. Madan Gopal, whose biography of Premchand from 1964 contains valuable information particularly from then yet unpublished letters in Urdu and Hindi, makes clear how the capital punishment of the then 15-year old boy Khudiram Bose left a deep imprint on Premchand.
Conclusion
The vocabulary, grammar and stylistics that Premchand developed before the publication of his first novel of importance, Bāzār-e husn (or, in Hindi, Sevāsadan) points to the fluidity of the language continuum Hindi-Hindustani-Urdu56, even though the common Hindi- Urdu binary following the choice of script leads to a systematic
54 “Unnīsvīṃ sadī meṃ ek bār āzādī kī havā calī to usne iṭlī, frāṃs, sviṭzarlaiṃḍ, saṃyuktrāṣṭr amrīkā ādi deśoṃ ko āzād kar diyā”, PR 7: 68. 55 “Ab khabareṃ ā rahī haiṃ ki turkī kī būḍḥī-purānī haḍḍiyoṃ meṃ bhī usne rūh phūṃk dī”. (PR 7: 68). 56 Compare Kumar 2015: 267. Premchand 1915 175 ignorance of this fluidity between codes with the extremely Arabized and/or Persianized and the extremely Sanskritized codes at the oppositional ends of the language continuum. “Between the two ends is a continuum which veers towards one end or the other according to the speaker, the occasion and the environment.” 57 Premchand maintained this lifestyle as a writer in transition between different codes throughout his life. His attitude towards language remained pragmatic and he abstained from any purism or language ideology in his writing, even though his occasional theoretical considerations may point towards a more biased point of view on language. While Nastālīq and Kaithī were his “natural” ways of writing, being the scripts of his own education during childhood, he more and more developed his Devnāgarī, starting with the writing and publication of his short story Saut in 1915. Premchand’s theoretical insights into the identity of Hindi and Urdu don’t relate to his decisions on the languages of his creative writing. The Hindi-Urdu controversy was not important for him, even though he is very much aware of it and the fatal “pains of separation and lamentation” that go with it. His early Urdu style does have a certain degree of Persian and Arabic words that are hardly used in common speech, however far less than for example in the writing of his contemporary Muhammad Iqbal. His written fictional Hindi, which he developed around the year 1915 may be marked by occasional Sanskrit neologisms and other terms that are hardly used in everyday speech. The Hindi of his essays, which were much more loaded with technical vocabulary in Sanskrit, demonstrates that he very well mastered this code of Hindi as well. While lexicon and cultural references are more or less fluid, the script is a visible and clearly identifiable identity marker ascribed to a language. Premchand was of course aware of the broad scope of different codes of the language continuum, and he was able to use them according to the text genre or the characters in his fictional works. Just as a simple example of what this means: A Mullah would speak a rather “Islamized” language, while the Brahman would speak in a more sanskritized code. Premchand not only listened to the contents of speech, but also to its linguistic and narrative form, and he did not see the two as contradictions.
57 Rahman 2011: 99. 176 Heinz Werner Wessler
It is often ignored that any piece of fictional writing by Premchand and other authors in North India and Pakistan until today is anyway a kind of translation. Premchand’s language is the result of a successful transformation of the spoken dialect of the people – some kind of language continuum between Bhojpuri and Awadhi spoken in his village Lamhī close to Banaras – and Khaṛī bolī (i.e., Hindi and Urdu proper). Premchand’s language is not really the language of the people, but it is the product of an artistic operation, which is deeply related to fictional literature and its readers. Being readable by as many potential readers as possible also was the basis of his economic existence as writer as well as editor. The choice of lexicon, script, and cultural references in Premchand’s fiction is related to his unconditioned commitment to fictional literature as such and to his economic existence as an author and editor. Premchand’s fiction was supposed to have a meaning in society, it was to unfold a meaningful social message to people of different backgrounds, persuasions and religions. The choices were pragmatic, and in an unbiased search of his readership. He got involved with questions of rhetoric and social reform at the same time, and, a little later, with nationalism and cultural resistance against colonialism, which kind of infused a certain degree of didacticism into his fiction, which he overcame only gradually in the immediate years before his untimely death. Many authors in Hindi took this turn from Nastālīq towards Devnāgarī, particularly those who had to migrate to India after independence, often by force and under traumatic circumstances. The post-independence generation in Hindi literature is usually not longer educated in Urdu script. A wide spread opinion says that “partition killed Hindustani”, even though “lamenting for a lost glory called Hindustani … does not save the cause”.58 On the other hand, the difficult relationship between Hindi and Urdu, often associated with the different relationship between India and Pakistan, or between Hindus and Muslims, is continually perceived as a somehow “artificial divide”.59 Contemporary Hindi authors continue to be at home with much of the Arabic and Persian lexicon of the Hindi-Urdu-Hindustani
58 Kumar 2015: 266. 59 Zaidi 2015. Premchand 1915 177 language continuum. This is also true for the general public, who hardly reads fine literature either in Hindi or in Urdu at all. It can be argued with good reasons that from a linguist’s point of view, the language of Bollywood films is closer to Urdu than to Hindi in the language continuum. Beyond that, Muslim authors started to form a considerable component of Hindi literature from the 1960s 60 and infused Hindi literature with some excellent pieces of writing, using the wide range of expressions in the continuing Hindi-Urdu language continuum, which defines the space inside shared by the two. Nationalism, the trauma of the partition of 1947 and the intricacies of postcolonial history have certainly taken their toll and do contrast continuity with discontinuity. The linguistic and literary space of Northern South Asia, however, still operates in a similar framework in 2015 like in 1915. Religious, cultural and social diversity continue to infuse South Asia’s composite literary cultures 61 and emulates South Asian literary modernity as such.
References
Names of authors are usually spelt in transliteration, except those that are well known even outside of South Asia, i.e. Nazir Ahmed, Muhammad Iqbal, Premchand, and Rabindranath Tagore etc.
All references to Premchand’s oevre from: Premcaṃd racnāvalī. Ed. by Rām Ānaṃd. Khaṃḍ 1-20. Dillī 1996. [abbreviation: PR]
Secondary literature
Amṛtrāy, Premcaṃd : kalam kā sipāhī. Ilāhābād 1962. Asaduddin, M., “First Urdu novels : contesting claims and disclaimers”. In: The novel in India. Ed. By Meenakshi Mukherjee. New Delhi 2002, p. 117–141.
60 Starck 1994. 61 Orsini 2010. 178 Heinz Werner Wessler
Bandopadhyay, Manohar, Life and works of Premchand. New Delhi 1981. Chandra, Sudhir, “Premchand and Indian nationalism”, in: Chandra, Sudhir, Continuing dilemmas : Understanding social consciousness. New Delhi 2002, p. 83–106. Das, Sisir Kumar, 1800-1910 : Western impact: Indian response. New Delhi 1991 (A history of Indian literature ; 8). Everaert, Christine, Tracing the bounderies between Hindi and Urdu : Lost and added in translation between 20th century short stories. Leiden 2010. Gaeffke, Peter, Grundbegriffe moderner indischer Erzählkunst aufgezeigt am Werke Jayaśaṅkara Prasādas (1880-1937). Leiden [etc.] 1970 (Handbuch der Orientalistik ; Zweite Abteilung, Ergänzungsband 2). Gopal, Madan, Munshi Premchand : A literary biography. London 1964. Goyankā, Kamal Kiśor, Premcaṃd viśvakoś [part I and II]. Dillī 1981. ——— , Premcaṃd kī aprāpya kahāniyāṃ. Dillī 2005. King, Christopher, One Language, Two Scripts : The Hindi Movement in Nineteenth Century North India. New Delhi 1994. Kumar, Rajesh; Prakash, Om, “Hindi-Hindustani-Urdu: A Language Continuum”, in: Agnihotri, Rama Kant; Benthien, Claudia, Oranskaia, Tatiana, ‘Impure Languages’ : Linguistic and Literary Hybridity in contemporary Cultures. New Delhi 2015, p. 256–269. McGregor, Ronald Stuart, Hindi Literature of the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries. Wiesbaden 1974 (A history of Indian literature, ed. by Jan Gonda ; VIII,2). Minault, Gail, “From Akhbār to News : The Development of the Urdu Press in Early Nineteenth-century Delhi”, in: A wilderness of possibilities : Urdu studies in transnational perspective. Ed. by Kathryn Hansen; David Lelyveld. New Delhi 2005, p. 101–121. Miśra, Rāmdaraś, Hindī-upanyās : ek antaryātrā. Dillī 1968. Premchand 1915 179
Mukherjee, Meenakshi, Early Novels in India. New Delhi 2002. Nagendra; Hardayāl, Hindī sāhitya kā itihās. Naueḍā 2009 [3rd and revised ed.]. Orsini, Fancesca (ed.), Before the divide : Hindi and Urdu literary culture. New Delhi 2010. Rahman, Tariq, From Hindi to Urdu : A Social and Political History. Delhi 2011. Robinson, Francis, Separatism among Indian Muslims. Cambridge 1974. Sadiq, Mohammad, A history of Urdu literature. Delhi 1984 [2nd ed.]. [Shivrani] Śivrānī Devī Premcand, Premcaṃd : ghar meṃ. Dillī 1956. Stark, Ulrike, Tage der Unzufriedenheit: Identität und Gesell- schaftsbild in den Romanen muslimischer Hindischriftsteller (1965-1990). Stuttgart 1994. Śukla, Rāmcandra, Hiṃdī sāhitya kā itihās. Kāśī 1986 [repr. of Kāśī 1940] (Nāgarīpracāriṇī graṃthmālā ; 53). Swan, Robert O., Munshi Premchand of Lamhi Village. Durham 1969. Thomas, Catharine, Morphologie de la kahānī chez Premcand : Contributions à l’étude d’un genre (analyse structural suivie de traductions). Paris 1974. Trivedi, Harish, “The progress of Hindi, part 2 : Hindi and the nation”, in: Pollock, Sheldon (ed.), Literary cultures in history : Reconstructions from South Asia. Berkeley [etc.] 2003, p. 958– 1022. Zaidi, Nishat, “Flows, Counter-flows across the Artificial divides: The case of English-Hindi-Urdu”, in: Indian Literature 286 (March/April 2015). Delhi 2015, p. 158–178.
Acta Orientalia 2015: 76, 181–240. Copyright © 2012 Printed in India – all rights reserved ACTA ORIENTALIA ISSN 0001-6483
BOOK REVIEWS
Gupta, Latika. Education, Poverty and Gender. Schooling Muslim girls in India. Routledge India 2015, 165 pp.
This book presents a very competent and intense study of 25 Muslim girls in Grade XI in a school in Old Delhi, only identified as MGS (Muslim Girls’ School) to spare both the school and the girls unwanted curiosity. Of course it would not be very difficult to find the school with a bit of effort but few people would take the trouble and the time. Gupta describes in detail the sordid entrance to the school among overflowing sewers, fumes from a mechanic repair shop, a urinal (p. 63). Hardly a welcoming entrance!
One would have liked to learn more about the functioning of the MGS. It is mentioned in passing that there are 650 girls in the school. How were they admitted? On what criteria? The school is government sponsored and hence free, at least for girls (p. 3). What are the subjects taught? How many teachers work at the school? How does the teaching function? Very little is said about what is actually taught in the school. It is stated that the school “follows the curriculum prepared by the National Council for Educational Research and Training (NCERT) and uses all its textbooks” (p. 4), but it is never explained what that curriculum consists of. A reader not already familiar with the NCERT curriculum is left in the dark. Gupta says: “Every class has about 55 to 60 students, but the average attendance was never more than 30.” (p.65). This is an astounding statement. What do the girls actually do in the school? Is the school simply a place to spend the time away from home with its 182 Book Reviews inevitable household chores? The girls seem to spend considerable time loitering in the corridors or on the dilapidated terrace of the school where teachers seldom go. But how do they learn anything without attending classes? “The medium of instruction for all subjects is Urdu, while Hindi and English are studied as extra languages.” (p. 4). Important notices posted outside the principal’s office are in Urdu, and a few in Hindi (p. 63). The girls have presumably learnt to read and write in Hindi in government-run schools before being admitted to MGS at Grade VI. It is not clarified which script the girls use when writing essays: the modified Persian script normally used for Urdu, or the Devanagari script used for Hindi. Or both? In her quotations from the essays Gupta specifies that they are “translated from Hindi”. Gupta concentrated her study on 25 girls in Grade XI, because “this grade… [involves] a critical decision…[namely] …’the choice of subject stream” (p. 43). What are these subjects? Apart from mentioning that history (p.44) and political science – “a compulsory subject …in grades XI and XII” (p. 119) – are taught, there is no mention what else is taught in the school. Another strange thing is that only the head girl of the class has the timetable and she presumably informs the girls when they arrive what the day’s timetable is (p. 65). It would have been very helpful if Gupta had told us what the time table looks like from day to day for the different classes. Homework is only mentioned once in a table about illness when one girl states that her sisters help her with the homework when she is sick (Table 5.25, p.130).
One could venture to say that the word ‘education’ in the title of this book is somewhat misleading, since the girls do not seem to learn much, at least not in the academic sense. The ‘education’ seems to consist entirely of teaching the girls to be good Muslim girls, i.e. submissive wives and mothers. This ‘education’ is the same at home and in the school. As a grammarian I must confess I find the transliterations from Hindi/Urdu quite exasperating. There are several recognized scientific ways of transliterating Hindi and Urdu, none of which has been applied here. Sadly, most anthropologists, sociologists, educationists, Book Reviews 183 meteorologists, historians, political scientists etc. etc. never seem to get a competent linguist to do the transliterations for them.
This is in many ways a very sad book. Gupta amply illustrates how circumscribed and restricted a Muslim girl’s life is, especially if she belongs to the lower/lowest class. Going from home to the school seems to be the only allowed outing, and contacts outside of the home and the school non-existent. To continue studying after Grade VIII is considered an unnecessary luxury for a girl whose only goal in life is to become a submissive wife and mother. The family and the community regulate everything in a girl’s life: what she can wear, if she can watch television or not, what she can read, to which bazaar she can go, etc. etc. In other words the poor Muslim girl’s life is entirely regulated by “the power of patriarchy as an overarching reality” (p 142). Or as Krishna Kumar emphatically states in his foreword “the greatest of all known human institutions: patriarchy.” (p. xvi).
As a young scholar Latika Gupta has to show that she is familiar with the theoretical studies in her field. She is using all the current buzzwords such as gender/gendering, narrative/narrativize, identity, phenomenology, and so on. This is part of the rules of the game. This book makes it clear that Dr. Gupta is a very accomplished scholar in this respect. This will hopefully have the result that she does not have to show her theoretical competence in her future books, but instead concentrate on what she really does very well, namely her keen and precise gift of observation, attention to revealing details, and obvious talent for conducting productive interviews with her subjects, something which requires intelligence, tact and compassion. She can henceforth confidently apply Goethe’s well-known dictum, uttered by Mephisto, the devil, in Faust: “Grau, teurer Freund, ist alle Theorie,/ Und grün des Lebens goldner Baum.” “Dear friend, all theory is grey, and the golden tree of life [is] green.” We are looking forward to Latika Gupta’s next book.
Stella Sandahl University of Toronto 184 Book Reviews
Kockelmann, Holger. Untersuchungen zu den späten Totenbuch- Handschriften auf Mumienbinden. Band I: Die Mumienbinden und Leinenamulette des memphitischen Priesters Hor. Band II: Handbuch zu den Mumienbinden und Leinenamuletten. SAT 12. Wiesbaden, 2008.
Die Rezension zielt auf die überarbeitete Fassung der Dissertation des Autors aus dem Jahre 2005 hin, die von den Totenbuch- Mumienbinden der ägyptischen Spätzeit handelt. Die Denkmäl- ergattung als solche hatte in der bisherigen Forschung relativ wenig Beachtung gefunden. Im ersten Band, der nochmals in zwei Teile zerfällt, werden Resultate aus der Beschäftigung mit den Mumienbinden und Leinenamuletten des memphitischen Priesters Hor vorgelegt. Der zweite Band ist im Stile eines allgemeinen Handbuches zu dieser Objektgruppe gehalten.
Der Aufbau von Band I.1 kann auf folgende Weise näher charakterisiert werden: In Kap. 1 werden die textilen Textträger einzeln bekannt gegeben, die sich auf die Sammlungen in Berlin (M. Berlin Ägyptisches Museum und Papyrussammlung P. 3073), London (M. London BM EA 10265/EA 10266) und New York (M. New York Pierpont Morgan Library, Amherst 41) verteilen (2–3). Die Historie der Binden in privaten und öffentlichen Kollektionen des 19. Jhdts. wird nachvollzogen (2–9). In Kap. 2 werden die prosopographischen und genealogischen Details des Bindenbesitzers offen gelegt. (11–22). Das Kap. 3 geht der Frage der Provenienz der Binden nach. Die Herkunft wird in Memphis angesetzt, wofür bestimmte Einzelfaktoren (Titel des Besitzers, z. T. auf Memphis bezogene Phraseologie, z. T. für Memphis typische Ikonographie der Vignetten) verantwortlich gemacht werden (23). In Kap. 5 wird das Alter der Binden bestimmt. Der Schriftduktus und Vignettenstil werden als Indizien für die Datierung in die frühe bis mittlere Ptolemäerzeit genommen. Der Wert der auf den ersten Blick recht eindrucksvollen hieratischen Zeichenliste wird allerdings dadurch geschmälert, dass sich der Autor aus „Platzgründen“ auf eine Auswahl von Beispielen beschränkt, aber Book Reviews 185 gleichzeitig „der größeren Bandbreite wegen“ mehrere irrelevante Zeichen aufnimmt. In Kap. 6 werden die Binden von technischer Seite betrachtet. Die Webart, Fadendichte, Länge/Breite sowie Anzahl der Kolumnen gehören zu den Punkten, die besonders hervorgehoben werden (49– 76). Die Mumienbinden können als das am besten und vollständigsten erhaltene Beispiel dieser Art gelten (49). Der Hauptteil besteht aus Kap. 7, in dem die Texte diskutiert und Parallelen benannt werden (77–173). Der „philologische Kom- mentar“ hält nicht immer, was er verspricht. Der nicht selten einzige Verweis auf das gute alte Wörterbuch reicht in der Mehrheit der Fälle eben doch nicht aus. In Kap. 8 werden die Vignetten beschrieben, von denen heute noch 87 erhalten sind (175–218). Die Vignette zu Tb 1 verdient besonderes Interesse, welche den Leichnam in einer Barke auf einem vierrädrigen Wagen zeigt (182–185). Das Thema ist auch in anderen TB-Handschriften des 2. – 1. Jhdts. v. Chr. realisiert worden. Das Kap. 9 befasst sich mit den 30 Leinenstücken, welche die 24 Totenbuchbinden des Hor komplettieren. Die als solche be- zeichneten „Leinenamulette“ werden durch je ein einzelnes, in Strichzeichnung ausgeführtes Motiv geziert (219–22). In einem Abbildungsteil werden die Binden und Leinenamulette photographisch reproduziert (Photo-Tafel 1–73). Der Band I.2 ist für die Tafeln aufgehoben. In Taf. 1–12 werden schematische Skizzen der Binden vorausgeschickt, die einen optischen Eindruck von deren Gesamtzustand vermitteln sollen. In Taf. 13–161 werden dem Leser die hieroglyphischen Umschriften der 24 Binden mitgeliefert. Die Stücke werden in aufsteigender Reihen- folge präsentiert. Die Inhaltsangaben zu den einzelnen Binden werden in der Kopfzeile und am rechten Seitenrand markiert.
Im zweiten Band (II) werden die späten Mumienbinden auf Leinen aus größerem Blickwinkel betrachtet. Die folgenden Informationen seien zur Kenntnisnahme empfohlen: Die Ausstattung des Verstorbenen mit Totenbuchtexten auf Mumienbinden kann spätestens seit der 30. Dynastie nachgewiesen werden (17). Der jetzige Befund spricht dafür, dass die Sitte möglicherweise im 1. Jhdt. v. Chr. geendet hat (20). Die Mumien- binden mit Totenbuchtexten sind hauptsächlich im memphitischen 186 Book Reviews
Raum, aber auch in weiter südlich gelegenen Fundorten anzutreffen (25–37). Das Material der Totenbuch-Mumienbinden hat in allen Fällen Leinen gebildet (39). In der Dekoration treten Gemein- samkeiten zwischen Totenbüchern auf Leinen und Papyrus auf (91). Die Anbringung von Texten und Vignetten wird typologisch untersucht und nach den jeweiligen regionalen Vorlieben geordnet (93–115). Die Texte und Vignetten der Totenbücher sind in der Regel mit schwarzer Russtinte auf das Leinen gebracht worden (131). Der Gebrauch von roter Tinte zur Rubrizierung lässt sich nur sehr selten beobachten (132). In der Ptolemäerzeit kommt – neben dem Hiera- tischen – die Verwendung der Hieroglyphenschrift für Mumienbinden wieder auf (133). Die Methoden der antiken Korrektur von offensichtlichen Schreibfehlern werden dokumentiert, die von Ausstreichen und Schwärzen über Textzusätze oberhalb oder unterhalb der Zeile bis hin zu Überschreiben und Auswischen gereicht haben (137–141). Die Nummernaufschriften der Binden werden näher beleuchtet, die von der 30. Dynastie/frühen Ptolemäerzeit bis in die zweite Hälfte des 2. Jhdts. v. Chr. belegt sind (147). Die räumliche Verbreitung hat sich von Memphis/Herakleopolis/Gurob im Norden bis nach Theben im Süden erstreckt (147). Die Maßnahme ist durch Ordinalzahlen mit „mH“-Präfix oder Kardinalzahlen vollzogen worden (148). Die Nummerierungen werden als „interne Orientierungshilfe“ für die Mitglieder der Skriptorien gedeutet (178). Die Binden sind z. T. mit zusätzlichen Notizen versehen, zu denen Besitzervermerke und Beschriftungshinweise gehören können (186–189). Die Spruchan- ordnung lehnt sich bis auf wenige Ausnahmen an die „Saitische Redaktion“ des Totenbuches an (203). Das Textprogramm konnte bisweilen durch andere funeräre Literatur (Segensformeln, Opferbitten) erweitert werden (205–206). Die Eigentümer der Mumienbinden werden in einem Katalog mit Angabe der Titel und Filiation namentlich aufgeführt (244–287). Die Matronyme (294–301) und Patronyme (302) werden listenartig zusammengefasst. Die Sammlungen, in deren Beständen Totenbuch-Mumienbinden zu finden sind, werden in einem Verzeichnis genannt (303–307). Im letzten größeren Kapitel 15 wird zu den sog. Leinen- amuletten Stellung genommen. Die geographische Verbreitung wird zur Sprache gebracht, die sich zwischen Memphis/Saqqara, Gurob und Theben bewegt hat (310–311). Die Leinenstreifen sind mit Motiven geschmückt, deren Repertoire sich aus anthropomorphen/ Book Reviews 187 mischgestaltigen Göttern, Tierdarstellungen und figürlichen Ab- bildungen geschöpft hat (313–342). Der zweite Band wird durch Indizes (347–416) und Literatur- verzeichnis vervollständigt (417–459). Die letzten Seiten bieten einen Tafelteil (Taf 1–17), der mit einer repräsentativen Auswahl von Originalen aufwartet.
Die folgenden Anmerkungen mögen nicht ohne Nutzen sein. Band I: 21: zur Schreibung „D“ für „Dd“ „sagen“ vgl. ähnlich D. Dunham, Three inscribed statues in Boston, JEA 15 (1929), 165; Th. G. Allen, The Egyptian Book of the Dead: Documents in the Oriental Institute Museum at the University of Chicago, OIP 82 (Chicago, 1960), 46; K. Jansen-Winkeln, Zu drei Statuen der 26. Dynastie, BSEG 25 (2002–3), 107 n. 11; R. Jasnow/ K.-Th. Zauzich, The Ancient Egyptian Book of Thot, A Demotic Discourse on Knowledge and Pendant to the Classical Hermetica, Volume 1: Text (Wiesbaden, 2005), 326. 79 (ähnlich 149/161): zur Verschreibung zwischen und vgl. K. Jansen-Winkeln, Bemerkungen zu drei thebanischen Statuen der Spätzeit, CdE LXXVII (2003), Fasc. 155–156, 40. 80: zur (Ver-)schreibung „rn“ für „rA“ „Spruch“ vgl. ähnlich K. Jansen-Winkeln, Die Inschriften der Schreiberstatue des Nespaqa- schuti, MDAIK 45 (1989), 205 n. 8. 83: zur Schreibung „pH.ti“ „Kraft“ für „pH“ „erreichen“ vgl. J. Fr. Quack, Die Lehren des Ani, Ein neuägyptischer Weisheitstext in seinem kulturellen Umfeld, OBO 141 (Freiburg/Schweiz – Göttingen, 1994), 53; zur Schreibung „ngng“ für „ngg“ „schnattern o. ä“ vgl. R. A. Parker/J. Leclant/J.-Cl. Goyon, The Edifice of Taharqa by the Sacred Lake of Karnak, Brown Egyptological Studies 8 (Providence, 1979), 58–59. 84: zum Austausch zwischen und vgl. jetzt J. Fr. Quack, Rezension: Bettina Ventker, Der Starke auf dem Dach, Funktion und Bedeutung der löwengestaltigen Wasserspeier im alten Ägypten, Studien zur spätägyptischen Religion 6, Wiesbaden 2012, in: WdO 43/Heft 2 (2013), 255. 93 (ähnlich 98): zur Schreibung „ic“ für „nic“ „rufen“ vgl. H. Frankfort, The Cenotaph of Seti I at Abydos, Volume II: Plates, The Egypt Exploration Society 39 (1933), Pl. XXVII; A. Piankoff/N. 188 Book Reviews
Rambova, The tomb of Ramesses VI, Plates, Egyptian religious Texts and Repre-sentations Vol. I, Bollingen Series 40 (New York, 1954), pl. 23, 34; KRI I, 334, 1; E. Hornung, Das Buch der Anbetung des Re im Westen (Sonnenlitanei), Nach den Versionen des Neuen Reiches, Teil II: Übersetzung und Kommentar, AH 3 (Genève, 1976), 141 (460); Chr. Leitz, Tagewählerei, Das Buch HA.t nHH pH.wy D.t und verwandte Texte, Textband, ÄgAb 55 (Wiesbaden, 1994), 137c); Chr. Leitz, Der Sarg des Panehemisis in Wien, SSR 3 (Wiesbaden, 2011), 240 n. 51. 95: zur Schreibung „Da“ für „Dar“ vgl. W. Westendorf, Grammatik der medizinischen Texte, Grundriss der Medizin der alten Ägypter VIII (Berlin, 1962), 31 n. 2; R. A. Caminos, Literary Fragments in the Hieratic Script (Oxford, 1956), 48. 116: zum Austausch zwischen „bkA“ „schwängern“ und „bkA“ „Morgen“ vgl. U. Verhoeven, Das saitische Totenbuch der Iahtesnacht, P. Colon.Aeg 10207, Teil 1: Text, PTA 41/1 (Bonn, 1993), 354. 132: zur Schreibung „sp“ für „sip“ vgl. Chr. Leitz, Tagewählerei, Das Buch HA.t nHH pH.wy D.t und verwandte Texte, Textband, ÄgAb 55 (Wiesbaden, 1994), 313 i; Chr. Leitz, Die Gaumonographien in Edfu und ihre Papyrusvarianten, Ein überregionaler Kanon kultischen Wissens im spätzeitlichen Ägypten, Soubassementstudien III, Teil 1: Text, SSR 9 (Wiesbaden, 2014), 188 n. 93. 139: zur Verbindung des Wortes „afn“ mit Augen („blindfold“) vgl. H. G. Fischer, Dendera in the Third Millenium B. C., Down to the Theban Domination of Upper Egypt (New York, 1968), 139. 149: zur Schreibung „cqr“ für „ciqr“ vgl. G. Burkard/H.-W. Fischer-Elfert, Verzeichnis der Orientalischen Handschriften in Deutschland, Band XIX, 4, Ägyptische Handschriften (Stuttgart, 1994), 198. 153: zum obskuren Determinativ der „Laufenden Beine“ nach dem Verb „Amc“ vgl. R. A. Caminos, A Tale of Woe, From a Hieratic Papyrus in the A. S. Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts in Moscow (Oxford, 1977), 41. 164: zur Defektivschreibung „fn“ für „fnT“ „Wurm“ vgl. W. Westendorf, Grammatik der medizinischen Texte, Grundriss der Medizin der alten Ägypter VIII (Berlin, 1962), 45; R. A. Caminos, Book Reviews 189
Late-Egyptian Miscellanies, Brown Egyptological Studies I (London, 1954), 197. 166: zur Schreibung „A.t“ für „iA.t“ „Stätte o. ä.“ vgl. A. H. Gardiner, The first two pages of the Wörterbuch, JEA 34 (1948), 15; K. Sethe, Drammatische Texte zu altaegyptischen Mysterienspielen, Das „Denkmal Memphitischer Theologie“, Der Schabakostein des Britischen Museums, UGAÄ 10 (Hildesheim, 1964), 25k; A. Kucharek, Altägyptische Totenliturgien Band 4, Die Klagelieder von Isis und Nephthys in Texten der Griechisch-Römischen Zeit, Supplemente zu den Schriften der Heidelberger Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philosophisch-historische Klasse Band 22 (Heidelberg, 2010), 326. 167: zur Defektivschreibung „nw“ für „nwr“ „Reiher“ vgl. J.- Cl. Goyon, Confirmation du pouvoir royal au nouvel an [Brooklyn Museum Papyrus 47.218.50], BdE 52 (Le Caire, 1972), 114 (273).
Band II: 137: zum Zusammenhang zwischen „pcD“ „Rücken“ und „pcD“ „leuchten“ vgl. jetzt Chr. Leitz, Die Gaumonographien in Edfu und ihre Papyrusvarianten, Ein überregionaler Kanon kultischen Wissens im spätzeitlichen Ägypten, Soubassementstudien III, Teil 1: Text, SSR 9 (Wiesbaden, 2014), 263. 237: zur Bezeichnung der weiblichen Verstorbenen als „Hathor“ vgl. M. Smith, The Mortuary Texts of Papyrus BM 10507. Demotic Mortuary Papyri in the British Museum 3 (London, 1987), 75; Chr. Riggs, The Beautiful Burial in Roman Egypt: Art, Identity, and Funerary Re-ligion (Oxford/New York, 2005), 43–45. 265: zum Verhältnis zwischen „mHii.t“ und „m – HA.t“ vgl. L. D. Morenz, Sinn und Spiel der Zeichen, Visuelle Poesie im Alten Ägypten, Pictura et Poesis, Interdisziplinäre Studien zum Verhältnis von Literatur und Kunst, Band 21 (Köln/Weimar/Wien, 2008), 200. 266: Das „Holzdeterminativ“ nach „qri“ im Frauennamen „tA- Sr.t-n-tA-qri“ könnte auch vom – Baum (WB I, 138, 5) oder – Möbel (?) (WB I, 138, 6) übernommen sein.
Stefan Bojowald Bonn, Germany
190 Book Reviews
M. Siderits and S. Katsura (eds.). Nāgārjuna’s Middle Way. Mūlamadhyamakakārikā. Wisdom Publications. Classics of Indian Buddhism. Boston 2013, 351 pp.
I The book under review with the title Nāgārjuna’s Middle Way (NMW) offers a new translation into English of the fundamental treatise of the philosophical school of Madhyamaka, viz. the Mūlamadhyamakakārikā-s (MMK) regarded as the creation of an author called ‘Nāgārjuna’. It includes a running commentary on the verses that constitute the work, which purportedly distills ‘information from the four extant classical Indian commentaries in order to make clear the background context and reasoning of each argument’. The publication contains four major sections: 1. An introduction, which, apart from specifying some characteristics and underlying principles of the subsequent part, in which the translation is presented, provides some general information about the text as well as its author and attempts to convey to the readers ‘some general introductory’ information ‘concerning Nāgārjuna’s goals and strategies’ (pp. 1-10). 2. The main part, where translations of all the verses constituting the entire work are offered subsequent to their citation in the original language, often followed by explanatory remarks on the part of the authors of NMW. At the beginning of each of the 27 chapters of the text outlines of the train of thought of the respective chapters are presented (pp. 13-335). 3. A ‘Bibliography’ which specifies relevant primary sources and under the heading ‘Further Readings’ offers a selection of pertinent secondary literature (pp. 337-341). 4. An ‘Index’ containing apart from some proper names, English and Sanskrit technical terms (pp. 343-351). In view of the character of NMW it could be reasonably surmised that a major objective of the publication should lie in providing a reliable basis enabling readers who are not (yet) specialists in the area of studies on early Madhyamaka, in particular persons who are interested in the history of philosophy without possessing particular philological competence in Sanskrit Studies, to attain both a correct understanding of the propositions expressed in the individual verses and chapters and an adequate view of the text as a whole. Although, as far as one can see, the authors of the book do not explicitly declare that they pursue this aim, we regard it as Book Reviews 191 justified to examine whether the publication could comply with this objective. Accordingly the fact that NMW can not satisfy this desideratum ought be considered as a relevant result. The subsequent discussions will mainly focus on three topics: 1) The adequacy of the translations, 2) the reliability of the comments accompanying the translations in the individual chapters of the second major section of NMW, 3) the correctness of the exposition presented in the ‘Introduction’.
II As far as the translations offered in NMW are concerned, it deserves to be noticed that more than three decades ago a translation into Danish of the entire text of the MMK has been published by C. Lindtner, under the title Middelvejens fundamentale memorialvers (MFM)1. Even if Lindtner’s renderings might not be always correct or optimal in detail, it appears hardly deniable that in the whole the translation presented in MFM is decisively superior to the one offered in NMW. Accordingly renderings of verses to be found in MFM will be mentioned from time to time in the subsequent discussions. The translations of NMW do not always faithfully reflect the syntactic constructions of the original text. To be sure, the maxim to allow for syntactic deviations between original and translation can be justified in principle, and deviances could be even regarded as desirable if they entail increase of clarity and facilitate understanding. There are, however, numerous cases where lack of literality is apt to hamper exact understanding even if one can surmise that the writers of NMW did not grammatically misunderstand the original. The way in which the introductory stanzas of the MMK has been rendered in NMW is apt to vindicate in an exemplary manner the fact that apparently minor deviations regarding grammatical features between original and translation can entail major consequences. The so-called ‘dedicatory verse’ of the work reads in the original as follows: anirodham anutpādam anucchedam aśāśvatam / anekārtham anānārtham anāgaman anirgamam //
1 Lindtner 1982. Nāgārjunas Filosofiske Værker (Nāgārjunīyam Madhyamaka- śāstram). København. 192 Book Reviews
yaḥ pratītyasamutpādaṃ prapañcopaśamaṃ śivam / deśayām āsa saṃbuddhas taṃ vande vadatāṃ varam // It has been rendered in NMW p. 13 as: I salute the Fully Enlightened One, the best of orators, who taught the doctrine of dependent origination, according to which there is neither cessation nor origination, neither annihilation nor the eternal, neither singularity nor plurality, neither the coming nor the going [of any dharma, for the purpose of nirvāṇa characterized by] the auspicious cessation of hypostatization. In the present connection it is apposite to only focus on the employment of the words ‘according to which’ because by their use the impression is conveyed to a reader that the theorem that cessation, origination etc. do not exist constitutes the content of a doctrine called ‘dependent origination’. The comments accompanying the translation in NMW clearly corroborate this understanding. For it is said (p. 14): These negations are said to describe the content of the Buddha’s central teaching of dependent origination (pratītyasamutpāda). The verse thus claims that when we say everything is subject to dependent origination, what this actually means is that nothing really ceases or arises, nothing is ever annihilated nor is there anything eternal, that things are really neither one nor are they many distinct things, and that nothing really ever comes here from elsewhere or goes away from here. This interpretation is not corroborated by the grammatical structure of the pertinent textual segment. From a syntactical point of view the series of expressions beginning with anirodham and ending with anirgamam permit only an analysis according to which they function as attributes, if it is taken for granted that those words are not used as independent nouns. In this context it might not be improper to pay attention to the fact that those expressions could, taken as attributes, be alternatively construed with pratītyasamutpādaṃ or with taṃ. To be sure, the probability that they ought to be exclusively combined with the pronoun taṃ is quite low, but since deliberate equivocations are quite frequent in Sanskrit literature, it is not entirely unrealistic to assume that the writer of the text intended to convey a ‘double reading’, such that the expressions beginning with anirodham and ending with anirgamam should be taken as qualifying Book Reviews 193 pratītyasamutpāda and the annunciator of pratītyasamutpāda likewise.2 The above cited rendering excludes a recognition of this possibility from the very outset. However, even if this point is left out of consideration, it remains valid that the expressions anirodham etc. are presumably used as qualifiers and that the rendering of NMW conceals this fact. In this respect the translations of both Frauwallner 1994, p. 1783, and of Lindtner, MFM p. 67, are preferable.4 It might be objected that the inadequateness concerns merely a purely grammatical point and is insignificant from the perspective of content. This criticism is inappropriate. Even if it were supposed that the translation offered in NMW presents a correct explication of the content of the verse, it must be regarded as questionable to impute a translator’s own interpretation without making this manifest. In fact, however, it is far from certain that the above quoted rendering embodies an appropriate explication. According to the commentator Candrakīrti one ought to suppose that pratītyasamutpāda is both the content of a teaching and qualified by eight qualifiers beginning with anirodha.5 Against the background of Candrakīrti’s outlook ― which presumably correctly reflects the Madhyamaka position in this respect ― one can presume that the employment of the expression ‘qualifier’ (viśeṣaṇa) relates to a purely grammatical feature, the fact that anirodham etc. should be syntatically construed with pratītyasamutpādaṃ as its attributes, without implying that being without cessation etc. constitute objective qualifications of some object, called pratītyasamutpāda. It is conceivable that the idea that the series of adjectives must not be taken as representing objective qualities of an object has induced the peculiar feature of the translation offered in NMW. However, this consideration cannot
2 In this connection it deserves to be kept in mind that the words beginning with anirodham and ending with anirgamam constitute an independent verse. 3 E. Frauwallner 1994. Die Philosophie des Buddhismus (4. Aufl.). Berlin. 4 According to Frauwallner the verse should convey that the Buddha taught the pratītyasamutpāda as being without cessation etc., which preserves the idea that pratītyasamutpāda, according to Buddhist teaching, is without cessation etc. Lindtner’s rendering, on the other hand intimates that being without cessation etc. constitute objective qualifications of pratītyasamutpāda ― ‘Den har intet ophør, ingen opståen …..’ (MFM, p. 67). 5 LVP 3,11 tad atrānirodhādyaṣṭaviśeṣaṇaviśiṣṭaḥ pratītyasamutpādaḥ śāstrābhi- dheyārthaḥ / sarvaprapañcopaśamaśivalakṣaṇanirvāṇaṃ śāstrasya prayojanaṃ nirdiṣṭaṃ / 194 Book Reviews justify the supposition that (the writer of the MMK intended to convey that) the non-existence of cessation, origination etc. is the content of a teaching with the title pratītyasamutpāda. In this context of discussion it is indispensable to remain aware of the phenomenon that if one would encounter an utterance or inscription of the form: Watson is not the boss of Sherlock Holmes. one needs to differentiate between (at least) three different types of communicative intentions assignable to the pertinent utterance or inscription: The first variety, which could be characterized as the naïve stance, is distinguished by the circumstance that the producer of the linguistic tokens, possibly believing that Sherlock-Holmes-stories relate real events, intends to convey that, as a matter of fact, Watson was not the boss of Sherlock Holmes ― but rather vice versa. The second type is instantiated by the utterance of somebody who intends to communicate a fact about literature, specifically the fact that in some genre of stories a character called ‘Watson’ is not depicted as the boss of a character depicted as a bearer of the name ‘Sherlock Holmes’. It could be portrayed as the sophisticated stance. The third variety of intention, which is rather extraordinary and could be characterized as such, would occur if somebody used the above sentence with the intention to impart merely the fact that ‘Watson’ is nothing but the designation of a fictitious item; since there is no real person who is referred to by (certain employments of the expression) ‘Watson’ it must be a fortiori acknowledged that no such person is the boss of Sherlock Holmes. 6 The decisive point is that in all the envisaged cases the expression ‘is not the boss of Sherlock Holmes’ occurs as a predicate on the grammatical level. We can presume that a similar situation exists with respect to the introductory verses of the MMK. Although the surface structure of the formulation cannot make this manifest, the remarks have to be associated with an import corresponding to the third variety of intention or the extraordinary stance. It is precisely because of the under-determination of content by linguistic expressions that many
6 It might be true that in such cases one would seldom use the pertinent sentence alone, without the addition of some clarification of the relevant point, such as ‘because he is only a fictional character’. It will be contended later, however, that the subsequent text of the MMK, taken as a whole, could be regarded as providing exactly the same sort of explanatory comment on the introductory section. Book Reviews 195 textual passages occur which exhibit a deep concern on the part of proponents of Madhyamaka to forestall mistaken ways of understanding their words and their doctrine. Although one ought not suppose that the writer of the MMK expected that first readers of his text will recognize the final import of the initial segment of the work, it can be nevertheless assumed that he counted on the fact that by reading the treatise an ultimately adequate understanding of his remarks can be induced. Hence the initial section embodies a view which definitely surpasses any tenet concerning the content of any doctrine: The goal is envisaged to impart that that which is current under the designation of pratītyasamutpāda possesses itself the status of a mere fiction.7 The most decisive drawback of the ‘free rendering’ given in NMW lies in the circumstance that it obstructs from the very outset the way of obtaining the above portrayed perspective of the matter. Therefore one must maintain that even those who would reject the thesis that the position of early Madhyamaka is basically equivalent to the illusionism of Advaita Vedānta minus Brahman, would need to admit the deficiency of the rendering of NMW due to the mere circumstance that it blocks possibilities of understanding and recognition of problems.
Some additional examples corroborate the contention that even minor deficiencies of formulation deserve attention.
The second half of MMK 1.5 which reads: yāvan notpadyata ime tāvan nāpratyayāḥ katham is rendered in NMW (p.22) by: When something has not arisen, why then are they not nonconditions? In contrast both Frauwallner and Lindtner clearly explicate the pertinent meaning of yāvat as ‘as long as’ (Frauwallner ‘solange’, Lindtner ‘sålænge’). A closer analysis is apt to reveal that the particular temporal component involved in the notion of ‘as long as’ possesses potential relevance for the understanding not only of the
7 Presumably this implies both that the principle of dependent origination is illusory and that the same holds true for the teaching of this principle. The latter thought in particular is indicated by textual passages like MMK 25.24, where it is said that no dharma has ever been taught by the/a Buddha. 196 Book Reviews pertinent remark but of the character of the arguments presented in the MMK in general. Presumably the writers of NMW thought that the rendering of the construction na … yujyate by ‘it is not correct to say’, as e.g. in MMK 14.8; 15.1 etc. amounts merely to a stylistic transformation. It is, however, far from certain that this modification cannot impede a proper understanding. The construction ‘It is not correct to say that p’ need not imply that the state of affairs depicted by the embedded sentence is not true or cannot be true. It is probable, however, that the writer of the MMK intended to convey by a formulation, such as: na tena tasya saṃsargo nānyenānyasya yujyate that it is (objectively) impossible that a conjunction between an item with itself or a conjunction of an item with something different ever occurs.
In MMK 22.16, which reads: tathāgato yatsvabhāvas tatsvabhāvam idaṃ jagat / tathāgato niḥsvabhāvo niḥsvabhāvam idaṃ jagat // the expressions yatsvabhāvas, niḥsvabhāvo, tatsvabhāvam and niḥsvabhāvam are grammatically attributes to be construed with tathāgato and jagat respectively. This fact is reflected in Lindtner’s translation (MFM, p. 116) which reads:
Den Fuldkomne har samme selvværen Som den empiriske verden: Den Fuldkomne har slet ingen selvværen, Men det har den empiriske verden heller ikke! In contrast, NMW offers a translation which does not reflect the pertinent grammatical fact as far as the first half of the verse is concerned. It reads: What is the intrinsic nature of the Tathāgata, that is the intrinsic nature of this world. The Tathāgata is devoid of intrinsic nature; this world is devoid of intrinsic nature. Book Reviews 197
Although it can be safely ruled out that the authors of the translation failed to understand the syntactic structure of the first half of the verse correctly, it is legitimate to raise the question of why they abstained from offering a more faithful rendering. As far as one can see, the lack of literality does not entail any advantages but rather disadvantages. We are entitled to presume that the formulation of the original exhibits a rhetorical point resulting from the fact that the second half, which suggest a justification for the statement made in the first half, is obtained by merely substituting the expressions yat and tat by niḥ, which signals that ― surprisingly ― the pronoun tat does not possess any reference in the present context. It might be admittedly not easy to preserve all the relevant stylistic peculiarities of the original in an English translation. However, the parallelism ought to be preserved as much as possible. A way to achieve this goal to some extent could be a translation which reads as follows: That which the Tathāgata possesses as svabhāva this world possesses as svabhāva, The Tathāgata possesses no svabhāva [and] this world possesses no svabhāva.8 ― A discussion of this verse was also presented earlier in my book ‘Materialien zur Übersetzung und Interpretation der Mūla- madhyamakakārikās’ (MIM)9, pp. 160-161.
It would be a mistake to presume that the inadequacies inasmuch as they are not based on incorrect grammatical analyses or interpretations affect merely clarity of expression or faithfulness in stylistic respects.
MMK 10.25 yo ‘pekṣya sidhyate bhāvas tam evāpekṣya sidhyati / yadi yo ‘pekṣitavyaḥ sa sidhyatām kam apekṣya kaḥ // is translated in NMW (p. 115) by:
8 The following German translation would be even closer to the original: Der Tathāgata ist von demjenigen Eigenwesen, vom dem diese Welt ist; Der Tathāgata ist von keinem Eigenwesen [und] die Welt ist von keinem Eigenwesen. 9 Reinbek 2001. Philosophica Indica: Einsichten – Ansichten, Band 5. 198 Book Reviews
If an entity x is established in dependence [on something else y], and in dependence on that very entity x there is established that y on which x’s establishment depends, then what is dependent on what? It could seem that, notwithstanding the fact that the (complex) relative construction of the original has not been mirrored in this rendering, the quoted translation presents the intended thought with optimal clarity. On the other hand it could be argued, however, that a legitimate aim of a translation must not exclusively lie in an intelligible presentation of some (propositional) content of the original; it might equally pursue the aim to assist readers with some knowledge of the language of the original to understand the grammatical construction. It is in fact possible to fulfill this desideratum without sacrificing too much of clarity by presenting a rendering which reads as follows: If that entity which is established depending (on something) is established depending on precisely that [entity] on which it has to depend, [then one must ask:] which [entity] should depend on which? It deserves to be noticed, however, that it is pretty questionable that the syntactic analysis on which the above envisaged translations rest are correct in the final analysis. After all, in view of the order of words, it is more natural to connect the expression sa in the second half of the verse with yo ‘pekṣitavyaḥ, and not with yo ‘pekṣya sidhyate. Accordingly a rendering would be more adequate which runs: If that on which [something] must depend comes into existence (sidhyati) depending on precisely that entity which comes into existence depending on [it], [then one must ask:] which [entity] should depend on which? The second analysis had been regarded as the preferable alternative in MIM 129-132. If this interpretation were accepted it could not even be maintained that the translation suggested in NMW rests on an impeccable grammatical understanding of the verse. To be sure, since the two envisaged interpretations amount to contents which can be considered as equivalent in the present context, the rendering offered in NMW would not entail the consequence of obfuscating the relevant point of the pertinent remark of the text. It is difficult to ascertain whether the authors of NMW have made the effort to reach a correct Book Reviews 199 grammatical analysis of MMK 10.10. At any rate, if one takes the trouble to identify a tenable syntactic analysis one is in a position to recognize the possibility that the writer of the text might have intentionally chosen a formulation which could be analyzed in different ways.
MMK 17. 31-32, which reads yathā nirmitakaṃ śāstā nirmimītarddhisaṃpadā (in NMW nirmimītārddhisaṃpadā) / nirmito nirmimītānyaṃ sa ca nirmitakaḥ punaḥ // tathā nirmitakākāraḥ kartā yat karma tatkṛtam10 / tadyathā nirmitenānyo nirmito nirmitas tathā // has been rendered in NMW, p. 191, by: Just as the Teacher by his supernatural power fabricates a magical being that in turn fabricates yet another magical being, so with regard to the agent, which has the form of a magical being, and the action that is done by it, it is like the case where a second magical being is fabricated by a magical being. Evidently the phrase sa ca nirmitakaḥ punaḥ has not been taken into consideration here and it remains unclear how the translators understand the sequence of tadyathā … tathā in the second half of MMK 17.32. Although the syntactic construction of this passage is not obvious it should be worthwhile to make an effort to understand it. The following suggestion is based on the assumptions that nirmitakaḥ in MMK 17.31 d and nirmitas in MMK 17.32 d occur in predicate positions and that the textual passage exploits a subtle equivocation between ‘created’ on the one hand and ‘artificially created’ = ‘unreal’, ‘fictive’ on the other for derivations of nirmā-. The second supposition appears to be supported by Candrakīrti’s comments concerning these verses ― compare pp. 330,4-331,3 in the edition of
10 Lindtner (and De Jong) tat kṛtam. 200 Book Reviews
L. de la Vallée Poussin 1970 (LVP). Thus the following proposal can be made: As a teacher (in the arts of magic) might fabricate by his magical craftsmanship a magical (and fictive) being, [and] the created (and fictive) being might fabricate another being, and this is in its turn (created and) fictive, so the agent is of a (created and) fictive nature [as well as] the action done by him, in such manner as [generally] another being created by a (created and) fictive being is likewise (tathā) (created and) fictive. It might be conceded ― and it had been explicitly admitted in MIM 149-150 ― that alternative ways of construing the sentence are equally conceivable. However, an attempt to identify a syntactically viable analysis and its presentation in the context of a translation should not be regarded as futile.
The significance of not neglecting details of formulation pertains also to particles, such as hi, atha, tu and others because not seldom do they shed light on the argumentative structure. In NMW (p.17) the first half of MMK 1.12 athāsad api tat tebhyaḥ pratyayebhyaḥ pravartate is rendered by: If that which does not exist [in them] is produced from those conditions This does not account for the occurrence of atha and api. It can be presumed, however, that these words signal in this context a relevant argumentative function of the remark, namely the fact that the supposition that an effect results from the causal conditions even if it does not previously occur in those conditions is envisaged leaving, for the sake of argument, out of consideration the circumstance mentioned in the preceding verse, namely that it ought be in fact assumed that something which does not exist in the conditions cannot result from them. Both in Lindtner’s and in Frauwallner’s translations this nuance is indicated, in the latter case by ‘aber’ (Frauwallner 1994, p. 180) and in the former case with even more clarity by the expression ‘alligevel’ (MFM, p. 69). Book Reviews 201
In NMW p. 19 the formulation The intrinsic nature of existents does not exist in the conditions, etc. The intrinsic nature not occurring, neither is extrinsic nature found should render MMK 1.2 na hi svabhāvo bhāvānāṃ pratyayādiṣu vidyate / avidyamāne svabhāve parabhāvo na vidyate // 3 a comparison with Frauwallner’s translation (Frauwallner 1994, pp. 178-179) Denn das eigene Wesen der Dinge ist in den Ursachen usw. nicht vorhanden. Wenn aber kein eigenes Wesen vorhanden ist, dann ist auch kein fremdes Wesen vorhanden. reveals two facts: 1. Frauwallner does not use any technical term for rendering the occurrences of svabhāva- and parabhāva- in this verse in contrast to NMW, where one finds ‘intrinsic nature’ and ‘extrinsic nature’. 2. Frauwallner interprets the occurrence of hi in the sense of ‘for’ in contrast to NMW, where no equivalent occurs. The non- technical way of rendering svabhāva- and parabhāva- could be suitable because it is quite probable that the writer of the original text did not intend to attribute any technical import to those words in the present context. By conceiving those expressions in the sense of ‘own- being’ and ‘other-being’ one could easily make intelligible that svabhāva and parabhāva can be taken to constitute an exhaustive alternative and that from the non-existence of a svabhāva the impossibility of a parabhāva follows: The underlying thought is that the possibility of exhibiting some character or nature which is not a thing’s own nature requires that the concerned item possesses itself some nature either in the form of a character which distinguishes the unit from the character of other entities or even in the form of the parabhāva which the item exhibits itself. It is noteworthy that considerations of this sort are indicated in the MMK itself, e.g. in MMK 15.3. Accordingly the option of mirroring internal compositional properties of original expressions in their translation- equivalents can be commendable. Lindtner’s rendering by ‘selvværen’ and ‘andenværen’ does not only comply with this recommendation, but permits even the possibility of recognizing why the impossibility 202 Book Reviews of a parabhāva could follow from the impossibility of a svabhāva. As far as the rendering of hi is concerned, Frauwallner’s view can be considered as appropriate. It is not improbable that the author of the MMK intended to signal that verse 2 and the remainder of the section as a whole should furnish the justification of the thesis pronounced in MMK 1.1. In MIM p. 39 ff it was argued that a similar interpretation of hi as signaling a reason or justification can be equally maintained if the order of MMK 1.2 and MMK 1.3 were reversed as attested in certain editions (see also NMW p. 18). Even admitting that the particle hi need not always possess such a function it can be asserted that in philosophical texts and in the MMK in particular this usage is extremely frequent. In this connection the fact possesses importance that one can attribute the function of signaling justifications in many instances where this is not immediately obvious. Accordingly it ought be acknowledged as a maxim that one should first carefully examine the possibility of this import before discarding this hypothesis and taking the particle as (semantically) redundant. ― We will revert to this point later. The previously suggested claim, however, that NMW is not appropriate to be employed as a reliable basis for non-specialists does not rely on phenomena as the ones which have been discussed above. Decisive is rather the circumstance that in numerous instances the presented translations depend on questionable interpretations in combination with the fact that the doubtfulness of the underlying assumptions is not or not easily discernible for a non-specialized reader. In MIM one can discern many instances where interpretations differ in various respects and various degrees from those intimated in NMW. There the complete first, second and sixth chapter of the MMK have been investigated and some larger sections of other chapters were examined. Also from section VII of my article ‘Pragmatic Implicatures and Text-Interpretation’, which deals with MMK 1311, various divergent views, specifically regarding the dialogic and argumentative structure, could be detected. Despite these facts it appears appropriate to mention at least some of the instances where the understanding of NMW deserves to be questioned.
MMK 1.7
11 Studien zur Indologie und Iranistik, (Band 16/17) 1992. Reinbek. Book Reviews 203
na san nāsan na sadasan dharmo nirvartate yadā / kathaṃ nirvartako hetur evaṃ sati hi yujyate // has been rendered by Frauwallner 1994, p. 179 as: Wenn weder eine seiende, noch eine nichtseiende, noch eine seiende und nichtseiende Gegebenheit entsteht, wieso ist dann ein hervorbringender Grund möglich? This suggests the argument that a productive or ‘operative‘ cause is impossible because no item which is an effect, irrespective of whether it is existing or not existing or both existing and not existing (at some particular time), can occur. A similar interpretation is also advocated by Lindtner MFM, p. 68).12 In contrast the translation to be found in NMW p. 24 Since a dharma does not operate whether existent, nonexistent, or both existent and nonexistent, How in that case can something be called an operative cause? intimates that an ‘operative cause’ is impossible because no item, which is a cause, can be operative under any circumstances. This means that the justification that nothing can be an operative cause is that nothing can be operative, which appears pretty circular as an argument. The accompanying remarks in the commentary attempt to explicate the thought by saying that ‘for an entity to perform the operation of producing an effect, it must undergo change … [b]ut an ultimately real entity, a dharma, cannot undergo change’ when it exists or does not exist or both exists and does not exist. It remains completely unclear on what basis the explanation offered here rests. At any rate, neither the Tibetan translation, where (na ….) nirvartate is rendered by (mi) grub pa, nor Candrakīrti’s comments13 corroborate
12 Da der hverken kan frembringes et begrep der existerer, Ikke existerer eller både existerer og ikke existerer Hvordan kan der så, når der altså (ingen »effekt«) er, Logisk set tales om en »frembringende årsag«? 13 See LVP 83,9: tatra nivartaka utpādakaḥ, yadi nivartyo dharmo nirvarteta tam utpādako hetur utpādayet, na tu nirvartate, sadasadubhayarūpasya nir- vartyasyābhāvāt // tatra san na nirvartate vidyamānatvāt / asann apy avidyamāna- tvāt / sadasann api parasparaviruddhasyaikārthasyābhāvāt, ubhayapakṣābhihita- doṣatvāc ca // yata evaṃ kāryasyotpattir nāsti hetupratyayo ‘py ato nāsti / tataś ca yad uktaṃ, lakṣaṇasaṃbhavād vidyate hetupratyaya iti, tad evaṃ sati na yujyate // 204 Book Reviews this interpretation, but support Frauwallner and Lindtner, whose views appear definitely more plausible. It may be annotated in passing that the occurrence of hi need not be taken as semantically redundant: It might have been used to signal that MMK 1.7 gives a reason as to why the statement of the preceding verse is relevant for the topic of the impossibility of the four varieties of conditions specified before in the text.14 ― Compare also MIM pp.45-46.
For MMK 2.5 gamyamānasya gamane prasaktaṃ gamanadvyayam / yena tad gamyamānaṃ ca yac cātra gamanaṃ punaḥ // NMW p. 34 presents the following rendering: If the act of going is in the path presently being traversed, then two acts of going would follow: that by which the path presently being traversed [is said to be such], and moreover that which supposedly exists in the act of going. This translation is puzzling because of the phrase ‘that which supposedly exists in the act of going’, which must obviously correspond to yac cātra gamanaṃ punaḥ. It is not merely mysterious how this English phrase could be a grammatically correct translation of the original, but also the thought suggested thereby is odd: Why should it be supposed that there is an act of going in some act of going, or that the writer of the MMK intended to convey this view? There is not the slightest reason to extract from the original formulation any peculiar theorem. Obviously the verse should say that if one assumed an activity of going or traversing pertaining to the place which is being traversed, one should be obliged to acknowledge two activities of going or traversing: first the activity on account of which some place is a place that is being traversed and second that which is in that case the activity of going or traversing itself, which is
14 Also in other languages the use of causal clauses for expressing justifications for acts of saying or asserting etc. ― instead of justifications of what is said or asserted ― is not uncommon. An example would be, in German: Da Du mich gefragt hast, was ich denke ― ich denke, Du bist ein Gauner. (Since you have asked me what I think ― I think you are a crook); or: Ich denke Du bist ein Gauner. Denn Du hast mich ja gefragt, was ich über Dich denke. (I think you are a crook, for after all you asked me what I think about you). Book Reviews 205 supposed to pertain to the place that is being traversed. This is mainly the same thought as the one intimated by the translation of the verse presented by Lindtner (MFM, p. 70). It deserves to be annotated only that Lindtner interprets the word atra as referring to the place or region which is being traversed ― ‘Og dernæst passeringen her i (banen der nu passeres)’. We suppose that this interpretation is not compelling and that atra might be taken to relate to the situation which is envisaged by the pertinent hypothesis. But this is a detail of relatively minor importance.
MMK 2.22, which reads gatyā yayājyate gantā gatiṃ tāṃ sa na gacchati / yasmān na gatipūrvo ‘sti kaś cit (in NMW cid) kiṃ cid dhi gacchati // possesses arguably a central importance for the interpretation of the entire chapter in which the verse occurs. In NMW p. 40 this is rendered as follows: A goer does not obtain that going through which it is called a goer, since the goer does not exist before the going; indeed someone goes somewhere. A remarkable feature of the translation lies in the employment of the words ‘does not obtain that going’ which must correlate with tāṃ (sa) na gacchati. This evokes the impression that the authors interpreted the combination of the verb gam with a noun in the accusative case in analogy to phrases, such as vināśaṃ gacchati, equivalent to ‘perish’ and literally interpretable as ‘going into perdition’. Thus the statement of the first half of the verse might be understood as a claim to the effect that the act of going by which a subject of going is qualified as somebody who goes (or something which moves) cannot be something which the pertinent subject incurs or which accrues to it at some (later) time during its existence. This contention could be based on the supposition that a subject of going or movement cannot exist prior to the existence of the activity by which it is qualified as a goer, and precisely this thought might be distilled from the phrase yasmān na gatipūrvo ‘sti. The writers of NMW add a comment to the pertinent verse according to which the argument of MMK should be similar to that of verse 10. They say that it ‘spells out in more detail the 206 Book Reviews reasoning behind the denial in verse 20 that a goer and going are distinct’ and that the ‘idea is that in order to obtain going as an attribute, and thereby become a goer, the goer must exist distinct from the going’, whereas, on the other hand, ‘something that existed distinct from going would not be a goer’ and ‘to be a goer is to go somewhere, which requires the act of going’. The manner in which MMK 2.22 has been treated in NMW is beset with various problems. First the matter is presented in a way which permits only specialists to recognize the fact that the supposed reading of the phrase tāṃ (sa) na gacchati is by no means imperative and not even natural.15 Second the supposition that the argument of MMK 2.22 is similar to one which has been presented previously in the same chapter entails the difficulty of averting the consequence of redundancy. Third, the supposed ‘argument’ which should have been presented in the present verse according to NMW is pretty odd. At first glance one should be inclined to think that on the supposition that no subject of going or movement can exist without and prior to any movement it immediately follows that the first activity of going or moving on account of which it is qualified as something that goes or moves cannot ‘accrue’ to it at some later time. This implies the threat of redundancy concerning the last quarter of the verse, viz. kaś cit kiṃ cid dhi gacchati. Obviously the authors of NMW presume nevertheless that those words are not redundant. The supposition of argumentative relevance has however a high price: The formulation which allegedly means ‘indeed someone goes somewhere’ is not only not apt to support a contention to the effect that ‘something that existed distinct from going would not be a goer’, but, if it is argumentatively significant at all, corroborates rather the contrary view that any activity of going or moving is performed by someone or
15 In this context it deserves to be noted that the following verse, which reads: gatyā yayājyate gantā tato ‘nyāṃ sa na gacchati / gatī dve nopapadyete yasmād ekatra (according to a variant reading: eke tu) gantari // are translated in NMW, p. 41 as: A goer does not obtain going by means of something other than that going through which it is called a goer, since it cannot be held that there are two goings when just one goes. It should be evident that the first half of this verse has been rendered in a way which would not reflect its grammatical structure even if the hypothesis concerning the import of the construction of gam plus (pro)noun in the accusative case would be granted. ― Only a replacement of ‘going by means of something other than’ by ‘a going which differs from’ could bring the translation in closer agreement with the original. Book Reviews 207 something and that accordingly the performer of the action ought to be taken as existing independently of the performed action ― something which accords well with common sense. The crux is that if the pertinent sequence of words should convey the thought that ‘something that existed distinct from going would not be a goer’ and that ‘to be a goer is to go somewhere, which requires the act of going’ it would not merely exhibit lack of explicitness; the formulation would be utterly inadequate and misleading. In view of the remark embodied in kaś cit kiṃ cid dhi gacchati it would be most natural to retort that precisely because of the fact insinuated by this expression one ought suppose that it is false that a goer cannot exist distinct from his going and that it is rather true than false that a goer ‘obtains going’, if this is taken to mean that acts of going or movement can occur as something which some item performs or undergoes during its existence. As long as no completely different literal sense is attributed to the relevant words, which seems hardly possible, the expounded difficulty cannot be dismissed as irrelevant. As soon as the assumption is dropped that the combination of the words gatiṃ … gacchati occurring in MMK 2.22 ― and mutatis mutandis the similar construction in MMK 2.23 ― possesses the import of ‘obtain going’, it is natural to suppose that the words represent a construction which is comparable to phrases like ‘sing a song’, ‘play a game’, corresponding to German ‘ein Spiel spielen’ etc., that, in other words, the noun gatiṃ refers to an item which is traditionally called ‘inner object’. Accordingly the sequence gatiṃ gacchati could be less literally rendered by ‘performs (an act of) going’. This means that the proposition represented by the first half of MMK 2.22 amounts to the claim that the act of going or movement by which someone or something is qualified and characterizable as a goer or as something which moves, cannot be the same as the activity of going or movement which the subject concerned performs. In this manner a connection is established in the first place to MMK 2.11 ― and not to MMK 2.10. MMK 2.11 reads: gamane dve prasajyete gantā yady uta gacchati / ganteti cājyate yena gantā san yac ca gacchati // This has been rendered in NMW, p. 37, as follows: 208 Book Reviews
If a goer does indeed go, then it would follow that there are two acts of going: that by which the goer is said to be a goer and that by which the goer really goes. It is noteworthy that the phrase yac ca gacchati has been rendered here by ‘that by which (the goer really) goes’. Although this cannot be considered as a most literal rendering of the original phrase, because ‘that by which … goes’ would rather correspond to yena … gacchati, it is plain that the import attributed to gacchati here differs from the one hypothesized in the translation of gatiṃ gacchati in MMK 2.22. It is, on the other hand, not improbable that the authors of NMW regard yac as a neutral relative pronoun in the accusative case, which is linked to the lexeme gamana- instantiated in the first word of the verse. We can endorse this view, but take the combination of gacchati with the relative pronoun in the accusative in the same sense as the combination between gacchati and gatiṃ in MMK 2.22. Accordingly MMK 2.11 could be rendered as follows: Two acts of going follow (as an undesirable consequence) if [it were maintained that] the goer in fact goes16, [namely] that on account of which [somebody or something] is described [by] ‘goer’ and that which he (or it), being a goer, goes. The point is evidently that somebody who endorses the proposition that a goer goes, is committed on the one hand to hypothesize an activity of going (or movement) which follows from characterizing some item as a goer and on the other hand an activity of going (or movement) which follows from the possibility of correctly saying of some entity that it goes (or moves). As far as MMK 2.11 is concerned it seems possible to reconcile the translation offered in NMW with the idea that two acts of movement follow, such that one is implied by the expression ‘goer’ (gantā) and the other by the expression ‘goes’ (gacchati). It remains unclear, however, why the authors are reluctant to connect MMK 2.22 with the same problem and to interpret gatiṃ …. gacchati in MMK 2.22 parallel to yac …. gacchati in MMK 2.11.
16 Regarding the import of uta it had been suggested in MIM p. 73 that it might signal an alternative to the supposition advocated in the preceding verse that advocating the thesis that a goer goes must be rejected on account of the implication of the existence of a goer without any act of going. Book Reviews 209
One might wonder why the question concerning the identity or difference of the activities indicated by the terms ‘goer’ and ‘goes’ possesses any relevance for the issue of the possibility or impossibility of going and moving. After all, in ordinary discourse we hardly employ expressions, such as ‘the goer goes’, but rather sentences like: Fred goes to the market. or The ball moves to the center of the billiard table. This doubt can be settled, however, by pointing out that the content of any sentence resulting from replacing the blanks in ‘… goes ___’ or ‘… moves ___’ by (grammatically and semantically) appropriate expressions entails propositions expressible by formulations, such as Somebody who goes goes. Something which moves moves. Any ascriptions of activities of going or moving can only be true if also sentences of the above sort express truths, and the expressions ‘a goer goes’ or ‘a subject of moving moves’ can be regarded as variant formulations of the former ones. On the other hand the entailment holds good only in one direction and the ordinary sentences and the corresponding artificial expressions representing their entailment do not say the same. Thus the fact that sentences of the latter type signify necessary requirements for the truth of ordinary movement statements cannot vindicate that the subject terms of ordinary sentences must refer to items which cannot exist independently of movement activities. Nonetheless, the weakness of the contention expressed in MMK 2.11 is patent: The argument takes for granted that the activities of going implied by the subject term ‘goer’ and by the predicate term ‘goes’ are numerically different. If in the second chapter of MMK no remark could be found which addresses the problem we would be forced to assume that this questionable supposition was taken for granted without any argument. But MMK 2.22 ― and as far as one can see only MMK 2.22 ― offers a possibility to recognize a reason for the adoption of the dubious hypothesis. It is merely required to interpret the first half of MMK 2.22 as expressing the denial that the 210 Book Reviews activity implied by the subject term and the activity implied by the predicate term can be identical. In order to distil an argument for this contention from the pertinent verse it appears appropriate to attribute a relevant semantic function to the particle hi in the last quarter of the verse, by taking it as signaling a (meta-)reason of why the (first-order) reason represented by yasmān na gatipūrvo ‘sti possesses sufficient probative force for the thesis in question. From an argumentative viewpoint the situation is equivalent to an argument where the thesis depends on two premises, one corresponding to yasmān na gatipūrvo ‘sti and the other to kaś cit kiṃ cid … gacchati.17 The reasoning in a nutshell is that (the existence of) the activity of going implied in the verb requires (the existence of) some item which is qualified as a goer; but (the existence of) the qualification of being a goer requires (the existence of) an activity of going. Thus, on account of transitivity of requirement the activity implied in the verb requires an activity implied by a subject term by which an item is qualified as goer. Given, however, that the (pertinent) relation of requirement is irreflexive it follows that apart from the activity of going implied by the verb at least one activity of going is required on account of which some item is qualified as a goer and which (numerically) differs from the one implied in the verb. Accordingly, the proposition that a goer (and only a goer) goes cannot be regarded as involving merely one activity which is implied by the subject and by the predicate term simultaneously. Hence the possibility that the pertinent supposition might even imply the occurrence of more than two acts of going need not be ruled out for safeguarding the relevant thesis. Against the background of the depicted analysis it must not be claimed that the writer of the MMK presented a valid argument for his contention. This is definitely not the case, because the assumption that all varieties of requirement are asymmetric deserves to be called into question. However, the decisive point is that we are not any more forced to suppose that the author of the text advocated the contention of MMK 2.11 without even recognizing its fatal weakness. If it were not assumed that MMK 2.22 ― or, if not this, then at least some other verse(s) occurring in the same work ― did not
17 It is supposed that the construction kiṃ cid … gacchati should be interpreted in a sense which is analogous to the import of gatiṃ …. gacchati in the first half of the verse. Book Reviews 211 address the dubiousness of the dismissal that items implied by subject and by predicate terms might be identical one would need to suppose that the writer took the difference simply as axiomatic. Under such circumstances it would be tempting to attribute to the founder of Madhyamaka a fairly naïve view on linguistic matters, specifically the opinion that surface structure needs to mirror content in a most direct manner, such that everything which differs on the level of linguistic expression must correspond to a difference with respect to content or reality. The attribution of this position is improbable not merely on account of the fact that remarks to be found in the MMK and other works attributed to the same author, in particular the Vigrahavyāvartanī, suggest a dismissal of the naïve stance. Previous text-related considerations which have been brought forward by myself need not be mentioned here, because something else is more important in the present context: If the writer of the MMK had based his contention pronounced in MMK 2.11 ― and similar contentions like the one formulated in MMK 2.5 ― on the depicted presupposition he could be accused of being uncritical to an inexcusable degree. Not only is the naïve ‘mirror view’ counterintuitive but its dubiousness is pretty obvious. Sentences such as Fred looked at himself. Paul visited his friend. appear to clearly vindicate that different linguistic tokens can even posses identical direct reference. A rejection of this assumption without any argument could never be approved. Intuitively sentences like Everybody who moves moves.18 Everything which is red is red. etc. express truisms. Should anybody trust a theory which says that such sentences can express falsehoods because the different
18 It would be certainly faulty to derive from the proposition that it is necessarily true that everything which moves moves (i.e. that it is necessarily true that if anything moves then it moves) the consequence that everything which moves necessarily moves. But as far as one can see, there is no evidence that the writer of the MMK committed this fallacy. 212 Book Reviews occurrences of ‘moves’ or ‘is red’ are bound to involve some (direct or indirect) reference to different entities? In the final analysis the worst would be to accept a mirror view of the pertinent sort without any argumentation. Our analysis can at least avert the need to attribute to the writer of the MMK an uncritical adoption of a most questionable outlook. Hence the issue concerning MMK 2.22 possesses undeniable significance.
Sometimes problems of translation affect questions of logical relations. MMK 6.1 rāgād yadi bhaved pūrvaṃ rakto rāgatiraskṛtaḥ / taṃ pratītya bhaved rāgo rakte rāgo bhavet sati // has been rendered in NMW, p. 66, by: If the one who desires existed prior to and without desire, then desire would be dependent on that; there being the one who desires, desire would then exist. The translation intimates that the existence of someone existing prior to desire without being affected by desire (at that time), constitutes a sufficient condition for dependence of desire on some desiring subject. But this appears quite implausible. The remark of the first half of the subsequent verse, where it is said that desire can impossibly originate if somebody who desires does not exist, supports the supposition that the previous existence of a subject of desire is rather taken as a necessary condition of dependence of desire on a subject of desire; in view of the circumstance that a necessary requirement of dependence is not satisfied, it can be derived that the pertinent assumption cannot hold true. By merely replacing the occurrences of ‘would’ by ‘could’ the idea that the state of affairs depicted in the first line constitutes a necessary requirement for the state of affairs depicted in the second half of the verse can be conveyed. If this is correct, then Lindtner’s translation (MFM, p. 78) Hvis der forud for begær eksisterede Et begærende subjekt adskilt fra begæret, Kunne begæret opstå afhængigt af vedkommende ― Begær må jo opstå hos en begærende der existerer. Book Reviews 213 is definitely preferable. One could nevertheless doubt that the last quarter of the stanza rakte rāgo bhavet sati represents ― as suggested by Lindtner ― a justification of the connection advocated in the previous part of MMK 6.1. Possibly it ought to be rather taken as an elaboration of the immediately preceding remark represented by rakte rāgo bhavet sati. Thus the entire verse would say that provided that a subject of desire existed without desire prior to it desire might depend on a subject of desire; under those circumstances it could hold good that desire exists, if a desiring subject exists.
To MMK 10.7 anya evendhanād agnir indhanaṃ kāmam āpnuyāt / agnīndhane yadi syātām anyonena tiraskṛte // corresponds in NMW, p. 113: [Reply:] Fire, being distinct from fuel, would surely be able to touch fuel if fire and fuel were mutually independent. In view of the occurrence of kāmam it appears probable that a correct rendering could read: Fire which is distinct from fuel might very well reach fuel, if fire and fuel existed separately of each other. Again the conditional clause formulates a necessary condition of the state-of-affairs expressed in the main clause. This import is quite clearly expressed in Lindtner’s translation.19 A similar case is to be found in MMK 16,7. Again Lindtner’s rendering appears more adequate than the one offered in NMW for similar reasons. ― Compare NMW, p. 168, and Lindtner (MFM, p. 99).20
The first half of MMK 6.4
19 Lindtner MFM, p. 90: Ja, så kunne en ild absolut forskellig fra brændstoffet, Da sagtens komme i kontakt med brændstoffet ― Hvis bare ild og brændstof først vat til, Adskilt fra hverandre! 20 There are other examples of the same sort which are not discussed here although they might deserve attention, such as the interpretation of MMK 27.28. 214 Book Reviews
naikatve sahabhāvo ‘sti na tenaiva hi tat saha / correlates with NMW, p. 68 If there is unity [of state and subject] there is no co-occurrence; there is not that with which the thing comes together. The import of this formulation is obviously: If there is sameness [of desire and subject of desire] there is no co- occurrence. For (hi) that is not together with that very (eva) [same item] (i.e. something cannot co-occur with itself). This import can be easily discerned in Lindtner’s translation (MFM, p. 79): De kan ikke optræde sammen hvis de er identiske Idet en af dem ikke kann være sammen med sig selv. It is not easy to find any justification for not presenting that idea in a clear manner in the framework of a translation.
MMK 10.5 reads: anyo na prāpsyate ‘prāpto na dhakṣyaty adahan punaḥ / na nirvāsyaty anirvāṇaḥ sthāsyate vā svaliṅgavān // and is translated in NMW, p. 112, by: If fire is other than fuel, it will not touch [fuel]; not having touched, it will not burn it up; and if it does not burn it up, it will not go out. If it will not go out, then it will endure precisely as something with its own mark. Evidently the import of the disjunctive particle vā has not been taken seriously in NMW. Possibly the authors found it difficult to account for a disjunctive import. But this cannot yield a justification for this neglect. As a matter of fact, one can attribute to the particle vā the function of signaling two different alternatives. On the supposition that fire differs from fuel, one alternative is that fire will not attain the state of burning at all, thus not touch fuel, burn it up and after burning it up extinguish. Another alternative would be that it attains the state of burning, but being something separate from fuel endures forever in its original state, which contradicts common experience. In this Book Reviews 215 connection the remarks on pp. 124 – 126 in MIM can be considered too.
Examples exist where it is even difficult to find any plausible explanation for the manner verses of the MMK are rendered in NMW.
MMK 5.6 reads: avidyamāne bhāve ca kasyābhāvo bhaviṣyati / bhāvābhāvavidharmā ca bhāvābhāvāv avaiti kaḥ // and has been translated in NMW, p. 62, by: When the existent is not real, with respect to what will there come to be nonexistence? And existent and nonexistent are contradictory properties; who cognizes something, whether existent and nonexistent? It remains mysterious on which linguistic analysis the rendering of the second half of the verse has been or could be based. Both the Tibetan translation of the verse: dṅos po yod pa ma yin na / dṅos med gaṅ gi yin par ḥgyur / dṅos daṅ dṅos med mi mthun chos / gaṅ gis dṅos daṅ dṅos med śhes // and the remarks of Candrakīrti’s commentary ― compare LVP 132,12–133,7 intimate that the writer of the MMK intends to convey in the second half that there is no subject possessing a nature deviating from (a) being or (a) non-being, in particular no subject that is neither a bhāva nor an abhāva who might investigate (or perceive or understand) (the dichotomy of) being and not being.21 Since the occurrence of this thought is philosophically interesting there should be no ground for concealing its existence, except there were philological reasons for rejecting the supposition that it has been expressed. But no such considerations are presented in NMW.
MMK 17.26
21 This is also the view manifested by the translation of Lindtner (MFM p. 78): [Men når en positive værensform ikke findes, Hvad kan da være blottet for positiv værensform?], Hvilket (subjekt) heterogent fra væren og ikke-væren, Skulle endvidere erkende væren og ikke-væren? 216 Book Reviews
karma kleśātmakaṃ cedaṃ te ca kleśā na tattvataḥ / na cet te tattvataḥ kleśāḥ karma syāt tattvataḥ katham // is rendered by You hold that action is by nature defiled and the defilements are not ultimately real. If for you the defilements are not real, how would action be ultimately real? in NMW, p. 188. The existence of ‘you hold that’ as well as ‘for you’ intimate that the two occurrences of te are taken as representing enclitic forms of the second personal pronoun. From a grammatical point of view one cannot discern a basis for discarding the supposition that the two tokens represent masculine plural forms of the pronoun tat; the syntactic position of the first occurrence before ca is even suited to support this assessment. From the point of view of content it is equally difficult to see why the pertinent verse ought to be taken as referring to the opinion of some other person(s). At any rate, from the exposition given in NMW itself one cannot discern any plausible justification for this view. Lindtner, p. 103, takes the occurrences of te in the same way as we prefer, viz. as demonstrative pronouns to be construed with kleśā(ḥ).22 In view of the fact that MMK 17 as a whole exhibits a rather complicated dialogical structure the question of whether or not individual verses relate to views of others is not irrelevant.
Regarding the translation given in NMW, p. 205, for MMK 18.11 anekārtham anānārtham anucchedam aśāśvatam / etat tal lokanāthānāṃ buddhānāṃ śāsanāmṛtam // represented by the formulation Not having a single goal, not having many goals, not destroyed, not eternal: This is the nectar of the teachings of the buddhas, lords of the world.
22 It should be noted that even in NMW the occurrence of te in the subsequent verse is obviously interpreted as a demonstrative pronoun in the nominative plural. Book Reviews 217 the interpretation of anekārtham and anānārtham in the sense of ‘not having a single goal’ and ‘not having many goals’ is noteworthy. This contrasts with the understanding of Frauwallner 1994, p. 186, as well as Lindtner, MFM p. 106, according to which the pertinent expressions represent the ideas of absence of unity and absence of plurality (of things).23 Hence the words anekārtham and anānārtham are taken in NMW as direct qualifications of the component śāstra- in śāsanāmṛtam, whereas both Frauwallner and Lindtner intimate that those expressions together with the two subsequent ones should characterize the content of the teaching. Admittedly the reading of NMW is grammatically acceptable and could be even considered as more ‘straightforward’ than the other one. On the other hand, in the accompanying comments the authors of NMW themselves point out that Candrakīrti did not advocate an interpretation of the component – artha in the sense of ‘goal’. Instead of saying that Candrakīrti interpreted the word in the sense of ‘meaning’ one should however rather say that he understood it in the sense of ‘object’, attributing to anekārtham as well as anānārtham the same import as Lindtner and Frauwallner (See LVP 377, 12 ekatvānyatvarahitaṃ). In view of these facts the possibility ought to be considered that the writer of MMK 18.11 deliberately envisaged a double reading regarding the pertinent expressions, and the question arises as to why the writers of NMW did not propagate this view. One can speculate that the authors of the book might have considered the reading in the sense of ‘not having a single goal’, ‘not having many goals’ as decisively superior. This view could be induced by the subsequent verse where it is said that when the completely enlightened Buddhas do not arise and the Śrāvakas disappear, the knowledge of Pratyekabuddhas arises. On p. 206 of NMW the consideration is suggested that MMK 18.12 occurs immediately after MMK 18.11 because it is suited to explain why the contention that the teaching is neither (completely) destroyed nor eternal is justified: On the one hand it is not exempt from change in time and on the other hand it is not completely disrupted at later times. Analogously one could regard the remark of MMK 18.12 as providing a justification for the contention that the Buddhist teaching(s) has neither one nor many goals: It does not have just one single goal
23 The pertinent expressions in those translations are ‘keine Einheit‘, ‘keine Vielheit‘, ‘uden enhed‘, ‘uden forskel‘. 218 Book Reviews because it can be employed for the realization of different aspirations on the part of Buddhas proclaiming the way for attaining Nirvāṇa and other Buddhist believers who propagate that which they have previously heard for enabling others to attain Nirvāṇa or for attaining it for themselves or to attain salvation independently of any teaching by others; on the other hand, the contention that the teaching possesses different goals deserves to be rejected on the basis of the fact that the different aspirations are not completely different, aiming at a same common goal. It needs to be added, however, that the preceding reasoning does not furnish a compelling argument for adopting the preferred reading of anekārtham and anānārtham. For there is equally another way to explain the occurrence of MMK 18.12 exactly in the context in which it occurs: The remark of the verse should explain why even at times, such as the time when the MMK was written, the possibility exists to ascertain the ultimate import of the instruction of the Buddha and juxtapose it with other interpretations. The context is not misplaced because the 18. Chapter contains repeated references to the pluralism inhering in Buddhist teaching.
MMK 20.9 niruddhe cet phalaṃ hetau hetoḥ saṃkramaṇaṃ bhavet / pūvajātasya hetoś ca pūrvajanma prasajyate // has been rendered in NMW, p.220, by: If it were held that, the cause having ceased, there were transference of the cause to the effect, It would follow that there is another birth of a cause that had already been produced. It is difficult to reconcile this translation with the original formulation not only because it presupposes the reading of phalaṃ … saṃkramaṇaṃ bhavet in the sense of ‘transference …. to the effect’ but also because it does not account for the occurrence of ca in the second half of the verse. Maybe the option of restricting the scope of the conditional represented by cet to the first quarter ― which accords with the Tibetan version24 ― was dismissed in NMW because of the
24 gal te rgyu ḥgags ḥbras bu na …. Book Reviews 219 consideration that the consequence of some transference given that an effect exists after the cause has ceased appears implausible. Lindtner’s rendering reveals, however, that the pertinent assumption regarding the scope of cet does not necessitate this result. It is not imperative to view the words saṃkramaṇaṃ bhavet as referring to a consequence resulting from the assumption that an effect exists after the cessation of a cause. Possibly according to Lindtner the conditional clause represents a necessary and not a sufficient condition and the stanza would say that if the effect would come into existence after the cause has perished it could happen that there were a progression of the cause, and this would entail that a previously existing cause would be reborn.25 If it were assumed that specifically the second half of the verse represents the consequence, MMK 20.9 might be rendered in the following way: If the effect [occurred] when the cause has ceased [before] there could [still] be a progression of the cause; but (ca) [then] the repeated birth of a cause that was born before follows. On the other hand, the supposition that the phrase hetoḥ saṃkramaṇam bhavet equally represents a consequence is not as eccentric as it could appear. On the premise that an effect cannot exist without the simultaneous existence of a cause, the supposition that an effect exists at some time before which the cause has perished [for the first time] in fact necessitates that the cause ‘progresses’ in the sense of perpetuating itself so that a previously originated cause would originate again. For vindicating the claim that the argument of MMK 20.9 could in fact rely on the premise that cause and effect must exist simultaneously it would be needed to embark on a more detailed study of the MMK as a whole. In the present context it must suffice to point out that an equivocation between temporal and atemporal readings of (constituents of phrases) of the form ‘If A exists, B exists’ appears to be virulent in various places in the text. Moreover the idea of the necessity of temporal coincidence can be formed on the basis of the supposition that for the quality of being an effect the existence of a cause is essential ― in combination with other presuppositions such as the non-difference between qualities and their substrata and an
25 Lindtner, p. 109: Hvis effekten kom når årsagen var gået til grunde, Måtte årsagen (alligevel) være vandret videre: Det ville nødvendigvis indebære genfødsel, Af en førhen eksisterende årsag. 220 Book Reviews
‘anti-realistic’ conception of qualities which precludes e.g. an identification of the quality of being the cause of the breaking of a glass with the quality of possessing such and such mass moving against a piece of glass with such and such speed etc.
Apart from the above cited and various other examples where the correct understanding of individual verses or of argumentative connections are at stake cases can be found where even minor inaccuracies possess potential relevance for the interpretation of essential features of Nāgārjuna’s teaching. For example,
MMK 25.16, which runs naivābhāvo naiva bhāvo nirvāṇaṃ yadi vidyate / naivābhāvo naiva bhāva iti kena tad ajyate // has been rendered in NMW, p. 300, by: If nirvāṇa were found to be neither an existent nor an absence, then by what is it revealed that it is neither existent nor an absence? This translation does not take into consideration the fact that the pronoun tad does not occur within the scope of the iti-clause. This fact could ― and presumably does ― possess considerable importance. By interpreting the second half of the stanza in the sense of by whom is this (namely Nirvāṇa) characterized/manifested [by saying:] [It is] neither bhāva nor abhāva? it is made plain that the writer of the text intends to dispute the possibility to attribute anything to Nirvāṇa in the way of attributing a quality to some object. The same would hold true if kena would be taken as a pronoun in the neuter gender understanding the phrase in the sense of whereby is it recognized as a bhāva or an abhāva? This would imply that it would be incorrect to characterize the pertinent denial as pertaining to a proposition of the form ‘Neither P nor not P’. Rather one ought assume that it discards the acceptability of a proposition of the form ‘m is neither F nor not F’, which is reasonable if it is supposed that ‘m’ cannot refer to any object which exists under the perspective of ultimate analysis. Book Reviews 221
The same point possesses significance with respect to the immediately subsequent verses, which run: paraṃ nirodhād bhagavān bhavatīty eva nājyate / na bhavaty ubhayaṃ ceti nobhayaṃ ceti nājyate // tiṣṭhamāno ‘pi bhagavān bhavatīty eva nājyate / na bhavaty ubhayaṃ ceti nobhayaṃ ceti nājyate // and which were rendered in NMW, p. 301 by: It is not to be asserted that the Buddha exists beyond cessation, nor “does not exist” nor “both exists and does not exist,” nor “neither exists nor does not exist” ― none of these is to be asserted. Indeed it is not to be asserted that “The Buddha exists while remaining [in this world],” nor “does not exist” nor “both exists and does not exist,” nor “neither exists nor does not exist” ― none of these is to be asserted. Again it is quite reasonable ― although syntactically not absolutely compelling here ― to suppose that the constituents paraṃ nirodhād bhagavān as well as tiṣṭhamāno ‘pi bhagavān lie outside the scope of iti. Accordingly the thought conveyed by the two verses is that neither with respect to a Buddha after cessation nor with respect to a Buddha during lifetime would it be appropriate to characterize him either by ‘he exists’, or ‘he does not exist’, or ‘he exists and does not exist’ or ‘he neither exists nor does not exist’. The reason is exactly the same as the one which justifies analogous dismissals with respect to Nirvāṇa. The circumstance that ― against the background of the distinctions previously introduced in this chapter ― negative predications could be permissible if they were associated with the ‘extraordinary’ intention is an altogether different issue. Presumably the writer of the text did not consider this possibility as relevant in the present context ― or at least not as sufficiently relevant to make its mention imperative. The lack of care with which those verses are treated in NMW would not be excusable even if one preferred divergent analyses of the constructions or adopted deviant views concerning the philosophy of early Madhyamaka. It is not desirable if the possibility of recognizing alternative interpretations remains 222 Book Reviews reserved to specialists. It could be retorted that even previous translators were not very particular with respect to questions of scope. But even so it must be admitted that NMW failed to achieve any progress in this regard.
It is widely believed that MMK 24.18 possesses high importance for the interpretation of the teaching proclaimed in the MMK, and in NMW, p. 177, it is declared to be ‘the most celebrated verse of the work’. The translation of the stanza, which reads yaḥ pratītyasamutpādaḥ śūnyatāṃ tāṃ pracakṣmahe / sā prajñaptir upādāya pratipat saiva madhyamā // is rendered in NMW, p. 277, by: Dependent origination we declare to be emptiness. It [emptiness] is a dependent concept; just that is the middle path. As the offered translation is quite faithful to the original wording it can be for the most part accepted. A prima facie minor, but on closer consideration a significant problem lies in the rendering of sā prajñaptir upādāya by ‘it is a dependent concept’. The accompanying explanations in NMW specify what that should mean. It is asserted, NMW, p. 277-278, that ‘[t]o say of emptiness that it is a dependent concept is to say that it is like a chariot, a mere conceptual fiction’, and that ‘[s]ince the chariot is a mere conceptual fiction because it lacks intrinsic nature (it is only conceived of in dependence on its parts, so its nature is wholly borrowed from its parts), it would then follow that emptiness is likewise without intrinsic nature’. This should, according to NMW imply that ‘emptiness is itself empty’.
In this connection it deserves to be pointed out, first, that the alleged quintessence of Madhyamaka-teaching, viz. that emptiness is empty, is nowhere formulated in the MMK. As a matter of fact, the term śūnya is never in the text attributed as a grammatical predicate to some term synonymous with ‘emptiness’ although it is attributed to various other items, such as kleśa-s and karman in MMK 17.27, cause (hetu) in MMK 20.16, (object of) appropriation (upādāna), appropriator (upādātṛ) and the Tathāgata (MMK 22.10) or MMK 22.14. One finds, on the other hand, various instances where it is said Book Reviews 223 with respect to (all) things (bhāva), all dharma-s or this entire (world) (idaṃ sarvam) that they are empty, e.g. MMK 13.3; 24.1; 25.1-2; 25.22; 27.29. It might be certainly assumed that according to the teaching expounded in the MMK everything which belongs to the domain of so-called ‘conceptual fictions’, in particular items ― not concepts! ― which can only exist dependent on parts or other sorts of components, would fall under the verdict of being empty (of svabhāva). However, there is not the slightest evidence for assuming that in the eyes of the writer of the text, emptiness or whatever might be meant by śūnyatā, represents another item belonging to the same sphere. There is rather reason to suppose that this is not the case. If it is affirmed e.g. in MMK 13.8 that the Jinas have promulgated emptiness as a liberation from all views (dṛṣṭi) and that those who possess a view of emptiness have been declared incurable by them, this should presumably indicate that emptiness ought not be viewed as any object of the ordinary kind, in particular not as a property characterizing finally existing property-bearers and thereby equally existing on a level of ultimate analysis.26 It ought to be noticed in addition that the MMK do not contain any demonstration to the effect that emptiness depends for its being on something (different), analogous to the treatment of cause and effect, movement, characteristics and their substrata etc. Let us abstain from going into further details and confine ourselves to pointing out that an interpretation of MMK 24.18 which entails the above outlined consequences is by no means mandatory. The wording of the phrase sā prajñaptir upādāya does not necessitate the reading adopted in NMW according to which the expression prajñaptir upādāya represents an indefinite noun-phrase to be construed as a predicate correlating with sā as grammatical subject. Since alternative ways of reading MMK 24.18 and the third quarter of
26 In this connection it must also be considered that MMK 13.7 intimates that the possibility of correctly classifying anything as empty would require the existence of something which is not-empty. This should strictly forbid to classify emptiness as empty, given that the existence of non-empty items is denied. The same sort of dependence is possibly alluded to in the second half of MMK 13.3 nāsvabhāvaś ca bhāvo ‘sti bhāvānāṃ śūnyatā yataḥ, although the rendering presented in NMW, p. 140 ‘There is no [ultimately real] existent that is without intrinsic nature, due to the emptiness of existents’ conceals this fact. But different readings of the verse have been proposed on p. 206 in the above mentioned article ‘Pragmatic Implicatures and Text-Interpretation’ and in MIM, p. 135. 224 Book Reviews the verse in particular have been discussed before in my article ‘On MMK 24.18’27 the issue need not be reconsidered here. The decisive point is that the manner in which NMW deals with the verse is such that it can hardly be possible for non-specialists to recognize the mere existence of exegetical problems and their potential significance.
In the present connection it is not suitable to embark on detailed considerations concerning the adequate rendering of individual words. But some brief remarks pertaining to this issue appear appropriate. In MMK 7. 16 (pratītya yad yad bhavati tat tac chāntaṃ svabhāvataḥ) the expression śānta- has been rendered in NMW, p. 81, by ‘free [of intrinsic nature]’, which is certainly not licensed by the lexical meaning of the word. Essentially the same expression ― ‘free [from intrinsic nature]’ ― appears as an equivalent of śānta- in NMW, p. 202, within the translation of MMK 18.9. It might be argued that in the framework of Madhyamaka a special relation exists between the notions of being calm and being free of intrinsic nature, given that the non-existence of svabhāva is taken as the ground for the allegation of the tranquility of the world on the level of ‘ultimate truth’ (paramārtha). But this cannot justify the chosen rendering of śāṇta- because the concepts are clearly different and a replacement of a statement to the effect that everything that exists in dependence is calm by everything which exists in dependence is free of intrinsic nature involves a crucial loss of informational content. The same holds good for analogous replacements in other contexts. Thus one ought to approve the principle adopted by Frauwallner as well as by Lindtner, who by rendering śāṇta- as ‘friedvoll’ (p. 186) and ‘i ro’ (p. 83) or ‘rolig’ (p. 106) do not disrespect the lexical import in the same manner. The terms bhāva and abhāva are rendered by ‘existent’ and ‘nonexistent’ in contexts where this appears inappropriate or doubtful. If it is said, for example in the translation of MMK 15.5 ‘For people proclaim the nonexistent to be the alteration of the existent’ (NMW, p. 158), this sounds odd and presumably does not correctly represent the content of the remark, which should say that people call non-being the alteration of an (existent) entity. The rendering in Lindtner p. 97 ‘Ved ikke-væren forstår folk jo En værenseforms anderledesværen‘ appears
27 Journal of Indian Philosophy, (35) 2007, pp. 1-32. Book Reviews 225 far more appropriate. It could be even contended that in the context of the present chapter the renderings of ‘væren’ in Lindtner of ‘Sein’ in Frauwallner (= ‘being’) are more adequate than ‘existent’ for various occurrences of bhāva, because this enhances the plausibility of certain pieces of reasoning. The expression svabhāvasadbhūta- in MMK 20.21 is translated in NMW, p. 225, by ‘intrinsically real’. But the import of the term appears to correspond to ‘being existent [on account of] svabhāva’. The thought that it is impossible that a cause produces an effect which is existent on account of its own nature or essence, suggesting that it must always exist, is more intelligible than the idea that a cause cannot produce an ‘intrinsically real’ effect. The rendering ‘you are … frustrated’ as a correlate of vihanyase in MMK 24.7 (NMW, p. 271) appears far less felicitous than Frauwallner’s rendering, p. 189, by ‘nimmst du Anstoß’. Presumably the verse intends to refer to the reluctance on the part of the opponent to accept the teaching of emptiness, because it allegedly entails inacceptable consequences. In MMK 24, 38 vicitrābir avastābhiḥ …. rahitaṃ seems to be better rendered by ‘von allen wechselnden Zuständen frei’ as in Frauwallner, p. 193, or by ‘blottet for forskellige tilstande’ as in Lindtner, p. 126, than by ‘devoid of its manifold appearances‘ as in NMW, p. 287, because both the lexical meaning of the expression avasthā and the context provided by the verse intimate an allusion to changes in time. The expressions pūrvāntaṃ samupāśritāḥ and aparāntaṃ samāśritāḥ in MMK 27,1 and 27,2 respectively have been rendered in NMW, p. 318-319 by ‘dependent on the past life’ and ‘dependent on the future life’. It appears, however, quite plausible that the two verses should convey that considerations about one’s own existence in the past are based on the previous limit of one’s present life, whereas considerations about one’s own existence in the future are based on the ultimate limit of one’s present life. The idea is that the facts of being once born and of being bound to die at some time trigger the curiosity and the apprehension concerning one’s own existence before birth or after death. Occurrences of śāśvatam and aśāśvatam in MMK 27, 15-16 have been rendered in NMW, pp. 326-327 by ‘eternalism’ and ‘noneternalism’ respectively. It appears, however natural to suppose 226 Book Reviews that in (evaṃ) bhavati śāśvataṃ and aśāśvatam (ato) bhavet the pertinent expressions are used adverbially. ― On the other hand the view exhibited in the translation of Lindtner, p. 134, according to which those phrases mean ‘something (non)eternal exists’ can be accepted too. The expression atha vā in MMK 27.29 has been rendered in NMW, p. 334, by ‘so’, which intimates that the pertinent verse formulates a consequence of the preceding deliberations presented in the chapter and thereby does not account for any disjunctive import of the expression. One can, however, justly doubt that this assessment regarding the contextual role of MMK 27.29 is correct. The connection between the remark of MMK 27.29 and those of the preceding verses of the chapter could be understood as the presentation of an alternative justification for the dismissal of the mistaken views which constitute the topic of this textual segment. Whereas the initial section up to MMK 27.29 presents detailed considerations against the tenability of the views without relying on the theorem of universal emptiness, the statement of verse 29 claims that the dismissal of the mistaken views can be alternatively obtained on the basis of the principle of emptiness. In fact the rejection of views by emptiness can pertain to different levels: First, emptiness deprives the mistaken views of their rational basis entailing the unreasonableness of their adoption. Second, the tenet of emptiness implies that mistaken views do in fact never occur seen from the perspective of final analysis. Third, a realization of emptiness on the level of practice leads to a result where mistaken views and the illusions which they involve cannot (appear to) arise any more. If this account is mainly correct, then Lindtner’s rendering of atha vā by ‘med andre ord’ = ‘in other words’, MFM p. 135, is closer to the point. It emerges again that hasty dismissals of lexical import are not commendable. NMW does not go into questions of textual criticism regarding the MMK.28 This appears acceptable against the background of the fact that, for example, with respect to MMK 24.9 a preference of the alternative reading gambhīraṃ, appearing in the edition of de la Vallée Poussing (LVP, p. 494,5) and supported by the Tibetan version, instead of gambhīre adopted in NMW, p. 273, would not
28 Compare also the remarks at the end of the ‘Introduction’, p. 9. Book Reviews 227 entail major consequences for the interpretation of the work, at least as far as one can see. 29 But not all cases are like this. If e.g. utpadyamānas in the first quarter of MMK 7.7, appearing in LVP, p. 150,15 would be replaced by utpādyamānas, a completely different argument would have to be associated with the verse, and the translation presented im NMW, p. 76, would not be adequate.30
If in MMK 23.13, which is quoted in NMW, p. 160, as anitye nityam ity evaṃ yadi grāho viparyayaḥ / nānityaṃ vidyate śūnye kuto grāho viparyayaḥ // one would, following Lindtner, p. 205, replace nānityaṃ by na nityaṃ and the second occurrence of viparyayaḥ by ‘viparyayaḥ one could obtain a more plausible interpretation than the one appearing in NMW.31 Similarly in the subsequent verse, which is quoted in NMW as: anitye nityam ity evaṃ yadi grāho viparyayaḥ / anityam ity api grāhaḥ śunye kiṃ na viparyayaḥ // and has been translated, p. 261, as If it would be a false conception to think that impermanent things are permanent,
29 It might be mentioned in passing that it occurs that textual quotations in NMW do not harmonize with the given translation, such as on p. 323, where the last quarter of MMK 27.10 is quoted as tatra jāyeta cāmṛtaḥ, whereas the text is translated in accordance with tatra jāyeta vāmṭraḥ, conforming with LVP 579,3, but not with the Tibetan version, which fits better with the first reading. 30 Although the verse has been translated in NMW in accordance with the former reading (utpadyamānas), the form utpādyamānas appears in the quotation of the verse. It is not clear what might explain the internal deviance. ― Concerning the interpretation of MMK 7.7. and its context compare also MIM, p. 100ff. 31 In NMW, p. 260, the following translation is given: If it would be a false conception to think that impermanent things are permanent, then, there being nothing that is impermanent with regard to what is empty, how can there be a false conception? On the basis of the alternative reading the verse could say that, since a) the concept ‘eternal’ with respect to something which is (in fact) not eternal ― and could not be eternal if it were no object at all ― must be erroneous and b) something eternal cannot be found in something empty (i.e. cannot be found if it is empty), a corresponding conception of being eternal is bound to be an erroneous view. 228 Book Reviews
then, things being empty, isn’t conceiving that things are impermanent also false? A substitution of nityam by ‘nityam, (the first occurrence of) viparyayaḥ by ‘viparyayaḥ, and anityam by nānityam, again following Lindtner, would open the possibility to regard the verse as embodying the thought that, if (only) with respect to something which is (in fact) non-empty the conception of being not eternal is not erroneous then such conception (of being non-eternal) regarding something which is empty is bound to be erroneous because (iti) it is (in fact) not even non-eternal. It appears, however, preferable to retain (following other editions) the reading anityam in the second half of the verse, accepting only the proposed changes regarding the first half, because this permits a far more natural reading of the iti-clause. Thus MMK 23.14 could convey the thought that since the concept ‘non-eternal’ with respect to something that is in fact non-eternal and nothing else can be a non-erroneous conception, even the concept ‘non-eternal’ with respect to something empty is bound to be an erroneous view, because such an item cannot exist on a level of final analysis.32
III It is appropriate to terminate the discussion of the translations in NMW without implying that no further possibilities of improvement exist. If the book had contained merely a translation of the MMK one could have claimed that a more satisfactory publication could have been attained by a literal translation of Lindtner’ Danish translation into English. However, NMW combines a complete translation of the MMK with a fairly elaborate commentary which provides valuable information to readers. Without disclaiming its merits it is apposite to point out that the explanations conveyed in the sections accompanying the translations are not always reliable or beyond doubt. Only some illustrations are presented below.
On p. 18 it is asserted that ‘the overall conclusion for which Nāgārjuna will argue’ in the first chapter is ‘that existents do not come into existence as the result of causes and conditions’. The four possible alternatives which are taken into account according to NMW
32 Lindtners translations of MMK 23.13 and 23.14 occur on pages 118-119. A short discussion of the verses is also given in MIM, pp. 163-164. Book Reviews 229 are 1) that an effect arises ‘because it was already in some sense present in its cause’ and that ‘its appearance is really just the manifestation of something that already existed’, 2) that ‘cause and effect are distinct entities’, 3) that ‘cause and effect may be said to be both identical and distinct’, 4) ‘that things originate without any cause’. First it deserves to be noted that according to NMW’s own account the overall conclusion cannot be that existents do not come into existence as the result of causes and conditions. This can at most constitute a part of the envisaged goal, which must lie in the tenet that entities cannot originate at all, given that the four alternatives exhaust all possible alternatives in which things might originate. As far as the specification of the four alternatives is concerned, it is far from certain that it envisages, among others, the odd idea that cause and effect are both identical and distinct, although this could be in fact the case if the historical context in which the MMK had been composed is taken into consideration. At any rate, according to an alternative account the first alternative ought to be seen in the supposition that an effect originates exclusively from itself, the second that it originates exclusively from things which are (numerically) different from it, the third that it originates both from itself and from other things, and the fourth that it does not arise from anything at all, i.e. without any cause.33 This would have the consequence that the third possibility is less eccentric.34 Anyhow, no formulation in the MMK alludes to the idea that the appearance of the effect is just the manifestation of something that already existed. Obviously the writers of NMW have imputed this notion on the basis of later commentaries which connect the first position with the historical teaching of satkāryavāda, advocated in the Sāṃkhya-school. But there is not the slightest independent evidence indicating that the writer of the MMK intended to refute the views of this school in particular. The remark of MMK 1.1 can be made perfectly intelligible on the basis of the supposition that the second alternative has been envisaged because it is needed for an exclusive exhaustion of all conceivable possibilities. This entails that the writer of the text was not, or at least not primarily, concerned with the ―
33 Compare also MIM, pp. 35-39. 34 One could assume that it is implicitly accounted for by the general argument pronounced in MMK 1.2. 230 Book Reviews perhaps rather childish ― goal of refuting the opinions of other people, in particular those of his own ‘colleagues’. On p. 45 it is contended that MMK 3.3 represents an objection against an alleged principle of irreflexivity according to which an entity can never operate on itself by claiming the existence of counterexamples. The pertinent counterexample should be that a fire, while burning its fuel, also burns itself. There is not the slightest indication to the effect that the writer of the MMK endorses here, or elsewhere, the odd proposition that fire burns itself. The point of MMK 3.3. is rather that the conditional suggested in the preceding verse that if something does not operate on itself it cannot operate on other things either is unfounded: Fire, although it does not burn itself, can nevertheless burn other things. Only this interpretation is corroborated by Candrakīrti (see LVP 114, 3-5). It is nevertheless highly doubtful that the writer of the MMK based any argument on the dubious premise that generally an item cannot operate on itself. One can at most ascertain an acknowledgment of particular instances of such an impossibility which appear fairly plausible in themselves, such as the theorem that sense-faculties cannot perceive themselves. On p. 57 NMW states a point which is allegedly ‘important to Madhyamaka methology’. It is said: ‘Nowhere does Nāgārjuna give an argument that can be taken as a conclusive proof of emptiness. Instead he refutes specific views of specific opponents who hold that there are non-empty things, things with intrinsic nature ….’. It can be granted, at least for the sake of argument, that the author of the MMK has not provided any conclusive proof for a thesis which might be considered as the theorem of emptiness ― whatever this is. But one wonders why this should corroborate the claim that he merely refutes ‘specific views of specific opponents’. There is not the slightest indication in the entire MMK that all the different possibilities against which arguments are directed in this work correspond to positions which had been actually advocated by persons who adhered to the doctrine that there are non-empty things. A careful scrutiny of the text reveals rather that the different alternatives envisaged in pieces of reasoning cover or are presumably intended to cover all conceivable possibilities which can be implied by a tenet to be refuted. After all the MMK evoke prima facie the impression that the aim of the work lay in providing a conclusive, or at least a maximally conclusive, demonstration of the tenet of the emptiness of all items (encountered Book Reviews 231 in the phenomenal world). The circumstance that the arguments are not conclusive in the eyes of the authors of NMW or might even fail to be objectively conclusive is a different matter. It is irrelevant for settling the pertinent question about ‘methodology’. On p. 96 a passage of Candrakīrti’s commentary is quoted in translation which allegedly rejects the charge of ‘nihilism’ against the teaching of Madhyamaka. It remains unclear, in which precise sense of the term the accusation of nihilism should be denied. It is moreover questionable whether the pertinent textual passage has been properly understood. A crux lies in the interpretation of the phrase bhavatas tu sasvabhāvavādinaḥ svabhāvasya bhāvānāṃ vaidhuryāt sarva- bhāvāpavādaḥ saṃbhāvyate as ‘But for you who believes that existents have intrinsic nature, the refutation of all existents is possible, due to the absence of intrinsic nature with respect to existents’. Presumably the correct interpretation of the pertinent occurence of vaidhurya- is not ‘absence’, but ‘deprivation’. Thus the import of the whole passage of LVP 188,10–189,3 is, in a nutshell, the following: On the premises of someone who supposes that some entities exist which possess a nature of their own it could be made possible to negate all objects in the form of depriving them of their nature, i.e. by disclaiming something regarding them. This is not possible for somebody who denies the existence of such objects. Under these circumstances it is only feasible to provisionally adopt the way of speaking practiced by people who have not discerned their illusory nature and to employ it for revealing precisely this truth about them. The vital point is that the terms ‘nature’ and ‘about’ cannot be any more taken in the same strict sense as under the premises of those who admit the ultimate reality of (at least some) objects. On p. 121 of NMW a disconcertment is articulated regarding the idea that transmigration is without an end, which is expressed in the following way: This declaration of the Buddha’s is here taken to mean that saṃsāra is also without end. This is somewhat puzzling, since nirvāṇa is said to be an end to rebirth for those individuals who attain it …. Under the premise of pervasive illusionism and against the background of the various intentional stances specified before, the different statements to which the above quoted passage alludes to can be easily reconciled. Declarations to the effect that there is no first or 232 Book Reviews last point and no intermediate section or no beginning or end of saṃsāra, which are to be found at the beginning of MMK 11, attain the justification from the supposition of its illusionary status and thus correspond in the previously expounded framework to the extraordinary stance, where negative assertions are made with the goal of signaling something’s fictitious nature. On the other hand, if statements which say that Nirvāṇa is the end of saṃsāra or similar things, implying that it is not the case that the circle of rebirth is eternal by its own nature, are (supposedly) pronounced by subjects which have attained the highest degree of insight, then they would correlate with the sophisticated stance, where assertions of positive or negative form are used for communicating so to speak ‘intra-fictional’ information. They convey what would be true if a world of fiction would be a real world on the part of somebody who is completely aware of this fact.
In connection with MMK 23.22 it is said in NMW, p. 264, that since the erroneous nature of the belief that there is a self (ātman) is a consequence of the fact that all things are empty, ‘it does not follow that its being erroneous stems from its being ultimately true that there is no self’. According to NMW “There is no self” cannot be ultimately true, and it should hold good that ‘[i]f all things are empty, then no statement about reality can be ultimately true’. Nowhere in the MMK, and as far as one can see nowhere in the literature of early Madhyamaka, does a pronouncement occur to the effect that no statement about reality can be ultimately true or that the tenet of universal emptiness entails such a consequence. In fact general questions regarding the concept of truth with respect to sentences or their contents are never envisaged in those sources and presumably were not a topic of concern. Hence it could be at most surmised that the MMK propagates a teaching which objectively implies this result. A crux lies in the fatal vagueness of the contention that no statements about reality can be ultimately true due to the elusiveness of the phrase ‘about reality’. To be sure, if ‘about reality’ were taken as equivalent to ‘about objects which exist (even) on a level of final analysis’ or ‘about objects which are non-empty’ then the pertinent proposition plainly follows from the theorems that there are no objects which exist (even) on a level of final analysis or that there are no non- empty objects. It appears, however, doubtful that the assertion in Book Reviews 233
NMW has been intended by their authors in this modest sense. Momentous problems arise if the contention should be implied that no statement can be true from a viewpoint of ultimate reality. As NMW does not offer any additional support for this proposition it would be needed to suppose that MMK 23.22 vindicates this claim. However, the pertinent verse says that if (or: since) self, [something] pure, permanent and happy is not found, non-self, impure, impermanent and painful is not found either. 35 Theoretically the allegation that negative(ly qualified) items cannot exist if or since their positive correlates do not exist could rely on at least three principles: 1. It is assumed that some (negative) quality can be instantiated only on condition that its positive counterpart is in fact instantiated somewhere, 2. A (negative) quality can only be instantiated if it is at least theoretically possible that its counterpart is instantiated, 3. Certain items as well as their counterparts cannot be instantiated because a common requirement for their instantiation is not satisfied. Among those the second alternative is objectively difficult to maintain considering the fact that the impossibility of something’s being a round square ought not entail the impossibility of something’s not being a round square. The first option is equally not in correspondence with common intuition, but could be adopted on a particular interpretation of the terms representing negative qualifications according to which they embody the notion of something’s being different from instances of correlates, such that e.g. ‘non-self’ has to be read in the sense of ‘different from something which (in fact) is a self’, ‘impure’ as ‘different from something which is (in fact) pure’ etc. The third alternative could be satisfied if it were held that being an object which exists on a level of final analysis or ultimate truth represents an indispensable requirement for the instantiation, and thus for the occurrence of positive and negative correlates. However, none of those considerations could ever vindicate the proposition that no statement can be true from a viewpoint of ultimate reality. This could be at best maintained on an equation between being true with saying something true of some (ultimately existing) object. However, nothing which is to be found in the textual sources indicates an acceptance of this dubious equalization. The same must be said with respect to the
35 nātmā ca śuci nityaṃ ca sukhaṃ ca yadi vidyate / anātmā ‘sucy anityaṃ ca naiva duḥkham ca vidyate // 234 Book Reviews thesis that ‘there is no self’ cannot be ultimately true for someone who maintains the tenet of universal emptiness. The view that the writer of the MMK has adopted tenets of this sort might however occur in the phantasy of interpreters of Nāgārjuna’s thought. On p. 289 it is asserted in the context of an outline of the contents of MMK 25 that MMK 25.3 embodies the assertion that nothing can be asserted concerning Nirvāṇa. Against the background of the fact that according to NMW’s own translation, p.291, the verse means: Not abandoned, not acquired, not annihilated, not eternal, not ceased, not arisen, thus is nirvāṇa said to be. this statement is suited to provoke puzzlement. After all, the authors of NMW in no manner indicate the opinion that saying something about something has to be strictly differentiated from asserting something concerning something. Against the background of the preceding contemplations it might be in fact maintained that one cannot assert anything concerning Nirvāṇa in the sense that one could not make any correct attributions of qualities to Nirvāṇa as an ultimately existing object. It is however far from certain ― and not even probable ― that this idea should be conveyed in NMW.
In the light of the previous remarks concerning the scope of iti in verses like MMK 25.16 and others it can be easily discerned that the considerations made in NMW, p. 293-300, about tensions between statements made by Nāgārjuna and ‘classical logic’ are misplaced. The crux lies in the very employment of propositional calculus for describing the character of affirmations encountered in the text. This is particularly relevant for the ― presumably misguided ― equation of the last member within a group of four ways of making assertions about Nirvāṇa with ‘neither p nor not p’. On the other hand the circumstance is remarkable that on p. 300 one encounters the sentence: The statement p must really be about something in order to be true or false. It should go without saying that this sentence does not represent anything which is expressed in the MMK and that we ought to abstain Book Reviews 235 from fanciful hypotheses about what the writer of the text could have said. On p. 335 the claim is reiterated that emptiness is itself empty and it is asserted that ‘emptiness is not to be thought of as the correct account of ultimate truth’. In addition NMW intimates, among other things, that one should ‘avoid turning emptiness into yet another metaphysical theory’. Concerning the opinion that the teaching of the MMK should not be classified as a metaphysical theory, the question of its acceptability presumably depends on the precise explication of the expressions ‘metaphysical theory’ and ‘metaphysics’. In view of the previous exposition a legitimateness of refraining from classifying the doctrine of the MMK as metaphysics could be based on the consideration that it disclaims the existence of objects on some ultimate level of reality which could help to explain features of the phenomenal world. The problem is that one would need to accept a rather narrow sense of ‘metaphysics’ or ‘metaphysical theory’, which is far from mandatory. A denial of categorizing the teaching of the MMK as metaphysics in the pertinent narrow sense would not license the contention that emptiness cannot be thought of as the correct account of ultimate truth ― except on a highly artificial interpretation of ‘ultimate truth’. The problems implied by the tenet that emptiness is itself empty need not be reconsidered.
IV The ‘Introduction’ of NMW presents an outline of the historical context of the MMK, in particular an account of views held by persons or (Buddhist) schools flourishing around the time the MMK had been written, and is surely worth reading on that account. But a few points deserve to be annotated:
1. The assertion on p. 4 that ‘[t]here are two ways in which a statement may be true, conventionally and ultimately’ contrasts with remarks encountered in other parts of NMW insinuating that no statements can be ultimately true or that emptiness is not to be thought of as the correct account of the ultimate truth ― compare above. It is not made plain in the book, how this apparent tension should be resolved. Possibly the writers of NMW are inclined to embrace the view that in the framework of the teaching of Madhyamaka there is room for a conceptual differentiation between something’s being 236 Book Reviews conventionally and something’s being ultimately true, but that the latter concept is in fact not instantiated. Unfortunately it is difficult to ascertain whether this explanation faithfully represents the position of NMW.
2. On p. 7 it is asserted that ‘there can be no single argument that could establish’ the thesis of universal emptiness. The reason should be that ‘[s]uch a “master argument” would have to be based on claims about the ultimate natures of things’ and that ‘this would involve commitment to intrinsic natures of some sort or other’. The reason why the presentation of a single argument for the contention that all things are empty must involve a commitment to intrinsic natures of some sort or the other is difficult to see. One should think that in theory at least it should be viable to provide a compelling proof of the tenet in question by deriving a contradiction or by deducing evidently unacceptable consequences from the supposition of its antithesis that there is anything which is not empty. Nevertheless, the fact that the MMK does not employ an argument of this kind is significant and therefore the statement made in NMW to the effect that ‘Nāgārjuna’s strategy is instead to examine a variety of claims made by those who take there to be ultimately real entities and seek to show of each such claim that it cannot be true’ embodies an important point. This holds good even if the contention is dismissed that the author of the MMK generally examined claims which were actually advocated by other persons or in other schools. An explanation or a part of such an explanation might be provided by the observation that the arguments of the MMK rest on the exploitations of relations of dependence together with the supposition that the theorem that everything which exists must be dependent on something should not be taken as simply axiomatic. Rather relations of dependence ought to be demonstrable for different types of possible objects individually.
3. On pp. 7-9 a number of ‘patterns that occur particularly often in MMK’ are presented. It is particularly in this context that the ‘Introduction’ calls for critical comments. 3.1. The first pattern which is described under the label ‘Infinite Regress’ should according to NMW relate to the fact that some phenomenon requires some hypothesis H for its explanation, which in its turn calls for another hypothesis H’ and so on (ad infinitum). But, it Book Reviews 237 is said, ‘a good explanation must end somewhere’. The implicit contention that series of explanations must possess a definite end is neither objectively undisputable nor clearly acknowledged by the writer of the MMK. If one examines the individual examples, which NMW adduces, it turns out that several of them lack any obvious reference to an infinite regress and do not exhibit any compelling connection with the idea of explanation. For example the piece of reasoning in MMK 2.6 that acts of going cannot occur without somebody who goes and that two acts of going would entail two subjects of going refers to the fact that activities of motion require items which move. But the concept of requirement cannot be equated with the concept of (explanatory) hypothesis. According to most ordinary intuitions it is pretty bizarre to suppose that the existence of an object that moves explains the occurrence of motion. It is absolutely inexplicable why the conflation of distinct notions should be of any advantage here or elsewhere. 3.2. A second pattern which is described under the label ‘Neither Identical Nor Distinct’ allegedly consists in a situation which can be characterized as follows: The hypothesis that some item x and some item y are related in some way R is refuted by the consideration that x and y need to be either identical or distinct. In the latter case the pertinent items cannot be connected by R given that in this case the one must exist apart from the other. In the former case the consequence results that an item (say x) would bear the relation R to itself, which is absurd. The point is presented in a manner as if the writer of the MMK boldly rejected the supposition that relations can be reflexive. There is in fact not the slightest evidence for the adoption of a dogmatic tenet of this kind in the MMK. It can be at most supposed that with respect to particular relations, such as being a cause of something, reflexivity is strictly dismissed. On the other hand, numerous examples where according to NMW this type of argument should be instantiated, do not contain any obvious reference to some relation which connects pertinent items. For example, in MMK 2.18 it is merely asserted that it is both impossible that somebody who goes is the same as an act of going and impossible that those are distinct items. This is a mere declaration without any argument. To be sure, in the two subsequent verses it is contended that if a subject of going and going were the same, then agent and action would have to be the same and that if they were different both would 238 Book Reviews have to occur independent of the other, i.e. without the existence of the counterpart. It remains unclear which common relation between an act and its subject should be referred to in the two alternative cases. Even if it were supposed that the relevant relation consists in the relationship between an act and its substratum or, specifically, an agent and its action, it remains doubtful that the argument against the supposition of difference is taken to depend on the assumption that on this condition the agent cannot be connected with the act in the way of agent and action because the remark of the verse merely entails that they must also exist independent of each other.36 The crux is that one could at best speculate about the acceptance of further implicit presuppositions on the part of the writer of the text.37 3.3. A pattern which is depicted under the label ‘The Three Times’ should be exemplified in cases where a hypothesis to the effect that some item has the property P is refuted on the basis of the consideration that the concerned entity must possess the property either in the past, the present or the future and where those alternatives are shown to be untenable. It is contended that the argument rests on the view that the present is ‘a mere point without duration’. This last allegation is not supported by any argument in NMW, and it is highly questionable that any of the pieces of reasoning in the MMK relies on this supposition. Various textual passages which are declared in NMW to exhibit this type of argument do not contain any reference to the notions of past, present and future or to some of them. For example in MMK 1.5-6 it is contended that as long as an effect does not arise nothing can qualify as its (causal) condition and that nothing can be a condition either of something which exists or something which does not exist. To be sure, the reasoning presumably refers to
36 It would be possible to come close to the envisaged result at best if it were supposed that the pertinent relationship connects subjects with sorts of actions for which it is impossible that different subjects perform the same action. 37 In other cases it is even more difficult to distill a reference to a relation from the text. For example in MMK 18.1 it is said that sameness of self and skandhas would imply that the self is subject to origination and annihilation and difference would entail that the self is not endowed with the characteristics of skandhas. Do the authors of NMW suppose that (absence of) origination and (absence of) destruction consist in a relation between something originating or perishing and events or states of (non-) origination or (non-)annihilation or that such a view has been hypothesized as relevant in the pertinent context by the writer if the MMK? Where is the evidence that the same relation must equally be relevant for the second alternative? Book Reviews 239 temporal aspects. But these are not past, present or future but at best relative connections, in particular the existence or non-existence of something simultaneous with the existence of something else.38
Under the title ‘Irreflexivity’ it is claimed that certain arguments depend on a principle of irreflexivity which says ‘that an entity cannot operate on itself’. It has been remarked earlier that it is doubtful that the writer of the MMK appealed to any such principle in the general form. According to NMW there are instances falling under a category labeled ‘Nonreciprocity’. This pattern should serve to refute a hypothesis to the effect that certain items x and y ‘are in a relation of mutual reciprocal dependence’. Several passages which are mentioned in this connection turn out to be doubtful. For example, in MMK 11.539 it is merely implied that if birth, old age and death occurred simultaneously, then mutual dependence would not be possible. This is perfectly compatible with the contention that birth (as a type of event) depends on some previous death and death (as a type of event) depends on a previous birth. ― The bizarre idea that individual events of being born and dying are mutually dependent is obviously irrelevant in the present connection, and the refutation of this possibility would in any case not rely on any consideration formulated in this verse. ― Evidently the objective of MMK 11.5 is not a refutation of mutual dependence but of the simultaneous occurrence of birth, old age and death. Similarly in MMK 20.7 it is only said that if an effect would emerge simultaneously with an assemblage (of causes or conditions), then the (unacceptable) result would follow that producer and that which is produced occur at the same time. This is in itself unsuited to refute any supposition of mutual dependence.
V
38 Moreover, there is no obligation to interpret the term asat- in MMK 1.6 as implying a prior or later existence relative to some reference time. It seems that the validity of the reasoning is not affected in the least if the occurrences of asat- should relate to effects which do not occur at some particular time, where it is completely immaterial whether they might have arisen before or arise later or do not arise at any time at all. 39 MMK 11.5 reads: na jarā maraṇaṃ caiva jātiś ca saha yujyate / mriyeta jāyamānaś ca syāc cāhetukatobhayoḥ // In NMW, p. 125, the verse is rendered by: And it is indeed not right that birth be simultaneous with old age and death. That which is undergoing birth would at the same time die, and both would be without cause. 240 Book Reviews
The circumstance that NMW offers translations of all the verses of the MMK together with accompanying commentaries and quotations of the pertinent stanzas in the original language constitutes a relevant merit. The most significant virtue lies in the transparency entailed by this arrangement: Readers who are to some extent familiar with the language of the original text are enabled to critically examine the tenability of the translations and even those who do not possess this competence attain assistance for their understanding by the supplementary explications provided by the commentaries to the individual verses. As NMW presents the complete text of the MMK, it is moreover made possible to control interpretations of single verses or particular textual segments in the light of their immediate context or other parts of the work. One must approve in addition that the authors of NMW have considered various Indian commentaries on the MMK and provide information about their views, even if it appears that more attention has been paid to Candrakīrti’s commentary than other older ones, such as the commentary attributed to an author called Qing-mu (*Pingalākṣa), which is preserved in a Chinese translation (Taishō 1564). As far as the translations are concerned one must acknowledge that they are generally free from misinterpretations due to blatant grammatical misunderstandings or philological deficiencies. In this regard it needs to be considered, nevertheless, that the MMK are to a large extent quite easy to understand from a linguistic aspect, that the syntactic structure is mostly fairly transparent, if not obvious, and that terminological issues are less tantalizing than in many other textual sources of the Indian philosophical tradition. On the other hand, the translations as well as the explanatory comments in NMW suffer from lack of reliability in a number of cases. Not only are various interpretations doubtful, but not seldom the very existence of exegetical problems cannot be easily discerned or are not detectable at all on the basis of the exposition offered in NMW. Apart from aspects of questionableness with respect to the portrayal of the philosophical teaching in the MMK even the omission of consideration of textual variants in some particular cases are not unimportant inadequacies. Possibly what matters even more is the circumstance that NMW drops behind older translations and interpretations of the MMW, some of them published in other languages than English. It is striking that the list of secondary Book Reviews 241 literature presented in NMW contains only titles in English. This induces an impression of parochialism. It might be pointed out that the bibliography appearing on pp. 339-341 appears under the title ‘Further Readings’ and could hence be considered as an introduction into some pertinent publications in the subject matter for English speaking readers. But the circumstance that the exegeses presented in NMW de facto amount to a neglect of non-English translations and studies cannot be explained by this. Thus one cannot assert that NMW suffers merely from imperfections which are insignificant and negligible.
At this point it is apposite to bring up a more general matter concerning translations: Although the renderings in NMW tend to be more in agreement with the literal sense of the original verses compared to certain other published translations, the difference is only gradual. The translations abstain from strictly separating translation from interpretation. This means that aspects of explanation or interpretation of the root text are permitted to have an impact on the translations even when this is not dictated by the linguistic properties of the respective source and target languages. The thesis that this is a recommendable principle deserves to be questioned. Its corollaries in the form of obliterating the imputation of a translator’s personal views concerning the interpretation of the text as a whole and of impeding the identification of the exegetical potential of the source clearly emerge in the light of the translation of the MMK presented in NMW. Against this background one feels compelled to advocate a reconsideration of the dismissal of the Tibetan translations as exceedingly ‘slavish’ and a reappraisal of the manner in which Indian textual sources had been rendered in the Tibetan tradition. We can suppose that writers of philosophical texts were equipped not only with theoretical but also with linguistic, stylistic and rhetorical competence. Presumably they were concerned both with what to say and with how to formulate what they wanted to say. If this is true a translator ought not confine himself to re-formulating some content which he himself thinks to be in accordance with an author’s intentions but should equally attempt to do justice to a writer as a subject of linguistic competence and hypothesize, at least by default, that his way of putting a content in words is most adequate.
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In view of all this it appears remarkable that on the cover of the book one finds a number of excerpts from reviews containing passages as follows: This translation is sensitive to text-critical issues, felicitous, academically rigorous, and it incorporates a useful introduction with an admirable and philosophically sensitive summary of Nāgārjuna’s intellectual background and method. This translation has the authentic flavor of Nāgārjuna …. Siderits and Katsura have produced a masterful translation that is both philologically precise and philosophically sophisticated and sets extremely high standards for further work on the Mūlamadhyamakakārikā …. Katsura and Siderits’s translation and commentary renders the work accessible in an outstanding fashion. The scholarship is of the very highest quality. The translation is authoritative, and the commentary, drawing on the texts of the most notable Indian commentators, provides a picture of Nāgārjuna’s thought that is vivid and illuminating. One may rightly attribute considerable merits to NMW. On the other hand, it can hardly be doubted that the above quoted remarks imply a considerable discrepancy between statements and actual state-of- affairs. They inevitably raise the question as to what extent publications reviewed have also been read and examined.
Claus Oetke, Professor emeritus University of Stockholm, Sweden
References
Frauwallner, E. 1994. Die Philosophie des Buddhismus. (4. Auflage. Akademie Verlag) Berlin. Jong, J.W. de 1977. Nāgārjuna. Mūlamadhyamakakārikāḥ. (The Adyar Library Series, Vol. 109), Adyar, Madras. La Vallée Poussin, L. de 1903-1913/1970. Mūlamadhyamakakārikās de Nāgārjuna avec la Prasannapadā Commentaire de Candrakīrti. St. Petersbourg. (Reprint, Biblio Verlag, Osnabrück 1970) Book Reviews 243
Lindtner, C. 1982. Nāgārjunas Filosofiske Værker, Nāgārjunīyam Madhyamakaśāstram. (Akademisk Forlag) København. Oetke, C. 1992. ‘Pragmatic Principles and Text-Interpretation (The Alleged Logical Error of the Negation of the Antecedent in the Mūlamadhyamakakārikās)’, in: Studien zur Indologie und Iranistik (StII) 16, pp. 185-233. ——— 2001. Materialien zur Übersetzung und Interpretation der Mūlamadhyamakakārikās. (Philosophia Indica. Einsichten Ansichten, Band 5) Reinbek. (= MIM) ——— 2007. ‘On MMK 24.18‘, in: Journal of Indian Philosophy 35, pp. 1-32.