CHAPTER III

THE SACRED LAND

Round about the town of _Thanesar_ lies _Brahmavarta_ the sacred land of the Hindus, and within a short walk of the town is Kurukshetra.

Thanesar itself is in ruins, and the lake near which the Pandavas and Kauravas fought their great battle is now a dismal swamp, yet adorned on one side by a beautiful fringe of really magnificent banyan trees, under whose leafy covering are sheltered a few of those unimposing brick and plaster temples so common in Upper India.

Unsparing time has strewn the whole world with the ruins of man’s handiwork. The crumbling remains of cities, temples and palaces may be found in every country under the sun; and, according to circumstances, appeal to widely different feelings and evoke widely different sentiments in the heart of the spectator. Thus, it is with a profound sense of the reality and greatness of Roman power that we muse amidst the columns of the Forum, or recall to mind in the mighty Colosseum the tragic pastimes of the imperial people. It is with a respectful admiration, not unmingled with pity, that we see in old Delhi the considerable ruins of the lordly mosque constructed out of the spoils of more ancient Hindu temples. But it is only with a feeling of simple depression, unrelieved by any other sentiment, that we wander amongst the extensive brick ruins of Thanesar, unredeemed by a trace of either beauty or grandeur, and largely tenanted by monkeys, in whom a pious Punjabi graduate recognizes “defunct Brahmans ... watching as it were over their old habitations.”[108]

I visited the town in December, 1892, and never have I seen a place which looked more utterly forlorn. Whole streets of brick-built houses quite modern in appearance falling into ruins, which are too mean to be interesting, too recent to be picturesque and, for the most part, entirely uninhabited, except by the “defunct Brahmans” already referred to. Where shops and dwellings still exist they partake of the general tumble-down character of the town; but the wares for sale are by no means ancient, and show that the remnant who burrow in Thanesar still indulge in the rich confectionery of the country and still take pleasure in the gay-coloured _saree_ and the glittering _chowree_ of glass.

Amidst the general decay a few Hindu temples with tall, tapering spires still show a brave front, and the tomb of the Mussulman saint, Shaikh Chilli, built on a slight elevation, rears its marble dome into the air with something of pride; but the rest, as I have said, is meanness and squalor itself.

Within the precincts of Shaikh Chilli’s tomb is a school where I saw the boys at their tasks as I passed in to see the place. “What unlucky boys,” thought I, “to be brought up amidst the unwholesome moral atmosphere of a decaying city!”

Although there is no present glory or grandeur about Kurukshetra, a visit to it will repay the thoughtful student of Indian history and religion.

In an expanse of flat country, from which, however, the blue outlines of the Himalayas may be traced in the distance, the traveller finds, a short way outside Thanesar, a shallow swamp about three miles in circumference and overgrown with weeds. This is the historic lake which, according to General Cunningham, was a sacred place long anterior to the great war; indeed, as far back as the time of the Rig Veda itself. “Can it be possible,” I mused, as I stood beside this weed-covered pool, “that for a hundred generations the affectionate devotion of the Hindu race has consistently and persistently clung to this unattractive bit of water in an open plain?” “And how is it,” I asked myself, “that their piety never adorned its banks with temples (for there are here no ruins worth speaking of), and why is it now so neglected?”

Will the reader accompany me round the lake and survey it from all points of view?[109] On the east side are the only important buildings, the largest being a temple of very modern date and no architectural pretensions. It is an ordinary _Mandir_; but has just a slight local character in the fact that it contains five coloured clay statues of the Pandavas, railed off from the too curious or too pious spectator by a strong, rudely constructed railing of bamboos. It rejoices in the possession of a huge iron frying-pan--not less than eight feet in diameter and about nine inches deep--to which my attention was specially directed. This gigantic frying-pan is much in demand on festival days, when the multitude pays to be fed by the Brahmans.

A flight of steps leads from the temple into the water, and runs nearly along one-half of the eastern and northern sides of the lake. A causeway on arches extends into the lake and ends in a small temple picturesquely shadowed with trees. Another bridge, now but little above the level of the water, parallel to the causeway just mentioned, leads right across the lake, joining to both east and west banks a small island in the middle, on which that famous bigot, the Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb, erected a diminutive fort to accommodate a small garrison, intrusted with the duty of preventing the Hindus from bathing in their sacred pool.

Proceeding along the east bank we pass a number of small tumble-down shrines, overshadowed by majestic banyans, extending their mighty arms in graceful curves over the tranquil green water. We still follow the steps and arrive at the north end which has quite a recent look about it. Our guide tells us that this modern addition was the work of one “Larkeen Sahib,” an official in these parts, who was very fond of the Hindu, and had built this _ghat_ for them out of a feeling of gratitude because his wife had owed her recovery from a mysterious illness to the intercession of the Brahmans. Oh! “Larkeen Sahib,” I wonder if the pious local legend which is told about you has ever reached your ears!

On the western side we find a little brick cenotaph which commemorates the _suttee_ of the five wives of a Brahman whose name is now forgotten.

Somewhat in advance of this cenotaph, and a little away from the lake-side, we are conducted to a “_bythuck_” of Guru Nanak, the original founder of the Sikh sect, and we take shelter within its walls from a pelting shower of rain which makes the landscape more cheerless than ever. Here our guide informs us Guru Nanak used to sit beside the sacred pool to practise contemplation. But the admiring crowds who came to visit him would give him no peace; so one day, to avoid their unwelcome attentions, he just sank into the ground and, following a subterranean tunnel, emerged at Hurdwar on the Ganges. There could be no doubt about this miraculous underground journey, for there was the very tunnel itself to support the truth of the story, with a substantial flight of steps leading down into it. Yes, true enough, there were three or four steps leading down into a small hole within the walls of the shrine. But how about the tunnel? My son descended into the hole to explore it. A look of chagrin passed over the face of our Brahman guide. Why this unnecessary and irreverent curiosity? The story _must_ be true, for _every one_ believed it; and, certainly, the position of this _bythuck_ of Guru Nanak is interesting, for it shows how persistently the Sikhs attach themselves to the old Hindu faith to which the vast majority of professing Sikhs now practically belong.

[Illustration: [_To face p. 200._] THE TEMPLE AND BATHING GHÂTS ON THE SACRED LAKE AT KURUKSHETRA.]

If there is anything that strikes one at Kurukshetra--and similar places in India--it is that the Brahmans have clung with wonderful tenacity through the vicissitudes of ages to their sacred _spots_; and that though they have, according to universal belief, enjoyed considerable revenues, they have, through all these ages, done nothing to adorn their sacred places, which owe what temporary embellishment they have to the not too magnificent and not too frequent liberality of individuals. It strikes one also that, with each changing fashion of belief, each rise of a new sect, the Brahmans having willingly accommodated it with a convenient local habitation and have hastened to associate its glories with those of its predecessors. Hence the shrine of Guru Nanak at Kurukshetra, alongside which we shall, no doubt, some day have one in honour of Swami Dayanand, when the Aryan sect is sufficiently grown to impress the Brahmans with its importance; the mere matter of orthodoxy or unorthodoxy being somewhat unimportant.

The reason for the wonderful persistence with which the affectionate regard of the Hindus has hovered round their old shrines and holy places for thousands of years, though at first sight rather strange, is not difficult of explanation. _They have a hereditary priesthood_, a priesthood that lives by the proceeds of the shrines, and to whom the shrines are what land is to the cultivator. In this simple fact lies the explanation of the matter, and of other points in Hindu religious history, and probably in the history of other nations with hereditary priesthoods. Successive generations of priests have, for their own subsistence, to attract to the shrine they have inherited successive generations of pilgrims, by keeping alive the old traditions, or inventing new legends to suit the altered tastes of the times. As the weeds that flourish in the lake are lineal descendants of the weeds that grew in the same place time out of mind, so are the Brahmans on the banks of the lake the lineal descendants of the Brahmans who flourished there in times immemorial. As the weeds live on the rank soil and stagnant water of the pond, so live the Brahmans on their wild legends and stale pretensions.

Guru Nanak’s _bythuck_--the presence of which on the lake-side led to the above digression--is but a few hundred yards from the west end of Aurangzeb’s bridge and, as there appeared to be nothing of interest on the south side, we crossed over to the island, inspected the Mughal fort and, following the bridge, returned to the principal temple; but before doing so we managed to secure a few photographs of the pretty scene on the east bank as viewed from the bridge.

In the region round Kurukshetra, within a “circuit of one hundred and sixty miles,” says General Cunningham, “there are popularly said to be three hundred and sixty holy sites,” most of which are connected with the names of the heroes of the ‘Mahabharata.’ Many of these are no doubt genuine ancient places, as attested by their high mounds and brick ruins. But the greater number appear to me to be the inventions of modern days. According to the Mahatmyas, of which only one is said to be old, the holy places had lain desolate for several centuries after the Muhammadan conquest, when a _Dandi_ or mendicant, named Ram Chandra Swâmi, came from Kâsi to Kurukshetra. He was grieved to see the desolation and determined to stop there and try to restore the holy places. But, as even the sites of many were unknown, he professed to have obtained a knowledge of them in his dreams; and, accordingly, he wrote a book describing them, which is called the “Mahatmya of 6000 slokas,” and also the “Dandi Mahatmya.” Long afterwards a Pandit of Thanesar, named Banmáli, traced all the holy sites from the positions given by the Dandi, whose account is now accepted as genuine by all Brahmans, although “his only authority for the identification was a dream.”[110]

With the foregoing in mind I was not very eager to visit the sacred places, which have neither scenic nor architectural attractions. However, I could not leave Brahmavarta without seeing the holy Saraswati. The only form of conveyance available at Thanesar was the _Ekka_ and, though I knew from sad experience what ekkas could do in the way of producing discomfort to every limb, I was fain to call them into requisition as the time at my disposal was short. Two ekkas were engaged, one for my son and myself, the other for the indispensable _Babu_ and the Brahman guide. What a sight we two _unhindu_ pilgrims did present as we contorted ourselves into the springless vehicle and set off for the Saraswati! In a drenching downpour of rain our _Ekka-wallah_ drove us, almost jolted to bits, over the worst roads ever made, to a spot where the _Samadh_ of a deceased Rajah of Faridekote now stands. Here we had to dismount and proceed on foot to the river, famous since the time when the Aryans settled in India. Dripping wet, and aching all over, I proceeded with the rest through the grass and slush a hundred yards or so, to find myself on the banks of a tiny stream not twenty yards wide, which was sluggishly flowing at my feet. I had now seen the historic Saraswati and my visit to the sacred land was practically over.

It is at the time of a lunar eclipse, when the waters of all other sacred tanks mingle mysteriously with those of the ponds near Thanesar, that the Brahmans of Kurukshetra reap their harvest of gains; for then tens of thousands of pilgrims crowd to bathe in the sacred pool, and, of course, fee the priests according to the measure of their means and their piety.[111] The Punjab University graduate, already quoted, gives us some curious particulars in regard to the largesses distributed on such occasions by the wealthy. He tells us, with reference to solar eclipses, that “The Rajahs and Maharajahs of the land, too, are not absent on such occasions. They untie their purse-strings, and hundreds and thousands of rupees are considered as nothing when compared with the importance of the moment. The Brahmans, with loads of sweetmeats on their backs and with money in their unknown (_sic_) pockets, go home cheerfully and thankfully. They do not fail to get many cows in addition, and some fortunate few even receive at the hands of the Rajahs, and other big men, presents of villages or of elephants, which are returned for a paltry sum on the following day. Maharajah Narendra Singh of Patiala is said to have gone the length of parting with one of his wives on a similar occasion and, when on being asked to name her price, the _parohit_ seemed willing to accept a lakh of rupees, the Rani was very angry with him for demanding such a low sum in return for the wife of such a wealthy Rajah.”[112]

The writer of the above curious passage seems strangely unconscious of the real significance of the facts he records, and apparently finds nothing to condemn in the vain display of ostentatious liberality, masking actual meanness, to which he refers, and which is especially noteworthy as supplying a probable standard by which to measure the overpowering munificence of many personages who figure in the Indian epics. This, too, is not mere conjecture. We have a similar instance in the case of King Dasahratha, referred to at p. 20.

Although the attractions of Kurukshetra are greatest on the occasion of eclipses, a tiny stream of visitors to the shrines trickles through Thanesar all the year round. Of their visits particular note is taken by the Brahmans, who keep a record of the names and family connections of the several visitors. On the arrival of a pilgrim the Brahmans inquire his name, caste and _gotra_, his native place, his place of residence, and the objects of his visit. With these facts in their possession some one amongst them is almost sure to be able to produce the record of the visit to Thanesar, at some previous time, of some relative of the pilgrim. When the Brahman has established this, from one of his books, he thereby becomes the family priest, _pro tempore_, and the privileged guide of the new arrival, out of whom he makes as much money as he can. I shall not readily forget how the Babu, who kindly accompanied me, was pounced upon by the priests; how by the light of a flickering lamp he had read out to him all about the visits which had been paid to Thanesar by his relatives; and how, having come to the sacred land, he could not well leave it until, even in the pitiless December rain, he had to enter a sacred tank and take sundry dips under the water, while the Brahman, standing on the bank in the shelter of some trees, repeated the _mantras_ which gave, as it were, the approval of the church to this pilgrimage of his to Brahmavarta.

APPENDIX I

+THE “BHAGAVATGITA” OR DIVINE SONG+

“How much more admirable the Bhagvat-Gita than all the ruins of the East!”--+H. D. THOREAU.+

It is undoubtedly in religious speculation that the genius of the Indian people has risen to the highest level of its possibilities. And one of the noblest products and best specimens of this theological spirit is the “Bhagavatgita,” or Divine Song. The date of this grand philosophical poem is very doubtful. European scholars generally consider that it has no claim to great antiquity, and that it was composed _after_ the commencement of the Christian era; some of them even hold that it bears unmistakable traces of the influence of Christian doctrine, and evidence of the acquaintance of its author with the Christian scriptures. On the other hand, some Indian scholars endeavour to assign a high antiquity to the poem, and suggest that what resemblance there may be between the ideas in the “Gita” and in the sacred books of the Christians, must have been borrowed by the latter from Hindu sources.[113]

The “Bhagavatgita” early attracted the attention of Europeans, and was translated into English by Sir Charles Wilkins in the time of Warren Hastings, who himself wrote an introduction to it. Wilkins’ translation has been followed by those of Thompson and Davis, and by Sir Edwin Arnold’s metrical version entitled “The Song Celestial.” The poem has been rendered into both Latin and Greek, and into most of the leading languages of Europe, and has secured the highest encomiums possible from literary and philosophical men in all countries, on account of its lofty tone and striking conceptions.

The reader will remember that the “Bhagavatgita” is a dialogue between Krishna and Arjuna, on the eve of the tremendous struggle at Kurukshetra, and that the dialogue arose out of the refusal of the latter to take part in a contest destined to lead to such unprecedented slaughter of kinsfolk.

It appears from the “Gita” that Arjuna was not only moved by feelings of tenderness towards his kinsmen, but was appalled at the thought of the far-reaching consequences of the impending slaughter of so many men. His prescient mind foresaw that the wholesale destruction of the Kshatriyas would tend to serious immorality amongst their women, and thus lead to that most dreadful of all calamities--_the mingling of different castes!_ Such an evil was not to be contemplated, except with the extremest religious horror, since so great a sin as a _confusion of castes_ would inevitably lead men to the hell prepared for the wicked, and even entail the fall of ancestral spirits from the religion of the blessed, “their rites of Pinda and water ceasing” through the defilement of their descendants. This was a terrible prospect to face, but a more immediate if less weighty objection presented itself to Arjuna in a doubt as to whether it was lawful for him to contend with his ancient relative Bhisma and his Brahman preceptor Drona, both of whom were eminently worthy of his highest respect.[114]

Krishna proceeds to overcome Arjuna’s scruples, first by dwelling upon the indestructibility of the soul, and then by insisting that the duty of a Kshatriya being to fight, it was right and proper for Arjuna to take part in the battle, regardless of consequences. He further assumes the responsibility for the deeds that may be done by Arjuna at his suggestion. On these points Krishna says: “Those that are really wise grieve neither for the dead nor the living. It is not that I or you or those rulers of men never were, or that all of us shall not hereafter be.... As a man casting off robes that are worn out putteth on others that are new, so the embodied (soul) casting off bodies that are worn out entereth other bodies that are new. Weapons cleave it not, fire consumeth it not, the waters do not drench it nor doth the wind waste it.... There is no (objective) existence of anything that is distinct from the soul, nor non-existence of anything possessing the virtues of the soul.”

Plainly the life of the individual was, according to Krishna’s teaching, of little account, and this is strictly in harmony with Brahmanical ideas. To comprehend such an attitude of mind it is absolutely necessary to guard carefully against the mistake of supposing that the Hindu conception of the indestructibility of the soul is the same as the Christian idea of the immortality of the individual spirit. In the opinion of the Hindu the individual soul is part of the world-soul, a sort of animating force which may be joined, on an unlimited number of successive occasions, to any corporeal frame, high or low, adapting itself to the conditions of its dwelling-house. Except when joined to matter of some sort, gross or subtle, it is void of self-consciousness.[115] Conscious existence in the estimation of the Hindu being a distinct and positive evil, the object and desire of every sentient being should be to obtain final and complete extinction of separate individual consciousness by emancipation from the trammels of matter through suppression of all the senses. Thus far in regard to Arjuna’s objection to the impending wholesale slaughter of his Kshatriya kinsmen. But other subtle questions of theology arise in the course of the colloquy which Krishna proceeds to elucidate and settle for his dear friend and disciple.

We do not propose to follow, step by step, the intricacies of the dialogue, but merely to set forth, as far as we can disentangle them from the theological mysticism in which they are involved, the fundamental doctrines and precepts inculcated by Krishna on this occasion.

Work or labour, in any form, has always in Brahmanical theology been regarded as an evil. Krishna, too, recognizes it as such, though he holds it to be tolerable and even unobjectionable in certain cases. Work for its own sake or for the attainment of any object is undesirable, though it is lawful to do such work as may be necessary for the performance of sacrifices[116] or the support of one’s body; but even this work should be done without thought of reward. As to Vedic rites, _i.e._, the old ceremonial observances, these duly carried out lead, no doubt, to the attainment of pleasure and power, and even heaven itself for a time.[117] But the highest attainable good--_absorption in the Supreme Being, and consequent emancipation from re-births_--cannot be obtained by even Vedic rites. It is only to be reached by _knowledge_ or by _faith_. Now both the terms _knowledge_ and _faith_ require special elucidation. What then is the nature of this _knowledge_ which is so efficacious for emancipation? Not assuredly what the Western world understands by that term, but something very different, viz., subjugation of the senses and a complete suppression of all affections and dislikes, all hopes and fears, all desires and aversions, all pride and humility. This condition of utter indifference to every thing, sensual or intellectual, is the state of _knowledge_ leading to absorption in the Supreme Being or world-soul.[118]

One method of arriving at this blissful condition, though not the shortest or most certain, is through the _Yoga system_, which meets with the approval of Krishna, who gives general directions as to how the devotee, eating little, should sit in some lonely place; how he should concentrate his gaze on the tip of his nose; how he should mingle the “upward and the downward life breath; and how, finally renouncing all desires without exception that are born of resolves, restraining the entire group of the senses on all sides by mind alone, he should by slow degrees become quiescent, (aided) by (his) understanding, controlled by patience, and then, directing his mind to self, should _think of nothing_.” When the devotee arrives at _this_ stage he is emancipated, for surely he has found _true knowledge_! While thus indicating the inefficiency of the Vedas for _final emancipation_, and while bestowing only a qualified commendation upon the Yoga system, Krishna inculcates very forcibly the doctrine of the efficacy of _faith_ and, above all, faith in himself which, it would seem, it is the special object of the dialogue to bring into prominence. For himself Krishna claimed that he was “the productive cause of the entire universe and also its destroyer.” He asserted that he was “the beginning, the middle, and the end of beings,” and that there was “nothing higher than himself.” To give weight to his claims the god vouchsafed to show himself to Arjuna in “his supreme sovereign form,” with many mouths and eyes, many wondrous aspects, many celestial ornaments, many celestial weapons uplifted, wearing celestial garlands and robes (and) with unguents of celestial fragrance, full of every wonder, resplendent, infinite, with faces turned on all sides. If the splendour of a thousand suns were to burst forth at once in the sky (then) that would be like the splendour of that mighty one. The son of Panda then beheld there in the body of that god of gods the entire universe divided and subdivided into many parts, all collected together. Then Dhananjaya (Arjuna), filled with amazement, and with hair standing on end, bowing with (his) head, with joined hands, addressed the god.

“Arjuna said: I behold all the gods, O God, as also all the varied hosts of creatures (and) Brahma seated on (his) lotus seat, and all the Rishis and the celestial snakes. I behold thee with innumerable arms, stomachs, mouths (and) eyes, on every side, O thou of infinite forms. Neither end, nor middle, nor also beginning of them do I behold, O lord of the universe, O thou of universal form. Bearing (thy) diadem, mace, and discus, a mass of energy glowing on all sides, do I behold thee that art hard to look at, endued on all sides with the effulgence of the blazing fire or the sun, and immeasurable. Thou art indestructible (and) the supreme object of this universe. Thou art without decay, the guardian of eternal virtue, I regard thee to be the eternal (male) being. I behold thee to be without beginning, mean, end, to be of infinite prowess, of innumerable arms, having the sun and the moon for thy eyes, the blazing fire for thy mouth, and heating this universe with energy thy own. For the space betwixt heaven and earth is pervaded by thee alone, as also all the points of the horizon! At sight of this marvellous and fierce form of thine, O supreme soul, the triple world trembleth. For these hosts of gods are entering thee! Some afraid are praying with joined hands. Saying, _Hail to thee_--the hosts of great Rishis and Siddhas praise thee with copious hymns of praise. The Rudras, the Adityas, the Vasus, they that are (called) the Sáddhyas, the Viçwas, the Açwins, the Maruts, also the Ushmapas, the Gandharvas, the Yakshas, the Asuras, the hosts of Siddhyas, behold thee and are all amazed. Beholding thy mighty form with many mouths and eyes, O mighty-armed one, with innumerable arms, thighs and feet, many stomachs (and) terrible in consequence of many tusks, all creatures are affrighted, and I also. Indeed, touching the very skies, of blazing radiance, many-hued, mouth wide open, with eyes that are blazing and large, beholding thee, O Vishnu with (my) inner soul trembling (in fright) I can no longer command courage and peace of mind. Beholding thy mouths that are terrible in consequence of (their) tusks, and that are fierce as the (all-destroying) fire at the end of the Yuga, I cannot recognize the points of the horizon nor can I command peace of mind. Be gracious, O god of gods, O thou that art the refuge of the universe. And all these sons of Dhritarashtra, together with the hosts of kings, and Bhisma and Drona and also Suta’s this son (Karna) accompanied by even the principal warriors of our side, are quickly entering thy terrible mouths rendered fierce by thy tusks! Some, with their heads crushed, are seen striking at the interstices of (thy) teeth. As many currents of water flowing through different channels roll rapidly towards the ocean, so these heroes of the world of men enter thy mouths that flame all around. As moths with increasing speed rush for (their own) destruction to the blazing fire, so also do (these) people, with unceasing speed, enter thy mouths for their destruction. Swallowing all these men from every side thou lickest them with thy flaming mouths. Filling the whole universe with (thy) energy, thy fierce splendours, O Vishnu, are heating (everything). Tell me who thou art of (such) fierce form. I bow to thee, O chief of the gods, be gracious to me! I desire to know thee that art the primeval one, for I do not understand thy actions.”

After such an overwhelming argument addressed to the senses of his disciple, after such an astounding proof that he alone is not only the universal soul of nature but the universe itself, Krishna discloses to Arjuna the efficacy of _faith_ above both _works_ and _contemplation_. Thus says the god: “Fix thy heart on me alone, place thy understanding on me. Hereafter then shalt thou dwell in me. There is no doubt (in this);” and again: “Exceedingly dear art thou to me, therefore I will declare what is for thy benefit.... Forsaking all (religious) duties come to me as thy sole refuge, I will deliver thee from all sins.”

To assert the doctrine of the efficacy of _faith_ is obviously the special object of the _Gita_; but, with the conciliatory spirit of Hinduism, it is inculcated without too great a rupture with the orthodox notions in respect to those time-honoured props and refuges of the pious Hindu,--the Vedas and Yogaism. Both these are, however, shorn of a good deal of their importance by comparison with the _new_ mode of attaining heaven and final emancipation--_through faith in Krishna_.

Though the caste-system is strongly upheld in the “Bhagavatgita,” and the practices of the Yogis sanctioned, many of the most liberal and lofty sentiments find expression in this highly remarkable poem; as when Krishna says: “Whatever form (of godhead or myself) any worshipper desireth to worship with faith, that faith of his unto that form I render steady. Endued with that faith he payeth his adoration to that (form) and obtaineth from that all his desires, since all those are ordained by me. The fruits, however, of those persons endued with little intelligence are perishable. They that worship the divinities go to the divinities, while they that worship me come even to me.” Again: “Even those devotees who, endued with faith, worship other godheads, even they, O son of Kunti, worship me alone, though irregularly.” And in another place: “In whatever manner men come to me in the self-same manner do I accept them.” Krishna also says: “I am alike to all creatures, there is none hateful to me, none dear. They, however, that worship me with reverence are in me and I also am in them.”

In this serene and lofty impartiality of sentiment the unknown author of the “Gita” has reached a level of generous and noble theology not to be surpassed and probably never before expressed. But, alas! it was impossible for him to stand alone upon this giddy height of calm philosophy, and he descends to a lower plain of sympathetic insight when his Krishna declares, that “there are two kinds of created beings in this world, viz., the godlike and the demoniac. These latter are impure, given over to their desires, and unholy, asserting that the universe is void of truth and guiding principle, and even without a ruler. Wedded to vanity, power, pride, lust and wrath, these revilers hate me in their own bodies and those of others. Those haters (of me), cruel, the vilest among men and unholy, I hurl continually down into demoniac wombs. Coming into demoniac wombs, deluded birth after birth, they, O son of Kunti, without attaining to me, go down to the vilest state.”

In regard to divine incarnation, which is an old accepted idea in Hinduism, Krishna says: “Many births of mine have passed away, O Arjuna, as also of thine; those all I know, but thou dost not, O chastiser of foes! Though I am unborn and of essence that knoweth no deterioration, though (I am) the lord of creatures; still, relying on my own (material) nature, I take birth by my own (powers) of illusion. Whensoever, O Bharata, loss of piety occurreth and the rise of impiety, on those occasions do I create myself. For the protection of the righteous, for also the destruction of evil-doers, for the sake of establishing piety, I am born age after age.”

Whether the author of the “Bhagavatgita” borrowed ideas from Christianity or not, this, at least, is certain, that Krishna-worship is a comparatively new phase of Hinduism; that its doctrine of salvation or final emancipation by _faith_ is also comparatively new; and that the tendency of this doctrine of _faith_, as taught in the “Gita,” is to wean men from rites and ceremonies, and to discourage them from the practice of _Yoga_.

But since it seems to be a characteristic of each successive stage of Hinduism to keep on amicable terms with those that have preceded it, the “Gita” endeavours to lead men to more doctrine of _faith_ in Krishna, without more disparagement of orthodox ideas and practices than appeared absolutely necessary for the object in view--hence the qualified approval of Vedic rites and of Yogaism which we find in this treatise.

Of the “Bhagavatgita,” which has been extolled as a complete system of Indian _religious philosophy_, this brief note will, I believe, give a sufficient idea.[119] It is, as regards Hinduism, an eclectic system upon which has been grafted a new principle, the doctrine of salvation by faith, which may or may not be of foreign origin. Its lofty ideas and transcendental philosophy appeal with subtle force to the higher feelings of the thoughtful Hindu. I have known a clever young student of the “Gita” so powerfully affected by its teaching as to lose mental balance to the extent of believing himself to be Arjuna. When this hallucination passed away his one burning desire was to retire from the world in order to live the life of the Rishis of old.

For my own part I leave this highest attainment of Indian religious philosophy with mingled feelings of admiration and sadness.

In every nation men have allowed their speculative imaginations to play around the great mystery of the Universe. The author of the “Gita” has dreamed his dream as well as the others; and, like Plato[120] and the rest, has presented as a solution of the grand problem of existence his own fancies and his own guess-work. And these dreams, fancies and guesses--labelled _theology_ or _philosophy_ as the case may be--have been accepted as eternal verities and passed down from generation to generation, only to be superseded, in their turn, by other equally substantial fancies, equally irrefragable verities.

In leaving the “Gita,” however, let us at least admit that the Indian poet’s dream was not deficient in nobility of sentiment and grandeur of conception.

APPENDIX II

+THE CHURNING OF THE OCEAN+

Once upon a time the gods, having practised penances according to the prescribed ordinances, assembled in solemn conclave on the golden summit of Mount Meru, to consider how they might obtain _Amrita_--the water of life. “Seeing the celestial assembly in anxious consultation, Narayana[121] said to Brahma”: “Do thou churn the ocean with the Suras (gods) and the Asuras. By doing so, _Amrita_ shall be obtained, together with all drugs and all gems.”

In order to carry out these instructions the gods uprooted from its base the towering mountain named Mandara,[122] and placed it in the sea on the back of the tortoise king. This was their churning pole, and for a cord they used the mighty hooded serpent, Vasuki. The Asuras taking hold of him by the head and the gods by the tail commenced the churning of the ocean. As they laboured in their gigantic task of whirling Mandara round and round in the seething ocean, the serpent’s body became heated by the friction to which it was subjected, and volumes of black vapour, mingled with red flames, issued from his awful mouth. These vapours were condensed in the upper regions and fell in refreshing showers upon the tired gods. With the rain came abundance of flowers shaken from the trees of rapidly revolving Mandara.

As the work proceeded with more and more vigour, the inhabitants of the troubled ocean were destroyed in great numbers, and the forests on the sides of rotating Mandara took fire from the friction of the branches of the trees which were driven into conflict with one another. However, this conflagration was extinguished by Indra, and the churning was continued. Then the gums of various trees and many gems began to mingle with the water, but the sought for nectar itself did not appear. Almost spent with their exertions, the gods appealed to Narayana for help, and he, renewing their vigour, directed them again to “insert the mountain and churn the waters.”

Their fresh and vigorous efforts were crowned with success. First of all the moon emerged from the waters, then “Lakshmi”[123] dressed in white, and wine, and the white steed, and then the celestial gem, Kaustuva, which graces the breast of Narayana. Lakshmi, wine, and the steed fleet as the mind, all came before the gods on high. Then arose the divine Dhanvantari himself with the white vessel of nectar in his hand. And, seeing him, the “Asuras set up a loud cry, saying: ‘Ye have taken all, _he_ must be ours.’”

Although the object of their quest, the nectar of immortality, had been produced, the churning was continued apparently in the hope of further treasures. Airavata, a huge elephant, now emerged from the troubled waters, and was at once appropriated by Indra. But after his appearance a baleful poison, the terrible Kalakuta, “blazing like a flame mixed with fumes,” began to overspread the earth and to threaten the destruction of the universe. At this perilous juncture, Mahadeva, at Brahma’s solicitation, “swallowed the poison and held it in his throat,” which acquired and ever after retained a blue colour. Hence Mahadeva is often known by the name Nilakantha, the blue-throated.

[Illustration: +THE CHURNING OF THE OCEAN.+ (Reduced from Moor’s “Hindu Pantheon.”)]

The Asuras having got possession of Dhanvantari with the vessel of nectar, were preparing to defend their acquisition by force of arms, but Narayana, assuming the bewitching form of lovely _Maya_, easily induced the Daityas, ravished with her charms, to part with their treasure.

As soon as the deception practised upon them became apparent, the Daityas and Danavas pursued the gods, who, in the meantime, had been hurriedly taking draughts of this wonderful elixir of immortality.

Along with them a Danava, named Rahu, in the disguise of a god, was also slyly partaking of the _Amrita_, but, before the nectar had gone beyond his throat, he was detected by the sun and moon and had his head severed from his body by the discus of Narayana.

The severed head of Rahu was, of course, immortal, and ascended into the sky with loud cries. And ever since that eventful day it has pursued the sun and moon with revengeful feelings, swallowing them up periodically, as is evident in the solar and lunar eclipses which have attracted the awed attention of mankind through the ages.

To these events succeeded the commencement of a terrible battle between the gods on one side, and the Asuras, Daityas and the Danavas on the other. The gods, being victorious, carried the _Amrita_ to heaven, and, “offering due respect to Mandara, placed him on his own base.”

Such, in brief, is the wonderfully grand old myth which could have been conceived by no common mind, which is still believed in, and gives rise to practices and ceremonies still observed by two hundred millions of the Indian people, for whom even now it is the malignant Rahu that periodically threatens the destruction of the greater and lesser lights of the firmament. On these dire occasions the Hindus beat their drums and blow their conchs to terrify away the demon. They throw away their earthen cooking-pots, observe a rigid fast during the period of obstruction, and crowd the bathing-places for a purifying plunge as soon as the light of sun or moon is once again fully restored to the delighted eyes of mankind.

APPENDIX III

+THE STORY OF NALA AND DAMAYANTI+

There was once a powerful King of the Nishadhas, named Nala, who was as beautiful as the god of love himself. He was, moreover, an honourable man, highly accomplished, and especially well-versed in the management of horses, but he had a weakness for dice.

Contemporary with Nala was Bhima, King of the Vidharbas, a formidable monarch, and father of Damayanti, the most lovely maiden in the world. Fame had carried to Nala the report of Damayanti’s unrivalled charms and had made him quite love-sick. The fair lady, too, had often been told of the manly beauty and grace of the King of the Nishadhas, and had had a tender chord in her heart touched by what she had heard. Thus were these two young people actually in love with each other, although they had never met or even exchanged glances.

The enamoured king naturally sought solitude; and one day, while moodily lounging in the inner gardens of his palace, he saw some strange-looking swans with golden wings. He caught one of them with his hands. The bird immediately addressed his captor, asking to be spared, and promising to speak to Damayanti about him “in such a way that she will not ever desire to have any other person for her lord.” Of course the swan was liberated there and then and, proceeding at once along with his fellows to the land of the Vidharbas, alighted in the gardens where Damayanti was sporting with her maids. The fair princess was eager to catch the strange birds as soon as she observed them; so she and her attendants began to run after the golden-winged swans, who fled in all directions without taking wing. One of these birds led the eager Damayanti away from her companions, and then, seizing the opportunity, told the charming girl about Nala and his beauty, winding up with these words: “Thou also art a jewel among thy sex as Nala is the prime among men. The union of the best with the best is happy.” To which the gratified princess replied: “Do thou speak thus unto Nala also.”

The adventure with the swan had such an effect upon the princess that she became melancholy, pale-faced, and lean. Her thoughts were of Nala only, and she could find no pleasure in her surroundings. Her father noticed the change with much anxiety and, after weighing the matter, concluded that the best thing he could do would be to find a husband for his daughter.

He accordingly gave notice, far and wide, to the kings and princes of the land that Damayanti would hold her swayamvara on a certain date.

From every direction suitors thronged to Bhima’s capital in the hope of winning the much-coveted beauty whose fame filled the whole earth. The celestial Rishi, Narada, on a casual visit to Indra’s Heaven, made passing reference to Damayanti’s transcendent beauty and to her approaching swayamvara. The gods, excited by his words, exclaimed in rapture: “We also will go there,” and four of them, the Lokapalas or guardians of the world--Indra, Yama, Varuna and Kuvera--set out without delay for the country of the Vidharbas, accompanied by their attendants.

On the way they met the handsome and virtuous Nala bent on the same errand. Leaving their celestial cars in the sky, they descended to the earth and entered into converse with the king. Without revealing themselves to him they cunningly got him to promise to help them, and when he had done so requested him to go to Damayanti and inform her that the Lokapalas were amongst the suitors for her hand, and to request her to choose one of them for her lord.

Poor Nala explained his own feelings with respect to the fair princess, and the hopes with which he was hastening to the swayamvara. He also protested that it would be impossible for him to have an interview with Damayanti in her well-guarded palace. But the gods removed this last difficulty, Indra simply saying: “Thou shalt be able to enter.” And so it proved; for it was not long before Nala found himself in the inner apartments of the palace. His wonderful beauty created a great sensation amongst the astonished women of the zenana. Damayanti was the first to recover from the surprise of his unexpected presence in the inner apartments, and smilingly addressed the intruder in these by no means harsh words: “What art thou, O thou of faultless features, that hast come here, awakening my love. O sinless one, O hero of celestial form, I am anxious to know who thou art that hast come hither, and why thou hast come hither. And how it is that thou hast not been discovered by anyone, considering that my apartments are well-guarded[124] and the king’s mandates are stern.”

Nala with a sad heart told her who he was, and honourably discharged the distasteful duty imposed upon him by the celestials. Undazzled by the prospect of having a god for her husband, Damayanti, with charming simplicity, said to Nala with a smile: “O king, love me and command me what I shall do for thee. Myself and what else of wealth is mine are thine.... If thou forsake me who adore thee, for thy sake will I resort to poison or fire, or water, or the rope.” Nala dwelt upon the danger of offending the gods, and advised the princess to choose one of her celestial suitors for her lord and no blame would attach to him; but she told him to come himself to the swayamvara and she would there give him her hand in the presence of the celestials.

Nala returned to the Lokapalas, who were eager in their inquiries about the details of his mission. He faithfully related what had passed between himself and Damayanti, even so far as to tell them that the maiden had expressed her determination to choose him for her husband. Having discharged his obligations with strict fidelity, Nala left the issue in the hands of the gods.

On the day of the swayamvara the astonished princess saw, on entering the hall, not one but five Nalas before her, all seated together. Unable to discriminate from amongst them the King of the Nishadhas, the fond maiden tremblingly prostrated herself before the five and, in an appeal full of sweet confidence, begged the gods to reveal themselves to her, as she had in her heart chosen Nala for her lord. Touched by her simple prayer, the Lokapalas resumed their celestial attributes, and the fair maiden thereupon bashfully caught the hem of Nala’s garment and placed the garland round his neck. The gods were pleased with the issue, and generously bestowed many boons upon their successful rival, who, appreciating the great honour that had been shown him, addressed Damayanti in these words: “Since thou, O blessed one, hast chosen a mortal in the presence of the celestials, know me for a husband ever obedient to thy command. And, O thou of sweet smiles, truly do I tell thee this that as long as life continueth in this body of mine I will remain thine and thine alone.” The charming damsel, of course, made a suitable response. Everything was arranged satisfactorily, the wedding was duly celebrated, and the King of the Nishadhas returned home with his lovely bride.

But, as the course of true love never does run smooth, there was sorrow awaiting the young couple. It happened that, as the gods were returning from Damayanti’s swayamvara, they met Kali with Dwapara on the way to the capital of the Vidharbas. It was to seek Damayanti’s hand that Kali[125] was journeying thither, and it was with great displeasure that he learned that the swayamvara was over and that Nala had obtained the prize.

In his wicked heart he planned to ruin the happiness of Nala, and with that object in view proceeded to his city. Watching his opportunity--which presented itself in the neglect by the king of some trifling ceremonial observance--Kali entered his person and took complete possession of him. The fiend also stirred up Pushkara to challenge Nala to play with him with dice. Nala could not refuse, and, being under the influence of Kali, gambled recklessly and, needless to say, unsuccessfully; for the dice were not ordinary dice, but _Dwapara himself_ transformed. The gambling match lasted for months, and Nala lost everything he possessed, including his kingdom. During the continuance of the match Nala was like one deprived of reason, so his wife sent her two children away to her parents in charge of a faithful charioteer. His successful opponent suggested that he might now stake Damayanti as he had lost everything else; but Nala, his heart full of rage, rose with silent dignity and, stripping himself of all his ornaments, left the city. Damayanti, clad in a single piece of cloth--a _sari_, no doubt--followed him into exile.

Pushkara issued an order that no one should assist Nala under pain of death, so the ex-king and his consort were left to shift for themselves. In the hope of capturing some wild birds in the wood Nala threw his cloth over them, but they rose and flew away with it, leaving him naked. He now shared Damayanti’s single garment, and the pair were soon in the greatest extremities of distress. He could not humble himself to seek the assistance of his wife’s people, but, thinking that if she were alone, Damayanti might find an asylum with them, Nala, instigated still by vindictive Kali, abandoned his lovely wife one night in the lonesome forest. Her grief and despair upon finding herself deserted were most pathetic. With loud lamentations she wandered hither and thither like a maniac, and came unexpectedly upon a huge serpent, who quietly coiled himself about her gentle form and would have killed her very soon, had not a hunter come to her rescue and, with his sharp sword, cut off the serpent’s head. Inquiries and explanations followed, with the result that, “beholding that beautiful woman clad in half a garment, with deep bosom and round hips and limbs delicate and faultless, and face resembling the full moon, and eyes graced with curved eyelashes, and speech sweet as honey, the hunter became inflamed with desire.” But virtuous Damayanti in great anger repulsed the wretch and cursed him so that he fell down dead at her feet.

Alone in the vast forests, peopled by wild beasts and infested by thieves and Mleccha-tribes, poor bewildered Damayanti wandered about in quest of Nala; asking, in her trouble, the fierce tiger and the silent mountain to tell her where her lord had gone. After wandering about for three days and three nights the unfortunate queen came to the delightful asylum of some ascetics, and, entering it fearlessly but with great humility, she was welcomed by the holy men, who, struck by her beauty, inquired whether she was the presiding deity of the forest, the mountain, or the river. Damayanti explained her situation and received from the ascetics most comforting assurances of early reunion with Nala and great future happiness. After which “the ascetics with their sacred fires and asylum vanished from sight,” to the great amazement of the queen.

Further wanderings in the denser parts of the forest brought Damayanti into a somewhat open space, where she found a party of merchants encamped beside a stream with their horses, elephants, and other beasts of burden. The merchants could give her no information about Nala, for, as the leader of the party assured her, she was the only human being they had met in those vast forests. However, as they were bound for the city of Suvahu, Damayanti attached herself to the caravan. The distance to be traversed was evidently a very long one and the forest very extensive; for, after they had proceeded many days, they were still in the woods, and one evening encamped on the border of a lovely lotus-covered lake. In the dead of night a herd of wild elephants coming down to the lake discovered the tame elephants belonging to the merchants and instantly made a furious onslaught upon them. Indescribable confusion followed. Some members of the party were trampled to death under the feet of the mighty beasts, some perished by their huge tusks, others fled for safety in all directions. The fugitives concealed themselves in the thickets or took refuge in the branches of trees. Horses, camels and elephants, fighting with each other and rushing about in frantic terror, added to the wild confusion of the dreadful scene of disorder and uproar, which was intensified by the outbreak of a terrible fire. Amidst the general panic, the shouts and cries of men and the noise of wounded and furious animals, Damayanti naturally awoke in the greatest alarm; but she soon had occasion for special fear for her own personal safety from an unexpected quarter.

“And those of the caravan that had escaped unhurt, met together, and asked one another, ‘Of what deed of ours is this the consequence? Surely we have failed to worship the illustrious Manibhadra, and likewise the exalted and graceful Vaisravana, the King of the Yakshas. Perhaps we have not worshipped the deities that cause calamities, or perhaps we have not paid them the first homage. Or perhaps this evil is the certain consequence of the birds (we saw)! Our stars are not unpropitious. From what other cause, then, hath this disaster come?’ Others, distressed and bereft of wealth and relatives, said, ‘That maniac-like woman who came amongst this mighty caravan in guise that was strange and scarcely human, also, it is by her that this dreadful illusion has been pre-arranged. Of a certainty, she is a terrible Rakshasa or a Yaksha or a Picácha woman. All this evil is her work, what need of doubts. If we again see that wicked destroyer of merchants, that giver of innumerable woes, we shall certainly slay that injurer of ours, with stones, and dust, and grass, and wood, and cuffs.’[126] And hearing these dreadful words of the merchants, Damayanti, in terror and shame and anxiety, fled into the woods apprehensive of evil.”

Damayanti, however, managed to secure the protection of some Brahmans who had been travelling with the merchants, and in their company succeeded in reaching the city of Suvahu. Her strange, unkempt and almost maniac-like appearance, coupled with her scanty clothing, excited the curiosity of the citizens, who rudely followed her about. Her painful situation in the street of the town, and her beauty, which nothing could destroy, attracted the attention of the queen-mother, who was looking out of one of the windows of the palace. As a consequence Damayanti was sent for and installed in the household as a sort of humble companion to the princess.

We have now to trace the fortunes of Nala. After he had deserted Damayanti he came upon a mighty conflagration in the forests. From the midst of the fire a voice addressed him thus: “O righteous Nala, come hither.” Nala obeyed without fear or hesitation, and found in the midst of the fire a mighty Naga or serpent, lying in great coils. The snake explained that he was suffering from the curse of a great Rishi “of high ascetic merit,” whom he had deceived, and that he was doomed, under the conditions of the curse, to lie where he was until Nala should remove him to another place, when he would be free again. The snake contracted his dimensions till he was no bigger than a man’s thumb. Nala took him up and carried him to a place free from fire. Here the snake bit Nala and resumed his natural form. The effect on Nala of the snake’s bite was startling indeed, for he underwent a strange transformation of person and assumed an unprepossessing appearance. The snake explained that what had occurred was for Nala’s good, and advised him to go to Ayodhya and offer his services to the king of that city as a charioteer and trainer of horses, on condition of receiving instruction in the art of gambling. The snake also presented Nala with a garment, the wearing of which would immediately restore him to his proper form. Nala did as directed, and was duly installed as king’s charioteer and superintendent of the royal stables, under the name of Váhuka.

In the meanwhile Brahmans sent out by King Bhima, Damayanti’s father, were searching the country far and wide for the lost couple. One of them met Damayanti and recognized her by a remarkable lotus-shaped mole which she had between her eyebrows. This discovery led to her return to her father’s house, where her children were being reared in comfort, but nothing could console her for the absence of Nala. Through her mother she caused Brahmans to go forth into all countries, to cry in every assembly, “O beloved gambler, where hast thou gone, cutting off half of my garment, and deserting thy dear and devoted wife asleep in the forest,” etc. Of course this appeal touched Nala--transformed into Váhuka--to the heart, and certain remarks which he let fall, to the effect that a virtuous woman should not be angry with one who had been deprived by birds of his garments, and so on, having been reported to Damayanti, she suspected who that Váhuka really was, although so changed in person.

To bring him to her she had it proclaimed in the city of Ayodhya that Damayanti, unaware whether Nala was alive or not, had decided to hold the very next day another swayamvara, at which she would choose a second husband[127] for herself.

King Ritupama of Ayodhya desired to be present on this occasion, but the distance to Kundina was over one hundred _yojanas_. However, Nala in a most wonderful manner managed to do the distance within the appointed time, not without adventures on the way and the acquirement from his royal master of the whole science of dice-playing.

When they arrived at Kundina they found to their astonishment that no preparations were being made for Damayanti’s swayamvara, and discovered that they had been deceived by a false report.

From the remarkable way in which Ritupama’s chariot came rattling into Ayodhya, Damayanti suspected that it was driven by Nala and Nala only, but she was sore distressed when she saw Váhuka--so unlike her dear lord in appearance. Yet, as wonders were common in those days and the charioteer might, after all, be her dear husband in a natural disguise, she opened communication with him through her maid-servant, and by various indications satisfied herself that Váhuka was no other than her lost Nala.

With the consent of her father and mother she caused Váhuka to be brought to her apartments. She received him clad in a piece of red cloth, wearing matted locks and covered with dirt and dust. Explanations followed. The wind-god, invoked by Damayanti, testified that it was only to bring Nala to herself that the lovely queen had proclaimed her swayamvara in Ayodhya, and that she was faultless in the matter. Flowers descended from the air and celestial kettle-drums began to play.

Casting away all doubts about Damayanti, Nala put on the pure garment which had been given to him by the serpent, and thus regained his own beautiful form. “And, beholding her righteous lord in his own form, Bhima’s daughter of faultless limbs embraced him, and began to weep aloud. And King Nala also embraced Bhima’s daughter, devoted to him as before, and also his children, and experienced great delight. And, burying her face in his bosom, the beauteous Damayanti, of large eyes, began to sigh heavily, remembering her griefs. And, overwhelmed with sorrow, that tiger among men stood for some time clasping the dust-covered Damayanti of sweet smiles.”

After these events Nala proceeded to his own country of the Nishadhas and challenged his brother to a game of dice, offering to stake all the wealth he had acquired, and lovely Damayanti as well, against the kingdom of which he had been dispossessed. He gave his brother the choice of an alternative--the dice or battle. Pushkara willingly accepted the offer, remarking insultingly: “It is evident that Damayanti, adorned with this wealth of thine that I will win, will wait upon me like an Apsara in heaven upon Indra.” However, fortune had changed sides. Nala recovered his kingdom, but generously shared it with his unworthy brother, and everyone, of course, lived happily thereafter.

NOTES

I. _Date of the compilation of the “Mahabharata.”_--Like the “Ramayana,” the “Mahabharata” is based on popular legends of considerable antiquity which, according to European scholars, appear to have been _collected together_ into a more or less connected whole at a comparatively recent date.

“The earliest direct evidence of the existence of an epic, with the contents of the ‘Mahabharata,’ comes to us from the rhetor Dion Chrysostom, who flourished in the second half of the first century A.D.; and it appears fairly probable that the information in question was then quite new, and was derived from mariners who had penetrated as far as the extreme south of India.... Since Megasthenes says nothing of this epic, it is not an improbable hypothesis that its origin is to be placed in the interval between his time and that of Chrysostom; for what ignorant sailors took note of would hardly have escaped his observation, more especially if what he narrates of Herakles and his daughter Pandai has reference really to Krishna and his sister, the wife of Arjuna; if, that is to say, the Pandu legend was actually current in his time.... As to the period when the final redaction of the work in its present shape took place, no approach even to direct conjecture is in the meantime possible, but, at any rate, it must have been some centuries after the commencement of our era.”[128]

II. _Translation of the “Mahabharata” into Persian._--The following account of the translation of the “Mahabharata” into Persian, in the reign of the Mogul Emperor Akbar, is worth reading, as it exhibits an estimate of the great epic from the standpoint of a bigoted Muslim:

“In the year 990” His Majesty assembled some learned Hindus and gave them directions to write an explanation of the ‘Mahabharata,’ and for several nights he himself devoted his attention to explain the meaning to Nakib Khan, so that the Khan might sketch out the gist of it in Persian. On the third night the king sent for me, and desired me to translate the ‘Mahabharata,’ in conjunction with Nakib Khan. The consequence was that in three or four months I translated two out of the eighteen sections, at the puerile absurdities of which the eighteen thousand creations may well be amazed. Such injunctions as one never heard of--what not to eat, and a prohibition against turnips! But such is my fate, to be employed on such works. Nevertheless I console myself with the reflection that what is predestined must come to pass.

“After this, Mulla Shi and Nakib Khan together accomplished a portion,” and another was completed by Sultan Haji Thanesari by himself. Shaikh Faizi was then directed to convert the rough translation into elegant prose and verse, but he did not complete more than two sections. The Haji aforesaid again wrote it, correcting the errors which had appeared in his first translation and settling the conjectures which he had hazarded. He had revised a hundred sheets, and, nothing being omitted, he was about to give the finishing touch when the order was received for his dismissal, and he was sent to Bakar. He now resides in his own city (Thanesar). Most of the scholars who were employed upon this translation are now with the Kauravas and Pandavas. May those who survive be saved by the mercy of God, and may their repentance be accepted.

“The translation was called ‘Razm-nama,’ and, when fairly engrossed and embellished with pictures, the nobles had orders to take copies, with the blessing and favour of God. Shaikh Abul Faizi, who had already written against our religion, wrote the Preface, extending to two sheets. God defend us from his infidelities and absurdities.”[129]

III. _English Versions of the “Mahabharata.”_--For full details of this epic the reader may be referred to “The ‘Mahabharata’ of Krishna Dwaipayana Vyasa,” translated into English prose by Pratab Chandra Roy (Calcutta), of which several volumes have been published.

A tolerably detailed account of the poem, with a running commentary, occupies about 500 pages of vol. i. of the “History of India,” by J. Talboys Wheeler.

A summary of all the eighteen sections of the epic is to be found in Sir Monier Williams’s “Indian Epic Poetry” (Williams and Norgate, 1863).

CONCLUDING REMARKS

Having presented to the reader the foregoing condensed epitomes of the great Hindu Epics, it only remains for me to offer a few brief observations upon some of the more abiding features of the national life and the religious and moral sentiments of the Hindus, as illustrated by these gigantic poems, in which we see, as in a mirror, an unconscious reflection of the ideas and tendencies, the intellectual cravings and the moral instincts, of the age to which they belong.

It may seem superfluous to remind the reader that the “Ramayana” describes the adventures of Rama, including amongst them a war which he undertook in order to avenge an insult and to recover the person of his wife, who had been carried off by an unscrupulous enemy. The campaign against Ravana had not for its object extension of territory, but the punishment of an evil-doer and the righting of a personal wrong; while the protracted struggle, which is the basis of the “Mahabharata,” is purely a contest for supremacy between kindred families, each side being backed by friends and allies from amongst their own race, as well as from amongst alien tribes (the Mlecchas). In neither poem, be it noted, does any question of patriotism arise; for the contest in which the heroes are involved are not against foreign invaders or national enemies.

The India known to the compilers of the “Ramayana” and “Mahabharata,”--the extensive theatre upon which their heroes played the stirring drama of their lives--was evidently a land covered with vast tracts of dense forest, whose mysterious gloom, pervaded with the aroma of incense and burnt-offerings, has cast a vague and mighty shadow over the hearts of the Hindu bards, as surely as the breezy atmosphere and the restless waves of the Ægean have imparted a healthy buoyancy to the Homeric rhapsodists.

The dreamy solitudes in which Valmiki and Vyasa love to linger have a restfulness about them which the European, unused to Eastern lands, can hardly comprehend. They have also a mystery only to be found in primæval forests, and they possess a dark background of horror, in the roar of the ferocious tiger, the hiss of the deadly serpent, and the grip of the invisible fever-fiend, enough to awaken strange and gloomy imaginings.

The few who have lived, as I have done, through changing seasons in the dense forests of Eastern India, can hover in spirit through Valmiki and Vyasa’s woodlands of the past.

First it is summer, and the hot sunbeams come filtering through the leafy covering, under the shadow of which man and beast listlessly repose through uneventful hours, while the shrill cricket chirps its monotonous song and the _cokil’s_ sweet note fills the hot and trembling air. Then the black clouds gather overhead. God Indra parts them with his flashing bolts. Loud thunder peals in the sky, the roaring hurricane enters into fearful conflict with the warring trees, and the rain descends, not in tiny drizzles, but in torrents; and its voice, as it buries itself in square miles of standing forest, is like the roar of many waters. Cascades, starting into life, leap gladly from the hill-side. The swollen streams, muddy and impassable, swirl and rush along, carrying with them a burden of forest trees. A mantle of vivid green covers, as if by magic, the whole earth, and climbs up till it almost hides the little cottage in which the proprietor takes refuge from the incessant drip, which descends from the leafy covering above.

To this succeeds a period when the steamy miasma rises in the green light from the rotten ground, and man and beast sicken in the malarious atmosphere, wherein the odour of decaying vegetation mingles with the exquisite perfume of orchids and strange flowers of the wilderness. In the glorious sky--in mystic cloudland--appear displays of light and colour, of subtle tints and gorgeous hues, utterly beyond description or the artist’s cunningest skill. Watch, with fevered vision, from the neighbourhood of one of these dark forests the rapidly shifting cloud-phantasms, arrayed in red and gold, upon the evening sky, then cease from marvelling at the exuberant and unbridled imaginings of the Indian bard! Fix your attention at night upon the monstrous shapes which hover, skulking in the background, in the flickering firelight, listen to the unearthly wailing and stifled cries which steal through the hideous darkness, and doubt no more the existence and doings of gruesome Rakshasas who change their shapes at will! Learn also, at the same time, how indispensable a god is _Agni_, who protects you through the horrors of darkest night in the forests.

Later in the year winter smiles mildly over the enervated land and chills the tepid air. For hours after sunrise a dense fog wraps the primæval forest in its embrace, but when it, ghost-like, steals silently away, it reveals the white smoke of the cottages curling upwards into a blue unclouded sky. The sun hardly affords sufficient warmth to the labourer in the little patch of cultivation near the hut, and the moon looks cold and pallid: the streams begin to dwindle away; the cascades are silent.

Such is the succession of seasons in a tropical forest-land like the India of the Epics. And, throughout all the seasons, the forest is enveloped in a dreamy air of depression and despondency, which peoples the solitudes with hideous Rakshasas, but leaves no place for sporting nymphs or dancing fairies. Life in such woodlands is real forest-life, not like Thoreau’s delightful playing at hermit in Walden, within a couple of miles of Concord, and in sight of a railway.

Thus far the forests; but the sublime Alps of the Indian world, tallest and most majestic of mountains, have not been without influence upon the feelings of the Indian poets, elevating them to lofty heights of contemplation. And when we read what the few travellers who have penetrated those regions have to tell us of the ineffable grandeur and sublimity of the lone mountains, the glittering ice-fields, and the untrodden snows of the interior, when we consider the solemn silence of those uninhabited solitudes, we cannot wonder that the Indian poets who had heard of them, and perhaps visited their rocky fastnesses, made of them a land of mystery and the sporting place of their gods and Apsaras.

Not only from the woods of _Dandhaka_ and the vales and crests of mighty _Himavat_ did the epic poets of India gather inspiration; but also from the noble and lovely rivers of their fair land, winding beneficently through many hundreds of miles of fertile country, from their birth-places above the clouds to the bosom of the all-embracing ocean, while determining in their course the march of migration and conquest.

Mountains, forests and rivers, all of colossal proportions, have served to impress a grandiose if bewildering character upon the great Epics of India, which the reader, even of this volume, can hardly fail to observe.

Religion, being the dominant note of these voluminous poems, claims our first consideration. In this connection I would draw attention to the fact that India is very far from that stage of intellectual development in which literature, science, art and politics become secularized. In Europe secularization has taken place gradually under the influence of the spirit of rationalism, as Mr. Lecky has so admirably explained. In India a beginning has been made in the secularization of knowledge. It is yet only a _mere beginning_, which owes its origin to the influence of English education; but the effects being confined to a _very small class indeed_, it may still be said with truth that all departments of knowledge which form the intellectual heritage of the Indian people--even law, poetry and the drama--fall within the domain of theology. And, certainly, there is no indigenous science amongst the Hindus which is not subject to priestly influence and interpretation.

Throughout the Epics we find the supernatural beings, who influence the destinies of mankind, arrayed in two distinctly hostile camps. On one side are the gods with the Gandharvas and Apsaras. On the other side the Asuras, including Daityas and Danavas, Rakshasas and Picáchas. The contest lies, be it noted, between the lesser gods and the Asuras with their allies. The superior gods interpose from time to time in the interests of the celestials; but behind and above the turmoil of existence the shadowy form of inexorable _destiny_ reveals its overwhelming presence.

The part of man in the perpetual strife carried on between the two orders of superhuman beings is neither an ignoble nor a passive one. Man is not, as in most other religions, either the abject and unworthy recipient of gracious favours from the gods, or the unhappy victim of the malice of devils and demons. His position in the universe, as conceived by the authors of the Indian Epics, reflecting, no doubt, the prevailing ideas of their time, was a far higher one. Man is no nonentity in the struggle between the good and the evil forces of nature, but is rather a very important factor; for it is his especial duty to piously assist and _nourish_ the celestials by perpetual sacrifices, so that they on their part might have the strength to perform their respective duties in the government of the universe, and insure the repression of the forces of evil. Neither is man a merely useful but servile auxiliary of the celestials; since he may by austerities, sacrifices, and ceremonies, earn and acquire rights and power for himself, and use his accumulated store of energy at his own will and for his own purposes.

Now it is a noteworthy fact that this high ideal of man’s dignity in the scale of beings has led in India to a degradation of the gods. It would seem as if you could not raise man without pulling down the deity; as if you could not exalt the human race without abasing the celestials. Hence we see the irreverent familiarity with which the highest gods, even Mahadeva, is personated by the Hindus in religious processions, or even on the occasion of the wild saturnalia of the _Holi_ festival, when a man painted white with a wig of long yellow hair on his head, a string of huge beads about his neck, and a trident in his hand--_the Supreme Deity personified_--is borne aloft amidst a crowd of excited men who are indulging in the grossest license of obscene speech and gesture.

In regard to a life beyond the grave the writers of the Epics hold very decided opinions, a fact of great interest, if we remember that the Jews acquired their ideas about existence after death and of good and evil spirits for the first time in their Babylonian captivity, and passed them on as a heritage to Christianity; the conceptions of our great Christian poet, Milton, being strongly coloured by ideas which, undoubtedly, had their roots in Persian _Mazdeism_.

The heavens of the Hindu gods are essentially material and sensuous, with their palaces and gardens, music and dancing, their lively Gandharvas and frail Apsaras. Yet the goddesses play a very subordinate part, indeed, in India’s heroic age. We find in the Epics no powerful Hera, no wise Pallas Athene, no lovely Venus, no silver-footed Thetis--bright creations which lend such a charm to the myths of Hellas. Ganga, it is true, acts a minor and appointed part in the great drama, and Parbati is mentioned, while Durga and Kali only flit across the stage. But it is quite evident that in the Olympus of the Aryan Indians the goddesses had not attained the power and dignity they enjoy to-day. The frequent boasts in the Epics against the celestials with Indra at their head, the way in which every chief or leader, even of the Venars, is said to be a match for Indra’s self, seem to indicate an unmistakable, if covert, hostility to the old gods of the Aryan invaders, which is well worthy of notice, as indicating a transition period in the religious development of the Hindus, a period of doubt and confusion, which is emphasized by the fulsome flattery addressed to anyone of whom a favour is desired, be he man or god. He is the _best_ of men, the greatest of kings; equal to gods, he is a god; he is Indra; he is Yama; he is Prajapati; he is superior to all the gods; he is the ruler of the three worlds; he is, in fact, anything and all things to the uncertain suppliant who craves his help. And in these perplexities we seem to have a share too; for under the influence of the pantheistic notions of the writers, combined with their conceptions of endless transmigrations and utter indifference to permanent shapes of any kind, individuality seems lost (as when we find Krishna addressed as the younger brother of Indra[130]), and a world of confused phantasmagorial forms seems to dance before us, till we feel dizzy contemplating this distracting and impermanent universe.

But amidst the ever-shifting pageant of existence the Hindu seems to have arrived at and firmly grasped the idea of a periodic law which has given a certain grandeur to his speculations about both the past and the hereafter.

From the orderly sequence of natural phenomena, as in the succession of day and night; in the measured march of the seasons of the revolving year; in the periodic movements of the heavenly bodies; the Hindu recognized an appointed, unvarying and endless cycle of changes. Generalizing from these facts he concluded that this law must hold for the entire Cosmos as well, which would pass through its grand but destined cycle of changes, over and over again, in the æons of eternity. He held these ideas in common with the Greek of old, and, like the Greek of old, he never rose to the conception of progress, development, evolution.[131]

How the Hindu thinker accounted, by his doctrine of _Karma_, for the striking inequalities and apparent injustice inseparable from mundane existence, the reader has learned in sufficient detail already. As to the _moral_ responsibility of man for his actions, the poets of the Epics had thought out the problem in its various aspects and despairingly left it unsolved. For as Sanjaya, the envoy of the Pandavas to their cousins, sadly says, in the true spirit of agnosticism: “In this respect three opinions are entertained; some say that everything is ordained by God;[132] some say that our acts are the results of free will; and others say that our acts are the results of those of our past lives.”[133]

The attribution of righteousness to the gods does not seem to be insisted upon; for Krishna, as we have seen, is particularly prone to guileful arts in order to compass his objects, like the Pallas Athene of Homer, at whose suggestion Pandaros treacherously and unjustifiably wounded Menelaus with an arrow.

In regard to the political condition of India in those earlier times we may, I think, gather from the Epics that the petty rulers who shared the land amongst themselves were very numerous--thousands,[134] indeed, if the poet’s statements could be relied upon,--and we need not doubt that it was the perpetual endeavour of the more able and ambitious of these kings to get as many as possible of their fellow chiefs to acknowledge their supremacy.

No one who studies the narratives attributed to Valmiki and Vyasa will fail to catch glimpses of the simple sagas which formed the ground-work of the great edifices raised by the Indian poets; but, as I have observed in the Introductory Chapter, the value and extent of what is usually considered historical matter to be traced in the “Ramayana” and “Mahabharata” is so small and so doubtful that it fails to command either my interest or my confidence. It may be due to perversity of character, or to want of historical acumen on my part; but when I am expected to believe that the progress of the _Bhojas_ and their allies eastward may be traced in the legend of Karna, given in the “Mahabharata,” with which the reader of the foregoing pages is familiar, I do not feel inclined to acquiesce. And when I am gravely assured that the romantic story of Satyavati, the fisherman’s daughter, her marriage with Santanu and her previous amour with the father of Vyasa, _although absurd in Vyasa’s own poem_, becomes intelligible,--if we will only put the individual fisherman out of court altogether, _forget_ what the poet tells us about Satyavati, and _imagine_ that the young lady in question was a personage of some importance in the family of the _king of the fishing people_,--I feel such efforts towards constructive history are somewhat beyond my abilities.[135]

While writers of one class strain after the hidden historical elements in the “Ramayana” and “Mahabharata,” those of another class (represented by both Europeans and Indians), ingeniously discover in these narratives merely solar myths or moral allegories. It were needless to enlarge upon this topic here, and I have already given instances of such interpretations in the Note appended to the “Ramayana” (p. 91) and in the summary of the “Bhagavatgita” (p. 217). I would merely add that if it be the true function of history to reveal to us living pictures of bygone times, to disclose to us the social life of earlier days, and to make us acquainted with the thoughts, ideals and aspirations of former generations, then the Indian Epics are a solid contribution to historical literature even if they do not happen to chronicle actual events.

The heroes of the Epics, being mostly demigods with a long previous history, an appointed destiny, and subject, like mortal men, to pass through many future existences in other forms, do not, I confess, engage my sympathies very much. Even human beings upon this epic stage lose their distinctive character and cease to interest us if we regard them merely as souls masquerading, as it were, for a certain time in particular forms assumed for the occasion, different from the many they have worn in former states, and unlike those which they will wear in future lives. Indeed the doctrine of metempsychosis, with its fluxional succession of beings, human and divine, undermines the conceptions of definite and permanent individuality so thoroughly that I do not wonder that sober human history, with its limited stage and narrow chronology, has had but little charm for the Hindus.

More remarkable than the heroes of Kurukshetra, however, are the Rishis and Hermits, who stand out upon the canvas of the Epic poets with startling distinctness. These sages, with their austerities, their superhuman powers, their irascibility and their terrible curses, are the Hindu representatives of the magicians and sorcerers of other countries, and form a remarkable feature in the life of even modern India. As a rule the saints of Christendom are of another type, yet, strange to say, there are a few of them, St. Renan for example, to whom have been attributed characteristics not unlike those of the Indian Rishis.[136] Elsewhere a large share, perhaps the greater share, of magical power has been credited to the fair sex; but the Hindu has, characteristically, made no such concession to women, who never at any time in India were granted the free and honoured position accorded them amongst the Germans of Tacitus or the Norsemen of the Eddas, and never enjoyed even the restricted liberty which Greek women were privileged to exercise. Nevertheless, there is, undoubtedly, a substratum of chivalrous feeling towards the weaker sex manifested throughout the Epics, often in a distinct and pronounced manner.

As to the social life of the early heroic age, of which we get so many interesting glimpses in the Epics, it is certain that it was extremely simple and rude; as, for instance, to cite a single example, the life of the Pandavas in their primitive “house of lac,” where their mother ministered to them without the assistance of any servants at all, although, be it remembered, the young princes were supposed to be enjoying themselves away from home on a sort of holiday excursion. There is, however, ample evidence to show that by the time the poems were actually compiled or, at any rate, cast into their present forms, a complicated society had been evolved, and a life of luxurious ease and refinement was not unknown. Throughout the period embraced in the Epics the caste-system was well established, animal food commonly used,[137] and spirituous drinks not prohibited. Polygamy was common, and polyandry a recognized institution, while the practice known as _Niyoga_--of raising up offspring to deceased relatives or childless men--was, undoubtedly, fully established.

Now _caste_, with its baleful influences, still dominates Hindu life; polygamy continues to be common in some parts of India; polyandry is still practised, here and there, in backward places; and _Niyoga_, which has never ceased to be orthodox doctrine, has, in these days, had special prominence given to it by Swami Dayanand, and the sect recently founded by him. The practice in question--which is known in a modified form as _levirate_[138] amongst the Jews--has been established in India since time immemorial, and we have had important instances of it in the foregoing pages.

What Manu, the great Indian _lawgiver_, says on the subject of _Niyoga_ is as follows: “On failure of issue by the husband, if he be of the servile class, the desired offspring may be procreated, either by his brother or some other _sapinda_, on the wife, who has been duly authorized. Sprinkled with clarified butter, silent, in the night, let the kinsman thus appointed beget one son, but a second by no means, on the widow or _childless wife_. By men of twice-born classes no widow or childless wife must be authorized to conceive by any other man than her lord.”[139]

Swami Dayanand, however, does not limit the practice of _Niyoga_ to the inferior castes, nor to the cases referred to by Manu. The modern _reformer_ goes much further, teaching a doctrine, _said to be founded on the Vedas_, which allows a latitude in respect to the relations between the sexes that, to say the least, is extremely startling in this nineteenth century.[140] I am bound to add that I have been very positively assured that Swami Dayanand’s precepts in respect to _Niyoga_ are not actually practised by his followers, but their dangerous tendency is, I presume, undeniable.

From the earliest ages known to the writers of the “Ramayana” and “Mahabharata” cremation of the dead has been the practice in India. Hence in Indian archæology we are deprived of those sources of information--graves, tumuli, cromlechs and sepulchres--which elsewhere, as in Egypt, have furnished such a wealth of facts regarding the earlier races of mankind.

The sacred character of the Brahmans receives abundant recognition in the Epics; and it is noteworthy that, except in the relinquishment of animal food and vinous drinks by a great majority of the Hindus, little change has taken place in the social habits of the people since the heroic age depicted in the Epics. We need not doubt, however, that the abstention from animal food and, with it, from wine and spirits of all kinds has, in the course of many generations, profoundly modified the national character; and has, perhaps, more than anything else, gradually converted the turbulent, aggressive Aryan into the mild and contemplative Hindu.[141]

A high degree of culture had doubtless been attained by the Indians before the Epics were cast into their present forms. The industrial arts would seem to have flourished, and we have seen how highly the poets appreciated and enjoyed the beauty of the woodlands, and how much they were impressed with the scenery of their grand mountains. This in itself is a remarkable fact, as the charms of landscape beauty do not seem to have been realized in the West until a somewhat later time.

The ideal of human (particularly female) beauty which possessed the minds of the Hindu bards has been indicated by several allusions and quotations in the preceding chapters. It is certainly not that embodied in the Venus of Melos or the Apollo Belvedere; but every age and country has its own ideals.

Throughout the foregoing brief narrative there has been ample evidence of the height to which the speculative imagination of the Hindus had carried them in endeavouring to read the riddle of human destiny, and notably so in the subtle pantheism of the “Bhagavatgita,” a work which, even if the date assigned to it by European scholars be accepted, and with that its authors’ supposed acquaintance with Christian ideas, must still excite our admiration by its largeness of conception and liberality of sentiments--expressed many centuries before Luther nailed his famous ninety-five theses upon the door of the church at Wittenberg.

The imaginative faculty never fails the bards of the Indian Epics, who too often indulge in a very delirium of exaggeration. Yet, notwithstanding their supreme contempt for probabilities or consistency, and their lofty scorn of numerical limitations, it cannot be denied that these Hindu poets, with their lawless imaginations, take us completely captive and carry us along with them, surprised and delighted, through the wonderful scenes of their creation; while one cannot but feel in their company that the intellectual atmosphere which surrounds them is a stronger one and more spiritual than that which was breathed by the Greeks of Homer or the Teutons of the Eddas.

On the whole, it may be said that the Indian Epics as they have reached us, reveal to the careful student an ancient free and vigorous primitive social life and turbulent times, overlaid by a later and less healthy, if more refined civilization, which was permeated with ecclesiasticism; and that they exhibit a strange mixture of what Mr. Herbert Spencer would call the “ethics of enmity” and the “ethics of amity.” The later stage of Indian history--the age of Brahmanism succeeding the heroic age and continuing to the present day--may, I think, be well compared with the Middle Ages in Europe, when priestly influence was predominant and national life at a low ebb. Europe, under the influence of the spirit of industrialism and modern science, has emancipated itself from the numbing influences of the Dark Ages. When will India do the same? For how many more centuries is she destined to wrangle over unprofitable theological questions, as did the Byzantine Greeks while the conqueror was thundering at their gates?

My pleasant undertaking has occupied more time than I had anticipated when I took it in hand; but I leave it now with a profound appreciation of the capabilities of a people who have produced such works as the “Ramayana” and “Mahabharata.”

In every age--even in an industrial age of busy scientific progress and mechanical triumphs like our own--the human mind turns with fond interest to any picture which shows how men in the fore-time lived and thought, and it listens eagerly to any song which echoes through the vanished years the fervent hopes and lofty aspirations of buried generations. Therefore, I trust that my little work, though it be but a sketch of a great picture and the echo of a grand old song, may find favour with the public, and help to open up to English readers a strange but interesting world of Eastern ideas and conceptions. Above all, however, I hope that my pages represent--as I believe they do--both fairly and adequately the great Epics of India.

CHISWICK PRESS:--CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO. TOOKS COURT CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] “No other work in India at the present day possesses the attraction which these epics have for the majority of the people.”--_Life in an Indian Village_, by T. Rama Krishna, B.A. (T. Fisher Unwin, 1891).

[2] Professor Max Müller’s Hibbert Lectures, 1878, p. 50.

[3] Prisoners of war of all ranks were sacrificed in numbers.

[4] Du Chaillu’s “The Viking Age,” vol i., chapter xx., _et seq._

[5] “A Brief History of the Indian People,” by Sir William Wilson Hunter, K.C.S.I. (Trübner and Co.).

[6] The world has recently been informed by Dr. Brinton that the theory attributed to Dr. Latham was really first advanced by Omalius D’Halloy in the “Bulletins de l’Academie Royale de Belgique” in May, 1848 (“Nature,” July 21st, 1892).

[7] As is maintained by Dr. Hermann Braunehoffer, “Journal of Royal Asiatic Society,” 1890, pp. 687-689.

[8] “The Origin of the Aryans,” by Isaac Taylor, M.A., LL.D. (Walter Scott); “Prehistoric Antiquities of the Aryan Peoples,” by Dr. O. Schrader, translated by F. B. Jevons, M.A. (Charles Griffin and Co.).

[9] The preparations for a recital of this kind in a village in the Madras Presidency are thus described. “People came pouring in from Kelambakam and from neighbouring villages to the house of the village headman. On the _pial_ of his house was seated the preacher. Before him was placed the picture of Krishna playing the flute and leaning on a cow. The picture was profusely decorated with flowers. There were also two small vessels. In one there were camphor and some burning incense, in the other were flowers and fruits. The people swarmed about like bees.”--_Life in an Indian Village_, by T. Rama Krishna, B.A., p. 144.

[10] “The Ethnography of Afghanistan,” by Dr. H. W. Bellew, C.S.I., in the “Asiatic Quarterly Review,” October, 1891.

[11] “The Rámáyan of Válmikí,” translated into English verse by Ralph T. H. Griffith, M.A., Principal of the Benares College (London, Trübner and Co.).

[12] Of Yoga and Yogaism I have given a brief account in a previous work, “Indian Life, Religious and Social,” pp. 11-47 (London, Fisher Unwin).

[13] “The Ramayana,” translated into English prose from the original Sanskrit of Valmiki by Manmatha Nath Dutt, M.A. (Deva Press, Calcutta). If not otherwise stated, all prose quotations from the “Ramayana” included in the following pages are derived from this work.

[14] “The ruins of the ancient capital of Kama and the children of the Sun may still be traced in the present Ajudhya near Fyzabad. Ajudhya is the Jerusalem or Mecca of the Hindus.”--Note, vol. i., p. 35, of Mr. Griffith’s translation of the “Ramayana” (Trübner and Co., London).

[15] What a terrible thing it is for a Hindu to be childless can be understood, and then only partially, by bearing in mind that, without a son to perform the complex funeral rights and ceremonies for a deceased father, the dead man’s soul must undergo ages of trouble in the next world.

[16] According to Hindu belief the gods and the spirits of departed ancestors are actually nourished and sustained by the aroma of the burnt-offerings made by pious persons. Hence the vital importance of these sacrifices, upon which the very safety and continuance of the Universe depend.

[17] This incident introduces us to an important Hindu idea, that the _exact_ performance of certain prescribed rites and sacrifices leads to the attainment of definite objects, as, for example, purification from a particular sin, the destruction of a hated enemy or the discovery of a friend. The gods themselves performed sacrifices, and Indra is commonly addressed as “the performer of a hundred sacrifices.”

[18] The Indian ideas respecting austerities are very peculiar, and as they pervade their religion and literature are specially noteworthy. “According to the Hindu theory the performance of penances was like making deposits in the bank of heaven. By degrees an enormous credit was accumulated, which enabled the depositor to draw to the amount of his savings, without fear of his draughts being refused payment. The power gained in this manner by weak mortals was so enormous, that gods as well as men were equally at the mercy of these all but omnipotent ascetics; and it is remarkable, that even the gods are described as engaging in penance and austerities, in order, it may be presumed, not to be outdone by human beings. Siva was so engaged when the god of love shot an arrow at him.”--Note to page 4 of Professor Sir Monier Williams’s “Indian Epic Poetry.” In the course of the following pages of this book we shall meet with ascetics very often and become familiar with their doings.

[19] The belief in divine incarnations, for the benefit or salvation of the world, is a common and familiar one in the Hindu religion.

[20] The modern Gogra.

[21] Protection against _fever_ would be specially desirable in a country covered with forest and jungle, as the India of the “Ramayana” evidently was.

[22] The power of assuming a multiplicity of forms at will, and of passing from a huge to a minute size, or the reverse, to suit the exigencies of the moment is enjoyed by a great number of personages in the Hindu epics.

[23] We shall in the course of the development of this story have frequent opportunities of learning the awful and irrevocable character of curses uttered by Brahmans and others, rejoicing in the possession of stores of power acquired by the practice of austerities.

[24] _Vide_ M. N. Dutt’s “Ramayana,” p. 75.

[25] “The remains of the capital founded by Janaka and thence termed Janakapur are still to be seen, according to Buchanan, on the northern frontier at the Janeckpoor of the maps.”--Note to Professor H. H. Wilson’s translation of the “Uttara Rama Charitra.”

[26] I have had the good fortune to be present at a marriage ceremony, carried out professedly in accordance with Vedic rites, which closely resembled the wedding of Rama and his brothers, as described by Valmiki.

[27] In this description of Rama and in other places I have borrowed the epithets I find in Dutt’s translation of the “Ramayana,” in order to preserve something of the peculiar character of the original.

[28] Here is a pretty picture for an artist, Hindu or other.

[29] Dasahratha himself attributed these misfortunes to his having when a youth unwittingly killed, with a chance arrow, a young hermit in the forest. The boy’s father, himself a hermit, cursed Dasahratha, and the effects of the malediction were apparent in the troubles attending the king’s declining years.

[30] This significant passage from the “Ramayana” ought to clear away the doubts that may linger in anyone’s mind regarding the fact that animal food was commonly eaten in ancient India, since animal sacrifices are constantly referred to. Of course there is abundant positive evidence on the subject as in the preceding page.

[31] Near Salem in Southern India are “some chalk hills supposed by the natives to be formed of the bones of the mythical bird Jatayus, killed by Ravana when carrying off Sita.”--+PROFESSOR SIR MONIER WILLIAMS’S+ “Modern India,” p. 165.

[32] Mr. Griffith’s “Ramayana,” vol. iii., p. 324.

[33] As respects the Vanars it has to be noted that while implying that they were _monkeys_ and nothing more, the poet has, for the most part, represented them--if we may judge by their sentiments and actions--as beings of a very superior order.

[34] This car from the hand of Visvakarma recalls the famous embossed shield of Achilles, the masterpiece of Vulcan’s art, made of brass, tin, gold and silver, and divided into twelve compartments, each representing a distinct and complicated scene (for example, a wedding procession or a battle) wrought with marvellous skill.

[35] There can be no doubt whatever that the seclusion of women was the common practice in ancient India. Wherever polygamy exists the seclusion of women is a necessity, and that polygamy did exist in the India of the “Ramayana” is abundantly evident from what we are told concerning the courts of Dasahratha, Sugriva and Ravana. The Greeks kept their women a good deal in the background; but Helen’s position in the court of her husband Menelaus, or Penelope’s in that of Ulysses, was far more free than the position of any queen mentioned in the “Ramayana.”

[36] The lover of English poetry will recall to mind the similar description of sleeping beauties in the sixth canto of “Don Juan,” stanzas lxiv.-lxix.

[37] The contrast between the fair Vaidehi and her ruthless persecutors in the enchanting ashoka grove might make a striking subject for the canvas of an able artist. Indeed, there is in the “Ramayana” no lack of suggestive and satisfactory _motifs_ for the chisel and the brush. It is, indeed, a mine not yet wrought.

[38] Whoever has not forgotten his Virgil will probably be reminded of the famous storm in the “Æneid” and of Neptune’s serene and majestic appearance above the troubled waters of the sea.

[39] Some hundred thousand billions (see note to Griffith’s “Ramayana,” vol. v., p. 88).

[40] _Camped_; but not like a modern army under canvas. The Vanars, I trow, needed no commissariat department, living as they did on fruits and roots. And the sons of Raghu were nearly as well used to woodland fare and lodging as their simian allies.

[41] “The chariots of Ravana’s present army are said to have been one hundred and fifty million in number, with three hundred million elephants and twelve hundred million horses and asses. The footmen are merely said to have been unnumbered.”--Note to Griffith’s “Ramayana,” book vi., canto xcvi.

[42] At this point the great epic of Valmiki properly ends; but a supplementary work, also popularly attributed to Valmiki, exists which affords further details of the lives of the principal personages of the poem. Upon the particulars supplied in this work the succeeding paragraphs are based.

[43] Professor E. B. Cowell (“Academy,” No. 43). In Bhavabhuti’s drama, entitled “Uttara Rama Charitra,” the _dénouement_ is different. Sita’s purity is attested by the goddess Ganga (the Ganges) and by Prithivi (the earth). The people bow in respectful homage to her. Rama welcomes her back, and with her two sons, Kusa and Lava, they pass many happy years together.

[44] Muir, “Sanskrit Texts,” part iv., appendix.

[45] The “Ramayana” of Tulsi Das, which differs in some respects from the original poem of Valmiki, has been translated into English by Mr. F. J. Growse of the Bengal Civil Service.

[46] Ravana is described as having ten heads; but the effigy I saw had several faces, I do not think so many as ten, with the head of an ass surmounting all.

[47] Properly the figure should have had twenty _arms_.

[48] Bishop Heber was told that, in the _good old times_, the poor children were always “poisoned in the sweetmeats given to them the last day of the show, that it might be said their spirits were absorbed into the deities whom they had represented.”--+HEBER’S+ “Narrative of a Journey through the Upper Provinces of India” (1824-25), p. 191.

[49] _Vide_ “On the Ramayana,” by Dr. Albrecht Weber (Trübner and Co., 1863).

[50] “Indian Epic Poetry,” p. 3 (Williams and Norgate, London, 1863).

[51] “Early History of Northern India,” by J. F. Hewitt, “Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society,” 1890, p. 744.

[52] “Nouvelle Géographie Universelle,” par Elisée Reclus, tome viii., p. 873, _et seq._ Keane’s “Asia,” pp. 678-680.

[53] It is, I think, impossible, after reading the tedious genealogies of the kings in the “Mahabharata,” to avoid the conclusion that there is a substratum of history beneath it all, notwithstanding the clouds of mythological dust which obscure the view.

[54] The “Mahabharata” of Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa, translated into English prose, by Pratap Chundur Roy (Calcutta, Bharata Press). If not otherwise stated, all prose quotations from the “Mahabharata” included in the following pages are derived from this work.

[55] “Every race has in its history one grand achievement on which it hangs all its past and all its future: and the memory of which is a rallying cry and a pledge of prosperity. The Exodus, the Jews would say; the overthrow of the Medes, would the Persians; the Median wars, the Greeks in their turn say. These will be recalled on all occasions to furnish arguments, political claims, rhetorical effects, patriotic encouragement in great crises, and in the end imperishable regrets.”--_Essai sur l’histoire universelle_, par M. Prévost-Paradol, tome premier, p. 166.

[56] “Adi Parva,” of the “Mahabharata,” section xcvi. A somewhat different story is told in section xcix.

[57] The battle, as described by the poet, is of little interest; but Bhisma’s challenge to the assembled kings is worthy of reproduction, as throwing light upon the marriage customs of the olden time in India. “In a voice like the roar of the clouds he exclaimed: ‘The wise have directed that after inviting an accomplished person a maiden may be bestowed on him, decked in ornaments and along with many valuable presents. Others again may bestow their daughters by accepting of a couple of kine, some again bestow their daughters by taking a fixed sum, and some take away maidens by force. Some wed with the consent of the maidens, some by drugging them into consent, and some by going unto the maidens’ parents and obtaining their sanction. Some again obtain wives as presents for assisting at sacrifices. Of these the learned always applaud the eighth form of marriage. Kings, however, speak highly of the swayamvara (the fifth form as above) and themselves wed according to it. But the sages have said that that wife is dearly to be prized who is taken away by force, after slaughter of opponents, from amid the concourse of princes and kings invited to a swayamvara. Therefore, ye monarchs, I bear away these maidens from hence by force. Strive ye to the best of your might to vanquish me or be vanquished.’”--P. C. Roy’s translation of the “Adi Parva” of the “Mahabharata,” p. 307.

[58] The custom referred to in this paragraph and known as _niyoga_, is considered briefly in the concluding chapter.

[59] P. C. Roy’s “Adi Parva,” p. 325. This story throws considerable light on the ideas of the Hindus with respect to their gods.

[60] Vyasa, as we have seen, was no blood relation of the house of Bharata. Similarly, the widows of King Vichitra-virya and the Sudra slave-girl were not connected to the family by ties of consanguinity; and _yet the children of Vyasa by these women_ are, from the Hindu point of view, lineal descendants of King Shantanu.

[61] This parentage is rather bewildering after what we have learned already about Vidura being no other than Dharma in human form.

[62] This is an instance of _suttee_ in ancient India worth noting.

[63] The modern Allahabad and, at that time, probably a frontier town of the Aryan invaders.

[64] “The traditional site of this event is in the Allahabad district, on the left bank of the Ganges, three miles south of Handia Taksil. The village of Lachagarh (Laksha = lac) is said to take its name from this event. It stands on the bank of the river, which is never cut away by the stream. This is said to be due to the melted lac which keeps the earth together. People come to bathe on the Somwati Amawas when the new moon falls on a Monday. Jhusi or Pratishtapur, the capital of the Chandraransi Rajah is twenty-four miles from there.”--_North Indian Notes and Queries_, August, 1894, p. 89.

[65] I don’t think it is at all unlikely that cannibalism prevailed in India at this early period, as it does in Africa to-day, and these stories are only the Hindu bard’s exaggerated way of recording the fact.

[66] Karna had been brought up in the family of a Suta or charioteer and was reckoned as belonging to that caste.

[67] From this story of Draupadi it seems evident that polyandry was practised at least in parts of ancient India; as, indeed, it is to this day, in portions of the Himalayan region. That it was not very uncommon in the old-time we may gather from a remark, attributed to Karna, in reference to Draupadi herself--“women always like to have many husbands” (“Adi Parva” of the “Mahabharata,” section cciv.).

[68] “Again the site of Indraprasta is far more distinctly indicated than the site of Hastinapur. The pilgrim who wends his way from the modern city to Delhi to pay a visit to the strange relics of the ancient world, which surround the mysterious Kutub, will find on either side of his road a number of desolate heaps of the débris of thousands of years, the remains of successive capitals which date back to the very dawn of history, and local tradition still points to these sepulchres of departed ages as the sole remains of the Raj of the sons of Pandu and their once famous city of Indraprasta.”--+WHEELER’S+ “History of India,” vol. i., p. 142.

[69] Such is the Hindu poet’s conception of the court of Yama, the god of departed spirits, a delightful place where there is no lack of sensuous pleasures. He places amongst the attendants in this court “all sinners amongst human beings;” but as, according to Brahmanical theology, there is punishment for the wicked, we may presume that the sinners referred to are only temporary sojourners in this pleasant abode, awaiting their trial and the judgment of Yama upon their deeds.

[70] Pratibhindhya, Sutasoma, Sutakarna, Shotanika, and Srutasena.

[71] It would appear that only one of the armies--that which proceeded northward--went outside the limits of India, to the countries immediately beyond the Himalayas. India, with the region just referred to, was, for the poets of the “Mahabharata,” the _whole world_. On this point see Dr. Rajendra Lalla Mitra’s “Indo-Aryans,” vol. ii., pp. 9-12.

[72] This statement, which is so consistent with what is known in respect to genuine historical events in India, throws a strong side-light upon the utter inability of the Indian kings from times immemorial to unite for purposes of defence, their ready acceptance of defeat, and their willing allegiance to the conqueror.

[73] The whole story, though so bewilderingly strange, is yet so characteristically Hindu in its conception and motive, that I could not exclude it even from this brief sketch. Nor could I venture to present it in words other than those of an orthodox Hindu translator.

[74] Throughout these epics, questions of right and wrong, policy and impolicy are discussed with rare acumen.

[75] A little later Arjuna, addressing Krishna, says: “O slayer of all foes, having floated on the primordial waters, thou subsequently becamest Hari, and Brahma, and Surya, and Dharma, and Dhatri, and Yama, and Anala, and Vayu, and Vaisravana, and Rudra, and Kala, and the firmament, the earth, and the ten directions! Thyself incarnate, thou art the lord of the mobile and immobile universe, the creator of all, O thou foremost of all existences.” It would appear that each deity who is invoked is credited by his adorer with being the origin and support of the entire universe, the beginning and the end of all things.

[76] In a subsequent page, however, we find the following. “Tell us now, O Brahman, what was the food of the sons of Pandu while they lived in the woods? Was it of the wilderness or was it the produce of cultivation?” Vaisampayana said “Those bulls among men collecting the produce of the wilderness, and killing the deer with pure arrows, first dedicated a portion of the food to the Brahmans and themselves ate the rest.” (Section L.)

[77] This is an interesting and noteworthy instance of idolatry attributed to one of the ancient Aryan heroes by the Brahman authors of the “Mahabharata.”

[78] “_Apsaras_--The Apsaras are the celebrated nymphs of Indra’s heaven.... It is said that when they came forth from the waters (at the churning of the ocean) neither the gods nor the Asuras would have them for wives, so they become common to all.... The Apsaras, then, are fairy-like beings, beautiful and voluptuous. Their amours on earth have been numerous, and they are the rewards in Indra’s paradise held out to heroes who fall in battle.”--+PROF. DAWSON’S+ “Classical Dictionary of Hindu Mythology,” etc.

[79] This is only a single instance of the perpetual and undying hostility between the celestials on the one hand and the demons on the other.

[80] Markandeya’s description of the dissolution and recreation of the world has undoubtedly a certain grandiose character about it, but betrays the extremely limited geographical knowledge of these omniscient sages, whose acquaintance with the earth’s surface is strictly bounded by the Himalayas and the Southern Sea.

[81] _A smiling fish_ is, at least, an original idea. In another place we find the following in regard to a very ancient tortoise. “And as he came there we asked him, saying: ‘Dost thou know this King Indra-dyumna?’ And the tortoise reflected for a moment. And his eyes filled with tears, and his heart was much moved, and he trembled all over and was nearly deprived of his senses. And he said with joined hands, ‘Alas, do I not know that one?’”--_Vana Parva_, p. 604.--P. C. Roy.

[82] This Hindu legend of the destruction of the world by water affords materials for a comparison with the Mosaic account of the same event, and the Chaldean story of the deluge, as recorded on the tablets which have been deciphered by the late George Smith.

[83] There are, according to the “Mahabharata,” so many easy modes of obtaining a complete release from the penalties of sin, and of attaining heaven, that it would seem that only the most culpable negligence and obstinacy could lead the Hindu to lose his chance of being purged from sin and of enjoying beatitude hereafter. It must be remembered, however, that there are also passages, in which it is emphatically laid down, that _purity of heart_ is an essential and indispensable condition of salvation.--_Vana Parva_, section cc.

[84] This appeal to _tradition_ from a sage who had actually witnessed the destruction and recreation of the entire universe is rather strange.

[85] With important differences and limitations the modern doctrine of _heredity_ may be regarded as the scientific analogue of the Hindu doctrine of _Karma_. One, however, is based on indisputable facts, the other on pure fancy. But whatever their merits or shortcomings, whatever the bases of truth or reasonableness on which they rest, neither the one doctrine nor the other can, unfortunately, afford a rational mind any _consolation_ for the ills and apparent injustice of the present life; and, assuredly, neither the one nor the other can supply any stimulus towards the performance of good actions. A small class of persons in Europe seem to have become profoundly enamoured of the subtle ideas which underlie the doctrine of _Karma_; but he must be strangely constituted whose sense of justice can be satisfied, or who can derive any _comfort_ in his present struggle against the evils of life, from the thought that he is suffering the consequences of deeds done by his soul in previous and _unremembered_ existences, or can be induced to make for righteousness by the reflection that, after his physical death, the happiness of some other being, possibly a cat, into which his soul transmigrates, will be influenced by his deeds in the present life. But, at the same time, it may be admitted that the doctrine of _Karma_ may certainly, in the case of some races, conduce towards a helpless and hopeless resignation, counterfeiting contentment.

[86] From “Ballads and Legends of Hindustan,” by Miss Toru Dutt, the gifted Bengali girl, whose premature death in 1877, at the early age of twenty-one years, caused a sad loss to India.

[87] Here we have a glimpse of the simple life of those primitive times.

[88] A few of the questions put and answers given on this occasion may afford some insight into Indian modes of thought.

Q. What is it that maketh the sun rise? Who keep him company? Who causeth him to set? In whom is he established?

A. Brahma maketh the sun rise: the gods keep him company: Dharma causeth him to set: and he is established in truth.

Q. What is that which doth not close its eyes while asleep? What is that which doth not move after birth? What is that without a heart? And what is that which swells with its own impetus?

A. A fish doth not close its eyes while asleep: an egg doth not move after birth: a stone is without a heart: a river swelleth with its own impetus.

Q. What constitutes _the_ way? What hath been spoken of as water? What as food? And what as poison?

A. They that are good constitute _the_ way: space has been spoken of as water: the cow is food: a request is poison.

[To this answer the translator, Babu P. C. Roy, appends the following notes among others. “The crutis speak of the cow as the only food, in the following sense. The cow gives milk. The milk gives butter. The butter is used in _Homa_. The Homa is the cause of the clouds. The clouds give rain. The rain makes the seeds to sprout forth and produce food. Nilakantha endeavours to explain this in a spiritual sense. There is, however, no need of such explanation here.”]

[89] This sudden and rather unartistic introduction of the goddess Kali, unmentioned before, looks very much like a clumsy addition to the epic made at a comparatively modern date in the interests of the later developments of Hinduism.

[90] The cook in the council chamber! This is a sample of the primitive ideas which underlie the epic.

[91] “Mahabharata Udyoga Parva,” section clx.

[92] “The plain of Kurukshetra,” says Mr. Talboys Wheeler, “is generally identified with the field of Panipat, which lies to the northwest of the modern city of Delhi. This plain is famous in modern history as being the site of two of the greatest and most decisive battles that have been fought in modern times. It was here that Baber, in +A.D.+ 1525, overthrew the Afghan rulers at Delhi and established the dynasty of the Moguls, and it was here in 1761 that Ahmad Shah Abdali, the Sovereign of Cabul, inflicted such a crushing blow upon the Mahrattas as indirectly cleared the way for the establishment of British supremacy.”--Note to Wheeler’s “History of India,” vol. i., p. 272. The identification of Panipat with Kurukshetra in the above passage is incorrect, and probably led to the disappointment experienced by Sir Edwin Arnold when he visited Panipat and found that the inhabitants of the place were ignorant of the history of Kurukshetra and its precise position (see his “India Revisited,” p. 193). It is near _Thanesar_ and not Panipat that the Brahmans find _Kurukshetra_, and the various incidents of the old story are associated with many spots in that locality. In Chapter III., entitled “The Sacred Land,” I have given some account of the modern aspects of Kurukshetra.

[93] These are large numbers indeed, but the poet does not limit himself to them, and in one of his flights of imagination speaks of a hundred millions of warriors having been slain in ten days by a single hero (“Bhisma Parva,” section xiv.). In another moment of inspiration he places “a hundred millions and twenty thousand” cars in a certain strategical position on the field (“Bhisma Parva,” section l.). There is, in the “Mahabharata” generally, an affectation of precision in regard to numbers, as when the narrator informs us that such a one was hit with _three_ arrows, another with _four_, and a third with _seven_; but there is no attempt to preserve consistency, and, whenever the bard is so disposed, he revels without scruple in the biggest figures imaginable.

[94] Here is a reference to the images of gods and goddesses existing at the period of the great war, which is both important and suggestive. They are also referred to again in section cxiii. of the “Bhisma Parva.”

[95] Bhisma’s standard was a gold palmyra palm; Drona’s a golden altar; Duryodhana’s an elephant wrought in gems; Arjuna carried on his car a banner whereon was seated a gigantic ape. Each chief of note had his own distinguishing standard or banner.

[96] This famous dialogue is too long to be dealt with in this place and too important to be passed over altogether; so I have appended a note on the subject, to which the reader’s attention is invited.

[97] This allusion to the Mlecchas and Aryas fighting side by side is interesting and noteworthy. Later on, we shall have occasion to note the presence of Rakshasas also in either army.

[98] Millions upon millions. _Vide_ section cxv. of the “Bhisma Parva.”

[99] “Then with a thousand arrows well shot, Pandu’s son Arjuna, famed for his skill in battle, shrouded Bhisma on all sides. That arrowy net, however, of Partha, Bhisma the son of Cantanu, baffled with an arrowy net (of his own).... And the successive flights of arrows shot from Bhisma’s bow were seen to be dispersed by the shafts of Arjuna. And so the flights of arrows shot by Arjuna, cut off by the arrows of Ganga’s son, all fell down on the ground.”--_Bhisma Parva_, section lii.

[100] It is worthy of note that Rakshasas are present in both the Kaurava and Pandava armies.

[101] “Mahabharata, Bhisma Parva,” section lxix. That the numbers are intended to be precise will be apparent from the following passage which is quoted merely as a sample:--“Then Bhisma, the grandsire of the Kauravas, struck Arjuna with seventy-seven arrows, and Drona (struck him) with five-and-twenty, and Kripa with fifty, and Duryodhana with four-and-sixty, and Cala with nine arrows, and Drona’s son, that tiger among men, with sixty, and Vikarna with three arrows, and Saindhana with nine, and Cakuni with five. And Artayani pierced Pandu’s son with three broad-headed arrows. And though pierced on all sides by them with sharp arrows, that great bowman, that mighty-armed (warrior) wavered not, like a mountain that is pierced with arrows.”--_Ibid._, section lii.

[102] “Mahabharata, Bhisma Parva,” section xiv.

[103] “Mahabharata, Bhisma Parva,” section lxxxvii.

[104] Drona, being a Brahman, it would never have done for him to have actually died by the sword of Dhrista-dyumna. Yet this prince was born expressly to destroy Drona--hence this attempt to reconcile Brahman sensitiveness and pretensions with the details of the old legend.

[105] This description of Duryodhana’s death scene is based upon the version in Mr. Talboys Wheeler’s “History of India,” vol. i. pp. 351-352, which is derived from a translation of the epic in the library of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, supposed to have been prepared by Prof. H. H. Wilson.

[106] The “Mahabharata” quoted in “History of India,” by J. Talboys Wheeler, vol. i., pp. 386-390.

[107] _Ibid._, p. 401.

[108] “A Pilgrimage to the Field of the Mahabharata,” by Madho Ram, B.A., “Punjab Magazine,” June, 1890.

[109] It is worth noting that it was on the western side of the lake that the Pandavas encamped, and Kauravas on the eastern side.

[110] “Archæological Survey of India Reports,” vol. xiv. (Punjab), by General Cunningham, p. 90.

[111] With the decay of Thanesar there has been a marked falling off in the number of pilgrims to the sacred places. “The sanitary arrangements introduced by the British authorities to prevent the spread of disease are said to be most unpopular and to deter large numbers of pilgrims from attending.... It is said that, whereas in former days great men used to march to Thanesar with small armies of followers and attendants they now come by rail with a few servants to the nearest station and return in the same way.”--_Gazetteer of the Ambala District_, pp. 73-74. On the other hand, the railways must bring to the shrines many who could not have spared the time or the money to visit them under the old conditions of travel.

[112] “A Pilgrimage to the Field of the Mahabharata,” by Madho Ram, B.A., “Punjab Magazine,” June, 1890.

[113] _Vide_ Dr. Lorinser’s Essay on the subject in the “Indian Antiquary,” vol. ii. and the reply thereto prefixed to the translation of the “Bhagavatgita,” by Kashi Nath Trimbak Telang, M.A., LL.B.

[114] Arjuna had apparently forgotten that he had already encountered and defeated these venerable elders of his in the interests of the King of Panchala (p. 162).

[115] As in sacrifices the gods derived sustenance from the ethereal portion of the burnt-offering, so, no doubt, the corporeal frame (especially when cremated) supplied an ethereal one for the disembodied soul, which was not yet entirely freed from the trammels of _matter_ though released from the bonds of its grosser forms.

[116] There is a most important reason in favour of the special exception in regard to the performance of work in the case of sacrifices, for, as Krishna explains: “From food are all creatures; from rain is the production of food; rain is produced from sacrifice; and sacrifice is the outcome of work.”

[117] Neither the joys of heaven nor the pains of hell could, in the view of Hindu theologians, be _eternal_. When an embodied soul has, by good actions, austerities, etc., acquired sufficient merit, it is permitted to taste the joys of heaven for a length of time proportional to its deserts. When these are exhausted it returns to be born again on this earth. Similarly the embodied soul whose evil deeds deserve punishment serves its time in hell and then returns to be re-born on the earth. In either case there is _after re-birth_ no recollection of previous existences or of former joys and sorrows. But, in heaven or in hell, a recollection would be retained of the last state on earth, of which, indeed, the celestial or infernal condition would be only a sort of continuation.

[118] “Absence of vanity, absence of ostentation, abstention from injury, forgiveness, uprightness, devotion to preceptor, purity, constancy, self-restraint, indifference to objects of sense, absence of egoism, perception of the misery and evil of birth, death, decrepitude and disease, freedom from attachment, absence of sympathy for son, wife, home, and the rest, and constant equanimity of heart on attainment of good and evil, unswerving devotion to me without meditation on anything else, frequenting of lonely places, distaste for concourse of men, constancy in the knowledge of the relation of the individual self to the supreme, perception of the object of the knowledge of truth--all this is called knowledge, all that which is contrary to this is ignorance. That which is the object of knowledge I will (now) declare (to thee) knowing which, one obtaineth immortality. (It is) the supreme Brahma, having no beginning, who is said to be neither existent nor non-existent, etc., etc.”--Krishna, in “Bhagavatgita.”

[119] Those who have a leaning towards esoterics and mysticism may read “Discourse on the Bhagavatgita,” by T. Subba Row, B.A., B.L., F.T.S. (Bombay, 1888), from which they will learn, pp. 56-58, that the Pandavas represent in reality the five elements which constitute man or rather Humanity; that “the Kauravas are no other than the evil propensities of man, his vices and their allies,” and that “the philosophy of Krishna teaches Arjuna that he must conquer these, however closely related to him they may be, before he can secure the kingdom or the mastery over self.”

[120] “Republic,” book x., chapters 614-621.

[121] “The name as commonly used applies to Vishnu, and is that under which he was first worshipped.”--+DOWSON’S+ “Classical Dictionary of Hindu Mythology.”

[122] Of Mandara the poet says: “Upwards it riseth eleven thousand _Yojanas_ and descendeth downwards as much.”

[123] The goddess of fortune.

[124] If these poems are really ancient, I think we need not have any hesitation in concluding that the Zenana system was in force in India in early times, and was not introduced, as many Hindus declare, after the conquest of India by the Muhammadans. Possibly the _purdah_ was made more strict after the Muslims established themselves south of the Himalayas.

[125] This Kali is the Kali-yuga personified as the spirit of evil (Dowson’s “Classical Dictionary of Hindu Mythology”).

[126] I desire to draw special attention to this interesting passage, which, in its native simplicity, throws considerable light upon the ideas and sentiments which lie at the root of the practice of the worship of the unseen powers who are believed to govern the lives of men.

[127] This shows clearly that widow re-marriage was allowed.

[128] “The History of Indian Literature,” by Dr. Albrecht Weber, pp. 185-188.

[129] “Tarikh-i-Badauni” of Abdul Kadir Badauni, Elliot’s “Muhammadan Historians of India,” vol. v., pp. 537-538.

[130] “Mahabharata, Bhisma Parva,” section lix., p. 224.

[131] “The favourite idea of classical antiquity was not the idea of progress, but the idea of a cycle of changes in which departure _from_ the original unity and return _to_ it, or, as we should say, differentiation and integration, are not united, but follow each other. This idea seems to be adopted even by Aristotle.”--+CAIRD’S+ “Evolution of Religion,” vol. i., p. 21.

[132] What god can Sanjaya refer to? Surely it must be fate, inexorable destiny, of which he is thinking.

[133] “Mahabharata, Udyoga Parva,” section clix.

[134] “Mahabharata, Bhisma Parva,” section lix., p. 217, and section lxxxii., p. 295.

[135] However, the reader who considers such historical inferences sufficiently interesting and important, may consult the articles entitled “Early History of Northern India,” by F. W. Hewitt, in the “Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society,” 1888-89-90.

[136] Renan’s “Recollections of my Youth,” pp. 72-75.

[137] “All creatures support life by living upon one another.”--“Mahabharata, Bhisma Parva,” p. 16.

[138] Deut. xxv. 5 10, and Gen. xxxviii.

[139] Manu, ix. 59, 60 and 64.

[140] On the subject of Niyoga the reader may consult Sir Henry Maine’s “Dissertation on Early Law and Custom,” pp. 100 and 107, and “A Treatise on Hindu Law and Usage,” by John D. Mayne, chapter iv.

[141] The abandonment of animal food and ardent spirits was probably due to Buddhistic influence, though Buddha himself, as is well known, ate pork. I have been assured by well-informed Indian gentlemen that within the last few years there has been a marked tendency amongst many sections of the people to take to a flesh diet and alcoholic stimulants--in fact to revert to the old Aryan habits in these respects.