Part 6 (1/2)
Arjuna, the wise know the body as a farm and the mind as its farmer. This body, your farm, is const.i.tuted by the five elements that make up your flesh, your notion of who you are, your intelligence, your emotions, your sense organs, your response organs and the pastures that your senses graze upon, and all that causes pain and pleasure, attraction and revulsion.-Bhagavad Gita, Chapter 13, verses 1 to 6 (paraphrased).
In the Upanishads, kshetra is seen as the third layer of deha. It is the outermost layer, known as the social layer (karana-sharira). Then comes the physical layer (sthula-sharira) and finally the mental layer (sukshma-sharira). Social body refers to property inherited at birth or earned through effort. Physical body, container of beauty, skills and talent, is the flesh, which is acquired at birth. The mental body comprises our sensations, our feelings and our ideas and, most importantly, how we imagine ourselves. The mental body is the resident-owner, dehi-kshetragna. When the mind outgrows its dependence on kshetra and deha, it discovers atma. When we die, the deha is cremated. We live behind kshetra. The dehi/kshetragna/atma move on to the next life if still dependent on deha and kshetra, else it breaks free entirely from the unending waves of rebirths and re-deaths.
Three Bodies In the Mahabharata, both Arjuna and Karna are talented archers. In fact, Karna has the distinct advantage of being born with celestial armour and earrings that cling to his body like flesh. But society respects Arjuna more than Karna, because Arjuna is seen as a prince of the Kuru clan and legal heir of Hastinapur, while Karna is seen as a charioteer's son, even after he is made a warrior and king by Duryodhana who admires his talent with the bow. For society, kshetra is more important than deha. No one cares about dehi.
So much value is given to the external that neither Arjuna nor Karna look within for ident.i.ty. Arjuna derives his ident.i.ty from his talent (archery), his inherited t.i.tle (Pandu's son) and the estate he cultivates (Indra-prastha). Karna also derives his ident.i.ty from his talent (archery), but he distances himself from his inherited t.i.tle (charioteer's son) and strives to earn new t.i.tles (Duryodhana's friend) and estates (Anga). Ident.i.ty based on what we have is aham, not atma.
The karana-sharira is an outcome of karma-past karma and present karma. What we attract naturally towards us is based on past karma. What we bring forcibly towards us is based on current karma. Arjuna's royal status is based on past karma, as is Karna's a.s.sociation with charioteers. Neither of them chose this. It was an accident of birth. Archery is their inborn talent that they inherited and honed with effort. Arjuna's a.s.sociation with Indra-prastha, and Karna's a.s.sociation with Anga, are the outcome of effort. Or are they? Were these properties supposed to come into their lives after a struggle? It is not easy to answer these questions. Karana-sharira remains mysterious. It travels with us from our previous lives into our next lives, gathering impressions of karma, keeping a record of debts that we are obliged to repay.
Two Types of Social Bodies Property and proprietors exist only in culture (sanskriti), not nature (prakriti). The divide between nature and culture, forest and field, is a consistent theme in Hinduism. In the Sama Veda, where hymns of the Rig Veda are put to melody, songs are cla.s.sified into two: songs of the forest (aranya-gana) and songs of the settlement (grama-gana). What applies to the forest does not apply to the settlement: in the forest, the rules of man are meaningless, not so in the settlement. The Pandavas realize this during their exile.
In the forest, Arjuna shoots a wild boar and discovers it has been struck by another arrow, that of a tribal, or kirata. As ent.i.tled prince, he claims the boar as his. But the kirata does not recognize him as prince, and demands that the two fight over it like two alpha males fighting over a territory or a mate: the winner takes the prize. In the forest, Arjuna realizes his social body does not matter. Only his strength and skill do.
In the final year of exile, the Pandavas have to hide, keep their ident.i.ties secret. As per the agreement with the Kauravas, if discovered in this year, they would have to go back to the forest for another twelve years. During this period, they take employment as servants in the palace of Virata, king of Matsya. They discover for the first time what it means to be a servant, when one has nothing to offer other than skills and so become the objects of constant abuse and exploitation.
The Pandavas as Princes and as Servants Without their t.i.tles or estates, the Pandavas had no value. To get back their kshetra from the Kauravas naturally became the purpose of their life. Krishna's conversation with Arjuna, however, is not to enable this. It is to teach Arjuna that while society may value him for his kshetra, while securing that kshetra for his family should be his purpose as property is vital for his family's survival, he must not derive his ident.i.ty from property. Ident.i.ty comes from within, not without: from kshetri, not kshetra, from dehi, not deha.
Source of human meaning
You may value me for what I have and what I do. But I am not what I have or what I do. If you love me, focus on who I am: my hungers and my fears, and my potential to focus on who you are.
You and I compare Animals and plants do not measure or compare. They fight for as much territory as they need to survive. But humans can measure the size of their property and hence compare. This ability to measure and delimit reality is called maya. Maya establishes the structures, divisions and hierarchies of society, in which we locate our ident.i.ty and the ident.i.ties of those whom we compare ourselves with. We can qualify these yardsticks as unwanted illusions, or necessary delusions, that imagination can easily overturn. While the word maya is used a lot in the Vedas and The Gita in the sense of the magical powers of the human mind, its role in measurement and construction of human perception was elaborated much later in the Vedantic tradition that flowered about a thousand years ago.
Kshetra demands clear demarcation of what is mine and what is yours. In the Mahabharata, the Kauravas do not consider the Pandavas to be theirs, which is why Dhritarashtra refers to his sons as 'mine', and refers to his nephews not as his brother's sons but merely as 'Pandu's sons'. He considers both Hastinapur and Indra-prastha as Kuru-kshetra, belonging to the Kauravas, and sees the Pandavas as intruders.
The Pandava brothers consist of two sets of brothers borne by Pandu's two wives-three sons from Kunti and the twins from Madri. During the gambling match, Yudhishthira first gambles away Nakula, the son of Madri, indicating that he considers his stepbrother a little less his than Arjuna and Bhima. Later in the forest, when his four brothers die after drinking the water of the poisoned lake, and he is given the option of bringing only one of his brothers back, he chooses Nakula over Kunti's sons, indicating a s.h.i.+ft in mindset: he realizes that a good king is one who expands his boundaries and turns even half-brothers, cousins and strangers into relatives.
In the Bhagavata, Krishna never talks to Balarama as his half-brother. There is no division between them. He does not treat his biological parents, Devaki and Vasudeva, as different from his foster parents, Yashoda and Nanda. In the Mahabharata, however, Karna never identifies himself with his foster parents, as they are charioteers and he aspires to be an archer.
This ability to create a boundary, and s.h.i.+ft boundaries, between what I consider mine and what I do not consider mine comes from maya, the unique human ability to measure, delimit and apportion. The word maya is commonly translated as illusion, or delusion, but its root 'ma' means to 'to measure'. Maya is the delusion when we look at the world through the filter of measurement.
Measurement helps us to label and categorize all things around us in order to make sense of the world. We organize the world into understandable units, such as the periodic table of all elements in chemistry, or the various taxonomies of plants and animals and diseases in biology. Measurement is key to science, to understanding nature. However, with measurement also comes judgement-we not only cla.s.sify, we also compare, create hierarchies, hence compete. This gives rise to conflict.
Mine and Not Mine The kshetragna cannot be compared to anything, as it is infinite and immortal. The atma within you is the same as the atma within me. But if you and I are not in touch with our atma, and we do not empathize with each other's hungers and fears and potential, we will compare our respective kshetras to locate ourselves in a hierarchy and give ourselves an ident.i.ty.
When value comes from what I have, then the more I have, the more valuable I become. And so I want to ensure that I have more than you. That is why in the Ramayana, conflict begins with comparison. Kaikeyi hates being junior queen. So she wants her husband, Dasharatha, king of Ayodhya, to crown her son as heir, so that as queen mother she can dominate over the senior queen, Kaushalya.
The Mahabharata also speaks of conflict generated by comparison. Pandu, king of Hastinapur, retires to the forest following a curse that prevents him from mating with his wives and fathering children. His two wives, Kunti and Madri, follow him to the forest and Kunti tells him of a way to bypa.s.s the curse. 'I have a mantra by which I can invoke a deva and compel him to give me a child.' Pandu does not use this way out until he hears that Gandhari, the blindfolded wife of his blind elder brother, who is now regent of Hastinapur, is pregnant. The compet.i.tive spirit kicks in. He tells Kunti to take advantage of her mantra. She calls upon Yama, Vayu and Indra and begets Yudhishtira, Bhima and Arjuna. Pandu asks for more sons, but Kunti says she cannot use the mantra more than three times. So Pandu begs her to share it with his second wife, Madri. Kunti does as advised but is quite irritated when, using one mantra, Madri begets two children by simply calling the Ashwin k.u.mars, who always come in a pair. She refuses to give Madri the mantra again as she wants to be the mother of more children than Madri. On learning of the birth of Pandu's children, Gandhari is so upset that she gets her midwife to strike her pregnant belly with an iron bar and force the child out. What she delivers instead is a ball of flesh, cold as iron. She divides and transforms this, with the aid of Ris.h.i.+ Vyasa, to get a hundred sons, ninety-eight more than Madri, ninety-seven more than Kunti, to establish her superiority, and hence her husband's.
Humans very instinctively evaluate and compare. In The Gita, when Krishna distinguishes between asuras and devas, we position devas as better than asuras. When Krishna speaks of the three yogas, we wonder which is superior: karma, bhakti or gyana. When Krishna speaks of the three guna, our minds position sattva as better than rajas and rajas as better than tamas. When Krishna speaks of the four varnas, we place Brahmins over Kshatriyas, Kshatriyas over Vaishyas and Vaishyas over Shudras. This is all because of maya.
Materialism In nature, there is a pecking order. But animal domination is not aspirational; it is necessary for survival. Domination ensures they get access to more food. Humans dominate to grant themselves value, and feel good about themselves. Social structures are designed to grant humans ident.i.ty. They are invariably based on comparsion of the social body, what we have: wealth, knowledge, contacts and skills. Kaikeyi, Gandhari, Kunti, Pandu, all compete on the basis of their sons. Who has more children? Whose children are stronger, or smarter? Whose son is king? I am better than you because what I have is bigger or better or faster or richer or prettier or cheaper or nicer or nastier than yours. By comparing our t.i.tles and estates we validate ourselves, make ourselves feel significant and relevant.
Arjuna, the veil of measurements and hierarchies deludes all those who try to make sense of this material world with its three innate tendencies, unless they accept the reality of me, who cannot be measured or compared. Those trapped in this delusion of imagined boundaries behave like demons.-Bhagavad Gita: Chapter 7, verses 13 to 15 (paraphrased).
Maya distracts us from infinity and immortality, from the feeling that the world can continue without us. Maya makes us feel important.
Measurement In the Puranas, there is a sage called Narada who travels from house to house comparing people's talents, t.i.tles and estates: his wife is more beautiful, his son is more talented, his daughter is married to a richer man, he has more followers, his kingdom is larger, she has more jewellery... This comparison evokes feelings of inadequacy and jealousy in people. It fuels ambition and ignites conflicts. Having created the tension, Narada walks away chanting, 'Narayana! Narayana!' But no one hears this. They are too consumed by Narayani (kshetra) to worry about Narayana (kshetragna).
Narada did not want to marry and produce children. He wanted to be a hermit. This annoyed his father, Brahma, who cursed that Narada would wander in material reality forever. This is why Narada spends all his time mocking householders who value themselves on the basis of Narayani, rather than paying attention to the Narayana within.
Once, Narada came to Dwaraka and tried to spark a quarrel in Krishna's house. Krishna's wives asked him what he wanted. 'I want you to give me your husband,' said the mischievous quarrel-monger. The queens said that they could not give their husband. 'Then give me something that you value as equal or more than him.' The queens agreed. Krishna was put on a weighing pan and the queens were asked to put something they valued equal to or more than Krishna on the other pan. Satyabhama put all her gold. But it made no difference; Krishna was heavier. Rukmini then placed a single sprig of tulsi on the pan and declared it to be the symbol of her love for Krishna. Instantly, the weighing scale t.i.tled in her favour and Narada had to be satisfied, not with Satyabhama's gold but with Rukmini's tulsi sprig, symbol of devotion.
This story does not make logical sense: how can a sprig of tulsi weigh more than Krishna? But it makes metaphorical sense. When the sprig is given meaning by human imagination, it becomes heavier than anything else. Human imagination can attribute any value to anything. A dog does not differentiate between gold and stone. But humans see gold as money and can turn a rock into a deity. This is the power of imagination. We cannot measure infinity, as Satyabhama realized when she tried to weigh Krishna against gold. But we can lock infinity in a symbol, as Rukmini did.
Measuring Krishna Arjuna, I am infinite and immortal and yet, respecting the ways of nature, I bind myself in finite and mortal measurable existence.-Bhagavad Gita: Chapter 4, Verse 6 (paraphrased).
Thus in temples, a rock (pinda, linga) or a fossil (shaligrama) can represent the formless divine. It is our imagination that gives value to things, purpose to an activity and ident.i.ty to a thing. We can give meaning or wipe it away. That is the power of maya. It is the power of G.o.d bestowed upon us humans. Maya is often called magic, for it has the power to make the world meaningful, transform every word into a metaphor, every image into a symbol.
Human Ability to Attribute Value Maya can divide and separate, cause conflict by comparison. It can also turn anything around, change reality for us, for our mind can give meaning to anything. For example, a hermit may see s.e.x and violence as horrible, while a householder may see s.e.x and violence as necessary, even pleasurable. Maya can divide the world. It can also unite the world, serve as the glue to a relations.h.i.+p, as we expand our boundaries to include whoever we wish. Duryodhana's inclusion of Karna, a charioteer's son, but exclusion of Arjuna, his royal cousin, is a case in point. That is why, in colloquial parlance, maya also means 'affection', that which binds relations.h.i.+ps together.
When people say in Hindi, 'Sab maya hai,' it is commonly translated as 'the world is an illusion or a delusion'. What it means is that the world can be whatever we imagine it to be-valuable or valueless, fuelling ambition or cynicism.
In Vedanta there is a popular Sanskrit phrase, 'Jagad mithya, brahma satya!' It is translated as 'the world is a mirage and only divinity is real'. 'Mithya' means a measured limited truth created through maya. So the phrase can also be translated as 'the material world is an incomplete reality, made complete by imagination and language'. We can manufacture depression and joy in our lives by the way we measure, delimit and apportion the world. The world itself has no intrinsic measurement.
Arjuna, the wise look at a learned man, an outcaste, a cow, an elephant or a dog with an equal eye. A person who sees equality in all, and is equanimous in all pleasant and unpleasant situations, has realized the divine for the divine is impartial too.-Bhagavad Gita: Chapter 5, verses 18 to 20 (paraphrased).
Do you derive your ident.i.ty by comparing yourself with me? This is maya, a necessary delusion without which society cannot function. It can uplift you with inspiration, depress you with jealousy or grant you peace by revealing how different you are from me.
You and I cling If I am what I own, then I cling to what I have to secure my value in the world. And when you try to take it from me, I feel violated, for my ident.i.ty is attached to my property. In this chapter we shall explore moha, an attachment to boundaries that separates 'mine' from 'not mine' and transforms violence into violation. Violation is psychological violence, that may or may not be a.s.sociated with physical violence, and the pain is even more searing, for it involves the very invalidation of our ident.i.ty. It is directly proportional to our relations.h.i.+p with all that we consider 'mine'. The idea of attachment flows through The Gita and plays a key role in Hindu hermit and householder traditions, meriting a separate chapter.
All his life the Buddha spoke about the impermanence of things (anikka, in Pali) and the notion of non-self (anatta, in Pali). Yet, after he died and his body was cremated, the remains of his body (tooth, hair, nails, bones) were collected by his disciples and wors.h.i.+pped as relics placed in stupas. Chaityas were built to enshrine the stupas and around the chaityas came up the viharas where monks lived. The monks could not let the Buddha slip away into oblivion. They clung to his physical remains, despite his explicit instructions not to do so, seeking permanence of the mortal remains of the teacher who expounded on life's impermanence. The story goes that when the Buddha was dying, his disciples wept and wondered how they would live without their master. The Buddha then realized that he had hoped to be a raft that takes people across the river of sorrow, but people chose to make him a palanquin that they wanted to carry around and be burdened with forever. He wanted to liberate them; they wanted to fetter themselves.
This is one of the ironies of Buddhism. This irony exists even in Hindu monastic traditions, where monks cling to the bodily remains of their teacher, and rather than cremate the corpse, they mummify it with salt, bury it and build a memorial over it, so that the teacher can be venerated forever. This memorial is called a samadhi, encasing the mortal remains of the hermit who voluntarily gave up his property (kshetra) initially and his body (deha) eventually.
In nature, there are natural forces of attraction and repulsion, even between two objects. Plants and animals are drawn to food and shun threats. Over and above this, humans cling (raga) to property (kshetra) that grants them value in society. We convince ourselves that our social body defines our ident.i.ty. To be told that our true ident.i.ty is intangible and immeasurable (kshetragna) seems quite unbelievable, as it can never be proven, only believed. So we cling to goals or rules, to property or relatives, to t.i.tles or ideas, and fight over them as animals fight over territory. Animals fight because the survival of their body depends on it. Humans fight as the survival of their ident.i.ty (aham) depends on it. Clinging is comforting. Insecurity fuels desire (kama) for more, and so acquiring more becomes the purpose of life. We get angry (krodha) when we don't get them, become greedy (lobha) once we get them, get attached (moha) to them, become intoxicated with pride (mada) because we possess things, feel jealous of those who have more and insecure around those who have less (matsarya). Material reality thus enchants us and crumples our mind several times over. These are called the six obstacles (arishad-varga) that prevent the mind from expanding, the aham from transforming into atma and discovering bhagavan.
Kama and Krodha Arjuna, from aggressive material tendencies is born desire in the senses, in the heart and the head. Desire is insatiable and if not indulged can result in rage. Desire and rage can block all wisdom, as smoke masks fire, dust masks mirrors and the womb masks a baby.-Bhagavad Gita: Chapter 3, verses 37 to 40 (paraphrased).
We also shun (dvesha) things out of fear. We avoid taking owners.h.i.+p, responsibility or proprietors.h.i.+p in fear. We are terrified of heartbreak, and so refuse to fall in love. We are terrified of failing, and so avoid struggles. We are terrified of the outcome, and so refuse to take any action. We clearly demarcate what is mine and what is not mine. If attraction of things makes us householders, and revulsion of things makes us hermits, then neither is actually wise, as neither accepts reality. As householders, we wish we expand the mine, sometimes at the cost of yours. As hermits, we want to shun even what is mine and reject all that is yours.