Let us now look at another example, taken from a later period, at a time when Muslim presence was felt as an external threat to the traditional way of life. Here ‘Hindu’ is used as a distinguishing, more generic term. A survey made by J. O'Connell (1973:340ff) of three Sanskrit and ten Bengali texts produced by the Gauḍīya Vaişņavas (a religious denomination based in Bengal) between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries shows that the term ‘Hindu’ is used a number of times, but only in the Bengali texts. Perhaps the authors considered Sanskrit too formal a medium for such a parvenu word.
This usage makes it ‘amply clear that the typical situations calling for use of “Hindu” by the Vaişņava writers are those involving confrontation and strained relationships between the Hindus and another group or type of people, variously called “Yavana” [‘foreigner’], “Mleccha” [a dismissive term, meaning something like ‘uncouth foreigner’ or ‘barbarian’], or “Musulman” [viz. Muslim] ... There is no example ... of “Hindu” being used in a discussion of a matter intramural to the Hindu sphere ... It was over against a group of people or type of people considered both foreign and barbarous ... that the self-awareness of the Vaişņavas as Hindus was fashioned’.
(pp.341–2)
An early use of ‘Hindu’ occurs here that distinguishes an indigenous group of people from foreigners on the grounds of race, belief and practice. There is still no clear indication of a wider solidarity with indigenous peoples in the use of the term, such as ‘the Hindu peoples of this kingdom/land’ (since there were other sects and denominations we should call ‘Hindu’ today present in the area) as opposed to ‘the Muslims in general’, but the process towards mutual homogenized opposition in the search for a ‘Hindu’ identity has gone further since its occurrence in the Skanda Purāņa example.
But there have always been figures, even in the context of established Muslim rule in India, who have sought to rise above the constraints of religious labels. An outstanding example is Kabīr (fifteenth–sixteenth century). Firm data about Kabīr's life are scarce. He seems to have been born into a community of Muslim weavers, but in time repudiated any formal allegiance to Islam. Kabīr preached an eclectic faith of devotion to a God who cannot be described or circumscribed, and who transcended the religious boundaries of his environment. In this respect the following verses attributed to Kabīr are typical of his faith:
‘Gorakh! Gorakh!’
cries the Jogī,
‘Rām! Rām!’
says the Hindu.
‘Allāh is one’,
proclaims the Muslim.
But, O Kabīr,
My Lord pervades all
(Kumar 1984:21)
There is a contrast drawn here between the Gorāknāth Yogī and the Hindu which is interesting, again indicating that ‘Hindu’ at the time had a more limited denotation than it has today15; yet both Yogī and Hindu are distinguished from the Muslim. Or take:
The god of Hindus resides in a temple;
The god of Muslims resides in a mosque.
Who resides there
Where there are no temples
Or mosques?
O Seeker, follow your own path,
Forget the mosque, forget the temple,
Be your own light.
Open your eyes and see
That Rāma and Allāh are One!
(Kumar 1984:31)
‘Neither a Hindu, nor a Muslim am I!’ cried Kabīr, ‘A mere ensemble of five elements is this body, where the spirit plays its drama of joy and suffering!’ (ibid.). Yet today Kabīr is often reckoned a Hindu by many Hindus.
To sum up the discussion then, in modern times the term ‘Hindu’ has been invested with religious and political connotations not only in India but also outside the subcontinent. Further, it has become an acceptable self-description, but still with fairly fluid boundaries. Thus we distinguish between Hindus and Buddhists or Sikhs or Muslims, but the expressions Hindu–Christian and Hindu–Catholic etc. are also gaining in popularity. Yet no conventional or institutional religious connotation necessarily attaches to the label. ‘Hindu’ is primarily a culturally orienting term, its original geographical and racial implications having been minimized if not lost with the spread of Hindu sects and denominations around the world. Thus even Western converts to Hindu religions, e.g. the adherents of the International Society for Krishna Consciousness (ISKCON) or the ‘Hare Krishnas’ to give them their popular name, may well be and are increasingly called ‘Hindus’.16
We will now briefly consider how Hindus in the past have preferred to identify themselves. Individuals were designated in a variety of ways: by a given proper name, by reference to village, or lineage, or family and other personal relationships, or by reference to caste status, or religious affiliation, or character, or physical traits, or relevant events, acts or circumstances. In short, at any one time, a particular individual could be singled out or addressed by one of a range of possible designations, depending on context. Here are some examples with reference to well-known characters in Hindu tradition.
Krşņa (Krishna), a key human avatāra or ‘incarnation’ (more properly ‘descent’) of the deity, especially for Vaişņavas or followers of the God Vişņu, is of course often referred to by his personal name (which means ‘dark-coloured’). But he is also referred to as Vāsudeva, i.e. ‘son of Vasudeva’ (his father);on occasion as ‘Devakīputra’, i.e. ‘son of Devakī’ (his mother), or as ‘Vārşņeya’ (‘belonging to the Vṛşņi tribe’). He was also called ‘Kesava’ (‘having fine hair’), ‘Madhusūdana’ (‘slayer of [the demon] Madhu’, from an episode in his life), and so on. Kṛşņa's close friend Arjuna, besides being known by his personal name, was also called ‘Pārtha’, ‘son of Pṛthā’ (his mother, whose other name was Kuntī, so Arjuna was sometimes called by the metronymic ‘Kaunteya’); his patronymic was Pāņḍava, from ‘Pāņḍu’, his father. On occasion, Arjuna was called ‘Savyasācī’, i.e. ‘the ambidextrous’ (wielder of the bow, on account of his ability to shoot with the bow equally well left-handedly or right-handedly). Bhīma (‘the terrible’), one of Arjuna's brothers, was like his name in battle. He was also known as Vṛkodara (‘Wolf-belly’) because of his voracious appetite.
Rāma, the hero of the epic, the Rāmāyaņa, and regarded by Vaişņavas as the other great human avatāra of Vişņu, was also addressed by such expressions as Rāghava (‘Raghu's descendant’) and Raghunandana (‘Scion of Raghu’), patronymics derived from his great-grandfather, Raghu, Ikśvākusūta (‘descendant of Ikśvāku’, first king of the solar dynasty of the kingdom of Āyodhyā), Sītāpati (‘husband of Sītā’, who was herself called on occasion Jānākī or ‘daughter of [King] Janaka’), and Jānakīśa (‘Lord of Jānākī’); he was also called Rāvāņāri (‘foe of the [ogre-king] Rāvaņa’) and Sugrīvamitra, i.e. ‘friend of Sugrīva’ (‘friend of Handsome-Neck’), a monkey-king, and so on: these and other names were all used to designate the same person, Rāma. Vālmīki, the reputed author of the Rāmāyaņa, acquired his name from the ant-hill (valmīka) which is said to have engulfed him as he sat absorbed in contemplation for a long time. In Bengal, scarcely a couple of generations ago, it was usual for a husband to refer to or address his wife, not by her personal name, but by the description, ‘Mother of N— —’ (their son or daughter). Conversely, even today many traditional Bengali women in villages and towns (in the latter case, this may refer to women of an older generation) are still reluctant to use their husband's personal name.
These examples are not exhaustive, of course, even with respect to the individuals mentioned, but they give an idea of how Hindus referred to and addressed each other as individuals. Today, most of these modes of address are obsolete, but not all. In family relationships, circumstantial and pet names are commonplace. Thus in Bengali (Hindu) homes, it is still common for the eldest brother's wife to be addressed by more junior members of the family not by her personal name but by a relational term, Boudi (‘elder wife’), which functio
ns virtually as a proper name and affirms her position of respect within the wider family.
The practice of naming was and is very important in Hindu tradition. There is still a rite of passage for the giving of personal names (which we shall consider in a later chapter). Personal names were thought to encapsulate the essence or destiny in some way of an individual, not necessarily by what they meant, but through the force of some presiding Power (either God or fate). This belief lives on, at least residually, in many Hindu minds. Other, relational and circumstantial, names are largely defined by context. But their concurrent plurality testifies to the fact that Hindus are adept at dealing with identity as a process, in the realization that perspective and context have integral parts to play in defining this process. People function in different ways and in different contexts, they have many sides to their identity as persons in society, and the recognition of this multi-facetedness is part of the successful negotiation of the world of complex relationships in which we live.
Groups tended to be referred to by names designating family (e.g. Pāņḍava), clan (Vṛşņi, Kaurava, Rājput), caste/sub-caste/hereditary social stratum (Brāhmaņa, Caṭṭopādhyāy, Vaiśya, Caņḍāla, Khatrī), village or occupation, depending on context. Names for religious sects or denominations were also important. Thus Rāmānuja (eleventh century C.E.), a leading theologian of the Śrī Vaişņava community, argued vigorously in his works against various religious opponents, whom he knew either as Prābhākaras, or as Sāṃkhyas, or as Pāśupatas, or as Bauddhas, etc. Some of these religious designations could be quite colourful: there were Śaivite sects called Kāpālika (‘skull- bearers’, from kapāla or skull, the most distinctive feature of their religious insignia), Kālāmukha or'black-faces, and Kānphaṭā or the ‘split-ears’ (from distinctive earrings worn by members of this group). Many group-names carried more than one connotation, that is, as part of their naming function;they could refer to a combination of two or more of the main features mentioned above. Among Hindus today the ways of group-naming generally continue the traditions of the past. But there is an important difference. Particularly during and after the build-up to Indian Independence, the generic designations of ‘Hindu’, ‘Buddhist’, etc. came into play, so that even unlettered folk are now disposed to refer to themselves as ‘Hindu’ in certain distinguishing contexts. And such usage has become popular in the Hindu diaspora of today.
We have seen how India acquired its name. The word that gave India its Sanskrit name is ‘Bhārata’, and it is this name, in one variant or another, which is used today by most Indians, in particular, Hindus, as the most common alternative to ‘India’. It appears, in what is called Devanāgarī script, on Indian postage stamps. For many Hindus, ‘Bhārat(a)’ has more than just modern political connotations. It is a word steeped in sacred history. ‘Bhārata’ is derived from Bharata, the founder of a dynasty whose origin is lost in the mists of ancient legend. His descendants, the Bhāratas, were thought of as holding sway in the north-central regions of the subcontinent. Subsequently, ‘Bhārata’ (or in its compound form ‘Bhāratavarşa’, viz. ‘Land of the Bhāratas’) came to stand for the whole landmass between the Himalayas in the north and the line of the Vindhya mountain-range, further south towards the west. Gradually the application of ‘Bhārata’ was extended to cover more and more of the subcontinent under Brahminic cultural influence. Today, in its precise sense, it refers to the political entity that is India.
The sense of the traditional use of the word can be gleaned from that of a term which is more or less synonymous: ‘Āryāvarta’ or ‘Land of the Aryans’. We have already met the so-called Aryans (or ‘noble’, ‘honourable’ ones) earlier; ‘Āryāvarta’ stands for the land where ‘Aryan’, in fact Vedic culture – its sacred tongue, Sanskrit, its dharma or righteous way of life, its mode of worship, its social norms – prevails, in contrast to the lands of the ‘mleccha’ or barbarian. Of course, many Hindus today (but not all) would repudiate the culturally supremacist implications of these expressions, though they retain residual romantic and historical connotations for some.
Bearing in mind what has been said about the origins and meaning of ‘Hindu’ and ‘Hinduism’, let us conclude this chapter with further comments about the scope of this book. Our study of the Hindu traditions will be largely phenomenological and historical. That is, we shall examine the ideas and practices of the Hindus from their historical origins to the present, not only in the role of observer, but also as far as possible, from the inside, from Hindu perspectives. In this way we can attempt to have some feel for this astonishingly variegated tradition. In the process, we shall resort to philosophical, theological, sociological and anthropological comments where this seems appropriate. We shall give a large place to Sanskrit textual evidence in our study. The reason for this has already been given. In an introduction to Hinduism, it is certainly right to consider vernacular material – which indeed we shall do – but to do so at the expense of the historically originative and presiding influences of the tradition, which are largely Sanskritic, would be misguided. Once this is done, the reader may continue with more regional, grassroots study, the better equipped, it is hoped, to acquire perspectives from these points of view.
But this study cannot presume to be anything like exhaustive. The Ancient Banyan is too vast in space and time, too labyrinthine, to be dealt with comprehensively within the pages of a series of books, let alone a single volume. At best, one can hope to link various key strands of the enormous tracery that comprises Hinduism as coherently as possible, so that the whole network hangs together with some cogency in the reader's mind. Let us now continue with this daunting task.
Part I
Guiding voices
2
The voice of scripture as Veda (I): performing the Word
Let us begin this topic by considering the question of the guiding voices to which the Hindu ear – religiously as attuned, if not more so, than the Hindu eye or tongue – has traditionally been attentive. We can conveniently divide this subject into three headings: the voice of scripture, the voice of tradition, and the voice of experience. In this and the next two chapters we shall enquire into the voice of (canonical) scripture.
‘Scripture’ is perhaps a misleading word. It comes from scribere in Latin, which means ‘to write’. The equivalent Sanskrit term which we have in mind for scripture in general is śabda, which comes from śabd: ‘to make a sound’, ‘to call’. For Hindus, ‘scripture’ in its most authoritative form is that which has been heard and transmitted orally, not what has been written down. No doubt in India, with the passage of time, scripture has been committed to writing, but for incidental purposes: to preserve in libraries, to disperse knowledge, to engage in polemics. But as such, it loses vitality. The sacred word springs to life for Hindus and becomes effective when it is spoken and heard. This is why we can appropriately speak of the voice of scripture in the context of Hinduism.
In the history of Christendom, the dominant medium of communicating truth and value has arguably been the written word; the elders of the community have exercised authority by Conciliar or official promulgations of some kind. In this sense, Hinduism is not a ‘religion of the book’. Traditionally, Hinduism has had no Councils or Synods at which religious leaders from different denominations have gathered in order to determine authoritative versions of belief and scripture for the ‘faithful’ at large, for generations to come. Religious authority in Hinduism does not express itself in this way. The model of the Ancient Banyan precludes this approach; where is the centralized authority for such a course of action in this polycentric system? There may well be records of intra-denominational councils of leaders to determine courses of action and belief for their communities, but these have not extended to inter-denominational proclamations. Thus Hinduism has not developed formal devices for rendering people anathema because they have rejected a particular dogma or interpretation of faith. In Hinduism, the dominant medium of communicat
ing authoritatively has been through the spoken word, and the dominant source, ‘that which has been heard’. This is not to say that the medium of seeing has not been important. It has, but in different contexts, as we shall discover. Traditionally, ‘seeing’ has not been enough.
This has an important corollary. A leading Christian theologian once expressed satisfaction to me that much of mainstream Christianity had, over a long period of time, developed sophisticated methods of interpreting the Bible, moving from largely literal readings of the text to context-determined approaches. ‘Has Hinduism passed through such critical fires?’ he asked somewhat rhetorically. Again, as in the case of the Greek businessman who wished to know what Hindu culture had contributed to human civilization (Chapter 1), the kind of answer expected of me seemed to be predetermined. But Hinduism has had a different history from the West with respect to making sense of its scriptures, so that it has had no need to pass through the ‘critical fires’ in the way presupposed. Even the literalists among Hindu interpreters of scripture have generally been aware of the limitations of such readings against the horizon of non-literal interpretations. This is because from early times different views were developed in the context of debate that was not regulated by some overarching centralized body.
Hindus: Their Religious Beliefs and Practices (The Library of Religious Beliefs and Practices) Page 5
