Godsong

by Amit Majmudar

  AHIMSA, MAHATMA, KARMA, ATMAN

  Three of these words have become familiar in English over the twentieth century.

  Ahimsa and mahatma came in with Mahatma Gandhi and his ahimsa movement, which sought political revolution through nonviolent means. I thought it would be interesting for the reader to see where these words originated. It is one of Indian history’s finest ironies that Gandhi built his nonviolent movement on a scripture imparted to explain why bloodshed, given the right casus belli, is worthwhile.

  Karma has a general sense of your actions prompting a comeuppance—although Hinduism conceives of karma as carrying over to subsequent births, a residue. Karma and words derived from it are among the most frequent in the Gita. Most translators stick with action, but the Gita uses the word karma in several related senses. Action has an abstract feel that doesn’t always mesh with the worldly connotation of work, or the vaguely moral feel of works, which comes from its use in Christian theological writing. Similarly, when Krishna refers to the moral residue or charge that comes with action, karma should stay karma. These variations in my usage—action, work, works, karma—track the nuances of context in the original.

  This holds true for the word atman as well. Sometimes I follow the most common practice and use the term self, while in other instances, where the context deals with its unification with Brahman or its posthumous destiny, I keep atman.

  I believe this practice—switching between two or more English words for the same Sanskrit word—has justification in Sanskrit itself, in which the same word can mean different things, and the same word contains, like undiffracted light, a spectrum of English meanings.

  RUDRAS, ADITYAS, VASUS, AND OTHER BEINGS

  Rudras, Adityas, Vasus, and other mythological beings show up mostly during the spectacular sequences of the Universal Form. Modern Hinduism does not focus on them nearly as much as classical Hinduism did. Most Hindus today experience these words as evocative proper nouns, much as poetry readers today experience the litanies of Hebrew proper nouns in Milton’s Paradise Lost. I kept almost all of these references, except where a literal translation added some value, poetic or conceptual.

  MAYA

  Maya is another Sanskrit word familiar in America, if only because it is so frequently the first name of a fascinating woman. The common translation is illusion, implying metaphysical reality and the spectacular light and sound show surrounding it.

  But we shouldn’t imagine a Magician distracting us from a sleight of hand. His hands are in plain sight, as is the work of his hands. Maya relies on tendencies of human perception. Maya involves our mapping presence onto absence, and then mistaking that presence for all there is, and ignoring the actual Presence of the divine.

  When I think of maya, I think of the Hermann grid optical illusion. On a grid consisting only of black squares surrounded by white space, we see flashing dots where emptiness intersects emptiness, where there is literally nothing to see. No matter what you tell your brain, you cannot not see those dots. The eyes chase them all but never catch one because focusing hard on a single dot makes it vanish instantly. It was never real.

  And yet the word illusion isn’t quite right. An illusion is deliberate; the illusionist does not want the illusion to be penetrated. In Hindu theology, any God is surrounded and hidden by maya, which he himself generates. It plays about his lips like a smile; it surrounds him in a perceptual cloud. He makes it, he maintains it, he hides within it—but he wants everyone to see through it.

  And that is what the yogi aspires to do: to see through maya to reality. So maya is an illusion, yes, but its purpose is disillusionment; and disillusionment, in this context, is not a bad thing. In fact, it’s the best possible thing of all. You can see why illusion breaks down when you plug it into the Gita. Maya is the only word that will do.

  YOGA

  While I am aware that the word yoga conjures, for most Americans, urban thirty-somethings in yoga pants on yoga mats deep-breathing and relieving stress, I had to keep this word as is. Commoditized, physical, studio-yoga has little to do with the Gita. At one point Krishna does describe the ideal meditation posture, but that’s it.

  Yoga comes from a root word meaning “to yoke,” and yoking, or joining, comes up frequently: atman to Brahman, human self to divine self. Rare though they are in English, I retained the words yoke, yoked, or yoking wherever the Gita uses yoga or its related formations. I hope a waning of yoke’s agricultural connotation will allow for a rise, in the reader’s mind, of its religious one. The sense of an ox yoked to the plow may well link up with the sacred Hindu image of the Cow: the yogi bowing and, like a beast of burden, taking on the yoke of discipline, duty, hard work, a kind of wooden garland.

  A NOTE ON THE PROPER NOUNS

  Before you begin the poem, a bit of context. A reader is advised to flip back to this section if any of the names or proper nouns get confusing. The first few pages contain a “Homeric catalogue” of allied princes and the names of conch-shell horns, a common feature of old heroic poetry. The Gita is actually a self-contained excerpt from the larger war epic Mahabharata, and these runs of proper nouns are the traces of that origin. You can take those proper nouns as word-music, which is what they are in the original; I assume you are here to focus on the Gita, so I won’t launch into epic background on each of those names.

  There are a few proper nouns, however, that a reader of the Gita needs to know. Most of these cluster in the first pages. Here they are, roughly in order of appearance.

  DHRITARASHTRA

  is the blind King whose words open the Gita.

  PANDU

  is King Dhritarashtra’s late brother—so when Dhritarashtra refers, in the opening verses, to Pandu’s sons, he’s referring to his own nephews. The Mahabharata concerns a civil war, and Pandu’s five sons are the “good guys,” righteously fighting to get their kingdom back after they were cheated out of it in a dice game.

  SANJAYA

  is King Dhritarashtra’s advisor. Sanjaya can see and hear across time and distance. In the blind King’s throne room, Sanjaya recounts what happened on the battlefield of

  KURUKSHETRA,

  Kuru Field. This word is important, and not just because it’s the second word, and physical scene, of the whole poem. Kuru was the remote common ancestor of the warring branches of the family. No matter whose son it is, Pandu’s or Dhritarashtra’s, they are all Kurus.

  Dhritarashtra’s one hundred sons, the Kauravas, are power-hungry, unscrupulous usurpers.

  DURYODHAN,

  the eldest son of King Dhritarashtra, delivers the archaic “Heroic Age” litany of warrior names in Session 1. (I have always thought that fitting because he is a very “might is right” sort of character.)

  DRONA

  trained both the Pandavas and the Kauravas in the art of war. It’s to Drona that Duryodhan describes the gathered forces.

  BHISHMA

  is the illustrious great-uncle of the cousins, one of the most highly respected figures fighting on the Kaurava side.

  BHIMA

  is a son of Pandu, known for his great size. He is not to be confused with Bhishma. Finally,

  KRISHNA and ARJUNA

  are the two main characters of the Gita, the bulk of which is the dialogue between the son of Pandu, Arjuna, and his charioteer, Krishna. A respected and princely diplomat (not to mention an avatar of Vishnu), Krishna refrains from taking up arms in the civil war. Because he is Arjuna’s best friend, though, he volunteers to drive Arjuna’s chariot into battle.

  Several epithets for these two figures occur over the course of the Gita. I made sure to translate the ones that matter, even when they sounded archaic; the Gita is part of an ancient epic, and traces of that should come through in a truly faithful translation. Sometimes I unpacked the epithet, incorporating the name itself to reduce confusion—as I did when preserving the brilliant epithet
that links up the two Indian epics, kapidhvaja, “Monkey-bannered.” Four syllables set up a parallel between Krishna’s cherished fighter, Arjuna, and Rama’s cherished fighter in the Ramayana, Hanuman. However, sometimes the epithets are there just to fill out the meter—“padding a line” wasn’t considered a sign of insufficient skill back then. It is common practice in Homeric Greek, too. I assessed each epithet and made a conscious decision whether to preserve it.

  Arjuna’s epithets include

  PARTHA and SON OF KUNTI.

  Both of these epithets refer to Arjuna’s mother. Such relationships are crucial to the drama of the poem, and these family-related epithets, especially in Session 1, dovetail with his anguished dilemma about whether or not to battle his relatives.

  WEALTHWINNER

  refers to Arjuna and is self-explanatory.

  GANDIVA

  is the name of Arjuna’s bow.

  BULL OF THE BHARATAS

  is another epithet that refers to Arjuna, colorful and meaningful at once. Bharata was another one of Arjuna’s ancestors. I preserved this one because Krishna happens to be talking about species at that point in the poem.

  Several epithets of Krishna refer to details of his appearance or abstract traits. I have worked in references to Krishna’s infallibility or his “bristling hair” where they seemed appropriate, but I could not bring myself to spell out Bristling-Haired One. The meaningfully deployed epithets I preserved were ones like

  MADHU’S SCION,

  which refers to Krishna’s ancestry, in Session 1, at the same place where Partha refers to Arjuna’s.

  SLAYER OF MADHU

  is another important descriptor of Krishna: This second Madhu was a demon slain by Vishnu, the God of whom Krishna is an avatar. The juxtaposition of these two Madhus, the relative and the slain demon, is intentional on the part of the Gita poet; Arjuna calls Krishna by this name while expressing his reluctance to slay his relatives.

  * * *

  In the translation, the tags that remind you who speaks (“Sanjaya said,” “The Blessed Lord said,” etc.) are carried over intact from the original text. They were placed there to do the same thing this brief note hopes to do: dispel any confusion. After all, dispelling confusion is why the Gita was sung in the first place.

  Let’s listen.

  SESSION 1

  Arjuna Despairs

  King Dhritarashtra, the father of the cousins (the Kauravas) opposing Krishna and Arjuna, asks his visionary advisor, Sanjaya, what is happening on the battlefield. Sanjaya, who has the power to witness events without being physically present for them, narrates the action.

  The action takes place on the battlefield of Kurukshetra. The two armies are in formation, facing off, ready to make war. Duryodhan, the leader of the Kauravas, addresses his military mentor, cataloguing the warriors on both sides.

  Arjuna asks his friend and charioteer, Krishna, to park his chariot between the two armies. Surveying his extended family, he is overcome with panic and despair. He tells Krishna how he feels and how he has a horror of fighting his own relatives. Arjuna throws aside his weapons and sits down.

  Dhritarashtra said,

  On that field of dharma, Kurukshetra,

  My sons and Pandu’s

  Mustered, wanting war.

  What did they do, Sanjaya?

  {1}

  Sanjaya said,

  Seeing the Pandava formation’s

  Vanguard, Duryodhan

  Advanced toward his Master.

  The words…the King is speaking….

  {2}

  “Take a look at that army. How grand!

  The sons of Pandu, Master, mustered

  Under Drupad’s son,

  Your sharp-witted student.

  {3}

  The heroes here—great bowslingers!

  Matches in a clash for Bhima and Arjuna,

  For Yuyudhana and Virata

  And Drupada in his great chariot.

  {4}

  Dhrishtaketu, Cekitana,

  Kashi’s heroic king,

  Purujit, and Kuntibhoja,

  And bull-necked Shaibhya,

  {5}

  Yudhamanyu with his spirited stride,

  And courageous Uttamaujas,

  Subhadra’s sons and Draupadi’s,

  All in great chariots….

  {6}

  Ours are excellent, too—better

  Believe it, best of Brahmins!

  Just so you can get a sense, I’ll name

  The marshals of my army:

  {7}

  Your Lordship, Bhishma, Karna,

  Battle-winning Kripa,

  Asvatthama, Vikarna,

  And Somadatta’s son as well,

  {8}

  And many other heroes

  Who give their lives up to my ends,

  All specialists in war,

  Armed to launch multiple strikes.

  {9}

  It has no measure, this force of ours

  That Bhishma guards.

  It measures up, that force of theirs

  That Bhima guards….

  {10}

  In all maneuvers,

  Every one of you

  At every station,

  Keep guard over Bhishma!”

  {11}

  The eldest Kuru,

  To make his grandson happy,

  Sent up a lion roar

  And searingly blew his conch shell.

  {12}

  At that, conch shells and kettledrums,

  Cymbals, snare drums, bullhorns

  Struck up all at once.

  This sound became a tumult.

  {13}

  Standing fast behind the onrush

  Of yoked white horses,

  Madhu’s scion and Pandu’s son

  Blew their divine conch shells.

  {14}

  Krishna, his hair bristling,

  Blew Panchajanya. Wealthwinning Arjuna

  Blew Godsgift. Wolf-bellied Bhima,

  Fearsome in action, blew Paundra.

  {15}

  King Yudhishtir, Kunti’s son,

  Blew Neverending Victory.

  Nakula and Sahadev

  Blew Sweetsound and Gemblossom.

  {16}

  Kashi’s king, the best of bowmen,

  Shikhandin in his great chariot,

  Dhrishtadyumna and Virata

  And invincible Satyaki,

  {17}

  Drupad, Draupadi’s sons,

  Subhadra’s great-armed son—

  Your Majesty, they blew their conch shells,

  Each his own and all together.

  {18}

  This hue and cry, King Dhritarashtra,

  Tore through the hearts of your sons.

  Of the sky and earth

  The tumult made one thunder.

  {19}

  Under the banner of Hanuman, Arjuna

  Scanned your sons in squadrons

  Formed for the coming clash of arms.

  Pandu’s son held high his bow.

  {20}

  To a bristling Krishna, Arjuna

  Spoke these words: “Ever-enduring one,

  Station my chariot

  Midway between the armies,

  {21}

  Just while I survey

  The war lust of these squadrons.

  Whose battle ardor wants

  To make war with me?

  {22}

  I see them he
re, come together,

  About to battle us. They want

  A war to serve the evil

  Mind of Dhritarashtra’s son.”

  {23}

  These were the words that Arjuna spoke

  To Krishna where

  Midway between the armies

  He had stationed the chief chariot.

  {24}

  Faced with Bhishma and Drona

  And all the rulers of the world,

  Arjuna said, “Just look at this:

  A Kuru Family gathering!”

  {25}

  Pritha’s son could see them standing there:

  Fathers and grandfathers,

  Teachers, uncles, brothers,

  Sons, grandsons, friends as well,

  {26}

  Fathers-in-law, kindhearted

  Friends in both the armies,

  All his relatives in close order.

  The son of Kunti pondered them.

  {27}

  Pierced by infinite pity,

  In despair, he said,

  “Seeing this—my own people, Krishna—

  Drawing close because they’re dying to fight….

  {28}

  My legs buckle

  And my mouth dries up

  And my body gets the shakes

  And my hair stands on end!

  {29}

  Gandiva falls from my hand,

  And my skin, it burns,

  And I can’t stand anymore,

  And it’s like it’s…wandering, my mind….

  {30}

  And I see omens, Krishna,

  Inauspicious ones, and I

  Can see no good will come