Pradip Bhattacharya

Indologist, Mahabharata scholar

BOOKS

 

 

MAHABHARATA:

 

               

               

          

 

LITERATURE:

 

             

        

 

PUBLIC ADMINISTRATION & MANAGEMENT:

 

               

               

Edited Administrative Training Institute Monographs 1-20. Kolkata. 2005-2009:

               

          

Edited Samsad Series on Public Administration. Kolkata, 2007-8:

               

     

 

COMICS :

 

     

 

HOMOEOPATHY :

 

MAHABHARATA’S SECRETS

By

Gauri Dharmapal

THE SECRET OF THE MAHABHARATA by Pradip Bhattacharya Parimal Prakashan, Aurangabad, 1985, pp. 159. Rs. 110

Aurobindo Ghose pierced the veil of Vedic mysticism during the second decade of this century. His line was followed up by masters like Nolinikanta Gupta, Kapali Shastri and others. Simultaneously, Swami Pratyagatmananda revealed the Vedic vision of Sound in Japasutram and the deep scientific basis of Veda in Ved-O-Vijnan; and Ramendrasundar Trivedi laid bare the symbolism of Vedic ritual in Yajna-katha. Kshitimohan Sen discovered the link between the Vedas and Baul—the most progressive dharma of the world. Anirvan’s Veda-mimansa in the sixties established the esoteric interpretation of the Vedas on the firm oasis of the spiritual-religious-philosophical experiences of Bharatavarsha through centuries and millenia up to the present day. The reviewer’s view, presented in The Linguistic Atom, Ved-O-Shri Aurobindo and Veder Kobita, also fall in the same line. Rabindranath’s poetry too as shown by the reviewer is floodlit with Vedic experience.

All these findings, though independent of one another, yet pointing to the same conclusions, represent a. common approach to Vedic interpretation—the inner integral approach, which is very different from the external method generally followed by the academic world. Pradip Bhattacharya’s The Secret of the Mahabharata—a brilliant analysis of Vyasa’s myths in terms of Vedic truths—comes as a fresh corroboration of the validity of the integral approach.

Not only individual slokas scattered here and there, but the whole Mahabharata is a Vyasakuta, a unique puzzle—a guide to the secret treasure of the Vedas, written in a unique ambiguous code—left for the future generations to solve. Vyasa has left numerous clues for the solution of his puzzle in the form of Vedic words, phrases, mantras, imagery, woven into the fabric of the epic, which a casual reader is likely to dismiss as chance ocurrences and miss the message thereby. He will also skip over the definite positive statement of Vyasa that he has placed in the epic the mystery of the Veda—veda rahasyam; and his standing guideline to future researchers in Indology: ‘Elucidate the Veda with the help of itihasas and puranas.’ The commentator, Nilakantha, however, has not failed to note here (I. 1. 267-68) by way of illustration that the mayamriga of the Ramayana is nothing but an elaboration of the Vedic concept Of Vritra, the deceitful Coverer, who is described as a mayi mrga in the Rig Veda (1. 80.7).

It is delightful so see that the author of The Secret of the Mahabharata reads correctly the message of Vyasa and following Sukthankar’s penetrating remark that ‘there is an inner significance behind the events so realistically narrated in the Great Epic of India’ and that all great works of Indian art and literature are infused with the idea of achieving one gigantic all-embracing synthesis takes up the key from his observation that ‘many of the scenes of this drama, which at first sight appear to us unintelligible or at least uncouth and grotesque, acquire deep significance when they are treated symbolically’, and proceeds to decipher the Vyasan hieroglyphic.

The first chapter being devoted—and rightly so—to explaining the approach, the subsequent seven chapters are minute analyses of six episodes from the Adi-parva, namely: Utanka, Aruni-Uddalaka, Upamanyu and the Asvins, the Churning of the Ocean, Garuda and Amrita and finally Kacha and the Sanjivani mantra—in which with a marvellous sweep from Veda to Savitri, the author is able to prove that ‘Vyasa is writing directly in the mystic tradition of the Rigvedic rishis, couching spiritual messages in an elaborate symbolic structure.’

The intricate scheme of the Utanka story is beautifully unfolded in one of the most well-written chapters of this book and the parallelism worked out to the minutest detail, in which the grotesque and the uncouth perfectly fit in, Utanka qualifies himself for the acquisition of the Kundala by passing the test of temptation in his guru’s household. The Kundala itself signifies inner listening or shruti so dearly craved for by Ahalya the barren human field or adhara (this can very well become a symbol for barren scholarship craving for the mystic gift of the Word). Thus. Utanka’s story is shown to be nothing but Vyasa’s re-cast of the Vedic Angirasa myth, namely recovery of the lost sun, that is, the Veda.

The clue to the mystic interpretation of the Aruni episode lies, as the author shows, in the incongruity that the disciple is praised for finally splitting apart the dyke, while he was sent to plug the breach. Here, Aruni is playing successively the roles of 1) Ahi-Vritra the serpentine coil covering the divine waters of Bliss and Illumination by covering the waters with his physical body, and 2) Indra, who breaks open the barrier and releases the waters, by splitting apart the dyke. On this small canvas of a story, Vyasa has condensed the whole Vedic theme of the aspiration, suffering and victory of the soul (compare Rabindranath’s Muktadhara), like painting Kanchanjanga in her golden splendour on a postcard.

In the same vein, the ‘Churning of the Ocean’ is shown to be a word-to-word, phrase-to-phrase, symbol-to-symbol equation of the Soma-ritual which represents the churning of the sap of Delight and other divine treasures out of the turbulent depths of the inconscient; while the Garuda-Amrta episode represents the soul soaring high to the super-conscient ‘on the mighty wings of Word’ as observed by the reviewer in her Linguistic Atom.

The Kacha episode depicting the quest for the mantra of immortality provides the finale to this series of symbolic stories, pinpointing the creative Logos—which is the secret of Immortality—as the ultimate dynamic goal of the eternal quest.

Pradip Bhattacharya’s scholarship has an eye and ear for the mystic, which is the essential prerequisite for a researcher in Indology. His book, though full of printing and a few other mistakes, far outshines them, leaving ground, however, for alternative explanations here and there. For example, the name ‘Kacha’, meaning ‘hair’, has been explained, with a note of hesitation though, to hint at the ‘tonsured initiate’. But the meaning which exactly fits in with the esoteric explanation of the story is the ‘hair-like fibre of the Soma’ called amsu in the Rig Veda. In sacrifice, the fibrous Soma represents the sacrificer and its crushing and filtering into a purified flow of delightful juice represents the crushing of the man and transforming him into a stream of pure bliss, the joy of immortality or Higher Life which is called amrita in the Veda. The author has actually noticed the ‘equation of Kacha with Soma’ on p. 141.

Similarly, a roundabout explanation is given to the name Dhanvantari. A more direct and Vedic explanation is: One who has crossed (tari) the desert (dhanvan). Desert in the Veda—and in later poetry too—signifies the barren dry soul deprived of the shower of grace. The descent of divine grace is described as flooding the desert in Rig Veda VI. 12.5. So, the name ‘Dhanvantari’ signifies that through the arduous task of churning the ocean of his lower depths, man at last emerges victorious with the secret of immortality!

In the story of the Churning of the Ocean, Vyasa has inserted many more parallelisms to attract the seeing eye, which, if added, would have given the author a stronger support. Of these, the most striking, perhaps, is. the description of mandara, the churning rod, as savana (I. 18.8). The apparent meaning here is savana that is, ‘with forest’: The mountain was lifted up with its forest and inhabitants (savanam sa-vanankasam), the passage means. But under the cover of a pun, there is a second meaning. Savana also means: savana-sadhana the implement of Soma-crushing. Thus, the Churning of the Ocean becomes with a single stroke equivalent to the crushing of the Soma and all the accompanying symbolism—which the author has established with the help of many other proofs.

To point out a few slips, the name Utanka has always been mis-spelt as Uttanka. Veda—one of the three disciples of Dhaumya—is said (p. 56) to be the only one who is not put to tasks. On the contrary, Veda is the disciple, who was put to the severest of tasks, amounting to rigorous imprisonment. The suffering Veda underwent at the house of his guru taught him to treat his own disciples kindly, comments the Mahabharata. Rules of transliteration have not been followed properly by Bhattacharya, which makes the reading of the mantras extremely difficult.

But all this is secondary. After going through the 155 pages of his book, one is convinced that the Mahabharata is a unique time-capsule invented by Vyasa, the Genius, in which the mystic- knowledge of the Veda—the Grand Synthesis is preserved for posterity, not buried underground but left circulating through a chain of sutas waiting for the initiate to see-listen through the story-coating. We hope the author will carry on his research and explore the continent of Vyasa for the ‘souler’ cows to gaze and graze upon.

This century seems to be set for the reacting of the Angirasa myth. Indologists with a different turn of mind will do well to stop and listen, at this hour of crisis, to the message of the Vedas and Vyasa, and retrace their steps, instead of being lost irrevocably in the maze of erudite hypotheses leading to nowhere, lured by the imposing mayamriga of ‘modern’ researchology.

The Book Review Aug-Dec 1985, volume 10, No 8/12

A.R.Orage on The Mahabharata

By

In 1956 S.C. Nott edited a selection from the Adi and Sambhava Parvas of The Mahabharata, published by The Janus Press, London, pp.205. The selections were made “from the literal and complete edition of Pratapa Chunder Raya, which was translated from the Sanskrit verse into English prose by Pandit Kisari Mohon Ganguli 1883,” with line drawings by Kate Adamson with the help and advice of the Indian Section of the Victoria & Albert Museum; and 4 plates from the Museum. Nott saw parallels between with the Mahabharata (M) and the World Wars which inspired him to make a selection. The selections were:-

  1. Astika Parva: Sarpasattra, Jaratkaru, Churning, Garuda, Amrita, Ruru. Vaisampayana begins narration of the history of Pandavas & Kauravas. Birth of Vyasa.
  2. Sambhava: Sakuntala, Yayati, Ashtaka, birth of Dhritarashtra, Pandu, Vidura, their sons; death of Pandu; Kurus’ jealousy of Pandavas. Birth of Drona. Kanika’s discourse.
  3. Jatugriha
  4. Hidimva Parva; Chaitraratha; Swayamvara; Vaivahika (story of 5 Indras & Draupadi’s marriage); Rajya-labha parva; Arjuna vanavasa parva; Subhadra harana; Khandava dahana; Sabha; Rajasuya arambha; Sisupala; Dyuta, Anudyuta.

Nott provided a Glossary based on Dowson and Garrett’s dictionaries of Indian mythology.

It is the Appendix by Alfred Richard Orage that is of great interest. Orage had studied the M at the Gurdjieff’s Institute at Fontainebleau-Avon and his appreciation grew as he understood G’s system more. Extracts from Orage’s magazine, The New Age:

“The M is the greatest single effort of literary creation of any culture in human history…characters appear by hundreds; & episodes follow episodes with the infinite resourcefulness of Time. Nevertheless, there is no moment when the plan of the work is forgotten. At regular stages…everything is gathered together or is re-assembled for a fresh phase of the continuous history. In the interval, relationships have been established between scores of characters, each of whom, moreover, has undergone mutation by experience, yet on re-assembly, the whole innumerable caravan is marshalled and set off again without the least confusion in the mind of the reader. Never was a writer more currently aware of his reader than Vyasa the author…the most colossal work of literary art ever created, its example and inspiration are as vital and multiform as Time itself. It contains every literary form and device known to all the literary schools, every story ever enacted or narrated, every human type and circumstance ever created or encountered. Unlike the reading of derivative works of art, the reading of the M is a first-hand experience. One ends it differently, just as one emerges differently from everything real. The M towers over all subsequent literature as the pyramids look over the Memphian sands. Realism of the inexhaustible significance of the M would be the initiation of a modern Renaissance…Where but in the M shall our age find a …fresh literary source that shall be scripture to our literature—scripture being literature in pursuit of an impossible aim. It puts Homer into the shade; he is a marvellous boy in comparison with the marvellous manhood of Vyasa…The three great treasuries of stories—the Greek, the Scandinavian and the Teutonic, were all derived from the East by diverse ways and the source and container of them all is—The Mahabharata…More real Mysticism can be gathered from the M than from the whole of modern mystical writings. A walk through its table of contents is more than a Sabbath day’s journey. The Iliad and the Odyssey are episodes in it; and the celebrated Bhagavat Gita is simply the record of a single conversation on the eve of one of its many battles… The Mahabharata is a complete encyclopaedia of human nature. There is no emotion, no conflict, no situation that is not represented in it. We should read the Mahabharata as a textbook of psychology, for it describes the forces that move us more accurately than any modern work.”

Review of “The Mahabharata of Vyasa: The Complete Anuśāsanaparvan”, translated from Sanskrit by Pradip Bhattacharya, Writers Workshop, Kolkata, 2023, pp. 1254, Rs. 3000/-

By

By Prof. Indrajit Bandyopadhyay, Department of English, Kalyani Mahavidyalaya, W.B.

Bhattacharya completes the academic and literary journey embarked upon by Padma Shri Professor Purushottam Lal’s first ever attempt at an English verse “transcreation” of the Mahābhāratain 1968, completing sixteen and a half of the epic’s eighteen books. Following his untimely demise in 2010, Bhattacharya took up the unfinished job of his guru, and translated the Mokṣadharmaparvan of the Śānti-parvan in 2018. His “guru–dakṣiṇā”, as he calls it, is complete with the translation of the Anuśāsanaparvan in 2023.

Bhattacharya humbly acknowledges of “not being a poet like Prof. Lal”, and has “striven to follow the spirit of the Lal transcreation”. He proposes to “keeping to the original syntax as far as possible without making the reading too awkward” realizing “the immensity of what the Professor achieved” and the “Meru-high task”.

Indeed it is no exaggeration, considering the cultural sensitiveness inherent to the massive project. The Śāntiparvan and Anuśāsanaparvan are the twin cruxes of the Mahābhāratan philosophy encapsulating ancient Indian wisdom, thoughts, insights and discourses on various aspects of Dharma: Mokṣadharma, Rājadharma, Strīdharma, Dānadharma, as also the practical and pragmatic applications of dharma in daily life. In short, the Śāntiparvan and the Anuśāsanaparvan are the compendium of Dharmaśāstra and Arthaśāstra. With the well accepted dating of the writtenMahābhārata as commencing in the 4th century BCE marking the transition from the oral text, they may be taken as complementing and corresponding to the Kalpasūtra tradition of Dharmasūtras (600-100 BCE; P. V. Kane’s dating) and Kauṭilya’s Arthaśāstra of the age (3rd century BCE).  

In the Anuśāsanaparvan, various aspects of dharma have been demonstrated through puraṇik narratives, parables and fables, which further highlight the correspondence with Viṣṇu Śarma’s Pañcatantra (200 BCE) and Buddhist Jātaka narratives (circa 3rd century BCE). The parvan has unique tales like that of King Bhaṅgāśvana (13.12) who undergoes a mysterious sex-gender transformation and then prefers to remain a woman because –

“Women in uniting with men have

greater pleasure always.

For that reason, Śakra-Indra, womanhood

I choose indeed.” (Bhattacharya: XIII.12.76)    

In all probability, the original Śāntiparvan was later split to structure the Anuśāsanaparvan as a separate entity. The Spitzer manuscript belonging to the Kuṣāṇa period, and Carbon-14 dated as 80-230 CE, does not mention the Anuśāsanaparvan. Nor does Al-Biruni (973-1050 CE) in his ‘India’, while mentioning that the Śāntiparvan consists of 24000 ślokas. However, Abul Fazal (1551-1602 CE) in his preface to the Razmnama mentions the Śāntiparvan of 14732 ślokas and the Anuśāsanaparvan of 8000 ślokas. This proves beyond doubt that the integrated Śāntiparvan was restructured and split into the present Śāntiparvan and Anuśāsanaparvan somewhere between the 11th and 16th century CE.

It is for that reason, coupled with the fact that Ugraśravā Sauti imagines the Śāntiparvan as the bṛhatphalaḥ (1.1.62d@1_52) or the great fruit of the Bhārata-vṛkṣa (the ‘Mahābhārata-tree’), a glory shared by the Anuśāsanaparvan being originally the fruit, Bhattacharya’s English translation in easy flowing language gains immense cultural significance. Sauti’s “hundred parvan” count regards the Anuśāsanaparvan as the ānuśāsanikaṃ param (1.2.65a) and in the parvan-summary he mentions the parvan as ānuśāsanam uttamam (1.2.201a; 204a).  

The academic and cultural importance of Bhattacharya’s translation, “the first English translation of the Anuśāsanaparvan in free verse (alternate lines of ten and four-to-six feet) and in prose (as in the original)”, rendering the difficult Mahābhārata-ślokas (“cryptic and complicated – true Vyāsa-kūṭas”) accessible to the general public with opportunity of comparative study with other English translations from Kisari Mohan Ganguli to Bibek Debroy, through M. N. Dutt and Van Buitenen, must be ascertained and critically understood in this light.

Bhattacharya experiments with translating Sanskrit into English, as much with English language itself. Bhārata-India being an independent raṣṭra, the colonial hangover must be over. In any case, Sanskrit has no obligation to fit into the English mould. Besides, English is no more an alien language. Therefore, English must now be Indianized by active agency.

Bhattacharya’s translation experimentation pioneers that cultural consciousness. He retains Sanskrit words that are in the Oxford English Dictionary, and following Prof. Lal’s style of rendering some Sanskrit words and giving their contextual English synonym with a hyphen, also coins Sanskrit-English compounds or retains the Sanskrit word as it is. In the latter case, initially, the unused eye and ear may miss the rhythm; however, the Sanskrit-English compound has a rhythm of its own, adds to poetic flavour, enables Bhattacharya to maintain syllable counts in feet, and also enables him to be simultaneously translator and reader.  

Those preferring the rational approach to the Mahābhārata pioneered by Baṃkim Candra Chattopādhyāya in ‘Kṛṣṇacaritra’ (1886) may detect in this parvan several clues to the poetic and rational explanation to why Vyāsa (and “Vyāsaīds” – to use Sukthankar’s coinage) hail Yudhiṣṭhira as the Dharma-Indra king on earth, poetically and mythically represented as Deva Dharma’s biological son and an ex-Indra incarnate. For example, there is an episode in which Yudhiṣṭhira, the “new Indra on earth” meets none other than the devaguru Bṛhaspati to receive essential advice (13.112-114).

This is in all fitness of things. Yudhiṣṭhira is hailed as Ajātaśatru (e.g. 1.133.25c), as Indra is known in the Rigveda (Rv 5.34.1a; 8.93.15c).

In continuation of the Śāntiparvan–Mokṣadharmaparvan liberal philosophic and soteriological discourses and advocacy of liberal varṇa system (portraying non-brāhmiṇ characters like Sulabhā, prostitute Piṅgalā and śūdras as qualified for higher merit and social status through wisdom), the Anuśāsanaparvan advocates “Secular Humanism” significantly mouthed by Maheśvara Śiva in presence of Umā. We recall: Umā teaches Indra about Brahma (Kena Upaniṣad, 4.1).

Bhattacharya, in a rediscovery of his translation style of the Mokṣadharmaparvan, retains the unique experimentations with the translation genre. He departs from customary translations in providing the original Sanskrit śloka in cases of key messages of the Mahābhārata.

For example, Bhattacharya retains Maheśvara’s words to Umā: sarvabhūtānukampī yaḥ sarvabhūtārjavavrataḥ / sarvabhūtātmabhūtaś ca sa vai dharmeṇa yujyate // (CE 13.130.28) and then gives the translation (Bhattacharya XIII.150.39-40; p 917-918).

Similarly, he retains the next śloka: ārjavaṃ dharma ity āhur adharmo jihma ucyate / ārjaveneha saṃyukto naro dharmeṇa yujyate // (13.130.30)

And translates:

“Sincerity is dharma, it is said:

Adharma is crookedness called.

United with sincerity here,

A person is yoked to dharma.”

One central message of the Mahābhārata is the Śiva and Nārāyaṇa oneness (stated unequivocally in the Śāntiparvan, e.g. 12.330.64), or to put it in the historical context, Śaiva and Vaiṣṇava synthesis. 

Here, Śiva’s placing ārjava as equal to and even greater than the Vedas is not only consistent with Vyāsa and Kṛṣṇa’s reformative and dynamic approach to the Vedas (for example, Gītā.2.42 / Mbh. CE 6.24.42), but also brings Jainism and Buddhism within the fold of Dharma and cultural synthesis as part of the great humanistic and synthetic attempt of the Mahābhārata, ārjava (ajjava, ajjavayā, and ajjaviya in Pāli) being one of the key doctrines in both Gautama Buddha and Mahāvīra’s teachings.

In Jainism, ārjava refers to one of the ten-fold dharma (i.e., yatidharma) capable of leading across saṃsāra, according to chapter 3.3 [sumatinātha-caritra] of Hemacandra’s 11th century Triṣaṣṭiśalākāpuruṣacaritra.

One would have missed these dhārmika-saṃskṛtika links had Bhattacharya rendered ārjava as “sincerity” only without giving the original word. Needless to emphasize, the English word “sincerity” falls short of the dhārmika and cultural significance of ārjava.

Another important śloka in Maheśvara’s mouth deconstructing rigid varṇa system is: na yonir nāpi saṃskāro na śrutaṃ na ca saṃnatiḥ / kāraṇāni dvijatvasya vṛttam eva tu kāraṇam // (13.131.49)

Bhattacharya retains the śloka and translates:

“Neither birth, nor sacraments, nor scriptures, nor humility

Are reasons for twice-born-hood. Conduct indeed is the reason”.

The retention of the original śloka gives the reader better opportunity to see the similarity with Gautama Buddha’s teachings in the Tripiṭaka.  

Bhattacharya dedicates the Anuśāsanaparvan translation to the late Alf Hiltebeitel whom he regards “most prolific of Mahābhārata scholars”. This needs special mention because in many ways Prof. Lal and Bhattacharya’s approach to the Mahābhārata has been diametrically opposite to Hiltebeitel’s. While Hiltebeitel was one of the staunchest defenders of the BORI Critical Edition, the guru (Lal) and the “chelā extraordinaire” prefer the “full ‘ragbag’ version” reminding us of the Nīlakaṅṭha tradition, which is, in Sukthankar’s words: “smooth and eclectic”, “of an inclusive rather than exclusive type”. (Prolegomena, LXVI)

To conclude: Bhattacharya’s translation is definitely uttamam true to the laudatory perspective of the Anuśāsanaparvan.

Published in “Indian Literature”, Sahitya Akademi’s Bimonthly Journal, Jan-Feb 2025.

MISOGYNY IN THE MAHABHARATA

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The Dharma of Unfaithful Wives & the Faithful Jackals By Wendy Doniger. Speaking Tiger, 2024, pp.222, Rs. 499.

Dr. Wendy Doniger has a penchant for catching the reader’s eye by titling her books intriguingly, e.g. The Bedtrick, The Woman who pretended to be Who She Was, etc. Her latest offering is no exception, with a provocative cover: a lovely pattachitra showing many-eyed Indra embracing Ahalya.

The book is much more than what the title suggests. It is a quite a daring project revealing that the two largest tomes of the Mahabharata (the Books of Peace and of Discipline) are not merely dreary didactic perorations but contain nuggets of unusual tales embedded within. She retells tales from the Book of Horse Sacrifice too. There are bad and good women, animal fables, fathers and sons, how Evil (rather Death) entered the world, kings including Indra and her favourite god, Shiva whom she has called, “The god of cool things” (India Today, April 23, 2013). Many of the tales contain peculiar reversals or twists that make us pause and muse.

Women are not just passive victims here, like Utathya’s nameless wife abducted by Varuna, Rukmini whipped by Durvasa, and Oghavati meekly submitting to a guest’s insistence for coitus at her husband’s command. The misogyny is justified by having women speak disparagingly of themselves. The celestial courtesan Panchachuda tells Narada: “Women indeed are the root of sin…For them none is unapproachable” (Anushasana Parva, 39.12, 17). This is because, as Raja Bhangashvana, man-turned-woman, tells Indra, coition gives women greater pleasure than men. Therefore, much to Indra’s astonishment, he prefers to remain a woman. Disha, the Northern Direction, echoes this. Though uniquely independent and unafraid of curses, she denounces women to Ashtavakra as family-destroyers, slaves of sexual desire and never deserving any independence.

Conversely, which Doniger does not note, the Mokshadharma Parva begins with the courtesan Pingala attaining enlightenment out of a frustrated tryst by conquering her senses, musing: “The expectation-less sleeps happily. Non-expectation is supreme happiness” (my translation 168.52). Rishi Bodhya names her as the first of his six gurus (Mokshadharma Parva, 171.7).

In retelling how Vipula prevented his guru’s wife Ruchi from submitting to Indra’s seduction by yogically entering her body, Doniger overlooks how the female ascetic Sulabha humbled Raja Janaka in the same yogic fashion (Mokshadharma Parva, section 320). Vipula’s allegorical encounters with symbols of day and night and the seasons are paralleled by Uttanka’s experiences (eating bull-shit; two women weaving black and white threads; a rotating 12-spoked wheel). Doniger misses this because she chooses not the original Paushya Parva version but the later Ashvamedha Parva one, which she selects to capitalise on the Gautama-Ahalya-Indra myth. Here, Uttanka’s guru is not Veda but Gautama, and the guru’s wife is not nameless but is the “notorious” Ahalya (who) “invent(ed) adultery”. Actually, Uttanka’s tale has nothing to say about women—good or bad; so its inclusion is puzzling. In comparing Vipula’s deed to dying Vidura yogically infusing himself “into his brother’s male body” (p.18) Doniger is mistaken as Yudhishthira is his nephew, not his brother.

Richika instructs his wife that his mother-in-law should embrace not a banyan tree, as Doniger retells, but a peepul (ashvattha). Nor does the mother-in-law tell her daughter that her father Gadhi wanted her to switch the “charus” as Doniger states (p.46).

Among good wives, woman is first extolled as mother in the tale of slow-to-act Chirakari who demurs when his father Gautama bids him kill his adulterous mother (as Jamadagni bade Parashurama kill Renuka). He muses that the mother is the supreme refuge and is higher than the father; that there is no offence in women whereas it is man that offends. The second instance is of Oghavati who obliges an importunate guest sexually, obeying her husband’s command never to refuse a guest anything. The husband sees her as chatteel, echoed in Yudhishthira’s pledging Draupadi as stake. So too with Jamadagni who mercilessly keeps his wife Renuka running under the blazing sun to fetch arrows he shoots. The good wife is, therefore, the subservient one. Doniger has not included here the clincher voiced by Parvati on the dharma of women to Shiva, backed up by 13 river goddesses:

“Husband is indeed woman’s deva,

Husband is friend, husband is the goal,

Equal to the husband no shelter exists,

Nor any deity like the husband.” (Anushasana Parva, 154.72, my translation)

Doniger has not noted that the episode of Durvasa whipping Krishna and Rukmini harnessed to his chariot is paralleled by Chyavana doing the same with Raja Kushika and his queen (Anushasana Parva, 53.41) with an identical conclusion. Here, too, the ideal of suffering all atrocities silently is upheld. Similarly, the princess Sukumari remains devoted to Narada although he gets a monkey’s face.

The section about fathers and sons retells the deeply moving story of Vyasa’s anguish over his vanished son Shuka. The tale of gold-spitting Suvarnashtivi is taken from the Shanti Parva version where he is devoured by a tiger but resurrected by Narada. The earlier version in the Drona Parva (section 55) is the original of the golden goose tale. Robbers cut open the prince but, finding no gold, kill one another. There is no resurrection here.

Possibly the most appealing in the retellings are animal fables (pious and greedy jackals, stupid and wise tigers, the foolish camel, the three types of fish) that stress virtue and intelligence. A unique fatalistic story about a dog and a sage states that one’s inherited nature does not change despite keeping the best company. Most akin to the Panchatantra and the Hitopadesha is the fable about the cat, the mouse, the owl, the mongoose and the hunter. Its view of life is hard-headed and unemotional: “No one is anyone’s enemy. No one is anyone’s friend…Self-interest is the most powerful factor…people protect themselves.”

Doniger does well to include the little-known story about the starving rishi Vishvamitra trying to steal an untouchable’s haunch of a dog for food telling the protesting Chandala, “One can only achieve dharma when one is alive…I will even eat what should not be eaten (to live).” However, this incident does not occur in the Kali Yuga as she writes (p.128) but when the Dvapara Yuga had just begun (Shanti Parva, 139.14).

A very shocking story is about a wicked Brahmin ignorant of the Vedas—ironically named “Gautama” (enlightened)—who devours a heron that had saved him in acute distress and robs a rakshasa king who had fed him. Despite this, when the heron is resurrected, he persuades Indra to resurrect Gautama whom he considers his friend. Gautama is cursed by the gods to a terrible hell. Character, not birth, makes a Brahmin.

One section is devoted to the fascinating tale of the origin of Death (not “Evil” as Doniger writes; from Shanti Parva section 238, not 283). Mrityu-Death is a woman, clad in black-and-red cloth formed from Brahma’s fury to lighten the over-populated earth, who obdurately refuses to kill. Her tears of misery become diseases that kill. There is an equally interesting tale about what sets a king apart from other humans. Here Brahmins slay the tyrannical king Vena and install the unknown Prithu who comes to be known as “raja” because he pleased (ranjita) the people and becomes Vishnu’s embodiment on earth. Hence the divine right of kings. One of the founders of the Lunar Dynasty, Pururavas, was also killed by Brahmins. Therefore, Parashurama is by no means the only kshatriya-killing Brahmin. Punishment (danda) is the raja’s bounden duty—even chopping off the Brahmin Likhita’s hands.

There is also a strange story about a king affronted when seven starving sages (including Vishvamitra) refuse his offer of food because accepting gifts from a kshatriya destroys ascesis. Shockingly, these sages were about to cook the corpse of that same king’s son for food to save their lives! Their cannibalism attracts no censure! The affronted king sends a female spirit to kill the sages. They are saved by Indra, disguised as sage Shunahsakha, “friend of dogs”.

Dogs have a curious double aspect in the Mahabharata. Although considered polluting, Dharma himself becomes a dog accompanying Yudhishthira on his last journey and Uttanka is offered amrita by Indra disguised as an untouchable with a dog. Sarama, the celestial bitch, curses Janamejaya because his brothers beat her son at their yajna. Hence the snake-sacrifice remains incomplete.

Several stories about Indra are retold: two versions of his killing Vṛitra and how he slew Vishvarupa, incurring the sin of Brahminicide and how he regained his throne; not by killing Nahusha as Doniger writes (p.179), but by his queen Shachi tricking Nahusha. Indra tricks the parched Uttanka out of drinking amrita by offering it in the desert as an untouchable’s urine. In the Paushya Parva Uttanka ate bull-shit that was actually amrita given by Indra. Stories of Shiva are included: how he destroyed his father-in-law Daksha’s yajna by creating Fever (jvara); how Ushana the Asura-guru came to be called Shukra on emerging from Shiva’s penis; how Skanda was born from Shiva and speared the asura Taraka to death.

Doniger writes wittily as always, showing that the two largest and most tedious books of the Mahabharata contain interesting tales. However, she does enjoy shocking. Thus, instead of describing Brihaspati and Shukra as preceptors/gurus of the gods and demons, she uses the Italian “consigliore”, implying that both groups are Mafia!

Published in the May 2025 issue of The Book Review

The Modern Sauti

By

P. Lal: The Mahabharata of Vyasa, Adi Parva-1, transcreated from Sanskrit, Tara TV, 10 DVDs + printed volume.

The 50th anniversary of Writers Workshop was celebrated in Kolkata in early 2009 with the Governor Gopal Krishna Gandhi releasing the first instalment of Tara TV’s production of Padma Sri and Nehru Fellow Professor P. Lal’s recitation of his Mahabharata transcreation. These ten DVDs are unique. There are no other recordings of Vyasa’s monumental work in English, verse-by-verse. The packaging in a red box with the title embossed in gold in P. Lal’s signature calligraphy is a connoisseur’s delight. The discs carry an excellent photograph of the transcreator and are complemented by the printed text in a hardbound, gold-embossed edition.

Ratikanta Basu, P. Lal, Gopal Krishna Gandhi

The epic journey of the Lal transcreation began towards the end of 1968 taking the form of monthly fascicules. From 2005 he published extensively revised editions, each parva in a single volume. Now 16 ½ of the 18 parvas are in print, except for the Mokshadharma part of the Shanti and the Anushasana—the only modern English version to have gone that far.[i] Only K.M. Ganguli and M.N Dutt had complete prose translations in the late 1890s, but both omitted portions of the text. This is the only transcreation that incorporates what the Bhandarkar Critical Edition has omitted, and is also the only one to follow faithfully the original’s verse and prose formats (all others are only in prose). That is where Prof. Lal’s poetic genius lends a unique flavour to this version. Those who have read his monthly fascicules will be mistaken if they give this recording a miss. The spoken introduction is a new and brilliant overview of the key issues in the Mahabharata, unique as much for its insights as its style. The Professor is, after all, at his best delivering a lecture. It is spiced with inimitable touches of punning sarcasm (“The battle of Kurukshetra— call it genocide, parricide, gurucide, suicide— whatever; such brotherly butchery!” Or, “The fathering of Yudhishthira by Vidura is one of the best kept open secrets”). One turns to the accompanying volume to savour the rich feast of insights, only to find it missing.

Vyasa begins, Prof. Lal points out, with an amazingly pompous claim to have all the answers: “What is here may be elsewhere; what is not here is nowhere else.” All scriptures and shastras were weighed against it and Mahabharata tipped the scale, “heavier than all the respected heavies. As it had more “bhaara” it was known as Bhaarata.” But another meaning of the word the prince of transcreators overlooks is “war” (cf. Bhasa’s Karnabhara). Akbar knew this. When he commissioned the Persian adaptation in 1582, he named it Razm Nama, the Book of War.

Perhaps because of such multiple layers of meaning Vyasa insisted that Ganesha understand each word before writing it down. “For what is the point of listening without understanding and assimilating? The language enshrines ideas and values; the style is only the tool. What matters is the meaning.” Should we chase money or the meaning of money (artha); lust or love (kama); ritual or spirituality (dharma); escape from life or transcend it (moksha)? For Prof. Lal, Vyasa’s one message is: transform yourself—transform money into the meaning of money; lust into love; ritual into spiritual; escape into transcendence. But, as Krishna-Narayana (divinity in humanity), tells Arjuna-Nara (humanity in divinity), “You are free to choose.” Why does pacifist Arjuna turn militarist? Why does Yudhishthira not refuse to lie? Why does Bhima hit below the belt? Why does Arjuna kill Bhishma and Karna unfairly? Why does Nara take the ignoble way to victory?

The clue lies right in front, as in the best detective stories, and we fail to see it. Prof. Lal points to the first word in the opening invocation: “Narayana” who is Krishna, the crux of the Mahabharata, without whom it is Shakespeare’s Hamlet without the prince of Denmark. It is all about “wonder-working war” in which Krishna, the omniscient hero, is present but will not fight. Narayana knows the best route to travel, but will not drive until we, Nara, tell him where to take us. Yet, the first Arabic summary of the epic by Abu-Saleh in 1026 AD is astonishingly innocent of this presence. Is Krishna’s role in the war a later interpolation?

After the war Vidura, having tried to console Dhritarashtra with the story of the man in the well (that became the biblical “Barlaam and Josaphat”) teaches Yudhishthira a lesson when he wishes to commit suicide by suggesting that he first find out what is common to river, tree, earth and woman. Slice a river and it flows on, fertilising the land; cut a branch and new shoots sprout; plough the land and it produces food; exploit a woman and she gives progeny and ensures the continuity of civilization—all without blame or revenge. Physical suffering is transformed into fruitful creativity. “Learn! Vyasa urges. Learn from my life how to live as a human being should, otherwise calamity awaits you and all around you. Utthishtha, stand up, wake up, learn and charaiveti, keep moving. No regret, no blame, only transformation of pain and suffering into creativity and progress.” Yet, at the end why does Vyasa shout with arms uplifted, “From dharma come wealth and pleasure. Why, is dharma not practised?” Hastinapura is entrusted to Yuyutsu, begotten by Dhritarashtra on a maid, as the regent; Indraprastha is left to the Yadava Vajra, Krishna’s great grandson.

The entire epic is a flashback a century since the war. Janamejaya wants to know about his family tree, its roots, shoots and fruits, whether sweet or bitter. How else can he know himself—for he is the latest leaf on that tree. And so his ancestor Vyasa narrates his story which is also the history, itihasa, of a country, the chronicle of one family, a symbolic universal drama of mankind slowly evolving through dissension and war to self-knowledge and peace— hopefully.

Dictated to Ganesha and recited to Janamejaya, that oral and aural experience is sought to be conveyed to an English-knowing audience, keeping the Indian flavour intact. Aficionados of Vyasa will be grateful to Tara TV for this signal contribution. The advantage is that the ear catches what the eye has missed in print. In section 63, verse 102 the translation erroneously has Kunti emerging from a yajna-fire having misread” jajne” (“beget”; Surya and Kunti beget Karna) for “yajne” (“from yajna”). Prof. Lal’s is the only English version that sensitively shifts from verse to prose and vice-versa, following the complete “vulgate” shloka-by-shloka. The disks cover the introduction (memorable for Dhritarashtra’s plangent lament), the list of contents, the chapters on Paushya, Puloma, Astika (including the archetypal churning of the ocean, the wondrous story of Garuda and the snake sacrifice), the partial incarnations (including Vyasa’s birth and the war summarised). It cuts off abruptly at verse 21 of section 66 of the Sambhava parva. A bookmark would have been helpful to mark the page where a disk ends instead of having to hunt through the 264 pages every time. Do not look for colophons, chapter headings, annotations, glossaries, list of contents. The rhapsode does not need them.

We thrill to the evocative verses describing Creation transcreated with biblical resonance:

“At first, there was no light,

no radiance, only darkness;

then was born the egg of Brahma,

exhaustless and mighty seed of life…

from which flow being and non-being.”

Or savour the lovely descrip­tion of Meru, evoking profound archetypal memories within us:

“There is a mountain called Meru,

a flaming heap

of splendour.

Sunlight falls on it

and scatters

at the summit.

It is golden: it glitters:

It cannot be measured:…

Mind cannot

conceive of it.”

Pradip Bhattacharya, International HRD Fellow (Manchester), retired as Additional Chief Secretary, West Bengal. His PhD is on the Mahabharata.

[i] My translations of the Mokshadharma part of the Shanti Parva and the complete Anushasana Parva have been published by Writers Workshop.

A Malay Version of the Mahabharata

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Fascinating variations of the Ramayana and the Mahabharata are found in South-East Asian countries. A compendious study of these is yet to be made. Most Ramayana variations were summarised by Fr. Camille Bulcke in his encyclopaedic study of the Rama story in Hindi (cf. English translation by Pradip Bhattacharya, The Rama Story—Origin and Growth, Sahitya Akademi, 2022). Nothing similar exists for the Mahabharata. Now Professor Harry Aveling  of Monash University has complemented his translation of Hikayat Seri Rama, the Malay Ramayana (2020) by rendering into English a Malay Pandava Chronicle (Hikayat Pandava Lima, Writers Workshop, Kolkata, 2024, pp. 309, hardback Rs.1200). This is but one of the many versions of the Mahabharata in South East Asia, drawing upon the old Javanese Bharatayuddha (1157-59 CE), Ghatokachasraya and Hariwangsa. Dated vaguely (1350-1700?), the anonymous Hikayat Pandava Lima (HPL) was meant for recitation in the royal court. HPL, Aveling suggests, is a collection of scripts for staging with actors or puppets. The heroic episodes are peppered with erotica and clowning, e.g. Rajuna (Arjuna) having fun at the expense of his attendants Semar and Chemura.

Claiming to relate in Malay the Javanese story of their ancestors, the Indian source is obvious. Mantras are in Javanese. The Islamic influence is apparent in Darmawangsa’s (Yudhishthira) infallible supreme-weapon named kalima sada (kalima shahadah, declaration of faith) and in scribal notes that resurrection and rebirth are false. Pandawas have talismanic weapons: Rajuna’s pasupati arrow (not the Gandiva bow) and Bima’s (Bhima) panchanaka, his long sharp nail that pierces fatally, besides a massive mace. The influence of Telegu, Tamil and Malayalam folk-tales is clear in several episodes. Replete with adventures and romance, the flavour is much like that of the Kathasaritsagara (c.11th century) and Dashakumaracharita (c.8th century). The publisher Ananda Lal’s list of original Sanskrit names of major characters is extremely helpful in navigating through the plethora of persona peopling the chronicle. Strangely enough, Dhritarashtra, Gandhari, Ulupi, Chitrangada do not feature.

Eveling seeks to convey the Malayan syntax by replacing the word maka, which acts as a bridge between sentences, by the double forward slash (//) hoping “to show the self-contained lines of prose that the word marks off…allow the reader the progress of the text in a slow and aesthetic manner.” Otherwise, it would become a series of staccato sentences.

Eveling splits HPL into three parts: (1) Games of Love and Chance; (2) The Great War and (3) After the War. Beginning in media res with the dice game (as Satyajit Ray had planned to begin his film on the Mahabharata), the chronicle’s last part is the most novel, dealing with Rajuna’s (Arjuna) obsession with Duryudana’s (Duryodhana) widow Banuwati (Bhanumati) and his duel with his thousand-handed namesake Rajuna Sarabahu. Part One draws heavily upon the highly popular Telegu tale of Abhimanyu’s (Bimanyu) love for Sasirekha (Satya Sundari) depicted in shadow puppetry (Tholu bommalata), Yakshagana and Kuchipudi.

There are significant departures from the Mahabharata. Rajuna has two wives: Draupadi and Serikandi (Shikhandi) who swears to fight for the Pandavas. Rajuna turns into an inveterate philanderer. On Duryudana’s command Sangkuni (Shakuni) transforms into dice and Arya Manggala becomes the gambling table. After losing the dice-game, Darmawangsa sends Draupadi back to Inderpasta (Indraprastha) where she remains till the Pandavas return from exile. Darmawangsa has to groom horses. Bima is the gatekeeper who never opens the gate so that people unable to access the river relieve themselves inside filling Duryudana’s palace with stink. Rajuna is the gardener seducing all Duryudana’s concubines and his wife Banuwati. Duryudana, furious, turns to Drona who advises that the Pandavas be ordered to dive into the river to recover an arrow. A dragon living there swallows them but Bima rips open its belly and they proceed to the city of Merchunegara ruled by Wurgadewa. The entire forest-exile is omitted. Draupadi and Kichaka are absent. The Pandavas are disguised as the king’s priest, chief butcher, female dress-maker and grooms. The cross-dressing Rajuna seduces the queens as well as wives and daughters of all ministers, ignoring Darmawangsa’s disapproval. None of the queens are willing to be with Wurgadewa thereafter! The sharing of betel quid is a major step in seduction. Elaborate descriptions of beautiful heroines compared to a variety of flowers abound.

Bimanyu’s love-sickness for Krishna’s daughter Satya Sundari is an elaborate episode filled with romantic descriptions of nature and of both protagonists. While following the Telegu tale, it introduces a horrific gigantic goddess Durga seated on a golden throne surrounded by goblins, skulls and blood, recalling the Bheel Bharata. She who appoints Gatotkacha to fulfil Bimanyu’s desire. Later, Bimanyu falls madly in love with Dewi Utari (Uttara) daughter of Maharaja Mangaspati of Wirata, enraging Satya Sundari, which reminds us of Draupadi’s anger when Subhadra arrives as Arjuna’s new bride. She gets reconciled after Bimanyu recites an obscene spell taught by Rajuna. Krishna has no objection, as he himself has twenty wives!

After thirteen years, ordered by Indera (Indra) to return to Inderapasta, the Pandavas arrive and find Karna has taken Kunti to Astinapura (Hastinapura). Setyaki (Satyaki) is Kunti’s brother. The Korawas are 107 brothers. Kunti bids Duryudana give Astinapura to the Pandavas as it is their inheritance, but he refuses.

The Great War is preceded by another that is unique to this chronicle. Wurgadeva demands that Darmawangsa hand over Utari and Satya Sundari to him as they are reincarnations of his late wife. A battle occurs in which Krishna, Baladewa and Gatotkacha join the Pandavas. Rajuna kills Wurgadeva. Commanded by Betara Guru (the supreme deity), the Pandavas agree to the slain being resurrected by the sprinkling of Sempayang Merta Jiwa water (mritasanjivani). Similar innovations occur in the apocryphal Dandi Parva  where Pandavas and Kauravas jointly fight Krishna over Urvashi transformed into a mare; in Kavi Sanjay’s 15th century Bengali Mahabharata  in which Draupadi and the Yadava women rout the Kauravas after the killing of Abhimanyu; and in Tamil tales of Arjuna’s philandering helped by Krishna.

The Kurukshetra war mostly follows the Mahabharata, omitting the Gita and Krishna’s cosmic form. That occurs only when Duryudana tries to capture him during his peace embassy. On the battlefield when Rajuna does not wish to fight, Krishna is amazed. Thereupon Darmawangsa goes afoot to Bisma (Bhishma) and obtains his blessings for victory. The fallen Bisma bids Rajuna provide a mat, rejecting Duryudana’s golden five-layered mat. Rajuna spreads out arrows on which Bisma gladly lies. When Bahgadata (Bhagadatta) kills Rajuna, Krishna resurrects him with his wijaya kusama (victory flower). Karna breaks Bimanyu’s bow and weeps over his corpse. After Gatotkacha’s death his mother Arimbi (Hidimba) weeps with Kunti and Draupadi and then plunges into his pyre.

Moving romantic interludes are introduced featuring Karna and his wife Sinta Kunti, Salya and his queen Satyavati before their deaths. Karna’s chariot is destroyed instead of getting bogged down. Salya tells Sakula (Nakula) how Darmawangsa can kill him. Battle-descriptions are formulaic and become tedious, with elaborate accounts of chariots, horses, flags, weapons, blood and gore and heroes running amok. Those victorious are invariably presented a full set of clothes and ornaments by the king. The mass-mourning of the Stri Parva is replaced by Satyavati’s lament. She commits suicide over Salya’s corpse, followed by her maid Skanda. Unable to bear the pain of his shattered thighs, Duryudana begs the Pandavas to kill him but Bima’s club-blows fail because the deities decree that death will come only after the Pandavas have been beheaded. This occurs after Bambang Sutomo (Ashvatthama) brings him the head of Panji Kumara, son of Darmawangsa. Bima skins Sutomo alive.

Sangkuni (Shakuni) resurrects after Bima kills him by virtue of his magical panji suata. With the remaining Korawa troops he builds a fortress in Inderaguna forest. Krishna bids his son Parjaman to kill Sangkuni but he is afraid, whereupon the Pandawas give him their talismans. Sangkuni transforms into a second Mount Imaguna, is attacked by the Pandawas and mortally wounds Darmawangsa by piercing his shadow (in a Malayalam tale Duryodhana does this to the Pandavas). Sadewa kills Sangkuni and drops his ashes into the sea so that he cannot resurrect.

The post-war portion is filled with unique tales. Bima kills Dursana, Bahgadatta and Karna’s widows but Rajuna saves Banumati and marries her. The Pandavas return to Mertawangsa while Rajuna settles in Astinapura with Banumati. Here Duryudana’s spirit possesses him and he fights against his brothers. Darmawangsa exorcises the spirit whereupon reconciliation occurs, but he curses Rajuna with leprosy. With Banumati he lives in a hut in Inderaguna forest. Krishna seeks him out but Rajuna refuses to return as he is grieving for his wife Serikandi. Krishna advises him to take Ratnawati, wife of hundred-headed Rajuna Sasrabahu (Arjuna Sahasrabahu), who is like Serikandi. In an elaborate battle Sasrabahu is killed only when Rajuna severs a tiny head hidden behind his left ear. This has a parallel in the folk tradition of one of Ravana’s heads being a donkey’s. Ratnawati kills Rajuna but Krishna resurrects him with a wijayamala flower. To stop the fleeing Ratnawati, Rajuna shoots off her garments and captures her. Sasrabahu is resurrected by Narada on orders of Begawan Guru so that he can complete worshipping him. Krishna takes Rajuna and Banumati back to Mertawangsa where Darmawangsa forgives and cures him.

The massacre of Yadavas is changed into a celebration on the sea-beach by them and the Pandawas during which Krishna and Rajuna dry up the sea-bed to provide a playfield for wives. Enraged, Singabiraja, king of ghosts and rakshasas living in mid-ocean, kidnaps Parkasti (Parikshit). Rajuna beheads him and rescues his grandson. After crowning Parikasti, the Pandawas are told by Narada that Begawan Guru and Indera have summoned them to heaven. So, Darmawangsa stabs himself with the weapon bajrima. Bima tells Narada to kill him by hitting under his ear. Instead, he breaks Bima limbs with his club as punishment because he had caused pain to so many and only then kills him. Rajuna is stabbed by the pasupati; Sakula and Sadewa stab themselves. Draupadi, Subadra, Banuwati and Ratnawati plunge into the pyre. Parikasti places the urns containing the ashes in a temple.

The chronicle concludes with the exhortation to omit whatever offends and expand whatever pleases. “I have done what I could” says the chronicler.