Pradip Bhattacharya

Indologist, Mahabharata scholar

MAHABHARATA

               

               

          

 

 

 

AGENCY IN THE MAHABHARATA

By

S.C.Bhattacharya, V.Dalmiya, G.Mukherji (ed): Exploring Agency in the Mahabharata —ethical and political dimensions of Dharma. Routledge, 2018, 253 pages, Rs. 895/-

This collection of 16 papers is a sequel to 2014 publication from the Indian Institute of Advanced Studies exploring the perennial relevance of the Mahabharata (MB). The 12 papers in it provided meaningful insights into the contemporaneity of the epic. The current book has as its central theme the age-old face-off between “daiva” (fate) and “purushartha” (free will) as seen in the MB. In its first chapter, Anukramanika, Dhritarashtra laments that he is the helpless victim of circumstances. If all is pre-determined, why should Arjuna struggle in the throes of a dilemma and why does Krishna need to extricate him? If Fate is final, why do Kunti, Draupadi, Arjuna and Bhima berate Yudhishthira in exile, urging him to fight? The book examines these questions in three parts of four essays each: Action, Actor and Epic Agency and Retellings.

Sibesh Bhattacharya explores how “itihasa” in the MB is passive, setting an example or clarifying, not an active agent shaping current lives and events. He examines Karna as an example of an independent agent despite appearing doomed like Duryodhana (the tree of which the former is the trunk). Their lives seem to substantiate the Manusmriti’s epigram: dharma killed kills; dharma protected protects. The irony lies in Karna’s despairing protest that although he has always (as he thinks) protected dharma, it does not protect him! The converse lies in Duryodhana’s defiant dying declaration that he is going to Svarga while the Pandavas live on miserable. When Yudhishthira finally reaches Svarga, he is shocked to find Duryodhana already there resplendent on a golden throne!

Amita Chatterjee examines the concept of self-determination and finds the MB suggesting that alternative paths exist from the present to the future. The story of Gautami and her son dying of snake-bite depicts this at length. The serpent, Yama, Time are all agents but the boy’s own intentional acts make him responsible for his acts and their result.

Christopher Framarin studies the theory of karma and finds that Markandeya fails to answer Yudhishthira’s questions about rebirth and how acts produce corresponding consequences for the actor. All only establishes that karma alone determines the human lot. How past acts determine future births remains a mystery that neither the virtuous butcher nor Vidura, nor Brihaspati explain when asked. Framarin concludes that in the MB the theory of karma is underdeveloped, put aside as “the secrets of the gods”. The only clue offered is in the Gita: desires lead to rebirth.

Arti Dhand’s paper on karmayoga is a good example of blinkered vision quite unexpected from the author of Woman as Fire, Woman as Sage (2008). She sees karmayoga as an ingenious Brahminical response to heterodoxy “deftly packaging a philosophy of world renunciation in the garb of worldly engagement,” charting a middle path between renouncing samsara and falling victim to worldly passions. Karmayoga benefits both the self and society, which sanyasa does not. Dhand argues that by linking it to the doctrine of svadharma it perpetuates oppression of the have-nots by enslaving them, blindly adhering to traditional roles which perpetuate noxious practices. Svadharma, she argues, “obviates moral reflection” as seen in Rama beheading the Shudra ascetic. Dhand finds that while the epic’s soteriology upholds ahimsa, this is undermined by its commitment to the hierarchical model of society so that karmayoga provides a justification for social injustice. Dhand makes the common mistake of understanding karmayoga to connote “acquiescence to one’s lot in life—however unjust, however debased”. She bewails that the wisest of Vyasa’s sons, Vidura, was not made king because he was born to a servant maid. She condemns the concept of Stridharma which lauds the wife’s enslavement, killing her agency. She overlooks several pronouncements clarifying that character and conduct determine a person’s caste, not his birth. There is no “smothering” of resistance to social situations. King Trishanku becomes an outcaste because of his reprehensible conduct, and regains his station for his subsequent good deeds. The Kshatriya Vishvamitra becomes a great rishi, as does Matanga, a barber’s son. Yuyutsu, born to a Vaishya maid-servant, becomes the regent of Hastinapura. None of the epic heroines—Satyavati, Kunti, Gandhari, Draupadi, Damayanti, Savitri—can be described as devoid of moral agency.

Gangeya Mukherji focuses on agency and violence. After all, the genocide against nagas is what the epic begins with. Yet, the tale is retold after a non-venomous snake speaks of ahimsa being the supreme dharma. However, the question of non-violence remains unresolved in the Dyumatsena-Satyavat debate. Violence is certainly not the last resort, as Mukherji argues, where Nahusha’s descendants are concerned. All are addicted to hunting to sate blood lust. Key events shaping the epic narrative occur during a hunt. Mukherji suggests that Arjuna depicts “judicious violence” as opposed to Ashvatthama’s nocturnal massacre. But the latter is sanctioned by Rudra, while the former’s destruction of Khandava  forest and its denizens is at Agni’s behest. Further, what do we make of Vishnu’s avatar Parashurama’s genocide against Kshatriyas which Ashvatthama seems to replicate? The dharmic butcher points out that violence is unavoidable in life, as does Krishna in the Gita. The beauty of the MB lies in its conflation of opposites: Agastya argues that in yajnas grains and not animals are the sacrifice, whereas the devas insist on the opposite. Mukherji argues that the war results from the overweening ambition of “two Brahmins.” This is puzzling as he names Dhritarashtra and Drona. The former is not a Brahmin at all! The justification for war as dharmic is completely undercut when Yudhishthira finds Duryodhana seated in Svarga with no sign of his brothers, and in rage exclaims, “This is not heaven!”

Shirshendu Chakrabarti examines Yudhishthira as the prime example of true human agency based on hovering between readiness for violence, living as a householder, and becoming a sanyasi. He is constantly conscious of manifold dharmic possibilities and their consequences—disastrous and otherwise. His irresolution vanishes en route Svarga when he is alone. Chakrabarti misses the similar situation at the end of the Vana Parva where Yudhishthira is tested with the corpses of his four brothers around him and similarly shows no signs of hesitancy. In his quest for humanity he is distinct from the West’s Faustian man seeking to be superhuman. It is interesting that he chooses no guru and remains the genuine agent, ever questioning the self.

MB is a rare epic that also features animal fables. These form Arindam Chakrabarti’s fascinating exposition of non-human agency. After all, if dharma is Vyasa’s core concern, he has a lizard first state that ahimsa is the supreme dharma, has a naga-raja expound dharma to a Brahmin, a mongoose laugh to scorn the Ashvamedha yajna, and embodies the deity first as a crane and finally as a dog. The narrative is thus “de-centred” from the anthropocentric to a parallel track of animal life whose moral agency occurs through speech. But it seems to culminate in silence, for, as the bird Pujani says, only one who has not known intimately the pain of others can hold forth in public.

Winning brides is one of the recurrent motifs in the MB. Uma Chakravarti focuses on the use of abduction for this, the rakshasa mode of marriage which, strangely, Kshatriyas celebrate. The reason is never stated. The other form they prefer is the “gandharva” i.e. love marriage for which no sanction of elders is required. In Amba she sees the problem of male violence against women represented. Her subsequent ascesis is for regaining the lost autonomy in choosing a spouse. Bhishma’s agony on the bed of arrows mirrors her physical and psychological anguish: “the distortions of an enforced sexual control over women are a fundamental factor in the Mahabharata narrative of war.” Presciently she notes that even svayamvara, the bridegroom-choice ceremony, is fraught with violence as in the cases of the Kashi princesses, Draupadi and Duryodhana’s wife the Kalinga princess. Marriage, therefore, is not uncontested among Kshatriyas. Indeed, it is a motif that persists to recur in the legend of Prithviraj and Samyukta centuries later.

Sundar Sarukkai examines the Ekalavya episode as “the first, most important theory of learning,” though prior to it we have the MB tell the stories of three disciples in the early Paushya Parva, each learning by a different method. As in the case of Ekalavya later, Aruni, Upamanyu and Utanka show that learning occurs “in and through the student.” No less than the tribal youth, these three are “allegorical figure(s) for education.” One can hardly agree with Sarukkai that the slicing off the thumb represents “the act of dissolution of a student into the teacher.”

B.N.Patnaik’s study of Sarala’s Oriya version of the Ekalavya episode shows how the regional imagination transformed epic narrative. He analyses Drona’s justification at length. Drona asks for no “dakshina”. Rather, Ekalavya insists he accept it—much as Utanka did with his guru Veda. By agreeing, Drona ritually accepts him as pupil. Krishna has Kunti take as “dakshina” from Karna his two invincible weapons. Krishna asks Kiratasen for his head as a donation. In Sarala, therefore, Ekalavya’s “dakshina” is not unique. In Ekalavya, Kiratsena and Jara Patnaik sees Sarala’s attempt to integrate the tribal culture with the urban “civilized” world.

Sudipta Kaviraj studies Rabindranath Thakur’s reading of the MB by stating he will discuss two poems but analyses only the Karna-Kunti encounter. His finding—which is well known—is that here the inner springs of action are revealed, and Karna’s tragedy in the epic is turned into Kunti’s tragedy too. The other poem that deserved close study is the Kacha-Devayani interaction which is so very cryptic in the MB.

Lakshmi Bandlamudi uses a striking image to describe her engagement with the MB: it is like “entering a hall of mirrors where we see ourselves seeing ourselves…an opportunity to find the Self in the self.” Dialogic interaction characterizes the MB throughout. While dharma in the Ramayana is fixed, the MB shows it as context-dependent. It exemplifies Nietzsche: “the ambiguous character of our modern world—the very same symptoms could point to decline and to strength.” Paradox is the central theme of the epic. She is mistaken, however, in going along with J.L. Mehta’s opinion that Vyasa’s work carries no signature and that he is a “strange absentee author.” He enters at critical junctures in the action to mould events and his poetic style is quite distinctive. Her reading is flawed in referring to Draupadi laughing at Duryodhana—which she never did—and in stating that in the Treta Yuga Narayana manifests as Nara.  Bandlamudi unnecessarily uses jargon e.g. “unfinalizability and unsystematizability”. What is valuable is her insight that despite being the great story of Bharat, the MB speaks to different lands, peoples and times including contemporary issues: “the centripetal and centrifugal forces in the MB demand answerability from lived life as a form of rhythmic closure.”

What is surprising in this anthology is the absence of awareness regarding Duryodhana as an agent with Shakuni behind him, just as Arjuna is an agent impelled by Krishna. A study investigating this area would be beneficial indeed.

(A shorter version was published on 17.2.2019 in the 8th Day supplement of The Sunday Statesman) at http://epaper.thestatesman.com/2024758/8th-Day/17TH-FEBRUARY-2019#page/2/2 

Karna–I Am Myself Alone

By

Kevin McGrath: Karna the Sanskrit Hero, (Brill, 2004)

In this fascinating work, McGrath seeks to study how Karna has been portrayed as a heroic-Aryan ideal from both archaic and classical viewpoints in the Mahabharata and attempts to illustrate how the typology still obtains in modern society, as evinced in Tagore’s poem on Karna and Kunti composed in response to scientist Jagadish Chandra Bose’s request to adopt Karna as mythic paradigm for the modern Indian, and in songs about Karna in Gujarat celebrating him as a hero who brings water and fertility to the community. Even in Indian cinema, the tragic figure of Karna has a perennial appeal, his story being woven into various film scripts in modern guise. The occidental indologist’s interest in Karna and the tendency to look upon him as the epic hero is understandable because he displays quite a few resemblances to Achilles, the hero of the Iliad. Both have special, divinely crafted armour; both have a celestial parent; both sulk and stand aside from the battle initially out of wounded amour proper; both are ultimately struck down by archers.  

Adopting Blackburn’s paradigm of epic aetiology in contemporary India as developed by Gregory Nagy where the epic is seen as evolving from ‘uneven weighting’ towards ‘even weighting’, McGrath finds Karna’s epic being subsumed under the weightier Arjuna-epic in the written tradition. Underlying their confrontation is an ancient Vedic substratum: the antagonism between Surya and Indra pointed out by Georges Dumezil (Indra detaches Surya’s chariot wheel; Surya’s natural mother abandons him and the adoptive mother brings him up). McGrath does not notice that in the Ramayana the same rivalry is perpetuated through Bali and Sugriva, the sons of Indra and Surya respectively, the situation being reversed. It is Surya-Sugriva who has Indra-Bali slain by Vishnu-Rama while, usually, Vishnu helps Indra to slay his adversaries through a trick. This issue warrants deeper examination.

A good point made is that we never find out how the name of Karna is given. Adhiratha and Radha name him Vasushena and appropriately he is indiscriminately liberal like the Sun. In a footnote, McGrath makes an important point that deserved exploration in the book: the only other ‘ear-ringed’ heroes are Skanda, and the Maruts. Indra makes the one general of the celestial host against the Titans and has the others as his assistants after an abortive attempt to destroy them in the womb. While in exile, Bhima refers to the enemies being led by Karna as a helmsman steering the Dhartarashtra boat across the raging sea of battle. In the same passage Skanda is celebrated as a great donor. Both unhesitatingly gift Indra what he craves. McGrath does not, however, investigate why Karna becomes infused with the demon Naraka following Duryodhana’s capture by the Gandharvas. In the 18th century Tullal songs of Kerala he is the demon Sashrakavacha (thousand-armoured) reincarnated. No Indo-European hero has this demonic aspect. Yet, at the end of epic, Karna is very much a solar hero, celebrated by Kunti as ‘A hero, ear-ringed, armoured, splendid like the Sun’, seen by Yudhishthira as attended by twelve suns (dvadashaditya sahitam) and finally merging with the Sun (ravim).

McGrath overlooks how Surya browbeats adolescent Kunti into submit to his sexual needs. It is a measure of her strength of character that even as an adolescent girl that she is able to stand up to him partially and obtain boons ensuring her impaired virginity and her son being special. In this, she parallels her grandmother-in-law Matsyagandha vis-‘-vis the importunate sage Parashara. In saying that Karna is seen in action first when he accompanies Duryodhana to count cattle in the forest, McGrath forgets the confrontation in Draupadi’ssvayamvara where he retreats, astonished at the ‘brahmin’ Arjuna’s bowmanship. Nor does he note that Karna’s much-vaunted prowess is decisively undercut here as also twice more in the cattle-counting and rustling episodes, which Bhishma, Drona and Kripa taunt him with. The contradiction between fidelity to Duryodhana as Karna’s declared paramount value and his refusal to fight so long as Bhishma is in the field, and later not taking Yudhishthira prisoner despite having him at his mercy, also remains unexplored.

The most rewarding part of the book is McGrath’s exploration of Karna’s critical relationships. Like the typical epic hero, Karna has an opposite number who is designated as his ‘share’: Arjuna. The parallelism is articulated in the very first appearance where Karna does all that Arjuna has displayed in the tournament and then challenges him to a duel. At Kurukshetra, they kill each other’s sons. Karna is the only hero on the Kaurava side who converses with gods (Surya, Indra), as Yudhishthira does with Dharma and Kubera, Arjuna with Indra and Shiva. The Krishna-Karna interaction before the war is a clear parallel to and a reversal of the Krishna-Arjuna dialogue that follows. The difference, as McGrath points out, is that here it is Karna who tells Krishna what is going to happen, including his own death, rising to an apocalyptic level that is never Arjuna’s. The Karna-Shalya colloquy is yet another variation that stands the Krishna-Arjuna model on its head. Karna’s last speech to Shalya is a unique passage in the epic conflating a multitude of emotions: insult, confession, boating, abuse, threat, forgiveness, summing up ‘the strange imbalance between potence and irresolution that is so part of his make-up.’

Karna’s fidelity to his word and to liberality for winning fame ‘ his pre-eminent concern ‘raise him to heroic levels that no other character reaches. Yet, Karna is far more mundane in his sufferings and conquests than Arjuna who destroys hosts of Daityas whom the gods cannot defeat, and duels with Shiva himself. Nor is Karna brutal and unfeeling like Bhima who does not even mourn Ghatotkacha and is quite demonic in his deeds. This humanity is what makes him more appealing as an epic hero and is the secret behind the numerous vernacular compositions celebrating him. Karna is defined by two crucial relationships: with Duryodhana it is one of inseparable confidante and advisor, paralleling that of Krishna with Arjuna; with Bhishma it is one of contention arising out of a curious similarity. The origin of both is linked to the heavens (Surya, Dyaus); both emerge out of the Ganga; both are Parashurama’s disciples; both are advisors of the Hastinapura court’Bhishma of the titular monarch and Karna of the actual ruler; both command the Kaurava army in turn and are regarded as the major hindrances to Pandava victory.

McGrath isolates six crucial speeches Karna makes to Surya, Indra, Krishna, Kunti, Kripa and Shalya, concluding that his use of speech as a form of assault sets off the epic’s movement towards the battlefield. Dhritarashtra refers to Karna as one characterised by bitter speech while Yudhishthira speaks of him as ‘one whose teeth are spears and arrows and whose tongue is a sword’. McGrath identifies four levels in Karna’s persona where loss increasingly overwhelms him. In the interactions with Indra and Kripa he lacks nothing. In the speech to Krishna a sense of doom looms which he repeats when declaiming to Duryodhana on fate, for he is no longer invincible. Ultimately, shedding tears at his son’s death, he is vulnerable like Achilles weeping over Patroklos, and Ravana over Meghanada. His own death soon follows, for the epic hero needs must succumb to mortality to be celebrated eternally.

McGrath makes a valuable point regarding the cult of the hero that is common to occidental and oriental myth when he notes the large number of hero-stones existing in Maharashtra celebrating heroes killed while protecting cattle. He quotes Bhishma from the Shanti Parva stating that heroism is the supreme value in the three worlds, for all is based on the hero. Seeking for sculptural proof of this as in Greek society, he points us to two singular references in the Bhishma and Drona parvas to statues of Kuru kings housed in the temple trembling, laughing, dancing and weeping and to the banners of Draupadi’s sons exhibiting images of the Ashvins, Indra, Martus and Dharma. Karna’s qualification as a hero is borne out by the fact that both enemies and friends sing laments for him. Further, like the Indo-European hero, Karna is the eternal solitary. Like the Senecan tragic hero, he can very well have as his motto, ‘I am myself, alone!’  

 

Vyasa adapted Homer–or vice versa?

By

Fernando Wulff Alonso: Mahabharata and Greek Mythology, translated by Andrew Morrow, ed. Alf Hiltebeitel, Motilal Banarsidass, 523 pages, Rs. 1495/-

The Sir Asutosh Mukherjee collection in the National Library contains a rare book by an East India Company officer arguing that the Ramayana story was strongly influenced by the Iliad. Other than Megasthenes’ references to Indians carrying banners of Heracles and worshipping Dionysus, the Greek scholar Dios Chrysostom (40-120 AD) mentions translations of the Iliad in India. The Roman Claudius Aelianus (175-235 AD) reiterated this (e.g. the Trojan horse becoming Bhasa’s wooden elephant in Pratigya Yaugandharayana). In 1871 A.F.Weber, refuting M.H.Fauche’s proposition (supported by A.Lillie in 1912) that Homer had used the Ramayana as a guide, claimed that it was merely Buddhist legends grafted on to borrowings from Homer, an argument that W.T.Telang vigorously refuted. Weber cited Odysseus’ archery feat to win Penelope as having influenced the archery contests of Rama and Arjuna, ignoring that Rama breaks the bow and Arjuna does not shoot rivals dead. J.Lallemant argued in 1959 that the Mahabharata (MBH) influenced the Aeneid. In 1961 G.Duckworth argued that Turnus’ portrayal was based upon Duryodhana. In 1968 G.Dumezil put forward his theory of an Indo-European tri-functional ideology illustrated by the Pandavas (the dharma-king, the warrior, the grooms). Now, a Spanish professor in the University of Malaga has built up a strong case that the Homeric cycle and other Greek myths were adapted for the MBH.

Alonso’s proposes that, following the Greek invasion, the MBH composers used “an extensive index of Hellenistic materials” systematically, beginning with the Iliad’s framework of the massacre of heroes willed by gods. He brushes aside N.J.Allen’s suggestion that the similarities between Arjuna and Odysseus stem from an older Indo-European narrative tradition, yet cites over 40 close parallels in the archery contests for Draupadi and Penelope that suggest a common Indo-European paradigm.

Alonso sees the MBH embodying the formation of post-Vedic “Hinduism” as a reaction against Buddhism and Jainism, propagating Krisnaite worship (he overlooks Shiva). The “discovery” of Brahmi script in Ashoka’s time is a watershed in the oral Vedic tradition, with Vyasa-the-Arranger editing the Vedas into a final form. Bechert and Von Simon have situated the development of Sanskrit in c. 2nd century BC. This is also when sculpted images appear. The Greco-Roman world was interacting with India at least since the time of Darius-I. Ashoka’s Edict XIII mentions embassies to Syria, Egypt, Macedonia, Cyrene and Epirus. Bilingual (Greek and Aramaic) and Greek Edicts exist. “Yavana” signifies all Mediterranean people. The MBH mentions Rome in the Sabha Parva, and Roman coins have been found at several archaeological sites. Philostratus (early 3rd century AD) in his Life of Apollonius of Tyana writes of a voyage to India for philosophical debate. Yavanajataka, Romakasiddhanta prove the Greco-Roman influence on astrology. Terms like “yavanika” show the influence of Greek drama. A Greek inscription in Kandahar authored by an Indian name (Sophitos son of Naratos) uses the opening verses of the Odyssey for his own woeful adventures.

Alonso finds as many as 97 major points of interconnection between Greek myth and the MBH. In both the gods plan the holocaust of power-drunk rulers to relieve the earth’s burden and usher in a new age—that of the audience. Losses are exceptionally heavy on both sides from the very young to the ancient. However, Alonso ignores a major difference. In Homer and Hesiod, Zeus manipulates the gods to shift the balance of battle daily. In Vyasa, the gods do not intervene during the war. Krishna, the devious avatar, makes the decisive moves and engineers a massacre of his own too. Long before the Trojan War, Zeus destroyed almost all mankind by a flood (cf. Gilgamesh, Genesis). Before Kurukshetra, Kshatriyas were annihilated in 21 battles in the previous yuga by another avatar, Parashurama. The Theban War in which Diomedes and Sthenelus fought precedes the Trojan War. Similarly, the Kurukshetra fratricide precedes the internecine massacre at Prabhasa.

Alonso quotes (p. 158) Sanjaya speaking to Dhritarashtra of the gods driving a person mad first, whom they wish to defeat (Sabha Parva, section 72), which could as well have been spoken by Agamemnon. Parallel to gods espousing opposing camps in Homer we have in Vyasa the devas incarnating as the Pandavas, Krishna and their allies, while the Asuras take possession of Kaurava heroes who are simultaneously incarnations of deities. As Zeus favours now one side then the other in battle, so Shiva empowers both Arjuna and Asvatthama, is responsible for the births of Draupadi, Shikhandi, Gandhari’s 100 sons, and has five Indras reborn as the Pandavas. The avatar Parashurama gives weapons to the Kaurava heroes Bhishma, Drona and Karna. Homeric and Vyasan gods provide opponents with special armour and weapons.

In both epics, heroes are born of intercourse between devas and humans. But unlike Zeus, Indra plays no major role other than depriving Karna of his divine armour and earrings and gifting him the infallible missile. Alonso argues that Zeus’ role, and Athena’s, are paralleled by Krishna as “supernatural authority.” However, as Bankim Chatterjee showed, in the epic Krishna is overwhelmingly human, except in interpolated miraculous episodes. Further, there is no parallel in Homer to the “supernatural authority” being killed by a petty hunter. In both, exiled heroes gain allies through marriage, peace embassies fail and fratricidal war results.

A mighty female figure of supernatural birth is the cause of the wars: Helen, Zeus’ sole mortal daughter and fire-born Draupadi. Opposing them are half-god Achilles and Vasu-incarnate Bhishma. Just as Paris gazes on three naked goddesses with hubris, so does Mahabhisha on Ganga as the breeze uplifts her dress. Both face tragic consequences. Thetis, mother of Achilles, and Ganga, mother of Bhishma, are water goddesses who leave their husbands after delivering the hero and being stopped by the mortal spouse from drowning the child. Aeneas, son of Aphrodite and Anchises is taken away at birth and returned later like Achilles and Bhishma. Neither hero marries; both are the chief warriors of their armies, but subject to lesser mortals who are kings. The refusals of both exacerbate the war. Moreover, Karna abstains from fighting like Achilles. After a victory in daytime, Achilles and Bhishma receive a clandestine visitor at night from the opposite camp accompanied by a god (Hermes with Priam, Krishna with the Pandavas). The visit occurs at the end of the ninth year/ninth day. Both die in the tenth year/day. Just as Apollo stands behind Paris guiding his arrow to kill Achilles, so Arjuna shoots from behind Shikhandi to fell Bhishma. Both heroes are overshadowed by an awareness of their tragic destiny. Ganga’s lament at Bhishma’s death has exact parallels in the Iliad.

Both Agamemnon and Duryodhana insult their generals, defy supernatural powers and violate princesses (Briseis, Draupadi). In both cases, what the first messenger says is very similar and a god (Athena, Krishna) intervenes invisibly after interjection by an elder (Nestor, Vidura) fails. The commanders-in-chief of the victors (Agamemnon and Dhrishtadyumna) are murdered soon after victory, defenceless (drowned, suffocated). Both are closely linked to the heroine (Helen, Draupadi). Their fathers lose the kingdom to a brother (Atreus to Thyestes) or a close friend (Drupada to Drona). The child born for taking vengeance succeeds and is named after an animal (goat-Aegisthos, horse-Ashvatthama). Both Hector and Duryodhana wear impenetrable armour, flee, are killed because of a trick by a god (Athena, Krishna) and their bodies are abused by the victor. Achilles and Duryodhana are devastated by the deaths of their closest friends, Patroclus and Karna, both of whom initially withdraw from the battlefield. Both Patroclus and Karna are deprived of their birth-right and later regain royalty. Both lose the divine armour that protects them because of a god’s trick (Apollo, Indra) and die because, ignoring warnings, they target the chief warrior of the opposing army (Hector, Arjuna). They have problems with their chariots in battle and die defenceless, rebuking their slayer. Immediately after their death, the charioteer drives off. Both Achilles and Krishna die when shot in the foot. Both Patrocles and Krishna leave instructions about their obsequies with their closest friend (Achilles, Arjuna).

In the Thebaid, Diomedes’father Tydeus eats the brains of Melanippus, as Bhima drinks Duhshasana’s blood. Curses cause the deaths of the heroes in Thebes and Dvaraka. Both impregnable cities are demolished (so too are Troy and the Achaean encampment) and the women (of Troy and Dvaraka) looted. In both Thebes and Kurukshetra a group of 7 heroes are involved. With Krishna and Satyaki the Pandavas are 7, but Alonso is mistaken about Kritavarma leading a group of 7 kings on the Kaurava side. He merely leads the Yadava contingent.

The kings of Thebes and Hastinapura are blind, aged, do not fight, have numerous sons who pre-decease them. Their mothers are widows impregnated by a close relative of the husband. Both have a son who betrays them (Helenus, Yuyutsu) and is involved in their obsequies. Ominous portents attend the births of Paris and Duryodhana. Their wicked conduct is supported by their fathers. Dionysus blesses Apollo’s son Anius, king of Delos, with endless food through his daughters, which feeds the Achaeans. Surya gifts Yudhishthira an inexhaustible cooking pot for the exile. In both cases there is an ordained period before which the war cannot occur (9-10 years for Thebes and Troy; 13 for Kurukshetra; 36 for Dvaraka). Both wars end with massacres at night of sleeping soldiers and non-combatants. In the raid at night by Odysseus and Diomedes, Athena helps them. Ashvatthama, Kritavarma and Kripa are helped by Rudra. The killer has just one conversation with one of the victims who is immobilised, and then butchers the rest (Diomedes with Dolon, Ashvatthama with Dhrishtadyumna). In both the same character plays a critical role in the massacres: Diomedes at Thebes and Troy, along with Odysseus in the latter, and Kritavarma at Kurukshetra and at Prabhasa with Satyaki and Krishna. In Troy and Kurukshetra, the final massacre occurs through incursion by a “horse.” Just as the wooden horse bears within it the killers, so Ashvatthama is infused with Rudra and carries ghouls with him. In Dvaraka the cause is a similar ruse (feigned pregnancy) that births the mortal club.

Dhrishtadyumna and Athena are born fully grown, armoured, with chariots, roaring. Draupadi, Helen and Pandora are irresistible beauties, agents of the gods for destruction on earth. Helen has three husbands; Draupadi has five. Each very harshly berates one husband, who withdraws from battle and is then visited by a mightier brother who has left the field to enquire after him, who draws a weapon, violently criticises his withdrawing and being in bed, reconciles and returns to the battle. Both Menelaus and Yudhishthira are not notable warriors, are indecisive, not spiteful like their brothers who criticise them referring to violence against their wives. Agamemnon announces that they will return home if Menalaus is killed. Duryodhana plots the death/imprisonment of Yudhishthira for similar reasons.

Alonso brings in parallels between Heracles (half-divine, losing kingship as Eurystheus’ birth is pre-maturely induced) and Yudhishthira (half-divine, not winning initially though Duryodhana’s birth is delayed). During the father’s exile, the hero is born by a god’s intervention. The hero’s uncle and his son deprive him of his birth-right. His mother has to live for long in the kingdom of his rival. The hero suffers a temporary madness because of which he has to travel through wild places, having many adventures (12 labours; 12 years of exile), and undergoes humiliating servitude in disguise for one year, living like a woman in a palace subject to a queen/princess. This ends with defeating an enemy attacking that kingdom for cattle, restoration of true identity and weapons, and a marital union which propagates the dynasty, followed by vengeful extermination of the enemy in war. Heracles and Bhima are gourmands and cooks, prefer to fight with bare hands or primitive weapons and kill a tyrant who abuses a woman. Ovid’s version of the Faunus-Omphale-Heracles story yields numerous parallels with the Kichaka-Draupadi-Bhima episode. Both occur during a religious festival, there is reference to feasting, the violent ardour of the villain, the hero dressing as a woman and the encounter occurs in the dark.

Alonso makes a laboured attempt to equate Heracles’ killing Busiris and his attendants who shackled him for sacrifice with Bhima killing Kichaka’s henchmen who try to sacrifice Draupadi. He points out that she is described as standing embracing a column, which is peculiar unless one recalls Heracles being bound to an altar or pillar for sacrifice! Both Bhima and Heracles are sought to be poisoned as infants, tread dangerous territories, battle monsters and supernatural beings, are described as having flames bursting from them. Cacus, a monster, steals cattle guarded by Heracles, is betrayed by his sister to Heracles, just as Hidimba does with Bhima against her rakshasa brother. Bhima rescues a Brahmin’s daughter who is to be sent as Baka’s meal, just as Heracles does with Hesione, daughter of Laomedon, about to be sacrificed to a monster. Again, moved by the sobs of Alcestis, he brings Admetus back from death, as Kunti is moved by the cries of the Brahmin family to have Bhima succour them. Savitri and Alcestis are another parallel as wives loyal unto and beyond death.

Alonso notes parallels between Jamadagni and Heracles. Both threaten the sun with arrows and receive a gift in return (a golden cup; a parasol and sandals). Alonso then draws a far-fetched parallel between Heracles and Karttavirya-Arjuna as both threaten the sea with arrows. One wonders why he has not drawn the parallel with Rama threatening the sea!

In Heracles’ intimacy with his nephew and charioteer Iolaus Alonso sees a clear parallel with Arjuna and Krishna. Heracles wins princess Iole in an archery contest, but has to leave without her, returns to kill her father (who was his weapons-trainer) and brothers and carry her off. Alonso draws a laboured parallel with Arjuna killing Draupadi’s suitors at Kurkshetra, even though he does not kill Drona, his weapons-guru.

Parallels are seen between Dionysus and Krishna. Both gods have to find refuge from persecution (by Jarasandha, Lycurgus) in the sea (Dvaraka, in the lap of Thetis in the sea); their enemies insult them (Shishupala, Pentheus) and suffer death (dismemberment of Jarasandha-Lycurgus; beheading of Shishupala-Pentheus) after a dramatic revelation of divinity. Surprisingly, Alonso does not refer to Megasthenes’ record of Indians worshipping Heracles (Krishna/Balarama) and Dionysus (Shiva) to bolster his arguments.

Both epics stress a restoration of order on earth and in heaven after a long sequence of calamities culminating in a holocaust. The macrocosm and the microcosm are in harmony. Indra’s hubris vis-à-vis Shiva is ended, as is the reign of Asuras possessing mortals. Brahmins (Drona, Parashurama) who violate their dharma are reined in or slain along with their pupils. In both, the age of half-divine heroes and those born unnaturally (not womb-born) is brought to an end, as also direct interaction of gods with humans. Zeus specifically prohibits any child born of a god. Uma curses the devas to be childless.

In sum, the argument is that the MBH draws extensively on its authors’ “fervour for the Homeric epics and…very diverse Greek sources” using them in versatile ways in the Pandava-Kaurava story beginning from its outline for destruction and its formulation, with supernatural interventions ensuring its end. The sheer bulk of the Greek presence leads Alonso to propose that the MBH was composed largely at one time with Greek texts in its authors’ hands. The lack of archaeological evidence discounts the possibility of a real event providing the nucleus of the MBH. He calls for fresh research to map out, section by section, the Greco-Roman presence in the MBH. This will also identify components that stand outside this archive, e.g. incarnations, rebirth, the power of ascesis, the concept of sacrifice. Such a study can also lead to a re-look at lost Greek texts which seem to be embedded in the MBH (e.g. Cypria, Thebaid). Alonso claims to have discredited the hypothesis of Vyasa having influenced Homer. Yet, all the parallels he lists with masterly skill could easily argue that case. Incidentally, commenting on Romila Thapar, Alonso consistently refers to her as “he/his” (p.471, fn.35)! That apart, it is definitely a very important book for Indologists.

Pradip Bhattacharya retired as Additional Chief Secretary West Bengal. He specialises in comparative mythology.

Review in IJHS by S.K. Sen of Pradip Bhattacharya, trans., The Mahabharata of Vyasa. Book 12: The Complete Shanti Parva. Part 2: Moksha-Dharma

By

International Journal of Hindu Studies (2018) 22:523–549

Pradip Bhattacharya, trans., The Mahabharata of Vyasa. Book 12: The Complete Shanti Parva. Part 2: Moksha-Dharma. Kolkata: Writers Workshop, 2016, 1112 pages.

In 1968 Purushottam Lal began transcreating Vyasa’s Mahabharata in free flowing English verse—indeed a mammoth enterprise. No one before him had attempted a translation of the complete epic in verse. Before his death in 2010, he had transcreated and published sixteen and a half of the eighteen books, leaving the Mokshadharma part of Shantiparva and the Anuśāsanaparva untouched. Pradip Bhattacharya took up the challenge of translating the former. This was indeed very brave of Bhattacharya as this is the toughest section of the epic, containing the essence of Vyāsan philosophy. In many ways Bhattacharya was the right person to undertake this work, given his deep and extensive study of the epic.

The book comprises a short preface, the text, and some interesting appendices: two maps, a list of stories in the Parva, and Bhattacharya’s eloquent reviews of Professor Lal’s transcreations of the Karṇaparva, Strīparva, and Shantiparva (Rājadharma). Bhattacharya’s methodology is to keep to the original syntax, translating sloka-by-sloka in free verse and prose, faithful to Lal’s objective of providing “the full ragbag version.” It is the most complete translation to date and the first in verse, conflating the editions published by the Gita Press, Aryashastra, and Haridas Siddhantavagish, cross-checked with the shorter critical edition (including the supplements), Kaliprasanna Singha’s Bengali translation (1886), and K.M. Ganguly’s first English translation (1896).

Yudhiṣṭhira, having been instructed on the principles of governance, shifts gear from Section 174 of Shantiparva (Section 168 of the Critical Edition) to ascend to the higher levels of philosophy with the question,

“O Pitamaha-grandfather, you have

spoken on auspicious

Rajadharma, the dharma of governance.

O Earth-lord, speak

now of the best dharma of ashramites!”

A series of questions follow that reveal Yudhiṣṭhira’s supremely disturbed state of mind as he tries to find solace, a method for getting over the guilt, the sorrow, and the confusion arising from the loss of all his relations and friends in the pyrrhic battle for which he holds his own greed responsible. Bhīṣma tells him everyone must try to obtain moksha, liberation, by way of detachment which can only come if one remains unaffected by worldly possessions and rises above emotions like sorrow and happiness as these are ephemeral. The true nature of the Self,     ātmajnana, must be realized to obtain liberation, which emancipates from the liability of rebirth and is the highest goal of human existence. This is the only panacea.

Easier said than done! So, for the next two hundred and one chapters, Bhīṣma holds forth on how to obtain liberation, answering myriad questions from the troubled Yudhiṣṭhira, through which the vast expanse of epic philosophy is opened up. To explain the difficult concepts involved Bhīṣma uses fifty-five engaging stories and dialogues, thus establishing a tradition to be followed by Pañcatantra, Hitopadeśa, and so on. Four additional stories from the Siddhantavagish edition and two from the Southern recension are included which Bhattacharya found during his extensive research.

Devala and Pañcaśikha’s Sāṁkhya philosophy is dealt with at length. Ignorance being the root of misfortune, knowledge of the twenty-six principles is a precondition for obtaining moksha. Yajñavalkya delineates the cosmic principles in detail to Janaka who tells Pañcaśikha’s disciple Sulabhā,

“…renunciation is the supreme

means for this moksha and

indeed from knowledge is born renunciation

which liberates.

…That supreme intelligence obtained, I

free of opposites,

here indeed, delusion gone, move free of attachment.”

Interestingly, Sulabhā takes this much deeper, saying,

“Who I am, whose I am, from where I have

come, you asked me.

…If you are free from dualities of

“This is mine,” perhaps

“This is not mine,” O ruler of Mithila,

then what need of

words like, ‘Who are you? Whose? From where?’ ”

Yoga is a necessary addendum of Sāṁkhya. Through Sāṁkhya one attains knowledge and through Yoga one attains direct perception. They are complementary and equally efficacious.

Despite the Brahmanization of the epic, it reflects considerable catholicity. One becomes a Brahmana not by birth, but by gunas and consequent karma. This Parva celebrates non- Brahmanas and women like Sulabhā, Piṅgalā and Tulādhara. Much of the Bhagavad Gita is included here, covering Karmayoga, Jñānayoga, and Rājayoga, with Bhakti as an undercurrent climaxing in the Naran    ārāyaṇiya.

The emergence of Shiva and the Nara-Nārāyaṇa duo as important deities are the salient developments. Shiva is established as a principal deity by getting a share of the offerings after destroying Dakṣa’s sacrifice. By Shiva’s boon Vyasa gets his son Śuka. Nara and Nārāyaṇa are incarnations of the Supreme Soul who defeat Rudra. Nārada has their darshan and initiates their worship as supra-Vedic deities.

Finally, Yudhisthira asks the last question of Mokshadharma Parvādhyāya, which was his first question too!

“Grandfather, the dharma relating to

the auspicious

moksha-dharma you have stated. The best

dharma for those

in the ashramas, pray tell me, Sir!”

Bhīṣma then narrates the story of the Brahmana Dharmāraṇya and Nāga Padmanābha. Moksha is obtained by uñchavṛtti (gleaning), by the grace of Shiva. Uñchavṛtti seems to be Vyasa’s favourite option for attaining moksha. He ends the Aśvamedhikaparva too with such a story.

The most important quality of any translation is its readability and authenticity. Most translations suffer from the use of extraneous verbiage and loss of material— traps which Bhattacharya has carefully avoided. Moreover, he has succeeded in communicating the meaning of concepts that are difficult to comprehend. One moves easily with the easy flow of his language. His poetry is excellent. It is rich yet simple and never causes one to stumble. It has the smooth continuation of a river and the cadence of raindrops, and that is what makes the translation so attractive. Consider:

“Wrapped in many-fold threads of delusion

self-engendered,

as a silk-worm envelopes itself, you

do not understand (329.28).”

The depth of research that has gone into this translation is very impressive. The only problem I perceived was the inclusion of “memorable shlokas,” which break the continuous flow. These perhaps were not really needed. The production of the book is excellent. The readers will be happy to see that the Writers Workshop continues Professor Lal’s innovation of handloom sari-bound production with gold-lettering in his unique calligraphy.

Major General Shekhar Sen Independent Scholar Kolkata, India

Review of Mokshadharma Parva translation in ROSA by Satya Chaitanya

By

Religions of South Asia 11.2-3 (2017) 345–347 ISSN (print) 1751-2689
https://doi.org/10.1558/rosa.37027 ISSN (online) 1751-2697
© Equinox Publishing Ltd 2018, Office 415, The Workstation, 15 Paternoster Row, Sheffield S1 2BX.
Review
The Mahabharata of Vyasa: Book XII The Complete Shanti Parva. Part 2: Moksha-Dharma. Translated from Sanskrit by Pradip Bhattacharya. Kolkata: Writers Workshop, 2015. 1112 pp., Rs. 2000. ISBN 978-9-350-45122-9.
Reviewed by: Satya Chaitanya, Mythologist, Corporate Trainer, Visiting Professor, XLRI School of Business and Human Resources, Jamshedpur, India, satyachaitanya@yahoo.com
Keywords: brilliant women; devotion; liberation; Mahabharata; meditation;
unconventional spirituality; yoga.

All human pursuits have for their end, said ancient India, either one or a combination of the four ultimate human goals: wealth (artha), pleasure (kāma), the common good (dharma) and spiritual awakening (mokṣa). The Mahabharata is an enquiry into these human goals in the context of the sad family saga of the Bharatas.
The epic has 18 parvans or books, of which the Śānti Parvan is the largest and has three subsections: the Rājadharmānuśāsana Parvan, the Āpaddharma Parvan and the Mokṣadharma Parvan. The biggest of these is the Mokṣadharma Parvan, bigger than the other two put together. It is this Parvan that Pradip Bhattacharya has brilliantly translated into English.

Mokṣadharma Parvan has devotion, yoga, meditation, dispassion, the ascetic way of life and other forms of spirituality for its subject matter. One of the most fascinating aspects of the Parvan is that, while it does speak
of conventional spirituality, much of its teachings are irreverent to tradition and it takes very unconventional stands. The very second chapter has a son teaching spirituality to his father. Later the brāhmana Jājali who has
become proud of the frightful asceticism he has performed for years is sent to the merchant Tulādhāra to learn from him, reversing traditional roles completely!

We have another story of role reversal in the Parvan in which a woman teaches the highest spirituality to a man—a story that introduces to us one of the most fascinating spiritual teachers in the entire Indian lore: the great
yogini Sulabhā. She arrives at the court of King Dharmadhvaja Janaka, reputed to be an awakened man, engages him in a debate and countering all his arguments, ends by declaring bluntly that he is no master but just a pretender.
You are not liberated
yet you are proud of being
liberated, O King! You should be prevented
by your well-wishers, as
the unconscious indeed is from drugs.

Sulabhā’s main argument is that Dharmadhvaja has not developed anāsakti—detachment while being fully engaged—the true mark of enlightenment. Sulabhā points out to Janaka that he is still attached to his body and identifies
with his gender, caste, position as king and so on.

We have several Gītās in the Mokṣadharma Parvan. In the short sparkling Bodhya Gītā, a great sage in another role reversal declares that his gurus are a prostitute, an arrow smith, a young girl and so on:
Pingalā, the osprey, the snake, the bee
Searching in the woods,
the arrow-maker and the virgin, these six
are my gurus.

Apart from the Bodhya Gītā, the Parvan has the Manki Gītā, Parāśara Gītā, Hamsa Gītā, Sampāka Gītā, Harita Gītā, Vr̥tra Gītā and so on, each enriching the Parvan in its own way. As the Upanishads do, the spirituality of the Parvan holds heaven in contempt equating it to hell in comparison to mokṣa. The Parvan rejects animal sacrifice. Though hermit spirituality too is discussed, the stress is on what can be practised while living the family life. In fact, one of the questions Yudhishthira asks Bhīṣma in the Parvan is if a man living with a wife at home can climb to the highest peaks of spirituality—a question that is very pertinent to all of us. In response, Bhīṣma tells him the fascinating story of Suvarcalā who chooses Svetaketu as her husband and lives with him a life leading both to the heights of spirituality. In this story we have a rare Brahmin svayamvara (a woman choosing her husband from a number of eligible suitors), usually limited to royal kṣatriya families.

The women of the Parvan are all brilliant, be it Suvarcalā who tells her father she would choose her husband by herself, Yogini Sulabhā who using yoga enters Janaka’s head to debate with him staying within himself, the wife
of Nāgarajā who teaches her anger-prone husband the importance of managing anger.

While Bhattacharya’s translation is basically in verse, he has translated the prose in the original into prose, which makes this the only verse-and-prose sloka-by-sloka translation of the Parvan. The translation is a monumental piece of work as well as a superb literary achievement. One of the unique aspects of the translation is the retention of Sanskrit words that are in the Oxford English Dictionary. An example for this could be found in the parvan-opening question itself which Yudhishthira begins with ‘O Pitāmaha-Grandfather’. A new reader finds this rather unsettling, but once you are used to it, you discover it has a charm of its own, giving the entire work a surreal quality. And of course, it avoids, as the translator points out, the need for annotations, colophons and
dovetailing explanations.

Bhattacharya’s mastery of the English language is astounding. With amazing fluidity, the mighty torrent of the translation flows on for 1077 pages, carrying us with it. Occasionally though the intentional literalness of the translation introduces a grating note into the otherwise beautiful harmony. For instance, I would have preferred the simple ‘all doubts cleared’ to the literal ‘all doubts severed’ (Section 320.25).

I also feel a Contents section at the beginning and chapter titles would have made the book more useful to researchers, though the translator does explain why he has omitted these. The Index appended does not meet with
this need.

Apart from these minor complaints, the Mokṣadharma Parvan is a superb example for what encyclopedic knowledge, hard work, superb literary talent and total commitment can achieve. The work is a masterpiece of Sanskrit translation. As a translator Bhattacharya eminently succeeds in achieving all the aims he sets for himself.

Review of Mokshadharma Parva by Indrajit Bandyopadhyay in Indologica Taurinensia

By

Indologica Taurinensia 43 (2017)

PRADIP BHATTACHARYA, trans. from Sanskrit, The Mahabharata of Vyasa: The Complete Shantiparva Part 2: Mokshadharma, Writers Workshop, Kolkata, 2016, pp. 1107, Rs. 2000/-

The book reviewed here is Pradip Bhattacharya’s translation of Mokṣadharmaparvan in the Śānti-Parvan of Mahābhārata, which starts from Section 174 of the Śānti-Parvan in Kisari Mohan Ganguli’s (KMG) prose translation, and corresponds to Section 168 of the Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute (BORI) or Pune Critical Edition (C.E).

Padma Shri Professor Purushottam Lal, D. Litt. began the first ever attempt to a verse “transcreation” of the Mahabharata in 1968; unfortunately, his timeless ongoing work lost to time in 2010 with his untimely demise, so that “transcreation” of sixteen and a half of the epic’s eighteen books could be published. Bhattacharya takes up the unfinished job of his Guru, and offers this verse-prose Guru–Dakṣiṇā to his “much-admired guru and beloved acharya”, Prof. Lal. He however, is on his own in that he does “translate rather than transcreate”.

Bhattacharya proposes to “keeping to the original syntax as far as possible without making the reading too awkward” and sets out on his translation venture “in free verse (alternate lines of ten and four-to-six feet) and in prose (as in original) faithful to Prof. Lal’s objective of providing the full ‘ragbag’ version.”

Mokṣadharmaparvan being the philosophic and soteriological culmination of Mahābhārata and Ancient India’s message and wisdom, Bhattacharya’s work is culturally important in bringing to the English speaking world this very important parvan.

The idea of Mokṣa that Kṛṣṇa teaches Arjuna in the Gītā (Udyoga Parvan) and found elsewhere (though mostly in the sense of liberty from any Tyrannous Power) is elaborated in Mokṣadharmaparvan through Itihāsa-Puraṇa, narratives, recollections and fables. Mokṣa is the final of the Four Puruṣārthas – following Dharma, Artha and Kāma; yet it would not arrive automatically or inevitably by law of chronology unless Puruṣakāra blends with Daiva, and Daiva may favour only when Balance of Puruṣārthas – Dharma-Artha-Kāma – is attained through Buddhi, Upāya (Strategy/Policy), Will and Karma.

The parvan stands out as unique in its 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), and carries the important and interesting message that understanding Gender Relation or Evolutionary Nature of Gender is essential for Prajñā leading to Mokṣa. Yudhiṣṭhira learns all these theoretically from grandfather Bhīṣma, who is then on his Bed of Arrows. This is not without significance. Bhīṣma’s physical life-in-death or death-in-life is apt parallel and metaphor for Yudhiṣṭhira’s mental state. Yudhiṣṭhira and his brothers and Draupadī qualify to gain knowledge on Mokṣa–Dharma only after their growing realization through dialogues, debates, experiences and feelings that victory in war has been futile, and Kurukṣetra War is as much external as internal. Yet, at the end of Śānti-Parvan, theoretical knowledge does not suffice, and the Pāṇḍavas and Draupadī emerge Dynamic in their quest for more quests – that sets the stage for further of Bhīṣma’s advice in Anuśāsana Parvan. The message that emerges from Mokṣadharmaparvan is that, one has to actually attain Mokṣa; mere theorizing is only furthering Bandhana.

Bhattacharya has long been a critic of the C.E considered almost sacrosanct by perhaps most of the Videśi and Svadeśī scholars alike, while, ironically, even V.S. Sukhtankhar (1887-1943), the first general editor of the project, was tentative in calling it an approximation of the earliest recoverable form of the Mahākāvya. Bhattacharya’s taking up the massive project of translation is, in a way, his critical commentary on C.E through action; he boldly declares about his project “whatever the C.E. has left out has been sought to be included” – ringing like Mahābhārata’s famous self-proclamation – yad ihāsti tad anyatra yan nehāsti na tat kva cit (1.56.33).

Bhattacharya’s project is thus, what James Hegarty calls “(recovery of) embarrassment of riches” and perhaps more, because it is “a conflation of the editions published by the Gita Press (Gorakhpur, 9th edition, 1980), Āryaśāstra (Calcutta, 1937) and that translated and edited by Haridās Siddhāntavāgiś Bhattacharya in Bengali with the Bhāratakaumudī and Nīlakaṅṭha’s Bhāratabhāvadīpa annotations (Bishwabani Prakashani, Calcutta, 1939).”

Bhattacharya has done an invaluable job to English readership by providing four episodes found in Haridās Siddhāntavāgiś (Nibandhana-Bhogavatī, Nārada, Garuḍa and Kapilā Āsurī narratives) and many verses not found in the Gorakhpur edition. Of these, the Kapilā Āsurī Saṃvāda at Section 321-A (p-815) is only found in Siddhāntavāgiś edition (vol. 37, pp. 3345-3359). Just as in archaeology, every piece of human-treated rock delved from earth is beyond value, I would say that every unique variation or every narrative in Mahābhārata recensions is of similar value particularly in marking a curious interaction point between Classical and Folk Mahābhārata – that no serious Mahābhārata scholar can ignore.

Bhattacharya deserves kudos for bringing into light the stupendous work and name of Siddhāntavāgiś, an almost forgotten name even to most Bengalis, and an unknown scholar to most Mahābhārata scholars or readers, almost eclipsed by the other popular Bengali translator Kālī Prasanna Siṃha.

Translation is a difficult and complex ball-game, particularly when it comes to Sanskrit. India and the Mahābhārata-World have witnessed much Translation Game all in the name of scholarship. The Translation Game as a part of Colonizer’s Agenda as well as the Game-calling is already cliché – having been pointed out and criticized by stalwarts from Rsi Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay to Edward W. Saïd. Sometimes Agenda sometimes peculiar whims have done injustice to Sanskrit. While Alf Hiltebeitel’s constant rendering of Itihāsa as “History”, or Mahākāvya as “Epic”, or translation of Dharma as “religion” or “law” or “foundation” (the latter also in Patrick Olivelle) is the most common example of the former, Van Buitenan’s rendering of Kṣatriya as “Baron” is a signal case of the latter.

The whole Vedic (later, Hindu) tradition is contained in culturally sensitive lexicons that should not be subjected to Free Play in the name of translation. Needless to say, Dharma holds the Key to Bhāratiya Itihāsa as also understanding Mahābhārata. Given the inclusion of Dharma in Oxford dictionary, and given definition of Itihāsa in Kauṭilya’s Arthaśāstra (anywhere between c.a 300 BCE – 300 CE) and Kalhana’s (c. 12th century) Rājātaraṅgini, I wonder why Dharma has to be translated at all, or why Itihāsa has to be translated as “History”, a signifier that falls shorter to the signified of Itihāsa. Bhattacharya arrives at a compromise by rendering “Itihāsa-history” (e.g. Section 343, p- 998).

Bhattacharya’s translation venture has to be understood at the backdrop of above-mentioned translation-scenario. He declares he has been cautious on the matter of translation in having cross-checked with Kaliprasanna Sinha’s Bengali translation (1886), KMG’s first English translation (1883-96) and the shorter BORI edition. Such crosschecking with available translations in different languages of a time-tested Sanskrit work is no doubt the safest and most appropriate translation-methodology that every aspiring translator of already rendered works should follow. Mahābhārata can neither be reduced into simplistic narratives, nor it can be thought in terms of Grand Narrative; more so because Sanskrit denies singular and straightjacket interpretation of signifiers. Varied translations are actually explorations of various narrative possibilities in the Sanskrit lexicon and Ślokas. The wise way therefore, is to keep open to different narrative possibilities.

As one reads Bhattacharya’s translation, one finds that his work is as much experimentation with translating Sanskrit into English, as much with English language itself. If Sanskrit is not a translatable language, then English must transform into a worthy receptacle language – this, it seems, is Bhattacharya’s underlying purpose and belief. 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 common or contextual English synonym with a hyphen, also coins Sanskrit-English compounds or retain Sanskrit word as it is. In latter cases, initially, the unused eye and ear may miss the rhythm; however, the Sanskrit-English compound has a rhythm of its own, adds to poetic flavor, enables Bhattacharya to maintain syllable counts in feet, and also enables him to be the simultaneous translator and reader.

Bhattacharya’s Sanskrit-English compounding is utilitarian and perhaps Political too, and surely comes under the purview of Skopostheorie. The reader has the option either to make sense of the Sanskrit on his/her own, or take the English suggested by Bhattacharya. In ‘pure’ translation, this option is unavailable and the reader has to be at the receiving end.

At times, however, over-use of Sanskrit-English compounds makes the reading strenuous and breaks the rhythm. For example, “Likewise by force do I Pṛthivī-earth verily for the welfare of all creatures” (Section 339, verse 71, p- 936) is not a sonorous rendering. Similarly, in “Niṣāda-tribals” (Section 328, verse 14, p- 863), compounding ‘tribal’ is neither politically correct, nor historically or Mahābhāratically correct, because Niṣāda is Varṇasaṃkara (12.285.8-9), and sometimes considered Kṣatriya – though “fallen”, and overall a very complex entity.

In some cases, where the Śloka itself offers the explanation to an epithet or name, Bhattacharya’s retaining the Sanskrit word for what is already explained in the Śloka is a laudable strategy to introduce the Sanskrit word into English vocabulary. For example, “śitikaṇṭha” (verse 98) and “Khaṇḍaparaśu” (verse 100) at Section 342 (p- 990). However, the “ś” in former is small, but “K” in later is in capital; consistency should have been maintained, as also in the case of “maha”. For example, mahāprājña (12.200.1a) rendered as “Maha-wise” is with capital “M” (verse 1, 12, p- 157, 159), whereas it is not in other 6 cases like “maha-rishis” (p- 1026, 1027). ‘P’ in Puruṣottama is not capitalized at Section 235 verse 39 (p- 908), but capitalized at page- 910 (verse 53). Guṇa is not transcripted (Sec- 205, verse 10-12, p- 142); it is with small “g” in most cases, even at page-143, verse 17 where once it is small and once with a capital “G”. Kāla is transcripted but in same verse-line saṃsāra is not (Sec- 213, verse 13, p- 217). Similarly, “atman” (Ātmā) is sometimes with small “a” sometimes capital “A” (e.g. p-386-7).

Bhattacharya may address these minor issues in his next edition; minor, because his laudable retention of culturally exclusive words like “arghya” (e.g. Section 343, p- 1000) and “āñjali” [“palms joined in āñjali” (e.g. Section 325, verse 30 & 32, p- 846)], as also Praṇāma in “pranam-ed” (verse 19, p- 176) and “pranam-ing” (Sec- 209A, verse 25, 28, 29, 33; p- 177), outweighs occasional capitalization-italicization inconsistency or misses.

Even if it is not “inconsistency” but deliberate, Bhattacharya’s dual strategy of transcripting Sanskrit words in IAST, and non-transcripting Oxford accepted Sanskrit words, may appear confusing to readers. For example, he does not transcript the prefix ‘maha’ or italicize it. Similar is “rishis”. In my opinion, the recurrence of the prefix ‘maha’ could have been avoided in some cases. For example, “maha-humans” (Section 343, p- 999) and ‘mahāyaśāḥ’ (12.200.33a) translated as “maha-renowned” (Sec- 207, vn. 33, p- 161) sounds odd and breaks the rhythm.

The translation experimentation is Bhattacharya’s commentary too – which Sanskrit words English should accept in vocabulary instead of futile indulging in Translation Game. Take for example the word Puruṣa, which is a Key word in the Mokṣadharmaparvan and in the doctrine of Puruṣārthas. Puruṣa has been translated in various ways. Renowned scholars like Julius Eggeling, Max Muller, Arthur Berriedale Keith and Hanns Oertel have mostly translated Puruṣa as “man” or “person” in their renderings of ancient Vedic texts. Needless to say, these renderings are misleading because originally, it is a non-gendered concept. Bhattacharya has it both ways; he retains Puruṣa and offers different compounding in different contexts – Puruṣa-Spirit (e.g. Sec- 348, p- 1026), “Puruṣa-being” (e.g. Sec- 321, verse 37, p- 817; Sec- 343, p- 1000), and “Puruṣa the Supreme Person” (Sec- 334, verse 29, p- 900). While the contextual compounding offers the reader the choice to make his own sense of Puruṣa, in my opinion, Bhattacharya could have retained Puruṣa as it is, because the compounded English translation is at times etymologically problematic. For example, Bhattacharya translates ekāntinas tu puruṣā gacchanti paramaṃ padam (12.336.3c) as “those exclusive devotees, reaching Puruṣa-spirit the supreme station” (Sec- 348, p- 1026). But, ‘Spirit’ from PIE *(s)peis– “to blow” does not go well with Puruṣa (though “ru” connotes “sound”), and though the Latin spiritus connotes “soul” (other than “courage, vigor, breath”), the modern English connotation (since c.1250) “animating or vital principle in man and animals,” and Puruṣa is indeed identified with Prāṇa in Brāhmaṇas and Āraṇyakas, yet Puruṣa is much more than all those combined connotations and significances. Perhaps, Bhattacharya could have left Puruṣa as Puruṣa, and Pada as Pada given the immense significations of Pada. “Supreme station” does not seem to be an adequate translation of paramaṃ padam. ‘Station’ from PIE base *sta– “to stand” is rather Static, whereas, Puruṣa is a Dynamic principle in Vedas with “thousand feet” (RV- 10.90). Bhattacharya seems to have followed Griffith’s translation of Paramaṃ Padaṃ as “supreme station” (e.g. Griffith’s trans. in RV- 1.22.21 – “Vishnu’s station most sublime” for viṣṇoḥ yat paramam padam). Further, the punctuation ‘comma’ is missing after Puruṣa-spirit.

Bhattacharya has sometimes quoted the whole Sanskrit Śloka and then given its translation. Mostly these are well-known and oft-quoted famous Ślokas; at times, it seems these are his personal favourites. This strategy is a severe jolt to conventional translation. Bhattacharya makes the point that despite reading translation, the reader must have the reminder of the original. In some renderings, he has used popular English idioms in addition to the translation, which carry the sense of the Śloka though not literally implied. Such experimentation makes the communication forceful. For example, he translates karoti yādṛśaṃ karma tādṛśaṃ pratipadyate (12.279.21c) as “as is the karma done, similar is the result obtained”; and then further adds, “as you sow, so shall you reap” (verse 22, p- 639). This being a popular idiom, succeeds in better communication with the reader, which is no doubt the translator’s achievement.

Bhattacharya’s translation is crisp, compact and lucid. For example, KMG renders – manoratharathaṃ prāpya indriyārthahayaṃ naraḥ / raśmibhir jñānasaṃbhūtair yo gacchati sa buddhimān (12.280.1) as “That man who, having obtained this car, viz., his body endued with mind, goes on, curbing with the reins of-knowledge the steeds represented by the objects of the senses, should certainly be regarded as possessed of intelligence.” The result is loosening and dispersing of the original sense; besides, “curbing” adds negative dimension. Bhattacharya translates this as “obtaining this chariot of the mind drawn by the horses of the sense-objects, the man who guides it by the reins of knowledge…” – which is a more practical and easy-flowing rendering, retaining the poetic flavour; besides, “guiding” instead of KMG’s “curbing” is positive and does justice to the optimistic philosophy implied here.

Bhattacharya’s task is indeed a “Himalayan task” (preface, p-6) as he is aware of the “challenge”. With all humbleness that befits an Indian scholar’s Śraddhā to Indian tradition, Bhattacharya is open-minded to revise towards perfection and admits “all errors are mine and I shall be grateful if these are pointed out” (Preface, p- 6).

As an experimentation in translation, Bhattacharya’s methodology is here to last; future translators of Sanskrit may improve the system, but surely cannot indulge in whimsical translations without mentioning the original Sanskrit words that hold the key to the overall meaning of a Śloka or a section or even the whole Text.

The annexures provided at the end of the translation work is useful and enlightening. Annexure-1 gives the internationally accepted system of Roman transliteration of the Devanāgari. Annexure-2 is Prof. P. Lal’s sketch of the Mahābhāratan North India (based on the Historical Atlas of South Asia) showing important places and rivers; however, one feels, the sketch could have been magnified a bit for better legibility. This document and Annexure-3, another sketch of the whole of India, is historically valuable as reminiscence of Prof. P. Lal. Annexure-4 provides a comprehensive list of all the episodes of Mokṣa–Dharma parvan courtesy Madhusraba Dasgupta. This document is an instant information provider of what is contained in Mokṣa–Dharma parvan. One wishes, Bhattacharya could have provided the corresponding page numbers to the episodes of his translation.

In final analysis, Bhattacharya’s rendering is a must in library for serious scholars and readers alike.

Indrajit Bandyopadhyay

Associate Professor, Department of English, Kalyani Mahavidyalaya, West Bengal, India