The myth of meters

The story goes that the gods wanted Soma, the favoured drink of Indra. The gods lived on earth at the time and they knew that it would take a lot of persuasion and skill to prise Indra’s drink away from him. They approached the meters (the rhythmic beat of poetry or song or speech in the present context), conceptualised as female birds in the ancient texts.
Interestingly, in a myth from the Mahabharata (Astika Parva), another bird, Garuda has to get the drink of immortality (amrita) from Indra to free his mother; the idea that Amrita or Soma lies in the heavens, is out of reach of the ordinary mortal and even god; and has to be procured by one who can fly higher than the other creatures of the universe is thus an established one in Indian myths.
The first meter to fly out on the quest was Jagati. She had fourteen syllables in each of her four feet and was considered the most able among all meters. However she could not get Soma. Her journey was not entirely wasted though as she brought back sacrificial beasts and the method of consecration for the sacrifice in exchange for two syllables. So she now had twelve syllables in each of her four feet.
The next to fly out on the quest was Trishtubh with thirteen syllables in each of her four feet. However Trishtubh too came back without the Soma. She brought back penance (tapas) and sacrificial gifts (dakshina) but lost two of her syllables, retaining only eleven.
Finally it was the turn of Gayatri. She had just three feet with four syllables in each and was believed to be the weakest of all meters. But, she put all doubts to rest when she not only got Soma for the gods but also brought back the two syllables each that Jagati and Triṣhṭubh had bartered in exchange for their gifts. In this way she doubles the number of syllables in each foot.
At one level, the myth represents a heroic quest for an elusive drink. But it stands apart from other hero’s quest myths on the following counts: the hero is female and a bird and in the end, the hero brings home the drink.
How do we interpret this? Myths carry many meanings and it usually depends on the way it is told, the time it belongs to and the cultural context that it is set in. One way to look at this myth would be that meters marked the way we spoke in ancient times. In fact this is the way that many tribes, who have remained isolated from the mainstream civilisations, speak even today. I watched a recent programme on National Geographic (I think) where an old tribesman conveyed a great deal through mono syllabic sounds. It is therefore possible that the three meters that embark on the heroic quest for the drink of immortality represent three tribes that spoke in those meters. And ultimately the tribe that spoke in the Gayatri meter was successful in its quest.
What is the significance of Jagati and Trishtubh returning without Soma? It could be that these tribes were smaller or were giving way to the newer and younger Gayatri speaking tribe. Interestingly none of the meters come out unscathed in this journey. Gayatri does not survive in her original form. She doubles the syllables on each of her three feet from four to eight. The other meters too change, symbolising perhaps, the give and take that marked the early way of life in the region.
It would be fascinating to check out if there are similar myths in other civilisations. And if so, what are the similarities and differences?
(Image from http://office.microsoft.com/en-us/images)

War and peace

The iconography associated with Vishnu is quite fascinating. Typically he is shown reclining on the snake god Adi Sesha and riding on his vahana Garuda, the bird god.

As is well known, the serpent and the eagle are arch enemies. In the animal kingdom, the eagle preys on the snake and the snake, on the eagle's young. This relationship has been explored in great detail in folklore and myth -- the birth of Garuda and his subsequent journey to free his mother is a famous case in point.

However the enmity motif becomes inconsequential in the depiction of Vishnu. Both Adi Sesha (serpent) and Garuda (eagle) are his devotees and I haven't yet come across any stories that bring out their mutual antagonism in this role. Clearly though the two never meet -- Vishnu is unlikely to recline and fly at the same time and perhaps that is the reason why there are no idols that have Vishnu, Adi Sesha and Garuda in the same frame. Most Vishnu temples have sculptures of both but they are never shown together. If there is one, and if any of you have come across such a temple or painting or sculpture, please write in.

But to come back to the serpent-eagle relationship, how and when did things change?

Was it under the unifying influence of the Vedic pantheon? Or was it the outcome of the assimilating power of an old religion such as Hinduism? Or was it, the bulldozer effect -- where a majority sucks in minority faiths to make one composite whole, often assigning a deferential role to their gods?

It would be impossible to answer any of the above with authority. But, whatever be the reasons and the reasoning, the iconography records a turning point in the serpent-eagle relationship in the kingdom of myth. It represents an understanding that natural enemies can co-exist without one knocking out the other.

Finally, this is not the only explanation of the iconography. There are many more theories that are extremely relevant and perhaps far more popular and I would love to collect them all. My search has just begun but as and when the explanations pour in, will publish them on the blog.

Disappearing deities

The Padmanabha temple at Trivandrum has an 18 feet long idol of Vishnu; reclining on the coiled serpent Ananta Naga or Adi Sesha with a lotus rising from his navel on which sits Brahma, the creator god (more on the iconography later). It is a fabulous work of art and a rich source of story.

There are two texts that tell us about how the idol came to be the way it is and where it is today. One is the Ananthasayana Mahatmya (AM) and the other, the temple records of Granthavali.

The story in the AM is particularly interesting. It says that the idol was created and installed by a sage called Divakar from Mangalore, an ardent Vishnu devotee.

One day, during his daily prayers, Divakar saw a two year old boy playing under a tree. Drawn towards the child for some inexplicable reason, the sage took him home. And the two grew close.

Divakar, worried that the boy would disappear as suddenly as he had arrived, begged him never to leave. The boy agreed but under one condition: Divakar could not question any thing that the child did. Any sign of displeasure or, anger at the boy’s behaviour would lead to his departure.

Divakar agreed but as is typical in such stories, could not keep up his end of the bargain.

One day while he was busy with his prayers, the boy, in a deliberate act of provocation bit the shaligram (a black stone believed to be a symbol of Vishnu, found in the Gandaki River in Nepal).

An angry Divakar lost control and broke his contract. The child disappeared but he told the sage that if he wished to see him, he would have to come to Ananthan Kadu (the spot at which the temple stands today in Trivandrum). Divakar followed him to the place and saw him getting into a large tree. Before he could reach out and grab the child, the tree crashed to the ground in the form of the sleeping Vishnu.

This story carries a motif extremely common to marchën(folktales with magic or supernatural elements and which typically begin with ‘once upon a time’ according to the Encyclopaedia Britannica) all over the world. It has been used in German folklore, in Native American tales and in Indian myths with great impact. Typically a divine being agrees to wed or live with a mortal under a condition which, if flouted will lead to disastrous consequences. Invariably the mortal falls short and the god has to leave but not without leaving a part of himself or herself behind – either in the form of a child or a special power or an idol.

Andrew Lang, anthropologist, poet and novelist says (in his book Custom and Myth, available online under project Gutenberg), the motif of the disappearing deity who appears as wife or child is a common one and has been interpreted in different ways by different mythologists.

It could be perhaps, as Max Mueller has hinted in his interpretation of the popular myth of Bheki (will upload this one soon) that the myths refer to the disappearance of the sun at the end of the day, every day. Maybe, but this is not the only interpretation. It could be, as GS Kirk points out in his analysis of the Gilgamesh myth that myths reflect social and cultural dilemmas. It is possible, using this rationale, that the motif reflects a common concern over the separation between the world of the gods and the world of men. It is based on the belief that an act of folly drove the gods away from us. It may also be a projection of a common perception of that time that man had everything in his grasp, even immortality, but lost it all because he was unable to keep his word or do what was expected of him.

These are but mere conjectures. I’ll be uploading similar stories, common to civilisations separated by geography but united in their antiquity, in subsequent posts. Let’s see if we can decipher the hidden code in their overlapping patterns. And perhaps, get closer to understanding the people who lived these stories.

(Image: shaligram stone)