Krishna versus Shiva

Mohan R. Limaye

2013

“Which Hindu deity do you prefer: Shiva or Krishna?” 

 I’ve been asked this question many a time by some of my friends and relatives.  Most of you will agree that it’s not a hypothetical or purely an academic issue: All over India there are temples dedicated to these two gods.  So it makes sense to ask and respond to such a question (even if one is an atheist or believes strictly in Brahman as the sole reality).

Though there are several reasons for my preference for Shiva, I’ll restrict myself to only a few of them (I’m aware that this argument/dialogue can be held on a more nuanced and complex level, but I want to keep it simple).

(Incidentally, this is not a research paper.  These are my personal views, preferences, and knee-jerk reactions.) 

Shiva, one has to confess, was (is?) a violent god; however, he had a sense of shame; he was capable of regretting his actions and felt genuine remorse for the cruel deeds he thoughtlessly committed during his fits of rage.  As one instance, he cut off the head of his son Ganesh/Ganapati, although without knowing that the boy was his son (Of course, we mortals would have inquired about the little boy who dared to bar our entry before taking any drastic action.  We don’t believe in “Shoot first and then ask questions”, do we?). 

What is even more important is that Shiv made ample amends for his cruelty: He stuck a cute baby elephant’s head on this boy.  Anybody who like me has had the good fortune of witnessing the cutest baby-Ganesh idols (muurtis) created by Indian artists will agree with me that Shiva perhaps made more than full reparations for his impetuous misdeed.  This was his way of apologizing for his cruelty.  To boot, in the bargain, he gave us a god of wisdom who also wards off obstacles.  What more do we want? 

Another example comes to mind: At one point, Shiva opened his third eye and reduced the god of love (Kaamadev) to ashes because his meditation and austerities (tapasyaa) were being disturbed by “Cupid’s mischief”.  Paradoxically, however, Shiva soon surrendered, a kind of apologizing, by falling passionately in love with Parvathi, also known as Uma and married her.  He thus indirectly sought forgiveness of Cupid.  The god of love continued to live on in a bodiless form (anunga) and, as we know, works his magic even today. 

As the myth goes, when the Primordial Ocean, being churned by gods and demons, put out a fiery poison (called “halaahal”) that had begun burning everything in sight, it was Shiva who stepped forth and volunteered to swallow it and held it in his throat in suspension, saving the universe.  Incidentally, it is reported that the poison has made his throat look black and blue earning him the epithet “neelakuntha.” This myth also proves that the traditional division of roles among the trinity – Brahma, Vishnu and Mahesh/Shiva – is not watertight; the roles overlap.  Shiva thus sometimes is a protector, a savior, not always a destroyer.  

Also, not to forget, Shiv is a deity of dance and drama (nateshwar): Traditionally, he was invoked in a salutation (naandee) at the start of every (Sanskrit) play.  His epithet, “ardha-naari-nateshwar”=half man-half woman, attests to his Wholeness (unlike Krishna’s “Cowboy” personality).  

And, to crown it all, he gave us a son – Ganapati – in my view, the most adorable deity in the entire Hindu pantheon. 

Now, look at this other picture: We have a god – Krishna -- who is/was so arrogant that he never apologized for his misacts (Apparently, though, he took Gandhari’s curse with equanimity).  He killed whomever he pleased.  However, being very cunning and intelligent, he took care to first denounce them as sinful or wicked, and to demonize them.  As we know, this is the standard way any country acts that wants to go to war.  Similarly, like despots and emperors everywhere, he was the sole decider of who deserved punishment.   Mind you, Krishna combined in himself the functions of the accuser, the judge, and the executor (Sounds familiar?  I bet the US is a disciple of Krishna and takes inspiration from him).   

Here is one example: He’d promised that he would forgive one hundred crimes (“shumbhar apraadh potaat ghaaleen”in Marathi) of Jaraasundha –or, was it Shishupaal? --after which he would kill him.  Then Krishna decided by/for himself which ones of the deeds of Jaraasundha counted as crimes.  When they measured to one hundred in his estimate, Krishna killed him. 

His argument (in the Geeta) that only bodies will be killed in war and that souls are indestructible and, hence, there was no need to vex oneself would not have put me at ease, if I were Arjun.  The enemy (the Kauravs) could have made the same argument (and probably did) when engaging the Paandavas in battle. 

Krishna also had the audacity to brag that he incarnates himself in various epochs to rid the earth of wicked people, without ever a thought crossing his mind that he himself might be one of those “wicked” guys.  Such self-questionings, such introspection and such humility are meant for us mortals and for the reflective and meditative gods like Shiva. 

We need to create a new narrative, a non-conventional, non-standard critique, of Krishna.  I’m aware that some Hindus will be upset with me because of my sharp criticism of Krishna.  They will say I’m depending on “unauthorized” or non-canonical texts or that Krishna is too complex for my limited brain power. 

However, I’m convinced that what Krishna does, through his example, is to give his blessings, a license, to all selfish people to act (whichever way they want to) under the cloak of self-righteousness.  He allows himself and others – his followers or devotees -- to be the arbiters of justice and to absolve themselves of any moral responsibility and accountability for their (merciless) actions. 

I’d rather have a god that admits errors, is trusting, and even rather too simple (bhoLaa Saamb) than one totally pleased with himself and is somewhat untrustworthy (dhoorta, kaavebaaz and kuptee).    

“Tumhaa to Shankar sukhakar ho!” (Marathi)  

“Paatu wo Neelkanthaha”(Sanskrit)

May Shiva protect you (English)

Reactions and comments are very welcome and eagerly awaited.  

P.S.

(1) The second part will talk about Krishna’s admirable characteristics – like his name Mohan (I’m kidding) – and his total charm for the ladies (There never was a milk maid/gopee that didn’t love him).  He enchanted everybody by playing on his flute and by being everything to everybody, “a man for all seasons.”  He also has inspired throughout India a great deal of art, music and poetry over the last many centuries, vastly enriching India’s culture.  And we don’t want to lose that invaluable continuing heritage.   

(2) You may agree that such a dialogue/conversation (sumvaaD) is possible only among those who are polytheists – like the Hindus or, maybe, Buddhists but not among those who are monotheists (Jews, Christians, Muslims, Sikhs, etc.) because – am I right? -- they are not allowed the freedom to postulate or even entertain the possibility of more than one deity (and the One they have, they can’t question or challenge or raise doubts about.  Remember what happened to the Archangel who dared to rebel -- Satan?).  The monotheists just have to live with that One.

I love such conversations.

A Confluence of Three – Triveni Sungum – as the Architecture of Kalidasa’s Shakuntala

 Abstract

Mohan R. Limaye

Professor Emeritus, Boise State University

When, in the last act (Act VII) of Shakuntala, Maricha -- also named as Kashyapa in some editions of the play -- calls the full family of Dushyanta as a confluence of Faith, Wealth and Ritual, that metaphor of the triad can be seen to represent and illustrate the design of the play.  In the prior couplet, too, the ascetic calls attention to the significance of the union of this three-member family by likening it to a celestial family – Indra (the king of the gods), Paulomi/Indraani (his queen) and Jayant, their son.    As far as the plot goes, the recognition of both Bharata and Shakuntala occurs almost simultaneously and is crucial to the denouement, to the completion of a harmonious family of three, and to the “reintegration and wholeness” of the play’s universe.  The Prince is vital for a peaceful succession to the throne and the continuation of the King’s dynasty.  On the level of ethos, the three members of the family characterize opportunism (in Dushyanta), impulsiveness (in Shakuntala) and a happy medium of composure and even self-control (in Bharata), as the name given him by Maricha – Sarvadamana, meaning “one who controls all” – suggests.  Similarly, on the thematic level, Kalidasa emphasizes two dualities – Nurture versus Nature and Town or Court versus Country or Hermitage, both mediated by Bharata.  Born and brought up as a little boy in an ashram and later raised in a palace to become a king (chakravartin), Bharata reconciles and unites in him the dualities of his parents.   On all the three levels of the play -- plot, character and theme -- the trinity, the confluence of three, thus reigns supreme as the structural principle of the play.        

Macaulay and the Medium of Instruction in India

The reason I decided to send my reactions, my comments, to a wider Indian audience than just to the author of the essay entitled “Macaulay, Again”, written in Marathi, is that the process Macaulay’s Minute started almost two hundred years ago – to be precise in 1835 -- has been being re-enacted and continued with even greater vigor in today’s India.

(A) First, I want to congratulate the author for writing the article in Marathi and to express how gratified I am for the language chosen as the medium.

(B) Second, I want to get one reaction out of my system right away even though the sentence that has triggered my reaction is only incidental, rather tangential, to the essay: “{The British} gave us a unified law and order” – my informal translation.  I have heard and read such a sentiment so often that it has jaded me, made me weary and sick.  I may humbly point out that such an assertion absolutely makes no sense.  Every society, civilization, or nation has law and order.  No society, worth the name, can last or persist even for a few decades without law and order, let alone for centuries.  (Somalia may be lawless, Nigeria or Sudan may be lawless; but they have been in the midst of a civil war).  So there are Mosaic Law, Manu's Law, Hammrabbi's Law, Sharia Law, etc.  Some of us may not like these systems of law, and they may be unjust or oppressive; but they are “law and order”, nonetheless. 

As far as the law and order being “unified” or consistent throughout the political entity, let me say that all strong empires do that.  Romans, Arabs, and Turks did that in their empires; and, I am sure, it was so in Ashoka’s Mauryan empire too, which by the way extended into today’s southern and eastern Afghanistan, known as Gandhara in ancient India.  Witness Ashoka’s inscriptions all over South Asia.  

I am not presenting these comments in any particular order.  They are mostly “general”; however, they are fully applicable to the present-day Indian situation: 

1.     There seems to be great confusion caused by the use of the Marathi word “saahitya” to mean both “lalit vaangmay” (creative/imaginative – a poor choice of words in English – literature or “belles lettres” (in French) and  “shaastra/ vidnyaan-vishayak likhaan ”, meaning discursive, ratiocinative writing related to science and technology.  I do not know what word Macaulay used in his Minute on Education; but if he did use the word “literature” to mean two quite different animals, then he is the father of this confusion.  It has sadly continued in the present essay and, maybe, in India even today. 

2.     If, on the other hand, we restrict the use of the word “saahitya” to consistently mean only “lalit vaangmay” (creative or imaginative literature), then Sanskrit had plenty of it.  But, the Chair of the General Committee of Public Instruction, T.B. Macaulay, had no inkling of it because, as he himself confessed, he did not know Sanskrit or Arabic (and, I bet, not Persian/Farsi, either).  He had, however, no excuse for this ignorance because Sir William Jones had already translated Kalidasa’s Shakuntala; and Goethe, the German poet, who died three years before the date of the Minute, was familiar with it.  In fact, in my judgment, just three Sanskrit plays -- Bhasa’s one-act-play Urubhanga, Shudraka’s The Little Clay Cart, and Shakuntala -- are superior to the entire “imaginative” literature, say, created in the U.S. from before its birth to this date.  In this sense of literature or saahitya (lalit vaangmay), it never becomes “kaal-baahya” or outdated.  A classic is forever.

3.     As far as science and modern knowledge (technology) are concerned, they can be taught and promoted in any language.  If (and when) you do not have this specialized knowledge in your mother tongue, it can be translated (Incidentally, I learned Math, Physics and Chemistry in Marathi when I was in high school).  In other words, one needs to separate, distinguish between, the two issues -- the medium of instruction and the content of instruction, bhaashaa and vidyaa.

4.     If superstition is parading as science or “knowledge” in any country or at any time, it (undha-shraddhaa) can be challenged and demolished in any language.  Our Maharashtrian reformers did just that.

 5.  The essay states that Macaulay was aware of the difficulty (the expense, perhaps) of teaching English to the large native population of Indians.  (a) He, therefore, proposed to train a small group of Indians in English who could act as a link, an intermediary, between the British and their subjects.  (b) He also said the old (ancestral) languages need to be preserved (and nourished) as a duty even when a new language is learned (“navee bhashaa shiktanaa aplyaa junyaa bhaashaanche jatan karane aaple kartavy aahe”).  I applaud both these ideas.

6.     There also seems to be confusion between “education” and “training”.  In my view, they are not the same.  In order to get jobs, we train.  In order to be “cultured”, we educate.  If employment were the (only) goal of education, no body would study liberal arts and humanities.  Maybe, that is the reason hardly any of my younger relatives have majored in those subjects.

7.     Another related issue that bothers me is that most of these English-medium trained/educated younger relatives of mine have perhaps not read (to take just some examples) even ten sonnets, a couple of classic plays and a few outstanding novels in English.  And, if I am right, what good is their English medium except for a narrowly utilitarian purpose?  (By the way, following the lead of Sanskrit rhetoricians, I use the word “poetry” very broadly to cover all the genres of imaginative or creative literature).

The Little Clay Cart (Mrcchakatika): The Construction of Gender and Emotion in Act V, “The Storm”

The Little Clay Cart (Mrcchakatika): The Construction of Gender and Emotion in Act V, “The Storm”

Mohan R. Limaye, Emeritus Professor, Boise State University

With the Assistance of Ms. Kim Price, Honors College, Boise State University

Abstract

In Act V of The Little Clay Cart, a Sanskrit play written in India about 1600 years ago, the playwright Shudraka constructs a poetic duet between Vasantasena, the heroine, and a Vita, her male companion, as they walk to the house of her lover Charudatta in a raging storm.  It has been recognized that this verse exchange provides the audience with “a feast for the ear” through a cascade of lyrical and descriptive exuberance. What has not, however, been appreciated is that it also creates an enriched gender-specific persona for Vasantasena and develops more fully the dominant emotion of the play, erotic love. The poetic images and figures of speech employed by Vasantasena and the Vita as they describe the storm portray their differences in gender and mood.  Generally speaking, while Vasantasena expresses her nuanced feelings for Charudatta and the pangs of love in separation, the Vita describes the storm in manly images of power and harsh-sounding syllables.  Shudraka, a skillful dramatist, reveals in Act V more facets of Vasantasena’s personality with all her charm, anxieties, vulnerabilities, and sensuousness than anywhere else in the play, and all of this through her poetic description of the storm.  As a result we, the receptive and appreciative ( rasik and sahrudaya) audience, know her, love her, empathize with her and cherish her all the more.  This is the dramatic and aesthetic significance of the poetic duet between Vasantasena and her Vita.  In the Storm scene, Shudraka thus connects the form with the content and the style with the character.  This is how lyrical poetry in a play can serve a dramatic purpose.    

Kālidāsa’s Shakuntala and Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale: The Child as Redeemer

Kālidāsa’s Shakuntala and Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale: The Child as Redeemer

Mohan R. Limaye

Professor Emeritus

Boise State University

This paper attempts to demonstrate that, though the three-member family (father, mother and child) is celebrated in Shakuntala and The Winter’s Tale, the child is thematically the most important of the three members and that the child serves as an archetype of “savior” or “redeemer” in both these plays. The child occupies a central place as far as the two plays’ narrative and thematic architectures are concerned. The quest of Dushyanta and Shakuntala, the hero and the heroine, is on a deeper level for a child. The king needs an heir to the throne, and so do his subjects for a stable order. Similarly, in The Winter’s Tale, the stability of Leontes’ kingdom rests on Perdita, his daughter, after Prince Mamillius dies. In Shakuntala, the birth of a son with regal insignia on the palm of his hand not only leads to the reunion of the separated couple, Dushyanta and Shakuntala, but also confers social approval on their match, restores his mother’s reputation, and concludes the play with subdued happiness. Notably, both Perdita and Bharata are discovered and recognized first; and then their respective mothers are “resurrected.” As his name “All-Tamer (Sarva-damana)” indicates, he symbolizes the maturation of his parents’ irrepressible passion into deep and steady conjugal love. The son, born to a king but raised in a hermitage, also resolves another thematic conflict in the play – country versus court. In The Winter’s Tale, Perdita also brings together the court and the country in a similar fashion: born to royal parents but raised by a shepherd, she too harmonizes this opposition between town and country. This is how the child serves as a redeemer in both these plays.

Weighing the Gita

Mohan R. Limaye

Professor Emeritus

Boise State University

The following are strictly my opinions, my interpretations, and my reasons why I believe the way I do.

Even though I have some admiration for the Gita, to me, it is a mixed bag.  

The Gita has always raised more questions for me than has provided me with solutions/answers.  I think the Gita is simplistic in its treatment of ethical dilemmas.  Krishna gives a formulaic answer to Arjuna’s question and doubts, when the latter is troubled by a fine conscience and sensitivity at the start of the Mahabharata war.  Arjuna seems to challenge blind pursuit of caste-based duty. Therefore, saying to him, “You are a Kshatriya; so it’s your duty (Dharma) to fight” is a cavalier, shallow, and not-very-intelligent response.  It’s like the U.S. insisting that (patriotic) Americans fight in Iraq without questioning whether the war is just, worthwhile, or even necessary.  Only a robot will be satisfied with such an answer.  The Mahabharata, the epic itself, however, takes a lot more sophisticated stand and problematizes the issues of good and evil, and duty.  Its characters are a mixture of good and evil, shades of gray.  That’s why the Paandavas (except Yudhishthir), and even Krishna, end up the way they do, and die a not very “noble” or glorious death. 

Additionally, to drive his point home and to “convince/persuade” Arjuna, what does Krishna do?  He has recourse to his power (vishwa-roop-darshan)!  Again, reminds me of a typical American response-- intimidation!  Of course, in the Gita there are his lectures/sermons on various yogas, schools of philosophies, and multiple paths to moksha or liberation.  After such a show of “shock and awe”, and dazzling erudition (vidvattaa), no wonder Arjuna didn’t dare ask Krishna what the relevance of all this discourse was to his initial query.  Arjuna had to respond in the last chapter, “My delusion is all gone, and now I understand (nashto mohaha, smrutir-labdhaa).”   Talk about being bludgeoned into fighting! (I’m indebted to a good friend of mine for some of the ideas in this paragraph.)

When krishna argues that the soul is indestructible and it's only the body that dies or can be killed (to relieve Arjuna of any anxieties or niceties of conscience), the same argument could have been made by the Kauravas also to "justify" their wanting to kill the Paandavas.  The question still remains unresolved: Whose claims to the throne were ethically tenable -- those of the Kauravas or the Paandavas?      

One must bear in mind that none of the Paandavas was a biological son of Pandu.  If this was not common knowledge then, it at least may have been rumored.  So, their case for a share in the kingdom was certainly not an open-and-shut case.  It’s funny that the Paandavas should be looking down upon Karna as a low-caste person (saarathee-putra), while totally “oblivious” (?) to the illegitimacy of their “origin.”  Apparently, low-caste (and premarital?) birth is worse than being the progeny of adulterous relationships among the high-born and the gods!

Anyway, in my opinion, challenging the message and authority of well-respected mainstream texts (like the Gita) is a mark of Hinduism, of independent thinking and inquiry; having to surrender or unquestioningly conform is to me monotheistic tyranny.  Similarly, relying on one text as the sole authority (in this case, the Gita) is quite non-Hindu.  May I repeat that Hindus have many very well known and authoritative “sacred” texts, unlike the monotheists?

Though I’ve always felt that the Gita is overrated for its thought content, I do admire the power and poetry of the first few chapters (adhyaayas).  “As a man discards worn-out clothes (vaasaansi jeernaani)”, II, 22; “Your right is only to work/action, never to the fruits of your action (karmani-eva-adhikaaras-te)”, II, 47 “When it’s night for all others (yaa nishaa sarva bhuutaanaam)”, II, 69, etc.

P.S. In case somebody wonders about my credibility/credentials for criticizing the Gita, let me humbly point out that I studied it in the original Sanskrit in my third year at Ferguson College in Pune.  I owe some of this knowledge , thus, to my studying in a Liberal Arts/Humanities college and to my unorthodox upbringing.  

What Gave India its Political Independence?

Regarding a debate going on in India presently about what could be given the credit for getting India its independence from Britain—armed resistance versus Gandhi’s non-violent, non-cooperation movement—here is my opinion:

I am convinced that Gandhi’s non-violent, non-cooperation mass civil disobedience movement mainly deserves the credit for India’s success in gaining independence from Britain.  Here are my reasons:

(1) The gap between the military hardware or weapons the British possessed and the primitive arms the Indians could muster was so wide that defeating the British in an armed struggle would have been a pipe dream.  As one example, we may bear in mind the very high number of casualties the Marathas suffered in their battle against the Portuguese when they laid siege to Vasai and conquered it.  One may note that Portugal was a tiny power compared to Britain.

 (2) In fact, during the late 18^th century and the first half of the 19^th century, even though Indians did not have to suffer under a ban on bearing arms (I’m referring to the Maratha, Mysore, and Sikh wars against the British when Indians, obviously, had a more unrestricted access to weapons), the British gained total victories against the Indians.  Ironically, the British forces were really Indian soldiers under British command.  To me, therefore, hoping that Indians could have defeated the British in an armed struggle in the 20^th century would be absurd and unrealistic.  An issue of practicality or feasibility is also involved in fighting violent wars:  Could Indians have afforded to buy arms?  Who would have supplied them during the colonial period?  Today, Muslim insurgents are provided weapons by other wealthy Muslim countries because, irrespective of national distinctions, Muslims hold on to the concept of the Umma, the brotherhood of all Islam. 

(3) Besides, the use of violence by the oppressed always gives empire builders a good excuse to use even more violence to suppress the freedom fighters. 

(4) Violence used even by the aggrieved or even by those suffering under slavery ironically kills the world’s sympathy for their cause.  The victims of colonization may thus lose their moral high ground vis-à-vis the oppressors.  We know that ignoring world opinion has a high cost. 

(5) Mahatma Gandhi also deployed successfully the weapon of economic boycott, a weapon that South Africans also used successfully against the apartheid.  To cite some U.S. examples, if African-Americans had resorted to an armed and violent struggle against white supremacy or against discrimination by the whites toward them to gain equal rights, would they have succeeded?  Not likely!  An armed insurrection would have been crushed.  Similarly, women suffragists would have had no success in gaining the right to vote if they had organized militias to achieve their goal.  In all these cases, none has made a convincing case for violent resistance as likely to have succeeded.  

(6) One advantage in the 20^th century the Indians had (which was absent in prior centuries) was that they had begun to think of themselves as one nation. Nationalistic feeling was the asset Gandhi employed to its fullest and created a mass movement by taking it to the lowest castes and classes of India.  Resistance or fighting, thus, ceased to be the work or domain only of the professional warrior caste (the Kshatriyas) as in the past but became the duty of all who called themselves Indian and found a stake in the freedom struggle.  If a united India had succeeded in an armed conflict against the British, I would have attributed that success to the unity, the commitment, and the tenacity of the newly awakened Indians rather than to the power of their arms.  In recent times, the example of the Vietnam War demonstrates that the resolve of the people is more forceful than weapons.