Unit 14 · Hymns and Hard Cases

The Rig Veda is the oldest of the four Vedas. It is a collection, or samhita, of 1,028 hymns arranged in ten books called mandalas. The hymns praise and call upon deities such as Agni, the fire, Indra, the storm god, and Soma, the sacred drink. Priests recited them at fire rituals.

Scholars usually date most of the Rig Veda to about 1500 to 1200 BCE, and Book 10 to somewhat later, around 1200 to 1000 BCE. Many Hindus hold that the Vedas are apaurusheya, not made by any human author, and eternal. The rishis, or seers, are understood to have heard them rather than composed them.

For more than three thousand years, the Rig Veda was passed down by oral tradition. Families of priests memorized every syllable, with methods that let them check each word. UNESCO recognized Vedic chanting as a masterpiece of the intangible heritage of humanity in 2003. Written copies came much later.

Vedic hymns are poems, and they are very old. Their language, Vedic Sanskrit, is older than the Sanskrit of the Gita. Many words are rare, and scholars still debate their meaning. That means every English version is an interpretation as well as a translation.

In this chapter we use Ralph T.H. Griffith’s translation, Hymns of the Rigveda, published 1889 to 1892 and revised in 1896. It is in the public domain, so it can be quoted exactly. Its English is old-fashioned, with words like "verily" and "thou." Modern translators, such as Wendy Doniger and the team of Stephanie Jamison and Joel Brereton, often choose different words.

A careful reader asks: Who is speaking in the hymn? Who is being addressed? What images does it use? A careful reader also avoids anachronism, reading modern ideas back into an ancient text. The hymns can speak to modern questions, but first we read them in their own setting.

Rig Veda 10.129 is often called the Nasadiya Sukta, from its first Sanskrit words, na asat, "not non-being." It opens by saying that at first there was neither non-existence nor existence. There was no air and no sky beyond it. The poet asks: what covered it, and where? Was there deep water?

The second verse says there was no death then, and nothing immortal, no sign of night or day. That One breathed, without breath, by its own nature. Apart from it, there was nothing at all. The hymn uses "That One," tad ekam, rather than the name of any deity, as it reaches for what came before everything.

Verse 3 says darkness was hidden by darkness. Then that One was born by the power of heat, tapas. Scholars point out how the poet uses negatives to describe what cannot be described: not this, not that. Later Upanishads use a similar method, and Hindu thinkers have returned to this hymn for centuries.

Verse 4 of Rig Veda 10.129 says that in the beginning desire arose, the first seed of mind. The sages, searching in their hearts with wisdom, found the bond of what exists in what does not exist. The word for desire, kama, is the same word used later for pleasure and love.

This verse links creation with the inner life of the seers. The poets look into their own hearts to understand how the world began. Some readers see here an early idea that thought or will stands at the root of things. Others read it more simply as a poetic guess about how order came from chaos.

Verse 5 adds a picture of a cord stretched across, dividing above from below. There were powers and forces, energy below and impulse above. The imagery is hard, and translators render it in different ways. A careful student notes this and does not claim to know the one correct meaning.

Verse 6 of Rig Veda 10.129 asks who truly knows, and who can declare, where this creation came from. The gods came later than the creation of this world. So who knows how it first came into being? The poet points out that even the gods cannot have watched the beginning.

Verse 7 answers, or does not. The one from whom this creation arose, whether he made it or did not, the one who watches over it in the highest heaven, surely knows it, or perhaps he does not know. The hymn closes on that open possibility. The poem does not settle the matter for the reader.

Readers respond very differently. Many Hindus see here a humble, searching spirit that is part of their tradition. Some scholars call the hymn an early example of skepticism or philosophical questioning. Writers on science and philosophy often quote it today. Others read the last line as reverence for a knowledge beyond human reach.

Rig Veda 10.90, the Purusha Sukta, begins with a vast figure. Purusha, the cosmic person, has a thousand heads, a thousand eyes and a thousand feet. He covers the earth on every side and extends ten fingers beyond it. All that has been and will be is Purusha.

The hymn then describes a sacrifice. The gods perform a yajna, a ritual offering, with Purusha himself as the offering. From that sacrifice come the hymns, the meters, horses and cattle. From his mind the moon is born, from his eye the sun, from his breath the wind, and from his head the sky.

The Purusha Sukta is still recited in many Hindu rituals and temple services today. Devotees chant it in praise of the divine as the whole of the universe. Some Vaishnava readers identify Purusha with Vishnu. Scholars study it as one of the Rig Veda’s creation accounts, alongside 10.129.

Verse 12 of Rig Veda 10.90 is short and has had a very long influence. It says the Brahmin was his mouth, the Rajanya, or warrior, was made of his arms, the Vaishya came from his thighs, and the Shudra was born from his feet. These are the four varnas, or social classes.

Scholars note several facts. This is the only verse in the whole Rig Veda that names all four varnas together. Book 10 is a late layer of the collection. Many scholars think the verse reflects a social order that was taking shape when it was composed, rather than describing a fixed order from the start.

The image is a body. A body has parts that do different work, and all are needed. Yet the parts are placed from head to foot. Readers have argued ever since about which of these two ideas, a shared body or a ranking, the verse mainly teaches. You will look at that argument in the next lesson.

Over the centuries, some Hindu law books, such as the Manusmriti (scholars date it c. 2nd century BCE to 3rd century CE), cited the Purusha image to support a social order based on birth. That order grew into the system of many jatis, birth groups, and treated some groups as "untouchable." This caused great suffering, and its effects continue.

Hindu reformers answered in several ways. Swami Dayananda Saraswati, founder of the Arya Samaj (1875), argued that varna should depend on merit and qualities, not birth. Gandhi defended varna as division of work but fought untouchability. Dr. B.R. Ambedkar, who was born into a community treated as untouchable, argued in Who Were the Shudras? (1946) that the verse was used to justify injustice and rejected its authority.

Scholars add that 10.90 is late within the Rig Veda and that caste practice varied greatly by region and time. Many Hindus today reject caste discrimination as against their faith, and India’s Constitution (1950) abolished untouchability. Students should describe these positions and their reasons, never treat any one view as the view of all Hindus.

Both hymns are in Book 10 of the Rig Veda. Both describe the beginning of the world. But they sound very different. The Hymn of Creation, 10.129, is full of negatives and questions and ends in doubt. The Purusha Sukta, 10.90, is full of confident statements and ends with the gods completing the sacrifice.

In 10.129, the beginning is "That One," without a name or shape, and the poet admits no one may know how things began. In 10.90, the beginning is a vast person whose body becomes the world, and the social order is part of that body. One hymn asks; the other arranges.

Setting texts side by side is a basic skill of comparative reading. It shows that one tradition can hold many voices. The Rig Veda is not a single argument. It is a library of hymns by many poet families over centuries. Hindu thinkers have drawn on both hymns, in different ways, for different purposes.

The Hymn of Creation is quoted today in classrooms, science programs and books on philosophy. Many Hindu writers point to it with pride as a sign that their tradition welcomes questioning. It also appears in Jawaharlal Nehru’s book The Discovery of India (1946), which praised its searching spirit.

The Purusha Sukta is chanted in temples and homes during worship and at rituals, and many devotees hear it as praise of the divine as the whole cosmos, not as a social rule. At the same time, the history of 10.90.12 means the hymn is part of debates about caste and justice in India and in the Indian diaspora, including in the United States.

A student who reads both closely learns something important. Sacred texts can carry both wonder and hard questions of justice. Their readers, Hindu and non-Hindu, do not all agree. The student’s task is to read exactly, cite carefully and describe fairly how different people have read and lived with these words.

The Sabha Parva, the Book of the Assembly Hall, is the second book of the Mahabharata. It tells how Yudhishthira was crowned in a splendid hall at Indraprastha, and how his cousin Duryodhana burned with envy. Duryodhana’s uncle Shakuni, a master of dice, proposed a game to win the Pandavas’ wealth.

Yudhishthira felt bound to accept, because a king was expected not to refuse a challenge. Shakuni threw for Duryodhana, and the epic suggests he played with skill and deceit. Yudhishthira lost again and again: jewels, gold, chariots, lands, then each of his four brothers, then himself, then Draupadi.

Many readers point out that Yudhishthira’s sense of duty trapped him. He kept a rule of honor even while it destroyed his family. The epic does not simply praise or blame him. It shows how following one dharma, the rule of a king, could clash with another, a husband’s and brother’s duty to protect.

Draupadi’s question is legal and precise. Did Yudhishthira stake her before or after he lost himself? If after, he was no longer a free man. Could a man who owned nothing, not even himself, stake anyone? She asks the assembly of elders to decide by dharma.

Bhishma, the grand elder, answers that the ways of dharma are subtle, sukshma, and he cannot resolve the question. Scholars point out that this is one of the few places where the epic lets its wisest elder admit he does not know. Only Vikarna and later Vidura speak up for her. The others stay silent or mock her.

Modern readers, including many Indian feminist writers, see Draupadi as a woman who uses reason and law in a hall where men hold power. Devotional readers stress her faith, since many retellings say she called on Krishna and was protected. The two readings can meet: a woman who argues well and also prays.

The Sabha Parva says that when Duhshasana tries to pull away Draupadi’s garment, more and more cloth appears, and he cannot shame her. In many later retellings and in popular devotion, this is Krishna answering her call. Critical editors note that some verses of this scene vary among manuscripts, but the scene is central in how the epic is told and loved.

After the scene, blind King Dhritarashtra, frightened by bad omens, grants Draupadi wishes. She uses them to free her husbands, asking nothing for herself. Soon a second game sends the Pandavas into thirteen years of exile. The insult in the hall becomes one of the causes of the war.

Readers draw many lessons. Some focus on the danger of complicity, standing by while wrong is done. Some focus on Draupadi’s courage and wit. Some focus on how dharma can be twisted by clever rules. The epic seems to invite all of these readings, which is one reason it is still performed and discussed.

During the forest exile, in the Vana Parva, the Book of the Forest, the Pandavas grow thirsty. One brother goes to a lake to fetch water. A voice tells him to answer questions first. He ignores it, drinks, and falls lifeless. The same happens to the next brother, and the next.

At last Yudhishthira comes and finds his four brothers lying by the water. The voice speaks, a yaksha, a nature spirit, who guards the lake. Yudhishthira agrees to answer. The Yaksha asks many questions, about the sun, about duty, about happiness, about what makes a person wise.

This episode is often called the Yaksha Prashna, "the Yaksha’s questions." It is a favorite with Hindu families and teachers, because it turns a story into a quiz about life. In the end the Yaksha is revealed as Dharma himself, Yudhishthira’s divine father, testing his son.

Among the Yaksha’s many questions, one is the most famous. What is the greatest wonder? Yudhishthira answers: day after day, countless beings go to the house of death, yet those who remain wish to live forever. What could be more wonderful than this?

Other questions are just as pointed. What is heavier than the earth? A mother. What is higher than the sky? A father. What is faster than the wind? The mind. What, when given up, makes a person happy? Anger. The questions test wisdom about daily life rather than learning from books.

Readers enjoy how the answers turn ordinary things into lessons. Teachers note that Yudhishthira, who lost everything by keeping a rule too rigidly at dice, now shows deep practical wisdom. Some readers see this as the epic balancing its portrait of him: a flawed man who is also wise.

When the questions end, the Yaksha offers to bring back one brother. Which will Yudhishthira choose? Many would expect mighty Bhima or the great archer Arjuna, who will be needed in war. Yudhishthira chooses Nakula instead. His choice surprises the Yaksha, and it surprises many readers too.

He explains his reason. His father Pandu had two wives, Kunti and Madri. Yudhishthira, Bhima and Arjuna are Kunti’s sons, while Nakula and Sahadeva are Madri’s. With himself alive, one of Kunti’s sons lives. He wants one of Madri’s sons to live too. Fairness to both mothers matters more to him than strength.

The Yaksha is so pleased that he restores all four brothers and reveals himself as Dharma. Readers take the story as showing that impartiality, being fair and not favoring one’s own, is part of dharma. It is a hopeful ending in an epic full of hard ones.

Karna is one of the most loved and debated figures in the Mahabharata. Before her marriage, Kunti bore a son to the sun god, Surya. Afraid of shame, she set the baby afloat in a river. A charioteer and his wife found him and raised him as their own. So Karna was the eldest brother of the Pandavas, though no one, not even Karna, knew it.

Karna grew into a great archer. At a tournament he challenged Arjuna, but was mocked because he was a charioteer’s son and not a prince. Duryodhana stepped in and made him king of Anga on the spot. From that day Karna gave Duryodhana his loyalty, and he never took it back.

Readers often see Karna as a man wronged by the social order of his time. He was judged by the family that raised him, not by his skill. Many modern plays, novels and TV series in India tell his story with deep sympathy. Other readers stress that he also took part in wrongs, such as the insult to Draupadi in the hall.

Before the war, in the Udyoga Parva, Krishna meets Karna and tells him the truth: he is Kunti’s eldest son. If he joins the Pandavas, he could be king. Later Kunti herself comes to him by the river and asks him to join his brothers. For the first time, Karna must decide knowing who he really is.

Karna refuses. He says Kunti abandoned him, while Duryodhana stood by him. To leave now would be a betrayal. But he gives Kunti a promise: he will not kill any of her sons except Arjuna. Either way, she will still have five sons. This scene has been retold in poems, including a famous Bengali poem by Rabindranath Tagore.

Karna’s choice sets two kinds of dharma against each other: duty to one’s blood family and duty to a friend who kept faith. Readers do not agree on whether he chose rightly. Many admire his integrity, even as they see that his loyalty kept him on the side of wrongdoing.

In Valmiki’s Ramayana, Sita, wife of Rama, is taken by Ravana to Lanka. Rama, with Hanuman and a great army, defeats Ravana to win her back. Then, in the Yuddha Kanda, the Book of War, comes a painful scene. Rama tells Sita, before others, that he has fought to clear his name, and that she has lived in another man’s house.

Sita answers with dignity and grief. She says her heart was always his. She asks Lakshmana to build a fire and enters it. Agni, the god of fire, rises from the flames and returns her unharmed, declaring her pure. Rama then says he never doubted her, but that the people needed to see. This is called the agni pariksha, the fire ordeal.

Many devotees read the scene as a revelation of Sita’s purity and strength, and as Rama bound by his duty as a king. Other readers, including many women writers, find it painful and ask why Sita had to prove anything at all. Both responses have been part of Hindu discussion for centuries.

The Ramayana’s last book, the Uttara Kanda, continues the story. Back in Ayodhya, Rama hears that some citizens question Sita’s purity. As king, he sends her away to the forest, though she is expecting a child. She finds shelter at the hermitage of Valmiki, the poet himself, and gives birth to twin sons, Lava and Kusha.

Years later, the twins sing the Ramayana at Rama’s court, and he recognizes them. Rama asks Sita to swear her purity once more before the people. Instead, Sita calls on the earth, her mother, to receive her if she has been true. The earth opens, a throne rises, and Sita returns to the earth. Rama is left in grief.

Many scholars think the Uttara Kanda was added later than the core of the epic, while many Hindus accept it as part of Valmiki’s work. Some retellings leave this ending out or soften it. Readers debate what it says about kingship, justice and a woman’s voice, and many see in Sita’s final choice an act of great strength.

The Ramayana has been retold in many languages: Kamban’s Tamil version, Krittibas’s Bengali version, Tulsidas’s Hindi Ramcharitmanas, and many more. One striking retelling is by Chandrabati, a woman poet of Bengal in the 1500s. She is often called the first woman poet of Bengal.

Chandrabati’s Ramayana focuses on Sita’s life and suffering. It spends little time on Rama’s battles and more on Sita’s birth, her exile and her grief. Scholars such as Nabaneeta Dev Sen have written about how her version gives women’s experience a central place, and how it was sung by women in the villages of eastern Bengal.

Retellings like Chandrabati’s show that the Ramayana is not one fixed text but a living tradition with many perspectives. Devotees, poets and feminist scholars all take part. Studying them lets students see how one story can hold reverence for Rama and Sita and also room to question and grieve.