−−⏑−¦−⏑⏑¦−⏑−−¦¦−−⏑−¦−⏑⏑¦−⏑−− Upajāti
(Bālā)
hṣṭāś-ca
kekā mumucur-mayūrā dṣṭvāmbu-daṁ nīlam-ivonnamantam
|
−−⏑−¦−⏑⏑¦−⏑−−¦¦⏑−⏑−¦−⏑⏑¦−⏑−−
śaṣpāṇi
hitvābhimukhāś-ca tasthur-mgāś-calākṣā
mga-cāriṇaś-ca || 7.5
7.5
Bristling with rapture also, the peacocks let loose their cries,
Bristling with rapture also, the peacocks let loose their cries,
As if
they had seen a dark raincloud rising up;
While,
letting grass fall as they turned to face him,
The
deer stood still, along with the deer-imitators,
with
only their eyes moving.
COMMENT:
In
his description of the ashram of Kapila Gautama at the beginning of
Saundara-nanda, Aśvaghoṣa again refers to the crying of peacocks,
which – so I read somewhere – is annoyingly raucous. Whether it
it as raucous as the competitive crowing of six cockerels in one
enclosure, I do not know, and do not wish ever to find out. My French
neighbour has reduced the number of her cockerels from the previous
six to the present one, and, on a bad day, he is bad enough. But he
is nothing like as bad as six cockerels used to be. So I should be
grateful for small mercies.
The sound of the fires receiving offerings, of the peacocks with their crested heads uttering their repetitive cry,/ And of the sacred bathing places, during ablutions, was all that one heard there. // SN1.11 //
This
reference to peacocks, as noted then, is a sardonic allusion to
the chanting of the ascetics with their dreadlocked hair-dos.
The reference to peacocks in today's verse, also, as I read it, is in
the same sardonic vein.
With
reference to peacocks of the feathered variety, Patrick Olivelle
notes that It is a general
belief expressed in poetry that peacocks burst into joyous song at
the coming of the rains.
That
being so, it seems natural to retain the accusative unnamanam
(rising up), agreeing with ambu-dam (cloud), rather than amend it to
the nominative unnamanah, agreeing with mayurāḥ (peacocks). It
seems natural, in other words, to understand that what was rising up
was a raincloud, rather than the peacocks. EHJ, however, saw fit to
change unnamanam to unnamanaḥ on the basis of the Chinese and
Tibetan translations. Even in so doing, though, EHJ noted that unnam
is often used of clouds.
The
reference in the second half of today's verse to mṛga-cārin, the
ascetic practice of living like a deer (mṛga), puts into context
Aśvaghoṣa's description of the prince in the opening verse of this
Canto as mṛga-vat, like a deer, or like a forest creature. The point is that the prince was already like a creature of the forest without having to try.
Indirectly,
then, today's verse relates to the principle that Dogen expresses at
the very beginning of his instructions for how to sit. The principle
might be called the root irony which is beneath all of Aśvaghoṣa's
irony.
Look
at that bloke over there with his ankles on his thighs, making a big
effort to be himself.
What
an arsehole! Trying to be normal!
Wait
a minute....
Is
that a person? Or is it a mirror?
Jean-Paul
Sartre, as he sat smoking his pipe in the cafes of post-war Paris,
was aware of the kind of irony I am referring to, which has its roots
in human self-consciousness and is related with what Sartre called
“bad faith” (mauvaise foi). This,
according to Wikipedia, describes
the phenomenon where a human being
under pressure from societal forces adopts false values and disowns
his/her innate freedom to act authentically.
Teenagers
generally want to be seen as normal, especially if they are in some
way abnormal. But even for a teenager I think that I was abnormally
self-consciousness and I made efforts to show myself to be normal
which in their degree were quite abnormal.
Part
of the problem was that I passed an exam to go to the school which
was generally regarded as being the “posh” school in Birmingham
at that time – where Lee Child, author of the Jack Reacher novels,
was a year or two ahead of me. Skipping the last year of primary
school, and thus becoming the youngest boy in my new school, did not
help. Neither did having bright blonde hair and the nickname "Snowy" that benevolent maths teacher Jock Ramsay cruelly saddled me with. Only having one testicle – a secret that I kept to myself –
didn't help either.
My
efforts to appear normal included having more of a Birmingham accent
than came naturally; making and quaffing, from the age of 13 onwards,
large quantities of home-brew beer; and standing on the terraces watching
Birmingham City FC and singing to opposition fans such edifying
chants as “You're going to get your fucking heads kicked in.”
My
liking for rugby was not an act, but one occasion stands out in my
memory where bad faith caught up with me even on the rugby field. I
was playing as a wing-forward for Greater Birmingham under 19s and
scored the kind of try that a wing-forward is apt to score, picking
up a loose ball and falling over the line. On the way back to the
half-way line the burly number eight said to me, “You're a star!”
For
fuck's sake. Now I was getting grief even playing rugby, and not from the opposition but from a bloke on my own team! I walked over
to him and stood nose to nose. “Do you want to make something of
it?” As he put his arms to my neck to push me away, I span to the
side and broke his jaw with the point of my elbow, following this
move with a knee to the floating ribs that cracked a couple of bones
and made breathing difficult for him for a minute or two. As my
sardonic team-mate lie gasping on the turf I looked down and asked
him, “Normal enough for you?”
Thus,
I suppose, was Jack Reacher born. Lee Child didn't go around
head-butting and breaking the arms of the ruffians of 1970s
Birmingham any more than I did. But he had plenty of cause to
fantasize about doing that, and so did I.
On
a more positive note, I would say that nothing helps me more to get
over Sartre's problem of bad faith than being alone by the forest –
by which I mean not only the emptiness of solitude but also the form
and substance of trees in the sun and soil.
Not
so much the nothingness, in other words, as the sheer solidity of the
being.
I
wouldn't claim to have got over the deer-imitators' problem of bad
faith even now, at the age of 53 – except in odd moments,
especially here in France. I'm still apt to be too self-conscious,
too mindful, and too concerned what others might think – except in
odd moments, like walking back from my Zendo/shed with a view to
writing this blog, when the sight of the sun on the trees and the
feel of the earth under the feet causes me temporarily to take full
ownership of my own human existence.
Does that sound too pseudo to you, too pretentious, too intellectual? If so, do you want to make something of it?
VOCABULARY
hṛṣṭāḥ
(nom. pl. m.): mfn. mfn. thrilling with rapture , rejoiced , pleased
, glad , merry ; bristling, erect, standing on end
ca: and
kekāḥ
(acc. pl.): f. the cry of a peacock
mumucur
= 3rd pers. pl. perf. muc: to let loose ; send forth ,
shed , emit , utter , discharge , throw , cast , hurl
mayūrāḥ
(nom. pl.): m. a peacock
dṛṣṭvā
= abs. dṛś: to see, behold
ambu-dam
(acc. sg.): m. 'water-giver', a cloud
nīlam
(acc. sg. m.): mfn. of a dark colour , (esp.) dark-blue or dark-green
or black
iva:
like, as if
unnamantam
= acc. sg. m. pres. part. un- √ nam
unnamantaḥ
= nom. pl. m. pres. part. un- √ nam
un- √
nam: to bend upwards , raise one's self , rise
śaṣpāṇi
(acc. pl.): n. young or sprouting grass , any grass ; loss of
consciousness (= pratibhā-kṣaya)
hitvā
= abs. hā: to leave , abandon , desert , quit , forsake ,
relinquish ; to discharge , emit
abhimukhāḥ
(nom. pl. m.): mfn. with the face directed towards , turned towards
, facing (with acc. dat. gen. ; or ifc.)
ca: and
tasthur
= 3rd pers. pl. perf. sthā: to stand
mṛgāḥ
(nom. pl.) m. beasts of the forest, deer
calākṣāḥ
(nom. pl. m.): with restless eyes
cala:
mfn. moving , trembling , shaking ,
akṣa:
n. [only ifc. for akṣi] , the eye.
mṛga-cāriṇaḥ
(nom. pl. m.): mfn. acting like a deer (as certain devotees)
cārin:
mfn. ifc. moving , walking or wandering about , living , being ;
acting , proceeding , doing , practising
ca: and
孔雀等衆鳥 亂聲而翔鳴
持鹿戒梵志 隨鹿遊山林
麁性鹿睒 見太子端視 持鹿戒梵志 隨鹿遊山林
隨鹿諸梵志 端視亦復然
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