sthitaH sa diinaH sahakaara-viithyaaM
aaliina-saMmuurchita-ShaTpadaayaaM
bhRshaM jajRmbhe yuga-diirgha-baahur
dhyaatvaa priyaam caapam iv' aacakarSha
- = - = = - - = - = =
= = - = = - - = - = =
- = - = = - - = - = =
= = - = = - - = - = -
7.3
Standing, distraught, by a row of mango trees
Amid the numbing hum of hovering insects,
He with his long yoke-like arms
opened himself out forcefully,
As he thought of his beloved and stretched,
as if to draw a bow.
COMMENT:
There is more to this verse than first meets the eye.
I would not read this verse as I do without having struggled long and hard in sitting-dhyana with the ultimately inseparable problems of how physically to sit, and how mentally to think.
This verse then, as I read it, hints at questions about how conscious or unconscious a physical act like forceful stretching of oneself is, about how conscious or unconscious the act of thinking is, and about the causal connection between thinking and physical action/reaction.
Just as in the previous two verses there was irony in the description of the robe which has no fixed form (though the Buddha fixed inviolably the method for sewing it), and in the description of Nanda's sorrowful state (while surrounded in the playground of a vihara by all the blossoming glories of spring), so irony might be intended here in the description of Nanda's unconscious misery (in which he contemplates an absent object).
The central irony of this verse as I read it, then, is represented by the words samMuurchita, whose meanings include "stupefied , senseless , unconscious" and dhyaatvaa, from the root √dhyaa, which means when used transitively "to think of, to contemplate, or to brood on" and when used intransitively "to meditate, to practise Zen meditation."
The action noun from the root √dhyaa is dhyaana ("act of thinking of, act of contemplating, act of meditating") and how to translate dhyaana is a perennial problem, which we have already considered in the context of the four dhyaanas, or stages of meditation, covered in Canto 17. Chinese translators generally skirted the problem by rendering the Sanskrit dhyaana into Chinese phonetically as Cha'an, whence it became in Japanese and English, Zen.
A greater problem still than how to translate the verbal action noun dhyaana, is how to practise the action which that verbal action noun expresses.
The main problem that I have come up against, and this verse as I read it touches on this problem, is the role of thinking in Zen practice, i.e. the role of thinking in the act of sitting-Zen.
The general idea, espoused by any run-of-the-mill yoga teacher or peddlar of psycho-babble, is that to meditate is to allow to come and go those thoughts that arise unconsciously, like passing clouds.
Fair enough. But this allowing is also a kind of thinking; and it might be the kind of thinking which can, with practice, become less unconscious and which can inform a person's whole body. Hence the truth of statements made by FM Alexander such as "This work is an exercise in learning how to think." And "if you want to meditate, this is how."
In this verse, Ashvaghosha seems to describe Nanda's behaviour, in the emotional, sensory, and physical spheres, as unconscious; and at the same time he seems ironically to describe Nanda as dhyaatvaa, thinking of, or meditating on, his beloved. And this juxtaposition seems to me to intend to cause the reader to question to what extent Zen meditation is an unconscious process. To what extent, in other words, can it be a conscious, or less unconscious, process? Again, to what extent is it a thinking process, and to what extent is it a process diametrically opposed to thinking? To what extent is it mental? And to what extent is it physical? To what extent is it feeling? And to what extent is it thinking? These are the kind of questions that Dogen exhorts us to ask, notably in Shobogenzo chap. 72, The Samadhi that is King of Samadhis.
Nanda's thinking in this verse seems to be portrayed as unconscious. But can thinking be conscious? And is there any room in the sitting-dhyana of the buddha-ancestors for conscious thinking?
The buddha-ancestor from whom I received the dharma taught decisively: No! Thinking in Zazen should never be affirmed. Zazen is just action itself.
But I think my teacher failed to understand why Dogen, in his instructions for sitting-dhyana, quoted Yakusan's words "thinking the state of not-thinking."
If unconsciously thinking of one's absent beloved is associated with a forceful hyper-extension of one's back and arms (and I know from years of my own experience how it can be so), then what kind of thinking, if any, might be associated with the release of such over-tension? (For is it not this kind of coming undone [vimokSha] that, as followers of the Buddha, we are pursuing?)
I don't know. I don't know, as a follower of the Buddha, how to meditate. Neither do I know, as a devotee of FM Alexander's teaching, how to think. But when I remember how I used to sit, forcefully stretching myself, and how I used to think, when I was in Japan, I know, if I know anything, that was not it.
So I don't know how to practise sitting-dhyaana. But thanks to FM Alexander, I have understood just a bit how not to practise sitting-dhyaana. And that gives me not only somewhere to start but also, using the wisdom of "not that," a way to continue.
Anybody can follow this way, as long as we remember that the secret is being prepared to be wrong. I for one am always liable to forget this. That's why like every other damn fool in the world of Zen, I spend too much time going around trying to be right.
In conclusion, a forceful stretch is liable to have within it the seed of an aberrant Moro reflex. It may be vigorous action, but it is not necessarily enlightened behaviour. Quad Erat Demonstrandum.
EH Johnston:
Brooding on his mistress as he stood in misery beneath a row of mango-trees beset with humming bees, he stretched himself repeatedly as if he were drawing a bow with his fathom-long arms.
Linda Covill:
Wretched, he stood under a row of mango-trees that were thick with settling bees. Long-armed as a chariot yoke, he contemplated his lover and stretched vigorously, as though drawing a bow.
VOCABULARY:
sthitaH (nom. sg. m.): mfn. standing, stood
sa (nom. sg. m.): he
diinaH (nom. sg. m.): mfn. (fr. √di ? to decay , perish) scarce , scanty ; depressed , afflicted , timid , sad ; miserable , wretched
sahakaara-viithyaam (loc. sg. f.): by a row of mango trees
saha-kaara: m. "acting with" ; a kind of fragrant mango tree
viithi: f. a row , line
aaliina-saMmuurchita-ShaTpadaayaam (loc. sg. f.): with hovering unconscious six-footed beings
aaliina: mfn. having come close to ; dwelling or abiding in ; crouched , stooped
aa- √ lii: to come close to ; to settle down upon ; to stoop , crouch
saMmuurchita: mfn. coagulated , congealed , thickened , strengthened , intensified (ifc. = " filled with "); stupefied , senseless , unconscious
sam- √ murch: to congeal into a fixed form , become dense , thicken , coagulate ; to become stupid or senseless ; to acquire consistency or firmness or strength , increase , expand , become powerful , make a loud sound
ShaT-pada: mfn. six-footed ; m. a six-footed animal , insect : f. (ifc.) a bee
bhRsham: ind. strongly , violently , vehemently , excessively , greatly , very much
jajRmbhe = 3rd pers. sg. perfect jRmbh: to open the mouth , yawn ; to gape open , open (as a flower); to fly back or recoil (as a bow when unstrung) ; to unfold , spread (as a flood &c ) , expand , occupy a larger circuit
yuga-diirgha-baahuH (nom. sg. m.): with yoke-long arms
yuga: n. a yoke , team
diirgha: long
baahu: m. arm
dhyaatvaaa = abs. dhyaa/dhyai: to think of , imagine , contemplate , meditate on , call to mind , recollect ; to brood mischief against (acc.) ; (alone) to be thoughtful or meditative
priyaam (acc. sg.): f. wife, beloved
caapam (acc. sg.): mn. a bow
iva: like, as if
aacakarSha = 3rd pers. sg. perfect aa- √ kRSh: to draw towards one's self , attract , draw away with one's self ; to bend (a bow)
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
SAUNDARANANDA 7.2: All the Sorrows of Spring
sa puShpa-maasasya ca puShpa-lakShmyaa
sarv'-aabhisaareNa ca puShpa-ketoH
yaaniiya-bhaavena ca yauvanasya
vihaara-saMstho na shamaM jagaama
- = - = = - - = - = =
= = - = = - - = - = =
= = - = = - - = - = -
- = - = = - - = - = -
7.2
Amid the wealth of flowers of the month of flowers,
Assailed on all sides by the flower-bannered god of love,
And with feelings that are familiar to the young,
He stayed in a vihara but found no peace.
COMMENT:
Just as the previous verse seems to pick up a thread from 6.48, this verse seems to refer back to 5.20: Then the Sage led him, lover of garlands of pearls and flowers, / Whom the month of Spring, Love's friend, had appropriated, / To a playground where women were a broken amusement -- / To the vihara, beloved as a pleasure-ground of learning.
From 7.13 Nanda's laments begin in his own words. Until then Ashvaghosha is going to paint a vivid picture of Nanda's misery, and this verse is part of the beginning of that project, as Ashvaghosha warms again, like a runner setting off on a favourite run, to the topic of the misery of ordinary human existence in the world -- as experienced when we are not on the plane of conscious control but rather running as if on a faulty and crude automatic pilot.
We have heard in the abstract, in dry records of the Buddha's first turning of the dharma-wheel translated from Pali, that separation from a loved one is suffering.
The picture that Ashvaghosha paints here, in contrast, is not at all dry but colourful and evocative.
EH Johnston:
He was living in a pleasaunce with the glory of flowers in the month of flowers, with the flower-bannered god assailing him on all sides and with the feelings customary to youth, and so, though that pleasaunce was a cloister, he felt no peace.
Linda Covill:
With the flowery riches of the month of flowers, with all the assaults of the flower-bannered god, and with the emotions habitual in the young, he lived in a monastery, but found no peace.
VOCABULARY:
sa (nom. sg. m.): he
puShpa-maasasya (gen. sg.): of the month of flowers
puShpa: flower
maasa: m. the moon, a month
ca: and
puShpa-lakShmyaa (inst. sg.): with a wealth of flowers
puShpa: flower
lakShmii: f. wealth , riches ; beauty , loveliness , grace , charm , splendour , lustre
sarv'-aabhisaareNa (inst. sg.): with the assaults everywhere
sarva: mfn. all ; (in comp.) altogether , wholly , completely , in all parts , everywhere
aabhisaara: m. attack , assault
abhi- √sR: to flow towards (acc.) ; to approach , go towards , advance in order to meet , attack ; to go to a rendezvous (said of lovers)
ca: and
puShpa-ketoH = gen. sg. puShpa-ketu = puShpa-ketana: m. "characterized by flowers" , the god of love
puShpa: flower
ketu: m. bright appearance , clearness , brightness ; torch ; apparition , form , shape ; sign , mark , ensign , flag , banner
yaaniiya-bhaavena (inst. sg.): with a way of thinking/feeling that is familiar
yaanii: f. a path , course
yaanii kR: to make one's self familiar with
bhaava: m. being ; manner of being ; manner of acting ; any state of mind or body , way of thinking or feeling , sentiment ; passion, emotion
ca: and
yauvanasya (gen. sg.): n. (fr. yuvan) youth , youthfulness , adolescence , puberty , manhood
vihaara-saMsthaH (nom. sg. m.): being in the monastery
vihaara: m. walking for pleasure or amusement , wandering , roaming ; a place of recreation , pleasure-ground ; (with Buddhists or jainas) a monastery or temple (originally a hall where the monks met or walked about ; afterwards these halls were used as temples)
saMstha: mf(aa)n. standing together , standing or staying or resting or being in
na: not
shamam (acc. sg.): m. tranquillity , calmness , rest , equanimity , quietude or quietism , absence of passion ; peace
jagaama = 3rd pers. sg. perfect gam: to go to, to attain
sarv'-aabhisaareNa ca puShpa-ketoH
yaaniiya-bhaavena ca yauvanasya
vihaara-saMstho na shamaM jagaama
- = - = = - - = - = =
= = - = = - - = - = =
= = - = = - - = - = -
- = - = = - - = - = -
7.2
Amid the wealth of flowers of the month of flowers,
Assailed on all sides by the flower-bannered god of love,
And with feelings that are familiar to the young,
He stayed in a vihara but found no peace.
COMMENT:
Just as the previous verse seems to pick up a thread from 6.48, this verse seems to refer back to 5.20: Then the Sage led him, lover of garlands of pearls and flowers, / Whom the month of Spring, Love's friend, had appropriated, / To a playground where women were a broken amusement -- / To the vihara, beloved as a pleasure-ground of learning.
From 7.13 Nanda's laments begin in his own words. Until then Ashvaghosha is going to paint a vivid picture of Nanda's misery, and this verse is part of the beginning of that project, as Ashvaghosha warms again, like a runner setting off on a favourite run, to the topic of the misery of ordinary human existence in the world -- as experienced when we are not on the plane of conscious control but rather running as if on a faulty and crude automatic pilot.
We have heard in the abstract, in dry records of the Buddha's first turning of the dharma-wheel translated from Pali, that separation from a loved one is suffering.
The picture that Ashvaghosha paints here, in contrast, is not at all dry but colourful and evocative.
EH Johnston:
He was living in a pleasaunce with the glory of flowers in the month of flowers, with the flower-bannered god assailing him on all sides and with the feelings customary to youth, and so, though that pleasaunce was a cloister, he felt no peace.
Linda Covill:
With the flowery riches of the month of flowers, with all the assaults of the flower-bannered god, and with the emotions habitual in the young, he lived in a monastery, but found no peace.
VOCABULARY:
sa (nom. sg. m.): he
puShpa-maasasya (gen. sg.): of the month of flowers
puShpa: flower
maasa: m. the moon, a month
ca: and
puShpa-lakShmyaa (inst. sg.): with a wealth of flowers
puShpa: flower
lakShmii: f. wealth , riches ; beauty , loveliness , grace , charm , splendour , lustre
sarv'-aabhisaareNa (inst. sg.): with the assaults everywhere
sarva: mfn. all ; (in comp.) altogether , wholly , completely , in all parts , everywhere
aabhisaara: m. attack , assault
abhi- √sR: to flow towards (acc.) ; to approach , go towards , advance in order to meet , attack ; to go to a rendezvous (said of lovers)
ca: and
puShpa-ketoH = gen. sg. puShpa-ketu = puShpa-ketana: m. "characterized by flowers" , the god of love
puShpa: flower
ketu: m. bright appearance , clearness , brightness ; torch ; apparition , form , shape ; sign , mark , ensign , flag , banner
yaaniiya-bhaavena (inst. sg.): with a way of thinking/feeling that is familiar
yaanii: f. a path , course
yaanii kR: to make one's self familiar with
bhaava: m. being ; manner of being ; manner of acting ; any state of mind or body , way of thinking or feeling , sentiment ; passion, emotion
ca: and
yauvanasya (gen. sg.): n. (fr. yuvan) youth , youthfulness , adolescence , puberty , manhood
vihaara-saMsthaH (nom. sg. m.): being in the monastery
vihaara: m. walking for pleasure or amusement , wandering , roaming ; a place of recreation , pleasure-ground ; (with Buddhists or jainas) a monastery or temple (originally a hall where the monks met or walked about ; afterwards these halls were used as temples)
saMstha: mf(aa)n. standing together , standing or staying or resting or being in
na: not
shamam (acc. sg.): m. tranquillity , calmness , rest , equanimity , quietude or quietism , absence of passion ; peace
jagaama = 3rd pers. sg. perfect gam: to go to, to attain
Sunday, December 5, 2010
SAUNDARANANDA 7.1: Ironies
liNgaM tataH shaastR-vidhi-pradiShTaM
gaatreNa bibhran na tu cetasaaa tat
bhaaryaa-gatair eva mano-vitarkair
jehriiyamaaNo na nananda nandaH
= = - = = - - = - = =
= = - = = - - = - = -
= = - = = - - = - = =
= = - = = - - = - = =
7.1
Wearing that emblem, then,
whose form was fixed by his teacher
-- Bearing it bodily but not mentally --
And being constantly carried off by thoughts of his wife,
Nanda whose name was joy was not joyful.
COMMENT:
The emblem referred to in this verse, as I read it, is the ochre robe (kaaShaaya) of 6.48. That being so, a certain irony may be intended by the phrase shaastR-vidhi-pradiShTam, "its form being fixed by the teacher"; since a traditionally-sewn robe, as a shapeless flat sheet, is unrivalled amongs garments for its lack of fixed form.
Line 2 touches on another, greater irony, which has to do with the fact that, in Dogen's words, "there is bodily sitting which is not the same as mental sitting, and there is mental sitting which is not the same as bodily sitting." Furthermore, Dogen adds, "there is sitting as body and mind dropping off, which is not the same as sitting as body and mind dropping off."
Thus, in Japan my Zen teacher taught me that if I just sit physically, mental balance (= "balance of the autonomic nervous system") will follow. And there was some truth in that conception.
The great irony that I am still investigating every day, however, is that there is also truth in the opposite conception, as taught to me by FM Alexander's niece Marjory Barlow, along with Nelly Ben-Or, and others, that if one truly practises the most mental thing there is, thinking, then the thinking re-educates the feeling, and the feeling re-educates the body.
As an aid to practise thinking, we come back in Alexander work to some variation of the words, "I wish to allow the neck to be free, to let the head go forward and up, to let the spine lengthen and back widen, while sending the knees forwards and away." And the difficulty in practising thinking like this is to keep thinking these directions not only one after another but also "all together"... i.e. to keep thinking these directions (but not necessarily in words, because the words cannot be thought all together) without doing anything in the way of trying to implement these directions, or help them along. This is much more difficult than it sounds, because human beings have evolved to do stuff, not to think directions.
Just to sit, without trying to be right, without doing these directions, and without any extraneous movement is, as I understand it, the essential means that leads a person to the experience of just sitting as body and mind dropping off.
And the ultimate irony is that it is quite possible to talk a good talk, like this, about physical feeling/doing, about mental thinking, and about body and mind dropping off -- without ever truly addressing the problem of how to think. That is how Zen masters emerge who talk such a good talk of body and mind dropping off that they are able to convince others, and sometimes even themselves, that they know what they are talking about. And I my very self am just one of those phoneys.
Really to think is bloody hard work of the kind that even Alexander teachers like me, or like my brother, or Alexander students like George, are prone to avoid doing. It is much easier for me to build a terrace in France, or to re-do the kitchen here in Aylesbury, or to learn Sanskrit day by day, than it is to set aside time for learning how to think.
This morning, however, prompted by the above verse, and by Dogen's words quoted above, I did have some sense of filling out my kesa by purely mental means -- a renewed glimpse of what thinking can be. It is not something that was taught to me in Japan. It is rather a use of thinking towards which, in recent times, FM Alexander pointed, and which, in ancient times, Ashvaghosha and Dogen, as I read them, also pointed.
EH Johnston:
Bearing with his body, but not of his will, the insignia prescribed by the Master's ordinance, Nanda was dejected through the embarrassment of the thoughts of his mind which kept turning on his wife.
Linda Covill:
Nanda knew no gladness ; he bore the signs ordained by the teacher on his body, but not in his heart, and was discomfited by conjectures about his wife.
VOCABULARY:
liNgam (acc. sg.): n. a mark , spot , sign , token , badge , emblem , characteristic ; any assumed or false badge or mark , guise , disguise
tataH: ind. from that, thence
shaastR-vidhi-pradiShTam (acc. sg. n.): fixed by the teacher's decree
shaastR: m. a chastiser , punisher ; a teacher, instructor
vidhi: m. a rule , formula , injunction , ordinance , statute , precept , law , direction (esp. for the performance of a vedic rite);
pradiShTa: mfn. pointed out , indicated , fixed , ordained ;
pra- √ dish: to point out , show , indicate , declare , appoint , fix , ordain ; to assign , apportion , grant
gaatreNa (inst.sg.): n. " instrument of moving " , a limb or member of the body ; the body
bibhran = nom. sg. m. pres. part. bhR: to bear, carry ; to wear ; to bear i.e. contain , possess , have , keep (also " keep in mind ") ; to support , maintain , cherish , foster
na: not
tu: but
cetasaaa (inst. sg.): n. consciousness , intelligence , thinking soul , heart , mind
tat: that (sometimes for emphasis)
bhaaryaa-gataiH (inst. pl.): going to his wife
eva: (emphatic):
mano-vitarkaiH (inst. pl.): ideas in his mind
manas: mind
vitarka: m. conjecture , supposition , guess , fancy , imagination , opinion; doubt , uncertainty
jehriiyamaaNaH = nom. sg. m. pres. part. intensive passive hR: to take , bear , carry ; to take away , carry off ; to master , overpower , subdue , conquer
na: not
nananda = 3rd pers. sg. perfect nand: to rejoice , delight , to be pleased or satisfied with , be glad
nandaH (nom. sg.): m. Nanda
gaatreNa bibhran na tu cetasaaa tat
bhaaryaa-gatair eva mano-vitarkair
jehriiyamaaNo na nananda nandaH
= = - = = - - = - = =
= = - = = - - = - = -
= = - = = - - = - = =
= = - = = - - = - = =
7.1
Wearing that emblem, then,
whose form was fixed by his teacher
-- Bearing it bodily but not mentally --
And being constantly carried off by thoughts of his wife,
Nanda whose name was joy was not joyful.
COMMENT:
The emblem referred to in this verse, as I read it, is the ochre robe (kaaShaaya) of 6.48. That being so, a certain irony may be intended by the phrase shaastR-vidhi-pradiShTam, "its form being fixed by the teacher"; since a traditionally-sewn robe, as a shapeless flat sheet, is unrivalled amongs garments for its lack of fixed form.
Line 2 touches on another, greater irony, which has to do with the fact that, in Dogen's words, "there is bodily sitting which is not the same as mental sitting, and there is mental sitting which is not the same as bodily sitting." Furthermore, Dogen adds, "there is sitting as body and mind dropping off, which is not the same as sitting as body and mind dropping off."
Thus, in Japan my Zen teacher taught me that if I just sit physically, mental balance (= "balance of the autonomic nervous system") will follow. And there was some truth in that conception.
The great irony that I am still investigating every day, however, is that there is also truth in the opposite conception, as taught to me by FM Alexander's niece Marjory Barlow, along with Nelly Ben-Or, and others, that if one truly practises the most mental thing there is, thinking, then the thinking re-educates the feeling, and the feeling re-educates the body.
As an aid to practise thinking, we come back in Alexander work to some variation of the words, "I wish to allow the neck to be free, to let the head go forward and up, to let the spine lengthen and back widen, while sending the knees forwards and away." And the difficulty in practising thinking like this is to keep thinking these directions not only one after another but also "all together"... i.e. to keep thinking these directions (but not necessarily in words, because the words cannot be thought all together) without doing anything in the way of trying to implement these directions, or help them along. This is much more difficult than it sounds, because human beings have evolved to do stuff, not to think directions.
Just to sit, without trying to be right, without doing these directions, and without any extraneous movement is, as I understand it, the essential means that leads a person to the experience of just sitting as body and mind dropping off.
And the ultimate irony is that it is quite possible to talk a good talk, like this, about physical feeling/doing, about mental thinking, and about body and mind dropping off -- without ever truly addressing the problem of how to think. That is how Zen masters emerge who talk such a good talk of body and mind dropping off that they are able to convince others, and sometimes even themselves, that they know what they are talking about. And I my very self am just one of those phoneys.
Really to think is bloody hard work of the kind that even Alexander teachers like me, or like my brother, or Alexander students like George, are prone to avoid doing. It is much easier for me to build a terrace in France, or to re-do the kitchen here in Aylesbury, or to learn Sanskrit day by day, than it is to set aside time for learning how to think.
This morning, however, prompted by the above verse, and by Dogen's words quoted above, I did have some sense of filling out my kesa by purely mental means -- a renewed glimpse of what thinking can be. It is not something that was taught to me in Japan. It is rather a use of thinking towards which, in recent times, FM Alexander pointed, and which, in ancient times, Ashvaghosha and Dogen, as I read them, also pointed.
EH Johnston:
Bearing with his body, but not of his will, the insignia prescribed by the Master's ordinance, Nanda was dejected through the embarrassment of the thoughts of his mind which kept turning on his wife.
Linda Covill:
Nanda knew no gladness ; he bore the signs ordained by the teacher on his body, but not in his heart, and was discomfited by conjectures about his wife.
VOCABULARY:
liNgam (acc. sg.): n. a mark , spot , sign , token , badge , emblem , characteristic ; any assumed or false badge or mark , guise , disguise
tataH: ind. from that, thence
shaastR-vidhi-pradiShTam (acc. sg. n.): fixed by the teacher's decree
shaastR: m. a chastiser , punisher ; a teacher, instructor
vidhi: m. a rule , formula , injunction , ordinance , statute , precept , law , direction (esp. for the performance of a vedic rite);
pradiShTa: mfn. pointed out , indicated , fixed , ordained ;
pra- √ dish: to point out , show , indicate , declare , appoint , fix , ordain ; to assign , apportion , grant
gaatreNa (inst.sg.): n. " instrument of moving " , a limb or member of the body ; the body
bibhran = nom. sg. m. pres. part. bhR: to bear, carry ; to wear ; to bear i.e. contain , possess , have , keep (also " keep in mind ") ; to support , maintain , cherish , foster
na: not
tu: but
cetasaaa (inst. sg.): n. consciousness , intelligence , thinking soul , heart , mind
tat: that (sometimes for emphasis)
bhaaryaa-gataiH (inst. pl.): going to his wife
eva: (emphatic):
mano-vitarkaiH (inst. pl.): ideas in his mind
manas: mind
vitarka: m. conjecture , supposition , guess , fancy , imagination , opinion; doubt , uncertainty
jehriiyamaaNaH = nom. sg. m. pres. part. intensive passive hR: to take , bear , carry ; to take away , carry off ; to master , overpower , subdue , conquer
na: not
nananda = 3rd pers. sg. perfect nand: to rejoice , delight , to be pleased or satisfied with , be glad
nandaH (nom. sg.): m. Nanda
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Canto 6: A Wife's Lament
A principle that emerges from this Canto, as I read it, is that eloquence and wisdom are by no means the same thing. And it is at least partly in this light, I think, that one should read Ashvaghosha's description of himself, in the closing words of Saundarananda, as mahaa-vaadin.
mahaa means great, and vaadin means speaking/talking or speaker/talker. So mahaa-vaadin could mean one who speaks of that which is great, or one who is a great talker.
In the former meaning, "speaker of the great," i.e. propounder of the great teaching, mahaa-vaadin might be regarded as including Ashavaghosha's recognition of his own role in promoting that great stream which was later to be called mahaa-yaana, the great vehicle, and of which Ashvaghosha's grandson Nagarjuna is generally regarded to be the main instigator.
At the same time I think that in the latter meaning of "great talker," mahaa-vaadin might also be intended to convey a hint of ironic self-deprecation -- because "a great talker" of the talk is not necessarily a great walker of the walk.
Being a great talker of the talk rests on eloquence, or a poet's gift of the gab. But being a great walker of the walk rests on real wisdom. And, as is evidenced in this Canto, it is invariably wisdom, but not necessarily eloquence, that ultimately causes living beings who are suffering to come to earth.
Because wisdom is so highly esteemed, even among transcendent virtues, it is customary, in China and Japan, to dedicate any merit that has accrued from a period of practice to the following objects of veneration:
JIHO-SANSHI-ISSHI-FU
All buddhas in the ten directions and three times;
SHISON-BUSSA-MOKOSA
Many venerable bodhi-sattvas and maha-sattvas;
MOKO-HOJA-HOROMI
The transcendent virtue which is the great real wisdom
(mahaa-prajNaa-paaramitaa).
And this real wisdom, I understood from my time in Japan, is centred on nothing but the practice of sitting-meditation. Therefore, from the outset, when I first got my hands on Linda Covill's translation of Saundarananda two years ago, I did not pay much attention to this Canto. I was not naturally drawn to a Canto which is not about sitting-meditation, but which is about a grieving drama queen, about an emotional woman who innocently blurts out the truth without foreseeing the consequences, about a woman who makes worthy pronouncements as if sitting on her high horse, and in the end about a woman who, in not trying to be right, speaks intimate non-truth so as to help her human sister come to earth. I sensed from the outset that this Canto might not have much to say to the iron man of Zen who walks the walk on the stage of real wisdom... and indeed it doesn't.
But what, in the end, is real wisdom? The ultimate message of this Canto, as I have now been forced to read it, is that wisdom starts to operate when misguided effort (for example, trying to be the iron man of Zen) stops. It is in the chinks between trying to be right that niches (which, it is true, may be sitting-buddha-shaped) are carved out of space and time; and in these niches anybody -- everybody's sister and brother, including not only the grieving but also the silly and the high and mighty -- are allowed to come to earth.
Ultimately this Canto seems to draw a line, like a series of scattered drops, around the space in which a human body, whose suffering is real and physical, is allowed to come to earth. And this space and real wisdom, space and wisdom, wisdom and space, seem in some unfathomable way to be connected with each other, very intimately.
(What a lot of talking the talk!)
6.1
And so, her husband having been taken
by respect for the Guru,
Bereft of her happiness, left joyless,
Though she remained at the same spot,
high up in the palace,
Sundari no longer seemed to be herself.
6.2
Anticipating her husband's approach,
She leant forward,
her breasts invading the bulls-eye window,
As she looked out expectantly
from the palace roof towards the gateway,
With her earrings dangling down across her face.
6.3
With her pearl necklaces dangling and straps dishevelled
As she bent down from the palace,
She looked like the most gorgeous of the apsarases
gazing from her celestial abode
At her lover, his ascetic credit exhausted, falling down.
6.4
With a cold sweat on her beautiful brow,
Her face-paint drying in her sighs,
And her eyes restless with anxious thoughts,
There she stood, suspecting her husband,
somewhere else.
6.5
Tired out by a long time standing in that state,
She dropped, just where she stood, onto a couch,
And lay across it with her necklaces scattered
And a slipper half hanging off one foot.
6.6
At this one of the women,
Not wishing to see Sundari in her tearful distress,
Stepped too loudly on the stairs from the penthouse
As she suddenly found herself weeping.
6.7
Hearing the sound on the stairs of that woman's feet
Sundari quickly jumped back up again;
Transfixed with joy, she bristled with excitement,
Believing it to be the approach of her beloved.
6.8
Scaring the pigeons in their rooftop roosts
With the jangling of her ankle bracelets,
She dashed to the stairwell
Without thinking, in her excitement,
about the end of her finery that had fallen off.
6.9
On seeing the woman she was crestfallen;
She sighed, threw herself again onto the couch,
And no longer shone:
with her face suddenly pallid
She was as grey as a pale-mooned sky in early winter.
6.10
Pained at not seeing her husband,
Burning with desire and fury,
She sat down with face in hand
And steeped herself in the river of worries,
whose water is sorrow.
6.11
Her lotus-rivalling face,
Resting on the hennaed stem of her hand,
Was like a lotus above the reflection in the water
Of its mud-born self, drooping down.
6.12
She considered various possibilities,
in accordance with a woman's nature;
Then, failing to see the truth
that her husband had taken refuge in the dharma,
While obviously still in love with
and oriented towards her,
She constructed various scenarios
and uttered various laments:
6.13
"He promised me: 'I'll be back
Before the paint on your face is dry';
From what cause would such a cherisher of promises
As my beloved is, be now a breaker of promises?
6.14
In him who was noble, good, compassionate,
Always in awe of me, and too honest,
How has such an unprecedented transformation
come about?
Through a loss of passion on his part?
From a mistake of mine?
6.15
The heart of my lover
-- lover of sexual pleasure and of me --
Has obviously waned in its passion for me,
For if he still loved me
He would, having regard for my heart,
not have failed to return.
6.16
Another woman, then,
better than me in beauty and in temperament,
My beloved has surely beheld;
For, having soothed me as he did with his empty words,
He has gone off and left me, attached to him as I am.
6.17
As for that devotion to the Buddha of which he spoke,
It was only a pretext to me for leaving;
For if he were clearly settled on the Sage
He would fear untruth no less than a grisly death.
6.18
While I made myself up,
He held the mirror as a service to me,
and thought of another!
If he holds it now for that other
So much for his fickle affection!
6.19
Women who do not wish to suffer grief like this
Should never trust men.
How could he treat me before with such regard
And the next moment leave me this way, like anybody?"
6.20
This she said and more, lovelorn,
And suspecting her love of loving another.
Then the weeping woman,
having climbed the palace stairs in a tizzy,
Tearfully told her these words:
6.21
"Though he is young and good-looking,
Possessing noble ancestry,
and his share of charm and fortune,
Your husband was never unfaithful to you.
You are being silly and misjudging him.
6.22
Ma'am! Do not accuse your beloved husband,
A doer of loving deeds who is deserving of your love;
He has eyes for no woman other than you,
Like a chakra-vaka drake with his chakra-vaka duck.
6.23
While wishing to stay at home for you, however,
While wanting to live for your happiness,
He has been banished, his face wet with tears,
By his noble brother the Tathagata, so they say,
into the wandering life."
6.24
On hearing then what had happened to her husband
She immediately leapt up, shaking;
She clasped her arms and screamed out loud
Like a she-elephant
shot in the heart by a poisoned arrow.
6.25
Her eyes puffy and reddened by tears,
The slender trunk of her body shaking with anguish,
She fell, breaking and scattering strings of pearls,
Like a mango branch overburdened by fruit.
6.26
Wearing clothes dyed in lotus colours,
With her lotus face and eyes as long as lotus petals,
She was like Lotus-Hued Lakshmi fallen from her lotus.
And she withered like a garland of lotuses in the sun.
6.27
As she thought and she thought
of her husband's good points,
She heaved long sighs and she gasped;
The forearms that bore her gleaming jewellery,
And her hands with their reddened fingertips,
she flung outward.
6.28
"I have no need of ornaments now!"
So saying, she hurled her jewels in all directions.
Unadorned and drooping, she resembled
A creeper shorn of its clusters of flowers.
6.29
"My husband held this for me," she thought,
As she clasped the golden-handled mirror;
And the tamala paint she had applied so carefully,
She rubbed off her cheeks aggressively,
as if it had angered her.
6.30
Like a cakra-vaka duck,
when a hawk is clawing her mate's wing-tip,
She hooted mightily,
As if in competition
with the pigeons on the palace roof,
Cooing with their throats all atremble.
6.31
Though she lay down to sleep
in gorgeous soft bedclothes,
On a bed bedecked with beryl and diamonds,
She in her costly crib with its golden legs
Tossed and turned but obtained no respite.
6.32
Looking at her husband's ornaments, clothes,
And items of amusement like his guitar,
She entered a state of darkness; she raised a shriek,
And then, as if descending into a mire, sank down.
6.33
For as her belly trembled with her breathlessness,
Like a cave being rent inside by a fireball,
And she burned in her innermost heart
with a fire of grief,
Sundari seemed at that moment
to be going out of her mind.
6.34
She howled and wilted, screamed and swooned;
She reeled and stood rooted, she wailed and she brooded.
She gave vent to her anger and laid waste to her garlands;
She tore at her face and pulled at her clothes.
6.35
Hearing her,
the lovely-toothed one,
howling stormily on,
The ladies-in-waiting were pained in the extreme;
They ascended from inside the house to the palace roof,
Like kimnaris climbing nervously
to the top of a mountain.
6.36
Their depressed faces wet with tears,
Like lotus ponds with rain-soaked lotuses,
They settled alongside her,
according to rank and as they wished,
And along with her were consumed by grief.
6.37
Enfolded on the palace roof by her women,
The slender Sundari, gaunt with worry,
Seemed like a thin lunar crescent
enshrouded by streaks of lightning
Amid the autumn clouds.
6.38
There was one there among them, however,
The eldest in years,
a highly regarded woman gifted with eloquence,
Who held Sundari from behind in a firm embrace
And, wiping away her tears, spoke these words:
6.39
"Grief ill becomes you, the wife of a royal seer,
When your husband has taken refuge in the dharma;
For a desired inheritance, in the lineage of Ikshvaku,
Are woods suited to the practice of austerities.
6.40
You are acquainted with wives
Of Shakya bulls gone forth in pursuit of liberation:
As a rule,
they are women whose homes are like ascetic groves
And who observe a vow of chastity
as if it were their pleasure.
6.41
Were your husband to be stolen by another,
due to her better looks and qualities,
Then tears you should let flow;
For where is the beautiful and virtuous wife,
rich in her own qualities,
Who would not shed a tear when her heart was broken?
6.42
Again, had he met with some disaster
-- And may nothing of that sort ever be! --
then yes, tears;
Because there is no greater sorrow
For a nobly-born woman
who honours her husband like a god.
6.43
On the contrary, he is now roving happily,
Meeting no disasters,
but enjoying sound health and a fruitful life.
Free from desires, he is following the dharma:
Why at a time for rejoicing do you,
in a state of consternation, weep?"
6.44
Though this woman, out of affection,
thus put to her various arguments,
Sundari could find no stillness at all.
Then another woman told her, intimately,
What suited her mind and fitted the occasion.
6.45
"I am telling you, truly, categorically,
You'll see your husband back soon enough.
That guy won't last any longer out there without you
Than a living thing lasts when it loses consciousness.
6.46
Even in the lap of luxury he couldn't be happy
Without you there by his side;
And even in dire straits,
Nothing could trouble him,
as long as he were looking at you.
6.47
Cheer up and hold back your tears:
Spare your eyes the release of hot teardrops.
His feelings for you and his passion are such
That without you he will find no pleasure in the dharma.
6.48
Some might say that,
having put on an ochre robe,
He will not give it up,
due to his combination of ancestry and character.
But he put it on unwillingly,
looking forward to going home:
Where is the fault in taking it off again?"
6.49
And so Sundari, consoled by her young women
When her heart had been heisted away by her husband,
Came to earth, just as Rambha,
with her heart turned towards Dramida,
Did once upon a time, surrounded by fellow apsarases.
The 6th canto in the epic poem Handsome Nanda,
titled "A Wife's Lament."
mahaa means great, and vaadin means speaking/talking or speaker/talker. So mahaa-vaadin could mean one who speaks of that which is great, or one who is a great talker.
In the former meaning, "speaker of the great," i.e. propounder of the great teaching, mahaa-vaadin might be regarded as including Ashavaghosha's recognition of his own role in promoting that great stream which was later to be called mahaa-yaana, the great vehicle, and of which Ashvaghosha's grandson Nagarjuna is generally regarded to be the main instigator.
At the same time I think that in the latter meaning of "great talker," mahaa-vaadin might also be intended to convey a hint of ironic self-deprecation -- because "a great talker" of the talk is not necessarily a great walker of the walk.
Being a great talker of the talk rests on eloquence, or a poet's gift of the gab. But being a great walker of the walk rests on real wisdom. And, as is evidenced in this Canto, it is invariably wisdom, but not necessarily eloquence, that ultimately causes living beings who are suffering to come to earth.
Because wisdom is so highly esteemed, even among transcendent virtues, it is customary, in China and Japan, to dedicate any merit that has accrued from a period of practice to the following objects of veneration:
JIHO-SANSHI-ISSHI-FU
All buddhas in the ten directions and three times;
SHISON-BUSSA-MOKOSA
Many venerable bodhi-sattvas and maha-sattvas;
MOKO-HOJA-HOROMI
The transcendent virtue which is the great real wisdom
(mahaa-prajNaa-paaramitaa).
And this real wisdom, I understood from my time in Japan, is centred on nothing but the practice of sitting-meditation. Therefore, from the outset, when I first got my hands on Linda Covill's translation of Saundarananda two years ago, I did not pay much attention to this Canto. I was not naturally drawn to a Canto which is not about sitting-meditation, but which is about a grieving drama queen, about an emotional woman who innocently blurts out the truth without foreseeing the consequences, about a woman who makes worthy pronouncements as if sitting on her high horse, and in the end about a woman who, in not trying to be right, speaks intimate non-truth so as to help her human sister come to earth. I sensed from the outset that this Canto might not have much to say to the iron man of Zen who walks the walk on the stage of real wisdom... and indeed it doesn't.
But what, in the end, is real wisdom? The ultimate message of this Canto, as I have now been forced to read it, is that wisdom starts to operate when misguided effort (for example, trying to be the iron man of Zen) stops. It is in the chinks between trying to be right that niches (which, it is true, may be sitting-buddha-shaped) are carved out of space and time; and in these niches anybody -- everybody's sister and brother, including not only the grieving but also the silly and the high and mighty -- are allowed to come to earth.
Ultimately this Canto seems to draw a line, like a series of scattered drops, around the space in which a human body, whose suffering is real and physical, is allowed to come to earth. And this space and real wisdom, space and wisdom, wisdom and space, seem in some unfathomable way to be connected with each other, very intimately.
(What a lot of talking the talk!)
6.1
And so, her husband having been taken
by respect for the Guru,
Bereft of her happiness, left joyless,
Though she remained at the same spot,
high up in the palace,
Sundari no longer seemed to be herself.
6.2
Anticipating her husband's approach,
She leant forward,
her breasts invading the bulls-eye window,
As she looked out expectantly
from the palace roof towards the gateway,
With her earrings dangling down across her face.
6.3
With her pearl necklaces dangling and straps dishevelled
As she bent down from the palace,
She looked like the most gorgeous of the apsarases
gazing from her celestial abode
At her lover, his ascetic credit exhausted, falling down.
6.4
With a cold sweat on her beautiful brow,
Her face-paint drying in her sighs,
And her eyes restless with anxious thoughts,
There she stood, suspecting her husband,
somewhere else.
6.5
Tired out by a long time standing in that state,
She dropped, just where she stood, onto a couch,
And lay across it with her necklaces scattered
And a slipper half hanging off one foot.
6.6
At this one of the women,
Not wishing to see Sundari in her tearful distress,
Stepped too loudly on the stairs from the penthouse
As she suddenly found herself weeping.
6.7
Hearing the sound on the stairs of that woman's feet
Sundari quickly jumped back up again;
Transfixed with joy, she bristled with excitement,
Believing it to be the approach of her beloved.
6.8
Scaring the pigeons in their rooftop roosts
With the jangling of her ankle bracelets,
She dashed to the stairwell
Without thinking, in her excitement,
about the end of her finery that had fallen off.
6.9
On seeing the woman she was crestfallen;
She sighed, threw herself again onto the couch,
And no longer shone:
with her face suddenly pallid
She was as grey as a pale-mooned sky in early winter.
6.10
Pained at not seeing her husband,
Burning with desire and fury,
She sat down with face in hand
And steeped herself in the river of worries,
whose water is sorrow.
6.11
Her lotus-rivalling face,
Resting on the hennaed stem of her hand,
Was like a lotus above the reflection in the water
Of its mud-born self, drooping down.
6.12
She considered various possibilities,
in accordance with a woman's nature;
Then, failing to see the truth
that her husband had taken refuge in the dharma,
While obviously still in love with
and oriented towards her,
She constructed various scenarios
and uttered various laments:
6.13
"He promised me: 'I'll be back
Before the paint on your face is dry';
From what cause would such a cherisher of promises
As my beloved is, be now a breaker of promises?
6.14
In him who was noble, good, compassionate,
Always in awe of me, and too honest,
How has such an unprecedented transformation
come about?
Through a loss of passion on his part?
From a mistake of mine?
6.15
The heart of my lover
-- lover of sexual pleasure and of me --
Has obviously waned in its passion for me,
For if he still loved me
He would, having regard for my heart,
not have failed to return.
6.16
Another woman, then,
better than me in beauty and in temperament,
My beloved has surely beheld;
For, having soothed me as he did with his empty words,
He has gone off and left me, attached to him as I am.
6.17
As for that devotion to the Buddha of which he spoke,
It was only a pretext to me for leaving;
For if he were clearly settled on the Sage
He would fear untruth no less than a grisly death.
6.18
While I made myself up,
He held the mirror as a service to me,
and thought of another!
If he holds it now for that other
So much for his fickle affection!
6.19
Women who do not wish to suffer grief like this
Should never trust men.
How could he treat me before with such regard
And the next moment leave me this way, like anybody?"
6.20
This she said and more, lovelorn,
And suspecting her love of loving another.
Then the weeping woman,
having climbed the palace stairs in a tizzy,
Tearfully told her these words:
6.21
"Though he is young and good-looking,
Possessing noble ancestry,
and his share of charm and fortune,
Your husband was never unfaithful to you.
You are being silly and misjudging him.
6.22
Ma'am! Do not accuse your beloved husband,
A doer of loving deeds who is deserving of your love;
He has eyes for no woman other than you,
Like a chakra-vaka drake with his chakra-vaka duck.
6.23
While wishing to stay at home for you, however,
While wanting to live for your happiness,
He has been banished, his face wet with tears,
By his noble brother the Tathagata, so they say,
into the wandering life."
6.24
On hearing then what had happened to her husband
She immediately leapt up, shaking;
She clasped her arms and screamed out loud
Like a she-elephant
shot in the heart by a poisoned arrow.
6.25
Her eyes puffy and reddened by tears,
The slender trunk of her body shaking with anguish,
She fell, breaking and scattering strings of pearls,
Like a mango branch overburdened by fruit.
6.26
Wearing clothes dyed in lotus colours,
With her lotus face and eyes as long as lotus petals,
She was like Lotus-Hued Lakshmi fallen from her lotus.
And she withered like a garland of lotuses in the sun.
6.27
As she thought and she thought
of her husband's good points,
She heaved long sighs and she gasped;
The forearms that bore her gleaming jewellery,
And her hands with their reddened fingertips,
she flung outward.
6.28
"I have no need of ornaments now!"
So saying, she hurled her jewels in all directions.
Unadorned and drooping, she resembled
A creeper shorn of its clusters of flowers.
6.29
"My husband held this for me," she thought,
As she clasped the golden-handled mirror;
And the tamala paint she had applied so carefully,
She rubbed off her cheeks aggressively,
as if it had angered her.
6.30
Like a cakra-vaka duck,
when a hawk is clawing her mate's wing-tip,
She hooted mightily,
As if in competition
with the pigeons on the palace roof,
Cooing with their throats all atremble.
6.31
Though she lay down to sleep
in gorgeous soft bedclothes,
On a bed bedecked with beryl and diamonds,
She in her costly crib with its golden legs
Tossed and turned but obtained no respite.
6.32
Looking at her husband's ornaments, clothes,
And items of amusement like his guitar,
She entered a state of darkness; she raised a shriek,
And then, as if descending into a mire, sank down.
6.33
For as her belly trembled with her breathlessness,
Like a cave being rent inside by a fireball,
And she burned in her innermost heart
with a fire of grief,
Sundari seemed at that moment
to be going out of her mind.
6.34
She howled and wilted, screamed and swooned;
She reeled and stood rooted, she wailed and she brooded.
She gave vent to her anger and laid waste to her garlands;
She tore at her face and pulled at her clothes.
6.35
Hearing her,
the lovely-toothed one,
howling stormily on,
The ladies-in-waiting were pained in the extreme;
They ascended from inside the house to the palace roof,
Like kimnaris climbing nervously
to the top of a mountain.
6.36
Their depressed faces wet with tears,
Like lotus ponds with rain-soaked lotuses,
They settled alongside her,
according to rank and as they wished,
And along with her were consumed by grief.
6.37
Enfolded on the palace roof by her women,
The slender Sundari, gaunt with worry,
Seemed like a thin lunar crescent
enshrouded by streaks of lightning
Amid the autumn clouds.
6.38
There was one there among them, however,
The eldest in years,
a highly regarded woman gifted with eloquence,
Who held Sundari from behind in a firm embrace
And, wiping away her tears, spoke these words:
6.39
"Grief ill becomes you, the wife of a royal seer,
When your husband has taken refuge in the dharma;
For a desired inheritance, in the lineage of Ikshvaku,
Are woods suited to the practice of austerities.
6.40
You are acquainted with wives
Of Shakya bulls gone forth in pursuit of liberation:
As a rule,
they are women whose homes are like ascetic groves
And who observe a vow of chastity
as if it were their pleasure.
6.41
Were your husband to be stolen by another,
due to her better looks and qualities,
Then tears you should let flow;
For where is the beautiful and virtuous wife,
rich in her own qualities,
Who would not shed a tear when her heart was broken?
6.42
Again, had he met with some disaster
-- And may nothing of that sort ever be! --
then yes, tears;
Because there is no greater sorrow
For a nobly-born woman
who honours her husband like a god.
6.43
On the contrary, he is now roving happily,
Meeting no disasters,
but enjoying sound health and a fruitful life.
Free from desires, he is following the dharma:
Why at a time for rejoicing do you,
in a state of consternation, weep?"
6.44
Though this woman, out of affection,
thus put to her various arguments,
Sundari could find no stillness at all.
Then another woman told her, intimately,
What suited her mind and fitted the occasion.
6.45
"I am telling you, truly, categorically,
You'll see your husband back soon enough.
That guy won't last any longer out there without you
Than a living thing lasts when it loses consciousness.
6.46
Even in the lap of luxury he couldn't be happy
Without you there by his side;
And even in dire straits,
Nothing could trouble him,
as long as he were looking at you.
6.47
Cheer up and hold back your tears:
Spare your eyes the release of hot teardrops.
His feelings for you and his passion are such
That without you he will find no pleasure in the dharma.
6.48
Some might say that,
having put on an ochre robe,
He will not give it up,
due to his combination of ancestry and character.
But he put it on unwillingly,
looking forward to going home:
Where is the fault in taking it off again?"
6.49
And so Sundari, consoled by her young women
When her heart had been heisted away by her husband,
Came to earth, just as Rambha,
with her heart turned towards Dramida,
Did once upon a time, surrounded by fellow apsarases.
The 6th canto in the epic poem Handsome Nanda,
titled "A Wife's Lament."
Friday, December 3, 2010
SAUNDARANANDA 6.49: Coming to Earth
iti yuvati-janena saantvyamaanaa
hRta-hRdayaa ramaNena sundarii saa
dramiDam abhimukhii pur" eva rambhaa
kShitim agamat parivaarit" aapsarobhiH
- - - - - - = - = - = =
- - - - = - - = - = - = =
- - - - - - = - = - = =
- - - - = - - = - = - = =
saundaranande mahaa-kaavye
bhaaryaa-vilaapo naama ShaShThaH sargaH
= - - = = - = = =
= = - = = = - = = = =
6.49
And so Sundari, consoled by her young women
When her heart had been heisted away by her husband,
Came to earth, just as Rambha,
with her heart turned towards Dramida,
Did once upon a time, surrounded by fellow apsarases.
The 6th canto in the epic poem Handsome Nanda,
titled "A Wife's Lament."
COMMENT:
Rambha was a prominent apsaras, or celestial nymph, who is also mentioned in 7.36. So I have added the word "fellow" in line 4 to clarify that Rambha herself was an apsaras -- just as Sundari herself was a young woman. I wanted to bring out the sense of solidarity and sisterhood, because I think one of the points implicit in this verse, and in this Canto, is that maybe the greatest consolation to a person who is stricken by grief is not to feel abandoned and alone in one's suffering -- as if left high and dry. One remembers the story of the grief-stricken mother whom the Buddha instructed to bring to him a mustard seed from the house of a family which had never suffered the premature death of a child.
So Rambha was an apsaras, and her face in some way was directed towards Dramida; but who or where Dramida was I do not know.
Dramida may be an alternative pronunciation of Dravida, one of ten sons sired by Krishna with his wife Jambavati.
Dravida was also the name of a kingdom in South India, and sometimes a name for the entire region of South India -- hence the label "Dravidian" given to a family of languages spoken in southern India and Sri Lanka.
Is the meaning that Rambha descended to earth with her heart turned towards Dramida as a lover? Or did she for some reason descend with her face turned towards the south? Since EHJ and LC opted for the former understanding, and their knowledge of Sanskrit literature is far deeper than mine, I have followed them.
Either way, the turning words in this verse, as I read it, are kShitim agamat. One way of reading this verse is that it makes a play on the double meaning of the word kShitim which means (1) house or palace, (2) the earth, so that the same phrase indicates (1) Sundari's descent from the palace roof to the palace proper, and (2) the descent of the apsaras Rambha from her celestial abode to earth. But there might also be a sense in which Ashvaghosha is describing Sundari coming to earth, as the undue excitement of her fear reflexes subsides.
This is a process that people who are interested in energy flows in the human body, or interested in the human body as an energy flow, often describe as becoming "grounded."
The idea of being "grounded," however is a dangerous one. People are prone to react to it, in the words of Alexander teacher Peggy Williams, by "trying with their heels to dig a hole for themselves in the ground."
Marjory Barlow used to say she didn't when standing have any problem getting the feet grounded. Gravity was always there to take care of that. The difficulty, as Marjory saw it, was directing oneself up.
Still, there is a sense, when undue excitement of fear reflexes and emotions abates, of nervous excitement and reddening abating around the neck, head, face, and chest, so that the vestibular system is less affected by internal noise, in which state there may be more chance of sensing a flow of direction from the ground up. It is, then, not a matter of coming down to earth, but of just coming to earth, in order to come up from earth.
To try to describe it in words inevitably invites trying to feel it out and do it, rather than to think or direct or allow it. Because our vestibular sense is so faulty, because our feeling of where up is so (to use Alexander's word) "debauched," the point is not to feel but to think one's whole body, from the ground up, up.
About 25 years ago, at a time when I felt I had come to earth with a bit of an eye-opening thud, I remarked to my Zen teacher that I could hardly believe how stupid I had been. "Human life is stupid," was his reply.
The Zen master then proceeded over the course of a quarter of a century to prove his own point very exactly in practice, embracing ever more tightly a pet reductionist view on the importance of the autonomic nervous system, while regarding the teaching of FM Alexander with suspicion, as if it were a threat to the purity of "true Buddhism." Somebody should make a play about it -- a play about a stupid frightened Zen master and his stupid frightened non-successor, either a tragedy or a comedy, I don't know which.
This Canto might not seem, on the surface, to have too much to do with Zen Buddhist practice. But it is very much concerned with stupid human life -- the course of which is all too easily unconsciously misdirected, in a downward direction, under the influence of unduly excited fear reflexes and emotions.
EH Johnston:
Thus Sundari, robbed of her heart by her lover and soothed by her maidens, went to her palace, just as Rambha of old, accompanied by the Apsarases, descended to earth seeking Dramida.
Linda Covill:
And being comforted in this way by her young attendants at the time when her heart was stolen away by her lover, Sundari went into her palace, just as Rambha was once tended by the apsarases when she came to earth yearning for Dramida.
VOCABULARY:
iti: thus
yuvati-janena (inst. sg.): by the young women
yuvati: f. a girl , young woman
jana: m. people , subjects (the sg. used collectively)
saantvyamaanaa = nom. sg. f. passive pres. part. saantv: to console , comfort , soothe , conciliate , address kindly or gently
hRta-hRdayaa (nom. sg. f.): her heart having been taken away
hRta: mfn. taken , taken away , seized (often ibc. = " deprived or bereft of " , " having lost " , " -less ")
hRdaya: heart
ramaNena (inst. sg.): m. a lover , husband ; m. kaama-deva , the god of love
sundarii (nom. sg. f.): Sundari
saa (nom. sg. f.): she
dramiDam (acc. sg.): m. = (?) draviDa N. of a son of kRShNa
abhimukhii (nom. sg. f.): with the face directed towards , turned towards , facing (with acc. dat. gen. ; or ifc.)
puraa (ind.): before , formerly , of old
iva: like
rambhaa (nom. sg.): f. "sounding , roaring , lowing"; name of an apsaras -- see below
kShitim (acc. sg.): f. an abode , dwelling , habitation , house; f. the earth
agamat = 3rd pers. sg. aorist gam: to go
parivaaritaa (nom. sg. f.): mfn. surrounded by
apsarobhiH (inst. pl.): f. the apsarases, " going in the waters or between the waters of the clouds " , a class of female divinities (sometimes called " nymphs " ; they inhabit the sky , but often visit the earth ; they are the wives of the gandharvas (q.v.) and have the faculty of changing their shapes at will ; they are fond of the water ; one of their number , rambhaa , is said to have been produced at the churning of the ocean).
saundara-nande mahaa-kaavye (loc.): in the epic poem Handsome Nanda
bhaaryaa-vilaapaH (nom. sg. m.): a wife's lament ; the sound of a wife's wailing
bhaaryaa: f. a wife
vilaapa: m. lamentation, wailing
vi- √ lap: to utter moaning sounds , wail , lament
naama: ind. by name
ShaShThaH sargaH (nom. sg. m.): 6th canto
hRta-hRdayaa ramaNena sundarii saa
dramiDam abhimukhii pur" eva rambhaa
kShitim agamat parivaarit" aapsarobhiH
- - - - - - = - = - = =
- - - - = - - = - = - = =
- - - - - - = - = - = =
- - - - = - - = - = - = =
saundaranande mahaa-kaavye
bhaaryaa-vilaapo naama ShaShThaH sargaH
= - - = = - = = =
= = - = = = - = = = =
6.49
And so Sundari, consoled by her young women
When her heart had been heisted away by her husband,
Came to earth, just as Rambha,
with her heart turned towards Dramida,
Did once upon a time, surrounded by fellow apsarases.
The 6th canto in the epic poem Handsome Nanda,
titled "A Wife's Lament."
COMMENT:
Rambha was a prominent apsaras, or celestial nymph, who is also mentioned in 7.36. So I have added the word "fellow" in line 4 to clarify that Rambha herself was an apsaras -- just as Sundari herself was a young woman. I wanted to bring out the sense of solidarity and sisterhood, because I think one of the points implicit in this verse, and in this Canto, is that maybe the greatest consolation to a person who is stricken by grief is not to feel abandoned and alone in one's suffering -- as if left high and dry. One remembers the story of the grief-stricken mother whom the Buddha instructed to bring to him a mustard seed from the house of a family which had never suffered the premature death of a child.
So Rambha was an apsaras, and her face in some way was directed towards Dramida; but who or where Dramida was I do not know.
Dramida may be an alternative pronunciation of Dravida, one of ten sons sired by Krishna with his wife Jambavati.
Dravida was also the name of a kingdom in South India, and sometimes a name for the entire region of South India -- hence the label "Dravidian" given to a family of languages spoken in southern India and Sri Lanka.
Is the meaning that Rambha descended to earth with her heart turned towards Dramida as a lover? Or did she for some reason descend with her face turned towards the south? Since EHJ and LC opted for the former understanding, and their knowledge of Sanskrit literature is far deeper than mine, I have followed them.
Either way, the turning words in this verse, as I read it, are kShitim agamat. One way of reading this verse is that it makes a play on the double meaning of the word kShitim which means (1) house or palace, (2) the earth, so that the same phrase indicates (1) Sundari's descent from the palace roof to the palace proper, and (2) the descent of the apsaras Rambha from her celestial abode to earth. But there might also be a sense in which Ashvaghosha is describing Sundari coming to earth, as the undue excitement of her fear reflexes subsides.
This is a process that people who are interested in energy flows in the human body, or interested in the human body as an energy flow, often describe as becoming "grounded."
The idea of being "grounded," however is a dangerous one. People are prone to react to it, in the words of Alexander teacher Peggy Williams, by "trying with their heels to dig a hole for themselves in the ground."
Marjory Barlow used to say she didn't when standing have any problem getting the feet grounded. Gravity was always there to take care of that. The difficulty, as Marjory saw it, was directing oneself up.
Still, there is a sense, when undue excitement of fear reflexes and emotions abates, of nervous excitement and reddening abating around the neck, head, face, and chest, so that the vestibular system is less affected by internal noise, in which state there may be more chance of sensing a flow of direction from the ground up. It is, then, not a matter of coming down to earth, but of just coming to earth, in order to come up from earth.
To try to describe it in words inevitably invites trying to feel it out and do it, rather than to think or direct or allow it. Because our vestibular sense is so faulty, because our feeling of where up is so (to use Alexander's word) "debauched," the point is not to feel but to think one's whole body, from the ground up, up.
About 25 years ago, at a time when I felt I had come to earth with a bit of an eye-opening thud, I remarked to my Zen teacher that I could hardly believe how stupid I had been. "Human life is stupid," was his reply.
The Zen master then proceeded over the course of a quarter of a century to prove his own point very exactly in practice, embracing ever more tightly a pet reductionist view on the importance of the autonomic nervous system, while regarding the teaching of FM Alexander with suspicion, as if it were a threat to the purity of "true Buddhism." Somebody should make a play about it -- a play about a stupid frightened Zen master and his stupid frightened non-successor, either a tragedy or a comedy, I don't know which.
This Canto might not seem, on the surface, to have too much to do with Zen Buddhist practice. But it is very much concerned with stupid human life -- the course of which is all too easily unconsciously misdirected, in a downward direction, under the influence of unduly excited fear reflexes and emotions.
EH Johnston:
Thus Sundari, robbed of her heart by her lover and soothed by her maidens, went to her palace, just as Rambha of old, accompanied by the Apsarases, descended to earth seeking Dramida.
Linda Covill:
And being comforted in this way by her young attendants at the time when her heart was stolen away by her lover, Sundari went into her palace, just as Rambha was once tended by the apsarases when she came to earth yearning for Dramida.
VOCABULARY:
iti: thus
yuvati-janena (inst. sg.): by the young women
yuvati: f. a girl , young woman
jana: m. people , subjects (the sg. used collectively)
saantvyamaanaa = nom. sg. f. passive pres. part. saantv: to console , comfort , soothe , conciliate , address kindly or gently
hRta-hRdayaa (nom. sg. f.): her heart having been taken away
hRta: mfn. taken , taken away , seized (often ibc. = " deprived or bereft of " , " having lost " , " -less ")
hRdaya: heart
ramaNena (inst. sg.): m. a lover , husband ; m. kaama-deva , the god of love
sundarii (nom. sg. f.): Sundari
saa (nom. sg. f.): she
dramiDam (acc. sg.): m. = (?) draviDa N. of a son of kRShNa
abhimukhii (nom. sg. f.): with the face directed towards , turned towards , facing (with acc. dat. gen. ; or ifc.)
puraa (ind.): before , formerly , of old
iva: like
rambhaa (nom. sg.): f. "sounding , roaring , lowing"; name of an apsaras -- see below
kShitim (acc. sg.): f. an abode , dwelling , habitation , house; f. the earth
agamat = 3rd pers. sg. aorist gam: to go
parivaaritaa (nom. sg. f.): mfn. surrounded by
apsarobhiH (inst. pl.): f. the apsarases, " going in the waters or between the waters of the clouds " , a class of female divinities (sometimes called " nymphs " ; they inhabit the sky , but often visit the earth ; they are the wives of the gandharvas (q.v.) and have the faculty of changing their shapes at will ; they are fond of the water ; one of their number , rambhaa , is said to have been produced at the churning of the ocean).
saundara-nande mahaa-kaavye (loc.): in the epic poem Handsome Nanda
bhaaryaa-vilaapaH (nom. sg. m.): a wife's lament ; the sound of a wife's wailing
bhaaryaa: f. a wife
vilaapa: m. lamentation, wailing
vi- √ lap: to utter moaning sounds , wail , lament
naama: ind. by name
ShaShThaH sargaH (nom. sg. m.): 6th canto
Thursday, December 2, 2010
SAUNDARANANDA 6.48: An Ochre Robe With No Buddhist Stink
syaad atra n' aasau kula-sattva-yogaat
kaaShaayam aadaaya vihaasyat' iiti
an-aatman" aadaaya gRh'-onmukhasya
punar vimoktuM ka iv' aasti doShaH
= = - = = - - = - = =
= = - = = - - = - = -
- = - = = - - = - = -
- = - = = - - = - = =
6.48
Some might say that,
having put on an ochre robe,
He will not give it up,
due to his combination of ancestry and character.
But he put it on unwillingly,
looking forward to going home:
Where is the fault in taking it off again?"
COMMENT:
The usual Japanese word for a traditional robe is KESA, which represents the word used here in line 2, kaaShaaya, a brown-red garment, or ochre robe.
This is the first time the word appears in Saundarananda and there seems to me to be something very skillful in Ashvaghosha's introduction of it in this way, through the mouth of a warm and down-to-earth woman.
The skillfulness has to do with the indirectness of approach, and the total absence of anything like a religious fanfare of trumpets.
In Japan, following Dogen, people treat the kaaShaaya with great reverence, generally referring to it with the honorific prefix "O." So they tend not to speak of a KESA (the Japanese word approximating the Sanskrit kaaShaaya) but rather an O-KESA.
There is not anything intrinsically wrong with honouring a material thing, a traditional object; the wrongness comes in our deluded reactions to what we think of as an important religious object, and, equally, in the tendency to revere form over function.
A kaaShaaya can all too easily become an instrument of trying to be right, whereas a truer function for it might be to help create a space in which it is safe to be wrong.
Last night I watched Prof. Brian Cox deliver the Royal Television Society Lecture, in which he addressed the challenges in bringing science to television. Sometimes I notice in the Alexander world, including me, a tendency to take refuge in accumulation of scientific knowledge -- for example, knowledge about primitive reflexes and the vestibular system -- as a substitute for truly scientific work in the laboratory of oneself. This is something Marjory Barlow cautioned against.
No less than scientists who investigate the external world, we are required in this work on the self constantly to falsify views which experiment or experience have shown to be wrong. So, in short, it is necessary to be prepared to be wrong. To be prepared to be wrong, indeed, is the golden key.
An ochre robe, if we have religious delusions about it, can be an obstacle to such work. Alternatively, if we don't have religious delusions about it, it can help to create a space within which it is safe to investigate the wrongness of all views.
EH Johnston:
It may be argued that, having taken the mendicant's robe, he will not abandon it because high birth and resolution are combined in him ; but what can there be wrong in leaving it again, when he took it against his will, thinking only of returning home ? '
Linda Covill:
One might think that the combination of his noble birth and strength of character would not permit him to relinquish the ochre robe once he had put it on; but he put it on unwillingly, hoping for home, so what's wrong with giving it up again?"
VOCABULARY:
syaat = 3rd pers. sg. optative as: to be
atra: ind. in this matter , in this respect ; in this place , here at this time , there , then.
na: not
asau (nom. sg.): that over there
kula-sattva-yogaat (abl. sg.): because of the combination of his noble ancestry and strength of character
kula: n. a noble or eminent family or race
sattva: n. true essence , nature , disposition of mind , character ; vital breath , life , consciousness , strength of character , strength , firmness , energy , resolution , courage , self-command , good sense , wisdom , magnanimity
yoga: m. yoking, union, combination
kaaShaayam (acc. sg.): n. a brown-red cloth or garment ; mfn. (fr. kaShaya) , brown-red , dyed of a reddish colour
kaShaya: mfn. red , dull red , yellowish red (as the garment of a Buddhist bhikShu)
aadaaya = abs. aa- √ daa: " to give to one's self " , take , accept , receive ; to put on (clothes)
vihaasyati = 3rd pers. sg. future vi- √ haa: to leave behind , relinquish , quit , abandon ; to give up, cast off
iti: "....," thus
an: not
aatmanaa (inst. sg.): the self , abstract individual [e.g. aatmanaa akarot , " he did it himself "]
aadaaya = abs. aa- √ daa: to put on
gRh'-onmukhasya (gen. sg.): his face looking up at home
gRha: house, home
unmukha: mfn. raising the face , looking up or at ; waiting for , expecting
punar: ind. again
vimoktum = inf. vi- √ muc: to unloose ; to take off (clothes , ornaments &c)
kaH (nom. sg. m.): (interrogative pronoun) who? which? what??
iva: like, as it were ; iva is connected vaguely , and somewhat pleonastically , with an interrogative pronoun or adverb (e.g. kim iva , what? katham iva , how could that possibly be? kve*va , where , I should like to know?) . In the pada texts of the Rig , yajur , and atharva-veda , and by native grammarians , iva is considered to be enclitic , and therefore compounded with the word after which it stands
asti: there is
doShaH (nom. sg.): m. a fault
kaaShaayam aadaaya vihaasyat' iiti
an-aatman" aadaaya gRh'-onmukhasya
punar vimoktuM ka iv' aasti doShaH
= = - = = - - = - = =
= = - = = - - = - = -
- = - = = - - = - = -
- = - = = - - = - = =
6.48
Some might say that,
having put on an ochre robe,
He will not give it up,
due to his combination of ancestry and character.
But he put it on unwillingly,
looking forward to going home:
Where is the fault in taking it off again?"
COMMENT:
The usual Japanese word for a traditional robe is KESA, which represents the word used here in line 2, kaaShaaya, a brown-red garment, or ochre robe.
This is the first time the word appears in Saundarananda and there seems to me to be something very skillful in Ashvaghosha's introduction of it in this way, through the mouth of a warm and down-to-earth woman.
The skillfulness has to do with the indirectness of approach, and the total absence of anything like a religious fanfare of trumpets.
In Japan, following Dogen, people treat the kaaShaaya with great reverence, generally referring to it with the honorific prefix "O." So they tend not to speak of a KESA (the Japanese word approximating the Sanskrit kaaShaaya) but rather an O-KESA.
There is not anything intrinsically wrong with honouring a material thing, a traditional object; the wrongness comes in our deluded reactions to what we think of as an important religious object, and, equally, in the tendency to revere form over function.
A kaaShaaya can all too easily become an instrument of trying to be right, whereas a truer function for it might be to help create a space in which it is safe to be wrong.
Last night I watched Prof. Brian Cox deliver the Royal Television Society Lecture, in which he addressed the challenges in bringing science to television. Sometimes I notice in the Alexander world, including me, a tendency to take refuge in accumulation of scientific knowledge -- for example, knowledge about primitive reflexes and the vestibular system -- as a substitute for truly scientific work in the laboratory of oneself. This is something Marjory Barlow cautioned against.
No less than scientists who investigate the external world, we are required in this work on the self constantly to falsify views which experiment or experience have shown to be wrong. So, in short, it is necessary to be prepared to be wrong. To be prepared to be wrong, indeed, is the golden key.
An ochre robe, if we have religious delusions about it, can be an obstacle to such work. Alternatively, if we don't have religious delusions about it, it can help to create a space within which it is safe to investigate the wrongness of all views.
EH Johnston:
It may be argued that, having taken the mendicant's robe, he will not abandon it because high birth and resolution are combined in him ; but what can there be wrong in leaving it again, when he took it against his will, thinking only of returning home ? '
Linda Covill:
One might think that the combination of his noble birth and strength of character would not permit him to relinquish the ochre robe once he had put it on; but he put it on unwillingly, hoping for home, so what's wrong with giving it up again?"
VOCABULARY:
syaat = 3rd pers. sg. optative as: to be
atra: ind. in this matter , in this respect ; in this place , here at this time , there , then.
na: not
asau (nom. sg.): that over there
kula-sattva-yogaat (abl. sg.): because of the combination of his noble ancestry and strength of character
kula: n. a noble or eminent family or race
sattva: n. true essence , nature , disposition of mind , character ; vital breath , life , consciousness , strength of character , strength , firmness , energy , resolution , courage , self-command , good sense , wisdom , magnanimity
yoga: m. yoking, union, combination
kaaShaayam (acc. sg.): n. a brown-red cloth or garment ; mfn. (fr. kaShaya) , brown-red , dyed of a reddish colour
kaShaya: mfn. red , dull red , yellowish red (as the garment of a Buddhist bhikShu)
aadaaya = abs. aa- √ daa: " to give to one's self " , take , accept , receive ; to put on (clothes)
vihaasyati = 3rd pers. sg. future vi- √ haa: to leave behind , relinquish , quit , abandon ; to give up, cast off
iti: "....," thus
an: not
aatmanaa (inst. sg.): the self , abstract individual [e.g. aatmanaa akarot , " he did it himself "]
aadaaya = abs. aa- √ daa: to put on
gRh'-onmukhasya (gen. sg.): his face looking up at home
gRha: house, home
unmukha: mfn. raising the face , looking up or at ; waiting for , expecting
punar: ind. again
vimoktum = inf. vi- √ muc: to unloose ; to take off (clothes , ornaments &c)
kaH (nom. sg. m.): (interrogative pronoun) who? which? what??
iva: like, as it were ; iva is connected vaguely , and somewhat pleonastically , with an interrogative pronoun or adverb (e.g. kim iva , what? katham iva , how could that possibly be? kve*va , where , I should like to know?) . In the pada texts of the Rig , yajur , and atharva-veda , and by native grammarians , iva is considered to be enclitic , and therefore compounded with the word after which it stands
asti: there is
doShaH (nom. sg.): m. a fault
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
SAUNDARANANDA 6.47: The Goldilocks Principle
tvaM nirvRtiM gaccha niyaaccha baaShpaM
tapt'-aashru-mokShaat parirakSha cakShuH
yas tasya bhaavas tvayi yash ca raago
na raMsyate tvad-virahaat sa dharme
= = - = = - - = - = =
= = - = = - - = - = =
= = - = = - - = - = =
- = - = = - - = - = =
6.47
Cheer up and hold back your tears:
Spare your eyes the release of hot teardrops.
His feelings for you and his passion are such
That without you he will find no pleasure in the dharma.
COMMENT:
The advice in the first half of this verse, that Sundari need not cry, is basically the same as she received in 6.21 and 6.43. The difference, we can infer, is that this time the porridge was not too hot and not too cold. In other words, it is not so much what this woman is saying as the warm and intimate manner in which she is saying it.
Again, though her prediction in the second half of the verse is patently false, Ashvaghosha seems to regard it -- because it was an appropriate response to that situation -- as part of an action that hit the target.
This principle in reverse might apply whenever one gets the smug sense of "I told you so," when a prediction one has made has hit the target. In such a case, though the words at a superficial level have hit the target, the sense of smugness might be, at a deeper level, a complete missing of the target.
The vital point here, for us who sit, might be that there is a target in the Buddha's teaching that one can never hit with words -- though it may be possible, indirectly, to manifest oneself as a target (like a bowl of porridge which is not too hot and not too cold) that is ready to be hit. And in this sense it might be said that "the readiness is all."
EH Johnston:
Be of good cheer, restrain your sobs, keep your eyes from shedding hot tears, such is his feeling and such his passion towards you that without you he will find no pleasure in following the Law.
Linda Covill:
Calm down, stop crying, spare your eyes the release of hot tears. His feelings for you and his passion are such that he will find no pleasure in the dharma while separated from you.
VOCABULARY:
tvam (nom. sg.): you
nirvRtim (acc. sg.): f. complete satisfaction or happiness , bliss , pleasure , delight ; attainment of rest ; extinction (of a lamp)
gaccha = 2nd pers. sg. imperative gam: to go
niyaaccha = 2nd pers. sg. imperative ni- √ yam: to stop (trans.) , hold back ; to hold in , keep down , restrain , control , govern , regulate (as breath , the voice , the organs of sense &c )
baaShpam (acc. sg.): m. a tear, tears
tapt'-aashru-mokShaat (abl. sg.): from the release of hot tears
tapta: mfn. heated , inflamed , hot
ashru: n. a tear
mokSha: m. release
parirakSha = 2nd pers. sg. imperative pari- v rakSh: to guard well or completely , rescue , save , defend from (abl.)
cakShuH (acc. sg.): n. seeing, sight; the eye
yaH (nom. sg. m.): [he] who
tasya (gen. sg.): of him
bhaavaH (nom. sg.): m. any state of mind or body , way of thinking or feeling , sentiment , opinion , disposition ; love , affection , attachment ; the seat of the feelings or affections , heart , soul , mind
tvayi (loc. sg.): towards you
yaH (nom. sg. m.): [he] who
ca: and
raagaH (nom. sg.): m. tint , dye , (esp.) red colour , redness ; passion , (esp.) love
na: not
raMsyate = 3rd pers. sg. future ram: to be glad or pleased , rejoice at , delight in , be fond of (loc.)
tvad-virahaat (abl. sg.): because of being without you
tvad: you
viraha: m. abandonment , desertion , parting , separation (esp. of lovers) ; lack , want (ifc. = lacking)
sa (nom. sg. m.): he
dharme (loc. sg.): in the dharma
tapt'-aashru-mokShaat parirakSha cakShuH
yas tasya bhaavas tvayi yash ca raago
na raMsyate tvad-virahaat sa dharme
= = - = = - - = - = =
= = - = = - - = - = =
= = - = = - - = - = =
- = - = = - - = - = =
6.47
Cheer up and hold back your tears:
Spare your eyes the release of hot teardrops.
His feelings for you and his passion are such
That without you he will find no pleasure in the dharma.
COMMENT:
The advice in the first half of this verse, that Sundari need not cry, is basically the same as she received in 6.21 and 6.43. The difference, we can infer, is that this time the porridge was not too hot and not too cold. In other words, it is not so much what this woman is saying as the warm and intimate manner in which she is saying it.
Again, though her prediction in the second half of the verse is patently false, Ashvaghosha seems to regard it -- because it was an appropriate response to that situation -- as part of an action that hit the target.
This principle in reverse might apply whenever one gets the smug sense of "I told you so," when a prediction one has made has hit the target. In such a case, though the words at a superficial level have hit the target, the sense of smugness might be, at a deeper level, a complete missing of the target.
The vital point here, for us who sit, might be that there is a target in the Buddha's teaching that one can never hit with words -- though it may be possible, indirectly, to manifest oneself as a target (like a bowl of porridge which is not too hot and not too cold) that is ready to be hit. And in this sense it might be said that "the readiness is all."
EH Johnston:
Be of good cheer, restrain your sobs, keep your eyes from shedding hot tears, such is his feeling and such his passion towards you that without you he will find no pleasure in following the Law.
Linda Covill:
Calm down, stop crying, spare your eyes the release of hot tears. His feelings for you and his passion are such that he will find no pleasure in the dharma while separated from you.
VOCABULARY:
tvam (nom. sg.): you
nirvRtim (acc. sg.): f. complete satisfaction or happiness , bliss , pleasure , delight ; attainment of rest ; extinction (of a lamp)
gaccha = 2nd pers. sg. imperative gam: to go
niyaaccha = 2nd pers. sg. imperative ni- √ yam: to stop (trans.) , hold back ; to hold in , keep down , restrain , control , govern , regulate (as breath , the voice , the organs of sense &c )
baaShpam (acc. sg.): m. a tear, tears
tapt'-aashru-mokShaat (abl. sg.): from the release of hot tears
tapta: mfn. heated , inflamed , hot
ashru: n. a tear
mokSha: m. release
parirakSha = 2nd pers. sg. imperative pari- v rakSh: to guard well or completely , rescue , save , defend from (abl.)
cakShuH (acc. sg.): n. seeing, sight; the eye
yaH (nom. sg. m.): [he] who
tasya (gen. sg.): of him
bhaavaH (nom. sg.): m. any state of mind or body , way of thinking or feeling , sentiment , opinion , disposition ; love , affection , attachment ; the seat of the feelings or affections , heart , soul , mind
tvayi (loc. sg.): towards you
yaH (nom. sg. m.): [he] who
ca: and
raagaH (nom. sg.): m. tint , dye , (esp.) red colour , redness ; passion , (esp.) love
na: not
raMsyate = 3rd pers. sg. future ram: to be glad or pleased , rejoice at , delight in , be fond of (loc.)
tvad-virahaat (abl. sg.): because of being without you
tvad: you
viraha: m. abandonment , desertion , parting , separation (esp. of lovers) ; lack , want (ifc. = lacking)
sa (nom. sg. m.): he
dharme (loc. sg.): in the dharma
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