A History of Sanskrit Literature
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Title: A History of Sanskrit Literature
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HISTORY OF SANSKRIT LITERATURE ***
A HISTORY OF SANSKRIT LITERATURE
By
ARTHUR A. MACDONELL, M. A., Ph. D.
Of Corpus Christi College, Oxford
Boden Professor of Sanskrit and Fellow of Balliol
New York
D. Appleton and Company
1900
PREFACE
It is undoubtedly a surprising fact that down to the present time
no history of Sanskrit literature as a whole has been written in
English. For not only does that literature possess much intrinsic
merit, but the light it sheds on the life and thought of the population
of our Indian Empire ought to have a peculiar interest for the
British nation. Owing chiefly to the lack of an adequate account
of the subject, few, even of the young men who leave these shores
every year to be its future rulers, possess any connected information
about the literature in which the civilisation of Modern India can
be traced to its sources, and without which that civilisation cannot
be fully understood. It was, therefore, with the greatest pleasure
that I accepted Mr. Gosse's invitation to contribute a volume to this
series of Literatures of the World; for this appeared to me to be a
peculiarly good opportunity for diffusing information on a subject
in which more than twenty years of continuous study and teaching had
instilled into me an ever-deepening interest.
Professor Max Müller's valuable History of Ancient Sanskrit Literature
is limited in its scope to the Vedic period. It has long been out of
print; and Vedic research has necessarily made great strides in the
forty years which have elapsed since its publication.
The only book accessible to the English reader on the history of
Sanskrit literature in general has hitherto been the translation
of Professor Weber's Academical Lectures on Indian Literature,
as delivered nearly half a century ago at Berlin. The numerous and
often very lengthy notes in this work supply the results of research
during the next twenty-five years; but as these notes often modify,
or even cancel, the statements of the unaltered original text of
1852, the result is bewildering to the student. Much new light has
been thrown on various branches of Sanskrit literature since 1878,
when the last notes were added to this translation, which, moreover,
is not in any way adapted to the wants of the general reader. The
only work on the subject appealing to the latter is the late Sir
M. Monier-Williams's Indian Wisdom. That book, however, although it
furnishes, in addition to the translated specimens, some account of
the chief departments of Sanskrit literature, is not a history. There
is thus distinctly a twofold demand in this country for a history
of Sanskrit literature. The student is in want of a guide setting
forth in a clear and trustworthy manner the results of research down
to the present time, and the cultivated English reader looks for a
book presenting in an intelligible and attractive form information
which must have a special interest to us owing to our close relations
with India.
To lack of space, no less than to the scope of the present series,
is due the exclusion of a full account of the technical literature
of law, science, and art, which contains much that would interest
even the general reader; but the brief epitome given in the Appendix
will, I hope, suffice to direct the student to all the most important
authorities.
As to the bibliographical notes, I trust that, though necessarily
restricted in extent, they will enable the student to find all
further information he may want on matters of detail; for instance,
the evidence for approximate dates, which had occasionally to be
summarily stated even in the text.
In writing this history of Sanskrit literature, I have dwelt more on
the life and thought of Ancient India, which that literature embodies,
than would perhaps have appeared necessary in the case of a European
literature. This I have done partly because Sanskrit literature,
as representing an independent civilisation entirely different from
that of the West, requires more explanation than most others; and
partly because, owing to the remarkable continuity of Indian culture,
the religious and social institutions of Modern India are constantly
illustrated by those of the past.
Besides the above-mentioned works of Professors Max Müller and Weber,
I have made considerable use of Professor L. von Schroeder's excellent
Indiens Literatur und Cultur (1887). I have further consulted in one
way or another nearly all the books and monographs mentioned in the
bibliographical notes. Much of what I have written is also based on
my own studies of Sanskrit literature.
All the quotations which I have given by way of illustration I have
myself carefully selected from the original works. Excepting the short
extracts on page 333 from Cowell and Thomas's excellent translation
of the Harshacharita, all the renderings of these are my own. In my
versions of Rigvedic stanzas I have, however, occasionally borrowed a
line or phrase from Griffith. Nearly all my renderings are as close as
the use of metre permits. I have endeavoured to reproduce, as far as
possible, the measures of the original, except in the quotations from
the dramas, where I have always employed blank verse. I have throughout
refrained from rhyme, as misrepresenting the original Sanskrit.
In the transliteration of Sanskrit words I have been guided by the
desire to avoid the use of letters which might mislead those who do
not know Sanskrit. I have therefore departed in a few particulars
from the system on which Sanskrit scholars are now almost unanimously
agreed, and which I otherwise follow myself. Hence for c and ch I have
written ch and chh respectively, though in the rare cases where these
two appear in combination I have retained cch (instead of chchh). I
further use sh for the lingual s, and ç for the palatal s, and ri
for the vowel r. I have not thought it necessary to distinguish the
guttural n and the palatal ñ by diacritical marks, simply printing,
for instance, anga and pancha. The reader who is unacquainted with
Sanskrit will thus pronounce all words correctly by simply treating
all the consonants as in English; remembering only that the vowels
should be sounded as in Italian, and that e and o are always long.
I am indebted for some suggestions to my friend Mr. F. C. S. Schiller,
Fellow and Tutor of Corpus Christi College, who looked through the
final proof of the chapter on Philosophy. To my pupil Mr. A. B. Keith,
Boden Sanskrit scholar and Classical scholar of Balliol, who has read
all the final proofs with great care, I owe not only the removal of
a number of errors of the press, but also several valuable criticisms
regarding matters of fact.
107 Banbury Road, Oxford,
December 1, 1899.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. Introductory 1
II. The Vedic Period 29
III. The Rigveda 40
IV. Poetry of the Rigveda 59
V. Philosophy of the Rigveda 116
VI. The Rigvedic Age 139
VII. The Later Vedas 171
VIII. The Brahmanas 202
IX. The Sutras 244
X. The Epics 277
XI. Kavya or Court Epic 318
XII. Lyric Poetry 335
XIII. The Drama 346
XIV. Fairy Tales and Fables 368
XV. Philosophy 385
XVI. Sanskrit Literature and the West 408
Appendix on Technical
Literature--Law--History--Grammar--Poetics--Mathematics
and Astronomy--Medicine--Arts 428
Bibliographical Notes 438
A HISTORY OF
SANSKRIT LITERATURE
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
Since the Renaissance there has been no event of such world-wide
significance in the history of culture as the discovery of Sanskrit
literature in the latter part of the eighteenth century. After
Alexander's invasion, the Greeks became to some extent acquainted
with the learning of the Indians; the Arabs, in the Middle Ages,
introduced the knowledge of Indian science to the West; a few European
missionaries, from the sixteenth century onwards, were not only
aware of the existence of, but also acquired some familiarity with,
the ancient language of India; and Abraham Roger even translated the
Sanskrit poet Bhartrihari into Dutch as early as 1651. Nevertheless,
till about a hundred and twenty years ago there was no authentic
information in Europe about the existence of Sanskrit literature, but
only vague surmise, finding expression in stories about the wisdom
of the Indians. The enthusiasm with which Voltaire in his Essai sur
les Moeurs et l'Esprit des Nations greeted the lore of the Ezour
Vedam, a work brought from India and introduced to his notice in
the middle of the last century, was premature. For this work was
later proved to be a forgery made in the seventeenth century by
a Jesuit missionary. The scepticism justified by this fabrication,
and indulged in when the discovery of the genuine Sanskrit literature
was announced, survived far into the present century. Thus, Dugald
Stewart, the philosopher, wrote an essay in which he endeavoured
to prove that not only Sanskrit literature, but also the Sanskrit
language, was a forgery made by the crafty Brahmans on the model of
Greek after Alexander's conquest. Indeed, this view was elaborately
defended by a professor at Dublin as late as the year 1838.
The first impulse to the study of Sanskrit was given by the practical
administrative needs of our Indian possessions. Warren Hastings,
at that time Governor-General, clearly seeing the advantage of
ruling the Hindus as far as possible according to their own laws
and customs, caused a number of Brahmans to prepare a digest based
on the best ancient Indian legal authorities. An English version
of this Sanskrit compilation, made through the medium of a Persian
translation, was published in 1776. The introduction to this work,
besides giving specimens of the Sanskrit script, for the first
time supplied some trustworthy information about the ancient Indian
language and literature. The earliest step, however, towards making
Europe acquainted with actual Sanskrit writings was taken by Charles
Wilkins, who, having, at the instigation of Warren Hastings, acquired
a considerable knowledge of Sanskrit at Benares, published in 1785
a translation of the Bhagavad-gita, or The Song of the Adorable One,
and two years later, a version of the well-known collection of fables
entitled Hitopadeça, or Friendly Advice.
Sir William Jones (1746-94) was, however, the pioneer of Sanskrit
studies in the West. It was this brilliant and many-sided Orientalist
who, during his too brief career of eleven years in India, first
aroused a keen interest in the study of Indian antiquity by his
unwearied literary activity and by the foundation of the Asiatic
Society of Bengal in 1784. Having rapidly acquired an accurate
knowledge of Sanskrit, he published in 1789 a translation of Çakuntala,
the finest Sanskrit drama, which was greeted with enthusiasm by such
judges as Herder and Goethe. This was followed by a translation of
the Code of Manu, the most important of the Sanskrit law-books. To Sir
William Jones also belongs the credit of having been the first man who
ever printed an edition of a Sanskrit text. This was a short lyrical
poem entitled Ritusamhara, or Cycle of the Seasons, published in 1792.
We next come to the great name of Henry Thomas Colebrooke (1765-1837),
a man of extraordinary industry, combined with rare clearness of
intellect and sobriety of judgment. The first to handle the Sanskrit
language and literature on scientific principles, he published many
texts, translations, and essays dealing with almost every branch of
Sanskrit learning, thus laying the solid foundations on which later
scholars have built.
While Colebrooke was beginning his literary career in India during
the opening years of the century, the romance of war led to the
practical knowledge of Sanskrit being introduced on the Continent of
Europe. Alexander Hamilton (1765-1824), an Englishman who had acquired
a good knowledge of Sanskrit in India, happened to be passing through
France on his way home in 1802. Hostilities breaking out afresh just
then, a decree of Napoleon, directed against all Englishmen in the
country, kept Hamilton a prisoner in Paris. During his long involuntary
stay in that city he taught Sanskrit to some French scholars, and
especially to the German romantic poet Friedrich Schlegel. One of the
results of these studies was the publication by Schlegel of his work
On the Language and Wisdom of the Indians (1808). This book produced
nothing less than a revolution in the science of language by the
introduction of the comparative and the historical method. It led to
the foundation of the science of comparative philology by Franz Bopp
in his treatise on the conjugational system of Sanskrit in comparison
with that of Greek, Latin, Persian, and German (1816). Schlegel's work,
moreover, aroused so much zeal for the study of Sanskrit in Germany,
that the vast progress made since his day in this branch of learning
has been mainly due to the labours of his countrymen.
In the early days of Sanskrit studies Europeans became acquainted
only with that later phase of the ancient language of India which is
familiar to the Pandits, and is commonly called Classical Sanskrit. So
it came about that the literature composed in this dialect engaged
the attention of scholars almost exclusively down to the middle of
the century. Colebrooke had, it is true, supplied as early as 1805
valuable information about the literature of the older period in his
essay On the Vedas. Nearly a quarter of a century later, F. Rosen,
a German scholar, had conceived the plan of making this more ancient
literature known to Europe from the rich collection of manuscripts
at the East India House; and his edition of the first eighth of the
Rigveda was actually brought out in 1838, shortly after his premature
death. But it was not till Rudolf Roth (1821-95), the founder of Vedic
philology, published his epoch-making little book On the Literature
and History of the Veda in 1846, that the studies of Sanskritists
received a lasting impulse in the direction of the earlier and more
important literature of the Vedas. These studies have since been
prosecuted with such zeal, that nearly all the most valuable works
of the Vedic, as well as the later period, have within the last fifty
years been made accessible in thoroughly trustworthy editions.
In judging of the magnitude of the work thus accomplished, it should
be borne in mind that the workers have been far fewer in this than
in other analogous fields, while the literature of the Vedas at least
equals in extent what survives of the writings of ancient Greece. Thus
in the course of a century the whole range of Sanskrit literature,
which in quantity exceeds that of Greece and Rome put together, has
been explored. The great bulk of it has been edited, and most of its
valuable productions have been translated, by competent hands. There
has long been at the service of scholars a Sanskrit dictionary, larger
and more scientific than any either of the classical languages yet
possesses. The detailed investigations in every department of Sanskrit
literature are now so numerous, that a comprehensive work embodying the
results of all these researches has become a necessity. An encyclopædia
covering the whole domain of Indo-Aryan antiquity has accordingly been
planned on a more extensive scale than that of any similar undertaking,
and is now being published at Strasburg in parts, contributed to by
about thirty specialists of various nationalities. By the tragic death,
in April 1898, of its eminent editor, Professor Bühler of Vienna,
Sanskrit scholarship has sustained an irreparable loss. The work begun
by him is being completed by another very distinguished Indianist,
Professor Kielhorn of Göttingen.
Although so much of Sanskrit literature has already been published,
an examination of the catalogues of Sanskrit manuscripts, of which
an enormous number are preserved in European and Indian libraries,
proves that there are still many minor works awaiting, and likely to
repay, the labours of an editor.
The study of Sanskrit literature deserves far more attention than it
has yet received in this country. For in that ancient heritage the
languages, the religious and intellectual life and thought, in short,
the whole civilisation of the Hindus, who form the vast majority of
the inhabitants of our Indian Empire, have their roots. Among all
the ancient literatures, that of India is, moreover, undoubtedly in
intrinsic value and æsthetic merit second only to that of Greece. To
the latter it is, as a source for the study of human evolution, even
superior. Its earliest period, being much older than any product
of Greek literature, presents a more primitive form of belief, and
therefore gives a clearer picture of the development of religious
ideas than any other literary monument of the world. Hence it came
about that, just as the discovery of the Sanskrit language led to the
foundation of the science of Comparative Philology, an acquaintance
with the literature of the Vedas resulted in the foundation of the
science of Comparative Mythology by Adalbert Kuhn and Max Müller.
Though it has touched excellence in most of its branches,
Sanskrit literature has mainly achieved greatness in religion and
philosophy. The Indians are the only division of the Indo-European
family which has created a great national religion--Brahmanism--and
a great world-religion--Buddhism; while all the rest, far from
displaying originality in this sphere, have long since adopted a
foreign faith. The intellectual life of the Indians has, in fact, all
along been more dominated by religious thought than that of any other
race. The Indians, moreover, developed independently several systems
of philosophy which bear evidence of high speculative powers. The
great interest, however, which these two subjects must have for us
lies, not so much in the results they attained, as in the fact that
every step in the evolution of religion and philosophy can be traced
in Sanskrit literature.
The importance of ancient Indian literature as a whole largely consists
in its originality. Naturally isolated by its gigantic mountain barrier
in the north, the Indian peninsula has ever since the Aryan invasion
formed a world apart, over which a unique form of Aryan civilisation
rapidly spread, and has ever since prevailed. When the Greeks,
towards the end of the fourth century B.C., invaded the North-West, the
Indians had already fully worked out a national culture of their own,
unaffected by foreign influences. And, in spite of successive waves
of invasion and conquest by Persians, Greeks, Scythians, Muhammadans,
the national development of the life and literature of the Indo-Aryan
race remained practically unchecked and unmodified from without down to
the era of British occupation. No other branch of the Indo-European
stock has experienced an isolated evolution like this. No other
country except China can trace back its language and literature,
its religious beliefs and rites, its domestic and social customs,
through an uninterrupted development of more than three thousand years.
A few examples will serve to illustrate this remarkable continuity
in Indian civilisation. Sanskrit is still spoken as the tongue of
the learned by thousands of Brahmans, as it was centuries before
our era. Nor has it ceased to be used for literary purposes, for
many books and journals written in the ancient language are still
produced. The copying of Sanskrit manuscripts is still continued in
hundreds of libraries in India, uninterrupted even by the introduction
of printing during the present century. The Vedas are still learnt
by heart as they were long before the invasion of Alexander, and
could even now be restored from the lips of religious teachers if
every manuscript or printed copy of them were destroyed. A Vedic
stanza of immemorial antiquity, addressed to the sun-god Savitri,
is still recited in the daily worship of the Hindus. The god Vishnu,
adored more than 3000 years ago, has countless votaries in India at
the present day. Fire is still produced for sacrificial purposes by
means of two sticks, as it was in ages even more remote. The wedding
ceremony of the modern Hindu, to single out but one social custom,
is essentially the same as it was long before the Christian era.
The history of ancient Indian literature naturally falls into two
main periods. The first is the Vedic, which beginning perhaps as
early as 1500 B.C., extends in its latest phase to about 200 B.C. In
the former half of the Vedic age the character of its literature
was creative and poetical, while the centre of culture lay in the
territory of the Indus and its tributaries, the modern Panjab; in the
latter half, literature was theologically speculative in matter and
prosaic in form, while the centre of intellectual life had shifted to
the valley of the Ganges. Thus in the course of the Vedic age Aryan
civilisation had overspread the whole of Hindustan Proper, the vast
tract extending from the mouths of the Indus to those of the Ganges,
bounded on the north by the Himalaya, and on the south by the Vindhya
range. The second period, concurrent with the final offshoots of Vedic
literature and closing with the Muhammadan conquest after 1000 A.D.,
is the Sanskrit period strictly speaking. In a certain sense, owing to
the continued literary use of Sanskrit, mainly for the composition of
commentaries, this period may be regarded as coming down to the present
day. During this second epoch Brahmanic culture was introduced into and
overspread the southern portion of the continent called the Dekhan or
"the South." In the course of these two periods taken together, Indian
literature attained noteworthy results in nearly every department. The
Vedic age, which, unlike the earlier epoch of Greece, produced only
religious works, reached a high standard of merit in lyric poetry,
and later made some advance towards the formation of a prose style.
The Sanskrit period, embracing in general secular subjects, achieved
distinction in many branches of literature, in national as well as
court epic, in lyric and especially didactic poetry, in the drama,
in fairy tales, fables, and romances. Everywhere we find much
true poetry, the beauty of which is, however, marred by obscurity
of style and the ever-increasing taint of artificiality. But this
period produced few works which, regarded as a whole, are dominated
by a sense of harmony and proportion. Such considerations have had
little influence on the æsthetic notions of India. The tendency
has been rather towards exaggeration, manifesting itself in all
directions. The almost incredible development of detail in ritual
observance; the extraordinary excesses of asceticism; the grotesque
representations of mythology in art; the frequent employment of vast
numbers in description; the immense bulk of the epics; the unparalleled
conciseness of one of the forms of prose; the huge compounds habitually
employed in the later style, are among the more striking manifestations
of this defect of the Indian mind.
In various branches of scientific literature, in phonetics, grammar,
mathematics, astronomy, medicine, and law, the Indians also achieved
notable results. In some of these subjects their attainments are,
indeed, far in advance of what was accomplished by the Greeks.
History is the one weak spot in Indian literature. It is, in
fact, non-existent. The total lack of the historical sense is so
characteristic, that the whole course of Sanskrit literature is
darkened by the shadow of this defect, suffering as it does from an
entire absence of exact chronology. So true is this, that the very
date of Kalidasa, the greatest of Indian poets, was long a matter of
controversy within the limits of a thousand years, and is even now
doubtful to the extent of a century or two. Thus the dates of Sanskrit
authors are in the vast majority of cases only known approximately,
having been inferred from the indirect evidence of interdependence,
quotation or allusion, development of language or style. As to the
events of their lives, we usually know nothing at all, and only in a
few cases one or two general facts. Two causes seem to have combined
to bring about this remarkable result. In the first place, early India
wrote no history because it never made any. The ancient Indians never
went through a struggle for life, like the Greeks in the Persian
and the Romans in the Punic wars, such as would have welded their
tribes into a nation and developed political greatness. Secondly,
the Brahmans, whose task it would naturally have been to record
great deeds, had early embraced the doctrine that all action and
existence are a positive evil, and could therefore have felt but
little inclination to chronicle historical events.
Such being the case, definite dates do not begin to appear in Indian
literary history till about 500 A.D. The chronology of the Vedic
period is altogether conjectural, being based entirely on internal
evidence. Three main literary strata can be clearly distinguished
in it by differences in language and style, as well as in religious
and social views. For the development of each of these strata a
reasonable length of time must be allowed; but all we can here hope
to do is to approximate to the truth by centuries. The lower limit
of the second Vedic stratum cannot, however, be fixed later than
500 B.C., because its latest doctrines are presupposed by Buddhism,
and the date of the death of Buddha has been with a high degree
of probability calculated, from the recorded dates of the various
Buddhist councils, to be 480 B.C. With regard to the commencement of
the Vedic age, there seems to have been a decided tendency among
Sanskrit scholars to place it too high. 2000 B.C. is commonly
represented as its starting-point. Supposing this to be correct,
the truly vast period of 1500 years is required to account for a
development of language and thought hardly greater than that between
the Homeric and the Attic age of Greece. Professor Max Müller's
earlier estimate of 1200 B.C., formed forty years ago, appears to be
much nearer the mark. A lapse of three centuries, say from 1300-1000
B.C., would amply account for the difference between what is oldest
and newest in Vedic hymn poetry. Considering that the affinity of
the oldest form of the Avestan language with the dialect of the Vedas
is already so great that, by the mere application of phonetic laws,
whole Avestan stanzas may be translated word for word into Vedic, so
as to produce verses correct not only in form but in poetic spirit;
considering further, that if we knew the Avestan language at as early
a stage as we know the Vedic, the former would necessarily be almost
identical with the latter, it is impossible to avoid the conclusion
that the Indian branch must have separated from the Iranian only a
very short time before the beginnings of Vedic literature, and can
therefore have hardly entered the North-West of India even as early as
1500 B.C. All previous estimates of the antiquity of the Vedic period
have been outdone by the recent theory of Professor Jacobi of Bonn,
who supposes that period goes back to at least 4000 B.C. This theory
is based on astronomical calculations connected with a change in the
beginning of the seasons, which Professor Jacobi thinks has taken
place since the time of the Rigveda. The whole estimate is, however,
invalidated by the assumption of a doubtful, and even improbable,
meaning in a Vedic word, which forms the very starting-point of the
theory. Meanwhile we must rest content with the certainty that Vedic
literature in any case is of considerably higher antiquity than that
of Greece.
For the post-Vedic period we have, in addition to the results of
internal evidence, a few landmarks of general chronological importance
in the visits of foreigners. The earliest date of this kind is that of
the invasion of India by Alexander in 326 B.C. This was followed by
the sojourn in India of various Greeks, of whom the most notable was
Megasthenes. He resided for some years about 300 B.C. at the court
of Pataliputra (the modern Patna), and has left a valuable though
fragmentary account of the contemporary state of Indian society. Many
centuries later India was visited by three Chinese Buddhist pilgrims,
Fa Hian (399 A.D.), Hiouen Thsang (630-645), and I Tsing (671-695). The
records of their travels, which have been preserved, and are all now
translated into English, shed much light on the social conditions,
the religious thought, and the Buddhist antiquities of India in
their day. Some general and specific facts about Indian literature
also can be gathered from them. Hiouen Thsang especially supplies
some important statements about contemporary Sanskrit poets. It is
not till his time that we can say of any Sanskrit writer that he
was alive in any particular year, excepting only the three Indian
astronomers, whose exact dates in the fifth and sixth centuries have
been recorded by themselves. It was only the information supplied
by the two earlier Chinese writers that made possible the greatest
archæological discovery of the present century in India, that of the
site of Buddha's birthplace, Kapila-vastu, identified in December
1896. At the close of our period we have the very valuable account
of the country at the time of the Muhammadan conquest by the Arabic
author Alberuni, who wrote his India in 1030 A.D.
It is evident from what has been said, that before 500 A.D. literary
chronology, even in the Sanskrit period, is almost entirely relative,
priority or posteriority being determined by such criteria as
development of style or thought, the mention of earlier authors
by name, stray political references as to the Greeks or to some
well-known dynasty, and allusions to astronomical facts which cannot
have been known before a certain epoch. Recent research, owing to
increased specialisation, has made considerable progress towards
greater chronological definiteness. More light will doubtless in
course of time come from the political history of early India,
which is being reconstructed, with great industry and ability,
by various distinguished scholars from the evidence of coins,
copper-plate grants, and rock or pillar inscriptions. These have
been or are being published in the Corpus Inscriptionum Indicarum,
the Epigraphia Indica, and various journals devoted to the study of
Indian antiquities. The rise in the study of epigraphy during the last
twenty years has, indeed, already yielded some direct information
of importance about the literary and religious history of India,
by fixing the date of some of the later poets as well as by throwing
light on religious systems and whole classes of literature. Thus some
metrical inscriptions of considerable length have been deciphered,
which prove the existence of court poetry in Sanskrit and vernacular
dialects from the first century of our era onwards. No direct evidence
of this fact had previously been known.
The older inscriptions are also important in connection with Sanskrit
literature as illustrating both the early history of Indian writing
and the state of the language at the time. The oldest of them are
the rock and pillar inscriptions, dating from the middle of the
third century B.C., of the great Buddhist king Açoka, who ruled
over Northern India from 259 to 222 B.C., and during whose reign was
held the third Buddhist council, at which the canon of the Buddhist
scriptures was probably fixed. The importance of these inscriptions can
hardly be over-rated for the value of the information to be derived
from them about the political, religious, and linguistic conditions
of the age. Found scattered all over India, from Girnar (Giri-nagara)
in Kathiawar to Dhauli in Orissa, from Kapur-di-Giri, north of the
Kabul river, to Khalsi, they have been reproduced, deciphered, and
translated. One of them, engraved on a pillar erected by Açoka to
commemorate the actual birthplace of Buddha, was discovered only at
the close of 1896.
These Açoka inscriptions are the earliest records of Indian
writing. The question of the origin and age of writing in India,
long involved in doubt and controversy, has been greatly cleared up
by the recent palæographical researches of Professor Bühler. That
great scholar has shown, that of the two kinds of script known in
ancient India, the one called Kharoshthi employed in the country of
Gandhara (Eastern Afghanistan and Northern Panjab) from the fourth
century B.C. to 200 A.D., was borrowed from the Aramaic type of Semitic
writing in use during the fifth century B.C. It was always written from
right to left, like its original. The other ancient Indian script,
called Brahmi, is, as Bühler shows, the true national writing of
India, because all later Indian alphabets are descended from it,
however dissimilar many of them may appear at the present day. It
was regularly written from left to right; but that this was not its
original direction is indicated by a coin of the fourth century B.C.,
the inscription on which runs from right to left. Dr. Bühler has shown
that this writing is based on the oldest Northern Semitic or Phoenician
type, represented on Assyrian weights and on the Moabite stone,
which dates from about 890 B.C. He argues, with much probability,
that it was introduced about 800 B.C. into India by traders coming
by way of Mesopotamia.
References to writing in ancient Indian literature are, it is
true, very rare and late; in no case, perhaps, earlier than
the fourth century B.C., or not very long before the date of the
Açoka inscriptions. Little weight, however, can be attached to the
argumentum ex silentio in this instance. For though writing has now
been extensively in use for an immense period, the native learning
of the modern Indian is still based on oral tradition. The sacred
scriptures as well as the sciences can only be acquired from the lips
of a teacher, not from a manuscript; and as only memorial knowledge
is accounted of value, writing and MSS. are rarely mentioned. Even
modern poets do not wish to be read, but cherish the hope that their
works may be recited. This immemorial practice, indeed, shows that the
beginnings of Indian poetry and science go back to a time when writing
was unknown, and a system of oral tradition, such as is referred
to in the Rigveda, was developed before writing was introduced. The
latter could, therefore, have been in use long before it began to be
mentioned. The palæographical evidence of the Açoka inscriptions,
in any case, clearly shows that writing was no recent invention
in the third century B.C., for most of the letters have several,
often very divergent forms, sometimes as many as nine or ten. A
considerable length of time was, moreover, needed to elaborate from
the twenty-two borrowed Semitic symbols the full Brahmi alphabet of
forty-six letters. This complete alphabet, which was evidently worked
out by learned Brahmans on phonetic principles, must have existed
by 500 B.C., according to the strong arguments adduced by Professor
Bühler. This is the alphabet which is recognised in Pannini's great
Sanskrit grammar of about the fourth century B.C., and has remained
unmodified ever since. It not only represents all the sounds of the
Sanskrit language, but is arranged on a thoroughly scientific method,
the simple vowels (short and long) coming first, then the diphthongs,
and lastly the consonants in uniform groups according to the organs
of speech with which they are pronounced. Thus the dental consonants
appear together as t, th, d, dh, n, and the labials as p, ph, b,
bh, m. We Europeans, on the other hand, 2500 years later, and in a
scientific age, still employ an alphabet which is not only inadequate
to represent all the sounds of our languages, but even preserves the
random order in which vowels and consonants are jumbled up as they
were in the Greek adaptation of the primitive Semitic arrangement of
3000 years ago.
In the inscriptions of the third century B.C. two types, the Northern
and the Southern, may be distinguished in the Brahmi writing. From
the former is descended the group of Northern scripts which gradually
prevailed in all the Aryan dialects of India. The most important
of them is the Nagari (also called Devanagari), in which Sanskrit
MSS. are usually written, and Sanskrit as well as Marathi and Hindi
books are regularly printed. It is recognisable by the characteristic
horizontal line at the top of the letters. The oldest inscription
engraved entirely in Nagari belongs to the eighth, and the oldest
MS. written in it to the eleventh century. From the Southern variety
of the Brahmi writing are descended five types of script, all in use
south of the Vindhya range. Among them are the characters employed
in the Canarese and the Telugu country.
Owing to the perishability of the material on which they are written,
Sanskrit MSS. older than the fourteenth century A.D. are rare. The two
ancient materials used in India were strips of birch bark and palm
leaves. The employment of the former, beginning in the North-West
of India, where extensive birch forests clothe the slopes of the
Himalaya, gradually spread to Central, Eastern, and Western India. The
oldest known Sanskrit MS. written on birch bark dates from the fifth
century A.D., and a Pali MS. in Kharoshthi which became known in 1897,
is still older, but the use of this material doubtless goes back to
far earlier days. Thus we have the statement of Quintus Curtius that
the Indians employed it for writing on at the time of Alexander. The
testimony of classical Sanskrit authors, as well as of Alberuni,
shows that leaves of birch bark (bhurja-pattra) were also regularly
used for letter-writing in early mediæval India.
The first example of a palm leaf Sanskrit MS. belongs to the sixth
century A.D. It is preserved in Japan, but there is a facsimile of
it in the Bodleian Library. According to the Chinese pilgrim Hiouen
Thsang, the use of the palm leaf was common all over India in the
seventh century; but that it was known many centuries earlier is
proved by the fact that an inscribed copper-plate, dating from the
first century A.D. at the latest, imitates a palm leaf in shape.
Paper was introduced by the Muhammadan conquest, and has been very
extensively used since that time for the writing of MSS. The oldest
known example of a paper Sanskrit MS. written in India is one from
Gujarat, belonging to the early part of the thirteenth century. In
Northern India, where ink was employed for writing, palm leaves went
out of use after the introduction of paper. But in the South, where
a stilus has always been employed for scratching in the character,
palm leaves are still common for writing both MSS. and letters. The
birch bark and palm leaf MSS. are held together by a cord drawn
through a single hole in the middle, or through two placed some
distance apart. This explains how the Sanskrit word for "knot,"
grantha, came to acquire the sense of "book."
Leather or parchment has never been utilised in India for MSS.,
owing to the ritual impurity of animal materials. For inscriptions
copper-plates were early and frequently employed. They regularly
imitate the shape of either palm leaves or strips of birch bark.
The actual use of ink (the oldest Indian name of which is mashi) is
proved for the second century B.C. by an inscription from a Buddhist
relic mound, and is rendered very probable for the fourth century
B.C. by the statements of Nearchos and Quintus Curtius.
All the old palm leaf, birch bark, and paper Sanskrit MSS. have
been written with ink and a reed pen, usually called kalama (a term
borrowed from the Greek kalamos). In Southern India, on the other
hand, it has always been the practice to scratch the writing on palm
leaves with a stilus, the characters being subsequently blackened by
soot or charcoal being rubbed into them.
Sanskrit MSS. of every kind are usually kept between thin strips
of wood with cords wound round them, and wrapped up in coloured,
sometimes embroidered, cloths. They have been, and still are, preserved
in the libraries of temples, monasteries, colleges, the courts of
princes, as well as private houses. A famous library was owned by
King Bhoja of Dhar in the eleventh century. That considerable private
libraries existed in fairly early times is shown by the fact that the
Sanskrit author Bana (about 620 A.D.) had in his employment a reader of
manuscripts. Even at the present day there are many excellent libraries
of Sanskrit MSS. in the possession of Brahmans all over India.
The ancient Indian language, like the literature composed in it, falls
into the two main divisions of Vedic and Sanskrit. The former differs
from the latter on the whole about as much as Homeric from classical
Greek, or the Latin of the Salic hymns from that of Varro. Within the
Vedic language, in which the sacred literature of India is written,
several stages can be distinguished. In its transitions from one to
the other it gradually grows more modern till it is ultimately merged
in Sanskrit. Even in its earliest phase Vedic cannot be regarded as a
popular tongue, but is rather an artificially archaic dialect, handed
down from one generation to the other within the class of priestly
singers. Of this the language itself supplies several indications. One
of them is the employment side by side of forms belonging to different
linguistic periods, a practice in which, however, the Vedic does not
go so far as the Homeric dialect. The spoken language of the Vedic
priests probably differed from this dialect of the hymns only in the
absence of poetical constructions and archaisms. There was, in fact,
even in the earlier Vedic age, a caste language, such as is to be
found more or less wherever a literature has grown up; but in India
it has been more strongly marked than in any other country.
If, however, Vedic was no longer a natural tongue, but was already
the scholastic dialect of a class, how much truer is this of the
language of the later literature! Sanskrit differs from Vedic, but
not in conformity with the natural development which appears in living
languages. The phonetic condition of Sanskrit remains almost exactly
the same as that of the earliest Vedic. In the matter of grammatical
forms, too, the language shows itself to be almost stationary; for
hardly any new formations or inflexions have made their appearance. Yet
even from a grammatical point of view the later language has become
very different from the earlier. This change was therefore brought
about, not by new creations, but by successive losses. The most
notable of these were the disappearance of the subjunctive mood and the
reduction of a dozen infinitives to a single one. In declension the
change consisted chiefly in the dropping of a number of synonymous
by-forms. It is probable that the spoken Vedic, more modern and
less complex than that of the hymns, to some extent affected the
later literary language in the direction of simplification. But the
changes in the language were mainly due to the regulating efforts of
the grammarians, which were more powerful in India than anywhere else,
owing to the early and exceptional development of grammatical studies
in that country. Their influence alone can explain the elaborate nature
of the phonetic combinations (called Sandhi) between the finals and
initials of words in the Sanskrit sentence.
It is, however, the vocabulary of the language that has undergone
the greatest modifications, as is indeed the case in all literary
dialects; for it is beyond the power of grammarians to control
change in this direction. Thus we find that the vocabulary has been
greatly extended by derivation and composition according to recognised
types. At the same time there are numerous words which, though old,
seem to be new only because they happen by accident not to occur
in the Vedic literature. Many really new words have, however, come
in through continual borrowings from a lower stratum of language,
while already existing words have undergone great changes of meaning.
This later phase of the ancient language of India was stereotyped by
the great grammarian Panini towards the end of the fourth century
B.C. It came to be called Sanskrit, the "refined" or "elaborate"
(sam-skri-ta, literally "put together"), a term not found in the older
grammarians, but occurring in the earliest epic, the Ramayana. The
name is meant to be opposed to that of the popular dialects called
Prakrita, and is so opposed, for instance, in the Kavyadarça,
or Mirror of Poetry, a work of the sixth century A.D. The older
grammarians themselves, from Yaska (fifth century B.C.) onwards,
speak of this classical dialect as Bhasha, "the speech," in
distinction from Vedic. The remarks they make about it point to
a spoken language. Thus one of them, Patanjali, refers to it as
used "in the world," and designates the words of his Sanskrit as
"current in the world." Panini himself gives many rules which have
no significance except in connection with living speech; as when
he describes the accent or the lengthening of vowels in calling
from a distance, in salutation, or in question and answer. Again,
Sanskrit cannot have been a mere literary and school language, because
there are early traces of its having had dialectic variations. Thus
Yaska and Panini mention the peculiarities of the "Easterns" and
"Northerners," Katyayana refers to local divergences, and Patanjali
specifies words occurring in single districts only. There is, indeed,
no doubt that in the second century B.C. Sanskrit was actually
spoken in the whole country called by Sanskrit writers Aryavarta, or
"Land of the Aryans," which lies between the Himalaya and the Vindhya
range. But who spoke it there? Brahmans certainly did; for Patanjali
speaks of them as the "instructed" (çishta), the employers of correct
speech. Its use, however, extended beyond the Brahmans; for we read
in Patanjali about a head-groom disputing with a grammarian as to
the etymology of the Sanskrit word for "charioteer" (suta). This
agrees with the distribution of the dialects in the Indian drama, a
distribution doubtless based on a tradition much older than the plays
themselves. Here the king and those of superior rank speak Sanskrit,
while the various forms of the popular dialect are assigned to women
and to men of the people. The dramas also show that whoever did
not speak Sanskrit at any rate understood it, for Sanskrit is there
employed in conversation with speakers of Prakrit. The theatrical
public, and that before which, as we know from frequent references
in the literature, the epics were recited, must also have understood
Sanskrit. Thus, though classical Sanskrit was from the beginning a
literary and, in a sense, an artificial dialect, it would be erroneous
to deny to it altogether the character of a colloquial language. It
is indeed, as has already been mentioned, even now actually spoken in
India by learned Brahmans, as well as written by them, for every-day
purposes. The position of Sanskrit, in short, has all along been,
and still is, much like that of Hebrew among the Jews or of Latin in
the Middle Ages.
Whoever was familiar with Sanskrit at the same time spoke one popular
language or more. The question as to what these popular languages
were brings us to the relation of Sanskrit to the vernaculars of
India. The linguistic importance of the ancient literary speech for
the India of to-day will become apparent when it is pointed out that
all the modern dialects--excepting those of a few isolated aboriginal
hill tribes--spoken over the whole vast territory between the mouths
of the Indus and those of the Ganges, between the Himalaya and the
Vindhya range, besides the Bombay Presidency as far south as the
Portuguese settlement of Goa, are descended from the oldest form
of Sanskrit. Starting from their ancient source in the north-west,
they have overflowed in more and more diverging streams the whole
peninsula except the extreme south-east. The beginnings of these
popular dialects go back to a period of great antiquity. Even at the
time when the Vedic hymns were composed, there must have existed a
popular language which already differed widely in its phonetic aspect
from the literary dialect. For the Vedic hymns contain several words
of a phonetic type which can only be explained by borrowings on the
part of their composers from popular speech.
We further know that in the sixth century B.C., Buddha preached
his gospel in the language of the people, as opposed to that of the
learned, in order that all might understand him. Thus all the oldest
Buddhist literature dating from the fourth or fifth century B.C. was
composed in the vernacular, originally doubtless in the dialect of
Magadha (the modern Behar), the birthplace of Buddhism. Like Italian,
as compared with Latin, this early popular speech is characterised
by the avoidance of conjunct consonants and by fondness for final
vowels. Thus the Sanskrit sutra, "thread," and dharma, "duty,"
become sutta and dhamma respectively, while vidyut, "lightning," is
transformed into vijju. The particular form of the popular language
which became the sacred idiom of Southern Buddhism is known by the
name of Pali. Its original home is still uncertain, but its existence
as early as the third century B.C. is proved beyond the range of doubt
by the numerous rock and pillar inscriptions of Açoka. This dialect was
in the third century B.C. introduced into Ceylon, and became the basis
of Singhalese, the modern language of the island. It was through the
influence of Buddhism that, from Açoka's time onwards, the official
decrees and documents preserved in inscriptions were for centuries
composed exclusively in Middle Indian (Prakrit) dialects. Sanskrit
was not familiar to the chanceries during these centuries, though the
introduction of Sanskrit verses in Prakrit inscriptions shows that
Sanskrit was alive during this period, and proves its continuity for
literary purposes. The older tradition of both the Buddhist and the
Jain religion, in fact, ignored Sanskrit entirely, using only the
popular dialects for all purposes.
But in course of time both the Buddhists and the Jains endeavoured to
acquire a knowledge of Sanskrit. This led to the formation of an idiom
which, being in the main Prakrit, was made to resemble the old language
by receiving Sanskrit endings and undergoing other adaptations. It
is therefore decidedly wrong to consider this artificial dialect an
intermediate stage between Sanskrit and Pali. This peculiar type of
language is most pronounced in the poetical pieces called gatha or
"song," which occur in the canonical works of the Northern Buddhists,
especially in the Lalita-vistara, a life of Buddha. Hence it was
formerly called the Gatha dialect. The term is, however, inaccurate,
as Buddhist prose works have also been written in this mixed language.
The testimony of the inscriptions is instructive in showing the
gradual encroachment of Sanskrit on the popular dialects used by
the two non-Brahmanical religions. Thus in the Jain inscriptions of
Mathura (now Muttra), an almost pure Prakrit prevails down to the first
century A.D. After that Sanskritisms become more and more frequent,
till at last simple Sanskrit is written. Similarly in Buddhist
inscriptions pure Prakrit is relieved by the mixed dialect, the latter
by Sanskrit. Thus in the inscriptions of Nasik, in Western India,
the mixed dialect extends into the third, while Sanskrit first begins
in the second century A.D. From the sixth century onwards Sanskrit
prevails exclusively (except among the Jains) in inscriptions, though
Prakritisms often occur in them. Even in the literature of Buddhism
the mixed dialect was gradually supplanted by Sanskrit. Hence most of
the Northern Buddhist texts have come down to us in Sanskrit, which,
however, diverges widely in vocabulary from that of the sacred texts
of the Brahmans, as well as from that of the classical literature,
since they are full of Prakrit words. It is expressly attested by
the Chinese pilgrim, Hiouen Thsang, that in the seventh century the
Buddhists used Sanskrit even in oral theological discussions. The Jains
finally did the same, though without entirely giving up Prakrit. Thus
by the time of the Muhammadan conquest Sanskrit was almost the only
written language of India. But while Sanskrit was recovering its
ancient supremacy, the Prakrits had exercised a lasting influence upon
it in two respects. They had supplied its vocabulary with a number of
new words, and had transformed into a stress accent the old musical
accent which still prevailed after the days of Panini.
In the oldest period of Prakrit, that of the Pali Açoka inscriptions
and the early Buddhistic and Jain literature, two main dialects, the
Western and the Eastern, may be distinguished. Between the beginning
of our era and about 1000 A.D., mediæval Prakrit, which is still
synthetic in character, is divided into four chief dialects. In the
west we find Apabhramça ("decadent") in the valley of the Indus,
and Çauraseni in the Doab, with Mathura as its centre. Subdivisions
of the latter were Gaurjari (Gujarati), Avanti (Western Rajputani),
and Maharashtri (Eastern Rajputani). The Eastern Prakrit now appears
as Magadhi, the dialect of Magadha, now Behar, and Ardha-Magadhi
(Half-Magadhi), with Benares as its centre. These mediæval Prakrits
are important in connection with Sanskrit literature, as they are the
vernaculars employed by the uneducated classes in the Sanskrit drama.
They are the sources of all the Aryan languages of modern India. From
the Apabhramça are derived Sindhi, Western Panjabi, and Kashmiri;
from Çauraseni come Eastern Panjabi and Hindi (the old Avanti), as
well as Gujarati; while from the two forms of Magadhi are descended
Marathi on the one hand, and the various dialects of Bengal on the
other. These modern vernaculars, which began to develop from about
1000 A.D., are no longer inflexional languages, but are analytical
like English, forming an interesting parallel in their development
from ancient Sanskrit to the Romance dialects in their derivation
from Latin. They have developed literatures of their own, which are
based entirely on that of Sanskrit. The non-Aryan languages of the
Dekhan, the Dravidian group, including Telugu, Canarese, Malayalam,
and Tamil, have not indeed been ousted by Aryan tongues, but they
are full of words borrowed from Sanskrit, while their literature is
dominated by Sanskrit models.
CHAPTER II
THE VEDIC PERIOD
On the very threshold of Indian literature more than three thousand
years ago, we are confronted with a body of lyrical poetry which,
although far older than the literary monuments of any other branch of
the Indo-European family, is already distinguished by refinement and
beauty of thought, as well as by skill in the handling of language
and metre. From this point, for a period of more than a thousand
years, Indian literature bears an exclusively religious stamp; even
those latest productions of the Vedic age which cannot be called
directly religious are yet meant to further religious ends. This is,
indeed, implied by the term "Vedic." For veda, primarily signifying
"knowledge" (from vid, "to know"), designates "sacred lore," as a
branch of literature. Besides this general sense, the word has also
the restricted meaning of "sacred book."
In the Vedic period three well-defined literary strata are to be
distinguished. The first is that of the four Vedas, the outcome of
a creative and poetic age, in which hymns and prayers were composed
chiefly to accompany the pressing and offering of the Soma juice or
the oblation of melted butter (ghrita) to the gods. The four Vedas are
"collections," called samhita, of hymns and prayers made for different
ritual purposes. They are of varying age and significance. By far the
most important as well as the oldest--for it is the very foundation of
all Vedic literature--is the Rigveda, the "Veda of verses" (from rich,
"a laudatory stanza"), consisting entirely of lyrics, mainly in praise
of different gods. It may, therefore, be described as the book of
hymns or psalms. The Sama-veda has practically no independent value,
for it consists entirely of stanzas (excepting only 75) taken from
the Rigveda and arranged solely with reference to their place in the
Soma sacrifice. Being meant to be sung to certain fixed melodies,
it may be called the book of chants (saman). The Yajur-veda differs
in one essential respect from the Sama-veda, It consists not only of
stanzas (rich), mostly borrowed from the Rigveda, but also of original
prose formulas. It resembles the Sama-veda, however, in having its
contents arranged in the order in which it was actually employed in
various sacrifices. It is, therefore, a book of sacrificial prayers
(yajus). The matter of this Veda has been handed down in two forms. In
the one, the sacrificial formulas only are given; in the other, these
are to a certain extent intermingled with their explanations. These
three Vedas alone were at first recognised as canonical scriptures,
being in the next stage of Vedic literature comprehensively spoken
of as "the threefold knowledge" (trayi vidya).
The fourth collection, the Atharva-veda, attained to this position only
after a long struggle. Judged both by its language and by that portion
of its matter which is analogous to the contents of the Rigveda,
the Atharva-veda came into existence considerably later than that
Veda. In form it is similar to the Rigveda, consisting for the most
part of metrical hymns, many of which are taken from the last book
of the older collection. In spirit, however, it is not only entirely
different from the Rigveda, but represents a much more primitive
stage of thought. While the Rigveda deals almost exclusively with
the higher gods as conceived by a comparatively advanced and refined
sacerdotal class, the Atharva-veda is, in the main, a book of spells
and incantations appealing to the demon world, and teems with notions
about witchcraft current among the lower grades of the population, and
derived from an immemorial antiquity. These two, thus complementary to
each other in contents, are obviously the most important of the four
Vedas. As representing religious ideas at an earlier stage than any
other literary monuments of the ancient world, they are of inestimable
value to those who study the evolution of religious beliefs.
The creative period of the Vedas at length came to an end. It was
followed by an epoch in which there no longer seemed any need to
offer up new prayers to the gods, but it appeared more meritorious
to repeat those made by the holy seers of bygone generations, and
handed down from father to son in various priestly families. The
old hymns thus came to be successively gathered together in the
Vedic collections already mentioned and in this form acquired an
ever-increasing sanctity. Having ceased to produce poetry, the
priesthood transferred their creative energies to the elaboration
of the sacrificial ceremonial. The result was a ritual system far
surpassing in complexity of detail anything the world has elsewhere
known. The main importance of the old Vedic hymns and formulas
now came to be their application to the innumerable details of the
sacrifice. Around this combination of sacred verse and rite a new
body of doctrine grew up in sacerdotal tradition, and finally assumed
definite shape in the guise of distinct theological treatises entitled
Brahmanas, "books dealing with devotion or prayer" (brahman). They
evidently did not come into being till a time when the hymns were
already deemed ancient and sacred revelations, the priestly custodians
of which no longer fully understood their meaning owing to the change
undergone by the language. They are written in prose throughout, and
are in some cases accented, like the Vedas themselves. They are thus
notable as representing the oldest prose writing of the Indo-European
family. Their style is, indeed, cumbrous, rambling, and disjointed,
but distinct progress towards greater facility is observable within
this literary period.
The chief purpose of the Brahmanas is to explain the mutual relation of
the sacred text and the ceremonial, as well as their symbolical meaning
with reference to each other. With the exception of the occasional
legends and striking thoughts which occur in them, they cannot be
said to be at all attractive as literary productions. To support
their explanations of the ceremonial, they interweave exegetical,
linguistic, and etymological observations, and introduce myths and
philosophical speculations in confirmation of their cosmogonic and
theosophic theories. They form an aggregate of shallow and pedantic
discussions, full of sacerdotal conceits, and fanciful, or even absurd,
identifications, such as is doubtless unparalleled anywhere else. Yet,
as the oldest treatises on ritual practices extant in any literature,
they are of great interest to the student of the history of religions
in general, besides furnishing much important material to the student
of Indian antiquity in particular.
It results from what has been said that the contrasts between the two
older phases of Vedic literature are strongly marked. The Vedas are
poetical in matter and form; the Brahmanas are prosaic and written in
prose. The thought of the Vedas is on the whole natural and concrete;
that of the Brahmanas artificial and abstract. The chief significance
of the Vedas lies in their mythology; that of the Brahmanas in
their ritual.
The subject-matter of the Brahmanas which are attached to the various
Vedas, differs according to the divergent duties performed by the kind
of priest connected with each Veda. The Brahmanas of the Rigveda,
in explaining the ritual, usually limit themselves to the duties
of the priest called hotri or "reciter" on whom it was incumbent to
form the canon (çastra) for each particular rite, by selecting from
the hymns the verses applicable to it. The Brahmanas of the Sama-veda
are concerned only with the duties of the udgatri or "chanter" of the
Samans; the Brahmanas of the Yajur-veda with those of the adhvaryu,
or the priest who is the actual sacrificer. Again, the Brahmanas
of the Rigveda more or less follow the order of the ritual, quite
irrespectively of the succession of the hymns in the Veda itself. The
Brahmanas of the Sama- and the Yajur-veda, on the other hand, follow
the order of their respective Vedas, which are already arranged in
the ritual sequence. The Brahmana of the Sama-veda, however, rarely
explains individual verses, while that of the Yajur-veda practically
forms a running commentary on all the verses of the text.
The period of the Brahmanas is a very important one in the history
of Indian society. For in it the system of the four castes assumed
definite shape, furnishing the frame within which the highly complex
network of the castes of to-day has been developed. In that system
the priesthood, who even in the first Vedic period had occupied an
influential position, secured for themselves the dominant power which
they have maintained ever since. The life of no other people has been
so saturated with sacerdotal influence as that of the Hindus, among
whom sacred learning is still the monopoly of the hereditary priestly
caste. While in other early societies the chief power remained in the
hands of princes and warrior nobles, the domination of the priesthood
became possible in India as soon as the energetic life of conquest
during the early Vedic times in the north-west was followed by a
period of physical inactivity or indolence in the plains. Such altered
conditions enabled the cultured class, who alone held the secret of
the all-powerful sacrifice, to gain the supremacy of intellect over
physical force.
The Brahmanas in course of time themselves acquired a sacred
character, and came in the following period to be classed along with
the hymns as çruti or "hearing," that which was directly heard by or,
as we should say, revealed to, the holy sages of old. In the sphere
of revelation are included the later portions of the Brahmanas,
which form treatises of a specially theosophic character, and being
meant to be imparted or studied in the solitude of the forest, are
called Aranyakas or "Forest-books." The final part of these, again,
are philosophical books named Upanishads, which belong to the latest
stage of Brahmana literature. The pantheistic groundwork of their
doctrine was later developed into the Vedanta system, which is still
the favourite philosophy of the modern Hindus.
Works of Vedic "revelation" were deemed of higher authority in cases
of doubt than the later works on religious and civil usage, called
smriti or "memory," as embodying only the tradition derived from
ancient sages.
We have now arrived at the third and last stage of Vedic literature,
that of the Sutras. These are compendious treatises dealing with Vedic
ritual on the one hand, and with customary law on the other. The rise
of this class of writings was due to the need of reducing the vast
and growing mass of details in ritual and custom, preserved in the
Brahmanas and in floating tradition, to a systematic shape, and of
compressing them within a compass which did not impose too great a
burden on the memory, the vehicle of all teaching and learning. The
main object of the Sutras is, therefore, to supply a short survey of
the sum of these scattered details. They are not concerned with the
interpretation of ceremonial or custom, but aim at giving a plain and
methodical account of the whole course of the rites or practices with
which they deal. For this purpose the utmost brevity was needed,
a requirement which was certainly met in a manner unparalleled
elsewhere. The very name of this class of literature, sutra, "thread"
or "clue" (from siv, "to sew"), points to its main characteristic
and chief object--extreme conciseness. The prose in which these
works are composed is so compressed that the wording of the most
laconic telegram would often appear diffuse compared with it. Some
of the Sutras attain to an almost algebraic mode of expression,
the formulas of which cannot be understood without the help of
detailed commentaries. A characteristic aphorism has been preserved,
which illustrates this straining after brevity. According to it,
the composers of grammatical Sutras delight as much in the saving of
a short vowel as in the birth of a son. The full force of this remark
can only be understood when it is remembered that a Brahman is deemed
incapable of gaining heaven without a son to perform his funeral rites.
Though the works comprised in each class of Sutras are essentially the
same in character, it is natural to suppose that their composition
extended over some length of time, and that those which are more
concise and precise in their wording are the more recent; for the
evolution of their style is obviously in the direction of increased
succinctness. Research, it is true, has hitherto failed to arrive at
any definite result as to the date of their composition. Linguistic
investigations, however, tend to show that the Sutras are closely
connected in time with the grammarian Panini, some of them appearing
to be considerably anterior to him. We shall, therefore, probably not
go very far wrong in assigning 500 and 200 B.C. as the chronological
limits within which the Sutra literature was developed.
The tradition of the Vedic ritual was handed down in two forms. The
one class, called Çrauta Sutras, because based on çruti or revelation
(by which in this case the Brahmanas are chiefly meant), deal with
the ritual of the greater sacrifices, for the performance of which
three or more sacred fires, as well as the ministrations of priests,
are necessary. Not one of them presents a complete picture of the
sacrifice, because each of them, like the Brahmanas, describes only
the duties of one or other of the three kinds of priests attached to
the respective Vedas. In order to obtain a full description of each
ritual ceremony, it is therefore needful to supplement the account
given by one Çrauta Sutra from that furnished by the rest.
The other division of the ritual Sutras is based on smriti or
tradition. These are the Grihya Sutras, or "House Aphorisms," which
deal with the household ceremonies, or the rites to be performed
with the domestic fire in daily life. As a rule, these rites are not
performed by a priest, but by the householder himself in company
with his wife. For this reason there is, apart from deviations
in arrangement and expression, omission or addition, no essential
difference between the various Grihya Sutras, except that the verses to
be repeated which they contain are taken from the Veda to which they
belong. Each Grihya Sutra, besides being attached to and referring
to the Çrauta Sutra of the same school, presupposes a knowledge of
it. But though thus connected, the two do not form a unity.
The second class of Sutras, which deal with social and legal usage, is,
like the Grihya Sutras, also based on smriti or tradition. These are
the Dharma Sutras, which are in general the oldest sources of Indian
law. As is implied by the term dharma, "religion and morality," their
point of view is chiefly a religious one. They are closely connected
with the Veda, which they quote, and which the later law-books regard
as the first and highest source of dharma.
From the intensely crabbed and unintelligible nature of their style,
and the studied baldness with which they present their subjects,
it is evident that the Sutras are inferior even to the Brahmanas as
literary productions. Judged, however, with regard to its matter,
this strange phase of literature has considerable value. In all other
ancient literatures knowledge of sacrificial rites can only be gained
by collecting stray references. But in the ritual Sutras we possess
the ancient manuals which the priests used as the foundation of their
sacrificial lore. Their statements are so systematic and detailed that
it is possible to reconstruct from them various sacrifices without
having seen them performed. They are thus of great importance for
the history of religious institutions. But the Sutras have a further
value. For, as the life of the Hindu, more than that of any other
nation, was, even in the Vedic age, surrounded with a network of
religious forms, both in its daily course and in its more important
divisions, the domestic ritual as well as the legal Sutras are our
most important sources for the study of the social conditions of
ancient India. They are the oldest Indian records of all that is
included under custom.
Besides these ritual and legal compendia, the Sutra period produced
several classes of works composed in this style, which, though not
religious in character, had a religious origin. They arose from the
study of the Vedas, which was prompted by the increasing difficulty of
understanding the hymns, and of reciting them correctly, in consequence
of the changes undergone by the language. Their chief object was
to ensure the right recitation and interpretation of the sacred
text. One of the most important classes of this ancillary literature
comprises the Pratiçakhya Sutras, which, dealing with accentuation,
pronunciation, metre, and other matters, are chiefly concerned with
the phonetic changes undergone by Vedic words when combined in a
sentence. They contain a number of minute observations, such as have
only been made over again by the phoneticians of the present day in
Europe. A still more important branch of this subsidiary literature
is grammar, in which the results attained by the Indians in the
systematic analysis of language surpass those arrived at by any other
nation. Little has been preserved of the earliest attempts in this
direction, for all that had been previously done was superseded by the
great Sutra work of Panini. Though belonging probably to the middle
of the Sutra period, Panini must be regarded as the starting-point of
the Sanskrit age, the literature of which is almost entirely dominated
by the linguistic standard stereotyped by him.
In the Sutra period also arose a class of works specially designed
for preserving the text of the Vedas from loss or change. These are
the Anukramanis or "Indices," which quote the first words of each
hymn, its author, the deity celebrated in it, the number of verses
it contains, and the metre in which it is composed. One of them
states the total number of hymns, verses, words, and even syllables,
contained in the Rigveda, besides supplying other details.
From this general survey of the Vedic period we now turn to a more
detailed consideration of the different phases of the literature
it produced.
CHAPTER III
THE RIGVEDA
In the dim twilight preceding the dawn of Indian literature the
historical imagination can perceive the forms of Aryan warriors, the
first Western conquerors of Hindustan, issuing from those passes in
the north-west through which the tide of invasion has in successive
ages rolled to sweep over the plains of India. The earliest poetry of
this invading race, whose language and culture ultimately overspread
the whole continent, was composed while its tribes still occupied
the territories on both sides of the Indus now known as Eastern
Kabulistan and the Panjab. That ancient poetry has come down to us
in the form of a collection of hymns called the Rigveda. The cause
which gathered the poems it contains into a single book was not
practical, as in the case of the Sama- and Yajur-veda, but scientific
and historical. For its ancient editors were undoubtedly impelled by
the motive of guarding this heritage of olden time from change and
destruction. The number of hymns comprised in the Rigveda, in the
only recension which has been preserved, that of the Çakala school,
is 1017, or, if the eleven supplementary hymns (called Valakhilya)
which are inserted in the middle of the eighth book are added,
1028. These hymns are grouped in ten books, called mandalas, or
"cycles," which vary in length, except that the tenth contains the
same number of hymns as the first. In bulk the hymns of the Rigveda
equal, it has been calculated, the surviving poems of Homer.
The general character of the ten books is not identical in all
cases. Six of them (ii.-vii.) are homogeneous. Each of these, in
the first place, is the work of a different seer or his descendants
according to the ancient tradition, which is borne out by internal
evidence. They were doubtless long handed down separately in the
families to which they owed their being. Moreover, the hymns contained
in these "family books," as they are usually called, are arranged on
a uniform plan differing from that of the rest. The first, eighth,
and tenth books are not the productions of a single family of seers
respectively, but consist of a number of groups based on identity of
authorship. The arrangement of the ninth book is in no way connected
with its composers; its unity is due to all its hymns being addressed
to the single deity Soma, while its groups depend on identity of
metre. The family books also contain groups; but each of these is
formed of hymns addressed to one and the same deity.
Turning to the principle on which the entire books of the Rigveda are
arranged in relation to one another, we find that Books II.-VII., if
allowance is made for later additions, form a series of collections
which contain a successively increasing number of hymns. This fact,
combined with the uniformity of these books in general character
and internal arrangement, renders it probable that they formed the
nucleus of the Rigveda, to which the remaining books were successively
added. It further seems likely that the nine shorter collections,
which form the second part of Book I., as being similarly based on
identity of authorship, were subsequently combined and prefixed to the
family books, which served as the model for their internal arrangement.
The hymns of the eighth book in general show a mutual affinity hardly
less pronounced than that to be found in the family books. For they
are connected by numerous repetitions of similar phrases and lines
running through the whole book. The latter, however, does not form a
parallel to the family books. For though a single family, that of the
Kanvas, at least predominates among its authors, the prevalence in it
of the strophic form of composition impresses upon it a character of
its own. Moreover, the fact that the eighth book contains fewer hymns
than the seventh, in itself shows that the former did not constitute
one of the family series.
The first part (1-50) of Book I. has considerable affinities with
the eighth, more than half its hymns being attributed to members of
the Kanva family, while in the hymns composed by some of these Kanvas
the favourite strophic metre of the eighth book reappears. There are,
moreover, numerous parallel and directly identical passages in the
two collections. It is, however, at present impossible to decide
which of the two is the earlier, or why it is that, though so nearly
related, they should have been separated. Certain it is that they
were respectively added at the beginning and the end of a previously
existing collection, whether they were divided for chronological
reasons or because composed by different branches of the Kanva family.
As to the ninth book, it cannot be doubted that it came into being
as a collection after the first eight books had been combined
into a whole. Its formation was in fact the direct result of that
combination. The hymns to Soma Pavamana ("the clearly flowing") are
composed by authors of the same families as produced Books II.-VII.,
a fact, apart from other evidence, sufficiently indicated by their
having the characteristic refrains of those families. The Pavamana
hymns have affinities to the first and eighth books also. When the
hymns of the different families were combined into books, and clearly
not till then, all their Pavamana hymns were taken out and gathered
into a single collection. This of course does not imply that the
Pavamana hymns themselves were of recent origin. On the contrary,
though some of them may date from the time when the tenth book came
into existence, there is good reason to suppose that the poetry of
the Soma hymns, which has many points in common with the Avesta,
and deals with a ritual going back to the Indo-Iranian period,
reached its conclusion as a whole in early times among the Vedic
singers. Differences of age in the hymns of the ninth book have been
almost entirely effaced; at any rate, research has as yet hardly
succeeded in distinguishing chronological stages in this collection.
With regard to the tenth book, there can be no doubt that its hymns
came into being at a time when the first nine already existed. Its
composers grew up in the knowledge of the older books, with which
they betray their familiarity at every turn. The fact that the
author of one of its groups (20-26) begins with the opening words
(agnim ile) of the first stanza of the Rigveda, is probably an
indication that Books I.-IX. already existed in his day even as a
combined collection. That the tenth book is indeed an aggregate of
supplementary hymns is shown by its position after the Soma book, and
by the number of its hymns being made up to that of the first book
(191). The unity which connects its poetry is chronological; for it
is the book of recent groups and recent single hymns. Nevertheless
the supplements collected in it appear for the most part to be older
than the additions which occur in the earlier books.
There are many criteria, derived from its matter as well as its
form, showing the recent origin of the tenth book. With regard to
mythology, we find the earlier gods beginning to lose their hold
on the imagination of these later singers. Some of them seem to
be disappearing, like the goddess of Dawn, while only deities of
widely established popularity, such as Indra and Agni, maintain their
position. The comprehensive group of the Viçve devas, or "All gods,"
has alone increased in prominence. On the other hand, an altogether
new type, the deification of purely abstract ideas, such as "Wrath"
and "Faith," now appears for the first time. Here, too, a number of
hymns are found dealing with subjects foreign to the earlier books,
such as cosmogony and philosophical speculation, wedding and burial
rites, spells and incantations, which give to this book a distinctive
character besides indicating its recent origin.
Linguistically, also, the tenth book is clearly distinguished as later
than the other books, forming in many respects a transition to the
other Vedas. A few examples will here suffice to show this. Vowel
contractions occur much more frequently, while the hiatus has
grown rarer. The use of the letter l, as compared with r, is,
in agreement with later Sanskrit, strikingly on the increase. In
inflexion the employment of the Vedic nominative plural in asas is on
the decline. With regard to the vocabulary, many old words are going
out of use, while others are becoming commoner. Thus the particle
sim, occurring fifty times in the rest of the Rigveda, is found
only once in the tenth book. A number of words common in the later
language are only to be met with in this book; for instance, labh,
"to take," kala, "time," lakshmi, "fortune," evam, "thus." Here, too,
a number of conscious archaisms can be pointed out.
Thus the tenth book represents a definitely later stratum of
composition in the Rigveda. Individual hymns in the earlier books
have also been proved by various recognised criteria to be of later
origin than others, and some advance has been made towards assigning
them to three or even five literary epochs. Research has, however,
not yet arrived at any certain results as to the age of whole groups
in the earlier books. For it must be borne in mind that posteriority
of collection and incorporation does not necessarily prove a later
date of composition.
Some hundreds of years must have been needed for all the hymns found in
the Rigveda to come into being. There was also, doubtless, after the
separation of the Indians from the Iranians, an intermediate period,
though it was probably of no great length. In this transitional age
must have been composed the more ancient poems which are lost, and in
which the style of the earliest preserved hymns, already composed with
much skill, was developed. The poets of the older part of the Rigveda
themselves mention predecessors, in whose wise they sing, whose songs
they desire to renew, and speak of ancestral hymns produced in days of
yore. As far as linguistic evidence is concerned, it affords little
help in discriminating periods within the Rigveda except with regard
to the tenth book. For throughout the hymns, in spite of the number of
authors, essentially the same language prevails. It is quite possible
to distinguish differences of thought, style, and poetical ability,
but hardly any differences of dialect. Nevertheless, patient and
minute linguistic research, combined with the indications derived
from arrangement, metre, and subject-matter, is beginning to yield
evidence which may lead to the recognition of chronological strata
in the older books of the Rigveda.
Though the aid of MSS. for this early period entirely fails, we yet
happily possess for the Rigveda an abundant mass of various readings
over 2000 years old. These are contained in the other Vedas, which
are largely composed of hymns, stanzas, and lines borrowed from
the Rigveda. The other Vedas are, in fact, for the criticism of the
Rigveda, what manuscripts are for other literary monuments. We are
thus enabled to collate with the text of the Rigveda directly handed
down, various readings considerably older than even the testimony of
Yaska and of the Pratiçakhyas.
The comparison of the various readings supplied by the later Vedas
leads to the conclusion that the text of the Rigveda existed,
with comparatively few exceptions, in its present form, and not
in a possibly different recension, at the time when the text of the
Sama-veda, the oldest form of the Yajur-veda, and the Atharva-veda was
constituted. The number of cases is infinitesimal in which the Rigveda
shows a corruption from which the others are free. Thus it appears that
the kernel of Vedic tradition, as represented by the Rigveda, has come
down to us, with a high degree of fixity and remarkable care for verbal
integrity, from a period which can hardly be less remote than 1000 B.C.
It is only natural that a sacred collection of poetry, historical in
its origin, and the heritage of oral tradition before the other Vedas
were composed and the details of the later ritual practice were fixed,
should have continued to be preserved more accurately than texts formed
mainly by borrowing from it hymns which were arbitrarily cut up into
groups of verses or into single verses, solely in order to meet new
liturgical needs. For those who removed verses of the Rigveda from
their context and mixed them up with their own new creations would
not feel bound to guard such verses from change as strictly as those
who did nothing but continue to hand down, without any break, the
ancient text in its connected form. The control of tradition would
be wanting where quite a new tradition was being formed.
The criticism of the text of the Rigveda itself is concerned with
two periods. The first is that in which it existed alone before the
other Vedas came into being; the second is that in which it appears
in the phonetically modified form called the Samhita text, due to the
labours of grammatical editors. Being handed down in the older period
exclusively by oral tradition, it was not preserved in quite authentic
form down to the time of its final redaction. It did not entirely
escape the fate suffered by all works which, coming down from remote
antiquity, survive into an age of changed linguistic conditions. Though
there are undeniable corruptions in detail belonging to the older
period, the text maintained a remarkably high level of authenticity
till such modifications as it had undergone reached their conclusion
in the Samhita text. This text differs in hundreds of places from
that of the composers of the hymns; but its actual words are nearly
always the same as those used by the ancient seers. Thus there would
be no uncertainty as to whether the right word, for instance, was
sumnam or dyumnam. The difference lies almost entirely in the phonetic
changes which the words have undergone according to the rules of Sandhi
prevailing in the classical language. Thus what was formerly pronounced
as tuam hi agne now appears as tvam hy agne. The modernisation of
the text thereby produced is, however, only partial, and is often
inconsistently applied. The euphonic combinations introduced in
the Samhita text have interfered with the metre. Hence by reading
according to the latter the older text can be restored. At the same
time the Samhita text has preserved the smallest minutiæ of detail
most liable to corruption, and the slightest difference in the matter
of accent and alternative forms, which might have been removed with
the greatest ease. Such points furnish an additional proof that the
extreme care with which the verbal integrity of the text was guarded
goes back to the earlier period itself. Excepting single mistakes of
tradition in the first, and those due to grammatical theories in the
second period, the old text of the Rigveda thus shows itself to have
been preserved from a very remote antiquity with marvellous accuracy
even in the smallest details.
From the explanatory discussions of the Brahmanas in connection
with the Rigveda, it results that the text of the latter must
have been essentially fixed in their time, and that too in quite
a special manner, more, for instance, than the prose formulas of
the Yajurveda. For the Çatapatha Brahmana, while speaking of the
possibility of varying some of these formulas, rejects the notion
of changing the text of a certain Rigvedic verse, proposed by some
teachers, as something not to be thought of. The Brahmanas further
often mention the fact that such and such a hymn or liturgical group
contains a particular number of verses. All such numerical statements
appear to agree with the extant text of the Rigveda. On the other hand,
transpositions and omissions of Rigvedic verses are to be found in
the Brahmanas. These, however, are only connected with the ritual
form of those verses, and in no way show that the text from which
they were taken was different from ours.
The Sutras also contain altered forms of Rigvedic verses, but these
are, as in the case of the Brahmanas, to be explained not from an
older recension of the text, but from the necessity of adapting them
to new ritual technicalities. On the other hand, they contain many
statements which confirm our present text. Thus all that the Sutra
of Çankhayana says about the position occupied by verses in a hymn,
or the total number of verses contained in groups of hymns, appears
invariably to agree with our text.
We have yet to answer the question as to when the Samhita text, which
finally fixed the canonical form of the Rigveda, was constituted. Now
the Brahmanas contain a number of direct statements as to the number
of syllables in a word or a group of words, which are at variance
with the Samhita text owing to the vowel contractions made in the
latter. Moreover, the old part of the Brahmana literature shows
hardly any traces of speculations about phonetic questions connected
with the Vedic text. The conclusion may therefore be drawn that the
Samhita text did not come into existence till after the completion
of the Brahmanas. With regard to the Aranyakas and Upanishads, which
form supplements to the Brahmanas, the case is different. These works
not only mention technical grammatical terms for certain groups of
letters, but contain detailed doctrines about the phonetic treatment
of the Vedic text. Here, too, occur for the first time the names of
certain theological grammarians, headed by Çakalya and Mandukeya, who
are also recognised as authorities in the Pratiçakhyas. The Aranyakas
and Upanishads accordingly form a transition, with reference to the
treatment of grammatical questions, between the age of the Brahmanas
and that of Yaska and the Pratiçakhyas. The Samhita text must have
been created in this intermediate period, say about 600 B.C.
This work being completed, extraordinary precautions soon began to be
taken to guard the canonical text thus fixed against the possibility
of any change or loss. The result has been its preservation with a
faithfulness unique in literary history. The first step taken in this
direction was the constitution of the Pada, or "word" text, which being
an analysis of the Samhita, gives each separate word in its independent
form, and thus to a considerable extent restores the Samhita text
to an older stage. That the Pada text was not quite contemporaneous
in origin with the other is shown by its containing some undoubted
misinterpretations and misunderstandings. Its composition can, however,
only be separated by a short interval from that of the Samhita, for
it appears to have been known to the writer of the Aitareya Aranyaka,
while its author, Çakalya, is older than both Yaska, who quotes him,
and Çaunaka, composer of the Rigveda Pratiçakhya, which is based on
the Pada text.
The importance of the latter as a criterion of the authenticity of
verses in the Rigveda is indicated by the following fact. There are
six verses in the Rigveda [1] not analysed in the Pada text, but only
given there over again in the Samhita form. This shows that Çakalya did
not acknowledge them as truly Rigvedic, a view justified by internal
evidence. This group of six, which is doubtless exhaustive, stands
midway between old additions which Çakalya recognised as canonical,
and the new appendages called Khilas, which never gained admission
into the Pada text in any form.
A further measure for preserving the sacred text from alteration with
still greater certainty was soon taken in the form of the Krama-patha,
or "step-text." This is old, for it, like the Pada-patha, is already
known to the author of the Aitareya Aranyaka. Here every word of the
Pada text occurs twice, being connected both with that which precedes
and that which follows. Thus the first four words, if represented by a,
b, c, d, would be read as ab, bc, cd. The Jata-patha, or "woven-text,"
in its turn based on the Krama-patha, states each of its combinations
three times, the second time in reversed order (ab, ba, ab; bc,
cb, bc). The climax of complication is reached in the Ghana-patha,
in which the order is ab, ba, abc, cba, abc; bc, cb, bcd, &c.
The Pratiçakhyas may also be regarded as safeguards of the text,
having been composed for the purpose of exhibiting exactly all the
changes necessary for turning the Pada into the Samhita text.
Finally, the class of supplementary works called Anukramanis, or
"Indices" aimed at preserving the Rigveda intact by registering its
contents from various points of view, besides furnishing calculations
of the number of hymns, verses, words, and even syllables, contained
in the sacred book.
The text of the Rigveda has come down to us in a single recension
only; but is there any evidence that other recensions of it existed
in former times?
The Charana-vyuha, or "Exposition of Schools," a supplementary work
of the Sutra period, mentions as the five çakhas or "branches"
of the Rigveda, the Çakalas, the Vashkalas, the Açvalayanas,
the Çankhayanas, and the Mandukeyas. The third and fourth of these
schools, however, do not represent different recensions of the text,
the sole distinction between them and the Çakalas having been that the
Açvalayanas recognised as canonical the group of the eleven Valakhilya
or supplementary hymns, and the Çankhayanas admitted the same group,
diminished only by a few verses. Hence the tradition of the Puranas,
or later legendary works, mentions only the three schools of Çakalas,
Vashkalas, and Mandukas. If the latter ever possessed a recension of an
independent character, all traces of it were lost at an early period
in ancient India, for no information of any kind about it has been
preserved. Thus only the two schools of the Çakalas and the Vashkalas
come into consideration. The subsidiary Vedic writings contain
sufficient evidence to show that the text of the Vashkalas differed
from that of the Çakalas only in admitting eight additional hymns,
and in assigning another position to a group of the first book. But in
these respects it compares unfavourably with the extant text. Thus it
is evident that the Çakalas not only possessed the best tradition of
the text of the Rigveda, but handed down the only recension, in the
true sense, which, as far as we can tell, ever existed.
The text of the Rigveda, like that of the other Samhitas, as well as
of two of the Brahmanas (the Çatapatha and the Taittiriya, together
with its Aranyaka), has come down to us in an accented form. The
peculiarly sacred character of the text rendered the accent very
important for correct and efficacious recitation. Analogously the
accent was marked by the Greeks in learned and model editions only. The
nature of the Vedic accent was musical, depending on the pitch of the
voice, like that of the ancient Greeks. This remained the character
of the Sanskrit accent till later than the time of Panini. But just
as the old Greek musical accent, after the beginning of our era,
was transformed into a stress accent, so by the seventh century
A.D. (and probably long before) the Sanskrit accent had undergone
a similar change. While, however, in modern Greek the stress accent
has remained, owing to the high pitch of the old acute, on the same
syllable as bore the musical accent in the ancient language, the modern
pronunciation of Sanskrit has no connection with the Vedic accent,
but is dependent on the quantity of the last two or three syllables,
much the same as in Latin. Thus the penultimate, if long, is accented,
e.g. Kalidasa, or the antepenultimate, if long and followed by a short
syllable, e.g. brahmana or Himalaya ("abode of snow"). This change of
accent in Sanskrit was brought about by the influence of Prakrit, in
which, as there is evidence to show, the stress accent is very old,
going back several centuries before the beginning of our era.
There are three accents in the Rigveda as well as the other sacred
texts. The most important of these is the rising accent, called
ud-atta ("raised"), which corresponds to the Greek acute. Comparative
philology shows that in Sanskrit it rests on the same syllable as
bore it in the proto-Aryan language. In Greek it is generally on
the same syllable as in Sanskrit, except when interfered with by
the specifically Greek law restricting the accent to one of the last
three syllables. Thus the Greek heptá corresponds to the Vedic saptá,
"seven." The low-pitch accent, which precedes the acute, is called
the anudatta ("not raised"). The third is the falling accent, which
usually follows the acute, and is called svarita ("sounded").
Of the four different systems of marking the accent in Vedic texts,
that of the Rigveda is most commonly employed. Here the acute is
not marked at all, while the low-pitch anudatta is indicated by a
horizontal stroke below the syllable bearing it, and the svarita by
a vertical stroke above. Thus yajnasyà ("of sacrifice") would mean
that the second syllable has the acute and the third the svarita
(yajnásyà). The reason why the acute is not marked is because it is
regarded as the middle tone between the other two. [2]
The hymns of the Rigveda consist of stanzas ranging in number
from three to fifty-eight, but usually not exceeding ten or
twelve. These stanzas (often loosely called verses) are composed in
some fifteen different metres, only seven of which, however, are at
all frequent. Three of them are by far the commonest, claiming together
about four-fifths of the total number of stanzas in the Rigveda.
There is an essential difference between Greek and Vedic
prosody. Whereas the metrical unit of the former system is the
foot, in the latter it is the line (or verse), feet not being
distinguished. Curiously enough, however, the Vedic metrical unit
is also called pada, or "foot," but for a very different reason;
for the word has here really the figurative sense of "quarter"
(from the foot of a quadruped), Because the most usual kind of
stanza has four lines. The ordinary padas consist of eight, eleven,
or twelve syllables. A stanza or rich is generally formed of three
or four lines of the same kind. Four or five of the rarer types of
stanza are, however, made up of a combination of different lines.
It is to be noted that the Vedic metres have a certain elasticity
to which we are unaccustomed in Greek prosody, and which recalls the
irregularities of the Latin Saturnian verse. Only the rhythm of the
last four or five syllables is determined, the first part of the line
not being subject to rule. Regarded in their historical connection,
the Vedic metres, which are the foundation of the entire prosody of the
later literature, occupy a position midway between the system of the
Indo-Iranian period and that of classical Sanskrit. For the evidence
of the Avesta, with its eight and eleven syllable lines, which ignore
quantity, but are combined into stanzas otherwise the same as those
of the Rigveda, indicates that the metrical practice of the period
when Persians and Indians were still one people, depended on no other
principle than the counting of syllables. In the Sanskrit period,
on the other hand, the quantity of every syllable in the line was
determined in all metres, with the sole exception of the loose measure
(called çloka) employed in epic poetry. The metrical regulation of the
line, starting from its end, thus finally extended to the whole. The
fixed rhythm at the end of the Vedic line is called vritta, literally
"turn" (from vrit, Lat. vert-ere), which corresponds etymologically
to the Latin versus.
The eight-syllable line usually ends in two iambics, the first four
syllables, though not exactly determined, having a tendency to be
iambic also. This verse is therefore the almost exact equivalent of
the Greek iambic dimeter.
Three of these lines combine to form the gayatri metre, in which nearly
one-fourth (2450) of the total number of stanzas in the Rigveda is
composed. An example of it is the first stanza of the Rigveda, which
runs as follows:--
Agním ile puróhitam
Yajnásya devám ritvíjam
Hótaram ratnadhatamam.
It may be closely rendered thus in lines imitating the rhythm of
the original:--
I praise Agni, domestic priest,
God, minister of sacrifice,
Herald, most prodigal of wealth.
Four of these eight-syllable lines combine to form the anushtubh
stanza, in which the first two and the last two are more closely
connected. In the Rigveda the number of stanzas in this measure
amounts to only about one-third of those in the gayatri. This
relation is gradually reversed, till we reach the post-Vedic period,
when the gayatri is found to have disappeared, and the anushtubh
(now generally called çloka) to have become the predominant measure
of Sanskrit poetry. A development in the character of this metre may
be observed within the Rigveda itself. All its verses in the oldest
hymns are the same, being iambic in rhythm. In later hymns, however,
a tendency to differentiate the first and third from the second
and fourth lines, by making the former non-iambic, begins to show
itself. Finally, in the latest hymns of the tenth book the prevalence
of the iambic rhythm disappears in the odd lines. Here every possible
combination of quantity in the last four syllables is found, but the
commonest variation, nearly equalling the iambic in frequency, is
[short][long][long][shortlong]. The latter is the regular ending of
the first and third line in the post-Vedic çloka.
The twelve-syllable line ends thus: [long][short][long][short][short].
Four of these together form the jagati stanza. The trishtubh stanza
consists of four lines of eleven syllables, which are practically
catalectic jagatis, as they end [long][short][long][shortlong]. These
two verses being so closely allied and having the same cadence, are
often found mixed in the same stanza. The trishtubh is by far the
commonest metre, about two-fifths of the Rigveda being composed in it.
Speaking generally, a hymn of the Rigveda consists entirely of stanzas
in the same metre. The regular and typical deviation from this rule
is to conclude a hymn with a single stanza in a metre different from
that of the rest, this being a natural method of distinctly marking
its close.
A certain number of hymns of the Rigveda consist not merely of a
succession of single stanzas, but of equal groups of stanzas. The
group consists either of three stanzas in the same simple metre,
generally gayatri, or of the combination of two stanzas in different
mixed metres. The latter strophic type goes by the name of Pragatha,
and is found chiefly in the eighth book of the Rigveda.
CHAPTER IV
POETRY OF THE RIGVEDA
Before we turn to describe the world of thought revealed in the hymns
of the Rigveda, the question may naturally be asked, to what extent
is it possible to understand the true meaning of a book occupying
so isolated a position in the remotest age of Indian literature? The
answer to this question depends on the recognition of the right method
of interpretation applicable to that ancient body of poetry. When the
Rigveda first became known, European scholars, as yet only acquainted
with the language and literature of classical Sanskrit, found that the
Vedic hymns were composed in an ancient dialect and embodied a world
of ideas far removed from that with which they had made themselves
familiar. The interpretation of these hymns was therefore at the
outset barred by almost insurmountable difficulties. Fortunately,
however, a voluminous commentary on the Rigveda, which explains or
paraphrases every word of its hymns, was found to exist. This was the
work of the great Vedic scholar Sayana, who lived in the latter half
of the fourteenth century A.D. at Vijayanagara ("City of Victory"),
the ruins of which lie near Bellary in Southern India. As his
commentary constantly referred to ancient authorities, it was thought
to have preserved the true meaning of the Rigveda in a traditional
interpretation going back to the most ancient times. Nothing
further seemed to be necessary than to ascertain the explanation
of the original text which prevailed in India five centuries ago,
and is laid down in Sayana's work. This view is represented by the
translation of the Rigveda begun in 1850 by H. H. Wilson, the first
professor of Sanskrit at Oxford.
Another line was taken by the late Professor Roth, the founder
of Vedic philology. This great scholar propounded the view that
the aim of Vedic interpretation was not to ascertain the meaning
which Sayana, or even Yaska, who lived eighteen centuries earlier,
attributed to the Vedic hymns, but the meaning which the ancient
poets themselves intended. Such an end could not be attained by
simply following the lead of the commentators. For the latter, though
valuable guides towards the understanding of the later theological
and ritual literature, with the notions and practice of which they
were familiar, showed no continuity of tradition from the time of
the poets; for the tradition supplied by them was solely that which
was handed down among interpreters, and only began when the meaning
of the hymns was no longer fully comprehended. There could, in fact,
be no other tradition; interpretation only arising when the hymns
had become obscure. The commentators, therefore, simply preserved
attempts at the solution of difficulties, while showing a distinct
tendency towards misinterpreting the language as well as the religious,
mythological, and cosmical ideas of a vanished age by the scholastic
notions prevalent in their own.
It is clear from what Yaska says that some important discrepancies
in opinion prevailed among the older expositors and the different
schools of interpretation which flourished before his time. He gives
the names of no fewer than seventeen predecessors, whose explanations
of the Veda are often conflicting. Thus one of them interprets the word
Nasatyau, an epithet of the Vedic Dioskouroi, as "true, not false;"
another takes it to mean "leaders of truth," while Yaska himself thinks
it might mean "nose-born"! The gap between the poets and the early
interpreters was indeed so great that one of Yaska's predecessors,
named Kautsa, actually had the audacity to assert that the science
of Vedic exposition was useless, as the Vedic hymns and formulas
were obscure, unmeaning, or mutually contradictory. Such criticisms
Yaska meets by replying that it was not the fault of the rafter if
the blind man did not see it. Yaska himself interprets only a very
small portion of the hymns of the Rigveda. In what he does attempt
to explain, he largely depends on etymological considerations for the
sense he assigns. He often gives two or more alternative or optional
senses to the same word. The fact that he offers a choice of meanings
shows that he had no earlier authority for his guide, and that his
renderings are simply conjectural; for no one can suppose that the
authors of the hymns had more than one meaning in their minds.
It is, however, highly probable that Yaska, with all the appliances
at his command, was able to ascertain the sense of many words which
scholars who, like Sayana, lived nearly two thousand years later,
had no means of discovering. Nevertheless Sayana is sometimes found
to depart from Yaska. Thus we arrive at the dilemma that either
the old interpreter is wrong or the later one does not follow the
tradition. There are also many instances in which Sayana, independently
of Yaska, gives a variety of inconsistent explanations of a word,
both in interpreting a single passage or in commenting on different
passages. Thus çarada, "autumnal," he explains in one place as
"fortified for a year," in another as "new or fortified for a year,"
and in a third as "belonging to a demon called Çarad." One of the
defects of Sayana is, in fact, that he limits his view in most cases
to the single verse he has before him. A detailed examination of his
explanations, as well as those of Yaska, has shown that there is in
the Rigveda a large number of the most difficult words, about the
proper sense of which neither scholar had any certain information from
either tradition or etymology. We are therefore justified in saying
about them that there is in the hymns no unusual or difficult word
or obscure text in regard to which the authority of the commentators
should be received as final, unless it is supported by probability,
by the context, or by parallel passages. Thus no translation of
the Rigveda based exclusively on Sayana's commentary can possibly
be satisfactory. It would, in fact, be as unreasonable to take him
for our sole guide as to make our understanding of the Hebrew books
of the Old Testament dependent on the Talmud and the Rabbis. It
must, indeed, be admitted that from a large proportion of Sayana's
interpretations most material help can be derived, and that he has
been of the greatest service in facilitating and accelerating the
comprehension of the Veda. But there is little information of value
to be derived from him, that, with our knowledge of later Sanskrit,
with the other remains of ancient Indian literature, and with our
various philological appliances, we might not sooner or later have
found out for ourselves.
Roth, then, rejected the commentators as our chief guides in
interpreting the Rigveda, which, as the earliest literary monument
of the Indian, and indeed of the Aryan race, stands quite by itself,
high up on an isolated peak of remote antiquity. As regards its more
peculiar and difficult portions, it must therefore be interpreted
mainly through itself; or, to apply in another sense the words
of an Indian commentator, it must shine by its own light and be
self-demonstrating. Roth further expressed the view that a qualified
European is better able to arrive at the true meaning of the Rigveda
than a Brahman interpreter. The judgment of the former is unfettered
by theological bias; he possesses the historical faculty, and he has
also a far wider intellectual horizon, equipped as he is with all
the resources of scientific scholarship. Roth therefore set himself
to compare carefully all passages parallel in form and matter, with
due regard to considerations of context, grammar, and etymology,
while consulting, though, perhaps, with insufficient attention,
the traditional interpretations. He thus subjected the Rigveda to a
historical treatment within the range of Sanskrit itself. He further
called in the assistance rendered from without by the comparative
method, utilising the help afforded not only by the Avesta, which is
so closely allied to the Rigveda in language and matter, but also
by the results of comparative philology, resources unknown to the
traditional scholar.
By thus ascertaining the meaning of single words, the foundations
of the scientific interpretation of the Vedas were laid in the
great Sanskrit Dictionary, in seven volumes, published by Roth in
collaboration with Böhtlingk between 1852 and 1875. Roth's method is
now accepted by every scientific student of the Veda. Native tradition
is, however, being more fully exploited than was done by Roth himself,
for it is now more clearly recognised that no aid to be derived from
extant Indian scholarship ought to be neglected. Under the guidance of
such principles the progress already made in solving many important
problems presented by Vedic literature has been surprising, when we
consider the shortness of the time and the fewness of the labourers, of
whom only two or three have been natives of this country. As a general
result, the historical sense has succeeded in grasping the spirit of
Indian antiquity, long obscured by native misinterpretation. Much, of
course, still remains to be done by future generations of scholars,
especially in detailed and minute investigation. This could not be
otherwise when we remember that Vedic research is only the product
of the last fifty years, and that, notwithstanding the labours of
very numerous Hebrew scholars during several centuries, there are,
in the Psalms and the Prophetic Books of the Old Testament, still many
passages which remain obscure and disputed. There can be no doubt that
many problems at present insoluble will in the end be solved by that
modern scholarship which has already deciphered the cuneiform writings
of Persia as well as the rock inscriptions of India, and has discovered
the languages which lay hidden under these mysterious characters.
Having thus arrived at the threshold of the world of Vedic thought,
we may now enter through the portals opened by the golden key of
scholarship. By far the greater part of the poetry of the Rigveda
consists of religious lyrics, only the tenth book containing some
secular poems. Its hymns are mainly addressed to the various gods of
the Vedic pantheon, praising their mighty deeds, their greatness,
and their beneficence, or beseeching them for wealth in cattle,
numerous offspring, prosperity, long life, and victory. The Rigveda
is not a collection of primitive popular poetry, as it was apt to be
described at an earlier period of Sanskrit studies. It is rather a
body of skilfully composed hymns, produced by a sacerdotal class and
meant to accompany the Soma oblation and the fire sacrifice of melted
butter, which were offered according to a ritual by no means so simple
as was at one time supposed, though undoubtedly much simpler than the
elaborate system of the Brahmana period. Its poetry is consequently
marred by frequent references to the sacrifice, especially when the two
great ritual deities, Agni and Soma, are the objects of praise. At the
same time it is on the whole much more natural than might under these
conditions be expected. For the gods who are invoked are nearly all
personifications of the phenomena of Nature, and thus give occasion for
the employment of much beautiful and even noble imagery. The diction of
the hymns is, generally speaking, simple and unaffected. Compound words
are sparingly used, and are limited to two members, in marked contrast
with the frequency and length of compounds in classical Sanskrit. The
thought, too, is usually artless and direct, except in the hymns to
the ritual deities, where it becomes involved in conceit and mystical
obscurity. The very limited nature of the theme, in these cases, must
have forced the minds of the priestly singers to strive after variety
by giving utterance to the same idea in enigmatical phraseology.
Here, then, we already find the beginnings of that fondness for
subtlety and difficult modes of expression which is so prevalent
in the later literature, and which is betrayed even in the earlier
period by the saying in one of the Brahmanas that the gods love the
recondite. In some hymns, too, there appears that tendency to play
with words which was carried to inordinate lengths in late Sanskrit
poems and romances. The hymns of the Rigveda, of course, vary much in
literary merit, as is naturally to be expected in the productions of
many poets extending over some centuries. Many display a high order of
poetical excellence, while others consist of commonplace and mechanical
verse. The degree of skill in composition is on the average remarkably
high, especially when we consider that here we have by far the oldest
poetry of the Aryan race. The art which these early seers feel is
needed to produce a hymn acceptable to the gods is often alluded to,
generally in the closing stanza. The poet usually compares his work
to a car wrought and put together by a deft craftsman. One Rishi also
likens his prayers to fair and well-woven garments; another speaks of
having adorned his song of praise like a bride for her lover. Poets
laud the gods according to knowledge and ability (vi. 21, 6), and
give utterance to the emotions of their hearts (x. 39, 15). Various
individual gods are, it is true, in a general way said to have granted
seers the gift of song, but of the later doctrine of revelation the
Rigvedic poets know nothing.
The remark which has often been made that monotony prevails in
the Vedic hymns contains truth. But the impression is produced by
the hymns to the same deity being commonly grouped together in each
book. A similar effect would probably arise from reading in succession
twenty or thirty lyrics on Spring, even in an anthology of the best
modern poetry. When we consider that nearly five hundred hymns of the
Rigveda are addressed to two deities alone, it is surprising that so
many variations of the same theme should be possible.
The hymns of the Rigveda being mainly invocations of the gods, their
contents are largely mythological. Special interest attaches to this
mythology, because it represents an earlier stage of thought than
is to be found in any other literature. It is sufficiently primitive
to enable us to see clearly the process of personification by which
natural phenomena developed into gods. Never observing, in his ordinary
life, action or movement not caused by an acting or moving person,
the Vedic Indian, like man in a much less advanced state, still
refers such occurrences in Nature to personal agents, which to him
are inherent in the phenomena. He still looks out upon the workings of
Nature with childlike astonishment. One poet asks why the sun does not
fall from the sky; another wonders where the stars go by day; while a
third marvels that the waters of all rivers constantly flowing into it
never fill the ocean. The unvarying regularity of sun and moon, and the
unfailing recurrence of the dawn, however, suggested to these ancient
singers the idea of the unchanging order that prevails in Nature. The
notion of this general law, recognised under the name rita (properly
the "course" of things), we find in the Rigveda extended first to the
fixed rules of the sacrifice (rite), and then to those of morality
(right). Though the mythological phase presented by the Rigveda is
comparatively primitive, it yet contains many conceptions inherited
from previous ages. The parallels of the Avesta show that several of
the Vedic deities go back to the time when the ancestors of Persians
and Indians were still one people. Among these may be mentioned Yama,
god of the dead, identical with Yima, ruler of paradise, and especially
Mitra, the cult of whose Persian counterpart, Mithra, obtained from
200-400 A.D. a world-wide diffusion in the Roman Empire, and came
nearer to monotheism than the cult of any other god in paganism.
Various religious practices can also be traced back to that early
age, such as the worship of fire and the cult of the plant Soma
(the Avestan Haoma). The veneration of the cow, too, dates from that
time. A religious hymn poetry must have existed even then, for stanzas
of four eleven-syllable (the Vedic trishtubh) and of four or three
eight-syllable lines (anushtubh and gayatri) were already known,
as is proved by the agreement of the Avesta with the Rigveda.
From the still earlier Indo-European period had come down the general
conception of "god" (deva-s, Lat. deu-s) and that of heaven as a divine
father (Dyaus pita, Gr. Zeus pater, Lat. Jupiter). Probably from an
even remoter antiquity is derived the notion of heaven and earth as
primeval and universal parents, as well as many magical beliefs.
The universe appeared to the poets of the Rigveda to be divided
into the three domains of earth, air, and heaven, a division perhaps
also known to the early Greeks. This is the favourite triad of the
Rigveda, constantly mentioned expressly or by implication. The solar
phenomena are referred to heaven, while those of lightning, rain, and
wind belong to the air. In the three worlds the various gods perform
their actions, though they are supposed to dwell only in the third,
the home of light. The air is often called a sea, as the abode of
the celestial waters, while the great rainless clouds are conceived
sometimes as rocks or mountains, sometimes as the castles of demons
who war against the gods. The thundering rain-clouds become lowing
cows, whose milk is shed and bestows fatness upon the earth.
The higher gods of the Rigveda are almost entirely personifications
of natural phenomena, such as Sun, Dawn, Fire, Wind. Excepting
a few deities surviving from an older period, the gods are, for
the most part, more or less clearly connected with their physical
foundation. The personifications being therefore but slightly
developed, lack definiteness of outline and individuality of
character. Moreover, the phenomena themselves which are behind the
personifications have few distinctive traits, while they share some
attributes with other phenomena belonging to the same domain. Thus
Dawn, Sun, Fire have the common features of being luminous, dispelling
darkness, appearing in the morning. Hence the character of each
god is made up of only a few essential qualities combined with many
others which are common to all the gods, such as brilliance, power,
beneficence, and wisdom. These common attributes tend to obscure those
which are distinctive, because in hymns of prayer and praise the former
naturally assume special importance. Again, gods belonging to different
departments of nature, but having striking features in common, are apt
to grow more like each other. Assimilation of this kind is encouraged
by a peculiar practice of the Vedic poets--the invocation of deities
in pairs. Such combinations result in attributes peculiar to the one
god attaching themselves to the other, even when the latter appears
alone. Thus when the Fire-god, invoked by himself, is called a slayer
of the demon Vritra, he receives an attribute distinctive of the
thunder-god Indra, with whom he is often coupled. The possibility of
assigning nearly every power to every god rendered the identification
of one deity with another an easy matter. Such identifications are
frequent enough in the Rigveda. For example, a poet addressing the
fire-god exclaims: "Thou at thy birth, O Agni, art Varuna; when kindled
thou becomest Mitra; in thee, O Son of Might, all gods are centred;
thou art Indra to the worshipper" (v. 3, 1).
Moreover, mystical speculations on the nature of Agni, so important
a god in the eyes of a priesthood devoted to a fire-cult, on his
many manifestations as individual fires on earth, and on his other
aspects as atmospheric fire in lightning and as celestial fire in
the sun--aspects which the Vedic poets are fond of alluding to in
riddles--would suggest the idea that various deities are but different
forms of a single divine being. This idea is found in more than one
passage of the later hymns of the Rigveda. Thus the composer of a
recent hymn (164) of the first book says: "The one being priests speak
of in many ways; they call it Agni, Yama, Matariçvan." Similarly, a
seer of the last book (x. 114) remarks: "Priests and poets with words
make into many the bird (i.e. the sun) which is but one." Utterances
like these show that by the end of the Rigvedic period the polytheism
of the Rishis had received a monotheistic tinge.
Occasionally we even find shadowed forth the pantheistic idea of a
deity representing not only all the gods, but Nature as well. Thus
the goddess Aditi is identified with all the deities, with men,
with all that has been and shall be born, with air, and heaven
(i. 89); and in a cosmogonic hymn (x. 121) the Creator is not only
described as the one god above all gods, but is said [3] to embrace
all things. This germ of pantheism developed through the later Vedic
literature till it assumed its final shape in the Vedanta philosophy,
still the most popular system of the Hindus.
The practice of the poets, even in the older parts of the Rigveda, of
invoking different gods as if each of them were paramount, gave rise to
Professor Max Müller's theory of Henotheism or Kathenotheism, according
to which the seers held "the belief in individual gods alternately
regarded as the highest," and for the moment treated the god addressed
as if he were an absolutely independent and supreme deity, alone
present to the mind. In reality, however, the practice of the poets
of the Rigveda hardly amounts to more than the exaggeration--to be
found in the Homeric hymns also--with which a singer would naturally
magnify the particular god whom he is invoking. For the Rishis well
knew the exact position of each god in the Soma ritual, in which
nearly every member of the pantheon found a place.
The gods, in the view of the Vedic poets, had a beginning; for they are
described as the offspring of heaven and earth, or sometimes of other
gods. This in itself implies different generations, but earlier gods
are also expressly referred to in several passages. Nor were the gods
regarded as originally immortal; for immortality is said to have been
bestowed upon them by individual deities, such as Agni and Savitri,
or to have been acquired by drinking soma. Indra and other gods are
spoken of as unaging, but whether their immortality was regarded by
the poets as absolute there is no evidence to show. In the post-Vedic
view it was only relative, being limited to a cosmic age.
The physical aspect of the Vedic gods is anthropomorphic. Thus head,
face, eyes, arms, hands, feet, and other portions of the human
frame are ascribed to them. But their forms are shadowy and their
limbs or parts are often simply meant figuratively to describe their
activities. Thus the tongue and limbs of the fire-god are merely his
flames; the arms of the sun-god are simply his rays, while his eye
only represents the solar orb. Since the outward shape of the gods was
thus vaguely conceived, while their connection with natural phenomena
was in many instances still evident, it is easy to understand why no
mention is made in the Rigveda of images of the gods, still less of
temples, which imply the existence of images. Idols first begin to
be referred to in the Sutras.
Some of the gods appear equipped as warriors, wearing coats of mail
and helmets, and armed with spears, battle-axes, bows and arrows. They
all drive through the air in luminous cars, generally drawn by horses,
but in some cases by kine, goats, or deer. In their cars the gods
come to seat themselves at the sacrifice, which, however, is also
conveyed to them in heaven by Agni. They are on the whole conceived
as dwelling together in harmony; the only one who ever introduces a
note of discord being the warlike and overbearing Indra.
To the successful and therefore optimistic Vedic Indian, the gods
seemed almost exclusively beneficent beings, bestowers of long life
and prosperity. Indeed, the only deity in whom injurious features are
at all prominent is Rudra. The lesser evils closely connected with
human life, such as disease, proceed from minor demons, while the
greater evils manifested in Nature, such as drought and darkness, are
produced by powerful demons like Vritra. The conquest of these demons
brings out all the more strikingly the beneficent nature of the gods.
The character of the Vedic gods is also moral. They are "true" and
"not deceitful," being throughout the friends and guardians of honesty
and virtue. But the divine morality only reflects the ethical standard
of an early civilisation. Thus even the alliance of Varuna, the most
moral of the gods, with righteousness is not such as to prevent him
from employing craft against the hostile and the deceitful man. Moral
elevation is, on the whole, a less prominent characteristic of the
gods than greatness and power.
The relation of the worshipper to the gods in the Rigveda is in
general one of dependence on their will, prayers and sacrifices
being offered to win their favour or forgiveness. The expectation
of something in return for the offering is, however, frequently
apparent, and the keynote of many a hymn is, "I give to thee that
thou mayst give to me." The idea is also often expressed that the
might and valour of the gods is produced by hymns, sacrifices, and
especially offerings of soma. Here we find the germs of sacerdotal
pretensions which gradually increased during the Vedic age. Thus the
statement occurs in the White Yajurveda that the Brahman who possesses
correct knowledge has the gods in his power. The Brahmanas go a step
farther in saying that there are two kinds of gods, the Devas and the
Brahmans, the latter of whom are to be held as deities among men. In
the Brahmanas, too, the sacrifice is represented as all-powerful,
controlling not only the gods, but the very processes of nature.
The number of the gods is stated in the Rigveda itself to be
thirty-three, several times expressed as thrice eleven, when each
group is regarded as corresponding to one of the divisions of the
threefold universe. This aggregate could not always have been deemed
exhaustive, for sometimes other gods are mentioned in addition to the
thirty-three. Nor can this number, of course, include various groups,
such as the storm-gods.
There are, however, hardly twenty individual deities important
enough in the Rigveda to have at least three entire hymns addressed
to them. The most prominent of these are Indra, the thunder-god,
with at least 250 hymns, Agni with about 200, and Soma with over 100;
while Parjanya, god of rain, and Yama, god of the dead, are invoked
in only three each. The rest occupy various positions between these
two extremes. It is somewhat remarkable that the two great deities
of modern Hinduism, Vishnu and Çiva, who are equal in importance,
should have been on the same level, though far below the leading
deities, three thousand years ago, as Vishnu and Rudra (the earlier
form of Çiva) in the Rigveda. Even then they show the same general
characteristics as now, Vishnu being specially benevolent and Rudra
terrible.
The oldest among the gods of heaven is Dyaus (identical with the Greek
Zeus). This personification of the sky as a god never went beyond a
rudimentary stage in the Rigveda, being almost entirely limited to the
idea of paternity. Dyaus is generally coupled with Prithivi, Earth,
the pair being celebrated in six hymns as universal parents. In a
few passages Dyaus is called a bull, ruddy and bellowing downwards,
with reference to the fertilising power of rain no less than to the
lightning and thundering heavens. He is also once compared with a
black steed decked with pearls, in obvious allusion to the nocturnal
star-spangled sky. One poet describes this god as furnished with
a bolt, while another speaks of him as "Dyaus smiling through the
clouds," meaning the lightening sky. In several other passages of
the Rigveda the verb "to smile" (smi) alludes to lightning, just as
in classical Sanskrit a smile is constantly compared with objects of
dazzling whiteness.
A much more important deity of the sky is Varuna, in whom the
personification has proceeded so far that the natural phenomenon which
underlies it can only be inferred from traits in his character. This
obscurity of origin arises partly from his not being a creation of
Indian mythology, but a heritage from an earlier age, and partly
from his name not at the same time designating a natural phenomenon,
like that of Dyaus. The word varuna-s seems to have originally
meant the "encompassing" sky, and is probably the same word as the
Greek Ouranos, though the identification presents some phonetic
difficulties. Varuna is invoked in far fewer hymns than Indra, Agni,
or Soma, but he is undoubtedly the greatest of the Vedic gods by the
side of Indra. While Indra is the great warrior, Varuna is the great
upholder of physical and moral order (rita). The hymns addressed to
him are more ethical and devout in tone than any others. They form
the most exalted portion of the Veda, often resembling in character
the Hebrew psalms. The peaceful sway of Varuna is explained by his
connection with the regularly recurring celestial phenomena, the
course of the heavenly bodies seen in the sky; Indra's warlike and
occasionally capricious nature is accounted for by the variable and
uncertain strife of the elements in the thunderstorm. The character
and power of Varuna may be sketched as nearly as possible in the
words of the Vedic poets themselves as follows. By the law of Varuna
heaven and earth are held apart. He made the golden swing (the sun) to
shine in heaven. He has made a wide path for the sun. The wind which
resounds through the air is Varuna's breath. By his ordinances the
moon shining brightly moves at night, and the stars placed up on high
are seen at night but disappear by day. He causes the rivers to flow;
they stream unceasingly according to his ordinance. By his occult
power the rivers swiftly pouring into the ocean do not fill it with
water. He makes the inverted cask to pour its waters and to moisten
the ground, while the mountains are wrapt in cloud. It is chiefly with
these aërial waters that he is connected, very rarely with the sea.
Varuna's omniscience is often dwelt on. He knows the flight of the
birds in the sky, the path of ships in the ocean, the course of
the far-travelling wind. He beholds all the secret things that have
been or shall be done. He witnesses men's truth and falsehood. No
creature can even wink without him. As a moral governor Varuna stands
far above any other deity. His wrath is roused by sin, which is the
infringement of his ordinances, and which he severely punishes. The
fetters with which he binds sinners are often mentioned. A dispeller,
hater, and punisher of falsehood, he is gracious to the penitent. He
releases men not only from the sins which they themselves commit,
but from those committed by their fathers. He spares the suppliant
who daily transgresses his laws, and is gracious to those who have
broken his ordinances by thoughtlessness. There is, in fact, no hymn
to Varuna in which the prayer for forgiveness of guilt does not occur,
as in the hymns to other deities the prayer for worldly goods.
With the growth of the conception of the creator, Prajapati, as
a supreme deity, the characteristics of Varuna as a sovereign god
naturally faded away, and the dominion of waters, only a part of his
original sphere, alone remained. This is already partly the case in
the Atharva-veda, and in post-Vedic mythology he is only an Indian
Neptune, god of the sea.
The following stanzas from a hymn to Varuna (vii. 89) will illustrate
the spirit of the prayers addressed to him:--
May I not yet, King Varuna,
Go down into the house of clay:
Have mercy, spare me, mighty Lord.
Thirst has come on thy worshipper
Though standing in the waters' midst: [4]
Have mercy, spare me, mighty Lord.
O Varuna, whatever the offence may be
That we as men commit against the heavenly folk
When through our want of thought we violate thy laws,
Chastise us not, O God, for that iniquity.
There are in the Rigveda five solar deities, differentiated as
representing various aspects of the activity of the sun. One of the
oldest of these, Mitra, the "Friend," seems to have been conceived as
the beneficent side of the sun's power. Going back to the Indo-Iranian
period, he has in the Rigveda almost entirely lost his individuality,
which is practically merged in that of Varuna. With the latter he is
constantly invoked, while only one single hymn (iii. 59) is addressed
to him alone.
Surya (cognate in name to the Greek Helios) is the most concrete
of the solar deities. For as his name also designates the luminary
itself, his connection with the latter is never lost sight of. The
eye of Surya is often mentioned, and Dawn is said to bring the eye
of the gods. All-seeing, he is the spy of the whole world, beholding
all beings and the good or bad deeds of mortals. Aroused by Surya, men
pursue their objects and perform their work. He is the soul or guardian
of all that moves and is fixed. He rides in a car, which is generally
described as drawn by seven steeds. These he unyokes at sunset:--
When he has loosed his coursers from their station,
Straightway Night over all spreads out her garment (i. 115, 4).
Surya rolls up the darkness like a skin, and the stars slink away like
thieves. He shines forth from the lap of the dawns. He is also spoken
of as the husband of Dawn. As a form of Agni, the gods placed him in
heaven. He is often described as a bird or eagle traversing space. He
measures the days and prolongs life. He drives away disease and evil
dreams. At his rising he is prayed to declare men sinless to Mitra and
Varuna. All beings depend on Surya, and so he is called "all-creating."
Eleven hymns, or about the same number as to Surya, are addressed to
another solar deity, Savitri, the "Stimulator," who represents the
quickening activity of the sun. He is pre-eminently a golden deity,
with golden hands and arms and a golden car. He raises aloft his
strong golden arms, with which he blesses and arouses all beings,
and which extend to the ends of the earth. He moves in his golden car,
seeing all creatures, on a downward and an upward path. He shines after
the path of the dawn. Beaming with the rays of the sun, yellow-haired,
Savitri raises up his light continually from the east. He removes evil
dreams and drives away demons and sorcerers. He bestows immortality
on the gods as well as length of life on man. He also conducts the
departed spirit to where the righteous dwell. The other gods follow
Savitri's lead; no being, not even the most powerful gods, Indra
and Varuna, can resist his will and independent sway. Savitri is not
infrequently connected with the evening, being in one hymn (ii. 38)
extolled as the setting sun:--
Borne by swift coursers, he will now unyoke them:
The speeding chariot he has stayed from going.
He checks the speed of them that glide like serpents:
Night has come on by Savitri's commandment.
The weaver rolls her outstretched web together,
The skilled lay down their work in midst of toiling,
The birds all seek their nests, their shed the cattle:
Each to his lodging Savitri disperses.
To this god is addressed the most famous stanza of the Rigveda,
with which, as the Stimulator, he was in ancient times invoked at
the beginning of Vedic study, and which is still repeated by every
orthodox Hindu in his morning prayers. From the name of the deity
it is called the Savitri, but it is also often referred to as "the
Gayatri," from the metre in which it is composed:--
May we attain that excellent
Glory of Savitri the god,
That he may stimulate our thoughts (iii. 62, 10).
A peculiarity of the hymns to Savitri is the perpetual play on his name
with forms of the root su, "to stimulate," from which it is derived.
Pushan is invoked in some eight hymns of the Rigveda. His name means
"Prosperer," and the conception underlying his character seems to
be the beneficent power of the sun, manifested chiefly as a pastoral
deity. His car is drawn by goats and he carries a goad. Knowing the
ways of heaven, he conducts the dead on the far path to the fathers. He
is also a guardian of roads, protecting cattle and guiding them with
his goad. The welfare which he bestows results from the protection he
extends to men and cattle on earth, and from his guidance of mortals
to the abodes of bliss in the next world.
Judged by a statistical standard, Vishnu is only a deity of the fourth
rank, less frequently invoked than Surya, Savitri, and Pushan in
the Rigveda, but historically he is the most important of the solar
deities. For he is one of the two great gods of modern Hinduism. The
essential feature of his character is that he takes three strides,
which doubtless represent the course of the sun through the three
divisions of the universe. His highest step is heaven, where the gods
and the fathers dwell. For this abode the poet expresses his longing
in the following words (i. 154, 5):--
May I attain to that, his well-loved dwelling,
Where men devoted to the gods are blessèd:
In Vishnu's highest step--he is our kinsman,
Of mighty stride--there is a spring of nectar.
Vishnu seems to have been originally conceived as the sun, not in
his general character, but as the personified swiftly moving luminary
which with vast strides traverses the three worlds. He is in several
passages said to have taken his three steps for the benefit of man.
To this feature may be traced the myth of the Brahmanas in which Vishnu
appears in the form of a dwarf as an artifice to recover the earth,
now in the possession of demons, by taking his three strides. His
character for benevolence was in post-Vedic mythology developed in
the doctrine of the Avatars ("descents" to earth) or incarnations
which he assumed for the good of humanity.
Ushas, goddess of dawn, is almost the only female deity to whom entire
hymns are addressed, and the only one invoked with any frequency. She,
however, is celebrated in some twenty hymns. The name, meaning the
"Shining One," is cognate to the Latin Aurora and the Greek Eos. When
the goddess is addressed, the physical phenomenon of dawn is never
absent from the poet's mind. The fondness with which the thoughts of
these priestly singers turned to her alone among the goddesses, though
she received no share in the offering of soma like the other gods,
seems to show that the glories of the dawn, more splendid in Northern
India than those we are wont to see, deeply impressed the minds of
these early poets. In any case, she is their most graceful creation,
the charm of which is unsurpassed in the descriptive religious lyrics
of any other literature. Here there are no priestly subtleties to
obscure the brightness of her form, and few allusions to the sacrifice
to mar the natural beauty of the imagery.
To enable the reader to estimate the merit of this poetry I will
string together some utterances about the Dawn goddess, culled from
various hymns, and expressed as nearly as possible in the words of
their composers. Ushas is a radiant maiden, born in the sky, daughter
of Dyaus. She is the bright sister of dark Night. She shines with
the light of her lover, with the light of Surya, who beams after
her path and follows her as a young man a maiden. She is borne on
a brilliant car, drawn by ruddy steeds or kine. Arraying herself in
gay attire like a dancer, she displays her bosom. Clothed upon with
light, the maiden appears in the east and unveils her charms. Rising
resplendent as from a bath, she shows her form. Effulgent in peerless
beauty, she withholds her light from neither small nor great. She
opens wide the gates of heaven; she opens the doors of darkness,
as the cows (issue from) their stall. Her radiant beams appear
like herds of cattle. She removes the black robe of night, warding
off evil spirits and the hated darkness. She awakens creatures that
have feet, and makes the birds fly up: she is the breath and life of
everything. When Ushas shines forth, the birds fly up from their nests
and men seek nourishment. She is the radiant mover of sweet sounds,
the leader of the charm of pleasant voices. Day by day appearing at
the appointed place, she never infringes the rule of order and of the
gods; she goes straight along the path of order; knowing the way,
she never loses her direction. As she shone in former days, so she
shines now and will shine in future, never aging, immortal.
The solitude and stillness of the early morning sometimes suggested
pensive thoughts about the fleeting nature of human life in contrast
with the unending recurrence of the dawn. Thus one poet exclaims:--
Gone are the mortals who in former ages
Beheld the flushing of the earlier morning.
We living men now look upon her shining;
They are coming who shall in future see her (i. 113, 11).
In a similar strain another Rishi sings:--
Again and again newly born though ancient,
Decking her beauty with the self-same colours,
The goddess wastes away the life of mortals,
Like wealth diminished by the skilful player (i. 92, 10).
The following stanzas from one of the finest hymns to Dawn (i. 113)
furnish a more general picture of this fairest creation of Vedic
poetry:--
This light has come, of all the lights the fairest,
The brilliant brightness has been born, far-shining.
Urged onward for god Savitri's uprising,
Night now has yielded up her place to Morning.
The sisters' pathway is the same, unending:
Taught by the gods, alternately they tread it.
Fair-shaped, of different forms and yet one-minded,
Night and Morning clash not, nor do they linger.
Bright leader of glad sounds, she shines effulgent:
Widely she has unclosed for us her portals.
Arousing all the world, she shows us riches:
Dawn has awakened every living creature.
There Heaven's Daughter has appeared before us,
The maiden flushing in her brilliant garments.
Thou sovran lady of all earthly treasure,
Auspicious Dawn, flush here to-day upon us.
In the sky's framework she has shone with splendour;
The goddess has cast off the robe of darkness.
Wakening up the world with ruddy horses,
Upon her well-yoked chariot Dawn is coming.
Bringing upon it many bounteous blessings,
Brightly shining, she spreads her brilliant lustre.
Last of the countless mornings that have gone by,
First of bright morns to come has Dawn arisen.
Arise! the breath, the life, again has reached us:
Darkness has gone away and light is coming.
She leaves a pathway for the sun to travel:
We have arrived where men prolong existence.
Among the deities of celestial light, those most frequently invoked are
the twin gods of morning named Açvins. They are the sons of Heaven,
eternally young and handsome. They ride on a car, on which they are
accompanied by the sun-maiden Surya. This car is bright and sunlike,
and all its parts are golden. The time when these gods appear is the
early dawn, when "darkness still stands among the ruddy cows." At
the yoking of their car Ushas is born.
Many myths are told about the Açvins as succouring divinities. They
deliver from distress in general, especially rescuing from the ocean
in a ship or ships. They are characteristically divine physicians,
who give sight to the blind and make the lame to walk. One very
curious myth is that of the maiden Viçpala, who having had her leg
cut off in some conflict, was at once furnished by the Açvins with an
iron limb. They agree in many respects with the two famous horsemen
of Greek mythology, the Dioskouroi, sons of Zeus and brothers of
Helen. The two most probable theories as to the origin of these twin
deities are, that they represent either the twilight, half dark,
half light, or the morning and evening star.
In the realm of air Indra is the dominant deity. He is, indeed,
the favourite and national god of the Vedic Indian. His importance
is sufficiently indicated by the fact that more than one-fourth of
the Rigveda is devoted to his praise. Handed down from a bygone age,
Indra has become more anthropomorphic and surrounded by mythological
imagery than any other Vedic god. The significance of his character
is nevertheless sufficiently clear. He is primarily the thunder-god,
the conquest of the demon of drought or darkness named Vritra, the
"Obstructor," and the consequent liberation of the waters or the
winning of light, forming his mythological essence. This myth furnishes
the Rishis with an ever-recurring theme. Armed with his thunderbolt,
exhilarated by copious draughts of soma, and generally escorted by
the Maruts or Storm-gods, Indra enters upon the fray. The conflict is
terrible. Heaven and earth tremble with fear when Indra smites Vritra
like a tree with his bolt. He is described as constantly repeating
the combat. This obviously corresponds to the perpetual renewal of
the natural phenomena underlying the myth. The physical elements in
the thunderstorm are seldom directly mentioned by the poets when
describing the exploits of Indra. He is rarely said to shed rain,
but constantly to release the pent-up waters or rivers. The lightning
is regularly the "bolt," while thunder is the lowing of the cows or
the roaring of the dragon. The clouds are designated by various names,
such as cow, udder, spring, cask, or pail. They are also rocks (adri),
which encompass the cows set free by Indra. They are further mountains
from which Indra casts down the demons dwelling upon them. They
thus often become fortresses (pur) of the demons, which are ninety,
ninety-nine, or a hundred in number, and are variously described as
"moving," "autumnal," "made of iron or stone." One stanza (x. 89, 7)
thus brings together the various features of the myth: "Indra slew
Vritra, broke the castles, made a channel for the rivers, pierced
the mountain, and delivered over the cows to his friends." Owing to
the importance of the Vritra myth, the chief and specific epithet of
Indra is Vritrahan, "slayer of Vritra." The following stanzas are from
one of the most graphic of the hymns which celebrate the conflict of
Indra with the demon (i. 32):--
I will proclaim the manly deeds of Indra,
The first that he performed, the lightning-wielder.
He smote the dragon, then discharged the waters,
And cleft the caverns of the lofty mountains.
Impetuous as a bull, he chose the soma,
And drank in threefold vessels of its juices.
The Bounteous god grasped lightning for his missile,
He struck down dead that first-born of the dragons.
Him lightning then availèd naught, nor thunder,
Nor mist nor hailstorm which he spread around him:
When Indra and the dragon strove in battle,
The Bounteous god gained victory for ever.
Plunged in the midst of never-ceasing torrents,
That stand not still but ever hasten onward,
The waters bear off Vritra's hidden body:
Indra's fierce foe sank down to lasting darkness.
With the liberation of the waters is connected the winning of light
and the sun. Thus we read that when Indra had slain the dragon Vritra
with his bolt, releasing the waters for man, he placed the sun visibly
in the heavens, or that the sun shone forth when Indra blew the dragon
from the air.
Indra naturally became the god of battle, and is more frequently
invoked than any other deity as a helper in conflicts with earthly
enemies. In the words of one poet, he protects the Aryan colour
(varna) and subjects the black skin; while another extols him for
having dispersed 50,000 of the black race and rent their citadels. His
combats are frequently called gavishti, "desire of cows," his gifts
being considered the result of victories.
The following stanzas (ii. 12, 2 and 13) will serve as a specimen of
the way in which the greatness of Indra is celebrated:--
Who made the widespread earth when quaking steadfast,
Who brought to rest the agitated mountains.
Who measured out air's intermediate spaces,
Who gave the sky support: he, men, is Indra.
Heaven and earth themselves bow down before him,
Before his might the very mountains tremble.
Who, known as Soma-drinker, armed with lightning,
Is wielder of the bolt: he, men, is Indra.
To the more advanced anthropomorphism of Indra's nature are due
the occasional immoral traits which appear in his character. Thus
he sometimes indulges in acts of capricious violence, such as the
slaughter of his father or the destruction of the car of Dawn. He
is especially addicted to soma, of which he is described as drinking
enormous quantities to stimulate him in the performance of his warlike
exploits. One entire hymn (x. 119) consists of a monologue in which
Indra, inebriated with soma, boasts of his greatness and power. Though
of little poetic merit, this piece has a special interest as being
by far the earliest literary description of the mental effects,
braggadocio in particular, produced by intoxication. In estimating
the morality of Indra's excesses, it should not be forgotten that the
exhilaration of soma partook of a religious character in the eyes of
the Vedic poets.
Indra's name is found in the Avesta as that of a demon. His
distinctive Vedic epithet, Vritrahan, also occurs there in the form
of verethraghna, as a designation of the god of victory. Hence there
was probably in the Indo-Iranian period a god approaching to the
Vedic form of the Vritra-slaying and victorious Indra.
In comparing historically Varuna and Indra, whose importance was
about equal in the earlier period of the Rigveda, it seems clear that
Varuna was greater in the Indo-Iranian period, but became inferior
to Indra in later Vedic times. Indra, on the other hand, became in
the Brahmanas and Epics the chief of the Indian heaven, and even
maintained this position under the Puranic triad, Brahma-Vishnu-Çiva,
though of course subordinate to them.
At least three of the lesser deities of the air are connected with
lightning. One of these is the somewhat obscure god Trita, who is
only mentioned in detached verses of the Rigveda. The name appears
to designate the "third" (Greek, trito-s), as the lightning form of
fire. His frequent epithet, Aptya, seems to mean the "watery." This god
goes back to the Indo-Iranian period, as both his name and his epithet
are found in the Avesta. But he was gradually ousted by Indra as being
originally almost identical in character with the latter. Another
deity of rare occurrence in the Rigveda, and also dating from the
Indo-Iranian period, is Apam napat, the "Son of Waters." He is
described as clothed in lightning and shining without fuel in the
waters. There can, therefore, be little doubt that he represents fire
as produced from the rain-clouds in the form of lightning. Matariçvan,
seldom mentioned in the Rigveda, is a divine being described as having,
like the Greek Prometheus, brought down the hidden fire from heaven to
earth. He most probably represents the personification of a celestial
form of Agni, god of fire, with whom he is in some passages actually
identified. In the later Vedas, the Brahmanas, and the subsequent
literature, the name has become simply a designation of wind.
The position occupied by the god Rudra in the Rigveda is very
different from that of his historical successor in a later age. He is
celebrated in only three or four hymns, while his name is mentioned
slightly less often than that of Vishnu. He is usually said to be
armed with bow and arrows, but a lightning shaft and a thunderbolt
are also occasionally assigned to him. He is described as fierce
and destructive like a wild beast, and is called "the ruddy boar
of heaven." The hymns addressed to him chiefly express fear of his
terrible shafts and deprecation of his wrath. His malevolence is
still more prominent in the later Vedic literature. The euphemistic
epithet Çiva, "auspicious," already applied to him in the Rigveda,
and more frequently, though not exclusively, in the younger Vedas,
became his regular name in the post-Vedic period. Rudra is, of course,
not purely malevolent like a demon. He is besought not only to preserve
from calamity but to bestow blessings and produce welfare for man
and beast. His healing powers are mentioned with especial frequency,
and he is lauded as the greatest of physicians.
Prominent among the gods of the Rigveda are the Maruts or Storm-gods,
who form a group of thrice seven or thrice sixty. They are the sons
of Rudra and the mottled cloud-cow Priçni. At birth they are compared
with fires, and are once addressed as "born from the laughter of
lightning." They are a troop of youthful warriors armed with spears
or battle-axes and wearing helmets upon their heads. They are decked
with golden ornaments, chiefly in the form of armlets or of anklets:--
They gleam with armlets as the heavens are decked with stars;
Like cloud-born lightnings shine the torrents of their rain
(ii. 34, 2).
They ride on golden cars which gleam with lightning, while they hold
fiery lightnings in their hands:--
The lightnings smile upon the earth below them
What time the Maruts sprinkle forth their fatness.--(i. 168, 8).
They drive with coursers which are often described as spotted, and
they are once said to have yoked the winds as steeds to their pole.
The Maruts are fierce and terrible, like lions or wild boars. With
the fellies of their car they rend the hills:--
The Maruts spread the mist abroad,
And make the mountains rock and reel,
When with the winds they go their way (viii. 7, 4).
They shatter the lords of the forest and like wild elephants devour
the woods:--
Before you, fierce ones, even woods bow down in fear,
The earth herself, the very mountain trembles (v. 60, 2).
One of their main functions is to shed rain. They are clad in a robe
of rain, and cover the eye of the sun with showers. They bedew the
earth with milk; they shed fatness (ghee); they milk the thundering,
the never-failing spring; they wet the earth with mead; they pour
out the heavenly pail:--
The rivers echo to their chariot fellies
What time they utter forth the voice of rain-clouds.--(i. 168, 8).
In allusion to the sound of the winds the Maruts are often called
singers, and as such aid Indra in his fight with the demon. They are,
indeed, his constant associates in all his celestial conflicts.
The God of Wind, called Vayu or Vata, is not a prominent deity in
the Rigveda, having only three entire hymns addressed to him. The
personification is more developed under the name of Vayu, who is
mostly associated with Indra, while Vata is coupled only with the less
anthropomorphic rain-god, Parjanya. Vayu is swift as thought and has
roaring velocity. He has a shining car drawn by a team or a pair of
ruddy steeds. On this car, which has a golden seat and touches the
sky, Indra is his companion. Vata, as also the ordinary designation
of wind, is celebrated in a more concrete manner. His name is often
connected with the verb va, "to blow," from which it is derived. Like
Rudra, he wafts healing and prolongs life; for he has the treasure of
immortality in his house. The poet of a short hymn (x. 168) devoted
to his praise thus describes him:--
Of Vata's car I now will praise the greatness:
Crashing it speeds along; its noise is thunder.
Touching the sky, it goes on causing lightnings;
Scattering the dust of earth it hurries forward.
In air upon his pathways hastening onward,
Never on any day he tarries resting.
The first-born order-loving friend of waters,
Where, pray, was he born? say, whence came he hither?
The soul of gods, and of the world the offspring,
This god according to his liking wanders.
His sound is heard, but ne'er is seen his figure.
This Vata let us now with offerings worship.
Another deity of air is Parjanya, god of rain, who is invoked
in but three hymns, and is only mentioned some thirty times
in the Rigveda. The name in several passages still means simply
"rain-cloud." The personification is therefore always closely connected
with the phenomenon of the rain-storm, in which the rain-cloud itself
becomes an udder, a pail, or a water-skin. Often likened to a bull,
Parjanya is characteristically a shedder of rain. His activity is
described in very vivid strains (v. 83):--
The trees he strikes to earth and smites the demon crew:
The whole world fears the wielder of the mighty bolt.
The guiltless man himself flees from the potent god,
What time Parjanya thund'ring smites the miscreant.
Like a car-driver urging on his steeds with whips,
He causes to bound forth the messengers of rain.
From far away the lion's roar reverberates,
What time Parjanya fills the atmosphere with rain.
Forth blow the winds, to earth the lightning flashes fall,
Up shoot the herbs, the realm of light with moisture streams;
Nourishment in abundance springs for all the world,
What time Parjanya quickeneth the earth with seed.
Thunder and roar: the vital germ deposit!
With water-bearing chariot fly around us!
Thy water-skin unloosed to earth draw downward:
With moisture make the heights and hollows equal!
The Waters are praised as goddesses in four hymns of the Rigveda. The
personification, however, hardly goes beyond representing them as
mothers, young wives, and goddesses who bestow boons and come to the
sacrifice. As mothers they produce Agni, whose lightning form is,
as we have seen, called Apam Napat, "Son of Waters." The divine
waters bear away defilement, and are even invoked to cleanse from
moral guilt, the sins of violence, cursing, and lying. They bestow
remedies, healing, long life, and immortality. Soma delights in the
waters as a young man in lovely maidens; he approaches them as a lover;
they are maidens who bow down before the youth.
Several rivers are personified and invoked as deities in the
Rigveda. One hymn (x. 75) celebrates the Sindhu or Indus, while
another (iii. 33) sings the praises of the sister streams Vipaç and
Çutudri. Sarasvati is, however, the most important river goddess,
being lauded in three entire hymns as well as in many detached
verses. The personification here goes much further than in the case
of other streams; but the poets never lose sight of the connection of
the goddess with the river. She is the best of mothers, of rivers,
and of goddesses. Her unfailing breast yields riches of every kind,
and she bestows wealth, plenty, nourishment, and offspring. One
poet prays that he may not be removed from her to fields which are
strange. She is invoked to descend from the sky, from the great
mountain, to the sacrifice. Such expressions may have suggested the
notion of the celestial origin and descent of the Ganges, familiar
to post-Vedic mythology. Though simply a river deity in the Rigveda,
Sarasvati is in the Brahmanas identified with Vach, goddess of speech,
and has in post-Vedic mythology become the goddess of eloquence and
wisdom, invoked as a muse, and regarded as the wife of Brahma.
Earth, Prithivi, the Broad One, hardly ever dissociated from Dyaus, is
celebrated alone in only one short hymn of three stanzas (v. 84). Even
here the poet cannot refrain from introducing references to her
heavenly spouse as he addresses the goddess,
Who, firmly fixt, the forest trees
With might supportest in the ground:
When from the lightning of thy cloud
The rain-floods of the sky pour down.
The personification is only rudimentary, the attributes of the goddess
being chiefly those of the physical earth.
The most important of the terrestrial deities is Agni, god of
fire. Next to Indra he is the most prominent of the Vedic gods,
being celebrated in more than 200 hymns. It is only natural that
the personification of the sacrificial fire, the centre around
which the ritual poetry of the Veda moves, should engross so much
of the attention of the Rishis. Agni being also the regular name
of the element (Latin, igni-s), the anthropomorphism of the deity
is but slight. The bodily parts of the god have a clear connection
with the phenomena of terrestrial fire mainly in its sacrificial
aspect. In allusion to the oblation of ghee cast in the fire, Agni
is "butter-backed," "butter-faced," or "butter-haired." He is also
"flame-haired," and has a tawny beard. He has sharp, shining, golden,
or iron teeth and burning jaws. Mention is also often made of his
tongue or tongues. He is frequently compared with or directly called
a steed, being yoked to the pole of the rite in order to waft the
sacrifice to the gods. He is also often likened to a bird, being winged
and darting with rapid flight to the gods. He eats and chews the forest
with sharp tooth. His lustre is like the rays of dawn or of the sun,
and resembles the lightnings of the rain-cloud; but his track and his
fellies are black, and his steeds make black furrows. Driven by the
wind, he rushes through the wood. He invades the forests and shears
the hairs of the earth, shaving it as a barber a beard. His flames
are like the roaring waves of the sea. He bellows like a bull when he
invades the forest trees; the birds are terrified at the noise when
his grass-devouring sparks arise. Like the erector of a pillar, he
supports the sky with his smoke; and one of his distinctive epithets
is "smoke-bannered." He is borne on a brilliant car, drawn by two
or more steeds, which are ruddy or tawny and wind-impelled. He yokes
them to summon the gods, for he is the charioteer of the sacrifice.
The poets love to dwell on his various births, forms, and abodes. They
often refer to the daily generation of Agni by friction from the
two fire-sticks. These are his parents, producing him as a new-born
infant who is hard to catch. From the dry wood the god is born
living; the child as soon as born devours his parents. The ten
maidens said to produce him are the ten fingers used in twirling
the upright fire-drill. Agni is called "Son of strength" because
of the powerful friction necessary in kindling a flame. As the
fire is lit every morning for the sacrifice, Agni is described as
"waking at dawn." Hence, too, he is the "youngest" of the gods;
but he is also old, for he conducted the first sacrifice. Thus he
comes to be paradoxically called both "ancient" and "very young"
in the same passage.
Agni also springs from the aërial waters, and is often said to
have been brought from heaven. Born on earth, in air, in heaven,
Agni is frequently regarded as having a triple character. The gods
made him threefold, his births are three, and he has three abodes
or dwellings. "From heaven first Agni was born, the second time from
us (i.e. men), thirdly in the waters." This earliest Indian trinity
is important as the basis of much of the mystical speculation of the
Vedic age. It was probably the prototype not only of the later Rigvedic
triad, Sun, Wind, Fire, spoken of as distributed in the three worlds,
but also of the triad Sun, Indra, Fire, which, though not Rigvedic,
is still ancient. It is most likely also the historical progenitor
of the later Hindu trinity of Brahma, Vishnu, Çiva. This triad of
fires may have suggested and would explain the division of a single
sacrificial fire into the three which form an essential feature of
the cult of the Brahmanas.
Owing to the multiplicity of terrestrial fires, Agni is also said
to have many births; for he abides in every family, house, or
dwelling. Kindled in many spots, he is but one; scattered in many
places, he is one and the same king. Other fires are attached to him
as branches to a tree. He assumes various divine forms, and has many
names; but in him are comprehended all the gods, whom he surrounds
as a felly the spokes. Thus we find the speculations about Agni's
various forms leading to the monotheistic notion of a unity pervading
the many manifestations of the divine.
Agni is an immortal who has taken up his abode among mortals; he is
constantly called a "guest" in human dwellings; and is the only god to
whom the frequent epithet grihapati, "lord of the house," is applied.
As the conductor of sacrifice, Agni is repeatedly called both a
"messenger" who moves between heaven and earth and a priest. He is
indeed the great priest, just as Indra is the great warrior.
Agni is, moreover, a mighty benefactor of his worshippers. With
a thousand eyes he watches over the man who offers him oblations;
but consumes his worshippers' enemies like dry bushes, and strikes
down the malevolent like a tree destroyed by lightning. All blessings
issue from him as branches from a tree. All treasures are collected
in him, and he opens the door of wealth. He gives rain from heaven
and is like a spring in the desert. The boons which he confers are,
however, chiefly domestic welfare, offspring, and general prosperity,
while Indra for the most part grants victory, booty, power, and glory.
Probably the oldest function of fire in regard to its cult is that
of burning and dispelling evil spirits and hostile magic. It still
survives in the Rigveda from an earlier age, Agni being said to drive
away the goblins with his light and receiving the epithet rakshohan,
"goblin-slayer." This activity is at any rate more characteristic of
Agni than of any other deity, both in the hymns and in the ritual of
the Vedas.
Since the soma sacrifice, beside the cult of fire, forms a main
feature in the ritual of the Rigveda, the god Soma is naturally one
of its chief deities. The whole of the ninth book, in addition to
a few scattered hymns elsewhere, is devoted to his praise. Thus,
judged by the standard of frequency of mention, Soma comes third in
order of importance among the Vedic gods. The constant presence of
the soma plant and its juice before their eyes set limits to the
imagination of the poets who describe its personification. Hence
little is said of Soma's human form or action. The ninth book mainly
consists of incantations sung over the soma while it is pressed by
the stones and flows through the woollen strainer into the wooden
vats, in which it is finally offered as a beverage to the gods on a
litter of grass. The poets are chiefly concerned with these processes,
overlaying them with chaotic imagery and mystical fancies of almost
infinite variety. When Soma is described as being purified by the
ten maidens who are sisters, or by the daughters of Vivasvat (the
rising sun), the ten fingers are meant. The stones used in pounding
the shoots on a skin "chew him on the hide of a cow." The flowing
of the juice into jars or vats after passing through the filter of
sheep's wool is described in various ways. The streams of soma rush
to the forest of the vats like buffaloes. The god flies like a bird
to settle in the vats. The Tawny One settles in the bowls like a bird
sitting on a tree. The juice being mixed with water in the vat, Soma
is said to rush into the lap of the waters like a roaring bull on the
herd. Clothing himself in waters, he rushes around the vat, impelled by
the singers. Playing in the wood, he is cleansed by the ten maidens. He
is the embryo or child of waters, which are called his mothers. When
the priests add milk to soma "they clothe him in cow-garments."
The sound made by the soma juice flowing into the vats or bowls is
often referred to in hyperbolical language. Thus a poet says that "the
sweet drop flows over the filter like the din of combatants." This
sound is constantly described as roaring, bellowing, or occasionally
even thundering. In such passages Soma is commonly compared with or
called a bull, and the waters, with or without milk, are termed cows.
Owing to the yellow colour of the juice, the physical quality of Soma
mainly dwelt upon by the poets is his brilliance. His rays are often
referred to, and he is frequently assimilated to the sun.
The exhilarating and invigorating action of soma led to its being
regarded as a divine drink that bestows everlasting life. Hence
it is called amrita, the "immortal" draught (allied to the Greek
ambrosia). Soma is the stimulant which conferred immortality upon
the gods. Soma also places his worshipper in the imperishable world
where there is eternal light and glory, making him immortal where
King Yama dwells. Thus soma naturally has medicinal power also. It
is medicine for a sick man, and the god Soma heals whatever is sick,
making the blind to see and the lame to walk.
Soma when imbibed stimulates the voice, which it impels as the rower
his boat. Soma also awakens eager thought, and the worshippers of the
god exclaim, "We have drunk soma, we have become immortal, we have
entered into light, we have known the gods." The intoxicating power
of soma is chiefly, and very frequently, dwelt on in connection with
Indra, whom it stimulates in his conflict with the hostile demons of
the air.
Being the most important of herbs, soma is spoken of as lord of
plants or their king, receiving also the epithet vanaspati, "lord of
the forest."
Soma is several times described as dwelling or growing on the
mountains, in accordance with the statements of the Avesta about
Haoma. Its true origin and abode is regarded as heaven, whence it has
been brought down to earth. This belief is most frequently embodied in
the myth of the soma-bringing eagle (çyena), which is probably only
the mythological account of the simple phenomenon of the descent of
lightning and the simultaneous fall of rain.
In some of the latest hymns of the Rigveda Soma begins to be somewhat
obscurely identified with the moon. In the Atharva-veda Soma several
times means the moon, and in the Yajurveda Soma is spoken of as having
the lunar mansions for his wives. The identification is a commonplace
in the Brahmanas, which explain the waning of the moon as due to the
gods and fathers eating up the ambrosia of which it consists. In one
of the Upanishads, moreover, the statement occurs that the moon is
King Soma, the food of the gods, and is drunk up by them. Finally,
in post-Vedic literature Soma is a regular name of the moon, which is
regarded as being consumed by the gods, and consequently waning till
it is filled up again by the sun. This somewhat remarkable coalescence
of Soma with the moon doubtless sprang from the hyperbolical terms in
which the poets of the Rigveda dwell on Soma's celestial nature and
brilliance, which they describe as dispelling darkness. They sometimes
speak of it as swelling in the waters, and often refer to the sap as
a "drop" (indu). Comparisons with the moon would thus easily suggest
themselves. In one passage of the Rigveda, for instance, Soma in the
bowls is said to appear like the moon in the waters. The mystical
speculations with which the Soma poetry teems would soon complete
the symbolism.
A comparison of the Avesta with the Rigveda shows clearly that soma
was already an important feature in the mythology and cult of the
Indo-Iranian age. In both it is described as growing on the mountains,
whence it is brought by birds; in both it is king of plants; in both
a medicine bestowing long life and removing death. In both the sap
was pressed and mixed with milk; in both its mythical home is heaven,
whence it comes down to earth; in both the draught has become a mighty
god; in both the celestial Soma is distinguished from the terrestrial,
the god from the beverage. The similarity goes so far that Soma and
Haoma have even some individual epithets in common.
The evolution of thought in the Rigvedic period shows a tendency to
advance from the concrete to the abstract. One result of this tendency
is the creation of abstract deities, which, however, are still rare,
occurring for the most part in the last book only. A few of them are
deifications of abstract nouns, such as Çraddha "Faith," invoked in
one short hymn, and Manyu, "Wrath," in two. These abstractions grow
more numerous in the later Vedas. Thus Kama, "Desire," first appears
in the Atharva-veda, where the arrows with which he pierces hearts
are already referred to; he is the forerunner of the flower-arrowed
god of love, familiar in classical literature. More numerous is
the class of abstractions comprising deities whose names denote an
agent, such as Dhatri, "Creator," or an attribute, such as Prajapati,
"Lord of Creatures." These do not appear to be direct abstractions,
but seem to be derived from epithets designating a particular aspect
of activity or character, which at first applying to one or more
of the older deities, finally acquired an independent value. Thus
Prajapati, originally an epithet of such gods as Savitri and Soma,
occurs in a late verse of the last book as a distinct deity possessing
the attribute of a creator. This god is in the Atharva-veda and the
Vajasaneyi-Samhita often, and in the Brahmanas regularly, recognised
as the chief deity, the father of the gods. In the Sutras, Prajapati
is identified with Brahma, his successor in the post-Vedic age.
A hymn of the tenth book furnishes an interesting illustration of the
curious way in which such abstractions sometimes come into being. Here
is one of the stanzas:--
By whom the mighty sky, the earth so steadfast,
The realm of light, heaven's vault, has been established,
Who in the air the boundless space traverses:
What god should we with sacrifices worship?
The fourth line here is the refrain of nine successive stanzas, in
which the creator is referred to as unknown, with the interrogative
pronoun ka, "what?" This ka in the later Vedic literature came to be
employed not only as an epithet of the creator Prajapati, but even
as an independent name of the supreme god.
A deity of an abstract character occurring in the oldest as well as
the latest parts of the Rigveda is Brihaspati, "Lord of Prayer." Roth
and other distinguished Vedic scholars regard him as a direct
personification of devotion. In the opinion of the present writer,
however, he is only an indirect deification of the sacrificial activity
of Agni, a god with whom he has undoubtedly much in common. Thus
the most prominent feature of his character is his priesthood. Like
Agni, he has been drawn into and has obtained a firm footing in the
Indra myth. Thus he is often described as driving out the cows after
vanquishing the demon Vala. As the divine brahma priest, Brihaspati
seems to have been the prototype of the god Brahma, chief of the later
Hindu trinity. But the name Brihaspati itself survived in post-Vedic
mythology as the designation of a sage, the teacher of the gods,
and regent of the planet Jupiter.
Another abstraction, and one of a very peculiar kind, is the
goddess Aditi. Though not the subject of any separate hymn, she is
often incidentally celebrated. She has two, and only two, prominent
characteristics. She is, in the first place, the mother of the small
group of gods called Adityas, of whom Varuna is the chief. Secondly,
she has, like her son Varuna, the power of releasing from the bonds
of physical suffering and moral guilt. With the latter trait her
name, which means "unbinding," "freedom," is clearly connected. The
unpersonified sense seems to survive in a few passages of the
Rigveda. Thus a poet prays for the "secure and unlimited gift of
aditi." The origin of the abstraction is probably to be explained
as follows. The expression "sons of Aditi," which is several times
applied to the Adityas, when first used in all likelihood meant "sons
of liberation," to emphasise a salient trait of their character,
according to a turn of language common in the Rigveda. The feminine
word "liberation" (aditi) used in this connection would then have
become personified by a process which has more than one parallel in
Sanskrit. Thus Aditi, a goddess of Indian origin, is historically
younger than some at least of her sons, who can be traced back to a
pre-Indian age.
Goddesses, as a whole, occupy a very subordinate position in Vedic
belief. They play hardly any part as rulers of the world. The only
one of any consequence is Ushas. The next in importance, Sarasvati,
ranks only with the least prominent of the male gods. One of the few,
besides Prithivi, to whom an entire hymn is addressed, is Ratri,
Night. Like her sister Dawn, with whom she is often coupled, she
is addressed as a daughter of the sky. She is conceived not as the
dark, but as the bright starlit night. Thus, in contrasting the twin
goddesses, a poet says, "One decks herself with stars, with sunlight
the other." The following stanzas are from the hymn addressed to Night
(x. 127):--
Night coming on, the goddess shines
In many places with her eyes:
All-glorious she has decked herself.
Immortal goddess, far and wide
She fills the valleys and the heights:
Darkness with light she overcomes.
And now the goddess coming on
Has driven away her sister Dawn:
Far off the darkness hastes away.
Thus, goddess, come to us to-day,
At whose approach we seek our homes,
As birds upon the tree their nest.
The villagers have gone to rest,
Beasts, too, with feet and birds with wings:
The hungry hawk himself is still.
Ward off the she-wolf and the wolf,
Ward off the robber, goddess Night:
And take us safe across the gloom.
Goddesses, as wives of the great gods, play a still more insignificant
part, being entirely devoid of independent character. Indeed, hardly
anything about them is mentioned but their names, which are simply
formed from those of their male consorts by means of feminine suffixes.
A peculiar feature of Vedic mythology is the invocation in couples
of a number of deities whose names are combined in the form of dual
compounds. About a dozen such pairs are celebrated in entire hymns,
and some half-dozen others in detached stanzas. By far the greatest
number of such hymns is addressed to Mitra-Varuna, but the names
most often found combined in this way are those of Heaven and Earth
(Dyavaprithivi). There can be little doubt that the latter couple
furnished the analogy for this favourite formation. For the association
of this pair, traceable as far back as the Indo-European period,
appeared to early thought so intimate in nature, that the myth of
their conjugal union is found widely diffused among primitive peoples.
Besides these pairs of deities there is a certain number of more
or less definite groups of divine beings generally associated with
some particular god. The largest and most important of these are the
Maruts or Storm-gods, who, as we have seen, constantly attend Indra
on his warlike exploits. The same group, under the name of Rudras,
is occasionally associated with their father Rudra. The smaller group
of the Adityas is constantly mentioned in company with their mother
Aditi, or their chief Varuna. Their number in two passages of the
Rigveda is stated as seven or eight, while in the Brahmanas and later
it is regularly twelve. Some eight or ten hymns of the Rigveda are
addressed to them collectively. The following lines are taken from one
(viii. 47) in which their aid and protection is specially invoked:--
As birds extend their sheltering wings,
Spread your protection over us.
As charioteers avoid ill roads,
May dangers always pass us by.
Resting in you, O gods, we are
Like men that fight in coats of mail.
Look down on us, O Adityas,
Like spies observing from the bank:
Lead us to paths of pleasantness,
Like horses to an easy ford.
A third and much less important group is that of the Vasus, mostly
associated with Indra in the Rigveda, though in later Vedic texts
Agni becomes their leader. They are a vague group, for they are not
characterised, having neither individual names nor any definite
number. The Brahmanas, however, mention eight of them. Finally,
there are the Viçvedevas or All-gods, to whom some sixty hymns are
addressed. It is a factitious sacrificial group meant to embrace the
whole pantheon in order that none should be excluded in invocations
intended to be addressed to all. Strange to say, the All-gods are
sometimes conceived as a narrower group, which is invoked with others
like the Vasus and Adityas.
Besides the higher gods the Rigveda knows a number of mythical beings
not regarded as possessing the divine nature to the full extent and
from the beginning. The most important of these are the Ribhus who
form a triad, and are addressed in eleven hymns. Characteristically
deft-handed, they are often said to have acquired the rank of deities
by their marvellous skill. Among the five great feats of dexterity
whereby they became gods, the greatest--in which they appear as
successful rivals of Tvashtri, the artificer god--consists in their
having transformed his bowl, the drinking vessel of the gods, into four
shining cups. This bowl perhaps represents the moon, the four cups
being its phases. It has also been interpreted as the year with its
division into seasons. The Ribhus are further said to have renewed
the youth of their parents, by whom Heaven and Earth seem to have
been meant. With this miraculous deed another myth told about them
appears to be specially connected. They rested for twelve days in the
house of the sun, Agohya ("who cannot be concealed"). This sojourn
of the Ribhus in the house of the sun in all probability alludes to
the winter solstice, the twelve days being the addition which was
necessary to bring the lunar year of 354 into harmony with the solar
year of nearly 366 days, and was intercalated before the days begin to
grow perceptibly longer. On the whole, it seems likely that the Ribhus
were originally terrestrial or aërial elves, whose dexterity gradually
attracted to them various myths illustrative of marvellous skill.
In a few passages of the Rigveda mention is made of a celestial
water-nymph called Apsaras ("moving in the waters"), who is regarded
as the spouse of a corresponding male genius called Gandharva. The
Apsaras, in the words of the poet, smiles at her beloved in the
highest heaven. More Apsarases than one are occasionally spoken
of. Their abode is in the later Vedas extended to the earth, where
they especially frequent trees, which resound with the music of their
lutes and cymbals. The Brahmanas describe them as distinguished by
great beauty and devoted to dance, song, and play. In the post-Vedic
period they become the courtesans of Indra's heaven. The Apsarases are
loved not only by the Gandharvas but occasionally even by men. Such
an one was Urvaçi. A dialogue between her and her earthly spouse,
Pururavas, is contained in a somewhat obscure hymn of the Rigveda
(x. 95). The nymph is here made to say:--
Among mortals in other form I wandered,
And dwelt for many nights throughout four autumns.
Her lover implores her to return; but, though his request is refused,
he (like Tithonus) receives the promise of immortality. The Çatapatha
Brahmana tells the story in a more connected and detailed form. Urvaçi
is joined with Pururavas in an alliance, the permanence of which
depends on a condition. When this is broken by a stratagem of the
Gandharvas, the nymph immediately vanishes from the sight of her
lover. Pururavas, distracted, roams in search of her, till at last
he observes her swimming in a lotus lake with other Apsarases in
the form of an aquatic bird. Urvaçi discovers herself to him, and
in response to his entreaties, consents to return for once after the
lapse of a year. This myth in the post-Vedic age furnished the theme
of Kalidasa's play Vikramorvaçi.
Gandharva appears to have been conceived originally as a single
being. For in the Rigveda the name nearly always occurs in the
singular, and in the Avesta, where it is found a few times in the
form of Gandarewa, only in the singular. According to the Rigveda,
this genius, the lover of the water-nymph, dwells in the fathomless
spaces of air, and stands erect on the vault of heaven. He is also a
guardian of the celestial soma, and is sometimes, as in the Avesta,
connected with the waters. In the later Vedas the Gandharvas form
a class, their association with the Apsarases being so frequent as
to amount to a stereotyped phrase. In the post-Vedic age they have
become celestial singers, and the notion of their home being in the
realm of air survives in the expression "City of the Gandharvas"
as one of the Sanskrit names for "mirage."
Among the numerous ancient priests and heroes of the Rigveda the most
important is Manu, the first sacrificer and the ancestor of the human
race. The poets refer to him as "our father," and speak of sacrificers
as "the people of Manu." The Çatapatha Brahmana makes Manu play the
part of a Noah in the history of human descent.
A group of ancient priests are the Angirases, who are closely
associated with Indra in the myth of the capture of the cows. Another
ancient race of mythical priests are the Bhrigus, to whom the Indian
Prometheus, Matariçvan, brought the hidden Agni from heaven, and whose
function was the establishment and diffusion of the sacrificial fire
on earth.
A numerically definite group of ancestral priests, rarely mentioned in
the Rigveda, are the seven Rishis or seers. In the Brahmanas they came
to be regarded as the seven stars in the constellation of the Great
Bear, and are said to have been bears in the beginning. This curious
identification was doubtless brought about partly by the sameness of
the number in the two cases, and partly by the similarity of sound
between rishi, "seer," and riksha, which in the Rigveda means both
"star" and "bear."
Animals play a considerable part in the mythological and religious
conceptions of the Veda. Among them the horse is conspicuous as drawing
the cars of the gods, and in particular as representing the sun under
various names. In the Vedic ritual the horse was regarded as symbolical
of the sun and of fire. Two hymns of the Rigveda (i. 162-163) which
deal with the subject, further show that horse-sacrifice was practised
in the earliest age of Indian antiquity.
The cow, however, is the animal which figures most largely in the
Rigveda. This is undoubtedly due to the important position, resulting
from its pre-eminent utility, occupied by this animal even in the
remotest period of Indian life. The beams of dawn and the clouds
are cows. The rain-cloud, personified under the name of Priçni, "the
speckled one," is a cow, the mother of the Storm-gods. The bountiful
clouds on which all wealth in India depended, were doubtless the
prototypes of the many-coloured cows which yield all desires in
the heaven of the blest described by the Atharva-veda, and which
are the forerunners of the "Cow of Plenty" (Kamaduh) so familiar
to post-Vedic poetry. The earth itself is often spoken of by the
poets of the Rigveda as a cow. That this animal already possessed a
sacred character is shown by the fact that one Rishi addresses a cow
as Aditi and a goddess, impressing upon his hearers that she should
not be slain. Aghnya ("not to be killed"), a frequent designation
of the cow in the Rigveda, points in the same direction. Indeed
the evidence of the Avesta proves that the sanctity of this animal
goes back even to the Indo-Iranian period. In the Atharva-veda the
worship of the cow is fully recognised, while the Çatapatha Brahmana
emphasises the evil consequences of eating beef. The sanctity of the
cow has not only survived in India down to the present day, but has
even gathered strength with the lapse of time. The part played by the
greased cartridges in the Indian Mutiny is sufficient to prove this
statement. To no other animal has mankind owed so much, and the debt
has been richly repaid in India with a veneration unknown in other
lands. So important a factor has the cow proved in Indian life and
thought, that an exhaustive account of her influence from the earliest
times would form a noteworthy chapter in the history of civilisation.
Among the noxious animals of the Rigveda the serpent is the most
prominent. This is the form which the powerful demon, the foe of Indra,
is believed to possess. The serpent also appears as a divine being
in the form of the rarely mentioned Ahi budhnya, "the Dragon of the
Deep," supposed to dwell in the fathomless depths of the aërial ocean,
and probably representing the beneficent side of the character of
the serpent Vritra. In the later Vedas the serpents are mentioned as
a class of semi-divine beings along with the Gandharvas and others;
and in the Sutras offerings to them are prescribed. In the latter
works we meet for the first time with the Nagas, in reality serpents,
and human only in form. In post-Vedic times serpent-worship is found
all over India. Since there is no trace of it in the Rigveda, while it
prevails widely among the non-Aryan Indians, there is reason to believe
that when the Aryans spread over India, the land of serpents, they
found the cult diffused among the aborigines and borrowed it from them.
Plants are frequently invoked as divinities, chiefly in enumerations
along with waters, rivers, mountains, heaven, and earth. One entire
hymn (x. 97) is, however, devoted to the praise of plants (oshadhi)
alone, mainly with regard to their healing powers. Later Vedic
texts mention offerings made to plants and the adoration paid to
large trees passed in marriage processions. One hymn of the Rigveda
(x. 146) celebrates the forest as a whole, personified as Aranyani,
the mocking genius of the woods. The weird sights and sounds of the
gloaming are here described with a fine perception of nature. In the
dark solitudes of the jungle
Sounds as of grazing cows are heard,
A dwelling-house appears to loom,
And Aranyani, Forest-nymph,
Creaks like a cart at eventide.
Here some one calls his cow to him,
Another there is felling wood;
Who tarries in the forest-glade
Thinks to himself, "I heard a cry."
Never does Aranyani hurt
Unless one goes too near to her:
When she has eaten of sweet fruit
At her own will she goes to rest.
Sweet-scented, redolent of balm,
Replete with food, yet tilling not,
Mother of beasts, the Forest-nymph,
Her I have magnified with praise.
On the whole, however, the part played by plant, tree, and forest
deities is a very insignificant one in the Rigveda.
A strange religious feature pointing to a remote antiquity is the
occasional deification and worship even of objects fashioned by
the hand of man, when regarded as useful to him. These are chiefly
sacrificial implements. Thus in one hymn (iii. 8) the sacrificial post
(called "lord of the forest") is invoked, while three hymns of the
tenth book celebrate the pressing stones used in preparing soma. The
plough is invoked in a few stanzas; and an entire hymn (vi. 75) is
devoted to the praise of various implements of war, while one in the
Atharva-veda (v. 20) glorifies the drum.
The demons so frequently mentioned in the Rigveda are of two
classes. The one consists of the aërial adversaries of the gods. The
older view is that of a conflict waged between a single god and a
single demon. This gradually developed into the notion of the gods and
the demons in general being arrayed against each other as two opposing
hosts. The Brahmanas regularly represent the antagonism thus. Asura
is the ordinary name of the aërial foes of the gods. This word has a
remarkable history. In the Rigveda it is predominantly a designation
of the gods, and in the Avesta it denotes, in the form of Ahura, the
highest god of Zoroastrianism. In the later parts of the Rigveda,
however, asura, when used by itself, also signifies "demon," and
this is its only sense in the Atharva-veda. A somewhat unsuccessful
attempt has been made to explain how a word signifying "god" came
to mean "devil," as the result of national conflicts, the Asuras or
gods of extra-Vedic tribes becoming demons to the Vedic Indian, just
as the devas or gods of the Veda are demons in the Avesta. There is
no traditional evidence in support of this view, and it is opposed
by the fact that to the Rigvedic Indian asura not only in general
meant a divine being, but was especially appropriate to Varuna, the
most exalted of the gods. The word must therefore have changed its
meaning in course of time within the Veda itself. Here it seems from
the beginning to have had the sense of "possessor of occult power,"
and hence to have been potentially applicable to hostile beings. Thus
in one hymn of the Rigveda (x. 124) both senses seem to occur. Towards
the end of the Rigvedic period the application of the word to the
gods began to fall into abeyance. This tendency was in all likelihood
accelerated by the need of a word denoting the hostile demoniac powers
generally, as well as by an incipient popular etymology, which saw
a negative (a-sura) in the word and led to the invention of sura,
"god," a term first found in the Upanishads.
A group of aërial demons, primarily foes of Indra, are the Panis. The
proper meaning of the word is "niggard," especially in regard
to sacrificial gifts. From this signification it developed the
mythological sense of demons resembling those originally conceived
as withholding the treasures of heaven. The term dasa or dasyu,
properly the designation of the dark aborigines of India contrasted
with their fair Aryan conquerors, is frequently used in the sense of
demons or fiends.
By far the most conspicuous of the individual aërial demons of the
Rigveda, is Vritra, who has the form of a serpent, and whose name means
"encompasser." Another demon mentioned with some frequency is Vala,
the personification of the mythical cave in which the celestial cows
are confined. In post-Vedic literature these two demons are frequently
mentioned together and are regarded as brothers slain by Indra. The
most often named among the remaining adversaries of Indra is Çushna,
the "hisser" or "scorcher." A rarely-mentioned demon is Svarbhanu,
who is described as eclipsing the sun with darkness. His successor
in Sanskrit literature was Rahu, regarded as causing eclipses by
swal
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