novelraw Arc 6 - Markandeya-Samasya Parva Chapter 8 - The Power of Virtue
Arc 6 - Markandeya-Samasya Parva Chapter 8 - The Power of Virtue
Then the fowler spoke of self-discipline:
“Heaven and hell, O Brāhmaṇa, are born of the senses. When indulged, they drag one downward; when restrained, they lead to liberation. The senses are root both of ascent and of downfall. By yielding, a man contracts vice; by mastering them, he attains salvation.
The wise compare the body to a chariot, the soul to its charioteer, and the senses to swift horses. He who holds the reins with patience and skill drives without confusion. But he who lets the steeds run wild is like a ship tossed in stormy seas. Thus must a man subdue his six senses with steady hands, for when overpowered by even one, he loses reason, and illusion casts him into the whirl of sorrow.”
Mārkaṇḍeya continued:
“O Bhārata, when the fowler had spoken of the elements and the reins of the senses, the Brāhmaṇa, intent upon wisdom, asked again of those subtle truths which perplex the learned.”
The Brāhmaṇa said:
‘Tell me, O knower of hidden lore,
the nature and power of the three guṇas—
sattva, rajas, and tamas.
How do they bind, and how do they uplift?’
The fowler replied:
“Listen then, O Brāhmaṇa, and I shall set forth their virtues and their snares.
Tamas is illusion, a veil upon the soul.
Rajas is impulse, driving men into ceaseless action.
Sattva is light and grandeur, serene and uplifting—
therefore it is praised as the highest.”
‘He who dwells in folly,
dreaming and idle,
filled with anger, arrogance, and sloth—
such a man is bound fast in tamas.
He who is eager for the fruit of labour,
active, restless, warm of heart,
pleasant of speech, yet moved by desire—
such a man is swayed by rajas.
But he who is steadfast and patient,
free from wrath and malice,
content in uprightness, indifferent to gain,
wise, forgiving, and tranquil—
such a man shines with sattva’s light.’
Vaiśampāyana said:
The fowler taught that even sattva, when entangled with worldly longing, brings sorrow. Yet when its true nature is perceived, the heart turns away from worldly glitter. Then pride falls away, contradictions within are reconciled, and self-restraint becomes as natural as breath.
He added:
‘Birth is not the final chain.
Even one born a Śūdra,
if steadfast in rectitude,
may rise through the guṇas:
to the state of Vaiśya,
to that of Kṣatriya,
and at last, by truth and discipline,
to the status of a Brāhmaṇa.’
Mārkaṇḍeya said:
“O son of Dharma, when the Brāhmaṇa enquired of the fowler how fire, air, and matter combine to form the living frame, and how the vital airs excite the body to action, the fowler—versed in subtle knowledge—spoke thus unto him.”
The fowler said:
“The vital force, dwelling in the seat of consciousness, animates the body, while the soul abides in both, acting through them. Past, present, and future are bound up with the soul; it is the highest possession of beings, sprung from the Supreme Spirit. This we adore as the eternal Puruṣa, the animating principle of all creatures.”
“Prāṇa upholds the frame;
Samāna sustains digestion;
Apāna bears downward the refuse;
Udāna uplifts, and Vyana pervades—
thus the fivefold winds move
through the body’s subtle ways.
By their coalition heat is kindled,
the inner fire that digests food,
nourishes tissues and humours,
and causes the body to grow.”
The fowler continued:
“Above the navel lies the region of undigested food, below it the region of digestion; and in the navel all the vital airs are seated. From the heart branch countless channels, flowing upward, downward, and across, carrying the essence of food, moved by these tenfold winds. By this means the Yogin, steady in meditation and equal in vision, perceives within himself the Supreme Spirit.
Though eternal, the soul seems altered by its companions of matter—like fire burning in different vessels, unchanged yet coloured by what surrounds it. Spirit united with body is like a drop of water on the lotus leaf—resting there, yet not mingled with it.
Know then, O Brāhmaṇa, sattva, rajas, and tamas are the attributes of life; life itself is the attribute of spirit; and spirit again rests in the Supreme. Matter inert is the seat of life; life is active and stirs all things; and the Supreme is the mover of life.
Thus is the subtle truth: the eternal Spirit is unseen, but discerned by those of pure perception. The pure of heart, cleansing themselves of both good and evil fruits, attain eternal beatitude, beholding in their inward lamp the light of the attributeless Brahman.”
“Subdue anger and greed,
for these are the great fetters.
Guard righteousness from wrath,
virtue from pride,
learning from vanity,
the spirit from delusion.
Gentleness is the highest virtue,
forbearance the greatest power.
Knowledge of the self is true wisdom,
truthfulness the noblest duty.
Truth is good,
knowledge of truth is good,
but higher still is that which
brings welfare to all beings—
that is the highest truth.”
The fowler further said:
“He whose deeds are done without thought of reward, who sacrifices self-interest for renunciation—he alone is the true renunciate, the wise Sannyāsin. Yoga is not mere teaching, nor imparted even by the guru; it is renunciation itself, communion with Brahman through the stilling of desire.
Do no harm to any creature; live in amity with all. Subdue the senses, renounce hope, preserve equanimity. These are the ways to spiritual light. Knowledge of the Self is the highest of all knowledges.
He who seeks mokṣa must be steadfast in austerity, patient, restrained, freed from fond attachment to the world. In Him—the Supreme—the guṇas dissolve into aguna, beyond all bonds. Perceived only when ignorance is dispelled, He is pure, unalloyed bliss.
By renouncing both pleasure and pain, and severing ties to worldly objects, man attains Brahman. Such is the eternal path, O Brāhmaṇa, as I have heard and now declared. Tell me, what more dost thou wish to learn?”
Mārkaṇḍeya said:
“O son of Dharma, when the mystery of salvation and the path of the soul had been explained by the fowler, the Brāhmaṇa was filled with wonder and deep joy. Addressing the fowler, he said:
‘All this that thou hast declared is true and rational.
It seems to me there is no mystery of dharma or salvation
that is hidden from thee.’
Then the fowler, humble yet radiant with virtue, replied:
‘O holy one, come now and behold with thine own eyes the true source of my righteousness. Enter this inner dwelling, for there thou shalt see my father and mother. They are the gods whom I worship, the fountain of all my merit and peace.’
The Brāhmaṇa entered and beheld a wondrous sight—a splendid mansion, shining like the palace of the celestials, adorned with fragrant perfumes, furnished with fine couches and seats, and divided into graceful suites. Within, clad in white robes, sat the aged parents of the fowler, having finished their meal, serene and content.
At once the fowler, bowing low, placed his head at their feet. The old couple, beholding their dutiful son, blessed him, saying:
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‘Rise, O child of piety, rise!
May righteousness shield thee always.
Blessed be thy long life, thy wisdom,
and the fulfilment of thy heart’s desires.
By thy service we are sheltered;
by thy obedience we are gladdened.
Even as Jamadagni’s son Rāma
won merit through devotion to his parents,
so hast thou, O son, done for us,
and more.’
Then, turning to the Brāhmaṇa, the fowler said with folded hands:
‘These, O venerable sir, are the idols that I worship. Whatever offerings men make to the gods, I make to them. As men honour the thirty-three celestials with Indra at their head, so do I honour these aged parents of mine.
As the Brāhmaṇas strive to maintain the sacred fire, so do I strive to preserve their comfort and joy. To me they are my Agnihotra, my sacrifice, my Veda. My five vital airs, my wife, my children, my wealth, my very self—all are consecrated to them.
With my own hands I bathe them, wash their feet, feed them, and speak only words that delight their hearts. For me the highest dharma is to serve them—even if what pleases them be not always strictly justifiable.
The two parents, the sacred fire, the soul, and the spiritual preceptor—these five, O Brāhmaṇa, are to be revered above all. He who serves them gains the fruit of ever-preserving the sacrificial fire. This, indeed, is the eternal duty of every householder, unchanging and supreme.’
Here the teaching shone forth: that filial piety is no lesser worship than sacrifice itself, and that the service of parents, when performed with devotion, is the highest dharma of those who dwell in the household stage of life.
Mārkaṇḍeya said:
“The virtuous fowler, having introduced his aged parents as his highest gurus, thus addressed the Brāhmaṇa with gentle gravity:
‘Behold, O holy one, the power of this virtue—
it is by serving father and mother with unwearied devotion
that my inner vision has been illumined,
and the mysteries of dharma revealed.
For this reason the chaste lady, faithful to her husband,
sent thee to Mithilā saying,
“There dwells a fowler who shall explain
the hidden truths of religion.”’
The Brāhmaṇa said in reply:
‘O pious one, steadfast in thy vows,
I see now that her words were true.
Endowed art thou with every high quality.’
The fowler answered with humility:
‘Yes, venerable sir, what that truthful woman declared was spoken with full knowledge. I have unfolded these teachings as a favour, but now hear what is good for thee.
O Brāhmaṇa of irreproachable conduct, thou hast erred in leaving thy parents without their consent. Thy father and mother, aged and ascetic, are blind with grief for thy loss. Thy learning and austerity have been rendered fruitless by this wrong. Return, therefore, without delay; console them and discharge the highest duty.’
Then the Brāhmaṇa, struck to the heart, said:
‘True are thy words, O noble-souled man;
prosperity be thine forever.
By thy counsel am I blessed.’
The fowler continued:
‘As thou art devoted to the ancient, eternal virtues—difficult even for the pure to practise—thou appearest to me like a divine being. Yet remember this: there is no dharma higher than honouring one’s parents. Return, therefore, and serve them with diligence, for in that service lies the highest good.’
The Brāhmaṇa said with gratitude:
‘Fortunate indeed am I to have met thee! Rare is such an expounder of dharma among men. Thou hast saved me, even as Yayāti was saved by his grandsons. According to thy command, I shall return and honour my parents. But one thing I desire to know: surely thou art no Śūdra, for none with an impure heart could speak thus of sin and righteousness. Tell me, I pray, the mystery of thy birth.’
Then the fowler spoke with calm remembrance:
‘O Brāhmaṇa, hear the truth of my former life. I was once myself a Brāhmaṇa, learned in the Vedas and Vedāṅgas. A king skilled in the science of weapons was my friend, and through his company I too became adept in archery.
One day that king, with his ministers and warriors, went on a great hunt. Many deer were slain near the hermitages. In folly, I too loosed an arrow—and alas! it struck not a deer but a holy Ṛṣi. The sage fell crying in pain, pierced by my shaft.
I ran to him, stricken with remorse, saying:
“Unwittingly have I done this, O venerable one;
forgive me this sin.”
But the sage, consumed by wrath, spoke a curse:
“Since thou hast wounded me, though innocent I be,
thou shalt be reborn as a cruel fowler,
dwelling in the Śūdra class.”
Thus, O holy Brāhmaṇa, through the weight of my karma I have come to this state. Yet even in this form I strive to purify my soul by virtue, charity, truth, and above all, service to my parents. Such is the tale of my degradation and the path by which I now seek redemption.’
Mārkaṇḍeya said:
“The fowler, bowed with humility, continued his tale:
‘Thus cursed by that sage, I sought his pardon, saying—
“O muni, forgive me, for this deed was done unwittingly.
It behoveth thee, O worshipful one, to soothe thyself,
and to look upon me with eyes of compassion.”
The Ṛṣi, steadfast in his wrath yet softened by pity, replied:
‘The curse once spoken cannot be withdrawn;
its course is certain as the path of the sun.
Yet from kindness towards thee I grant this boon:
Though born as a Śūdra, thou shalt remain pious,
ever devoted to thy parents.
By honouring them, thou shalt gain perfection,
remember thy past life, and win heaven.
When the stain of this curse is washed away,
thou shalt once more be born a Brāhmaṇa.’
“So speaking, the sage was appeased. Then, O son of Dharma, I drew forth the arrow from his flesh and bore him back to his hermitage, where by his ascetic power he recovered and lived. Such, O Brāhmaṇa, is the story of my fall and the hope of my future redemption.”
The Brāhmaṇa said:
“O man of intelligence, all men are bound to joy and sorrow by their karma. Thou shouldst not grieve, for though thy profession appears cruel, thy heart is set on dharma. By thy virtue, self-restraint, and truthfulness thou art verily a Brāhmaṇa, though born among Śūdras. For birth does not make the Brāhmaṇa—character alone determines the true twice-born.”
The fowler replied with serene wisdom
“The body’s afflictions are healed with medicines,
the mind’s afflictions with knowledge of truth.
The wise, discerning this, do not weep like children.
All beings, high and low, are touched by grief;
but those who perceive its root learn to uproot it.
Contentment is the highest happiness,
discontent a venom that slays the weak of heart.
The strong man endures, the wise man acts;
he seeks the path of deliverance and casts away despair.
I too, O learned one, do not grieve.
I abide my time, keeping my spirit unshaken.”
Then the Brāhmaṇa, filled with reverence, said:
“O knower of the mysteries of dharma, vast is thy wisdom and lofty thy soul. I find no fault in thee. May righteousness guard thee, may thy virtue increase, and mayst thou ever prosper.”
Mārkaṇḍeya continued:
The fowler replied, “Be it so.” Then the Brāhmaṇa walked reverently around him and departed. Returning to his home, he devoted himself with assiduous care to the service of his aged parents.
Thus, O Yudhiṣṭhira, have I recounted to thee in detail the tale that teaches the supreme virtue of a wife’s fidelity to her husband and of a son’s piety to his parents.
Then Yudhiṣṭhira, deeply moved, said:
“O most pious Brāhmaṇa, O best of Ṛṣis, thou hast told me a wondrous story full of moral light. Listening to thee, my hours have passed like fleeting moments; yet, O holy one, I am not sated—I long still to hear more of thy discourse on dharma.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
“The virtuous king Yudhiṣṭhira, ever intent on dharma, having heard the moral tale of the fowler and the Brāhmaṇa, once more addressed the venerable Mārkaṇḍeya with eager curiosity:
‘O holy Ṛṣi, tell me—why did Agni, the god of fire, in ancient times conceal himself in the waters? Why was Angiras, effulgent among seers, said to officiate as Fire when Agni withdrew? Fire is one, yet by its actions appears manifold—how is this to be understood? And tell me also how Kumāra, the war-god, was born; how he came to be regarded as the son of Agni, yet was also connected with Rudra, with Gaṅgā, and with the Kṛttikās. O noble sage, I long to learn these truths exactly as they happened.’”
Mārkaṇḍeya replied:
“O son of Dharma, in this matter the ancients tell an old tale of how the carrier of oblations, seized with anger, sought the ocean’s depths to perform austerities, and how the seer Angiras, blazing with penance, illumined the worlds as if he were Agni himself.
In the earliest times, O long-armed king, the great Angiras practised tapas of terrible power. His splendour outshone even Agni, the eternal consumer of offerings, until the whole universe glowed with his radiance.
At that time Agni too was performing penance. But when he beheld Angiras shining like the very sun, his heart sank with grief.
“Brahmā,” thought he, “has created another Fire!
The office once mine has passed away.
What shall become of me, who was first born
to consume the darkness and carry the offerings of men?”
Oppressed with doubt, Agni approached the sage timidly. But Angiras, perceiving his distress, addressed him gently:
‘O flame-born one, why dost thou hesitate?
Thou art the eternal Fire of the three worlds,
the first created by the Self-born Brahmā,
ordained to devour the night and clear the path to heaven.
Return, therefore, to thy proper station,
and shine once more as the destroyer of darkness!’
Then Agni replied:
‘O sage of blazing penance, thy splendour has eclipsed me.
Men will call thee Fire, and my name shall perish.
I have forsaken the burden of fire-godhood—
take it, O seer, and be the primeval Flame.
Let me dwell as the Prajāpatyaka fire,
the secondary flame, serving after thee.’
But Angiras, full of compassion, answered:
‘Nay, let the worlds know thee as Agni.
Be thou the eternal flame, the path-maker to heaven,
the consumer of offerings.
Yet grant me this boon, O shining one—
make me thy first son,
so that my line may be established through thee.’
Mārkaṇḍeya continued:
“Thus addressed, Agni consented. And from Angiras, through the might of Fire, a son was born—Bṛhaspati, the wise preceptor of the gods.
Then the celestials, marvelling, enquired of Angiras how Bṛhaspati could be his son and yet born through Agni. And the sage explained to them this union of splendours. Accepting his words, the gods honoured Agni once more as the primeval Fire and Angiras as the father of Bṛhaspati.
O Bharata, in this connection the seers also speak of the many sacred fires, each of great effulgence, that shine under different names and rites in the Brāhmaṇas—though in essence there is but one flame, the undying Agni.”
Mārkaṇḍeya continued:
“O ornament of the Kuru race, hear now of the lineage of Angiras, the third son of Brahmā, who was wedded to the virtuous lady Subhā. From her he begot illustrious children, radiant with qualities divine and human.
Foremost among them was his son Bṛhaspati—broad-chested, large-hearted, wise in counsel, and vigorous in body. Profound was his learning, deep his genius, and in the courts of gods and kings he was famed as the preceptor of immortals.
His daughters too were wondrous in form and in nature:
Bhanumatī was the first-born,
shining with beauty beyond compare;
Rāgā came next, beloved of all beings,
the very embodiment of affection and desire.
The third was Sinīvālī, slender and subtle,
seen one moment and vanished the next—
like Rudra’s own daughter she moved,
a mystery veiled in shadow and light.
The fourth was Archiṣmatī, blazing with brilliance,
her very being aflame with splendour;
the fifth, Haviṣmatī, who joyed in oblations,
accepting the sacred havis of sacrifice.
The sixth was Mahīṣmatī, pious and steadfast,
her vows firm as the earth itself;
the seventh, Mahāmatī, revered at all great yajñas,
moving amidst offerings with quiet grace.
And the last, without portion, without rival,
known to all as Kuhu, the mysterious;
for men in wonder utter “kūhu, kūhu,”
when they recall her unseen presence in rites.
Thus, O son of Dharma, were the daughters of Angiras born—each embodying a cosmic principle, each woven into the great fabric of sacrifice and creation.”
Mārkaṇḍeya continued:
“O son of Dharma, hear now of the progeny of Bṛhaspati, born of his wife Tārā, who belonged to the lunar race. From their union were born six sons, radiant with the energy of Agni, and one daughter of blazing might.
The first was Sanju, of great tapas and power. At the Paurnamāsa rites and the solemn sacrifices, clarified butter is poured in his honour. He is the fire with countless tongues of flame, honoured with the first animal offering at the Cāturmāsya and the Aśvamedha.
Sanju’s wife was Satya, fair and flawless, sprung from Dharma for the sake of Truth. Their son was a fire of stainless flame, and they had three daughters of merit besides.
Bharadvāja was the eldest son,
in every rite he is invoked first;
Bharata was the second, receiving ghee
with the ladle at full-moon offerings.
Another son again bore the name Bharata,
and a daughter Bharati, of sacred fame;
the Bharata fire, born of Prajāpati Bharata,
is honoured by men as the Great One.
Bharadvāja’s wife was Vīrā, who gave birth to a son of her name, Vīra. He is worshipped like Soma, joined with him in secondary oblations, and hymned as Rathaprabhū, Rathadhvanā, and Kumbharetā. By his wife Sarayu he begot Siddhi, a blazing power whose splendour veiled even the sun.
Another fire, Niśchyavana, praises only the Earth; steadfast, he never loses in glory or renown. His son is the pure Satya Agni, sinless and radiant, regulator of Time itself. Called Niṣkṛti, he grants relief to beings from affliction, bestowing fortune when duly worshipped.
From him was born Śvāna, bringer of disease,
inflictor of pain that wrings the cries of men;
yet he moves unseen in all intelligence,
a hidden spark within the world’s design.
Another son was Viśvajit, revered by sages as one of universal might.
The fourth was Viśvabhuk, the inner fire of digestion,
known as the universal eater.
A brahmacārin, revered in Pākayajñas,
his wife was the sacred river Gomati,
through whom men perform holy rites.
The fifth was the fierce Vāḍava Agni,
the sea-fire that drinks the waters;
called Ūrdhvabhāg, ever rising upward,
seated in the vital breath of prāṇa.
The sixth was Sviṣṭakṛt, the purifier of offerings,
for by him oblations became sviṣṭa—
well-offered, flawless, perfected.
The Udagdhāra oblation is made in his name.
And the daughter of Bṛhaspati,
terrible in wrath and flaming with splendour,
was Svāhā, present in all matter,
the sacred word uttered at every fire-rite.
By the power of the guṇas she bore three sons:
By sattva arose the Kāma-fire,
unequalled in beauty, delight of the gods;
by rajas was born Amogha, the invincible flame,
chariot-borne, garlanded, sure of victory;
By tamas arose Uktha, the great hymn,
praiser of the triple Ukthas, source of salvation;
called Sāmaśvāsa, the breath of rest,
the word of deliverance for all beings.
Thus, O Bharata, are declared the divine fires, each a form of Agni, each enshrined in sacrifice, in body, and in cosmos.”