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I`m for the Muggermuch!: Indian Express
New Delhi, Sept 15: Try this sloka for size: Paryank granthibanda dvigunita bhujagaslesha samveeta jaano/rantapranavarodh vyuparata sakalajnana ruddhendriyasya/ atmanyatmana me va vyapagatakaranam pashya tas tatva drushtya/shamborvah paatu shoonye kshanaghatitalaya brahmalagnah samadhih. Api ch: Paatu vo neelakantasya kantah shyamambudopamah/ gauribhujalata yatra viddhul lekheva rajate.
New Delhi, Sept 15: Try this sloka for size: Paryank granthibanda dvigunita bhujagaslesha samveeta jaano/rantapranavarodh vyuparata sakalajnana ruddhendriyasya/ atmanyatmana me va vyapagatakaranam pashya tas tatva drushtya/shamborvah paatu shoonye kshanaghatitalaya brahmalagnah samadhih. Api ch: Paatu vo neelakantasya kantah shyamambudopamah/ gauribhujalata yatra viddhul lekheva rajate.
It means, loosely translated: May the abstract meditation of Shiva protect you (that Shiva who sits in the yogic knee-bound Paryank posture, whose inner life-force is so controlled within that all movement has ceased and who, with his eye of truth perceives himself as the Universal Soul with no duality between the two). Moreover: May the dark-cloud-like neck of Shiva protect you, that neck on which the pale creeper of Gauri’s arm flashes like lightning.
Beautiful, is it not? This childhood prayer was mugged up just for the heck of it, because it was such fun to shout “Paryank granthi-bandha...” and irritate dozing elders. It was meant for Shiva, because it mentioned Shambho and Gauri. Who knew or cared beyond that? Last week however I discovered that it was actually the Naandi or benedictory invocation from — can you believe it — Shudraka’s Mrcchakatikam (The Little Clay Cart). A verse once childishly enjoyed just for its tricky arrangement of sounds suddenly became transfigured into ‘‘amanat’’ or legacy. It makes you reconsider the value of the old system of rote. If your mind is stockpiled with literature, music and history and if each thing is gradually explained and interpreted so that you discover new levels of meaning as you yourself grow, surely that would be a wonderful education!
Learning by rote was obviously not meant to be the end. You had to understand things: That was the point of creating ‘‘mental textbooks’’ in the oral tradition. You literally carried your library in your head, for who, in a dangerous world, could rely only on hardcopy as the sole repository of knowledge?
It means, loosely translated: May the abstract meditation of Shiva protect you (that Shiva who sits in the yogic knee-bound Paryank posture, whose inner life-force is so controlled within that all movement has ceased and who, with his eye of truth perceives himself as the Universal Soul with no duality between the two). Moreover: May the dark-cloud-like neck of Shiva protect you, that neck on which the pale creeper of Gauri’s arm flashes like lightning.
Beautiful, is it not? This childhood prayer was mugged up just for the heck of it, because it was such fun to shout “Paryank granthi-bandha...” and irritate dozing elders. It was meant for Shiva, because it mentioned Shambho and Gauri. Who knew or cared beyond that? Last week however I discovered that it was actually the Naandi or benedictory invocation from — can you believe it — Shudraka’s Mrcchakatikam (The Little Clay Cart). A verse once childishly enjoyed just for its tricky arrangement of sounds suddenly became transfigured into ‘‘amanat’’ or legacy. It makes you reconsider the value of the old system of rote. If your mind is stockpiled with literature, music and history and if each thing is gradually explained and interpreted so that you discover new levels of meaning as you yourself grow, surely that would be a wonderful education!
Learning by rote was obviously not meant to be the end. You had to understand things: That was the point of creating ‘‘mental textbooks’’ in the oral tradition. You literally carried your library in your head, for who, in a dangerous world, could rely only on hardcopy as the sole repository of knowledge?
What’s nice about this new awareness of Shudraka’s verse is that Mrchhakatikam is the most modern and realistic of Indian plays. Many of us saw it as the Hindi film Utsav only in 1985 (though Shambhu Mitra did his version earlier for the Kolkata stage). Parisians saw it in translation on stage back in 1850 and 1895, while in Germany it drew big crowds between 1892-3 and again in the 1920s. It feels like suddenly spotting Serendib, that despite being Macaulay’s child, one’s head accidentally carries a real piece of Shudraka. I’m sure, between us, we carry entire archipelagos!