The Vedas and Upanishads for Children Read online

  When you are willing to make such big sacrifices and are so focused on your goal, all kinds of magic happens. We see examples of it all around us all the time, whether we are talking about the greatest scientists or sportspeople or musicians. Even though science is rigorous, and rational, and methodical, the greatest scientific discoveries are often made by a leap of imagination, an ‘I-feel-it-in-my-gut’ sixth sense. The world’s best sportspeople, when they are in their element, are no longer human but superhuman. The world’s best musicians are able to transport us to realms we have never dared to suspect actually exist – places where logic and rationale and science become irrelevant and only emotions abound; when the guitarist in your favourite band gets into his stride at a concert you are watching live, you scream and weep for no reason you can explain, you want to hug strangers.

  When people talk about such moments, they use the word ‘inspired’ a lot – it was an inspired guess, they may say, an inspired stroke. They cannot themselves explain how it happened – how they connected two unrelated things in a way no one had before, how they knew exactly where to position themselves for that ‘impossible’ catch on the boundary. Almost always, they are also reluctant to take credit for their idea or achievement entirely, especially because they know of so many other talented people who were working just as hard as them towards the very same goal, but did not get there. ‘It suddenly came to me,’ they say, their voices full of wonder, ‘I just knew.’

  It was possibly the same with the rishis of Shruti literature. One fine day, years and years after they had begun pursuing their quest by doing all the right things – training their minds, learning to focus their energies, not checking WhatsApp more than once a year, eating right, keeping fit (hey, try sitting – or standing – in one position for hours and hours every day, meditating, and see if you can do it without eating healthy and being fit!) – they had a moment of pure inspiration. They ‘heard’ the song of the universe – the answers to the big questions came to them, they knew.

  Exciting, right? Now for the more important question. Can you learn how to hear the song too? Can those wise rishis teach you to how to get to that flash of inspiration in whatever quest of excellence you are engaged in – math, dancing, poetry, basketball?

  Before we go there, let us try and understand what inspiration is. In the modern world, psychologists break inspiration down to a combination of instinct (a hardwired-in-our-DNA, natural response to the world, which all animals have, and which comes from inside); reason (a learned response to the world, which only humans are capable of, and comes from outside); and intuition (or gut-feel, or sixth sense), which is a combination of the two, a way to leap from Step A to Step E without ever going through Steps B, C and D.

  The rishis of ancient India had different words to describe the same phenomenon. They preferred to think of inspiration as a benediction that came from a divine source. Was this source outside of them, or inside? For the rishis, who believed that the Universal Energy that pervades everything in the universe (Brahman) was exactly the same as the indestructible energy they carried inside themselves (Atman), the answer was a no-brainer. From both inside and outside, of course!

  If you think about it, they were completely spot-on. Inspiration – for a play you are writing for your school’s annual day, your science project, a ‘fusion’ dish (like a dosaffle – dosa batter cooked in a waffle iron and topped with cinnamon-sugar and ghee) that you have just invented – comes both from outside (let’s say from current affairs, Elon Musk and Masterchef Australia, respectively) and inside. After all, it is in your mind that you connect something you already know (dosa) with something you’ve seen on a cooking show (waffles). Add your intuition about tastes and textures to the mix, and you bring the two together in a unique, special way.

  But if someone asked you to give them a step-by-step account of how you actually came up with the idea for a dosaffle, would you be able to do it? Not really, right?

  And that’s why, just like a scientist cannot give you a formula for making a scientific discovery, and a musician cannot tell you exactly how to write a great piece of music, the rishis of the Upanishads do not pretend that they can teach you how to find inspiration. Like the others, they can only tell you what they did to get to that point in their own quest, caution you about the difficulties you may encounter along the way and give you tips for how to get over them, besides coaching you in technique and ritual and discipline (and diet!). They might also add an important injunction: Keep your mind open, turn your receivers on, or you may not hear the messages the universe is sending you at all! Then, with a pat on your back and a blessing on your head, they will send you on your way.

  Because, you see, the long and winding road to that blinding, exhilarating stroke of inspiration – Shruti – has to be journeyed alone. You will have to make the sacrifices, you will have to practise the discipline, you will have to keep the faith. And then, maybe, just maybe, and only if you are considered worthy, you will ‘hear’ the universe singing to you. Maybe, just maybe, the magic will happen, and you will be rewarded with the ultimate inspiration –a brief, tantalising, breathtaking glimpse of the Brahman within you, without you.

  Seems like something worth trying for, don’t you think?

  LEARNING THE VEDAS BY HEART (AND EAR, AND TONGUE, AND MIND)

  Or, how to ensure perfect transmission of knowledge when you can’t check back with Wikipedia

  How do you make sure great lessons for all humanity stay uncorrupted for thousands of years, when you can’t write them down because your language has no script?

  You would design a system in which only a few were entrusted with the sacred knowledge. You would put the chosen ones through years of intense training. And you would create a fail-proof (or close enough) system to ensure that they retained everything they had learnt.

  And that’s exactly what the Vedic seers did – they created the ultimate ancient Indian coaching class! It was called the Vedic gurukul. What were the main features of this ancient school? Read on to find out.

  1. A most stringent admission process. The gurukul entrance test was tough as nails and completely transparent – gurus interviewed each candidate, evaluating each one on his inclination for hard work, ability to follow instructions and aptitude for this particular kind of rigorous study (with bonus points awarded for a naturally curious and questioning mind) before deciding which ones to pick. There was also the small matter of eligibility – only boys, and that too only brahmin, kshatriya and vaishya boys,* were eligible to apply. (Shudras were kept out of the admission process entirely. Not many girls lined up for admission either, but the thirty-one women rishis on record indicate that they were not entirely absent.)

  *The four main varnas, or occupational groups – today, the word ‘caste’ is used to mean varna – in ancient India were the brahmins (scholars and thinkers), kshatriyas (kings and warriors), vaishyas (merchants and farmers) and shudras (craftsmen and labourers). While boys of the first three varnas went into gurukuls for their education, shudra boys – sons of potters, carpenters, weavers, goldsmiths, leather workers, sculptors and others who worked with their hands, went into ‘vocational training’ with their dads and uncles and learnt the family trade. Girls of all varnas learnt to cook and keep house with their mothers, apart from training in music, art and dance.

  If you believe academic learning is superior to every other kind, this sounds like girls and shudras being ‘relegated’ to the B league. However, many modern educationists firmly believe that a ‘holistic education’ is one that gives the arts and crafts as much importance as academic learning, for it creates a more equitable society, where ‘makers’ – sculptors, weavers, chefs – and artistes – dancers, musicians, designers – are respected just as highly, and paid as much, as professors and bankers and software engineers. Food for thought, eh?

  The real downside of the gurukul system was that a lot of scary-smart girls and shudras never got the opportunity to try
their luck at academics. And although some gurukuls also taught the arts and crafts, it is likely that many brahmin and kshatriya boys keen on dance and jewellery design did not find avenues to explore their creativity.

  Sure, there is far less discrimination today on the basis of gender and caste in education, but overall, is the 21st century world less discriminatory than the one 3,500 years ago? What do you think?’

  2. Loads of extracurricular activities. Boys were admitted into the fully residential programme when they were around twelve years old, and parents were informed that they could pick up their wards from the gurukul main gate at noon, exactly twelve years later. Until then, students occupied themselves not just with studying the scriptures but also helping the guru’s wife around the house, herding and milking the cows, tending to the farm and vegetable patch, collecting and chopping firewood, and serving their foster parents (did you think they were lucky to get away from annoying parents for twelve whole years? Ha! In life, there is never any getting away from parents) in whatever ways they could.

  When they left the gurukul, most of the raw, unschooled twelve-year-olds had transformed into well-read, well-mannered, self-reliant young men who were proficient in debate, logic and critical analysis. They refused to accept ‘facts’ without examining and questioning them, but were open to changing their opinions on things as and when they came across convincing new data. They could think for themselves, live without luxuries and do all the work around the house (although they usually ended up letting their wives do it as soon as they were married).

  3. Small class sizes. Most gurus took no more than twelve students every twelve years. Apart from the minor difficulty of feeding twelve growing boys (gurukul education was absolutely free) and figuring out where they would sleep, teachers preferred a small student group so that they could give each boy their full and focused attention. Also, since a lot of learning was based on hearing – very, very clearly – every word the guru said, a small class made sense.

  4. The right learning environment. Nope, they weren’t thinking air-conditioned school buses or ‘smart classrooms’, actually. Gurukuls were usually located deep within quiet virgin forests, far away from the distractions of city and village life. Living and studying in the midst of nature and observing her in her many moods and seasons developed in the students a deep and enduring love for her, and a sense of oneness with the vast and wondrous universe they were part of – which was one of the main ‘desired learning outcomes’ of Vedic education in the first place.

  5. Get the basics right. Here’s an important fact – as far as the Vedas are concerned, it isn’t just the words but also their sounds, and tones, that are considered critical to the meaning and power of the verses (that was part of the reason they continued to be taught by a guru well after scripts were developed and the verses were written down). Since each syllable of the verses was supposed to be pronounced a particular way, sung at a particular note position and held for a particular duration, teaching students the right way to chant each hymn and mantra was vital. Once they had got this bit right, students went on to the next phase: training and disciplining their minds through – here’s the fun part – memorization* of the Vedic hymns.

  Only when they had done years of this did students get to more complex stuff like logical thinking, critical analysis of texts, introspection, the art of (respectful) debate, and so on.

  *Ever wonder why ‘mugging’ and doing over and replicating the teacher’s notes – to the last word – in the exams is such a big part of the Indian education system? It’s tradition – that’s the way things have been done for 3,500 years! Now you know.

  6. Patterns and sequences, tricks and techniques! Straight-up memorization is one thing and works well if you have a good head for it, but imagine if you didn’t have a book or Wikipedia to go back to and check if you had got it right! You would have had to have some way of cross-checking the accuracy of your recitation – with yourself. After all, this was the only way to make the sacred texts available to the next generation, so the gurus had to make sure their students had it committed to memory perfectly.

  And that’s why students were taught many different styles of chanting the same mantra. In each style, the words of the mantra were strung together in different patterns. Every time a mantra was chanted, the student had to chant it in several different styles so that his memory was reinforced and not one word was ever lost.

  Of the chanting styles, there were two main ones – Prakriti and Vikriti. In the Prakriti style, the words of the mantra were chanted in their natural order, with Word 2 following Word 1, Word 3 following Word 2, and so on. In the Vikriti style, the words went back and forth a bit.

  Boggled? Fret not. Let’s forget the Vedic mantras for a moment. Let’s think about how you would recite/sing the world’s most famous song – ‘Happy Birthday To You’ – using the Vedic chanting method.

  First, let’s try two methods of Prakriti-style chanting:

  • Method 1: Samhita Patha (in which you sing the words exactly in their original order): Happy / Birthday / To / You. Straightforward enough, right?

  • Method 2: Krama Patha (in which words are chanted in pairs, in the pattern 12-23-34 and so on, until the end of the mantra): Happy Birthday / Birthday To / To You. Weird, but still easy enough.

  On to two methods of Vikriti-style chanting!

  • Method 1: Jata Patha (in which words go back and forth in pairs, in the following pattern – 12-21-12 / 23-32-23 / 34-43-34 and so on, until the end of the mantra): In our example, the first line would go: Happy Birthday-Birthday Happy-Happy Birthday / Birthday To-To Birthday-Birthday To /To You-You To-To You.

  Hmmm. Some serious word jugglery there, demanding a great deal of mental focus to get it right.

  • Method 2: Ghana Patha (by far the most complex method, in which the words are recited in twos and threes, in the following pattern – 12-21-123-321-123, and so on – until the end of the mantra). Here’s how the first line of ‘Happy Birthday’ would go: Happy Birthday-Birthday Happy-Happy Birthday To-To Birthday Happy-Happy Birthday To / Birthday To-To Birthday-Birthday To You-You To Birthday-Birthday To You.

  Say whaaaaaa??

  Now for the big question. What’s the point of concentrating so hard to recite words in the wrong order when they don’t even make sense that way? Well, the main point, of course, is the ability to check back with a different pattern to make sure you have all the words of a mantra. But there is another, equally important, point.

  You see, when you focus hard on something, like getting words to fit into a complex pattern, your mind becomes completely occupied. Since the words don’t make sense when they are not said in order, your mind simply cannot go into auto-pilot. Closing your eyes – i.e., cutting off the external stimuli coming to you through one of your sense organs – helps focus your mind even further. In that moment of deep absorption, you see nothing but the patterns, hear nothing but your own voice repeating powerful and mystical words (and we don’t mean Happy Birthday!) over and over again, in the prescribed notes of the musical scale.

  If you think about it, it is the perfect practice for learning to turn your awareness inwards, for training the mind to be (at least briefly) still. And while a still mind is the hardest thing to achieve, the Vedic seers tell us it is also the first step towards getting to know yourself as you really are, to finding the most powerful, most divine part of yourself. When you have made that connection, the ancients tell us, all your energies will converge, with laser-like precision, to help you achieve your goal, whatever it is.

  Right. So just because they say that, it is your duty to believe them? Naaah. It would make those rishis much happier if you tried this mind-focusing thing for yourself before you agreed (or disagreed) with them. They have done their bit by sharing their mind-blowing, transcendental experiences with you, and by devising all kinds of clever ways to ensure that the knowledge comes to you intact, over millennia. Now the ball is in your court. T
oss it up, dribble it around, lob it back, let it lie – the choice is entirely yours to make.

  २

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  Surprising as it may seem to us today, the Vedas, which are the oldest and among the most beautiful hymns to the nature gods that we have, did not come to us from a society of scholars who had read fat books, maxed their exams, or graduated from universities. They came instead from simple people who lived close to the land, slept under the stars, and had a close connection with their horses and dogs, and the sheep, goats and cattle that they herded.

  Who exactly were these people? Where did they come from? No one is hundred per cent sure – after all, we’re talking about people who lived 3,500 years ago. What’s more, these people did not believe in permanence – they did not write things down, draw pictures on rocks for us to puzzle over thousands of years later, or build anything that would last a century, leave alone millennia. They only left us their words, thousands and thousands of them, and their thoughts – about how the universe worked and what the purpose of human life was and why we should not be afraid of death. And they made pretty darn sure that we would get to hear all those words and all those thoughts (well, a LOT of them, anyway) long after they had composed them, by not putting them down on perishable material like paper or bark or cloth; instead, they put them in the best safekeeping boxes in the world – people’s memories.* All we know, or think we know, about these people comes from analyzing these words and thoughts.