Curiosities of Superstition, and Sketches of Some Unrevealed Religions

Daksha, the patriarch, his sacrifice being destroyed, overcome with terror, and utterly broken in spirit, fell prone upon the ground, where his head was spurned by the feet of the cruel Virabhadra. The thirty scores of sacred divinities were all presently bound, with a band of fire, by their lion-like foe; and they all addressed him, crying: “O Rudra, have mercy upon thy servants! O lord, dismiss thine anger!” This spake Brahma, and the other gods, and the patriarch Daksha; and, raising their hands, they said: “Declare, mighty being, who thou art.”

Virabhadra said: “I am not a god, nor an Aditya, nor am I come hither for enjoyment, nor curious to behold the chiefs of the divinities. Know that I am come to destroy the sacrifice of Daksha, and that I am called Virabhadra, the issue of the wrath of Rudra. Bhadrakali, also, who has sprung from the anger of Devi, is sent here, by the god of gods, to destroy this rite. Take refuge, king of kings, with him who is the lord of Uma. For better is the anger of Rudra than the blessings of other gods.”

Having heard the words of Virabhadra, the righteous Daksha propitiated the mighty god, the holder of the trident, Maheswara. The hearth of sacrifice, deserted by the Brahmans, had been consumed; Yajna had been metamorphosed to an antelope; the fires of Rudra’s wrath had been kindled; the attendants, wounded by the tridents of the servants of the god, were groaning with pain; the pieces of the uprooted sacrificial posts were scattered here and there; and the fragments of the meat-offerings were carried off by flights of hungry vultures and herds of howling jackals.

Suppressing his vital airs, and taking up a posture of meditation, the many-sighted victor of his foes, Daksha, fixed his eyes everywhere upon his thoughts. And the god of gods appeared from the altar resplendent as a thousand suns, and smiling upon him, said, “Daksha, thy sacrifice has been destroyed through sacred knowledge, I am well pleased with thee.” And he smiled again, and exclaimed, “What shall I do for thee? Declare, together with the preceptor of the gods.”

And Daksha, frightened, alarmed, and agitated, his eyes suffused with tears, raised his hands reverently to his brow, and said, “If, lord, thou art pleased; if I have found favour in thy sight; if I am to be the object of thy benevolence; if thou wilt confer upon me a boon, this is the blessing I solicit, that all these provisions for the solemn sacrifice which have been collected with much trouble and during a long time, and have now been eaten, drunk, devoured, burnt, broken, scattered abroad, may not have been prepared in vain.” “So let it be,” replied Hara, the subduer of Indra. And thereupon Daksha knelt down upon the earth, and praised gratefully the author of righteousness, the three-eyed god Mahádeva, repeating the eight thousand names of the deity whose emblem is a bull.

Public Games. (Bk. v., c. 10.)

As Krishna and Rama proceeded along the high road, they saw coming towards them a young girl, who was crooked, carrying a pot of unguent. Addressing her sportively, Krishna said, “For whom are you carrying that unguent? Tell me, lovely maiden, tell me truly.” Spoken to as it were through affection, Kubja27, well disposed towards Hari, replied to him also mirthfully, being smitten by his appearance, “Know you not, beloved, that I am the servant of Kamsa, and appointed, crooked as I am, to prepare his perfumes? Of unguent ground by any other he does not approve, and hence I am enriched through his liberal rewards.” Then said Krishna, “Fair-faced damsel, give us of this unguent, – fragrant and fit for kings, – as much as we may rub upon our bodies.” “Take it,” answered Kubja. And she gave them as much of the unguent as was sufficient for their persons. And they rubbed it on various parts of their faces and bodies, till they looked like two clouds, one white and one black, decorated by the many-tinted bow of Indra.

And Krishna, skilled in the curative art, took hold of her under the chin with the thumb and two fingers, and lifted up her head, whilst with his feet he pressed down her feet, and in this way he made her straight.

When she was thus relieved from her deformity, she was a most beautiful woman; and filled with gratitude and affection, she took Govinda by the garment, and invited him to her house. Promising to come at some other time, Krishna smilingly dismissed her, and then laughed aloud on beholding the countenance of Baladeva.

Dressed in blue and yellow garments, and anointed with fragrant unguents, Krishna and Rama proceeded to the hall of arms, which was hung round with garlands. Inquiring of the warders which bow he was to try, and being directed to it, Krishna took it, and bent it. But drawing it with violence, he snapped it in two, and all Mathura resounded with the noise which its fracture occasioned. Abused by the warders for breaking the bow, Krishna and Rama retorted, and defied them, and left the hall.

When Kamsa knew that Akrura had returned, and heard that the bow had been broken, he then said to Chanura and Mushtika, his boxers, “Two youths, cowherd boys, have arrived. You must kill them both, in a trial of strength, in my presence; for they practise against my life. I shall be well pleased if you kill them in the match, and will give you whatever you wish, but not otherwise. These two foes of mine must be killed by you, fairly or unfairly. The kingdom shall be ours in common when they have perished.”

Having given them their orders, he sent next for his elephant driver, and desired him to station his great elephant, Kuvalayapida, – who was as vast as a cloud charged with rain, – near the gate of the arena, and drive him upon the two boys when they should attempt to enter. When Kamsa had issued these commands, and ascertained that the platforms were all ready (for the spectators), he awaited the rising of the sun, unconscious of impending death.

In the morning the citizens assembled on the platforms set apart for them; and the princes, with the ministers and courtiers, occupied the royal seats. Near the centre of the circle, judges of the games were stationed by Kamsa, whilst he himself sat apart close by, upon a lofty throne. Separate platforms were erected for the ladies of the palace, for the courtesans, and for the wives of the citizens. Nanda and the cowherds had places appropriated to them, at the end of which sat Akrura and Vasudeva. Amongst the wives of the citizens appeared Devaki, mourning for her son, whose lovely face she longed to behold, even in the hour of his destruction.

When the musical instruments sounded, Chanura sprang forth, and the people cried, “Alas!” and Mushtika slapped his arms in defiance. Covered with blood and mud from the elephant, which, when goaded upon them by its driver, they had slain, and armed with its tusks, Balabhadra and Janardana confidently entered the arena, like two lions amidst a herd of deer. Exclamations of pity arose from all the spectators, along with expressions of astonishment. “This, then,” said the people, “is Krishna. This is Balabhadra. This is he by whom the fierce night-walker Putana was slain; by whom the waggon was overturned, and the two Arjuna trees felled. This is the boy who trampled and danced on the serpent Kaliya; who upheld the mountain Govardhana for seven nights; who killed, as if in play, the iniquitous Arishta, Dhenuka, and Kisra. This, whom we see, is Achyuta. This is he who has been foretold by the wise, skilled in the sense of the Puranas, as Gopala, who shall exalt the depressed Yadava race. This is a portion of the all-existing, all-generating Vishnu, descended upon earth, who will, assuredly, lighten her load.”

Thus did the citizens describe Rama and Krishna, as soon as they appeared: whilst the breast of Devaki glowed with maternal affection; and Vasudeva, forgetting his infirmities, felt himself young again, on beholding the countenances of his sons as a season of rejoicing. The women of the palace, and the wives of the citizens, wide opened their eyes, and gazed intently upon Krishna.

“Look, friends,” said they to their companions; “look at the face of Krishna. His eyes are reddened by his conflict with the elephant; and the drops of perspiration stand upon his cheeks, outvying a full-blown lotus in autumn, studded with glittering dew. Avail yourself, now, of the faculty of vision. Observe his breast, – the seat of splendour, marked with the mystic sign, – and his arms, menacing destruction to his foes. Do you not notice Balabhadra, dressed in a blue garment, – his countenance as fair as the jasmine, as the moon, as the fibres of the lotus-stem? See how he gently smiles at the gestures of Mushtika and Chanura, as they spring up.

“And now behold Hari advance to encounter Chanura. What! Are there no elders, judges of the field? How can the delicate form of Hari, – only yet in the dawn of adolescence, – be regarded as a match for the vast and adamantine bulk of the great demon? Two youths, of light and elegant persons, are in the arena, to oppose athletic fiends, headed by the cruel Chanura. This is a great sin in the judges of the games, for the umpires to suffer a contest between boys and strong men.”

As thus the women of the city conversed with one another, Hari, having tightened his girdle, danced in the ring, shaking the ground on which he trod. Balabhadra also danced, slapping his arms in defiance. Where the ground was firm, the invincible Krishna contended, foot to foot, with Chanura. The practised demon Mushtika was opposed by Balabhadra. Mutually entwining, and pushing, and pulling, and beating each other with fists, arms, and elbows, pressing each other with their knees, interlacing their arms, kicking with their feet, pressing with their whole weight upon one another, fought Hari and Chanura.

Desperate was the struggle, though without weapons, and one for life and death, to the great gratification of the spectators. In proportion as the contest continued, so Chanura was gradually losing something of his original vigour, and the wreath upon his head trembled from his fury and distress; whilst the world-comprehending Krishna wrestled with him as if but in sport. Beholding Chanura losing, and Krishna gaining strength, Kamsa, furious with rage, commanded the music to cease.

As soon as the drums and trumpets were silenced, a numerous band of heavenly instruments was heard in the sky; and the unseen gods exclaimed: “Victory to Govinda! Kesava, kill the demon Chanura!” Madhusudana, having, for a long time, dallied with his adversary, at last lifted him up, and whirled him round, with the intention of putting an end to him. Having whirled Chanura round a hundred times, until his breath was expended in the air, Krishna dashed him on the ground, with such violence as to smash his body into a hundred fragments, and strew the earth with a hundred pools of gory mire.

Whilst this took place, the mighty Baladeva was engaged, in the same manner, with the demon bruiser, Mushtika. Striking him on the head with his fists, and on the breast with his knees, he stretched him on the ground, and pummelled him there till he was dead. Again, Krishna encountered the royal bruiser Tosaluka, and felled him to the earth with a blow of his left hand. When the other athletes saw Chanura, Mushtika, and Tosaluka killed, they fled from the field; and Krishna and Sankarshana danced, victorious, on the arena, dragging along with them, by force, the cowherds of their own age. Kamsa, his eyes reddening with wrath, called aloud to the surrounding people: – “Drive those two cowboys out of the assembly: seize the villain Nanda, and secure him with chains of iron; put Vasudeva to death with tortures intolerable to his years: and lay hands upon the cattle, and whatever else belongs to those cowherds who are the associates of Krishna.”

Upon hearing these orders, the destroyer of Madhu laughed at Kamsa, and, springing up to the place where he was seated, laid hold of him by the hair of his head, and struck his tiara to the ground. Then, casting him down upon the earth, Govinda threw himself upon him. Crushed by the weight of the upholder of the universe, the son of Ugrasena (Kamsa), the king, gave up the ghost. Krishna then dragged the dead body, by the hair of the head, into the centre of the arena; and a deep furrow was made by the vast and heavy carcase of Kamsa, when it was dragged along the ground by Krishna, as if a torrent of water had rushed through it.

Seeing Kamsa thus treated, his brother Sunaman came to his succour: but he was encountered, and easily killed, by Balabhadra. Then arose a general cry of grief from the surrounding circle, as they beheld the King of Mathura thus slain, and treated with such contumely, by Krishna. Krishna, accompanied by Balabhadra, embraced the feet of Vasudeva and of Devaki: but Vasudeva raised him up; and he and Devaki recalling to recollection what he had said to them at his birth, they bowed to Janardana; and the former thus addressed him: “Have compassion upon mortals, O god, benefactor, and lord of deities. It is by thy favour to us two that thou hast become the present upholder of the world. That, for the punishment of the rebellious, thou hast descended upon earth in my house, having been propitiated by my prayers, sanctifies our race. Thou art the heart of all creatures; thou abidest in all creatures; and all that has been, or will be, emanates from thee, O universal spirit. Thou, Achyuta, who comprehendest all the gods, art eternally worshipped with sacrifices: thou art sacrifice itself, and the offerer of sacrifices. The affection that inspires my heart, and the heart of Devaki, towards thee, as if thou wert our child, is, indeed, but an error and a great delusion.

“How shall the tongue of a mortal such as I am call the creator of all things, who is without beginning or end, son? Is it consistent that the lord of the world, from whom the world proceeds, should be born of me, except through illusion? How should he, in whom all fixed and moveable things are contained, be conceived in the womb and born of a mortal being? Have compassion, therefore, indeed, O supreme lord, and, in thy descended portions, protect the universe. Thou art no son of mine. This whole world, from Brahma to a tree, thou art. Wherefore dost thou, who art one with the Supreme, beguile us? Blinded by delusion, I thought thee my son, and for thee, who art beyond all fear, I dreaded the anger of Kamsa; and, therefore, did I take thee, in my turn, to Gokula, where thou hast grown up. But I no longer claim thee as mine own. Thou, Vishnu, – the sovereign lord of all, whose actions Rudra, Maruts, the Aswins, Indra, and the gods cannot equal, although they behold them; thou, who hast come amongst us, for the benefit of the world, – art recognised; and delusion is no more.”

We shall furnish but one other specimen: —

Anecdotes of Khandikya and Kesidhwaja

Maitreya, addressing Parasara, says: “Reverend teacher, I am desirous of being informed what is meant by the term meditation (yoga), by understanding which I may behold the Supreme Being, the upholder of the universe.”

Parasara, in reply, says that he will repeat the explanation formerly given by Kesidhwaja to the magnanimous Khandikya, also called Janaka.

Whereupon Maitreya replies: “Tell me, first, Brahman, who Kandikya was and who Kesidhwaja; and how it happened that a conversation relating to the practice of Yoga occurred between them.”

Thereupon follows Parasara’s narrative:

There was Janaka, named Dharmadhwaja, who had two sons, Mitadhwaja and Kritadhwaja; and the latter was a king ever intent upon existent supreme spirit: his son was the celebrated Kesidhwaja. The son of Mitadhwaja was Janaka, called Khandikya. Khandikya was diligent in the way of works, and was renowned, on earth, for religious rites. Kesidhwaja, on the other hand, was endowed with spiritual knowledge. These two were engaged in hostilities; and Khandikya was driven from his principality by Kesidhwaja. Expelled from his dominions, he wandered, with a few followers, his priest, and his counsellors, amidst woods and mountains, where, destitute of true wisdom, he performed many sacrifices, expecting, thereby, to obtain divine truth, and to escape from death by ignorance.

Once, while the best of those who are skilled in devotion (Kesidhwaja) was engaged in devout exercises, a fierce tiger slew his milch-cow, in the lonely forest. When the Raja heard that the cow had been killed, he asked the ministering priests what form of penance would expiate the crime. They replied, that they did not know, and referred him to Kaseru. Kaseru, when the Raja consulted him, told him that he, too, knew not, but that Sunaka would be able to tell him. Accordingly, the Raja went to Sunaka; but he replied: “I am as unable, great king, to answer your question as Kaseru has been; and there is no one now, upon earth, who can give you the information, except your enemy Khandikya, whom you have conquered.”

Upon receiving this answer, Kesidhwaja said: “I will go, then, and pay a visit to my foe. If he kill me, no matter; for, then, I shall obtain the reward that attends being killed in a holy cause. If (on the contrary) he tell me what penance to perform, then my sacrifice will be unimpaired in efficacy.”

Accordingly, he ascended his car, having clothed himself in the deer skin of the religious student, and went to the forest where the wise Khandikya resided. When Khandikya beheld him approach, his eyes reddened with rage, and he took up his bow and said to him: “You have armed yourself with the deer skin to accomplish my destruction; imagining that, in such an attire, you will be safe from me. But, fool, the deer upon whose backs this skin is seen are slain, by you and me, with sharp arrows. So will I slay you: you shall not go free, whilst I am living. You are an unprincipled felon, who have robbed me of my kingdom, and are deserving of death.”

To this Kesidhwaja answered: “I have come hither, Khandikya, to ask you to solve my doubts, and not with any hostile intention. Lay aside, therefore, both your arrow and your anger.”

Thus spoken to, Khandikya retired awhile, with his counsellors and his priest, and consulted them what course he should pursue. They strongly urged him to slay Kesidhwaja while he was in his power, since by his death he would again become the monarch of the whole world.

Khandikya replied to them: – “It is, no doubt, true that, by such an act, I should become the monarch of the whole earth. He, however, would thereby conquer the world to come; whilst the earth would be mine. Now, if I do not kill him, I shall subdue the next world, and leave him this earth. It seems to me that this world is not of more value than the next: for the subjugation of the next world endures for ever; the conquest over this is but for a brief season. I will, therefore, not kill him, but tell him what he wishes to know.”

Accordingly, Kesidhwaja proceeds to describe the benefits which result from the Yoga or contemplative devotion.

The sage, or Yogin, when first applying himself to contemplative devotion, is called the novice or practitioner (Yoga-yuj); when he has attained spiritual union, he is termed the adept, or he whose meditations are accomplished. Should the thoughts of the former be unvitiated by any obstructing imperfection, he will obtain freedom, after practising devotion through several lives. The latter speedily obtains liberation in that existence in which he reaches perfection, all his acts being consumed by the fire of contemplative devotion. The sage who would bring his mind into a fit state for the performance of devout contemplation must be devoid of desire, and observe invariably continence, compassion, truth, honesty, and disinterestedness: he must fix his mind intently on the supreme Brahma, practising holy study, purification, contentment, penance, and self-control. These virtues, respectively termed the five acts of restraint (Yama) and five of obligation (Niyama), bestow excellent rewards, when practised for the sake of reward, and eternal liberation, when they are not prompted by desire of transient benefits. Endowed with these merits, the sage, self-restrained, should sit in one of the modes termed Bhadrasana,28 and engage in contemplation.

Bringing his vital airs, called Prana, under subjection, by frequent repetition, is thence called a Pranayama, which is, as it were, a seed with a seed. In this, the breath of expiration and that of inspiration are alternately obstructed, constituting the act twofold; and the suppression of both modes of breathing produces a third. The exercise of the Yogin, whilst endeavouring to bring before his thoughts the gross form of the Eternal, is denominated Alambana.29 He is then to perform the Pratyahara, which consists in restraining his organs of sense from susceptibility to outward impressions, and directing them entirely to mental perceptions. By these means the entire subjugation of the unsteady senses is effected; and, if they are not controlled, the sage will not accomplish his devotions. When, by the Pranayama, the vital airs are restrained, and the senses are subjugated by the Pratyahara, then indeed the sage will be able to keep his mind steady in its perfect asylum.

The sage now plunges into transcendentalism which would be barely intelligible, and certainly uninteresting to the reader, and we shall therefore decline to follow him, concluding our extract with the description of Vishnu which Kesidhwaja furnishes to his inquiring guest.

Think of him as having a pleased and lovely countenance, with eyes like the leaf of the lotus, marble cheeks, and a broad and brilliant forehead; ears of equal size, the lobes of which are decorated with splendid pendants; a painted neck; and a broad breast, on which shines the Srivatsa mark; a belly falling in graceful folds, with a deep-seated navel; eight long arms, or else four; and firm and well-knit thighs and legs, with well-formed feet and toes. Let him, with well-governed thoughts, contemplate, as long as he can persevere in unremitting attention, Hari, as clad in a yellow robe, wearing a rich diadem on his head, and brilliant armlets and bracelets on his arms, and bearing in his hands the bow, the shell, the mace, the sword, the discus, the rosary, the lotus, and the arrow.

CHAPTER VI.

IN CHINA: – CONFUCIANISM, TAOUISM, AND BUDDHISM

The creeds in vogue amongst the Chinese may be regarded as three: —Confucianism, the religion of the state; Taouism, the religion of the philosophers; and Buddhism, the religion of the people.

It has been justly said that a religion which, like Confucianism, has exercised for twenty-four centuries a potent influence over the Chinese mind, though owing its name and origin to a simple citizen, must possess in it something well worthy of consideration. There must be in it a spell which strongly attracts the popular sympathies. This spell is said to be, though possibly we ought to search deeper and farther for it, the purely practical character of its tenets, and the harmony which exists between those tenets and the patriarchal character of the government and the institutions of the country. And in fact it is not so much a religion as an ethical system, – something such as Christianity would be, if we took out of it Jesus Christ. Or we may distinguish it as “a system of ceremonies on a moral basis,” and, as such, admirably adapted to the tastes and needs of so ceremonial-loving a people as the Chinese. To this day the Ly-pou watch with jealous vigilance the maintenance of all the old traditional rites, and rigidly enforce the observance of the traditional details in the construction of the temples. Moreover such particulars as the six kinds of sceptres, the five kinds of mats, and the five kinds of stools are strictly insisted upon; and it is known that the innumerable prescribed sacrifices offered to the various gods of the heaven and the earth, to a man’s forefathers, to the hills and the rivers, the sea and the central mount, the god of the south pole and the god of thunder, are the same now as they have been for upwards of 2,000 years.

The founder of Confucianism, Kong-foo-tse, or Confucius, (as the Jesuits latinised the name,) was born about 550 B.C. in the state Loo, within the district now called Keo-fou Hien, lying to the eastward of the great Imperial canal, in the province of Shang-tung.

Tradition asserts that his father was a descendant of the imperial family of Hoang-ty, of the dynasty of Chang (2,000 B.C.), and the chief minister of his native kingdom. At an early age, as is common with most who are destined to rise to greatness, Confucius gave indisputable proof of no ordinary mental capacity, and these budding powers were carefully developed by the training and tuition of the ablest masters. He was still young when he made himself acquainted with the literature of the period, and especially with the canonical and classical books attributed to the ancient legislators Yam Chun, and others. His amiability of temper is warmly commended, and no shadow of reproach rests upon his moral character; except in so far as he exposed himself to censure by divorcing his wife, after she had borne him a son, in order, it is said, “that he might devote himself the more absolutely to his studies.” It is some excuse for him that, at this time, he was only twenty. In the same year he was appointed “superintendent of cattle,” – not exactly the ideal office for a philosophical student. However his assiduity and fidelity soon secured the approbation of his superiors; he was promoted to a more influential position; and there seemed every probability of his attaining to the highest rank, when a sudden revolution in the state for a time obscured his prospects.