lakshmi-nrsimha karavalamba stotram - 4

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Dear bhAgavatOttamA-s,

 

Why should the venerable Sankara bhagavathpAdA, in his poignant 'stOtrA'

to Sri.Lakshmi-nrsimhan, have been overcome by "virakti" for the world?

Why should the author of "vivEka-choodAmani" have been carried away by

a mood and feeling known to afflict only 'a-vivEki-s'… the un-discerning

ones?

 

We must understand that Sankara was speaking for us and not on his own

behalf. He was voicing the "virakti" and the "un-wisdom" of common

humanity. The Master, like many other "achAryA-s" of the Vedic school,

composed his hymn of religious "virakti" so that spiritual commoners

like us would be enabled to truly plumb and articulate the depths of our

own feelings each time we cried out the line:

 

"lakshmi-nrsimha mama dEhi karAvalambam !"

 

To understand the mood of gaunt 'virakti' in the LNKS we should first

turn to ourselves and ask why we should be filled with a sense of

weariness for the world? Why are we sometimes in the course of life

overcome by such heavy feelings of world-rejection?

 

If you climb up a great hill …. like the 'garuDAdri' of Ahobilam, for

instance … surrounded by deep valleys of lush, rain-kissed forest… on a

clear autumn morning when the sun begins to shine… through the cool

breeze… and the birds are chirping, the bees are humming, wild flowers

blooming all around you …. and you happen to have too beside you your

wide-eyed, cherubic little son clasping your hands …

 

Now what would you be moved to say to him in that moment?

 

Would you say, "Behold, my son, this vast vale of tears!"?

 

Or would you imagine you'd recite to the little fellow a verse from the

LNKS which goes:

 

"samsAra-sarpaGana-vaktra-BhayOgra-teevra-damshtrA-karAla-vishadagDha-vinashta-m\

urthEhE…".

This life, this world, is a serpent's mouth

The fount of human bane

Venom and vile, ruin and dread

Fangs of doom've devoured me.

 

No way! You wouldn't ever dream of describing the world in such bleak

terms to your son, would you? No way at all!

>From the spot on the lonely hilltop you'd in all probability show your

beloved son the grandeur and glory of the natural world! You'd point out

to him the gentle green slopes disappearing into the thick woods and

alongside clear forest-streams miles below your feet… you'd ask your son

to listen to the chirping of the birds… and to watch the haze of

morning-mist as it fade away before your eyes….

 

You'd be tempted, in fact, to share with your son a stray verse from

Wordsworth or from the lilting rhymes of the first decad of the

"dayA-satakam"…. depending, of course, on what kind of theist you are.

 

So how is it then, we must ask ourselves, how is it that we are often

filled with revulsion ("virakti") for a world with which we are

otherwise so deeply enamoured; a world whose joys and pleasures we

sometimes feel can never sate us enough; a world from which we scarcely

ever want to separate?

 

Sri.U.Ve. Mukkur Lakshminarasimha Chariar of Kakinada, India, whom I am

fond of regarding from afar as my "mAnAseega-AchAryan" (I do not have

the necessary "anushtAnAm" or "yOgyathae" to go any further than

remaining his remote and "pseudo-disciple") used to brilliantly

illustrate, through a telling anecdote, the deeply ambivalent,

blow-hot-blow-cold, on/off nature of our feelings of "virakti" for the

world.

 

Mukkur Swamy recounted to us the tale of a wealthy old merchant

breathing his last. The old man had lived a full life. He had sired a

dozen children, amassed wealth and lived the life of a successful and

respected gentleman in his community. He had had no wants, no desires

unfulfilled. But towards the end of his days the merchant contracted

some incurable disease. It racked his body and spirit to no end.

Everyone around him pitied him. Soon the merchant was a pale ghost of

his old self. His sickness made him rapidly lose zest in life. Even

humdrum workaday living filled him with loathing ("virakti") for the

world. He raved and ranted beseeching the gods to release him from

earthly plight.

 

At last the fatal day arrived. The merchant, now frail and comatose, was

laid out on a death-bed to breathe his last. Everyone was relieved that

the sick old soul would soon be put out of its misery.

 

Now, one thoughtful and well-meaning relative, present at that time, was

eager to solemnize the merchant's departure with artful intimations of

divine absolution. He hoped the dying old man, filled as he was with

utter disgust for the world and himself… "virakti…, he hoped the old one

could be made to pass away at complete peace with himself if he were

somehow enabled to take the holy name of "Narayana" on his lips in the

terminal moments on earth.

 

Fortunately the last child of the old merchant was a lad of 10 years

called Narayana. So the good relative took hold of the lad and leading

him to the death-bed bade its occupant to open his eyes and look at the

young visitor. The relative hoped the old merchant would do so,

recognize the lad and perhaps be urged in the terrible moments of demise

to utter the holy name of "Narayana".

 

"Sire, O Sire!", yelled the relative into the dying man's immobile and

breathless face, "Sire, open your eyes and look at who's come to visit

you!".

 

After a few minutes of similar coaxing the dying merchant stirred and

slowly opened his eyes. He seemed to recognize, through what were

rapidly failing faculties, the dim outlines of the person standing

beside him.

 

Greatly encouraged in his efforts, the relative persevered further. He

now drew the son closer to the dying man and asked again, "Sire, do you

see who is before you? Can you recognize him? Can you name him

please?!".

 

The dying man, gasping for rapidly collapsing breath, once again turned

his eyes on the lad and shook his head feebly as if to say, "Yes, I know

who this is!".

 

"Name him! Name him, Sire", pleaded the good relative with desperate

urgency, sensing now that the end was very near. "Say it out aloud, this

lad's name! For the sake of God, please ! What is his name? Cry his name

out, Sire, please! And say it now!".

 

Then as everyone around watched with muted amazement, the old man

suddenly opened his eyes wide, raised himself slowly on the bed and then

turning to Narayana, his son, clasped him to his bosom. They heard the

old man cry out loud and clear, "Of course, I know who this is.! This …

this is the youngest one of my dozen sons"!

 

Iin the very next instant they saw him slump dead!

 

************ ************* ******************

 

The moral of the story:

 

The strongest "virakti"for the world the sick old merchant may have felt

while alive… all the "virakti" simply vanished in the fleeting moments

of dying… quickly and completely. Even in those terrifying moments of

mortality it was the old man's sense of possessive kinship that

prevailed over all other thoughts ---- including, possibly, the thought

that the moment actually represented the last and final opportunity for

him to bow out of this world with the holy name of "Narayana" on the

lips!!

 

But to go back again to our first question: why should we be filled with

a sense of weariness for the world? Why are we sometimes in the course

of life overcome by such heavy feelings of world-rejection?

 

Clearly, it is because of fear.

 

Our yearning for the "other world" does not arise from any innate

weariness of this one… on the contrary, we love this world with all our

heart… Our "virakti" arises principally out of our fear of this world.

 

It is Swami Desikan, the "kavi-simham", who accurately underscores the

true nature of our world-weariness described above.

 

In an oft-quoted verse (#13) from the "abeethi-stavam" he writes:

 

na vaktum~api shakya~tE naraka-garba vAsAdikam

vapuscha bahu dhAtukam niPuNa chintanE tAdhrusham

trivishtapa mukham thathA divi padasya tE deevyataha

kimatra na bhayAs-padam bhavati ranga prithvi patE !

 

(My free translation ):

 

The 'wise ones' know

Thy Dwelling to be

Higher than paradise

The celestials' glee;

 

All abodes in the womb of this world

They know too well

Are the gateways of hell;

 

And all which lives in flesh and blood,

Tell me, O Ranga,

Has it anythin' but terror ever bred?

 

 

We will continue in later posts.

 

adiyEn dAsAnu-dAsan,

Sudarshan

 

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