Thiruvilaiyadal Puranam that is enacted in the Madurai Meenakshi Temple during the Meenakshi Sundareswarar temple festival talks about this wonderful story that became popular across South India owing to the film of the same name. One of the riveting scenes in the film is that of thespian Sivaji Ganesan as Lord Shiva, confronting the poet Nakkeerar.
The king of Madurai, under whose patronage the great Tamil Sangam or the guild of Tamil poets functioned, announces a competition for poets. Nakkeerar, the head of the Sangam and an accomplished poet, is the judge. A poor poet named Tharumi prays to Lord Shiva for inspiration as he needs the reward money. Lord Shiva gifts him a composition.
Tharumi presents the same in the court of the Pandyan king. The king is about to gift Tharumi the reward when Nakkeerar stops him. He suggests the verse has flaws. He is scathing in his denunciation. One point which he raises is that the poet lauds the natural fragrance in the hair of the heroine and this usage has an obvious flaw. The Sangam denies Tharumi the prize and the poor man goes back to the temple and moans to Shiva.
An enraged Shiva, in the disguise of the poet, appears at the court and confronts the Sangam. A great argument ensues between Nakkeerar and Lord Shiva. Nakkeerar argues that the poem is inexact as it has a spurious metaphor, and no woman’s hair is fragrant. Shiva shows his Vishwaroopa and asks Nakkeerar, “Tell me, you arrogant poet of Sangam, whether the hair of my consort Parvati who is the mother of the universe, who is present in everything, who is everything and beyond all, who is the universe and who is both the blossom and the fragrance, is fragrant or not.”
Nakkeerar stands erect and says, “No, even her hair is not fragrant, for even mother goddess Shakti is not beyond the rules of nature.” Shiva’s third eye throbs as he roars, “Who knows the nature of my wife’s hair, I or you? I will allow you one chance to atone your words and beg mercy. Open your eyes and behold who I am.” Nakkeerar does not flinch. He says, “I know you are the God, but the Truth is greater than God. Even if you burn me, the Truth does not alter. If you say mother Parvati’s hair is fragrant, my duty as the head of Tamil Sangam is to point out you are wrong.”
Shiva burns Nakkeerar with his third eye and turns him to ashes. The entire Tamil Sangam stands up and says, you are Mahadeva, the glorious God and the lord of the universe, but you are wrong. Pleased with the devotion of the poets to the truth, Lord Shiva resurrects Nakkeerar and ordains that as long as anyone like Nakkeerar—a man who has the fortitude to dissent and fight for truth without fear—exits in this world, the great Sangam will be alive.
India’s finest contribution to the world thought is not ‘zero’. It is the celebration of dissent. It took the European renaissance for the western world to stumble on free thought and the power of dissent. The list of philosophers, thinkers and writers executed for dissent in the western world can fill many volumes. Socrates was accused of corrupting the young and condemned to death.
Nero executed Seneca for strife. Jesus Christ was crucified by Romans to please the Jewish clergy. Early Christians were fed to lions. When Christianity became powerful, fanatics lynched the pagan philosopher Hypatia. In the dark ages, Roman Church made inquisition and burning at stakes was a regular affair. Islam has a gruesome history in dealing with dissent and so does the communist autocracies. Stalin killed Trotsky and Mao turned killing into an art.
Contrast this with ancient India where stories as that of Nakkeerar abound. While Socrates was drinking poison, in our country, Maharishi Carvaka, the great materialist philosopher, proclaimed without fear, “There is no world other than this; there is no heaven and no hell; the realm of Shiva and like regions, are invented by stupid imposters.” Was he criticised for his views? He was, but Shiva bhakts did not lynch him. India revers Carvaka as a great seer.
Buddha and Mahavira rejected Vedas. They were not crucified or stoned to death; they were exalted. A Chandala stopped Adi Shankara, who was coming back victorious after vanquishing scholars around the world in debate. The Chandala said to the Guru, “Your Advaita is hollow for you are not able to see the Parabrahma residing in me and you are the same.” The Guru fell at his feet to seek forgiveness. Indians opposed unpalatable ideas with the power of the stencil and not with the sword.
The first aberration to this great Indian tradition was the assassination of Mahatma Gandhi. He was perhaps the first Indian to be killed for his ideas by another Indian. If one needs the help of guns and weapons to defend one’s idea, the idea is weak and fragile. The idea is not even worth protecting. Now, when every caste, linguistic and religious groups come to the street to protest real and imaginary slights to their hypersensitive ego, we are taking another step away from the great Indian tradition of dissent.
Trolls prowl the social media landscape, armed with choicest abuses to shout down dissenters. It should not be difficult for us to accept the necessity of dissent in a modern democracy. We need more Nakkeerars to stand up and say the truth, without fear or favour. Else, we may degenerate to a mediaeval society that India never was.
Anand Neelakantan
Author, columnist, speaker
mail@asura.co.in