I have thought a lot about this, having grown up in a climate of disdain for Indian rituals, discarded because they were tiring and expensive. Also, many rituals were blindly followed with nobody knowing why they were performed. Many sampradayas added to the confusion. Fair enough. I, too, fell for catchphrases like “I’m spiritual, not religious”, which seemed so cool at first.
But when I thought it over, such declarations seemed empty. What did “spiritual” actually mean in this vast world with its many ways of addressing the unseen? Who were we supposed to talk to without our particular gods? Whisper into the void? There were many new-age fads speaking pretty words, to investigate and invariably lose interest in, because they lacked solidity and substance.
Whereas, I realised Sanatana Dharma teaches in layers. It first gives us beautiful forms to address, then symbols to contemplate, then philosophies to understand, and along the way, it bestows anubhuti—an experience of the divine. The deity remains the deity. It is we who change in understanding and attitude as our journey intensifies.
I saw that ritual is a language of communication between us and the deity we address, a language rooted in love for God and respect for Nature, including formal rituals for a country’s prosperity and general well-being—“sarva bhaumaya mangalam”. Those are a qualified purohit’s larger job, to ceremonially ask on our collective behalf.
Besides that are rituals for personal landmarks—colloquially called ‘hatch, match and dispatch’, meaning birth, marriage and death. There are blessings sought for a pregnancy, for the naming of a baby, for a new project, a new business, a new flat or house, a new job, a new vehicle. Milestones that we request God’s grace for if we have faith, or want to have faith “as insurance”.
It’s entirely normal and nice to want formal prayers for these. However, a modern rule book with rates is probably advisable for society, since some priests are regrettably demanding during death ceremonies, when families are most vulnerable.
Beyond this, we possess our individual rituals as worshippers. In the dharmic view, God is not separate from us. God pervades everything, moving and unmoving, and that includes us. The belief goes that God lives within us as our moral compass, as well as being our inner refuge. That is why we have names for the divine like Vishnu, meaning all-pervading, and epithets like Antaryami, the in-dweller.
That is why our spiritual goal is to attain moksha, or liberation from the endless cycle of birth and death—“punarapi jananam, punarapi maranam”, as Adi Shankara said. What do we mean by moksha, though? Some call it ‘realising bliss’ while alive through spiritual growth. Its biggest blessing, says belief, is to be never born again but to be absorbed forever in God’s light. To disappear like a wave disappears in the sea after rearing its head for its brief ‘life’.
This simple prayer says it all, be it addressed to our ishta devta (chosen deity) or kuladeva (ancestral deity): “Anayasena maranam, vina dhainyena jivanam, dehantey tava saanidhyam, dehimey Parameshwaram”. It means, “An easy death, a life free from misery and poverty, and sanctuary with you after death—grant me this, God, please.” A variant on the last line goes, “Dehi mey kripaya Shambho (Krishna, Devi), tvayi bhaktim achanchalam”, meaning, “Grant me unwavering, unshakable devotion to you.” Such prayers are known to have kept many Indians going valiantly through life’s storms and upheavals.
A beautiful prayer by Adi Shankara speaks directly to the modern Indian. It’s called the Bhavani Ashtakam, or Eight Verses to the Devi, in which Shankara says he doesn’t know yoga, tantra, mantra, puja, tirtha or stotra, that he is chockfull of faults, so the Devi alone is his refuge, whether he’s in arguments, quarrels, accidents, travels, by water, fire or up on a mountain, amid enemies, or in a pitiable condition with a dull face.
The heartfelt refrain in each verse goes, “Gatistvam gatistvam, tvameka Bhavani”, meaning, “You, and you alone, are my refuge, Devi.” It’s worth noting here that our face usually reflects our mental condition, and a dull, morose face without a gleam of humour or kindness is listed as a sorrow to be saved from. We can hear the Bhavani Ashtakam online, and its straightforward meaning, word for word, is also two clicks away. It could have been written specifically for us in the 21st century, it is that relevant and contemporary.
Grounded prayers like this, rooted in human reality, and Shankara’s Bhaja Govindam, have long made me think that he was driven by love and compassion for humanity, and was not just the high-altitude scholar and philosopher that he’s been cemented as. Of course, he had that super-brain, and indomitable courage. But it’s his concerned advice for us everyday folks that goes to the heart, like remembering God, looking after ourselves holistically and giving to the poor. That’s why I now find the old painting of Shankara too remote, and prefer the vibrant modern depictions that better reflect his amazing persona.
Saying a prayer and doing nama japam every day are time-honoured personal rituals, and I have heard middle-aged friends mourn that they really regretted that they didn’t start doing those things from a young age. They said they would have found so much mental strength and equanimity during their struggles if they had. Thankfully, it’s all out there, waiting for us. We just have to meet it sincerely halfway.
Renuka Narayanan | FAITHLINE | Senior journalist
(Views are personal)
(shebaba09@gmail.com)