For the last few weeks, I found myself watching YouTube videos on deep-sea fishing. One showed up randomly on my feed and since it was about the South coast and I missed the sea, I watched it. This led to watching more. It was quite hypnotic at first to look at the vast expanse of waves and the steady movements of the fishermen, culminating in the excitement of the catch. They threw in over 250 lines of bait and hauled in the ‘fruit of the sea’. The fish were simply enormous. They were beautiful in colour, gold, silver and multi-hued; trevally, kingfish, queenfish, grouper, sailfish, horse mackerel.
Fishing has been one of man’s respectable occupations since ancient times so obviously I don’t consider it otherwise.But after watching a few videos I started noticing a couple of things or three in the close-ups.One, the bleeding mouths of the caught fish. Two, the futile desperation of their dying flops. Three, the fishermen used live bait like prawns, sardines and scadfish, which the big fish were tempted by and got hooked.
The last was a clear demonstration of the concept of ‘Matsya Nyaya’, the brutal ‘Law of Fish’ by which big fish eat little fish. Chanakya, the ancient philosopher and political strategist, being a hardcore realist, saw man as innately depraved. In his view, a strong, secure and tightly administered government was absolutely necessary to prevent society from lapsing into the state of Matsya Nyaya, wherein the strong devoured the weak and big people oppressed little people unchecked by law.
A moral thought intruded next, from the Srimad Bhagavatam. It took me back to our old friend the ‘Avadhuta’ or self-realised sanyasi who told King Yadu the story of Pingala (Faithline, Pingala of Videha and her stark reality check, October 3, 2022). The Avadhuta told King Yadu that he learnt 24 lessons from as many sources.
Sri Krishna relates the whole story to his good friend and follower Uddhava. This devotee has been by Krishna’s side ever since Krishna came to Mathura and killed Kamsa. Now he senses the doom of the Vrishnis and, unbearably, the departure of Krishna from Earth.
He pleads fervently with Krishna to never leave him for he cannot imagine a life without Krishna. But Krishna, who has lived out a hundred and twenty five years, tells Uddhava that he must go, while Uddhava must stay for his allotted span to instruct mankind on how to cope with life. He imparts to him the observations of the Avadhuta, which seem so contemporary and relevant even today.
Among the Avadhuta’s lessons are keen observations about the five senses which exist and operate in a living being. Consider the person who is driven by bodily needs, he says. He or she needs tasty food, clean drinking water, and perhaps a few other liquids. He wants someone to hold and be held by, good music to please his ears and sweet scents for his nose to enjoy. His eyes want beautiful things to look at.
A human being is impelled to satisfy all these cravings. The Bhagavatam compares this condition to that of a man with many wives and concubines, who must please them all. Indeed, as we all know, consumer culture, and the goods and service sectors, are driven by the demand to cater to the five senses. In today’s terms, if you’re an MBA, for instance, you have to spend the next thirty or forty years of your life selling tyres, tea, shirts or chocolates. You may get to play golf, join a wine club and go hot-air ballooning in Cappadocia if that’s what floats your boat but you also burn yourself up like camphor to survive and make it in a brutally competitive world, as is the case with other professions.
Just look at the lessons contained in the natural world, says the Avadhuta. The fish is tempted by its sense of taste and is caught and killed when it takes the bait. The moth is betrayed by its sense of sight. It cannot resist a bright light, which kills it. When just a single sense leads to doom, what can one say about the plight of a human being who is beset with the demands of all five senses and cannot satisfy all of them easily? Nor can he resist them unless his mind is the boss, not his body.
The cure, says our culture, is to cultivate some inner detachment, a ‘me space’ that tries not to take it too hard if met with disappointment.
Here we must marvel at the sophistication of Indian thought. Kama, artha and moksha, that is, love, livelihood and liberation from more births, when driven by dharma or a moral code, are proper aspirations in our culture.
The family has great value as a social unit. But the very same culture also upholds detachment and ‘alone time’ as worthwhile paths to soul satisfaction. Are we to pursue the soul path only after 60 when our aspirations are more or less fulfilled? No, says our culture.
We must manage both at the same time right through: do our duty, lead the life, but be aware and protect our heart; don’t give in to bitterness and anger because we didn’t get everything we wanted because, in the end, it doesn’t matter.
But how is this fine balance achieved? This is where the big guns boom. The Bhagavad Gita—Krishnam vande jagadgurum (Hail Lord Krishna, the world’s Teacher)—says that the secret is nishkama karma or desireless action. Let’s do what we have to do but not let a disappointing result crush us. We are more than that.
Seen that way, the videos on deep-sea fishing seem to resonate with this teaching. The fishermen go out to sea every day and keep on at it, braving the elements. A bad catch doesn’t deter them from sailing out anyway.
We could probably add them to the Avadhuta’s list, couldn’t we?
Renuka Narayanan
Slug: Faithline