The Role of Allegory

ALLEGORY AND INTERPRETATION 

 IN NALA AND DAMAYANTI

नारायणं नमस्कृत्य नरं चैव नरोत्तमम्

 देवीं सरस्वतीं चैव ततो जयम् उदीरयेत्

महाभरत

Mahābharata

As retold by

Michael Dolan, B.V. Mahāyogi

Nala and Damayanti

When approaching an ancient text such as Mahabharata we naturally wonder how we are to interpret its meaning.

How are we to understand the Bible or the Bhagavad-Gita? Fundamentalists insist on the textual meaning of scripture, but since the scripture was written or revealed in a foreign language we rely on translation. And yet, translation itself is a form of interpretation. 
Without translation, how can we understand or discuss the ancient literature of faith which was originally written in Sanskrit, Greek, Hebrew, or Latin? 

Fundamentalists, of course, take a dim view of interpretation; and yet fundamentalism is but one among many interpretations. 

Fundamentalists insist that we must accept a text “AS IT IS,” and yet to explain the correct meaning of three words they often need a thousand.

Deeper thinkers compare texts, cite precedent, and look to the examples of greater readers than themselves. Their commentaries form the basis of doctrines. Doctrines are taken up by schools which treasure a particular interpretation and shelter living teachers who expound them.

Let’s take an example. In the Bible, in  Book of John 1.1, we find “In the beginning was the word and the word was with God and the word was God.” 

Simple enough, right? But what exactly was the word? 

Was the “Word” a mantra by which God created the world? 

The Greek is λογος, LOGOS. Now Logos or “word” could be taken to mean, “the word of God.” So, “In the beginning was the Word of God.” For Hindus the Word of God is found in the Vedas, for Islam it is the Koran. A Christian might want to be more specific; for Christians the word of God reveals Jesus Christ and is revealed by Him. So, it may be said that “Logos denotes the essential Word of God, Jesus Christ the Personal Wisdom and Power in Union with God.”  (http://www.gospel-john.com/greek/chapter-1.html)

Of course Logos also means “Logic.” So, perhaps John here is saying that before the universe comes into being there is logic, the laws of nature. “In the beginning there was logic,” seems a logical idea.

“Logos” can also mean “the idea.” So perhaps We mean to say that idea precedes matter. “In the beginning was the Idea.” 

I don’t want to belabour the reader with too many examples, but it seems clear that even so simple a sentence as “In the beginning was the word…” is subject to a wide variety of interpretations, doctrines and schools.

How then can fundamentalism exist? Even a purely textual analysis leads us into unknown waters, for there is a big difference between saying that the world began with a mantra (logos) or saying that it began with Jesus Christ; that the world began with scripture (logos) or with logic.

Which interpretation is best?

Different interpretations imply distinct teachers and lead to different consequences. If I accept the Christian interpretation of “Logos” I follow the Christian path to Jesus Christ. If I feel that logos  means  logic,  perhaps I become a scientist. By accepting a particular teacher I belong to a school of thought that has arisen around a certain doctrinal point of view. That school has a tradition which grants it solidity. 

As long as I feel strong in a certain tradition there is no need for me to do any interpretation on my own. I have my faith.

And yet, what if I am asked to think?

In the 1980s I was faced with  a dilemma. I had great faith in my guru, A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, author of “Bhagavad-Gita As It Is,” and founder and teacher of the International Society for Krishna Consciousness. Given my own search for truth I found great comfort in his teachings and dedicated my life to following them. I lived simply in a yoga ashram, waking early, chanting thousands of names of God on my rosary, eating simply, and attending religious services. 


We meditated on the eternal soul. We preached dharma, visited India, and worked hard to spread his teachings. But, after a when Prabhupada passed to the next world, his mission was in crisis. 

My guru’s followers tried to continue his mission as before. But they were flawed vessels, unable to communicate a spiritual message at the same level. It seemed to me that where Prabhupada embodied spiritual devotion and knowledge, his students were flawed vessels. His divine message decayed into a call for loyalty.  Leaders wanted to carry on the mission at all costs and prematurely set themselves up as “gurus.” The vibrant and diverse spiritual community I had known collapsed into sectarianism. Where people from Africa, Australia, India, Europe, Asia, and America had been united in an international society around Prabhupada and his teachings, they broke into factions. These schisms have been well-documented and need not be detailed here; that is not my purpose. I suppose some kind of schism or rupture into different schools is inevitable after the passing of a great spirtitual master.

Still, I was forced to choose between teachers and schools at a time when my own personal understanding of spiritual life was still fresh and green. I was quite young, having joined the movement in my early twenties. 

But, returning to my theme, the bone of contention between the differing parties was the correct interpretation of our teacher’s message. Since he had insisted in a fundamentalist approach to certain scriptures, it became difficult for his followers to sustain his method. They lacked tools to interpret the ancient teachings of Bhagavad-Gita and Srimad-Bhagavatam or their modern application by Prabhupada’s own mentor, Bhaktisiddhanta.

The new leaders hardly had their feet wet in terms of grasping the great and perennial wisdom of India. This was in the 1980s, I’m sure everyone concerned is far more erudite and spiritually realized today than they were so long ago. 

Lightning doesn’t often strike twice, so my personal crisis of conscience may be rare. And yet, it seems, whenever an important guru establishes a great school his followers have shown a certain capacity for rupture. 

The new leaders made it clear that dissent was unacceptable; yet at the same time they were unsure of their own points of view. Few had the required flexibility to act as sycophants to the new leaders and the society my guru had created was left in ashes.

In the midst of this crisis I went to India and sought shelter at the feet of another mentor. In fact, he had helped my own teacher. He was a kind of teacher of teachers who had retired to live on the banks of the Ganges. His name was Shridhar Maharaja. He had seen similar schisms in India in the 1930s with the mission of his own guru, Bhaktisiddhanta.

What surprised me about Shridhar Maharaja was his openness. He the kind of guru who poses as a king with bodyguards; he was an unpretentious teacher. People came to visit him with questions, but he rarely went out from his own humble place of worship. His small rooms with a terrace overlooking the Ganges were shelter enough. In the mornings and afternoons he would sit with his friends and a few students and they would talk about what was on their mind, philosophically. They were invited to “think,” along with their teacher, not merely to learn the scriptures by rote.

Someone would pose a question. Shridhar Maharaja would make a point, divide it into deeper questions, illustrate each question with an appropriate quote from scripture, tell a related anecdote or two, and resolve the questions. He would invite us to reflect not only on his answers but also on the questions.

Months later we noted his comments and developed them into books. In a collaborative effort headed by Bhakti Sudhir Goswami we published five of his books at Guardian of Devotion Press where I was Editor. These books were later translated into Spanish, French, German, Chinese, Russian, and Bengali among other languages. The Bengali version was well-received in India. The English and foreign language versions are still in print. Shridhar Maharaja himself received no money from any of these editions. He was a humble man of great erudition and no literary pretension. He occasionally composed such poetry as the Prema-dhama-stotram and created a brilliant commentary on Bhagavad-Gita, but these projects were brought to fruition by his great disciple, Bhakti Sundar Govinda Maharaja, who was responsible for bring together in harmony many of those who had lost in the ruptures and schisms of different missions, as well as giving inspiration to his own international mission. 

Shridhar Maharaja  was a humble soul; his relationship with his foremost disciple Govinda Maharaja was evidence of that humility. Their teacher-student relationship was friendly. In my lifetime of 61 years I don’t know if I have ever seen a greater friendship than the one between Shridhar Maharaja and Govinda Maharaja. But here, both guru and disciple knew how to think. Shridhar Maharaja never tried to turn Govinda Maharaja into a blind follower. He shunned egoism as they collaborated to build the Chaitanya Saraswat Math, his mission in India. 

As I was going through the Bhagavad-Gita recently, making an attempt to give a brief summary for those unfamiliar with its message, I looked at some of the different interpretations. When I went through the version attributed to Shridhar Maharaja, I could understand that the work there was a close collaboration between Shridhar Maharaja and Govinda Maharaja. The degree of their friendship was such that Shridhar Maharaja trusted Govinda Maharaja with curating his message on any number of levels. 

I give this example this to reiterate my point that the erudition of Shridhar Maharaja was no obstacle to his humility. And also that his school allowed for creativity and innovation in his disciples. He was no despot.

 Shridhar Maharaja showed no interest in wealth, in name or fame. When we brought him sample copies of the books we had published in his name, he gave us his blessings and full credit for our work. He said, “What I have given in a random way, you have collected there. You have done the work of Vyasa.” Of course it was the work of Ganesh. Vyasa composed, while Ganesh was the scribe. 

My point here is that in contrast to the so-called “New Leaders,” not only was Shridhar Maharaja a preceptor I could trust, but he encouraged us to understand things. His motto was “Dive deep into reality; go deeper. Don’t take a superficial reading.”.

 He had no interest in Dollars, Diplomacy and Despotism or kana, kamimi, pratistha. At 86 or so years old when I first met him, he had no taste for money, women, or even fame. 

And yet, he was reknowned by Vaishnavas of the Nabadwip school for his depth of understanding. I cannot claim to a great follower of his. And yet in order to publish the books we did as a humble offering I was made aware of the need for interpretation. 

While Shridhar Maharaja defended the Vaishnava point of view, he did so as someone with a vast array of tools and weapons, from literal fundamentalism and deep scholarship to a subtle grasp of allegory. 

When truth is self-evident, there is no need for allegory; but when truth is hinted at, we may accept the allegorical meaning. 

Or as Shridhar Maharaja used to say, “Connotation increases, denotation decreases; Denotation increases, connotation decreases.”

The idea is that when an idea is spelled out for us, carefully delineated and commented on, there is not much need for interpretation, but when we are faced with an implied meaning  in the Bhagavad-Gita, Mahabharata, Bhagavatam, or elsewhere, we are free to understand the inference.

For example, the invocation of Mahābhārata:

 नारायणं नमस्कृत्य नरं चैव नरोत्तमम्  देवीं सरस्वतीं चैव ततो जयम् उदीरयेत् 

nārāyanaṃ namaskṛtya 

naraṃ caiva narottamam 

deviṃ sarasvatiṃ caiva

tato jayam udirayet

This may be translated as follows:  “To Narayana: obeisances as also to Nara, the Supreme Human. To the devas, headed by Saraswati. Then, Jaya may be uttered.”

Nara and Narayana are the worshipful deities of Badarikashrama. And yet sometimes Arjuna and Krishna are considered as Nara and Narayana.  So, it may seem to some that the author invokes Nara and Narayan or Arjuna and Krishna. “Jaya” is the ancient name of the Mahabharata, since its subject is the Triumph of Dharma as well as the Victory of the Pandavas. 

And yet, Vishvanatha Chakravarti Thakura who is perhaps the greatest master of interpreting allegorical meanings in the Gaudiya line of Vaishnavism has another view. He thinks that “Nara” refers to the “human-like form of Godhead.” Narayana obviously references  the “Vishnu form of Godhead.” So the line under discussion references the Aishvarya or Majestic form of God as well as the intimate human form of Godhead found in Vrindavan. The line could be tranlsated as follows. 

After offering all respect to the Supreme Person Krishna 

who has a human-like form, and to Narayana, 

the majestic form of Lord Vishnu, 

and after bowing before  Sarasvati, the goddess of learning, 

this poem, called "Jaya!" or  victory, 

[also known as Mahābhārata] 

may be recited and studied.

In trying to access the allegorical meanings found in Mahabharata, one must dig a bit deeper. While the Mahabharata is clearly a Vaishnava text, containing as it does both the Bhagavad-Gita and the Vishnu Sahasra Nama, some of the stories found there do not yield their meaning on first glance. 

And yet, something of the allegorical meaning may be seen if we take Vishvanatha’s version. 

The story of of Nala and Damayanti for example is a case in point. Many commentators take it that “Nala” is a corrupt form of Nara. That is to say the hero of the story is in fact Nara. Yudhisthira is asked by Brihad Aswa to reflect on the history of someone named “Nala” who could in fact be “Nara” of Nara-Narayana. That is to say Yudhisthira is being asked to reflect on Krishna.

Many dramatists rely merely on the first part of the story. At face value this is a trite love story; a potboiler, a romantic tale for the ladies. But a deeper reading has been made for centuries. If Mahabharata is a mundane work, devoid of spiritual value, then perhaps the story of Nala and Damayanti is merely eyewash for the general public; a fairy tale to make us think of the evils of gambling. But what if something deeper is going on here?

Śrī Harśa seemed to think there was. Śriharsha was a Sanskrit  a poet in the court of King Vijayachandra of Kanauj, (present day Uttar Pradesh). 

According to Rajasekhara’s Prabandhakosa, after writing his famous kavya, Naiṣadha Carita, which tells the story of Nala and Damayanti, Sriharsha was honoured with the title, Narabharati.

After achieving fame at court, he spent his later life as a renounced sage on the banks of Ganges. 

Vijayachandra’s son,  Jayantchandra, ruled over Canauj, in Uttar Pradesh in second part of the 12th century. In 1174,  around the time that Angkor Wat was constructed by Suryavarman II in Cambodia, and the crusades were being fought in Jerusalem,  Naishadha Charita, was supposed to have been composed.

This poem, based on the story found in Mahābhārata was introduced into Gujarrat tradition by Harihara during the reign of Viradhavala in the 13^th Century where dramatic performances of the work have been recorded since that time.

  Besides rendering the work in Sanskrit poetry Sriharsha was a philosopher; His Khandanakhandakhadya focuses on refuting the Nyaya system of philosophy, which has to do with atoms in the void.

According to his view, Nala is a veiled reference to the highest of “human” gods, Nara.

If the poem ends with Damayanti’s search for Nala, where she chooses him at the swayamvara  ceremony, we may see an allegory of the soul’s search for Śrī Kṛṣṇa.

Damayanti is forced to choose between the ordinary gods, like Indra, Vayu, Yama, and Agni. She chooses Nala for his human characteristics. Arjuna, who is also known as and incarnation of “Nara” in the mystic duo of “Nara-Narayana” also chooses devotion to Krishna as the “human” form of Godhead.

In one of the verses of the Śrī Harṣa’s poem, (Naishadha Carita 1.29) “Nala” is described as being perceived by the soul only through bhāvana, a form of meditation which is one of the methods of knowing available to the soul according to Bhagavad-Gita :2.66 nāsti buddhir ayuktasysa, na cāyuktasya bhāvana na cābhāvayataḥ śāntiḥ aśāntasya kṛtaḥ sukham नास्ति बुद्धिर् अयुक्तस्य्स, न चायुक्तस्य भावन न चाभावयतः शान्तिः अशान्तस्य कृतः सुखम्

 It is also mentioned that the vibration of his name, engenders great joy.  

 In the end, Damayanti must choose the real Nala among many false “Nalas.” This may be seen as the need to carefully choose between many false truths or even false gurus.

According to the Sanskrit poet Śrī Harṣa, at any rate, the Nala and Damayanti story must have a deeper and allegorical meaning, one that may perhaps be a metaphor for the search for higher truth and even the Search for Sri Krishna.