Indra and the Maruts quarrel
Great and constant as is the friendship between Indra and the Maruts, there are some few traces in the hymns of a dispute between them, with mutual reproaches and self-assertion. Now a dispute between gods always means one between their votaries, and verses like the following may point to some ancient schism between priests of the Maruts and priests of Indra, each party probably contending for their favorites’ respective claims to superior prowess and power. In the principal of the passages in question, Indra rebukes the Maruts for having left him to fight the serpent Alii single handed, immediately adding that he is strong and powerful enough to overcome his enemies by his own might alone. They reply :
“ Thou hast indeed done great things, O mighty one, with us for thy helpers, through our equal valor. But we Maruts, O strong Indra, can perform many great deeds by our power when we so desire.”
Indra retorts: “By my own inborn might, O Maruts, I slew Vritra. Through my own wrath I grew so strong. It was I who, wielding the lightning, opened the way for the shining waters to run down for men ”
The Maruts : “In truth, O hero, there is nought thou canst not conquer. Thou hast no equal among the gods. . . ,
”Indra : “ Mine then must be the supreme power. What I have begun, I carry out wisely ; for, O Maruts, I am known as the Strong One. ...”
In conclusion, Indra expresses himself as pleased with their praise and homage, and the old friendship is renewed—on the distinct understanding that Indra is the greater. And so he has the best of it here, as he had in his dispute with Varuna.
The Sun-and-Dawn Drama
We have now pretty thoroughly studied those gloomy scenes of what we called the Atmospheric Drama which are known in mythological language as the STORM-MYTH. But there is another drama, enacted not in the Middle-Region, but on a higher plane—in the highest heaven itself ; nor are the chief actors beings of war and violence, but the most beauteous and gentle of Powers—the light-and-life giving Sun, and the loveliest of heaven’s daughters, the Dawn. Wherefore the scenes in which they take part have received the collective name of SUN-AND Dawn Myth. Their parts—as those of genuine protagonists or “ first subjects ” should—embrace both love and war : love towards each other (for in some way Sun and Dawn must always be closely connected), and war with the beings of opposite nature to theirs : Darkness in all its forms, and consequently some of the foes of Indra and the Maruts—obscuring clouds and blinding mists.
The Sun-and-Dawn drama presents more variety of incident than the Storm drama, for the reason that these two mythical persons offer richer poetical material to a lively imagination which, according to the moment’s mood or fancy, can place them in different relations to each other and to the other and lesser powers which complete the cast. Thus, if the Dawn is the born enemy of Darkness, which to dispel and rout is her only business, she is also the twin sister of Night, as they are manifestly both daughters of Dyaus, the Sky, and both work in harmony in their alternate times, keeping the eternal ordinances of Rita and the Adityas. Then again she has another sister, even more brilliant, but also older, sadder than herself—the evening Gloaming, doomed to be devoured by the demon Darkness, the shaggy Beast, which the bright young sister vanquished in the morning. Or yet—Dawn and Gloaming are one: the maiden, dazzling in her beauty, arrayed in saffron and rosy robes, drives her golden chariot through the portals of the East, closely followed by her lover the young Sun, whose advances she receives, coy, but not unwilling, until her delicate, ethereal being shrinks from his more and more fiery touch and she flees to the ends of the heavens, vanishes, and is lost to her gay lover ; he, meantime, not being free to tarry (for the path laid out by Rita must be run), pursues his way, meets foes—the cloud demons of many shapes, the crawling mist-serpents, whom he transfixes and dispels with his golden spear —meets other loves too, especially the dangerously fascinating Apsaras, the water-maidens that sail the sky on light shifting cloud lets—until, weary, shorn of his power, yet glorious still, he sinks low and lower, sometimes serenely victorious, sometimes still fighting his darkling, crowding foes, whom he disperses by a last mighty effort, like a dying hero ; and here at last he, the old Sun, beholds again his love of the morning—no longer the radiant, hopeful Dawn, but the subdued, the saddened Gloaming. For one brief while the lovers are united at their career’s end ; for one brief moment the joy of their meeting irradiates the West, then, in each other’s embrace, they sink to their rest—to their doom, and Darkness, their arch-foe, engulphs them. To-morrow’s young rising Sun is their child—if the popular fancy cares to look for a sequel to the day’s drama, which is not usual in early Indian poetry. It prefers the fiction of the old Sun being somehow rejuvenated, cured, liberated, and reappearing youthful and vigorous in the morning.
It is very evident that these are only one or two of a great many possible poetical interpretations of the same natural phenomena, and that each such interpretation must shape itself into an image, an incident, a story. What endless material for love stories, love tragedies ! Each such utterance, separately, is only a more or less apt and beautiful poetical figure, simile, metaphor. But if collected and fitted and pieced into a system, then consistently carried through, some very queer and even distressing features will appear distressing, i.e., so long as we have not the key to mythical language and take its sayings as we would so many bald statements on human affairs. So, while the Sun is the eternal foe of Darkness, still, as he is seen to emerge out of darkness, he may, in a sense, be said to be the “ Child of Darkness,” and it follows that he of necessity must kill his father, just as Agni must needs devour his parents as soon as born. Again, it is no faulty poetical figure to call the Sun the child, or the brother, of the Dawn—and then it may very well happen that he loves, or weds, his mother or his sister, or kills her ! Bad enough to place gods in such awkward positions ; at least the devout votary has the resource, like Agni’s worshipper, to abstain from judging the acts of great deities. But bring down all this to earth—as all nature-myth has invariably been brought down, to become Heroic Epos—and see in what a fine tangle the later poets will find themselves, what horrible deeds they will calmly relate of their most cherished ancient heroes and founders of royal houses, without the least consciousness or recollection of the original real meaning of what they tell ! Fortunately there is little system or consistency in the Rig-Veda—at least, so far as combining and connecting the different myths with which it teems. So we can take each one on its own merits, untroubled by moral qualms or logical misgivings.
Surya—The Sun
To begin with plain fact, SURYA is the Sanskrit common noun designating the Sun ; the root contained in it gives it the meaning of “ brilliant, shining.” And Surya is, in the Rig-Veda, the material, visible luminary, “created” by the gods (or even some particular god), and obedient to their bidding. But Surya is not only the sun, he is also the Sun-god, powerful, independent, subject only to the ordinances of the great Adityas, themselves governed by Rita, the supreme Cosmic and Moral Law. This distinction—surely unconscious, and which we find in the presentment of all the Nature gods— between their physical and moral essence, accounts for the difference in the tone of the several hymns, and even different parts of the same hymns, addressed to this deity. These invocations are mostly fine poetry, and the figures used explain themselves.
One quality has been universally ascribed to the divinized Sun in every age, by every ancient race : that of being “ all-seeing.” The association of this quality with the giver of light and the disperser of darkness is too natural to suggest mutual borrowing, and we need not wonder if we find a striking resemblance between the Old Chaldean and the Old Aryan hymns to the Sun, not only in this particular, but in several other poetical conceptions. 1 Surya, a Son of the Sky (Dyaus), we have already learned to know as the Eye of Mitra and Varuna.a Now, in Oriental phraseology, the Eyes of the King are his spies, so it is but natural that he should observe all the deeds of men, and report them to the great Adityas, the guardians and avengers of Law and Right. That the expression was really understood in this manner is proved by the frequent prayer to Surya to “ report men sinless before the Adityas,” — which looks singularly like a request, in child-slang, “ not to tell on them,” and so not bring them into disgrace and punishment. Thus one of the Vasishthas sings:
“ If thou, O Surya, at thy rising wilt report us truly sinless to Varuna and Mitra, we will sing to please the gods. . . . Surya is rising, O Varuna-Mitra, to pace both worlds, looking down on men, protector of all that travel or stay, beholding right and wrong among men. He unharnesses his seven Harits . . . and hastens dutifully to your throne, ye twain, surveying all beings, as a shepherd his flock. . . . Surya emerges from the sea of light, he whose path the Adityas laid out. . . .”
“. . . He unweaves [ravels up] the black mantle, his rays cas off the darkness, rolling it up as a hide and dropping it into the waters.
“ Not hanging on to anything, not made fast, how comes it that he falls not from such height ? By whose guidance does he travel ? Who has seen it ? ”
Even more rapturous is the following greeting :
“ The gods’ bright face has now arisen, the Eye of Mitra, Varuna, and Agni ; Surya fills heaven, earth, and atmosphere, the breath of life of all that stands and moves. . . . The beautiful golden Harits, the bright ones, hailed by songs of joy, they mount to the highest heaven, and in one day their course encircles heaven and earth. . . . And when he unharnesses the mares, the veil of darkness spreads over all things.”
We have learned to know the Sun as a horse, and as a bird. These images both remain standing symbols of the god, and there even are two hymns , rather obscurely and mystically worded, celebrating him as “ the Bird adorned by the Asura ” (Varuna), and as “the Horse who neighed as soon as he was born, emerging out of the waters [or mist],” the Steed with the “falcon’s wings and the gazelle’s feet.” So the Dawn is said to bring “the Eye of the gods” to “lead forth the white and lovely horse.” There are few entire hymns addressed to Surya, but of these the following , has become famous for its rich imagery and its unusually finished literary form :
- The god who knows all beings rises aloft, drawn by his rays, that he, Surya, may behold all things.
- Straightway, like thieves, the stars with their brightness slink away before the all-seeing god.
- His rays are visible to all mankind, blazing like flames.
- .All conspicuous on thy rapid course thou createst light, illumining the whole firmament.
- Thou risest for the race of gods and for that of men, that all may behold thy light.
- With that same glance wherewith Varuna, the illuminator, surveys the busy race of men.
- Thou, O Surya, searchest the sky and the wide space, making the days, spying out all creatures.
- Seven mares bear thee on, O farseeing Surya, in thy chariot, god of the flaming locks.
- Surya has harnessed the seven Harits, daughters of the car, self-yoked.
- Gazing out of the darkness up at the highest light, we have reached Surya, a god among the gods.”
Indra And Surya
Surya’s relations to Indra are rather peculiar. The grim warrior god appears to treat him sometimes in a friendly and sometimes in a hostile way. True, there are many passages—in hymns to Indra, be it noted—which would place the sun-god in his direct dependence, by actually saying that he was created by Indra; but this must be taken only as a piece of exaggeration from excessive zeal on the part of the worshipper to ingratiate himself with the deity he is invoking—a trick of Vedic priestly poetry which has long been noticed as one of its most peculiar and characteristic features. When, however, Indra is said to have prepared the way for Surya, or “ caused him to shine,” it is no more than good myth-rhetoric. For we can well imagine—from personal observation — the sun-god so overwhelmed in battle with Alii, Vritra, and other cloud-demons as to be unable to extricate himself and overcome his foes without the help of the Thunderer’s weighty arm ; in plain prose —a thunderstorm clears the sky and allows the sun to shine. It is, in substance, the same myth as that contained in a passage which tells how “ the gods lifted Surya out of the sea [samitdra] wherein he lay hidden ” . Not less transparent is the request to Indra that he should “hide the sun,” here likened to a wheel, and direct his bolts against SHUSHNA, the Demon of Drought. But this short verse also very clearly shows how Surya, on certain occasions, could be regarded by Indra, on behalf of men and nature generally, as an enemy and a nuisance, to be suppressed, at least temporarily, at all cost. For when battle is to be waged in earnest against the wickedest of all fiends, the blazing disc, or wheel, of the sun is hardly a desirable auxiliary. So that we do not wonder at the climax when Indra is praised for having, with the help of Soma, broken a wheel from Surya’s chariot and sent it spinning downhill, thereby laming “ the great wizard.”
Indra And Ushas
On the same principle we can understand how the Dawn herself—USHAS, the beautiful, the auspicious —could be treated by Indra at times with the utmost severity ; in seasons of drought, is not the herald of another cloudless day, the bringer of the blazing sun, a wicked sorceress, a foe to gods and men, to be dealt with as such by the Thunderer when, soma-drunk, he strives with his friends the Maruts to storm the brazen stables of the sky, and bring out the blessed milch-kine which are therein imprisoned? Indra’s treatment of the hostile Dawn is as summary as his treatment of Surva, though at other times he is as ready to help her, and “ lay out a path ” for her, and “ cause her to shine ” or “ light her up.” It is the same myth ; and fortunately we have it in a far clearer and completer form. Smashing the obnoxious one’s car seems to be the one method which occurs to the great foe-smiter, who is more earnest than inventive.
“This heroic task also, this manly deed, O Indra, thou didst perform, that thou didst smite the woman who planned mischief, the Daughter of the Sky [Dyaus] ; this Ushas, who was exalting herself, thou didst strike her down. Ushas fell in terror from her shattered car when the mighty one had felled it to the ground. There it lay, broken utterly, while she herself fled far away.”
This feat of Indra’s is recounted in a hymn which rehearses a list of his finest exploits. It is evidently looked on as one of his highest claims to glory and gratitude, for it is repeatedly alluded to in different books. In one passage, the fair Ushas is represented as having taken the lesson to heart and flying of her own accord, leaving her chariot standing, from fear of Indra’s bolt, while in another the latter is said to have smitten certain enemies as he had broken Ushas's car.