The Mahabharata of Palmira

7 Charvaka’s advice-1

7 Charvaka’s advice

‘I wish,’ said Charvaka to Karna when they were alone, ‘I wish people would bring me materials which I could eat straight away, without any cooking or mixing.’ He held up the jar of clarified butter as an example. ‘I do quite enough cooking and mixing of inedible substances... And I am up to my ears in clarified butter. I have half a room full of it. Well, a whole room half-full. I have one pot which is twenty-five years old and still in excellent condition. It is useful for greasing arrows, and so forth, but I have more than enough for that purpose. There are many other substances I would rather be given, had I a choice. If you ever come to see me again, do mention this to your kind father. Tactfully, of course. Sugar is preferable, though I tend not to use it in comestibles. It is bad for the teeth, you know. And, unlike an elephant, I’m on my last set. Nevertheless, even sugar is preferable... Not flour, though — I usually give flour away. It doesn’t last as long, you see. So if I don’t give it away I have to go to the trouble of making bread out of it. And in any case, by the time I’ve made one piece, I’m hungry enough for two.’

‘You should make two at a time, sire,’ suggested Karna.

‘What if I only receive enough flour for one, my boy, as is usually the case. Eh?’

‘Keep it until someone has brought you some more, sire.’

‘By which time I have died of hunger. Not that one actually dies of the desire, hunger, but rather through the privation of its object, food. No... Keeping oneself fed is a mysterious business... I have never quite been able to master it.’

Charvaka had put down the clarified butter and was now observing his visitor.

‘Let me see you breathe, young man. Inhale! Yes. Exhale... Well, it appears to me that you are in what would commonly be described as excellent health. And your mind appears to be working.’

‘Thank you, sire.’

‘I’m not sure that is anything to thank anyone for, my boy, least of all me. For without the shelter of insanity, or the distractions of disease, a man is at the mercy of reality. And that is not a mercy to be thankful for. Eh?’

Charvaka paused, apparently waiting for Karna to make some reply to this point. When none came he continued.

‘Well... The most useful advice I can give you, my boy, is to remember at all times to breathe. Not of course when you find yourself under water. But in almost all other circumstances you will discover that it is absolutely vital. Yes... And much more important than eating or drinking. People will constantly be offering you food and drink, and asking you to eat up. But they will seldom offer you air or remind you to breathe. So, never forget. And do try to do it in the correct sequence, eh? In, then out. Always alternate.’

‘Yes, sire.’

‘Well, off you go then...’

‘Is that all, sire?’

‘All? All of what?’

‘Your advice, sire.’

‘Ah! You want more of my advice?’

‘Yes, sire. Yes please, sire.’

‘Very well... Since you seem such a nice and polite young man... I will give you perhaps the most profound and useful advice I know on how to deal with life’s rigours. Next to breathing, of course. Naturally that has pride of place. But I can guarantee that if you follow this next piece of advice to the letter, your life will get better and better.’

‘Thank you, sire.’

‘My advice is simply this. Always do first what you find worst. The next thing then can’t be as bad. But if you leave the worst till last, your life will go from bad to worse.’

‘Thank you, sire.’

‘Right, off you go then!’ Charvaka took a coin out of one of the pockets of his cloak and gave it to Karna. Then he shuffled back to his stool and sat down again by his manuscripts.

‘Do I have to go, sire?’

‘Good heavens, are you still here? I thought I’d got rid of you... I’m usually very good at getting rid of little boys like you.’ The rishi stroked his beard. ‘Very well, then, since clearly you seem to have some reason for wanting to see me...’ He noticed Karna studying the balance with interest. ‘Have you not seen one like this before?’

‘No, sire. I think I’ve seen something like it in the market place, at home. What’s it for?’

‘What’s it for! Do you mean to tell me you don’t know! It’s for weighing, my boy. Have your parents not shown you how to use a balance?’

‘No, sire.’

‘You have a mother as well as a father?’

‘Yes, sire.’

Charvaka shook his head. ‘This, my boy,’ he began, indicating the balance, ‘is an instrument by which we are enabled to lift up the veil of the great Kali herself.’

‘Who’s Kali, sire? Is that her?’ Karna pointed at the statuette.

‘Well... Yes and no...’ Charvaka picked up the figure. ‘This is just a childish token. A silly indulgence of mine.’ He put the figure on one of the pans of the balance, keeping his hand in support until the pan had fallen to rest on the bench top. Then he picked up a glistening metal weight from among several beside the scales.

‘Do you know what this is, my boy?’

‘No, sire.’

‘Tell me, has your father got an elephant?’

‘No, sire, but we’ve got neighbours in Nagakaksha who’ve got one.’

‘And is it a wild elephant?’

‘Oh no, sire.’

‘Do you know how wild elephants are caught?’

‘Yes, sire. Wild elephants are caught by tame ones.’

‘Well, my boy, that is exactly what happens here.’ He put the weight on the vacant pan of the balance. The scales did not tilt back. He pointed to the statuette. ‘This is the wild and unknown weight.’ Then he indicated the metal weight. ‘And this is the familiar, trained one... I will just put another couple of trained ones on to join it — we usually need more than one trained elephant to capture a wild one. There! They are level. You see, we have used the known to capture the unknown!’

Karna stared at the floating scales.

‘But sire... How did you tame your first one?’

‘Ah! Indeed, my boy... Yes... Well, you see, I was given my first weight when it was at a very tender age, a mere infant. And I reared it most carefully, till it could help me train all these others...’

Karna smiled.

‘Now, my boy,’ continued Charvaka. ‘Tell me who you are and what you want from me.’

‘My name is ―’

‘I’m not interested in your name. Names have no significance. At least, they should have no significance, not if they are proper names, my boy. I should not be able to learn anything about a person merely from their name. A name is not and should not be a description. Unfortunately in recent times people have adopted the very regrettable and often absurd habit of using descriptions for names. Very regrettable. For one can measure the maturity of a civilisation by the insignificance of its names.’

‘But sire, if names didn’t mean anything, then they... they wouldn’t have any meaning, sire.’

‘My boy, there is more to meaning than meaning. I don’t wish to offend, but just look, for example, at your father’s name. Adhi-ratha — a superior ratha! Now, is that regrettable or absurd?’ Charvaka looked down at Karna’s brown sash. ‘Isn’t your father a suta?’

‘Yes, sire. But sire, what is a ratha?’

‘There you are!’ Charvaka gave a little snort under his breath. ‘There you are, you don’t even know what your father’s name means, and yet I’m sure you’ve been using it quite successfully all your talking life. A ratha, my boy, is a man, usually a kshatriya, sometimes a brahmana, who has shown some significant distinction in battle. Excuse my prejudice, but I doubt that this is an appropriate description of your father?’

‘No, sire.’

‘So, when I ask you who you are, I want an appropriate description, not a name. If you can only answer with your name, you don’t really know who you are, do you, my boy?’

‘Sire, I’m a young boy...’

‘That’s better! Exactly how young?’

‘I’m seven and a quarter. Sire. And I have three little brothers.’

‘And why have you come here?’

‘Because my father brought me. He didn’t tell me why.’

Charvaka scratched his beard. ‘That’s interesting. And yet you seem to want to be here?’

‘Sire, I think I know why my father brought me. Though he didn’t tell me.’

‘You think you know?’

‘Yes, sire. I’m too quiet to be a chariot driver like my father. Chariot drivers have to tell funny stories and things like that to the warriors when they’re travelling on a long journey. And people say I’m too quiet for that, so I can’t be a driver.’

‘I see... I see. But would you like to be a driver?’

‘No, sire. I want to be a warrior.’

‘But you are the son of a suta. Sutas aren’t generally allowed to be fighters. Fighters are usually kshatriyas, sometimes brahmanas... But never sutas.’

‘Why not, sire?’

‘That’s the custom, my boy.’

‘But that’s not fair, sire.’

‘Of course it’s not fair, my boy! What do you think customs are for? They are just very polite ways of being unfair. Sometimes they’re not even very polite.’

Karna’s large black eyes looked up sadly at Charvaka.

‘My boy, life is unfair. It always has been, and always will be. No matter what men do. That’s why men look to the heavens to balance what in this life is unjust. For that by which the scales they see and touch on earth are light, they make up on the scales of hope and faith in heaven...’

Karna stood in silence, not knowing what to say or do.

‘My boy, tell me, why do you want to be a chariot fighter?’

‘I like the bow, sire.’

‘But the bow is a very difficult instrument to master. I myself can hardly string a good, tall bow, let alone shoot an arrow straight! Though I can make you as good a bow as you could wish for. And any kind of arrow you care to mention. So you see, not everyone has an aptitude for the bow. What makes you think you will be able to master it?’

‘I can see very well, sire. I’ve watched the warriors, and most of the boys my age can’t see what they do. Their eyes can’t follow, it’s so fast. But I can, sire. And my hands are very good as well.’

‘And do you boast as well as this to other people?’

‘No, sire, only to you, because you asked me... I was just trying to answer your question, sire.’

‘But you said how good your hands were, how well you could see.’

‘I was trying to answer your question, sire.’

‘I know. But remember, my boy, though your eyes may see things very fast, that isn’t exactly the same as seeing well. And though your hands might be very quick, that isn’t necessarily good. Is it?’

‘No, sire.’

‘But I think you’re a little too young to understand that ―’

‘No, sire... My mother’s always saying... If it makes people happy it’s good and if it doesn’t it isn’t... If it makes people sad it’s bad and if it doesn’t it isn’t...’

The rishi stroked his beard as he looked at the boy.

‘I confess that I like you, my boy. I could, perhaps, get someone to teach you to use a bow. Any of the kshatriyas round here would do it if I asked them to. There, you see how unfair life is? For that matter, most of the ones in Anga know me, too. I must say, you have come a very long way just to see me. Rather shrewd of your father. I take it he supports your ambition? Yes, I could persuade someone to teach you. But my boy, even if you turned out to be very good — I mean skilled — I don’t think it’s likely that the kshatriyas would accept you kindly as a fellow ratha. You would have a hard time of it. You realise that? Still, when you are older, then perhaps you can decide whether you really want to go through with it. In the mean time, at least I can give you a little bow to start on.’

‘Oh thank you, sire!’

‘But listen... You’ll have to practise in secret at first. After a while, if you become accomplished, then you can be more open about it. People will abuse you, certainly. But you will have to put up with that. By the way, you will have to stop bowing to kshatriyas and brahmanas. If you’re not going to be their inferior, you must not behave as if you are. Shall we choose a bow for you, then?’

‘Oh yes please, sire!’

‘Very well...’ Charvaka got up off his stool. ‘By the way, my boy, what is your name? But you see how unimportant names are, eh? We’ve established everything we needed to without knowing your name! Nevertheless, custom and convenience demand that we refer to you by means of it, so... what is it?’