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T
he Sanskrit word saha, meaning ‘together’, ‘in togetherness’, is a prefix to a very large number of words in that language that denote relational contexts of every variety. And then it is not merely a word; but has been perceived in Indian civilisation as the natural foundation of all relationships, personal and collective. Again, not in Indian civilisation alone. Saha opens up much of the history of philosophy. Saha opens up the whole history of literature, in being the reflection of complex and complicated play of human motives and feelings. The history of history, the whole history of human living, is about the presence or the absence of saha, its fulfillment and negation alike.
First, let us have a quick look at what togetherness, saha, in its real meaning is not; even where outwardly it would appear to be so. It is strange that in order to understand what a thing is, one has first to understand what it is not. What is even stranger is that the understanding of what a thing is not, presupposes a definite idea already of what it is.
Togetherness is not physical proximity, as of the people in a theatre or in a circus.
Being in a crowd is not being in togetherness. This is undeniably a very complex psychological phenomenon, though. Elias Canetti, who won the Nobel prize for Literature in 1981, devoted an immense study to this subject, published as Masse und Macht in 1960, and its English translation as Crowds and Power two years later.i It is actually about violence in all its forms. There is no denying that a strong feeling of togetherness is generated in being part of a crowd. Canetti begins by pointing out, for example, how
“There is nothing that man fears more than the touch of the unknown.” “Man always tends to avoid physical contact with anything strange. In the dark, the fear of an unexpected touch can mount to panic.” “All the distances which men create around themselves are dictated by this fear.” “It is only in a crowd that man can become free of this fear of being touched. That is the only situation in which the fear changes into its opposite. The crowd he needs is the dense crowd, in which body is pressed to body; a crowd, too, whose psychical constitution is also dense, or compact, so that he no longer notices who it is that presses against him. As soon as a man has surrendered to a crowd, he ceases to fear its touch. Ideally, all are equal there; no distinctions count, not even that of sex. The man pressed against him is the same as himself. He feels him as he feels himself.”iii
Its physicality besides, this has to be understood also metaphorically. Canetti proceeds to show the religions, and the nations, as ‘the crowd’ and their immense power. One crowd in deadly combat with another crowd. One organised ‘togetherness’ at war with another organised ‘togetherness’, but both, in their mutual hatreds, locked in a mystic togetherness, one needing the other, to kill or be killed, metaphorically quite as much as physically.
Also Read: Enfolding and Unfolding In Knowing the Self and the Other*.
In the experience of saha, one ‘togetherness’ is not against another ‘togetherness’. The Mahabharata teaches
If one dharma is destructive of another dharma, then it is wickedness in the garb of dharma, and not dharma. Only that is dharma truly, which is established without denigrating and opposing another dharma.iiii
In case there is conflict between one dharma and another, one should reflect on their relative weight, and then act accordingly; what does not denigrate and obstruct the others, being dharma.iv
Neither is togetherness necessarily in the living together, saha-vasa. Loneliness while living together is a common experience; and feeling a sense of togetherness with someone far away, is a common experience, too. To have to live with those with whom one has no feeling of togetherness, and to be separate from those with whom one has, is repeatedly counted by the Mahabharata as among the main causes of duhkha, that is, pain and suffering.
Nor is togetherness a swallowing of the other, as of a lamb by a lion, and the lion declaring cheerfully: ‘we two are now together.’
Nor is togetherness an abolition of individuality and its many colours. Togetherness, by definition, requires the existence of the other who is not a shadow, or an image, of one’s self.
And, in its very essence, there is in the saha no exercise of power of the one over the other, which quickly leads to both exercising the power over each other, the weaker of the two in ways that are insidious and subterranean.
Strange, indeed funny, that what togetherness is not should manifestly cover a very much larger area of personal and collective experience than what togetherness truly is does. That is because we humans seem to be the strangest, and the funniest, species of all.
If this subject, so very intimate to human living, is to be discussed honestly, and ‘growing together’ is not to remain a noble but eventually an empty slogan, then we must also take into account the serious questioning whether there can be, in the relationships, genuine togetherness at all. The Mahabharata does. At the same time as it is demonstrating saha, togetherness, to be the natural foundation of all that is sane and joyful in human life; it is also raising an honest doubt whether, on the contrary, it is self-interest, svartha, that is really the governing force behind most relationships. One using the other for one’s purpose, in ways from most crude to most subtle. There is in that using, of course, togetherness; but it is not that of growing together.
The Mahabharata narrates the story of a wild cat and a mouse trapped together in a hunter’s net.v Two natural enemies, because one the natural food of the other, desperately needing each other’s help when faced with a stronger common danger; and after that danger had passed, one professing undying love and friendship for the other, and the other smelling in that declaration only a threat to oneself. Through that story the Mahabharata conveys many lessons in the undeniable reality of self-interest as a human attribute. They are conveyed in the gentle voice of the mouse the wild cat invites to his bosom as an abiding friend; and the mouse tells him that he knows he would before long find a permanent place in the cat’s stomach, and not in his bosom. He then delivers a long discourse, the substance of which is as follows:
This material world is shot through with self-interest, and no one is
beloved of anyone: the affection between brother and brother, as between man and wife, is based solely on self-interest. I know of no love or affection that is without some purpose.vi
The love that is born out of some purpose, exists only so long as that
purpose lasts: that purpose gone, love vanishes, too.vii
This may appear to be cynical; but can be observed all around.
At another level, in another context, that of marriage, the idea of saha, togetherness, is questioned directly.
In the earlier part of the Anushasana-parva of the Mahabharata, a conversation between Yudhishthira and Bhishma is narrated, which is about the foundation of marriage.viii It begins with a question, raised by Yudhishthira.
‘What is this saha-dharma, ‘the ordering of life together’, which binds man
and woman in marriage? To me, it appears doubtful whether there is any such thing.
When one of them dies, does anything of saha-dharma remain in the one who lives?
Besides, when men and women have many different natures, different temperaments; are obliged by various circumstances to live at two different places, then how can there be between them this togetherness, this saha-dharma?
The more I think about it, the more does this subject appear to me highly complex. Can you throw some light on this subject?’
It is important that, whereas, in the voice of the mouse, the Mahabharata is stating a plain, observable, empirical fact, that nowhere is real togetherness to be seen but only the play of self-interest; in the voice of Yudhishthira, it is raising the question whether there can ever be in the relationships any such thing as togetherness. This clear distinction must not be confused.
*
Let us now come to saha, to growing together, as the first foundation upon which everything of human worth everywhere is based. It does not require much proof, and argument even less, that togetherness, in one form or another, is as fundamental to life as food, water, air, and the space are. Its earliest expression in Indian thought, indeed anywhere, is in the context of marriage. In the Rigveda, Xth mandala: circa 1,500 B.C., probably earlier.
In the ceremony of marriage by vedic rites, the man and the woman together take seven steps around the fire before which the ceremony takes place, fire being a witness, along with other elements of nature present. On taking the seventh step, they turn towards each other, and say:
With these seven steps, become my friend.
I seek your friendship. May you never deviate from this friendship.
May we walk together.
May we resolve together.
May we love each other and enhance each other.
May our vows be congruent and our desires shared.
Marriage as friendship and its togetherness, not as theatre of power and its isolation.
The Mahabharata conveys another truth. Not only can a man-woman relationship not be limited to the satisfaction of desire alone; but also that erotic love, in order to be even truly erotic, requires a sense of togetherness, sam-bhoga, which has the meaning of ‘enjoying together’; ’experiencing together.’ And togetherness requires a sense of direction, disha, as well. If a person is to live a sane life, then his, and her, perceptions of man-woman relationship have to be those of togetherness, saha, with a direction, disha. The story of Ashtavakra and Uttara-disha conveys this truth. Hence saha-kama, meaning ‘in sexuality, togetherness’; and not ‘svartha-kama’, meaning ‘in sexuality, only taking selfishly.’ The more complete is the togetherness, the deeper will be the relationship—and its joy.
Also Read: Dharma: Hinduism and Religions in India
Nor is saha limited to the family. It is the foundation of all relationships. There has been, for example, this famous resolve, of teacher and student together; its sound heard in India through countless centuries. To be found in the Katha-upanishad; its opening lines; circa 1,000 B.C., probably earlier.
May we, together, protect each other. And, together, nourish each other. May we gain strength together. What we have learnt and studied together, may it in splendour and force glow. May we never have for each other repugnance and dislike.
Then follows the two-word invocation to peace which togetherness, saha, brings, and repeated three times.
Now, just as human life necessarily requires togetherness as its very first condition; togetherness requires certain conditions for it to be ‘a growing together’. They are rooted primarily in dharma.
All the sayings of dharma are with a view to nurturing, cherishing, providing more amply, enriching, increasing, enhancing, all living beings. In one word, securing their prabhava. Therefore, whatever has the characteristic of bringing that about, is dharma. This is certain.ix
All the sayings of dharma are with a view to supporting, sustaining, bringing together, and in their togetherness upholding, all living beings. Securing, in one word, their dharana. Therefore, whatever has the characteristic of doing that, is dharma. This is certain. x
All the sayings of dharma are with a view to securing for all living beings freedom from violence, ahimsa. Therefore, whatever has the characteristic of not doing violence, is dharma. This is certain.xi
These are clearly the fruits of togetherness—the self in relationship with the other, saha-dharma, a growing together.
Conversely, whatever has the characteristic of depriving, starving, diminishing, separating, uprooting, hurting, doing violence, debasing and degrading, is the negation of dharma. Whatever brings that about, is, in one word, adharma.
These are equally clearly the products of a self isolated from the other.
A-parigraha, or ‘not-grasping’, ‘not-engulfing’, is a simultaneous condition of growing together. A central idea in the Jain philosophy, it is inherent already in dharma as described above. Unfortunately, a– parigraha has almost always been translated into English as ‘non-possession’, which refers to ‘things’. The fact is that we are driven to possess not only things but persons as well, which has been even a greater source of violence. For persons soon come to be seen as things, to be had and grasped. Since that attitude must necessarily bring violence into every relationship, Jainism puts greatest emphasis upon aparigraha, or ‘not-grasping’ side by side a-himsa, or ‘not-violence’. Once we understand what parigraha is, we will clearly see how very positive a– parigraha is as a state of the mind, and thus of growing together.
The Sanskrit word parigraha means: `to take hold of on both sides; to surround, encircle, envelop; to grasp; to clutch; to take possession of; to overpower; to take prisoner, conquer.’ The English word ‘enfold’ carry some of these meanings.
That is what we mostly do. We take hold of the other: we surround, encircle: we grasp and take possession of: we overpower the other: in wanting to conquer, we imprison the other. And this is done not in personal relationships alone. It has been practised for countless centuries by one group within a nation towards another group, and by one nation towards another. Often crudely, but quite as often subtly, parigraha is practised universally. Some even raised it, as they do now, to the level of a consummate art. Crude or subtle, parigraha is a negation of togetherness, and therefore a state of violence.
It points to a plain psychological truth besides. Imprisoning the other, I lock myself in the same prison, the prison of parigraha. When I encircle the other, I rob his, or her, freedom and dignity. What mostly remains unseen, though, is the undeniable truth that, encircling the other person, I am encircling myself, too. Grasping is a bridge that can only bring me back to myself, for no one is then left at the other side of the bridge.
It is in the state of a-parigraha that another problematique of relationships is resolved—that togetherness can become altogether a little too much. Carrying within him several pairs of contrary desires, man’s need for being alone is as essential to his being as his need for togetherness with the other. This must not be confused with the classical Indian struggle, on principle, between the-life-alone and the-life-in-family, that is, between samnyasa and grihastha. Nor must it be confused with the classical statement ‘aham eko’, ‘I am alone in my being’. It must not be confused with describing relationships with the metaphor of two pieces of wood floating in the sea, touching each other accidentally for a while, floating together, and then floating away. Another metaphor used in this regard is that of two travelers walking together for a while and then parting. The need for being alone presupposes relationship. Aparigraha is a statement of the paradox that distance is the very first condition of togetherness and its intimacy.
Neither is growing together a project, for which there is a map. In one of her letters to me, a friend, of San Francisco, who works for the children who have cancer, said: “There is no map, and if there were a map, the road lines would be strong, and then faint and then non-existent. And none would be the straightest line between two points.”
Growing together is an unfolding, saha-utpala, like the unfolding of a flower, and which is as full of surprises as it is full of the joy of togetherness.
If this evening has been, even in the smallest measure, an evening of growing together, no one will feel more gratified, and grateful, than I.
***
[i] Elias Canetti, Crowds and Power (Victor Gollancz, London; 1962; Penguin Books, 1973) [ii] Ibid, (Penguin Books ed.), pp. 15-6 [iii] Vana-parva, 131.11 [iv] Vana-parva, 131.12-3 [v] Shanti-parva, Ch. 138. [vi] Ibid, 138.152-3 [vii] Ibid, 138.155 [viii] Anushasana-parva, Ch.19. [ix] Shanti-parva, 109.10 [x] Ibid, 109.11 [xi] Ibid, 109.12
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* A Lecture at The Vikram Sarabhai Foundation & India International Centre Friday, 16th August 2002 Many thanks to Tulsi Badrinath for making available this lecture.
Chaturvedi Badrinath was born in Mainpuri, Uttar Pradesh. a philosopher, he was a member of the Indian Administrative Service, 1957-89, and served in Tamil Nadu for thirty-one years (1958-89). His other published books are Dharma, India and the World Order: Twenty-one Essays (1993), Introduction to the Kama Sutra (1999), finding Jesus in Dharma: Christianity in India (2000), and The Mahabharata-An Inquiry into the Human Condition (2006). He passed away in Pondicherry in February 2010.
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