Hindu Pluralism
by Elaine M. Fisher | 2017 | 113,630 words
This thesis is called Hindu Pluralism: “Religion and the Public Sphere in Early Modern South India�.—Hinduism has historically exhibited a marked tendency toward pluralism—and plurality—a trend that did not reverse in the centuries before colonialism but, rather, accelerated through the development of precolonial Indic early modernity. Hindu plur...
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The Practical Applications of Textual Criticism
[Full title: Philology in the Public Sphere: The Practical Applications of Textual Criticism]
Despite their passing preoccupation with lexicons and retroflexes, sixteenth-and seventeenth-century scholars had become increasingly fascinated with the social significance of public sectarian comportment. Markers of membership in a particular sectarian community became the object of new contestation and critical inquiry, and creativity in the hermeneutic feats employed to justify the usage of these insignia rose dramatically. Take, for instance, the practice of applying the ٰṇḍ—three stripes of ash—to the forehead to publicly signal one’s identity as an orthodox Ś.
Early modern ٲ-Śs, such as Appayya īṣiٲ and ī첹ṇṭ īṣiٲ, had adopted a line of scriptural defense for the practice of applying the ٰṇḍ that hinges on a striking interpretation of a verse from the Śśٲ 貹Ծṣa, one that has generated as much controversy among seventeenth-century śٰ s as among contemporary scholars:
By the power of austerity and the grace of god, the learned Śśٲ
Knew brahman and proclaimed to the ٲś s that pure Supreme, worshipped by the company of sages.[1]
The key term in this verse is ٲś. Many contemporary translators adopt an additive approach to construing this perplexing term, rendering �ati - ś,� as “beyond the śs,� that is, having transcended the four stages of life.[2] And indeed, speculation from within the Sanskrit knowledge systems seems to justify this interpretation. Advaitin theologians, beginning with Śṅk峦ⲹ, adopted terms such as ٲś to speak of a class of renunciants, often īԳܰٲ s (those liberated while alive), who had passed beyond the strictures of the traditional social order.[3] More recently, however, leading scholars of early Ś have discovered that the term atyś, in its original usage, in fact is closely associated with a group of Atimārgic śܱ貹ٲ.[4] That is, Ś scriptures, as early as the Niśvāsamūlasūtra (ca. fifth century c.e.), speak of two principal subsets of Ś lineages: the پ—in subsequent centuries including such groups as the ñٳ첹 śܱ貹ٲ, 첹, and 峾ܰ—and the ѲԳٰ, commonly associated with Āgamic Ś (such as the Ś Siddhānta). Among the former, initiates are said to adopt a practice known either as the atyś vow (atyśvrata) or the Great śܱ貹ٲ vow (śܱ貹ٲٲ), an observance that later Ś exegetes understand quite rightly to involve smearing the entire body in ash (ǻūԲ).
Among Western Indologists, the recovery of this Ś sense of atyś—and the religious sensibilities it was intended to evoke—figures among the more noteworthy discoveries of the past decades. Nevertheless, equal credit must be granted to the ٲ-Ś philologians of the early modern period, who themselves had recovered the same historical sense of the term ٲś, which had fallen into ambiguity for earlier Advaita ձԳٲ philosophers. Having amassed 貹Ծṣaic, Purāṇic, and Āgamic citations that contained the troubling term, ٲ polemicists ascertained correctly that the atyśvrata and śܱ貹ٲٲ were synonymous and involved the practice of smearing the body with ash. By the seventeenth century, however, ī첹ṇṭ and his colleagues had added a polemical twist to their interpretation of this problematic term, claiming that atyś literally referred not to the smearing of ash but, more specifically, to the prescription to apply the ٰṇḍ to the forehead, the Ś sectarian tilaka. By doing so, they had essentially uncovered a Vaidika proof text for a distinctively Ś sectarian practice—a practice, in fact, that publicly demarcated one’s identity as an orthodox Ś.
ī첹ṇṭ īṣiٲ explores the matter in some detail in his ܲ岵ⲹԻٲ貹, his unpublished manual of Śī ritual, outlining the scriptural injunctions for the application of the ٰṇḍ:
In the Śśٲ 貹Ծṣa, it is revealed:
“By the power of austerity and the grace of god, the learned Śśٲ,
knower of brahman, proclaimed to the ٲś s that pure Supreme, enjoyed by the company of sages.�[5]On this matter, at the end of the procedure for applying the ٰṇḍ is revealed the following statement in the Brahmottarakhaṇḍa:
“Supreme gnosis, capable of severing transmigration, belongs to those alone
By whom was practiced long ago this atyś dharma.The fact that the bearing of the ٰṇḍ is established here to be expressed by the term atyś is corroborated by the following praise of instruction in the knowledge of brahman in the Kālāgnirudropaniṣad, which establishes [the bearing of the ٰṇḍ] as a prerequisite knowledge of brahman:
“He should make three straight lines: this ś峾 vow is described by the knowers of the Veda in all the Vedas. One who desires liberation should practice it for the cessation of rebirth. Whichever learned celibate student, householder, forest dweller, or ascetic makes such a ٰṇḍ with ash is purified of all unforgivable sins.�[6]
ղṣṇ, as one might imagine, were by no means satisfied with this line of reasoning and took great pains to provide alternative explanations.
Take, for instance, the celebrated scholar Vijayīndra īٳ, who, in his ճܰīⲹśṇḍԲ, expresses some trepidation regarding the prevalent Ś interpretation of the term atyś:
“Some people, however, accepting the meaning of the term atyś as stated in the ṛt s on the force of contextualization and so forth, say that it refers to the eligibility for a certain kind of knowledge. Suffice it to say that we will explain when deliberating on the statement from the Atharvaśiras why smearing with ash, bearing the ٰṇḍ, and so forth do not constitute a prerequisite for the knowledge of brahman.�[7]
Vijayīndra īٳ, it appears, was well aware of the ground Śs sought to gain through their philological endeavors, and had taken steps to counter their claims. By his use of the phrase 첹ṇādś (on the force of contextualization and so forth), Vijayīndra again appears to prefigure Nārāyaṇācārya in expressing a distrust of īṃs첹 strategies of interpretation, which, as Nārāyaṇācārya had claimed, facilitate counterintuitive—and often simply unreasonable—construals of scripture. By way of reply, he proposes a much more conservative interpretation, founded not on historical precedent but on the strictures of ṇiԾan grammar. Compounded from the prefix ati and a well-known word for the Brahminical stages of life, a term such as atyś, according to Vijayīndra, cannot plausibly be interpreted in a sense so distant from its historical etymological derivation.
Drawing on ṇiԾ’s ūٰ 1.04.095 (atir atikramaṇe), he maintains that,
“in the Kaivalya 貹Ծṣa, the word atyś as well, appearing at the beginning and end of the text, ought reasonably to be construed as referring to the stage of life of the ascetic. It is not reasonable to hope to prove on the strength of even this term that the Kaivalya 貹Ծṣa is about Ś.�[8]
And yet Vijayīndra’s words of caution did little to restrain the philological inquiry of his Ś opponents; in fact, Śs of the next generation would take their inquiry a step further, launching a comprehensive inquiry into the historical attestations of the term atyś in śܳپ and Purāṇic narrative. Echoing ī첹ṇṭ’s own position, a remarkably similar argument surfaces perhaps a century later in a lengthy polemical tome titled the Īś, composed by one “Appayya īṣiٲ�[9] —most likely not identical with the sixteenth-century polymath of the same name. The author of the Īś presents an exhaustive study of the relevant scriptures,[10] establishing from his encyclopedic array of citations that the terms atyśvrata, śܱ貹ٲٲ, and śDZٲ are synonymous, and that they refer to the practice of applying the ٰṇḍ as well as to smearing the body with ash. Building on this philological apparatus, however, he takes his conclusion a step further. This Appayya īṣiٲ arrives at the conclusion that those who wish to know brahman are not only enjoined explicitly by scripture to apply the ٰṇḍ but also expressly forbidden from applying any other sectarian insignia, including the ūṇḍ, the ղṣṇ sectarian tilaka.
As our author writes,
“Thus, because the vow of the ٰṇḍ and of the smearing with ash literally prohibits bearing another ṇḍ, the numerous other statements prohibiting the ūṇḍ based on this, found in the ղśṣṭ and Liṅga ʳܰṇas, the ʲś 貹ܰṇa, the Բ[śٰ], the Sūtasaṃhitā, and the 峾 ʳܰṇa are not written here so as to avoid prolixity.�[11]
Among the verses “Appayya īṣiٲ� cites in defense of his argument is an intriguing narrative episode he unearthed from the ū ʳܰṇa, in which the sage Śśٲ himself—notorious from the original attestation of ٲś in the Śśٲ 貹Ծṣa, described here as the “Ѳśupata�[12] —arrives wearing only a loincloth, his body smeared with ash, and instructs King śī in the practice of the atyś vow, which the texts equate with the “entire essence of the Vedas.�[13] From this ū ʳܰṇa passage, our author concludes the “śܱ貹ٲ� and atyś vow refer commonly to a single practice that involves the bearing of ash, mandated by a veritable constellation of reliable scriptures and incumbent on members of all castes who wish to attain knowledge of brahman.[14] While partisan in the extreme, Appayya’s argument speaks to a genuine philological perseverance—a willingness to return straight to the sources to uncover the roots of sectarian practice in his own day and age. This, in fact, is precisely what he discovered. The ū passage in question provides us with a remnant of a Vedicized śܱ貹ٲ lineage that derived its own authority from the sage Śśٲ, an ideal figurehead, as the Vaidika scripture named for him provides a genuine defense of śܱ貹ٲ Ś.[15] As a member of a much later movement of Vaidika Śs, “Appayya� came to this same conclusion, marshaling his text-critical analysis in support of the polemical ambitions of his contemporary sectarian community.
Bearing the ٰṇḍ, in other words, was fashioned as a foundational precept of public orthopraxy through the textual inquiries of public philologians. But how would this precept apply to those who had adopted esoteric religious commitments? In other words, among orthoprax ٲ-Śs, what mark ought a practitioner of Śī to display? ī첹ṇṭ addresses the issue at some length in his ܲ岵ⲹԻٲ貹:
Now one might object: “Bearing the ٰṇḍ applies to worshippers of Ś, but devotees of the goddess ought not to apply ashes.... If such is argued, then because the ٰṇḍ of ash is prescribed as a component of the worship of Ś along with the goddess [峾] in the Kaivalyopaniṣad,... and since I myself will establish in the fourth chapter that Śī practitioners are in fact worshippers of Ś along with the goddess, it is absolutely necessary for them as well to apply the ٰṇḍ.
Or, if one were to ask as well whether the restriction to smear one’s body with sandalwood paste ought to be accepted by devotees of the goddess, I say no. For as is well known, one ought to bear whatever signifiers are appropriate to the deity one worships, since the essence of the Tantras enjoins these things: the bearing of garlands of forest flowers and such by ղṣṇ, and the bearing of ܻṣa s by Śs. This principle is known in worldly affairs also, as among the retinue of the king and so forth. Thus, in this instance, devotees of the goddess, known as the “Ornamented Queen,� auspicious by her full ornamentation of yellow sandal paste, ought also to generally adopt such ornamental attire; this is the essence of the Śٲ Tantras.... And this attire should not be understood as forbidden to ٲs.
But, as it is stated in the ū ʳܰṇa,... attire that unsettles worldly people is forbidden. Whatever attire upsets worldly people in a particular place or at a particular time ought to be abandoned, accepting [attire] insofar as it serves the welfare of the world. Thus, in a region populated by simpletons, one should evoke all of this only mentally—one need not show anything externally. It is with this very intention that the ٴDZԲ stated, “Or, mentally visualized ornamentation.�[16]
ī첹ṇṭ’s concern for public appearances in this passage is striking, and all the more so as he appears to be dialoguing directly with an actual group of Śٲ contemporaries who were somewhat more exclusivist in their interpretation of Śٲ scripture and, certainly, more overt in their public proclamation of identity. As ī첹ṇṭ himself, on the other hand, is both a devoted practitioner of Śī and a staunchly orthodox Ś Brahmin, his aim is to synthesize the two categories to whatever extent possible both in theory and practice. Not only does he believe that Śī practitioners ought to comport themselves purely as orthodox ٲ-Śs in public, bearing only the ٰṇḍ and adopting no other external display of their identity, but he also goes so far as to make the categorical claim that Śī practitioners simply are ٲ-Śs by definition.
The ٰṇḍ, as it turns out, was by no means the only sectarian marker that had become an issue of broad public contestation. A similar controversy was generated by the practice of bearing of the signs of վṣṇ branded on one’s body, or ٲٲܻṇa, a practice adopted by the ղṣṇ that garnered extensive critique both from other ղṣṇ traditions and from ٲ-Śs. These branded insignia generated a widespread public controversy, as theologians from each camp returned to their scriptures to interrogate the legitimacy of the practice of branding among orthodox, Vedic Hindus. In fact, even Appayya īṣiٲ himself is reputed to have authored a work titled the ղٲܻṇḍԲ, “The Demolition of Branded Insignia.� One particularly poignant diatribe on the issue was composed by a certain Vijayarāmārya, titled the ṇḍṭi (The slap in the face of heretics).
It does not take much perusal to glean something of the vehemence of his stance:
And thus, through recourse to groundless statements that contradict scripture, fabricated by the s and others and having the mere semblance of Vedic orthodoxy, fools practice the bearing of branded insignia, their minds deluded by the impressions produced by great sins amassed in previous births. Thus they attain a low caste status; at the end of the cosmic dissolution they will enjoy all the fruits of hell.
And that is precisely why there are a thousand statements existing in various locations that prohibit those with Vedic eligibility to bear branded insignia and prescribe an expiation for bearing them, indicating that hell, and so forth, will result when one fails to perform this expiation. Among these, we exemplify only a sampling.[17]
In short, abstract as they may be on paper, or palm leaf, these philological projects hold major implications for our understanding of the public religious culture of Hindu sectarianism. Whether branded on the arm or smeared on the forehead with ash, sectarian insignia were no small matter for the many southern theologians who were committed to advertising the Vaidika orthodoxy of their chosen sect in public circles. These tilaka s, borne directly on the foreheads of sectarian affiliates, delineate a polarized public space in which dialogical partners move not as equals but as embodied signifiers of their religious identity. Bodily displays of identity—and their associated performances—I suggest, served as a primary point of transference between the realms of theology, as a strictly textual enterprise, and religious culture as enacted by practitioners. As a result, the vast upsurge in interest we witness in philological topics, such as the textual foundations of the tilaka and branding, confront us with the potential ability of theological debate to shift the terrain of religious community formations. Far from constructing a valueneutral space of public exchange, the philological inquiries of ٲ-Śs and their rivals visibly demarcated the boundaries between competing sectarian communities. Individuals could instantly distinguish coreligionists from outsiders on the basis of such insignia, which served as indexical signs of one’s community of affiliation. As a result, echoes of the exchanges between Ś and ղṣṇ scholars have left an indelible impression on the religious landscape of south India, fostering a visual demarcation of religious difference.
What, then, is new—or, one might even say, modern—about the sectarian marks borne by Śs and ղṣṇ in the seventeenth century? In fact, such insignia were used to mark the bodies of practitioners of both Brahminical Hinduism and non-Brahminical religions from the earliest stages of Indian history. The ٰṇḍ, for instance, as our ٲ-Śs came to recognize, descends directly from the practices of early śܱ貹ٲ ascetics, Ś renunciants whose ash-covered limbs were instantly emblematic of their social identity. And yet a closer look reveals a crucial shift in the function of bearing ash between the height of śܱ貹ٲ asceticism in the early first millennium and the seventeenth century. As renunciants, śܱ貹ٲ ascetics engaged in a soteriological practice aimed at liberating the individual soul from the chains of human existence, and the bearing of ash itself was among the tools designed to sever those chains. śܱ貹ٲ chose to bathe in ash and, likewise, to feign insanity, engaging in lewd displays in public places, not to inform outsiders of their identity, but to cultivate a particular state of being divorced from social reality, which, they believed, would lead directly to liberation. In fact, more advanced śܱ貹ٲ practitioners were instructed to conceal the signs used to mark the body in order to maintain their internal state without the support of external signifiers. What śܱ貹ٲ were engaging in, then, was a process of mimesis—of first imitating, then internalizing the characteristic features of the god Ś in order to transform the initiate into Ś himself.
In the Western context, a similar process has been discussed by the theorist Giorgio Agamben, who locates a direct parallel between the outward appearance of early Christian monastics and their spiritual state of being, both represented by the word habitus. Agamben writes,
“To inhabit together thus meant for the monks to share, not simply a place or a style of dress, but first of all a habitus. The monk is in this sense a man who lives in the mode of ‘inhabiting,� according to a rule and a form of life. It is certain, nevertheless, that cenoby represents the attempt to make habit and form of life coincide in an absolute and total habitus, in which it would not be possible to distinguish between dress and way of life.�78
Much like the śܱ貹ٲ, early Christian monks, according to Agamben, adopted external signifiers, such as the habit, to integrate their way of life with their external appearance. The result, for both, was a personal transformation predicated upon their embodiment, quite literally, of a system of values. In subsequent traditions, however, such as the Franciscan community, theologians began to distinguish between the rules of monastic life, strictures that were meant to be obeyed, and the way of life or inner disposition cultivated as a component of monastic practice. It is this conceptual distinction, Agamben argues, between one’s chosen way of life and the rules one follows in public that laid the foundation for the emergence, in the Western tradition, of the idea of public space. This shared public space, in Enlightenment Europe, came to be governed by a common set of rules, adhered to by all participants regardless of their inner convictions. In the Hindu context, early śܱ貹ٲ theologians would have found such a concept completely antithetical to the aims of their soteriological practice. And yet this idea of public space is not so distant from the religious public that seventeenth-century Ś theologians aimed to cultivate through their public theology.
In essence, there was something distinctly new about the role that sectarian markers, such as the tilaka, played in defining the boundaries of public space. Unlike in the European case, however, we can speak most accurately not of a public sphere but of publics in the plural, as theologians of each community took initiative in reshaping the rules that governed public engagement of devotees and their interactions with those outside the tradition. With this distinction in mind, we begin to find a resolution to the contrast with which we began the present chapter: namely, the bifurcation of ī첹ṇṭ’s religious commitments, privately a devotee of the goddess, publicly a proponent of ٲ-Ś orthodoxy. To be a practitioner of Śī had little impact on the public comportment of an orthodox Ś Hindu, in the mind of ٲ-Ś theologians such as ī첹ṇṭ īṣiٲ. One could bear the ٰṇḍ, the Ś tilaka, in public while maintaining one’s personal devotion to the goddess as foundational to one’s sense of religious identity.
But if the public theology of the seventeenth century was in fact something new, was it also in any meaningful sense modern? The religious publics shaped by ī첹ṇṭ and his colleagues are just that—religiously inflected public spaces defined almost exclusively by practices most scholars would consider decidedly religious in nature. In the canons of classical theory, however, modernity is habitually associated with a teleological trajectory of secularization, such that the terms public and secular have become prescriptively equated with each other in Western discourse. Even in more recent years, theorists have attempted to define the singularity of modernity, epitomized by the European Enlightenment, as founded upon the limitation of religion in public space. Take, for instance, the work of Charles Taylor (2007), who contends that “almost everyone� would characterize our moment in time as a fundamentally secular age, regardless of one’s geographical and cultural point of reference. The secularity of a society, Taylor argues, may imply a virtual evacuation of religion from public space; or in some cases, it may imply the establishment of a socially sanctioned option to eschew belief in a higher power or participation in religious ritual, an option exercised by a significant percent of the population. And yet in the context of early modern India, as well as India today, the character and function of public space diverges sharply from either of these criteria.
In the post-Enlightenment Western world, an individual is said to engage with the larger social world as an unmarked citizen, a position of agency unaltered by the individual’s identity, whether social, cultural, or religious. While this concept of the universal individual has rightly come under fire by Western theorists in recent decades, it is safe to say that, in India, one typically engages with society not as an unmarked but as a marked citizen, qualified by features of caste, gender, regional, and religious identity. In south India, by wearing a Ś tilaka, a person visibly marks himself as a participant in a certain religious public, as one who is likely to frequent certain temples, observe certain festivals, and accept the authority of certain sacred texts. It tells us little, however, about other aspects of his religious identity, aspects that may prove more integral to understanding his conception of the world or the experience of the divine he professes. It tells us little about the personal ritual practices he has adopted to structure his daily life, or about the saints or deities with whom he cultivates a particular relationship. In the case of ī첹ṇṭ īṣiٲ, his public appearance would tell us nothing about his devotional relationship with his preceptor, Gīrvāṇendra ī, or about the Śī Tantric ritual he practiced to bring about a union with the divine in the form of the goddess հܰܲԻ岹ī.
Thus, while themselves cultivating a particular devotional experience, theologians such as ī첹ṇṭ worked in public circles to constitute the boundaries of a community of marked individuals: Śs in public, but very possibly something else in the privacy of their homes. What, then, do scholars of religion have to gain by understanding this layering of public and private religion, a key feature of Hindu religious identity since the early modern centuries? These religious publics, shaped by sectarian Hindu communities, point to an important qualification for our efforts to define Hinduism as a unitary religion. By examining the emergence of the distinct religious publics of early modern south India, I aim to demonstrate that in a fundamental sense, Hinduism has not been homologized. With its multiple religious publics coexisting in the same geographic space, and with its division between public and private modes of religiosity, Hinduism is a religion structured around diversity and bifurcated identities. In modern Indian society, these multiple religious publics make room for difference not by erasing religion in the public sphere but by publicizing it, so to speak, to facilitate the coexistence of diverse realities. The ٲ-Ś tradition, in short, epitomizes a popular adage, circulated for centuries, that encapsulates the multilayered experience of Hindu religious identity: “A ղṣṇ in public, a Ś in the home, a Śٲ in the heart�.
Footnotes and references:
[1]:
[2]:
For instance, Patrick Olivelle (1996, 265) translates the verse in question as follows: “By the power of his austerities and by the grace of God, the wise Śśٲ first came to know brahman and then proclaimed it to those who had passed beyond their order of life as the highest means to purification that brings delight to the company of seers.�
[3]:
See Olivelle (1993, 222�234), for a thorough discussion of the concept of transcending the varṇś� system in Advaita ձԳٲ. The term ٲś itself rarely occurs in these Advaita ձԳٲ sources, although a handful of intriguing usages occur in the work of Śṅk峦ⲹ himself, who does interpret the term as “one who has transcended the ś s.� Other theologians, whom Olivelle cites, often use alternative terms such as پṇāſ, a word that itself reveals the exegetical work it has been poised to accomplish in its modification from the original. We can observe that, by the time of ձԳٲ ٱś첹, opponents of ٲ-Śs had begun to return to the original term ٲś, advancing the interpretation of Śṅk峦ⲹ, astonishingly, in order to counter his Ś interlocutors who had recovered an understanding of word’s original meaning.
[4]:
On the history of the terms پ and ѲԳٰ, and on the attested usages of the term atyśvrata, see Alexis Sanderson (2006, 156�164). The Niśvāsamūla, as well as the Svacchanda Tantra, employ a model in which five principal streams of religious practice emerge from the five faces of Ś: in graded hierarchy from lowest to highest, the Laukika, Vaidika, Āٳ첹 (i.e., ṃkⲹ and Yoga), پ, and ѲԳٰ.
[5]:
As is noted in the Sanskrit original below, ī첹ṇṭ’s treatment of this verse preserves a variant reading from the one cited above.
[6]:
śvetāśvataropaniṣadi śrūyate—tapaḥprabhāvād devaprasādāc ca b rahmavic chvetāśva-taro ‘tha 屹 | ٲśⲹ� 貹� 貹ٰ� provāca samyagṛṣisaṃghajuṣṭam || iti. tatra ٰṇḍvidhānānte śrūyamāṇe�ayam atyāśramo dharmo yai� samācarita� ܰ | eṣām eva 貹� ñԲ� saṃsārachedakāraṇam || iti brahmottarakhaṇḍavacanenātyāśr amaśabdavācyatayā � ٰṇḍdhāraṇam anūdya brahmavidyopadeśakīrtanena tad ܰٲ� ṅgٱ�tiryak tisro � prakurvīta vratam etac chāmbhava� sarvavedeṣu vedavādibhir uktam. tatsamācaren mumukṣur apunarbhavāya. yad etat ٰṇḍ� karoti yo 屹 ī ṛhī vānaprastho yatir vā samastamahāpātakopapātakebhya� pūto bhavatīti.
[7]:
kecit tu smṛtyuktarītyā atyśśabdārtham aṅgīkṛtya tatsthasya prakaraṇādivaśād vidyāviśeṣe ‘dhikāram āhu�. yathā ca ǻūԲٰṇḍdhāraṇādīnā� na brahmavidyāmātrāṅgatva� tathā ‘tharvaśirovākyavicāre vakṣyāma ity alam. ճܰīⲹśṇḍԲ, pg. 53.
[8]:
kaivalyaśrutāv upakramopasaṃhāragatātyāśramiśabdo ‘pi yatyśpara eva yukta iti na tadbalenāpi kaivalyaśrute� prasiddhaśivaparatvāśāyuktā. su� pūjāyām atir atikramaṇe ca iti hi pāṇinisūtram. ճܰīⲹśṇḍԲ, pgs. 52�53.
[9]:
This work (see Īś, TR. No. 291) is traditionally ascribed to one “Appayya īṣiٲ� but is not generally accepted as one of the works of the sixteenth-century polymath. It is certainly possible that the text was composed by one of his descendants, many of whom adopted the same title as their nom de plume.
[10]:
Sources cited include the Atharvaśiras, Śśٲ 貹Ծṣa, Kālāgnirudropaniṣad, Muṇḍaka 貹Ծṣa, Kaivalya 貹Ծṣa, ū ʳܰṇa, and numerous others.
[11]:
[12]:
The term Ѳ ś upata in early Ś often refers to practitioners of the 첹 lineage or, in this instance, may distinguish the śܱ貹ٲ in question from the Lākulīśa śܱ貹ٲ. Because of the Vedicized inflection in this passage, it is not likely that this is in fact a 첹 source. See for instance Sanderson (1991, 3). The term appears in Ś sources as early as the Niśvāsamūla.
[13]:
athāsminn antare ‘paśyan samāyānta� mahāmunim | śvetāśvataranāmāna� mahāpāśupatottamam || bhasmasandigdhasarvāṅgakaupīnāc chādanānvitam | tapa sākarṣitātmāna� śuddhayajñopavītinam || śiṣyatve pratijagrāha tapasākṣīṇakalmaṣa� | so ‘nugṛhya ca Բ� śī� śīlasaṃyutam || [emended from ś� saṃyutam] sānyāsika� � ṛtԲ� ⾱ٱ ṣaṇa� | dadau tadaiśvara� ñԲ� svaśākhāvihita� vratam || aśeṣavedasāra� tat paśupāśavimocanam | atyśm iti ٲ� brahmādibhir anuṣṭhitam || (Īś, pg. 379). I cite here the readings of the author of the Īś, rather than those of any published edition of the ū ʳܰṇa. The passage in question is KP 1.13.31�38.
[14]:
The passage in question is slightly corrupted, but the sense is clear: bhasmadhāraṇasya ܰṇābhipretatvād atyśśܱ貹ٲٲyo� samānaprayogatvāvagamād ekaphalāvacchinnaikaprayogasaṃbandhino brahmavidyādhikārī phalayor ṇḍ첹-kaivalyavākyābhyā� pratyabhijñānānūṇḍakaivalyātharvaśiraḥśvetāśvatarakālāgnirudropaniṣadvihitānā� śDZٲśܱ貹ٲٲ-atyśvratānām ekatvam avagamyate. I suggest emending it to: brahmavidyādhikāritvaphalayo�, and pratyabhijñānā� ṇḍ첹vailyātharvaśira�-.
[15]:
This ū ʳܰṇa passage has been discussed by Mark Dyczkowski (1989, 24) as evidence for an early Vedic lineage of śܱ貹ٲ who opposed themselves to more antinomian traditions.
[16]:
nanu bhavet tv etat ٰṇḍdhāraṇa� śivopāsakānām. ambikopāsakānā� tu neda� bhasmadhāraṇa� kartavyam.... iti ced ucyate kaivalyopaniṣadi.... iti sāmbavidyāṅgatvena bhasmaٰṇḍvidhānāt, śrīvidyopāsakānā� ca sāmbaśivopāsakatvasyāsmābhir eva caturthaparicchede ‘py avasthāpayiṣyamāṇatvena teṣām apy āvaśyakam eva bhasmaٰṇḍdhāraṇam.... nanv evam api kim ambikopāsakānā� candanāṅgarāgādiniyama ādaraṇīya�, neti brūma�. tathā hi yo yaddevatopāsanas tena taddevatālāñchanavatā bhavitavyam iti hi tantrāṇāṃ ṛdⲹ� yato vidadhaty etāni—vaiṣṇavānā� vanamālādidhāraṇam, śaivānā� ܻṣadhāraṇa� ca. rājabhṛtyādiṣu ⲹ� nyāyo lokānām api vidita eva. tad iha śṛṅgāranāyiketisamākhyādivyāpitasakalaśṛṅgāramaṅgalāyā bhagavatyā upāsakair api śṛṅgāraveṣaprāyair bhavitavyam iti śāktatantrāṇāṃ hṛdayam.... sa ca ṣa� smartṛbhir aniṣiddha eva ⲹ�. kūrmaܰṇe�... ityādinā lokodvegakara� ṣa� ԾṣeԳīپ. yasmin deśe yasmin yena veṣeṇa lokā udvijante tatra tatra ta� parityajya lokasaṅgraho yāvatā bhavati tāvad eva grāhyam. ata� pāmarabahule loke manasaiva � saṃbhāvanīyam. na 쾱ñ � prakāśanīyam. idam evābhipretyokta� lalitākhyāne—saṃkalpabhūṣaṇo vāpīti.
[17]:
eva� ca vaidikābhāsamādhvādikalpitaśܳپviruddhanirmūlavākyāvalambanena pūrvopārjitamahāpāpajanitasaṃskārasammohitadhiyo mūḍhās taptamūdrādharaṇa� kurvantītyāhāntyajatvam upagamyate pralayānte sakalanarakabhogabhājino bhavanti. ata eva vedādyadhikāriṇāṃ ٲٲܻniṣedhaka� taddharaṇe prāyaścittavidhāyaka� prāyascittānanuṣṭhāne narakādibodhaka� vacanasahasra� tatra tatropalabhyate tatra diṅmātra� pradarśayāma� (ṇḍṭi, pg. 2). Devoted entirely to demolishing the practice of branding on the basis of scriptural precedent, the ṇḍṭi, although preserved today in manuscripts housed in Calcutta, shows enormous influence from southern strategies of sectarian debate. As the issue of ٲٲܻ concerned southern theologians as well, it must be concluded that the author was either a southerner himself or directly influenced by formative models of sectarian debate developed in south India 78. Giorgio Agamben, The Highest Poverty, 16.