A History of Ancient Sanskrit Literature, so far as it illustrates the Primitive Religion of the Brahmans c11.22

c11.22

If we read the next hymn, which is addressed to Varuṇa (οὐρανός), we perceive that the god here invoked is, to the mind of the poet, supreme and almighty. Nevertheless, he is one of the gods who is almost always represented in fellowship with another, Mitra; and even in our hymn there is one verse, the sixth, in which Varuṇa and Mitra are invoked in the dual. Yet what more could human language achieve, in trying to express the idea of a divine and supreme power, than what our poet says of Varuṇa;—"Thou art lord of all, of heaven and earth." Or, as is said in another hymn (ii. 27. 10.), "Thou art the king of all; of those who are gods, and of those who are men." Nor is Varuṇa represented as the Lord of nature only. He knows the order of nature, and upholds it; for this is what is meant by dhṛitavrata.² Varuṇa, therefore, knows the twelve months, and even the thirteenth; he knows the course of the wind, the birds in the air, and the ships of the sea. He knows all the wondrous works of nature, and he looks not only into the past but into the future also. But, more than all this, Varuṇa watches over the order of the moral world. The poet begins with a confession that he has neglected the works of Varuṇa, that he has offended against his laws. He craves his pardon; he appeals in self-defence to the weakness of human nature; he deprecates death as the reward of sin. His devotion is all he has wherewith to appease the anger of his god; and how natural the feeling, when he hopes to soothe the god by his prayers as a horse is soothed by kind words. The poet has evidently felt the anger of Varuṇa. His friends, wishing for booty elsewhere, have left him, and he knows not how to bring back Varuṇa, who is the only giver of victory. He describes the power of his god, and he praises him chiefly as the guardian of law and order. Like a true child of nature, he offers honey, sweet things, which the god is sure to like, and then appeals to him as to a friend: "Now be good, and let us speak together again." This may seem childish, but there is a real and childish faith in it; and, like all childish faith, it is rewarded by some kind of response. For, at that very moment, the poet takes a higher tone. He fancies he sees the god and his chariot passing by; he feels that his prayer has been heard. True, there is much that is human, earthly, coarse, and false in the language applied to the deity as here invoked under the name of Varuṇa. Yet there is something also in these ancient strains of thought and faith which moves and cheers our hearts even at this great distance of time; and a wise man will pause before he ascribes to purely evil sources what may be, for all we know, the working of a love and wisdom beyond our own.