[Pramāṇa](https://indike.org/pramana/) › [Studies](https://indike.org/pramana/ins) › [Polity, law and society](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity) › [The Inner Conflict of Tradition: Essays in Indian Ritual, Kingship, and Society](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985) › c12 # The Inner Conflict of Tradition: Essays in Indian Ritual, Kingship, and Society c12: 8 The Conundrum of the King's Authority The Inner Conflict of Tradition: Essays in Indian Ritual, Kingship, and Society c12 - **Language:** English ## Contents - [c12.s1 10](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.s1) — 3 parts - [c12.s2 11](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.s2) — 2 parts - [c12.s3 12](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.s3) — 3 parts - [c12.s4 13](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.s4) — 3 parts - [c12.s5 14](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.s5) — 4 parts - [c12.s6 15](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.s6) — 2 parts ### 8 The Conundrum of the King's Authority ### [c12.1](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.1) Nowhere is the problematic character of kingship clearer than in the Indian case. At first sight, though, it is taken very much for granted and other possibilities are hardly considered. The so-called republics of ancient India receive only marginal attention in the texts. The interest they have aroused seems to owe more to the temptation of looking for ancient precedents of modern ideas than to their intrinsic importance. What is more important is that, as will become clear further on, the difference between these republican oligarchies and monarchies—even though Kauṭilya contrasts the first with his ideal monarchic state—is a matter of degree rather than of principle. The relevant divide is another one than the difference between monarchy and republic.¹ ### [c12.2](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.2) The problematic character of kingship stands out clearly when we consider the lack of a consistent theory. The reason for this lack is not that kings and kingship were so much taken for granted that any theoretical speculation would have been otiose. On the contrary, the texts expound on this subject to the point of tedium, if not obsession. But all this does not deliver a unified view of kingship. Taken together the different statements agree on one point, namely, that kings are somehow necessary for the protection of the people through the maintenance of the moral order or \*dharma\*. But beyond that point, we meet, even within the same text, with a disconcerting variety of views. Now it may be theoretically possible to try to harmonize these diverging statements by interpreting and reinterpreting them as the classical Indian commentators have done. However, they have come up with different solutions. Or, failing that, we may string out the statements that seem the most refractory to us, as well as the ancient commentators' efforts ### [c12.3](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.3) Reprinted with minor revisions from \*Kingship and Authority in South Asia\*, edited by J. F. Richards (Madison, 1978), 1–27. ### [c12.4](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.4) on a chronological scale, so as to make the divergent statements into points on a line of development. This has often been done, and the results have provided us with interesting surveys of the textual evidence,² but all this effort does not detract from the fact that the sources do contain the most diverse views. Rather than to try to make up for the apparent lack of a consistent theory, we stay nearer to the intentions of our sources if we view their fulsomeness and inconsistency as evidence of their struggle with a real but intractable problem that was too important to gloss over. ### [c12.5](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.5) The texts are unanimous in assigning the protection of the people and the maintenance of the order of the world or even of the whole universe to the king. He is then easily exalted to be the world order itself, dharma incarnate,³ or at the very least, equal to ten wise men learned in the Veda.⁴ So whatever the king does is the norm⁵ and all dharma is subsumed in the \*rājadharma\*.⁶ A kingless country therefore comes to ruin, and one should not settle in such a place.⁷ But on the other hand, the king—not just the unrighteous king, but the king in general—is roundly abominated. That instead of being exalted as the benign protector of his people he is simply the "eater" of the people who devours everything he can lay hands on is already a cliché in the Vedic prose texts.⁸ Later texts enlarge upon this point by stating, for instance, that ten slaughterhouses equal one oil press, ten oil presses one tavern, ten taverns one brothel, finally giving the ultimate prize for wickedness to the king, who is as evil as ten brothels; or the king is put on a par with a butcher who keeps a hundred thousand slaughterhouses.⁹ It is then hardly surprising to find him mentioned together with other calamities like floods, fires, and thieves.¹⁰ ### [c12.6](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.6) It is, of course, possible to explain these diametrically opposed views as the two sides of the same coin. This does not mean, to put it in a down-to-earth way, that there will always have been more bad kings than good, let alone ideal ones, for the texts will not let us off so easily. Although they obviously know the difference and exploit it to show their ideal king to advantage, their condemning statements more often than not refer simply to kings in general. It is clearly not simply a question of good kings who further prosperity and evil ones who are destructive. For even that epitome of royal unrighteousness, the legendary King Vena, who out of greed and arrogance banned gift and sacrifice and thereby virtually nullified the dharma, seems still to have been indispensable to the commonweal. The holy men who rightly put him to death—or rather immolated him—are to their embarrassment confronted with waste and ruin, this being the unintended result of their depriving the world of its king, however unrighteous he may have been.¹¹ So the beneficial aspect is not completely absent from the reign of even the proverbially wicked Vena, and it is probably not fortuitous that he is honorably mentioned in the \*Ṛgveda\* as a liberal patron.¹² ### [c12.7](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.7) It is tempting to explain the conflicting views as the ambivalence that naturally goes with the awe-inspiring numinosity of kingship. Thus the king is likened to a fire which, when approached carelessly, burns not only the single transgressor, as a normal fire would, but destroys his whole family together with his cattle and other properties.¹³ The restrictions on the consecrated (\*abhiṣikta\*) king,¹⁴ which in fact make him a sacred person—or, more precisely, a consecrated sacrificer (\*dīkṣita\*)—point in the same direction, as does the \*Atharvaveda\* when it says that the king protects the realm by \*brahmacarya\* and \*tapas\*,¹⁵ that is, by the ascetic practices that are proper to the \*dīkṣita\*. ### [c12.8](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.8) The apparent numinosity is further supported by the notion of the king’s divinity—a topic on which the texts are wont to expatiate. Thus the king is generally said to be made up of parts of different gods.¹⁶ Even an infant king is not to be disregarded, “for he is a great deity in human form”.¹⁷ And Bhīṣma, when asked by the puzzled Yudhiṣṭhira why it is that one man who is no different from other mortals in birth, death, and general appearance stands over all other men, answers straightforwardly that the only reason is the king’s divine quality.¹⁸ Since the gods were not only the recipients, but, according to an oft-quoted \*Ṛgveda\* verse, also the primordial celebrants of the sacrifice,¹⁹ it is not surprising that we find the king as the principal celebrant at the great festivals. His \*dīkṣita\*-like quality, which we already noted, fits perfectly in this pattern. In fact, the king’s activity is often equated with a life-long sacrifice, and the purāṇic royal rituals give a complete tableau of the king’s functions.²⁰ These rituals would leave the king no time for anything else, if indeed he would ever be able to finish all the ritual cycles and cycles within cycles. ### [c12.9](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.9) So it seems that when we start from the sacrality of kingship, the different pieces fall into a consistent pattern. The king is thus primarily a religious figure: divinity as well as chief celebrant. Even his power of punishment is not a purely secular one, for, as Robert Lingat argues, the king when inflicting punishment equally fulfills the priestly function of purifying the evildoer.²¹ We may even tie in the legendary Vena, who not unlike the sacrificial king par excellence, Soma, is ritually immolated by the holy men. In this way, we could construct a complete sacral complex where the king—like Prajāpati, the Lord of the Universe—is a sacrificer, victim, and divine recipient of the sacrifice all in one.²² ### [c12.10](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.10) Yet all this, to which many points could still be added—like the king’s responsibility for rainfall—remains essentially a construction. The religious aspect of kingship cannot be denied. All the parts seem to be available, but the texts do not try to put them together. They remain isolated and disparate pieces of evidence spread over different contexts. What is lacking is a consistent overall scheme that would give substance to a consolidated theory of sacral kingship. As it is, however, kingship remains, even theoretically, suspended between sacrality and secularity, divinity and mortal humanity, legitimate authority and arbitrary power, dharma and adharma. ### [c12.11](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.11) We know, of course, what the reason for this undecided state of affairs is, namely, that it is not the king but the brahmin who, according to the classical conception, holds the key to ultimate value and therefore to legitimacy and authority. The theory of sacrifice, as it was developed in the Vedic prose texts has no place for the king as such, let alone for a sacral, divine, or priestly one. He is at best a sacrificer (\*yajamāna\*) with the same status as any commoner sacrificer. Strictly speaking, he cannot even be that, for the brahmin should refrain from officiating for him.²³ It is significant that the Vedic \*rājasūya\*, though ostensibly meant for the royal investiture, is not by most dharma commentators understood to be the decisive sacrament (\*saṃskāra\*) that legitimates the king.²⁴ ### [c12.12](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.12) The critical point is that the classical theory of sacrifice has resolutely and as a matter of principle turned its back on society. Why this is so will concern us further on. At this point, it may suffice to note that the king as such has no \*locus standi\* on the place of sacrifice, which is also spatially segregated from the life of the community.²⁵ Whatever may have been the original meaning of the proclamation formula at the rājasūya—"This is your king, O Bharatas, Soma is our, the brahmins', king",²⁶—the commentators invariably take it to mean that brahmins are set apart from the king's power, and conversely, that the king is excluded from the brahmin's ritual domain. Although Indo-European comparison shows that the Latin cognate of the Indian \*rājan\*, the \*rex\*, does have religious connotations,²⁷ it is important to note that the word \*rājan\* can be applied to any man of substance without any thought of sacrality.²⁸ ### [c12.13](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.13) But the final blow to a consistent theory of sacral kingship is delivered by the dharma commentators, who clearly indicate that whoever holds the de-facto power is king, irrespective of his legitimacy or, rather, lack of it. Not even the requirement that he at least be a kṣatriya is upheld.²⁹ And even this does not give rise to a consistently areligious theory of power pure and simple. For, whatever the claims of artha, dharma disturbingly keeps hovering over it and even Kauṭilya's notorious \*Arthaśāstra\* does not break with the dharmaśāstra in order to formulate an independent \*raison d'état\*.³⁰ So here too the theoretical foundation of kingship remains in suspense. This does not mean that there can be no effective kings—in fact there were obviously many capable and effective ones—but it does mean that kingship as an institution has no authority and legitimacy of its own. It is dependent on the uneasy relationship between king and brahmin. Or, as the texts put it, the \*brahman\* can stand on its own, the \*kṣatra\*, however, cannot and depends on the \*brahman\*.³¹ ### [c12.14](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.14) Now it may be argued that the unique phenomenon of the brahmin, whose monopoly of the source of authority and legitimation leaves the king with mere power and effectively bars kingship from developing its full potential as the central regulating force, makes the Indian case a very special one. The problematic character of kingship would then be an exclusively Indian phenomenon. It cannot be denied that the Indian case cannot be put on a par with other cases of a division between spiritual authority and temporal power such as the problem of church and state in Western Europe or the one of \*sulṭānat\* and \*'imāmat\* in the Muslim world. This is not the place to go into the details of these other situations, nor is the present writer qualified to do so. But the essential difference would seem to be that in the Christian as well as the Islamic world, both spiritual authority and temporal power have to be realized in the single sphere of society. India, on the other hand, recognizes a second, independent human sphere, namely, the renunciatory life that turns its back on the social world. It is in the sphere of world renunciation that the brahmin and the ultimate authority he stands for belong. Society and its king have no claim on him beyond what he is willing to concede and he can—ideally, he even should—withdraw from society. In the Indian case, the two forces do not compete for priority within one single sphere. On the contrary, the spiritual one simply opts out, leaving the other to cope for itself as best it can.³² ### [c12.15](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.15) The Indian case therefore is indeed a special one, but this does not mean that the problem of kingship is peculiar to Indian civilization. In fact, I intend to argue that the problem is a general one and that the specifically Indian king-brahmin "model" is what Indian civilization has developed to formulate this general problem. It may therefore be appropriate first to look at the general aspect of the problem, as it is presented by the Indian material, and next inquire how the specifically Indian "model" came to be formulated. ### [c12.16](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.16) It is a stereotyped phrase that the king is "the maker of the age" and that is depends on him whether the age is the \*kṛta\*, \*tretā\*, \*dvāpara\*, or \*kali age\*.³³ These terms, however, cannot be dissociated from the dicing game, which we also see the king play in the \*rājasūya\*, and it is hard to miss the implication that kingship is in more than one way a gamble. Now this gambling may be considered an agonistic divinatory rite at the opening of a new age or era—a gambling for the future, as it were—and so would fit perfectly in a theory of sacral kingship. But the essential point is the fact that the outcome does not depend solely on the king, for the game and its outcome are equally if not predominantly determined by the other participants, variously given as representatives of the four varṇas, household functionaries, or relatives.³⁴ In fact, some rājasūya texts seem to suggest that the king does not even take an active part in the game.³⁵ At any rate, he is not at all a free agent but part of a web of intersecting relationships that hem him in on all sides. The same impression is conveyed by those brāhmaṇa passages which make the kṣatriya dependent on the people (\*viś\*). Thus the king is said to need the people's consent, to be "propped up on both sides" by the people and to be capable of showing strength only through the people.³⁶ That this dependence is, of course, mutual does not alter the fact that the king is tied up in a closely meshed web. ### [c12.17](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.17) This is, of course, a far cry from the idea of the powerful king "who makes his own age." But it would be erroneous to view the shift in emphasis from the dependent king in the ritual to the unrestricted "maker of the age" as the result of historical development, for the same picture of the king's confinement in a network of actors emerges from the classical doctrine of the "circle of kings." This circle is constituted by the "conquering king" (\*vijigīṣu\*), his enemy, the power adjacent to both, and the outside power; each of these four "elements" (\*prakṛti\*) again has an ally and an ally's ally. That makes twelve "elements" to start with. Then we have to add for each of these "king elements" five further "elements"—minister, land-cum-people (\*janapada\*), fortified place, treasure, and army—so that the total comes to seventy-two.³⁷ ### [c12.18](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.18) Now, although the "circle" is seen from the single point of view of the would-be conqueror, it is clear that he is just one of the seventy-two "elements." Each of the first twelve can in his turn be a vijigīṣu, none being at the top or even in the center. In fact, the whole exposition turns on the pivotal question of how to husband one's resources in such a way that one may attain the central position in the "hub" of the "circle of elements".³⁸ Moreover, as Hartmut Scharfe has shown, the terminology shows a conflation of two schemes, a concentric one and a dualistic rectilineal one in which the would-be conqueror faces his rival while their allies and enemies interlock at their backs.³⁹ In the latter scheme, there cannot even be a single central position, since the center is held by two chief contestants. In order to achieve whatever predominance is attainable, one has to move with utmost caution on the same level as all the other "elements"—not only the twelve "king elements"—each of which is a power in its own right. This, incidentally, makes short shrift of the notion of states with a modicum of centralization and entertaining "interstate relations." It also means that the difference between "monarchy" and "republic," already alluded to, cannot be a very significant one. The circle doctrine is a schematic representation of a universe made up of various interlocking forces, where the king has to stake himself in an ever-continuing gamble with his like as well as with other forces. ### [c12.19](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.19) Now this certainly is not a specifically Indian problem. It means that power and resources are diffused throughout the whole system to such an extent that the king is hard put to find and manage the means that would give him sufficient leverage to lift himself, in a sort of Münchhausen act, above the level of the competing forces, or even to attain a central position among them. It is not even sure that if some "element" were to emerge that "element" would be the king. Indian history can provide many examples of the opposite. Yet we see that even in those cases, the successful pretender will either assume the royal title himself or will rule under the nominal authority of a pensioner king—as, indeed, the East India Company did for about a century. Here, then, lies the heart of the problem. Somehow kingship, in whatever way it may have been obtained, implies legitimacy and authority, but a consistent theory clarifying this pivotal issue is lacking. ### [c12.20](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.20) Not only for this power is the king dependent on others but also, and more important, for his authority. Even apart from the classical king-brahmin formula, this is made clear in a number of ways. Thus the king shares equally in his subjects' spiritual merits as well as their demerits.⁴⁰ "Le salut du roi," as Robert Lingat concludes, "dépend de ses sujets comme le salut des sujets dépend du roi."⁴¹ This is certainly a perfectly valid way of putting it, but it does mean that the king has no independent moral standing and therefore no legitimacy or authority independent from the "elements" of the realm, of which he is but one. His authority is not fixed but suspended somewhere in the middle, at the intersection of the relationships that make up the realm. In the same way, the king is bound to consult in all matters his counsellors, drawn from various groups and not necessarily his own retainers.⁴² True, after ascertaining their opinion, he should reach a decision himself, but he should not push his luck too far by a show of independence, for "kings depend on their counsellors as cattle do on rain, husbands on their wives, and brahmins on the Veda".⁴³ In the same vein, the \*Aitareya Brāhmaṇa\* speaks about the "kingmakers" (\*rājakartṛ\*) who arrange for the acclamation, failing which the king is devoid of strength.⁴⁴ Similarly, the pseudoetymology that derives the word \*rājan\* from \*rañjayati\*, "to gladden, make happy" (namely, his people), whatever its religio-magic connotations, does not speak for the king's independent authority. All this mutuality and interdependence may seem touchingly harmonious, but the verso side is clearly that where this harmonic relationship is impaired or lacking the king can simply be killed.⁴⁵ ### [c12.21](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.21) In Indian terms, the crux of the authority problem is the king's standing in the matter of dharma. Notwithstanding the tall claims made in behalf of the king's being dharma incarnate, it is made perfectly clear that in matters of dharma—that is, in practically every aspect of his activity—he has no autonomy whatsoever and, instead of leading, must follow. Even in the case of customs and usages which are contrary to dharma, he has no authority to intervene.⁴⁶ That he should not intervene in customary law, even if contrary to dharma, of a conquered population may be considered simply a pragmatic policy,⁴⁷ but the same goes for his own subjects, even for those who reject the Veda, which is considered to be the \*fons et origo\* of all dharma.⁴⁸ What is more, it is enjoined that the king should consider all customs of the virtuous twice-born—that is, practically, the dharma—as law only if these customs are not contrary to the usages of land, family, or caste!⁴⁹ The dharma is beyond the king's grasp and his relationship with it is at best an uneasy one. It is, of course, his foremost duty to protect the dharma. But then what is dharma if it can encompass even contrary customs and usages? Or, as one text puts it, "Dharma and Adharma do not go about saying: here we are; nor do gods, gandharvas, or manes say: this is dharma, that is adharma".⁵⁰ So there is nothing for it but to define dharma as that "which wise twice-born men praise".⁵¹ Now it is not uncommon that kings have no authority to interfere with established customs and rights, whether written or not. Thus, for instance, it is significant that in a medieval Latin play it is the Antichrist who is made to say when he mounts the throne: "I will abolish the old laws and dictate new ones".⁵² But it would seem that it is only in India that the king's lack of authority emerges with such clarity. ### [c12.22](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.22) Yet there are, as we have seen, strong countervailing statements. Apart from hyperbole, it is flatly stated that no one should transgress the dharma decreed by the king.⁵³ We even find that in case of dispute, the royal edict (\*rājaśāsana\*) is given priority over dharma.⁵⁴ We can readily understand why such statements are necessary. Just because of its undefined nature and its lack of institutional moorings, the dharma is in dire need of a point of support that can provide the modicum of power necessary for its maintenance. An abstract category of wise or holy men (\*śiṣṭa\*, \*sādhu\*, \*āpta\*) obviously lacks the power and organization for the effective maintenance of dharma. It is only the king who can and therefore should provide the power and organization required, even if it can only be a bare minimum. But this makes the dilemma of kingship no less insoluble. The king must all the time perform a precarious balancing act between forcefully proclaiming his own writ to be dharma and, on the other hand, following unassumingly what his subjects tell him to be dharma. ### [c12.23](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.23) It is no matter for surprise, then, that the legendary accounts of the origin of kingship are wrought with equivocation and near-failure. Thus Bhīṣma, while answering Yudhiṣṭhira's perplexed question on the nature of kingship, relates that notwithstanding the intervention of Viṣṇu, who created the first king as his "mental son," kingship in fact all but failed.⁵⁵ Indeed, the first three kings wanted no part of it and opted out by renouncing the world. Only with the fourth, does kingship get a fair chance, but then passion and greed also start their corrupting work, culminating in the notorious King Vena. It is only with the seventh in line, Pṛthu, produced by the holy men out of the immolated body of his father, that the ideal king enters on the scene. There, as far as our text is concerned, the line ends, for going beyond this point could only spoil the ideal.⁵⁶ Leaving aside for the moment the ideal case of Pṛthu, Bhīṣma's account clearly expresses the king's dilemma. Either he safeguards his righteousness by retiring from the world, as the first three kings did, or he submits himself to the yoke of worldly unrighteousness and falls prey to greed and passion, as happened to the next three kings. The first alternative obviously makes nonsense of kingship, the second obliterates the claim to authority. When we finally reach the ideal King Pṛthu, there still is a fatal flaw. He can only give protection, justice, and plenty by confessing his utterly feeble grasp of dharma and having himself led in all matters by the brahmins. Since he must promise the brahmins exemption from all punishment, the arbitrariness of the king is replaced by the absolutism of the brahmin. This flaw is already present in Pṛthu's origin. Although he was properly produced from the immolated body of his father, this immolation was no less a breach in the functioning of dharma. For by this act, as already mentioned, the brahmin seers reduced the world to the adharmic chaos of kinglessness—a point that the legend explicity stresses. So even the Pṛthu story's idealization of the king-brahmin formula does not solve the problem. ### [c12.24](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.24) The same problem is expressed in a different way in the so-called contract theory of kingship also taught by Bhīṣma.⁵⁷ At the entreaty of the people, who feel fatally threatened by anarchy, the supreme deity appoints the patriarch Manu to be king. But here again the appointee, fearing the cruelty of the task and the sins of man, fights clear of the royal function. Only after a covenant has been made with the people, which guarantees the king a share in the people's material resources as well as an even bigger share in the merit of their righteous acts, does Manu agree to be their king. After what has been said about the interdependence of king and people, the idea of a covenant or contract is not very surprising. The striking point here is, however, the stipulation that Manu does not share in the demerit of his subjects' evil deeds. This stipulation—contrary to the idea referred to above of the king's share in and responsibility for both merit and demerit—does set the king free from the oppressive material and moral bonds with the people, but it is hardly fair. The trouble is that once the king is no longer affected by the world's evil ways, he is freed from responsibility for them. It is then hard to see why he should bother to correct the wrongs of the world. He virtually withdraws from the world, like the first three kings in the previous account, the difference being that the latter at least took the full consequence of their withdrawal and renounced all claims to their subjects' material and moral resources. So Manu's covenant does not offer a solution either; rather, it offers another formulation of the same problems. ### [c12.25](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.25) So much is clear, the king cannot derive his authority from the community, for within the community he is himself subject to the community's dharma as well as its adharma, and, as we saw, the two are difficult to define. So authority has to be looked for outside the community. The king has to belong to the community, but at the same time he must stand outside so as to guarantee his authority. ### [c12.26](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.26) That the dilemma of kingship does not admit of a definitive solution is after all not very surprising, nor does this seem to be an exclusively Indian phenomenon. The pertinent question, however, is, In what way did Indian, or more precisely, "Sanskritic" thought—as distinct from the sometimes successful but always dubious compromise of historical reality—deal with the intractable aporia? For an answer to this question, it may be appropriate to look at the Vedic ritual texts, especially those that deal with the royal rites. They are useful not only because of their unique extensiveness and authoritativeness—whatever their practical value—but also because they demonstrate that the ritual, however mindlessly performed, is based on penetrating thought. Ritual cannot escape the fundamental problem but must somehow express it in well-defined acts. Ritual, in other words, should make the insoluble at least acceptable without glossing it over. Putting it plainly, the ritual cannot simply put the king on his throne and leave the matter there. The rājasūya, for instance, is far from being so restricted; it is in fact an all but endless series of cycles stretching over a number of years. When it ends, the end seems to be rather arbitrary, and indeed the king has then again to start upon yet another ritual, the sautrāmaṇī, not to mention others. This unremitting series of beginnings and re-beginnings indicates that the ritual is not simply a question of unction, or rather aspersion, and enthronization. There are, to be sure, abbreviated forms such as the consecratory aspersion (\*abhiṣeka\*) of the \*Aitareya Brāhmaṇa\*, but the same text also knows the \*punarabhiṣeka\*, or repeated consecration, which curiously is mentioned even before the \*abhiṣeka\* proper.⁵⁸ Here we can already notice that the royal consecration is not performed once and for all but is in fact an unending cycle. As we shall see, this cycle enables the ritual to give full weight to the dilemma of kingship and to handle it effectively. ### [c12.27](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.27) As we have seen, the dilemma is that the king has to be both part of the community and external to it. Now Indian civilization offers a basic paradigm, used in many contexts, for such an opposition, namely, the opposition between the settled agricultural community (\*grāma\*) and the alien outside sphere of the jungle (\*araṇya\*). This opposition obviously has a directly practical and historical importance.⁵⁹ It does not only imply that the settled community should all the time be on its guard against the dangers that threaten it from the alien jungle world, but also that the two spheres complement each other in a number of ways. The settled community needs the jungle for grazing ground; as a source of new land, man power, and forest products; as a link between settled areas; and finally as a refuge. The jungle and its "tribal" inhabitants, on the other hand, look to the settled areas as a source of agricultural produce, cattle, and other riches as well as for employment, either in a military capacity or as agricultural labor. In other words, \*grāma\* and \*araṇya\* are complementary. Their constant latent or open conflict does not militate against their complementarity, but on the contrary, bears out its importance. ### [c12.28](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.28) The dilemma of kingship can then be expressed in terms of this basic paradigm: the king must belong to the \*grāma\*, but his authority must be based in the alien sphere of \*araṇya\*. Thus, for instance, the god Dharma—the divine representative of ultimate authority—reveals himself, after imposing an ordeal, to his son Yudhiṣṭhira in the jungle.⁶⁰ Generally speaking, there is abundant evidence of the king's special relationship with the jungle—a relationship that is clearly related to transcendent authority.⁶¹ The necessary complementarity of the two spheres can then be ritually expressed as alternating phases in a cycle connecting the two opposites. Since the opposition as well as the complementarity is there all the time and cannot be overcome, the cycle has to go on forever. In its simplest form, the \*grāma-araṇya\* cycle is expressed in the dictum: "In the \*grāma\* one undertakes the consecration, in the \*araṇya\* one sacrifices".⁶² We must now try to determine how this cycle is worked out in the case of the royal rites. ### [c12.29](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.29) A first look at the royal ritual of \*rājasūya\* and \*abhiṣeka\* gives the impression of a rather garbled scenario. In the first place, it is overgrown with a confusing cumulation of all sorts of rites which make it difficult to discern the central moments. To some extent, it is possible to overcome this difficulty by paying attention to the "boxing device" of the ritual, which tends to embed an important episode in the middle of another rite or cumulation of rites, such as offerings of ghee, cake, animal, and soma. This is prominently the case of the unction, which stands out as a pivotal point in the ritual. But then there appear to be at least three possible "boxes," as is shown by the three moments in the ritual where the proclamation (or acclamation), which goes with the unction, occurs.⁶³ Another important episode is the enthronization. It would seem logical that unction and enthronization should be closely connected with each other.⁶⁴ This is indeed the case in the \*Aitareya Brāhmaṇa\*, where the king receives the unction while seated on the throne. However, in the rājasūya, the unction is not only separated from the enthronization by a considerable interval but also precedes it. ### [c12.30](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.30) This state of affairs does not look very promising, and some have even concluded that it is impossible to obtain a clear picture of the proceedings.⁶⁵ Indeed, when we start from a preconceived idea of what kings and kingship should be like and assume that the royal ritual should be a single once-and-for-all accession to the throne, we can only conclude that the brahmanic ritual has garbled the matter beyond recognition. If, however, we accept that kingship is an open problem and that the ritual tries to handle the problem by means of a cyclical succession of opposite phases, the garbled pieces fall into an intelligible pattern. ### [c12.31](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.31) The ritual cycle, as we saw, should connect community and outside world as two phases. When we now look again at the rājasūya, we notice that not only unction and enthronization are separated but, more importantly, that the interval is taken up by an interesting rite, the chariot drive. This rite is clearly marked as a symbolic war expedition by the fact that the king has to shoot arrows in the direction of a kṣatriya posted at the far end of the chariot course. According to one version, this seemingly harmless event even appears as a ritualized cattle raid.⁶⁶ In other words, after the unction the king should go abroad on a raiding expedition. Then, after his triumphant return, he mounts the throne and the cycle is closed. That the unction is followed by an expedition into the outside world does not seem to be accidental. It tallies perfectly with the overall scheme of the Soma ritual where the sacrificer undergoes the dīkṣā in the grāma, as the dictum quoted above has it, and then departs. In fact, the royal unction is nothing but a prestigious, complicated version of the dīkṣā—or, rather, the other way round. The dīkṣa is the generalized and simplified, not to say "democratized," form of the abhiṣeka, putting on a par the royal and the commoner sacrificer.⁶⁷ Also the dīkṣita's collecting of charitable gifts for the purpose of sacrifice (\*saniyācana\*), although reduced to the innocuous format of religious begging, still bears a distinct relationship to the chariot raid. If we consider that, according to Manu, the necessities for the sacrifice may be taken by force, if not willingly given, the saniyācana reveals its not so innocuous nature.⁶⁸ ### [c12.32](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.32) The interpretation of the sequence unction, war or raiding expedition, enthronization as a cycle connecting grāma and araṇya receives further corroboration from the fact that it is again encompassed in a greater cycle of the rājasūya along the same lines. This greater cycle is marked by the unction and haircutting Soma festivals. Unction and haircutting are here what dīkṣā and final bath (\*avabhṛtha\*) are in the normalized Soma sacrifice. During the intervening period, the anointed is, like the dīkṣitā, subjected to a number of restrictions, such as the interdiction of shaving and haircutting, of treading upon the earth without wearing shoes, of cleaning his teeth, and, significantly, of the duty to accept battle when challenged. For our purpose, the interesting point is that the interval between the unction and haircutting festivals is filled out with a symbolic expedition abroad. First there is the series of ten offerings for which the fires are each time removed further to the north or east, the so-called \*saṃsṛp\* offerings. In this way, different stages on the road of the expedition are marked. Then follows a sacrifice featuring the drinking of soma by a hundred brahmins (\*daśapeya\*)—the idea probably being the solemnizing of a bond or covenant.⁶⁹ The next set of offerings—significantly called offerings of the yokings or harnessings (\*prayujāṃ havīṃṣi\*)—explicitly symbolize another expedition, for these offerings are explained by the account of how the Kurus and Pañcālas of old went every year in the cool season on a raiding expedition toward the east and returned at the end of the hot season.⁷⁰ The cycle is then finally closed by the haircutting solemnity. ### [c12.33](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.33) In this connection, two further points are worth mentioning. First, the prayujāṃ havīṃṣi as evidenced by the explanatory account are not only a setting out but equally a coming back again. Accordingly, the time for the haircutting is set on the full-moon day of the month Jyaiṣṭha or Aṣāḍha, that is, at the end of the hot season. The second point is that, although this is not specified in the context of the rājasūya, in another consecratory Soma sacrifice, the \*rājābhiṣeka\*, where we find the same haircutting rite with the same set of special mantras again, the rite is connected with an enthronization, the king being seated on a throne during the ceremony.⁷¹ So the greater cycle parallels exactly its shorter counterpart, unction–chariot drive–enthronization. The same pattern is shown in Baudhāyana’s version of the \*vājapeya\*, where a chariot race is the central feature, preceded by an unction and followed by the “ascent to heaven” (i.e., climbing the sacrificial post) and the enthronization.⁷² ### 10 ### [c12.s1.1](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.s1.1) But the pattern does not only involve cycles encompassed by other cycles such as those we have just observed. It also repeats itself in an unending sequence, and this means that the enthronization should again be followed by another abhiṣeka, another departure, and so forth. This indeed appears to have been the case. Thus Baudhāyana’s version of the vājapeya offers, as we saw, the sequence unction, chariot race, enthronization, but Āpastamba's version starts with the race, which, as expected, is followed by the enthronization and finally the unction, which is administered on the throne.⁷³ Baudhāyana and Āpastamba have, one might say, cut the cyclical concatenation in different places, but it is still the same cycle. This is not all. Although the vājapeya—like all śrauta sacrifices—is given as a single limited stretch of rites bounded by the standard beginning and end of the normal Soma sacrifice, the texts cannot completely disregard its cyclical follow-up. Therefore the vājapeya must again be followed by another consecratory Soma sacrifice, the \*bṛhaspatisava\*.⁷⁴ Now it is not made clear what exactly the ritual of the bṛhaspatisava is, but it is at least remarkable that the vājapeya itself is called a bṛhaspatisava.⁷⁵ No less interesting is what appears to be the occupation of the sacrificer during the interval between vājapeya and bṛhaspatisava: he leads the life of a warrior, for, as one text puts it, having performed the bṛhaspatisava, he should abandon the "warrior's way of life".⁷⁶ This is corroborated by another text, which enjoins that the vājapeya sacrificer should lead a warrior's life, and the same text says about the purpose of the bṛhaspatisava: "Whom they put at their head should henceforth lead a friendly life amongst them," that is, give up his warrior habits.⁷⁷ We have come to expect that the warrior phase of going abroad is followed by an enthronization after the triumphant return. Indeed, though the ritual specifics of the bṛhaspatisava that follows the vājapeya and the warrior phase are not clarified, there is at least one text that gives an elaborate description in which throne and enthronization figure prominently.⁷⁸ ### [c12.s1.2](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.s1.2) In connection with the bṛhaspatisava sequel to the vājapeya, a further particular may be mentioned. This sequel is also called \*pratyavarohaṇīya\*, "alighting," the point being that the vājapeya sacrificer should not get down, alight, in honor of anybody until he has performed the "alighting" ritual. The injunction not to get down obviously belongs to his proud warrior status. He must accept battle—and, if necessary, die—as is also demanded of him during the interval between the unction and haircutting festivities in the rājasūya, but on no account should he get down and thereby show himself to be the lesser man. The curious point is, however, that the punctilio implied here is not so much the king's affair as that of the warrior. Only when the vājapeya sacrificer has freed himself from the rigid warrior etiquette through the "alighting" ceremony, can he settle down again, mount the throne, and "henceforth lead a friendly disposed life." The "alighting," then, seems to refer primarily to alighting from the chariot, signifying the return to the settled community from the warrior's life in the outside world. Or, as one text puts it, "He who performs the vājapeya goes away from this world: they run a race, he climbs the sacrificial pole. If he would not perform the 'alighting,' he would ascend to yonder world, but he would waste himself. . . . By performing the 'alighting' he gains a firm base in this world, does not come to harm and obtains his full span of life. By means of these offerings he comes back from that world which he has conquered through the vājapeya."⁷⁹ ### [c12.s1.3](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.s1.3) In the meantime, it will have become clear that the difference between the rājasūya of the \*Yajurveda\* and the abhiṣeka in the \*Aitareya Brāhmaṇa\* is not a result of confusion but of the way in which the cycle was cut. The \*Aitareya Brāhmaṇa\* begins with the enthronization, which is followed by the unction. But there the matter does not end, for, as we have seen, after the unction the king goes abroad on a war or raiding expedition. This is also clearly indicated in the \*Aitareya Brāhmaṇa\*. After the punarabhiṣeka, the king not only makes three steps to the north—which is a symbol of departure and conquest—but the text follows this up with instructions and explanations regarding battle rites.⁸⁰ Still clearer is the case of the \*aindramahābhiṣeka\* in the same text, where a list is given of kings who performed this ceremony, went out on conquest, and on their return performed another consecratory sacrifice, namely, the horse sacrifice.⁸¹ ### 11 ### [c12.s2.1](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.s2.1) It would be tedious to continue this demonstration, which could in fact be extended throughout the śrauta ritual. But one more point is interesting for our purpose. This point concerns the king's \*daṇḍa\*, or staff. In the classical dharma texts, the daṇḍa is the primordial and exclusive symbol of the king's capacity to punish. Daṇḍa has even come to mean punishment itself and as such is identified with dharma. Now we know the daṇḍa, though not in the later sense, from the Vedic ritual as the typical attribute of the consecrated sacrificer, which is handed to him after the dīkṣa bath, that is, at the time when he is supposed to set out on his expedition.⁸² In this context, it represents Voice, who took refuge in the trees, that is, in the jungle. But without Voice, it is said, no prowess (\*vīrya\*) can be shown. ### [c12.s2.2](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.s2.2) It would seem, then, that the dīkṣita's daṇḍa represents the voice of superior authority, which has to be found outside, in the forest—the daṇḍa being significantly addressed as "lord of the forest" (\*vanaspati\*). On a more mundane level, it is a weapon as well—to enforce authority—and is equated with the \*vajra\*.⁸³ Not unlike the scepter, it seems originally to have been the typical equipment of one who goes abroad.⁸⁴ Thus the daṇḍa also belongs to the paraphernalia of the wandering and fighting \*vrātya\*.⁸⁵ This also may explain why in the cyclical pattern of the ritual the daṇḍa is not acquired once and for all, but has to be transmitted after the wandering phase, at the beginning of the sacrifice proper, to the brahmin who acts as the \*maitrāvaruṇa\* officiant, called in this connection leader of the sacrificial priests.⁸⁶ Although the daṇḍa is not specifically mentioned in the context of the royal unction, where its place seems to be taken by a bow and arrows, it is interesting to see it turn up unexpectedly again at the end of the rājasūya. There the daṇḍa, together with the shoes (which prevented the consecrated king from coming into direct contact with the earth) and a dry skin bag, is sent to the rival kings (\*pratirājānaḥ\*).⁸⁷ Presumably, this may originally have meant that it was now their turn to take up the burden of the wandering warrior's life. The point I want to stress, however, is that the daṇḍa, the archetypal symbol of kingship and maintenance of the dharma, is when we first meet it the typical attribute of the warrior's life abroad. That is, authority and its symbol are situated outside the community. They can only be put into contact with the community by means of the alternating cycle. ### 12 ### [c12.s3.1](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.s3.1) At first sight, the paradigm of cyclical alternation between the complementary phases of grāma and araṇya may appear as an elegant solution to the conundrum of the king's authority. On further consideration, however, it is clearly far from satisfactory, for it makes authority the sport of fortune in the unending circulatory game. Instead of wielding the daṇḍa over the community, the king has on his return to pass it on to another who then has to set out, if the king does not start again on another wandering phase himself. In fact, it makes effective kingship illusory. But that is not all, for we cannot overlook the risk and mortal danger involved in the aggressive conventions of the warrior phase. ### [c12.s3.2](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.s3.2) The jeopardy to which kingship is subject is curiously but no less clearly expressed by the recurring notion of the disintegrating effect that the unction is supposed to have on the anointed. The rājasūya is also known as \*varuṇasava\*, or consecration of Varuṇa.⁸⁸ The rājasūya sacrificer enacts the role of this sovereign god. But in the same context, it is said that the unction takes away the god's as well as his human epigone's strength, causing them, like humpty-dumpty, to fall apart. The king's unction is at the same time his undoing, and he must be put together again by the \*saṁsṛp\* offerings. In other words, he must, as we saw, go out into the wilds to recuperate the strength that has left him.⁸⁹ ### [c12.s3.3](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.s3.3) Quite apart from the mythological motif of Varuṇa's disintegration, the ambivalence and danger of the royal ritual and specifically of the rājasūya is in a different but no less telling way documented in the epics. Now the epics—both the \*Mahābhārata\* and the \*Rāmāyaṇa\*—show exactly the same paradigm of cyclical alternation between grāma and araṇya. Both the Pāṇḍavas and Rāma are forced to leave throne and realm and go out on a life of adventure in the wilds and return only after they have successfully come out of a long series of dangerous battles and ordeals. In both cases, the departure is connected with the abhiṣeka. Rāma is cheated out of his already arranged unction. In the \*Mahābhārata\*, Yudhiṣṭhira, the leader of the Pāṇ- ḍava brothers, has the rājasūya performed but is then also cheated out of his realm in a game of dice forced upon him by his opponent, Duryodhana. Though the dicing game follows Yudhiṣṭhira’s rājasūya, it does so without interval, and comparison with the ritual texts makes clear that it actually belongs to the rājasūya. It is not surprising, then, that the rājasūya is considered in the epics to be particularly dangerous. When the deceased father of the Pāṇḍavas has his wish that Yudhiṣṭhira perform the rājasūya transmitted by the sage Nārada, the latter takes the opportunity to point out the dangers of this royal ritual, which will lead to the destruction of the kṣatriyas in the great Mahābhārata war—an idea that is later repeated by the sage Vyāsa, as well as on other occasions.⁹⁰ So the rājasūya is directly linked to the tragic war, or rather, we might say that the war is part and parcel of the rājasūya cycle. We saw already that the \*Aitareya Brāhmaṇa\* has the abhiṣeka followed by war and conquest, after which another consecratory sacrifice, the horse sacrifice, is performed. Similarly, the Pāṇḍavas as well as Rāma perform on their triumphant return the aśvamedha, which in the case of the \*Mahābhārata\* is given as an expiation for the catastrophal bloodshed.⁹¹ ### 13 ### [c12.s4.1](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.s4.1) So the cyclical paradigm, far from offering a solution, is wrought with constant risk and the threat of violent breakdown. It called, in other words, for a thorough reform on the basis of a new orientation. That such a reform did indeed take place is indicated by the restructuring of the ritual. Although the original pattern of endless cyclical alternation can with relative ease be reconstructed from the texts,⁹² this is no longer the meaning of the ritual. On the contrary, it is cut up in single rectilineal stretches of rites with clear-cut beginnings and ends. As we saw, this was the reason for the seemingly confused order of the relevant consecratory rites, the original cycles having been cut at different points. The restructuring, which cut up and destroyed the cyclical concatenation was, of course, not a frivolous undertaking. It was pointedly and systematically done. The purpose was to break out of the endless cycle by establishing a new conception of the transcendent, and thereby of authority.⁹³ ### [c12.s4.2](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12.s4.2) As long as settled agricultural communities were limited in number and restricted in their resources, while wide expanses were left open, the alternation of settled life with nomadic raiding and transhuming expeditions to supplement meager resources may have been a reasonably effective proposition. However, with the growth and spread of settled agriculture, a different type of organization and a new conception of authority would have been needed. At any rate, the ritual reform gave a new answer to the problem of authority. The cyclical pattern of alternation between grāma and araṇya did manage to keep up the contact between this and the other world, between settled community and authority transcending it, but at a price of violence and insecurity. Authority and the settled life dependent on it remained all the time contingent on the uncertain outcome of the cycle of violence. We can readily understand the criticism which even the \*Mahābhārata\*, though still clearly showing the original cyclical pattern and even recommending death while facing the enemy as the "sacrifice of battle",⁹⁴ has Bhīṣma, himself a warrior-sage, level against war. Even victory in battle, Bhīṣma convincingly argues, is simply an evil.⁹⁵ The same idea seems to underlie the ritual reform, which as we have it in the texts, rules out violence and battle, reducing the last remnants of agonistic rites such as the chariot drive to innocuous, strictly ritualized affairs. In order to achieve this, it broke the cycle of violence. And by breaking the cycle, it opened the way to free authority and make it unassailably transcendent. _First 43 of 57 passages. [Read on](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12)_ ## Linked texts (10) - [Baudhāyanaśrautasūtra](https://indike.org/pramana/in.vedanga.kalpa.srauta.baudhayana) — Baudhāyana, Sanskrit - [Āpastambaśrautasūtra](https://indike.org/pramana/in.vedanga.kalpa.srauta.apastamba) — Āpastamba, Sanskrit - [Kauṭilīya Arthaśāstra](https://indike.org/pramana/in.niti.artha.kautilya) — Kauṭilya, Sanskrit - [Mānava Dharmaśāstra](https://indike.org/pramana/in.niti.dharma.manu) — Manu & Bhṛgu, Sanskrit - [Aitareyabrāhmaṇa](https://indike.org/pramana/in.veda.brahmana.aitreya) — Mahidāsa Aitareya, Sanskrit - [Mahābhārata](https://indike.org/pramana/in.lit.mahabharata.vyasa) — Vyāsa, Sanskrit - [Ṛgvedasaṃhitā](https://indike.org/pramana/in.veda.samhita.rg) — Sanskrit - [Upaniṣad](https://indike.org/pramana/in.veda.upanisad) — Sanskrit - [Atharvavedasaṃhitā](https://indike.org/pramana/in.veda.samhita.atharva) — Atharvan & Aṅgiras, Sanskrit - [Vālmīkirāmāyaṇa](https://indike.org/pramana/in.lit.ramayana.valmiki) — Vālmīki, Sanskrit --- Source: [https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12](https://indike.org/pramana/ins.polity.heesterman-1985.c12) · Pramāṇa