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The Inner Conflict of Tradition: Essays in Indian Ritual, Kingship, and Society c7.s1: 7

The Inner Conflict of Tradition: Essays in Indian Ritual, Kingship, and Society c7.s1

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7

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We saw that the White Yajurveda makes short shrift of the human victim. Though the brāhmaṇa texts of the Black Yajurveda are silent about its provenance, its sūtras present a nonstandard but, as it would seem, more authentic solution. The human head should be the head of a kṣatriya (*rājanya*) or a vaiśya killed by an arrow or by lightning.⁴⁷ Seemingly the problem is solved. But how is such a head to be obtained? One hardly expects a prospective sacrificer to wait till some rājanya or vaiśya obligingly has himself killed by lightning or by an arrow. Nor does it seem likely that one actually went round searching for such casualties, which would moreover imply desecration of the ashes, unless, of course, the fire altar is interpreted as a funerary tumulus for a high-ranking kinsman. Though the connection with the funerary tumulus is obvious and deserves further investigation, the indications point in another direction.

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Baudhāyana is again the most helpful. According to him,⁴⁸ the human head is the head of a vaiśya who has fallen in battle; the same rule obtains for the horse’s head. Now it seems clear that to obtain such heads, there is actually no way round going into battle oneself and fighting for it. In passing, one may recall the Homeric fights for the body of the fallen hero. In other words, the human head is the head of an enemy conquered in battle. It stands to reason that this can not be said explicitly in the language of the systematized ritual. Nevertheless, this is exactly what the texts do say, but, by disjoining the elements of the procedure, they have, one might say, taken the sting out of it. If we rejoin the elements, the complete picture emerges again.

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For this purpose, we must turn to another component of the fire altar, the *ukhā*, “fire pot,” in which the fire is to be carried during the year preceding the actual building of the brick construction. This ukhā, which is identical with the milk pot used in the pravargya ritual, is also a form of the “head of the sacrifice” or the head of Prājapati.⁴⁹ Thus the *Kāṭhaka* says that when Prajāpati carried the fire in the ukhā, his head “rolled off”; then the gods exerted themselves with his head and finally restored the head under the form of the ukhā.⁵⁰ Finally when the fire altar is built, the human head is put in the ukhā in the center of the first layer.⁵¹

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Before the ukhā can be formed and baked, one must fetch the clay.⁵² One may expect, considering the symbolic value of the ukhā, that this will involve an elaborate ceremonial. A solemn procession, led by a horse and a donkey (which will carry the clay), starts out toward the loam pit while mantras are recited. Which persons, apart from the sacrificer and the adhvaryu officiant, take part in the procession is not specified, but they are referred to in the plural. The lack of specification and the use of the plural in such a case is somewhat out of the common for the ritual sūtras and should put us on our guard. If we look further into the matter it appears that it is not just a solemn procession.

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Thus *Maitrāyaṇī Saṃhitā*, speaking about the horse, tells us that “in the beginning the gods by means of the horse conquered their dominion; the going with the horse serves for conquest”.⁵³ Further, when they have reached the loam pit or the place where the materials have previously been put ready—the rationalized ritual wants to be free from the contingencies of place and time and organizes its own universe—the adhvaryu, while reciting mantras encouraging it to drive away the enemies and to find Agni, makes the horse step forward; then he strokes its back while reciting the next mantra, which ends in "trample on the fighters," adding: "The enemies should be down, stand like Indra the Vṛtra killer conquering waters and fields''.⁵⁴ The intention is made explicit by the injunction that at this point the sacrificer should think of his enemy. What is presented as a solemn procession seems rather to be characterized as a raid, or a battle to conquer "waters and fields."

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This might still be viewed as hyperbole. We have not yet met the enemy in person; he is only "thought of" and overcome abstractly. He does, however, emerge from abstract limbo at another point during the procession to and from the loam pit. In case, it is said, an enemy is met on the way, he is addressed with the following words: "In the way of the Angirases we are going to fetch Agni hidden in the mud, Agni Purīṣya" (*agním purīṣyàm aṅgirasvád ácchemaḥ*). At last the enemy has reported in person for ceremonial duty. That this is not just a matter of meeting him by chance but an essential element in the ritual is shown by the fact that even in case the enemy does not oblige, the mantra must be uttered while "indicating" him, possibly by uttering his name or pointing in the direction where he is supposed to reside.⁵⁵

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But why this solemn announcement about the purpose of the procession? The mention of the Angirases may contain a clue; it seems to refer to their role in helping Indra to break open the Vala Cave and conquer the cows. In the same way, the mantra states, the procession goes out to fetch Agni. If I am right, this can explain the statement that by this mantra the enemy is robbed of his force;⁵⁶ that is, in plain language, the enemy is robbed of his possessions, albeit in a painlessly abstract way. But the hard facts of reality do not allow themselves to be abstracted away; they keep breaking to the surface.

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It is again Baudhāyana who is clearest on this point. The texts prescribe the worship of Agni at an anthill on the way to the loam pit with the words "We shall carry Agni hidden in the mud," adding a mantra honoring Agni as the sun discerning the world at daybreak.⁵⁷ Now, instead of having an enemy materialize out of the blue or having him indicated, Baudhāyana has a *vaiśya* posted south of this anthill to guard it (*tāṃ dakṣiṇato gopāyann āste*). The processionists circumambulate him (moving sunwise); the *vaiśya* then asks (or rather challenges), "Men, what are you going to fetch?" (*puruṣāḥ kim acchetha*); the others answer with the solemn announcement, which according to the other texts is addressed to the enemy. In other words, the *vaiśya* is the enemy on guard at the anthill, blocking the way to the loam pit where the materials for the *ukhā*, the treasured head of the sacrifice, are to be found.⁵⁸

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We are now in a position to reconstruct the picture by simply putting together the two disjoined elements: the vaiśya guarding the treasure and the vaiśya fallen in battle whose head is taken. It may be recalled that elsewhere vaiśya and rival are also put on a par. At the vājapeya, the sacrificer has to contend—though in a strongly ritualized, that is, in a harmless, way—in a chariot race with vaiśyas.⁵⁹ *Jaiminīya Brāhmaṇa* 1. 183 equally puts vaiśya and enemy (*bhrātṛvya*) on a par. This passage is particularly interesting in that it deals with the sacrificer who has offered up all his possessions and then must recuperate. This he does by going to the enemy, that is, as we may surmise, to the enemy's festival.

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The elements of the dismembered picture are all present, only the connecting link, the real contest, has been eliminated. It had to be, because it was exactly at this point that the ritualists had to break out of the deadlock of ever-renewed violent contest.

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Still one more question remains to be answered. Why is it an anthill the vaiśya has to guard? Of course, one may point at its symbolic value; the ants are connected with the subterraneous waters—they are said to be able to find water—and at the same time the anthill is connected with the hidden Agni or the sun, as evidenced by the worship it receives on the way to the loam pit.⁶⁰ It is one of the materials used in making the fire places, and it is also used for the gharma or mahāvīra pot in the pravargya ceremony. But these considerations do not yet help us in establishing a connection with the underlying reality which could explain why the anthill should provide the scene for the encounter with the rival.

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The answer is implied in the ritual pertaining to the human head, as given in the Black Yajurveda. When the head of the fallen rājanya or vaiśya is cut off, an anthill with seven holes is put in its place.⁶¹ Symbolically, the head and the anthill are identical, and this can explain why the contest for the head is located at the anthill. At the same time, the connection between the anthill and the loam pit becomes clear; the anthill is the head, and the trunk is represented by the clay from the loam pit in which, according to some texts, the trunks of the animals have been thrown previously.

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Though the head is of course the prize trophy, it stands to reason that the contest with the rival vaiśya also involves the loam pit, where Agni Purīṣya is to be obtained. Indeed the *Baudhāyana Śrautasūria*'s list of ritual controversies records that according to Baudhāyana himself the encounter should not take place at the anthill but at the loam pit, the opinion recorded in the main text being Śālīki's.⁶² The scene of the contest is, then, the place from where the clay is to be taken. We must therefore shift our attention from the anthill and the contest for it to the clay.

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The clay, referred to throughout as *purīṣa*, is rich in symbolic values.

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Putting it briefly, the purīṣa is the subterranean abode of the decomposed Agni (or the sacrifice), which is brought forth again from its womb, the loam pit or, in the standard ritual, the cātvāla pit on the ritual emplacement. The meaning, symbolic ramifications, and derivation are, however, far from being clear and require a special investigation beyond the scope of this essay.⁶³ There is, however, one feature that can point to a connection with the underlying realities with which we are concerned. Purīṣa is persistently connected with cattle, and the adjective purīṣya is declared to mean *paśavya*, pertaining to cattle.⁶⁴ In one passage purīṣa is identified with *goṣṭha*, the cattle corral.⁶⁵ Also interesting is the prescription that the sacrificer who wishes to obtain cattle should cover the place where the offerings are set down (*vedi*) with purīṣa, which he has taken from elsewhere,⁶⁶ possibly with somebody who possesses *śrī*, prosperity, and whom people for that reason call purīṣya, as *Śatapatha* 2. 1. 1. 7 tells us.

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Here I think we hit the rock bottom of reality. The vaiśya or rival does not so much guard an anthill or a loam pit, however weighty their symbolic value, but his own head, his cattle, and his fields.⁶⁷ When he pays for it with his head, he offers up his cattle at the same time. This is also expressed in the symbolic language of the ritual. Thus, for instance, the ukthya Soma sacrifice is considered as the head of the sacrifice and at the same time as cattle; Vṛtra, threatened by Indra, tries to appease him: "He gave him the sacrifice, cattle, the ukthya." A parallel passage calls this "the head of the sacrifice".⁶⁸

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The antagonist is not just an enemy, he is related to the conquering party in a dualistic pattern. This is shown, for instance, in the rājasūya, where the sacrificer, in a ritualized raid, conquers the cattle of his relative.⁶⁹ Under these circumstances, the dividing line between agonistic festival and all-out fight must have been a very thin one, if it existed at all. Whether ceremonially contending for the treasure contained in the "head of the sacrifice" or plainly fighting each other for the resources of day-to-day life—cattle, pastures, and water—the two parties, like the Pāṇḍavas and the Kauravas in the great epic, needed each other for the agonistic exchange in which life could only be rewon out of the other's death.

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