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INTRODUCTION Gordan Djurdjevic Sayings of Gorakhnāth (Gorakh-Bānī) is a title given to a compilation of the late medieval North Indian vernacular texts, in Old Hindi, by and about the Nāth yogis, which were collected, edited, and published by Dr. Pitāmbardatt Baṛthvāl in the mid-twentieth century. 1 The main portion of these texts are translated here. 2 A good deal of the translations, and in particular the sabads and pads, which are the two largest and arguably most important groups of texts, are also accompanied by short annotations. The principal purpose of this book is to present the translations of these important and often rather enigmatic texts on yoga. Although the traditional attribution of this literary corpus, as evident in the above title, acknowledges the semi-legendary guru Gorakhnāth as its author, this is a claim that cannot be objectively verified. The obvious discrepancy is presented by the fact that Gorakhnāth probably lived c. 12th century C.E., while the language of the material in the Gorakh-Bānī, aside from the lack of formal linguistic consistency, appears to be of a later period, most of it typical of the 16th-18th century style of Hindi, and some of it possibly even more recent.3 However, there is no inherent reason to suppose that the older material could not have been adapted in order to reflect subsequent conventions of the spoken language – a practice that is not unusual for, often orally transmitted, vernacular literature.4 A pragmatic attitude, adopted here, is simply to treat Gorakhnāth as the assumed persona of the author or authors of these texts, with the tacit supposition that this is a traditional understanding of the provenance of the bānīs and not a historical fact. But 1 the supposed derivation of the authorial source is not irrelevant. In the pertinent comments of Michel Foucault: irrespective of whether the assumed author of a work is an actual person or not, their name “serves to characterize a certain mode of being of discourse” and thus “shows that this discourse is not ordinary everyday speech,” but is on the contrary “a speech that must be received in a certain mode and that, in a given culture, must receive a certain status.”5 Guru Gorakhnāth is renowned in India as one of the main founders of the Order (sampradāy) of the Nāth yogis,6 who are also popularly known as the jogis, as well as kānphaṭa (“split-eared”), due to the fact that they typically wear earrings subsequent to their initiation into the order. The term ““nāth”” (Skt. “nātha”) deserves a note of explanation. The most general meaning of the word is “lord” or “master.” Baṛthvāl (1946: 4) takes it as a designation for brahman, which generally refers to the absolute ground of being, often conceived of as impersonal.7 According to Gopinath Kaviraj (1987: 65), the Nāth yogis speak of the Nātha, the Absolute, as beyond the opposition involved in the concepts of Saguṇa [i.e. possessing describable attributes] and Nirguṇa [without describable attributes] or of Sākāra [possessing of form] and Nirākāra [formless]. And, so to them the Supreme end of Life is to realise oneself as Nātha and to remain eternally fixed above the world of relations. Akshaya Kumar Banerji (1992: 29) explains that the “state of Nātha is what is known in philosophy as Kaivalya (detachment of soul [puruṣa] from matter [prakṛti], identification with Supreme spirit).” He further adds (1992: 30) that the attainment of the ‘state of 2 Nātha’ is equivalent with the achievement of the perfected body (siddhadeha) and becoming ‘liberated while living’ (jīvanmukta). Kalyani Mallik (1954: 1) defines the term in a similar vein: “These Yogīs worshipped God as ‘Nātha’ or the Supreme Master, who according to their faith transcends not only the finite, but the infinite as well.” Hajāriprasād Dvivedī (1981: 3), in his study of the Nāth Order, relates a fanciful etymology according to which “nā” means “eternal, without beginning” (“anādi”) and “tha” means the “establishing, foundation” (sthāpit) of the three worlds; hence “nātha” means “the eternal dharma, which is the cause of the foundation of the three worlds.” According to another similarly fanciful etymology, “nā” stands for the “lord-brahman” (“nāth-brahm”) that gives liberation and “tha” stands for the obstruction of ignorance; accordingly, “nāth” or “nātha” stands for the support in witnessing brahman and obstructing the māyā (see ibid.) Dharmvīr Bhārti (1988: 257) quotes legendary siddha yogi Kanhapā’s pertinent statement, according to which the Nāth is the one whose mind is still. Mallinson (2012: 263) suggests that prior to the 18th century, “the word nātha/nāth, when used in Sanskrit and Hindi works in the context of haṭha yoga and yogis, always refers to the supreme deity.”8 The Nāth yogis are commonly associated with the development of haṭha (“forceful” or “vigorous”) yoga -- another important term that calls for a comment. In his comprehensive account of the history of usage and meaning of the term “haṭha” in haṭha yoga, Jason Birch (2011: 531) comments that “the word haṭha is never used in Haṭha texts to refer to violent means or forceful effort” and argues that the “descriptions of forcefully moving kuṇḍalinī, apāna [one of five vital breaths], or bindu [semen] upwards through the central channel suggests that the ‘force’ of Haṭhayoga qualifies the effects of 3 its techniques, rather than the effort required to perform them” (548). Birch notes the earlier occurrence of the term “in the eighteenth chapter of a Buddhist tantra called the Guhyasamājatantra (eighth century), in a discussion of the attainment of a visionary experience (darśana)” (535). More traditionally, and again based on a folk etymology, the term “haṭha” is taken as a compound denoting the union between the Sun (“ha”) and the Moon (“ṭha”). As Gerald Larson (2008: 142) comments, this allows further correlations such as the union between breaths, sexes, between sound and silence, macrocosmos and microcosmos, and finally, between Śiva and Śakti. James Mallinson (2016) has demonstrated that the 12th century Dattātreyayogaśāstra, “the first text to teach the practices of haṭhayoga under the name of haṭha,” already borrows technical and theoretical aspects of teachings from the Amṛtasiddhi, a text composed in the Buddhist tantric (Vajrayāna) milieu. According to Mallinson, this latter text is of seminal importance and was the first to include a number of important concepts germane to haṭha yoga. His conclusions are extremely cogent in the present context: “Because they share traditions of the 84 siddhas, several scholars have posited connections between Vajrayāna Buddhists and the Nāth yogis, with whom the practice of haṭhayoga has long been associated. The Amṛtasiddhi’s Vajrayāna origins and its borrowings in subsequent haṭhayogic texts, some of which are products of Nāth traditions, provide the first known doctrinal basis for this connection and a stimulus for its further investigation.”9 In order to fully appreciate the significance of haṭha yoga, it is important to bear in mind its distinctive qualities that separate it from the classical yoga, which is commonly associated with the worldview articulated in Yoga Sūtra by Patañjali, probably 4 composed in the early centuries of the Common Era. There are several elements constitutive of this distinction: temporally, the haṭha yoga emerges in the medieval period, while the classical yoga is already mentioned in the late Upaniṣads (composed around the beginning of the common era); sociologically, it is not an exclusive prerogative of priests (brahmins) or even aristocracy (kṣatriyas), as it is also practiced by what are often considered lower classes, some of them at least nominally Muslim (while in a sense, the jogis consider themselves a separate denomination); methodologically, it focuses not on the discipline of the mind but on the body and its occult centers of power. These distinctive elements will be elaborated upon in due course. According to a well-known legend, the original founder of this yogic Order was in fact the great god Śiva himself, who is for that reason referred to as the Original Master (Ādi Nāth). Śiva’s immediate disciple was supposed to be the guru Matsyendranāth, whose yogic career is somewhat controversial and who may have been associated with a particular style of practice that privileges the engagement with female yoginis, human or divine (or both). His foremost disciple was Gorakhnāth. It hardly needs highlighting that this account of the origin and the chain of transmission (parampar) is mythical and not historical. Based on what we know, Matsyendranāth and Gorakhnāth, if indeed historical personages at all, lived several centuries apart. Be that as it may, the popular story of the origin of the Nāth Sampradāy could be summarized as follows: Ṡiva’s wife Pārvatī asked him once to explain to her the secrets of yoga. Acquiescing, he took her to an uninhabited island and expounded the teachings about the haṭha yoga there, in the seclusion. In the meantime, Matsyendranāth in the form of a fish, or swallowed into the belly of a large fish (depending on the version of the story), 5 overheard the dialogue and thus learned the secrets of yoga (Matsyendranāth, also known as Mīnanāth, means the ‘Fish-lord.’) Later, while on a pilgrimage, Matsyendranāth enjoyed a hospitality of a brahmin couple and as a sign of appreciation, upon hearing that they were childless, gave to the woman a piece of magical ash (vibhūti) to eat. He explained that in this fashion she would conceive of a child. The woman was however persuaded by her friends not to eat it and instead threw the ashes on a cow-dung heap. After twelve years Matsyendra returned and enquired about the child; the woman confessed what she had done. The yogi went to the place where the ashes were thrown and called to the child. From the bottom of the hole filled with the cow-dung a voice replied, and when the place was cleared, a beautiful boy was found sitting in the yogic posture. Matsyendra gave him the name Gorakhnāth (Skt. Gorakṣanātha), which may be translated as ‘The Master Protected by Cows,’ or ‘The Master Who Protects the Cows.’ (The metaphorical underpinning of the name lies in the fact that a ‘cow’ is also an expression for the senses.)10 There are several features in this mythic story of origin that deserve comments and elucidation. To start with, there is the mytheme of a divinely instituted tradition. This is a widely attested motif, which obviously aims to lend legitimacy to a particular social and religious institution. A well-known and illustrative example of such legitimizing strategy is observable in Buddhism, where both Mahāyāna and Vajrayāna divisions, emerging respectively (and approximately) five and ten centuries after the life of the historical Buddha Śākyamuni, argued that their teachings were in fact originally promulgated by the founder of the religion himself (and only ‘hidden’ from general populace until the time for their revelation was ‘ripe’). It can be safely argued that such 6 legitimizing strategies are universal in the history of religions. Returning to the Nāths, the additional element that is of relevance in the present context is the widely assumed notion that Śiva is a supreme master of yoga himself: to be engaged in the practice of this spiritual discipline thus amounts, among other things, to an imitatio Dei. The fact that Śiva takes his wife to an isolated island in order to expound the teachings about yoga underscores the importance of secrecy in the transmission of this spiritual discipline: yoga is an esoteric tradition, on which see more later. I have argued in earlier writings that an appropriate and useful theoretical model, which could be adopted in order to approach and understand traditions of yoga and tantra, is the model of esotericism (otherwise mostly associated with the academic study of Western esotericism), and which also includes, or overlaps, categories such as magic and the occult. 11 A significant, though by no means the most important, aspect of esoteric teachings and practices is precisely the element of secrecy. Such teachings are not intended for everyone – they presuppose initiation, an intimate and often exclusive teacher-disciple relationship, they are expressed in a coded discourse (such as the ‘twilight language,’ sandhyā bhāṣā12), and they are therefore typically secret. Joseph Alter in fact argued that “all techniques of yoga were conceived of as quintessentially secret, being imparted by a guru only to select highly adept disciples.”13 Some other aspects of esoteric worldview, such as the correlative thinking and the belief in occult powers will be addressed subsequently. Jogis are widely believed to be engaged in magic and perceived as miracleworkers. Arguably, the most peculiar ability that they are associated with is the power of engendering children through non-sexual means. In addition, they are often, and in 7 particular at the level of popular culture, often seen and feared as ambivalent and even negative characters. To take advantage of David Gordon White’s recent study and its title, they are not rarely perceived as ‘sinister yogis.’14 We see all of these notions displayed in the segments of the story under discussion: Matsyendra possesses a magic powder that can produce a child when consumed, while the brahmin woman, although barren and desiring children, is easily persuaded against eating the vibhūti, afraid that Matsyendranāth might be one of those ‘sinister’ characters intent on harming her. The power of his magic manifests itself, nevertheless, and the child is indeed produced, even though not through the agency of a human mother. Gorakhnāth is thus a ‘yogic-child’ par excellence, having no human parents. His birth was not occasioned by an ordinary sexual act. He is conceived out of the magic ‘ash,’ and he gestated in, and was born from, the earth. All of these elements constitute significant aspects of the Nāth worldview. According to them, the human sexual act is the principal cause of aging and ultimately death, since it implies the loss of semen, which they associate with the ‘elixir of immortality,’ amṛt. From their androcentric point of view, the jogis believe that amṛt resides on top of the (male) head and that in the form of a bindu (‘drop’) it trickles down the spinal column, until it is ejected through the sexual act in the form of semen. This is the reason the yogis urge that the bindu needs to return back to its place of origin (through the practice of yoga) and as a consequence, the sex is discouraged and the vagina portrayed as a ‘vampire.’15 The ashes, widely used by Śaiva ascetics and devotees (as a bodily adornment and a sign of sectarian identity), among other things symbolize the burned semen and as such they signal victory over sexual drive. I am inclined to interpret this segment of the story as a reference to Gorakhnāth as 8 the child of Śiva (symbolized by the ashes, the burnt ‘semen’) and his śakti (symbolized by the earth) from one point of view, and also as the ‘child’ of the contact between two cakras, the highest and the lowest, from another.16 In order to introduce the reader to the conceptual world of The Sayings of Gorakhnāth, an exposition of the basic doctrinal features associated with the yoga of the Nāths is in order. I have treated extensively the hermeneutics of the Nāth haṭha yoga in a previous work.17 The interested reader is also invited to consult the literature that focuses more fully on the historical and anthropological approach to the Nāths, admirably presented in the monographs by Briggs (1973 [1938]), Dasgupta (1995 [1969]), Gold (1992), Bouy (1994), White (1996), Bouillier (1997; 2017), and Mallinson (2007). It has already been established by Dasgupta that the Nāth haṭha yoga represents an internalization of the principles of Indian alchemy, rasāyan.18 In this context, instead of searching for the elixir of immortality by working on external substances, the yogis attempt to achieve the same goal by manipulating the bodily fluids and energies of the subtle body. This last-mentioned term deserves to be explained more fully. André Padoux (2013: 9) comments that the specific form of yogic body, consisting primarily of cakras and conduits of energy, which is “imagined, visualized, even sometimes ‘felt’ as present (‘intraposed’) within the physical body of the yogin, is usually called ‘subtle body’ in English.” He prefers not to use the term, because in “all Sanskrit texts, the term sūkṣmaśarīra (or sūkṣmadeha) designates not this structure but the transmigrating element in the human being, which is made up of different tattvas and therefore has no shape, no visible aspect. It cannot be visualized as is the inner structure of cakras and 9 nāḍis” (ibid: 10; emphasis in the original). I continue to use the term subtle body nonetheless, among other reasons in order to acknowledge the commonality with the variously imagined subtle body in Western esotericism (the common element being the notion of the existence of another body superimposed, or ‘intraposed,’ within the physical).19 The most important aspect of the Nāth sādhanā consists of the transformation of the sexual fluids (often glossed as the ‘drop’ of the sperm, bindu) into the nectar of immortality (amṛt). This is in practice achieved by the assumption of bodily postures (āsan), breathing exercises (prāṇāyām,) chanting of the mantras (jap), and by meditation (dhyān). In addition, and as already suggested, it may be argued that the ideological universe of the Nāth yogis may appropriately be described as a form of esotericism, and even as a form of magic. In the words of George W. Briggs, in his pioneering work on the jogīs, “Quite in keeping with the claims to supernatural power, which skill the Yoga is supposed to confer, is the popular belief that Yogīs work in magic.”20 The social orientation of the Nāths is characterized by the critique of the traditional supremacy of the brahmins and the associated varṇāśramadharma system (the doctrine of the hierarchical ordering of society in accordance with social class and one’s stage of life). In this respect, many of the poems in the collection resemble the content and tenor of Kabīr’s poetry. The Nāth yogis eschew easy classification: they are both similar and distinct from the classical yogis, tāntrikas, bhāktas, sants, Sikhs, and Indian sūfis. In a sense, they are, and often consider themselves to be, a unique social and religious group.21 10 MAJOR THEMES IN THE SAYINGS OF GORAKHNĀTH The ideological universe of the Sayings of Gorakhnāth is circumscribed by the focus on yoga. This type of yoga, as already mentioned, takes the body as a primary instrument of achievement. Here the mastery of the body does not exactly refer to an ability to assume a number of postures,22 but, more importantly, it implies an ability to redirect the flow of the bindu and thus to escape or ‘trick’ death. Alternatively expressed, the engagement with the body starts at the physical level, while the mark of adeptship lies in the mastery of the subtle body and its properties. The process of yoga is often referenced through the metaphor of ‘cooking,’ a notion associated with the concept of the ascetic ‘heat,’ tapas, which is of fundamental importance in Indian spiritual culture.23 An important leitmotif of The Sayings of Gorakh is that the scale of values among yogis is not the same as the normatively established social scale of values characterized by the superiority of the brahmins. Erudition and social class mean nothing when compared with the real knowledge that is, in their opinion, exclusive to the yogis. And this knowledge is primarily the knowledge of the occult properties of the body. There is a cluster of related terms that are fundamental to the Sayings of Gorakh: bindu, sabad, nād, and amṛt. Bindu is the “drop” of immortality that ordinary and ignorant people waste in the form of semen ejaculated in sexual activity, thus falling into the claws of death. Instead, the bindu needs to be controlled through celibacy and returned to the top of the head through the process of yoga. Sabad and nād are related terms: on the one hand, they represent an encapsulation of the yogic gnosis in the form of the word (sabad) and sound (nād); on the other hand, they are the acoustic and verbal equivalents of the bindu in its subtle transformations. At the highest station, on the top of 11 the head, the bindu turns into the elixir, amṛt. In its itinerary, from the bottom of the spine to the top of the head, the bindu passes through a set of cakras. In particular, the subtle center associated with the so-called ‘third-eye’ receives a great deal of attention, while its location is esoterically glossed as the confluence of the ‘three rivers’ (triveṇī). As is typical of Indian traditional culture, particularly within the milieu of yoga and tantra, the role of the spiritual teacher, guru, is of singular importance. The guru is a person who performs the ceremony of initiation to a disciple, and who in the process imparts the secrets of yoga. To paraphrase Gorakhnāth: only the person who has a guru can hope to drink the elixir of immortality; the one who is without a guru remains thirsty.24 Several poems in the collection address somewhat unusual dynamics between Gorakhnāth and his own teacher Matsyendranāth. According to a well-known narrative, Matsyendranāth in the course of his career temporarily forgot about his yogic identity while living in the country of women, married to their queen, enjoying the pleasures of sensual and familial life. He is brought back to his yogic vocation only after Gorakhnāth personally intervened – disguised as a female dancer! – and through a series of poems imparted the teachings of yoga back to his own teacher.25 A number of poems are enigmatic and display characteristics of the ‘twilight language,’ sandhyā bhāṣā. The symbolic capital inherent in such poems simultaneously attracts the attention of the listener, as all mysterious things do, while it also draws a line of demarcation over which the erudition of the scholars (paṇḍits) cannot cross: the solution to the enigmas of the Nāth lore lies not in books but in the practice of yoga and mastery of the body (kāyā sādhanā). The employment of enigmatic discourse, the ‘twilight language,’ is otherwise typical of esoteric rhetoric, and its use among the Nāths 12 and tāntrikas in general exhibits a strong formal resemblance to the vocabulary of Western alchemy and the so-called ‘language of the birds’ employed in the occult circles. A comparative study of the two is a desideratum. An important formal device is employed through the ‘upside-down’ (ulṭa bāmsī) poems. The relevance of this stylistic device, which inverts the logical, causal, or chronological structure of the described content, lies in its association with the fundamental methodological orientation of the Nāth yogis. The project of the Nāth yoga is not only the ‘cultivation of the body’ (kāyā sādhanā) but equally so the ‘cultivation of the reversal’ (ulṭā sādhanā). The world (saṃsār) is a current that inevitably flows to death and annihilation, just as on the microcosmic level the same predicament is the result of the drainage of the bindu, which trickles from the top of the head towards the destructive heat of the gastric fire and ejaculation in the act of sex. The way out, the Nāths urge, consists in the reversal of this process: the flow of the bindu needs to be reversed, which procedure also entails the reversal of the ordinary way of looking at things. This apparent psychological paradox finds its expression in the ulṭa bāmsī poems. This same discursive strategy marks the boundary between the jogīs and ordinary people: their perception of truth and scale of values are mutually at odds. In what follows, the above-summarized major themes and concepts that are relevant for understanding the worldview of The Sayings of Gorakhnāth will be given more extensive treatment. 13 THE PRACTICE OF REVERSAL: ULṬĀ SĀDHANĀ The most distinctive methodological principle in the spiritual project associated with the Nāth yogis is arguably the practice of reversal, the ulṭā sādhanā. This principle is evident in several aspects of the Nāth worldview. First and foremost, it relates to their fundamental insistence that the goal of yogic practice necessitates the reversal of the natural trajectory of the bindu: while in the case of ordinary people the bindu is wasted after it trickles down from its presumed source at the top of the head, and is either burnt in the gastric fire or ejaculated in the sex act, the Nāths attempt to push it back to its place of origin, the full success in which operation amounts to the achievement of immortality. To reach the state of immortality is thus the ultimate goal of this form of yoga, at the accomplishment of which the successful adept (siddha) becomes a ‘second Śiva.’ Incidentally, this accomplishment signals a different goal from the traditional orientation prevalent in Indian spirituality, whose aim was liberation (mokṣa). Such differently conceptualized goal connects the Nāths with the tāntrikas: not an escape from the world but its conquering through divinization is the sought outcome of the practice. The connection between the successfully performed redirecting of the path of the bindu and divinization is aptly addressed in Dasgupta’s (1995 [1969]: 246) summary: “[I]t has been emphatically declared in all texts of yoga that he, who has been able to give an upward flow to the [seminal] fluid is a god, and not a man.” In the words of a sabad from the Sayings of Gorakh: “The yogi who holds above what goes below / Who burns [the god of] sex, abandons the embrace [of a woman] / Who cuts through māyā – / Even Viṣṇu washes his feet!”26 14 A larger issue concerns the fact that the habitual trajectory of the bindu corresponds paradigmatically to the orientation and predicament of the embodied existence as such: the path of the bindu coincides with the path of saṃsār, and to redirect its flow coincides with an attempt to oppose and conquer the force of saṃsār. This implies a lifestyle conducted ‘against the grain.’ It is equivalent to swimming against the current of saṃsār that otherwise carries ordinary people towards certain death and inevitable (and unwanted) rebirth. Here we encounter what is both an archaic and fundamental notion in Hinduism: the tendency towards liberation from the saṃsār is not commensurable with the conventions of ordinary life. In its most radical form, the path of mokṣa is set not only apart but even against the path of dharma, which is evident inter alia by the fact that a person adopting the lifestyle of renunciation (saṃnyās) ritually enacts this decision by cutting off the sacred thread that otherwise serves as an indication of his “second birth” into one of the three higher classes of Hindu society: such a person is subsequently considered as dead to the world.27 According to some interpretations, Hinduism as a culture is in itself an attempt to reconcile the tension between dharma and mokṣa by integrating the latter into the former in such a way so as not to disrupt the regular functioning of the society (for example, by suggesting that renunciation is to be undertaken only after the person has fulfilled his social obligations by study, marriage, and fathering of children). Ethically, this means, in the context of the worldview of the Nāths, that the morality of the world is at odds with the morality of the yogis. The latter are “neither smeared by sin, nor overcome by virtue” – a phrase often repeated in the literature of the Nāths that has its locus classicus in the Bhagavad Gītā. 28 This position creates a 15 condition of moral relativism that advocates a philosophy ‘beyond good and evil,’ since both good and evil refer to the categories that are intrinsic to saṃsār. As Gorakhnāth puts it, “The sin and the virtue are the house of karma.”29 It is thus no surprise that such gesturing away from the consensual morality lead to the perception of yogis as sinister characters, as recently explored in a study by White (2011). But an additional qualification is in order. The path of power (siddhi) is also in and of itself to a large degree distinct or even opposed to the path of liberation (mokṣa) just as both of these paths, attempting to transcend the force of saṃsār, differ from the rules and regulations of ordinary, this-worldly, lifestyle dominated by the requirements of dharma. The “path of power,” typical of tantra, stands in contradistinction to the “path of purity” that is characteristic of the brahminical scale of dharmic values (Sanderson 1985). I have argued elsewhere (Djurdjevic 2008) that the path of power is also typical of magic, as a form of religious belief and practice, where power is approached as a manifestation of the sacred. The practice of reversal also finds its echo in certain characteristic features of yogic discourse, where some of their poetic compositions are expressed in the form of ‘upside-down’ poetry characterized by an inverted logic. To provide an example, we are told in a pad from the Sayings of Gorakh that “The cuckoo is flowering / The mango is scattering the perfume. / The fish in the sky / Swallows the heron.”30 Significantly, the employment of inverted logic does not only indicate that the Nāths do things differently: it also suggests, through mirroring, that the ways of the world are actually upside-down and the message of yogic poetry expressed in this literary idiom serves as a reminder and an invitation to realize the foolishness of secular lifestyle and thus, by implication, to redirect the attention of the audience to the path of yoga. “Those who reverse the breath, 16 say reversed things, / Who drink the undrinkable: they are the ones who know brahman.”31 The same principle of reversal is also observable in an unusual element concerning the yogic hierarchy, where the student Gorakhnāth chastises and effectively assumes the role of a teacher to his erstwhile guru Matsyendranāth, a ‘fallen’ yogi! The most characteristic feature of the practice of reversal, as already indicated, concerns the redirecting of the flow of the bindu. The bindu itself is a complex subject with a polyvalent range of meanings (see below). In the parlance of the jogis, it refers mostly to the ‘drop’ of seminal fluid with potentially ambrosial properties. “Where the bindu dwells, there is life,” states a sabad from the Sayings of Gorakh. 32 In the ordinary circumstances, people waste their bindu through sexual activity and seminal emission: a lamentable state of affairs from the yogic viewpoint. “Bindu in the mouth of yoni becomes [like] mercury in the mouth of fire,” warns Gorakhnāth.33 Hence the need to not only preserve it through sexual abstinence but, more importantly, to redirect it towards its place of origin at the top of the head. “In the circle of the sky [i.e. in the cakra on top of the head], there is an upside-down well / There the nectar [amṛt] resides.”34 In theological terms, the importance of the bindu – as well as the often-understated significance of the feminine menstrual blood – is made evident in the verse that proclaims: “Śakti is [manifest] in the form of menstrual blood /Śiva is [manifest] in the form of semen [bindu].”35 And once the bindu has reached its point of origin, the achievement manifests, or rather, it is symbolically connoted, as the vision of the eternal child (buḍhā bāl, ‘old youth’) in the act of speaking that is beyond names and words: “In the summit of the sky, a child, who cannot be named, is speaking.”36 17 THE CULTIVATION OF THE BODY: KĀYA SĀDHANĀ Aside from being engaged in the practice of reversal, the Nāth yogis are also distinguished by the cultivation of the body (kāyā sādhanā) for the purpose of achieving their spiritual goals. As is very well known, “there are primarily two systematic forms of South Asian yoga.”37 The classical yoga associated with the system elucidated in the Yoga Sūtras of Patañjali focused primarily on the discipline of the mind as a way of reaching “isolation” (kaivālya) of the subject (puruṣ) from its misidentification with aspects of the objective world of “nature” (prakṛti). In its philosophical background, this form of yoga relies on the worldview of sāṃkhya, the traditional school of thought that envisions reality as consisting of ontologically distinct but empirically intertwined dyad: the subject (puruṣ) consisting of pure consciousness without any describable qualities that could be attached to it, and the world of phenomena (prakṛti) that consists of not only material and corporal objects but also includes emotions, thoughts, and the sense of personality (ahaṃkār). The origin of misidentification of puruṣ with prakṛti is not fully explained but is accepted as existentially given. By stilling the body through a steady posture (āsan), regulating the breath (prāṇāyām), and turning the attention inward (pratyāhār), the yogi is ready to engage with the control of the mind (saṃyam). This is achieved by first “holding” the mind (dhāraṇā) on a certain object (whether visualized externally or within the body, such as the navel or the middle of the forehead). By prolonging this mental stillness (dhyān), one eventually and hopefully reaches the stage of “unity” (samādhi) – in other words, one achieves an “isolation” (kaivālya) of the pure consciousness of puruṣ from prakṛti. Thus envisioned, the goal of Pātañjala yoga coincides with the acosmic tendency of Indian renunciate traditions, which focus on the 18 escape from the phenomenal world (saṃsār) that is characterized by illusion and suffering predicated upon the endless succession of rebirths and, more importantly, redeaths . The virtually simultaneous emergence of tantric traditions within Hindu and Buddhist environments signaled, among other things, a reevaluation of the nature of the manifest reality and, by implication and as a consequence, a reformulation of the goal of spiritual practice. While not suggesting that “tantrism” is a unified phenomenon (it is not), in simplified terms it may still be possible to define it as a religious and philosophical “style” of thought and practice that embraces rather than rejects the world, and that aspires towards power rather than liberation. 38 One consequence of this orientation lies in the increased interest in the religious potentials of the human body, including – in some strands of tantric theory and practice – the power of sexuality. Another important aspect of tantric traditions concerns the increased presence of what may be termed the occult or magical elements in their ideology and practice. Tantric traditions are for the most part a medieval phenomenon and although not extinct, their current position within Hindu society is rather marginal, with some notable exceptions to the contrary.39 To what degree are the Nāth yogis a tantric denomination is an open question. Their style of yoga certainly focuses on the occult aspects of the body that are being harnessed for the ultimate purpose of becoming a “second Śiva.” Despite the fact that the haṭha yoga, associated with the Nāths, contains a number of physical postures in its textual repertoire, the real issue here is not the engagement with the physical body but with its “subtle” constituents: the cakras, the conduits of the subtle energy (nāḍīs), elixir 19 (amṛt), and what the jogis call “the fire of brahman” (brahmāgni), which is for all practical purposes identical with what is otherwise generally and better known as the kuṇḍalinī. (In other forms of tantric Hinduism, kuṇḍalinī is also, in one of its registers, a Goddess – the Nāths are typically androcentric and this may explain the alternative choice of designation for this inner force.) The whole purpose of the Nāth sādhanā lies not in the ability to assume corporal postures but in the mastery of the occult powers hidden in the body, just as their ideological worldview rests on the belief that the human body (piṇḍ) represents a telescoped equivalent of the external universe (brahmāṇḍ): the microcosm being analogous to the macrocosm. This is a fundamental esoteric notion, maintained in a number of traditional religious worldviews, and in this specific case it also stands as a particular development of the earlier upaniṣadic concept of bandhu (“relation”), which concept also includes the ontological equation between ātman and brahman.40 The Nāths insist that to know and master the human body, especially in its occult aspects, amounts to the mastery of yoga, which leads to power, the siddhis, and in the final instance to immortality.41 “Understand the body! Obtain the siddhi!” urges the short text (included here) “The Seven Days” (v. 4). In a similar vein, the Sanskrit Gorakṣa Śataka (v. 13) asks rhetorically: how is it possible to obtain success in yoga unless one knows what are precisely esoteric corporal constituents: cakras, “channels” (naḍi), and “sheaths” (vyoma) of, and within, the body? The esoteric (“subtle”) human body, the main focus of the Nāth sādhanā, is an analogical replica of the external universe. As Gorakhnāth says, “Within the one there is the infinite, and within the infinite there is the one. / By the one the infinite is produced. / When the one is experienced within, / The 20 infinite is contained within the one.”42 The cosmos is mirrored and present within the human body in both physical and metaphysical aspects. 43 The body contains inner replicas not only of this-worldly phenomena, such as rivers, mountains, places of pilgrimage, and astronomical luminaries, but also the heavenly and demonic realms, gods, demigods, and demons, and their respective domains. In the Sayings of Gorakh, the esoteric correlation between the individual and cosmic body implies that the engagement with the body as the locus of yogic practice ultimately leads to metaphysical truths and accomplishes spiritual goals: “[The one who] investigates the body and finds the indestructible [God] / Attains the unreachable immortal rank,”44 claims Gorakhnāth. More elaborate enumeration of the spiritual and other cosmological phenomena hidden in the body is provided in the text (included here) called “A Line of Hair” (referring to the fine line of hair above the navel that is considered a mark of beauty). Here we are told that within the body are present inter alia the Hindu and Muslim pīrs (elders, teachers), the four Nāth gurus, the four cardinal directions, the Sun with its twelve aspects, and Moon with its sixteen aspects. The assumed presence of the Nāth gurus within the body is of significance that deserves further comments. Broadly speaking, one of the hallmarks of the Hindu tantric traditions concerns the assumed presence of the god Śiva in the highest cakra, and of his spouse (often glossed simply as śakti, “energy”) in the lowest cakra in the human body (in the form of kuṇḍalinī). This situation mirrors the macrocosmic stations of these deities: Śiva is on the top of the mount Meru or Kailās (esoterically and microcosmically identified with the spinal column) while his spouse is present on and as the phenomenal universe and the Earth. The Nāths also adopt this viewpoint, although, as already mentioned, there 21 is a tendency – particularly in the bānīs translated here – to use the term “the fire of brahman” instead of, and as an equivalent of, kuṇḍalinī. Nevertheless, the following pad (GB P19) makes explicit reference to both Śiva and Śakti as follows: Śakti is inside the twelve petals of the Sun, And Śiva’s place is inside the sixteen [petals] of the Moon. Mūla[dhār]45&and Sahasrār46 are the house of jīva&and Śiva. As already stated, an interesting variant on the theme of the body as the locus of metaphysical realities as found in the Sayings of Gorakh consists of the suggestion that the Nāth masters esoterically dwell within the human body as well. “In everybody’s heart is Gorakh / In everybody’s heart is Mina [Matsyendranāth]” [GBS 38]. This establishes an elaborate set of mutual mirroring based on the notion of the identity between a disciple and the teacher. Just as Gorakhnāth, as an accomplished adept, is essentially identical with the great god Śiva, so is an individual yogi identical with Gorakh, who dwells ‘in everybody’s heart.’ This line of thinking, as already suggested, is in itself one of the many contextualizations of the upaniṣadic dictum regarding the ontological identity between the universal brahman and individual (but transpersonal) ātman. An esoteric understanding of the nature of Gorakhnāth is already assumed in the important, first sabad in the present collection of texts, which deserves a comment. The sabad states: “Neither full nor empty, neither empty nor full: /It is inaccessible, mysterious. /At the summit of the sky, a child, /Who cannot be named is speaking.” The sabad describes a vison of the ultimate reality as it is experienced in the highest cakra, on the top of (or, rather, above) the head. This location is described as “the summit of [the 22 mountain in] the sky” (“gagan sikhar”), which implicitly suggest the mythical Meru mountain, the axis mundi of the Indian spiritual traditions, and its esoteric correlate, the human subtle body where the central conduit of the vital energy passes through the spinal column, adorned by the six (or seven) cakras. This reality transcends the dualities inherent in the phenomenal world (saṃsār), which is indicated here by its depiction of being neither of the pairs of opposites characteristic of this world. What obtains in this “inaccessible and mysterious” reality is the presence of a ‘child’ who cannot be named, given that the nature of this child similarly transcends the descriptive capabilities of ordinary language. The ‘child,’ who by inference is Gorakhnāth himself (as a ‘second Śiva’), delivers a speech: arguably, the bānīs, sayings of truth, that constitute the body of this collection of texts. SEXUALITY AND IMMORTALITY: BINDU AND AMṚT As we have seen, the human body, and in particular the esoteric body, as envisioned by the jogis is a site of numinous realities. One constitutive element of such esoteric physiology, already referenced on several occasions, deserves special mention. The conceptual vocabulary of the Sayings of Gorakh contains numerous mentions of, and allusions to, what is often translated as the ‘seminal drop,’ the bindu. It calls for an immediate remark that the bindu indicates more than its corporeal referent, the semen, which represents only the material form of an essentially subtle-body phenomenon. The really important properties of the bindu are consequently occult, and for that reason Gorakhnāth declares: “Very few know the mystery of this bindu.”47 In simplified terms, the bindu is the causal ‘root’ of the body. At the same time, it has connections with the 23 subtle realities represented by the sound, nād (see below) and the ambrosia, amṛt. From another point of view, the bindu correlates with the breath and the state of the mind in that all of these three need to be controlled or ‘fixed’ by the method of yoga. 48 Conversely, the state of spiritual ignorance in which most of the people habitually dwell is characterized by the lack of control when it comes to their mind, breath, and sexuality (which in the worldview of the nāths often paradigmatically equates with the focus on bindu). The accomplished yogi, siddha, is the one who has ‘preserved the bindu.’49 The call to preserve the bindu is a leitmotif in the Sayings of Gorakh; as the statement in “A Line of Hair” declares, “The bindu is the seal that needs to be sealed.” According to the 11th century tantric text Śāradā Tilaka (“The Ornament of the Goddess”), “Bindu has the nature of Śiva, bīja of Śakti, and nāda is their mutual conjunction: it is declared so by all those who are versed in the Āgamas [i.e. Tantras].”50 The Sayings of Gorakh rarely reference Śakti, as their worldview is predominantly androcentric. Thus, their primary tenor is the one expressing the concern for the preservation of the bindu understood as a vehicle of immortality, which should not be wasted through the sexual act. As the Sanskrit Gorakṣa Śataka declares, “As long as the bindu stays in the body, how could there be the fear of death?”51 This imperative naturally presupposes the practice of celibacy, which among other things also finds its reflection in the matters of social value judgment: the celibate yogis are considered superior to the householder Nāths. For this reason, it is rather curious to come across a sabad that seems to suggest a situation where the sexual activity is acceptable as long as it does not culminate in the seminal discharge: “Those who in the sexual intercourse preserve the bindu: They are Gorakh’s guru-brothers [or, fellow-disciples].”52 24 The most important attribute of the bindu relates to its ambrosial properties. At its place of origin in the head cakra, the bindu equates with the elixir of immortality, amṛt. The yogi is supposed to drink the downward oozing amṛt by the process of reversal or by employing the technique of the khecarī mudra, which involves cutting the frenulum linguae and blocking with the tongue the throat cavity so as to stop the leakage of the elixir.53 Having obtained the control of the flow of the semen, “the body becomes young, immortal, and settled.”54 This is the goal of yoga as envisioned by the Nāths: “The living yogi drinks day and night / the continually flowing elixir of immortality.”55 “Becoming immortal, he [the yogi] should be called the Lord of yoga.” 56 This achievement establishes a state that is equivalent to the condition of the gods, who are also immortal, amar. The success in this form of yoga thus renders the yogi a “second Śiva.” An important early Nāth text, the Khecarīvidyā (attributed to Ādināth, i.e. Śiva), declares that as a result of successfully executed practice, “[b]y applying himself thus for six months he [the yogi] assuredly becomes ageless and undying. Truly, he becomes all-knowing, equal to Śiva [and] free of disease.”57 THE SONIC THEOLOGY OF THE NĀD AND SABAD The practice of yoga associated with the Nāths, and as referenced in the Sayings of Gorakh, suggests that one of the signs of success in this discipline entails an experience of hearing the inner sound. This inner, ‘subtle,’ sound is frequently glossed as an ‘unstruck sound’ (anahāt nād), while the locus of its experience is typically, though not exclusively, at the region of the heart, in the anahāt cakra. (It is important to bear in mind that according to Indian, and in fact pan-Asian traditional worldview, the heart is also the 25 locus of the mind.) To become cognizant of this subtle sound, inaudible to ordinary sensory perception, does not only indicate an ability to experience other, more refined levels of reality, but more importantly, it implies an increase in knowledge, in wisdom. Here, the act of perception entails a kind of knowing, or rather, it denotes the true knowing. This relates to some fundamental axioms of Hindu epistemology and spirituality, which may be described as the theology of sound and mysticism of language, already firmly rooted in the oldest layers of Vedic religion, which in itself emerges as a revelation of the sacred verbal formulas, mantras. The principal attribute of a mantra lies in its sound, the meaning being secondary in importance and even superfluous.58 The most well-known example of such mantra is OṂ or AUṂ.59 Simultaneously, an essential assumption, shared by all forms of Indian spirituality, asserts that whatever is more subtle is by this very token more real. In the Sayings of Gorakh, the category of nād is often correlated (it would be inappropriate to state, conflated) with the notion of sabad, while both are simultaneously connected to the process of ‘fixation’ of the bindu. Expressed in a somewhat simplified manner, the success in reversing the direction of the seminal fluid, the bindu, at a certain stage of practice results in the experience of the inner sound (nād) or word (sabad). Hence, Gorakhnāth urges: “You should perfect both nād and bindu / And then play the unstruck sound.”60 At another place, providing more substance to the methodology of the process, he elaborates that “The nād is the anvil, and the bindu is the hammer. / The Sun and the Moon [i.e. the right and left channels of the prāṇa] are the bellows of the breath. / [When you] press the root [cakra], seated firmly in the posture [āsan], then birth and death disappear.”61 26 The scholar of Sikhism Hew McLeod has made a pertinent comment regarding the proficiency in the practice of yoga and its connection with the experience of the unstruck or (as he translates the term) soundless sound.62 He observes that the word [sabad] is characteristically used in conjunction with anahad, or anahat, and refers to the mystical ‘sound’ which is ‘heard’ at the climax of the haṭha-yoga technique. The anahad śabad is, according to such theories, a ‘soundless sound’, a mystical vibration audible only to the adept who has succeeded in awakening the kuṇḍalinī and caused it to ascend to the suṣumṇā.63 Several statements found in the Sayings of Gorakh corroborate such view and underscore the importance of hearing the subtle sound or word. In one of the verses, Gorakhnāth proclaims that “acknowledging the sabad, the duality [a principal characteristic of saṃsār] ends.”64 At another place, he sings with a triumphant certainty: “I have found it, listen, I have found this good! / With firmness [I have reached] the place of sabad. / I had a vision of it [embodied] in form. / Then I reached a complete faith.”65 Most tellingly, and making the experience of the sabad the central element of the yogic endeavor, Gorakhnāth states: “Sabad is truly the lock, sabad is truly the key. Sabad wakes sabad. / When sabad meets sabad, sabad is contained in sabad.” 66 Similarly, the Sanskrit Gorakṣa Śataka declares that the internal sound is heard when the subtle conduits (nāḍis) are cleansed through the process of breath control.67 What all these mutual connections and analogies between the word, sound, breath, semen, and mind indicate is the dominant presence and importance of correlative thinking, itself a fundamental building block of esoteric worldview. Reality consists of 27 layers that mutually differ from each other relative to their subtlety, and what is – from this perspective – more real is simultaneously more hidden from those whose epistemological convictions, whether based on traditional religious authority or on the evidence supplied by their ordinary senses, lack the experiential certainty possessed by the accomplished yogis. THE CONCEPT OF UNMAN The texts collected in the Sayings of Gorakh frequently reference an important technical term, unman (or, unmanī). The Hindi word literary denotes “no mind” or what is “beyond the mind.” This state of “no mind” is a desirable condition sought after by the yogis and, for all practical purposes, it functions as an equivalent of samādhi, which Patañjali depicts as the goal of yoga and his commentator Vyāsa, in his Bhāṣya on Yoga Sūtra 1:1, glosses as the definition of yoga itself: “Yoga is samādhi” (“yogaḥ samādhiḥ”). The notion of unman is also conceptually related to what Patañjali terms nirvicāra, denoting one of the two types of samādhi, characterized by the absence of discursive thinking (vicāra). Significantly, Patañjali states that in this samādhi devoid of conceptualizations “there is lucidity of the inner self” (Yoga Sūtra 1:47; trans. Bryant 2009: 157). In a similar manner, in GBP 11: 4, Gorakhnāth relates that “in the tenth gate dwells Nirañjan, beyond mind.”68 Nirañjan is a typical name that refers to the formless god worshipped by the Nāths (the Hindi term literally means “devoid of embellishment”), while the “tenth gate” denotes brahmarandhra, the aperture located either on the top or slightly above the head, itself a locus of numinous occurrences. The implication is that the state, which transcends the ordinary mind (as such a part and parcel of saṃsār) is ipso facto a state 28 where one becomes cognizant of either personally or impersonally constellated theophany. The correlation between Nirañjan and what Patañjali calls the “inner self” (adhyātmā) is underscored in a sabad (GBS 231), which literally states that Nirañjan is “your own self.” What is distinctive in the Gorakhnāth’s account (in GBP 11:4) is that this state of unman is also related to the esoteric anatomy of the subtle body, being accessible at a specific area of this body. As Ian Whicher (1997: 1) notes, the “saṃsāric identity of self – ineluctably locked into an epistemological and ontological duality with the objective world – is ingeniously captured by Patañjali … in the expression cittavṛtti [“whirling of the mind”]” We identify with the modifications of our minds (Whicher’s translation of the term cittavṛtti) but given that the mind is an aspect of nature, prakṛti, it cannot be the source of our true identity, since we are a puruṣ [“person”] – as argued by the dualist philosophy of sāṃkhya, which yoga typically takes for granted. In order to reach our true identity, we then need to go beyond the mind. The philosophical position of yoga is that the harnessing of the mind by stopping its constant fluctuations through a process of meditation results in an epistemological and ontological breakthrough into the realm of true reality and our genuine identity. The Nāths call that realm “no-mind,” unman. What they also suggest is that the goal is equally reachable by the process of disciplining the subtle body and its currents of the occult energy. As a sabad (GBS 55) proclaims, one should remain in the unmanī by joining the Sun and the Moon, which in the Nāth parlance refers either to the conjunction of the two main cakras or the two main channels in the subtle body, but in either case to an aspect of the esoteric physiology and its 29 assumed properties. This esoteric orientation, as arguably a major component of the Nāth sādhanā, deserves some elaboration. ESOTERICISM OF THE NĀTHS As already indicated on several occasions, and as I have previously argued elsewhere (Djurdjevic 2005; 2008; 2014), I propose that there are theoretical advantages in categorizing the spiritual project of the Nāth yogis as a form of esotericism. Broadly speaking, esotericism is that form of cultural and religious life that is characterized by analogical or correlative thinking (“like attracts like,” “as above, so below,” “as in metal, so in the body”); by secrecy; by coded discourse; by cultivated imagination (Sanskrit dhyāna includes this within its range of meanings); by an insistence that the hidden aspects of reality both permeate and influence everyday world; and by a conviction that the human potential is ultimately godlike.69 Typical forms or currents of esoteric theory and practice include magic, alchemy, astrology, divination, and what is loosely termed the “occult” in general. This important and vast area of human activity was considered unworthy of serious academic research until several decades ago. Currently, there are university departments, journals, dictionaries, learned societies, and international conferences dedicated to the subject. The academic field, still young, is vital and fast growing. However, the bulk of the scholarship focuses on what is termed Western esotericism, with the argument that there pertains historical, ideological, social, and cultural similarity, and by the same token a uniqueness, in the manifestations of the current in the “West” (the term itself is neither monolithic nor unchallenged)70 since the 30 appearance of Alexandrian Hermeticism in the late antiquity all through the contemporary New Age in the bewildering variety of its forms. As part of the same argument, and proceeding from the aforementioned historical and cultural contingences, it is suggested that the category should not be extended outside of the boundaries of the West. It is assumed that by doing so the category might collapse in the attempt to morph into some vacuous “universal” esotericism. Consequently, forms of foreign (or, “exotic”) spirituality (such as yoga, tantra, Daoism, etc.) are interrogated only to the degree that they influence Western esotericism. Finally, one of the arguments against considering segments of specifically South Asian religious traditions as forms of esotericism proposes that such a move would represent a kind of neocolonialism: a non-Indian category is being employed in order to explain her own cultural forms. Esotericism is, in this view, a type of Procrustean bed, and since the bed is Western, nothing foreign should fit into it, except by force. My position is that it makes perfect sense to consider Western esotericism (for a major part) culturally cohesive and as such distinct and different from, let us say, South Asian esotericism. At the same time, there is no denying that we see evidence of all the major traits of esotericism, as described above, displayed in Indian traditions since at least the emergence of the Āraṇyakas and Upaniṣads (several centuries before the common era) as the “texts” that explain hidden meanings behind the Vedic sacrificial ritual. We know that the Indian traditions engaged to a great extent in forms of knowledge and associated activities, which are otherwise typically considered esoteric, such as already mentioned alchemy (rasāyaṇa), astrology (jyotish), and magic (one of the words for which is actually yoga). Aside from these, some forms yoga – and in particular 31 the haṭha yoga associated with the Nāths – as well as tantric traditions in general, are arguably the closest parallels to Western forms of esotericism and occultism in South Asian cultural milieu. Focusing for the moment on the Nāths, the concepts of the subtle body with its cakras and channels of energy, the pursuit of extraordinary powers (siddhi), often associated with the ‘awakening’ of the ‘serpent’ kuṇḍalinī, the transmission of secret knowledge through rituals of initiation, the involvement with magic, the internalization of the alchemical process and the associated notion of the elixir of immortality (amṛt), just as well as the prospect of divinization – this all is a straightforward and ‘hardcore’ esotericism. While by no means proposing that esotericism exists as some universal, unified, and unchanging category, I still maintain that what we designate by that name can be observed in other, non-Western, cultures. I suggest that it makes most sense to talk about regional (e.g. European, Indian, Chinese), denominational (e.g. Christian, Hindu, Buddhist, Daoist), and/or historical (e.g. ancient, medieval, contemporary) forms of esotericism. Each one of these forms is entangled in respective social, historical, religious, and cultural negotiations specific to their time and place, and these particular contingencies make them each specific, unique, and different from other forms of esotericism. What does make them similar are those traits that we, as scholars and theoreticians, postulate as characteristic of this notion that we have created as a second order category and call esotericism. It is a conceptual rather than ontological category. Even in the case of Western esotericism, the term itself is only a few centuries old (while it covers almost two millennia of perceived history), and most of the exponents we designate as esotericist did not apply the term self-referentially. One could argue that it is 32 as artificial to call these people esotericists as it is to apply the term to, say, the Nāth yogis. To insist that only in the Western cultural sphere we find ideas and practices that privilege hidden aspects of reality, occult powers of the human body and mind, belief in magic, belief in the existence of intermediary beings, in coded discourse, the existence of initiatic models of the transmission of secret knowledge, and other related notions and activities effectively implies uniqueness, exclusivity, and even superiority of the West. Such exceptionalism does not stand up to comprehensive scrutiny. At the same time, it is worthwhile to recall that this category is only one possible and by no means sole interpretative and heuristic model that one can apply to a particular form of cultural life such as, let us say, the yoga of the Nāths. To the degree that doing so helps us understand such cultural manifestations better, more fully, more clearly, and to the degree that it provides a basis for meaningful comparative investigations, the category is useful. It is in that sense and to that degree that I feel justified in employing it while applying it to the Nāths and the tantric traditions in general. A great deal of insight and sophistication related to the understanding of magic and the ‘occult’ has been made in the last few decades by the scholars of esotericism and our knowledge of these forms of religious life will be furthered by going beyond the narrow category of ‘Western,’ and by embracing and investigating other, and in particular Asian, forms of this category. CONCLUSIONS Considering the totality of texts gathered in the Sayings of Gorakhnāth translated here, it would be rather challenging to summarize their content in a cohesive and concise 33 manner. The subject matter is obviously not unified, and the focus of instruction often shifts. But a definite picture of the Nāth worldview does emerge. The previous sections of this introduction addressed the major themes that are discernible in the textual material at hand. To paraphrase one more time the principle aspects of the ideological universe present in the bānīs, it could be said that Gorakhnāth (as the authorial persona behind the texts) emphasizes the experiential path of yoga, as opposed to the bookish knowledge associated with the Hindu and Muslim priestly authorities. This path is also distinct from the focus on the external trappings of yoga connected with the pursuits of those that Gorakhnāth considers as hypocrites (see GBS 47 and GBS 190): yoga does not depend on the sectarian paraphernalia, it is not concerned with pilgrimages, it is not achieved by talking. Instead, the path lies inward and all the external accoutrements associated with the spiritual way of life are simply symbolic of the inner realities and qualities: “Mind is the yogi and the body is the temple; five elements make the robe. / Forgiveness is [sitting in] the six postures. / Wisdom is the supporting crutch and good judgment the wooden slippers. /Thinking is the walking stick” (GBS 48). Properly approached and understood path of yoga further consists of several major domains of practice. The posture (āsan) is frequently mentioned, but never does it imply anything comparable to the contemporary postural yoga. In that sense, the bānīs are in sync with Patañjali’s injunction (YS II: 46), which requires that the practice of yoga is conducted in a steady posture – not a series of postures. The control of breath (prāṇāyām)is also recommended, often understood as the “chant without chanting (ajapā jap),” which amounts to the awareness of the natural (sahaj) cycles of breathing. Finally, the focus tends to be directed towards the subtle body, its cakras, the bindu that needs to 34 be redirected in its flow, and, eventually, the elixir obtained. Occasionally, it is suggested that the results associated with the success in yoga could also be achieved through the alchemical means, and that the body may also be transformed in that manner (see GBS 49 and GBP 54: 1). There are clear indications that to achieve the goal in these endeavors amounts to the divinization of the yogi (see in particular GBS 17-19). Aside from references to Śiva as the highest god, the absolute is also frequently addressed as Nirañjan, and understood as formless. I am inclined to speculate that the thematic variations in the bānīs result from the fact that they are not addressing a uniform audience. I suspect that the key to the intended recipients of particular verses lies in the division of the yogis into four main classes (see GBS 136 and “Royal Understanding” v.1). The insistence on proper ethical behaviour and the clarification of social priorities are of interest and value to the beginner yogis, while the difficulties inherent in the drinking of the elixir and the mystical states associated with the success in doing so are clearly intended for the benefit of the perfected yogis. Expressed somewhat alternatively, the subject matter varies depending on the stage of yoga that the texts are addressing, while the exposition is not chronologically or thematically arranged. But even if that suspicion is correct, and even if that brings certain light to the texts, there does remain so much in them that is enigmatic and that escapes scholarly analysis and comprehension. But such is the nature of theoretical knowledge and the texts gathered here themselves acknowledge that: as Gorakh says, “Only rare yogis understand these states” (GBS 6). 35 A NOTE TO THE TRANSLATIONS The following translations of the sabad and pad sections from the Gorakh Bānī collection were done in Benares (Varanasi), India, in the period between November 2002 and early April 2003. I arrived in India on a doctoral research grant in October 2002 and immediately began to inquire about the possibility of working with someone on this text. I was fortunate enough to rather quickly get in touch with Dr. Shukdev Singh, a former professor of Hindi at the Benares Hindu University. Shukdev Singh had already successfully collaborated with Western scholars on several projects.71 We arranged our first meeting over phone; the next day he came with his driver to pick me up and we then went to his house and agreed on the procedure of our future sessions. We initially decided to meet three, and later five, times a week; I was to work on the translations on my own, and he would be checking them and providing commentaries during our meetings. I would translate as much as I could in between our meetings. On those days when we were to have our session, I would start in the morning from my residence close to Assi ghāṭ in the southern part of Benares, and ride a bicycle to my destination. It would take me approximately a half-hour of a slow bicycling through the congested streets of the city to reach his house in Sundarpur, in the outskirts of Benares. We would typically sit together for an hour, often longer, drinking tea and 'fighting with the text' as he was prone to say in his Rajput idiom. I would read my translations and he would correct them, spicing his commentaries with innumerable stories about Nāths, tāntrikas, and Indian culture in general. Sometimes my translations would be accepted as correct in toto ("Śābāś," he would say, "bahut acchā translation,"); sometimes, more often than I 36 liked, I would cross some of them out completely as incorrect. In general, the wording and the style were my own, but there were also a significant number of corrections. Dr. Singh was always happy when we entered into occasional disagreement over the translations: he often felt that I was too complacent in accepting his corrections and that I should fight more forcefully for my perspective. From the beginning to the end, we both felt and talked about this as a mutual project. Upon my return from India, I tried to improve and correct what I felt to be the more problematic translations. On a few occasions, I asked for and received comments on these from my Ph.D. Thesis supervisor, Dr. Ken Bryant from the Department of Asian Studies at the University of British Columbia. We did not go through the whole text but on the basis of samples that he read, Ken expressed his impression that the translations were generally correct. My wife Sasha Paradis went through the complete material, corrected grammatical mistakes and gave several stylistic suggestions, but did not intervene in the text itself. This first version of the translations, containing the sabads and pads from the collection, was included as an Appendix to my doctoral thesis (Djurdjevic 2005). From December 2006 through early January 2007, I met with Dr. Singh in Benares again: we worked on the selections from the additional texts in Gorakh Bānī that we considered more important and genuine. The one text we did not have time to work on was “Machindra Gorakh Bodh,” which I eventually translated alone. Shukdev Singh passed away in September 2007. In preparing the present edition, I revisited the complete translations once again and made numerous corrections and alternate renditions. In order to facilitate 37 understanding, where possible and appropriate, I also provide short annotations. These typically address technical terms and provide cultural and religious context. My notes are in the square brackets and they appear either after a particular sabad (given that these are short: only two lines of text in the Hindi original and four lines of text in our translations), or after an individual verse in longer poetical compositions (such as pads). Unfortunately, in the case of prose texts, it proved cumbersome to comment within the body of text and for that reason these comments were moved to the endnotes. I refrain from providing the notes in cases where these would be redundant, unnecessary, or where the text is too enigmatic for a comment. Any remaining errors and inaccuracies in these translations are my own responsibility. The research on which these translations were based was funded by the Government of India (GoI) through the India Studies Program of the Shastri IndoCanadian Institute (SICI). Neither the GoI nor SICI necessarily endorses the views expressed herein. 1 See Baṛthvāl 1946. Baṛthvāl also provided loose, descriptive (and incomplete) translations and commentaries on the texts. These were quite helpful in preparing present translations and I would like to take this opportunity to acknowledge my indebtedness to Baṛthvāl’s scholarship. As Agrawal (2011: 11) rightly states: “It is also widely recognized that Barthwal’s edition of the Gorakh-bānī … remains the only decent critical edition of that important text so far published.” 38 2 To clarify: we have translated all the texts included in Baṛthvāl’s volume (1946: 1-221), except for the three “Appendices,” which we considered less authentic, both historically and with respect to their content. 3 Regarding the historical context of Gorakhnāth’s life, Mallinson (2011b: 263) states that the “earliest datable reference to Gorakṣa are found in two texts written in the early part of the thirteenth century. They are from opposite ends of the subcontinent and refer to him as a master of yoga, suggesting that his reputation was already well established.” 4 “The fact that modern forms are included [in Hindi works attributed to Gorakhnāth] provides no conclusive evidence for a late date of composition since scribes occasionally modernized forms when copying texts. Conversely, the inclusion of Tantric Buddhist elements cannot be used as definite proof of the text’s antiquity, for scribes sometimes inserted apparently older concepts.” Offredi 1999b: 270. Ondračka (2011: 130), commenting specifically on the Bengali versions of “The Victory of Gorakṣa” but also on the vernacular North Indian Nāth texts in general, similarly argues that we cannot be certain of the exact date of the composition of these works, since the language was changing over time and these, primarily oral songs transmitted by the lower strata of society, were never fixed in a written form the way more respected poetry was. Lorenzen (2011: 21) surmises as the best estimate that “the earliest surviving Gorakh bani probably date from the thirteenth or fourteenth century or even later. It is also likely that they have been somewhat altered in the process of transmission from manuscript to manuscript.” 5 A more extensive quotation will be appropriate here: “Hermes Trismegistus did not exist, nor did Harpocrates [nor, we may add, Gorakhnāth] – in the sense that Balzac existed – but the fact that several texts have been placed under the same name indicates 39 that there has been established among them a relationship of homogeneity, filiation, authentification of some texts by use of others, reciprocal explication, or concomitant utilization. The author’s name serves to characterize a certain mode of being of discourse: the fact that the discourse has an author’s name, that one can say ‘this was written by soand-so’ or ‘so-and-so is its author’, shows that this discourse is not ordinary everyday speech that merely comes and goes, not something that is immediately consumable. On the contrary, it is a speech that must be received in a certain mode and that, in a given culture, must receive a certain status.” Foucault 1979: 147. 6 Mallinson has established that it was in the 15th century that the order of yogis that came to be known as the Nāths began to attribute Hindi and Sanskrit works to Gorakṣa and to claim him as one of the founders. Based on his research, Mallinson (2012: 263) argues that “there is no evidence for the use of the name ‘Nāth’ to denote an order of yogis until the eighteenth century.” 7 The speculations about the nature of brahman have been a constant feature of Indian philosophy and spirituality since the compositions of the Upaniṣads (the oldest of which could be dated to c. 5th century BCE). For a translation, see (among a dozen others) Olivelle 1996. 8 It could be argued that at least several instances of the term nāth that are found in the Sayings of Gorakh more likely refer to a yogi rather than a deity, but the point is somewhat moot since in most of those instances such yogi has either achieved immortality or is sufficiently advanced on the path of yoga that he can be deemed godlike. 40 9 For the translation of the Dattātreyayogaśāstra, see Mallinson 2013; for the Sanskrit text with a Hindi gloss, see Avasthī (ed.) 1982. 10 This summary is based on Gautam 1998 [1981?]: 5-9, whose source of information was most probably Candranāth Yogi’s Yogisaṃpradāyāviṣkṛti. See also a summary of the story in Tantreś 1993: 28-31. The earliest, and in some important details different, version of the story is given in the 16th Chapter of Kaulajñānanirṇaya, traditionally attributed to Matsyendranāth, which Bagchi places in the mid-11th century and Kiss (2010: 26) “as composed before 1300 A.D.” There, it is narrated how a book containing the secret knowledge of the Kaulas (early Śaiva Tantric group) was stolen by Śiva’s son Kārttikeya, and thrown into the sea. Śiva rescued it by catching and killing the fish that ate the book, and for that reason he was also called Matsyaghna (“fish-killer”), an alternative name for Matsyendranāth. See Bagchi (ed.) and Magee (trans.) 1986. On Matsyendranāth, see Karambelkar 1955; Bagchi 1986: 6-22, and passim; and Kiss 2010. White 2003 also contains a good deal of relevant information about Matsyendra and an extensive discussion on, and interpretation of, the Kaulajñānanirṇaya. 11 See Djurdjevic 2008 and 2014. 12 Alternatively construed as “intentional language,” sandhā bhāṣā. 13 Alter 2005: 121. For the role of secrecy in (what I call) Indian and Western esotericism viewed from a comparative perspective, see Urban 1997 and Urban 2003. 14 See White 2011b. 15 See, as an example, Gorakh Bānī pad [henceforth, GBP] 48. 16 The conjoining of the opposites, represented inter alia by these two cakras, is a typical methodological principle in tantra. See the relevant discussion on the “Polarity 41 Symbolism in Tantric Doctrine and Practice” in the classical study by Bharati (1965: 199-227). 17 Djurdjevic 2008. 18 For a useful and informative summary, see White 2011a. 19 For a classic but rather dated study of the ideas regarding the subtle body in the Western culture, see Mead 1919; for a recent collection of essays that explore the subject from multicultural perspective, see Samuel and Johnson 2013. 20 Briggs 1973 [1938]: 128. 21 For an extensive discussion of this topic, see Lorenzen 2011. 22 There is a growing consensus among scholars that the postular yoga, as it is currently known and widely practiced in the West, did not emerge prior to the 19th century. See, in particular, Singleton 2010. 23 See as an illustration Gorakh Bānī sabad [henceforth, GBS] 191. 24 See GBS 23. 25 One of the earliest treatments of this episode is given in the Maithili verse-play Gorakṣavijaya (“The Victory of Gorakṣa”) by the medieval poet Vidyāpati. See the Appendix. 26 GBS 17. 27 “Renunciation was considered the ritual death of the renouncer; that a renouncer is a ritually dead person, even though he is physically alive, is a significant aspect of the Brāhmaṇical theology of renunciation.” Olivelle 1992: 89-90. 28 BG 5: 10: “lipyate na sa pāpena” – “he is not smeared by sin,” referring to a person, contextually a yogi, who acts without attachments. 42 29 “The String of Breaths,” v.2. 30 GBP 60: 2. 31 GBS 90. To “drink the undrinkable” is a reference to the ‘elixir of immortality,’ the amṛt. 32 GBS 57. 33 GBS 142. 34 GBS 23. 35 GBP 12: 5. See also Gorakṣa Vacana Saṃgraha 38: “Bindu is Śiva, menstrual blood is Śakti.” 36 GBS 1. See also Baṛthvāl’s (1946: 1) pertinent comments on this verse. 37 Larson 2012: 73. Larson echoes the opinion of P.V. Kane (1977: 1427) who similarly suggests that there are only two main types of yoga and that “the difference between the two is that the Yoga of Patañjali concentrates all effort on the discipline of the mind, while Haṭhayoga mainly concerns itself with the body, its health, its purity and freedom from disease” (qtd. in Larson 2008: 140). It could be argued that Kane presents a modern, ‘medicalized’ view of haṭha yoga (see Alter 2004; Singleton 2010) and that the traditional forms were much more oriented towards magic and the occult. In other words, the pre-modern haṭha yoga focused primarily on the subtle body and esoteric physiology. 38 By now classical essay by Sanderson 1985 explores magisterially the nature of the tantric worldview understood as the path of power, contrasted as such with the brahminical path of purity. 39 See, for example, Urban 2010, a work that focuses on the worship of the goddess Kāmākyhā in Assam. 43 40 “The quest for homology or identity (nidāna, bandhu, upaniṣad) finds its Vedic culmination in the ultimate identity between Ātman, or essential Self, and Brahman, or cosmic foundation” (Kaelber 1989: 95). “The final upaniṣad or equation is between Ātman, the essential I, and Brahman, the ultimate real” (Olivelle 1996: lvi). I regard the Upaniṣads as quintessentially esoteric texts. Faivre (1994: 36) defines esotericism in a “restricted meaning” as “illumination & salvation via knowledge of … links between men & intermediary or Divine.” With a grain of salt, this is congruent with and comparable to the general tenor of the Upaniṣads, which insist that the true spiritual liberation consists of knowing the links (bandhu) between various aspects of reality (what Olivelle [1996: lii] calls “cosmic connections”). 41 This and the next paragraph are adapted from Djurdjevic 2008: 54-7. 42 GBP 14: 1. 43 See, for example, Banerjea (1999 [1962]): 195-205. 44 GBS 252. 45 Mūladhār is the lowest cakra. “The wheel (cakra) at the base of the spine where Kuṇḍalinī lies coiled like a snake. From Her seat at mūladhara, Kuṇḍalinī controls all the activities of the physiological system through its network of 72,000 nerves.” Grimes (1996), s.v. “Mūladhara, 2.” 46 Sahasrār is the uppermost cakra. “The topmost spiritual center or thousand-petaled lotus located in the crown of the head. It is the seat of Śiva, the supreme guru. When Kuṇḍalinī Śakti unites with Śiva in the sahasrāra, the yogi achieves the state of Selfrealization.” Grimes (1996), s.v. “Sahasrāra.” 47 GBS 148. 44 48 “A Line of Hair” declares: “The mind is the tie that needs to be tied; the breath is the secret that needs to be penetrated; the bindu is the seal that needs to be sealed.” Mallinson (2016) has demonstrated that the correlation between the bindu, breath, and mind occurs for the first time in the 12th c. Vajrayāna text, the Amṛtasiddhi. 49 See as an example GBP 5: 5. 50 Śāradātilakam, I: 9. 51 Gorakṣa Śataka 70. In Briggs (1973 [1938]): 298. I have slightly emended the translation. 52 GBS 141. Similarly, “The bindu in the mouth of yoni is [like] mercury in the mouth of fire. Whosoever preserves it, he is my guru.” GBS 142. 53 See Mallinson 2007. 54 “Self-Understanding,” v.14. 55 GBS 192. 56 “The Five Measures,” v.3. 57 Khecarīvidyā, III:22, in Mallinson (2007): 132. 58 It could be argued that this is truer of tantric, rather than Vedic, mantras. However, the principle applies to both categories, irrespective of their (arguably significant) differences. 59 The greatness of OṂ is celebrated already in the classical, Vedic Upaniṣads: “This whole world is nothing but OṂ” (Chāndogya Upanisad, 2.23.3). “Brahman is OṂ” (Taittirīya Upanisad, 1.8.1). “Accordingly, the very self (ātman) is OṂ” (Māṇḍūkya Upaniṣad, 12). (Trans. Olivelle 1996.) 60 GBS 184. 45 61 GBP 14:2. 62 It is to be remembered that Sikhism emerges, historically and culturally, in a milieu shared by the Sants (members of a devotional movement characterized by the orientation towards formless divinity), the Muslim Sufis, and the Nāth yogis. All of these often shared a common vocabulary and concerns, while providing different interpretations and mutual criticism. For the relationship between Guru Nānak, the founder of Sikhism, and the Nāth yogis, contextually focused on the Siddh Goṣṭ, the supposed conversations between them, see Nayar and Sandhu 2007. 63 McLeod (1968): 191. Note that the author assumes an essential identity between the sound (nād) and word (śabad). 64 GBS 15. 65 GBS 80. 66 GBS 21. Compare “The Ornament of Wisdom”: “Sabad is truly the lock, sabad is truly the key. Sabad is truly enlightened by sabad “ (1). 67 See Gorakṣa Śataka 101 in Briggs (1973 [1938]): 304. 68 GBS 135 also relates unman and the tenth opening in the body. 69 Standard introductory overviews of the field are Faivre 1994, von Stuckrad 2005, and Goodrick-Clarke 2008. Hanegraaff 2012 is a more ambitious historical survey of the scholarly and intellectual engagement with the field, perceived and imagined as “the domain of the Other” (3; emphasis in the original). 70 For an insightful criticism of the term ‘Western’ as employed in this context, see Granholm 2013. The author demonstrates “how the term is problematic and vague throughout the history of Europe, how the appeal of the exotic other is an integral 46 element of esoteric discourse and has often involved a ‘turn to the East’, how the term ‘Western’ in the study of esotericism is directly derived from emic occultist discourse, and how late-modern societal processes of globalization, detraditionalization, increased pluralism and post-secular re-enchantment further complicate the already problematic issue of what is to be placed under the banner ‘Western’” (Granholm 2013: 31). Josephson-Storm similarly criticizes the term, in a manner that is largely identical with my own views on the issue, by stating: “I generally avoid the formulation ‘Western esotericism.’ The expression is useful insofar as it evokes European appropriations of South and East Asian thought, but the excessive emphasis on ‘Western’ presents an Orientalized East-West binary and ignores esotericism’s global impact” (359, n.11; emphasis added). 71 The best known of these collaborations is probably Hess and Singh 1986 [1983]). See also a more recent translation of "The Deeds of Prahlād," trans. David Lorenzen and Shukdeo Singh, in Lorenzen (1996): 41-74. 47