THE FAITH AND WORKS OF THE VAISHNAVAS.
By Rev. J. R. Broadhead
THE first glance at the possible ways to heaven in Hinduism is very confusing, but as the "gods many and lords many" may all be traced up to the three main ideas enshrined in the trimurti of Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva, so their tangled paths to heaven may be resolved into three main roads. The first road is the way of knowledge. This is a straight gate, for, according to one Veda, "The way to the knowledge of God is as difficult as the passage over the sharp edge of a razor." This is the way for the wise, for him who can sit still and think on God till the bonds of love and duty, the claims of wife, child, home, and country, fall off like fetters from the soul; and still to sit and think till the heart be dead to all desire, to passion, to self, to all the things of time and sense. "When bodily disguises are dissolved,
The perfect saint becomes completely blended
With the one soul, as water blends with water,
As air unites with air, as fire with fire." Another main road is the way of works. This is the way for the guilty, for the soul convinced of sin and in earnest for salvation, for the awakened conscience, that would avert the wrath of God by sacrifice, and store up merit by painful pilgrimages, cruel penances, and self-inflicted tortures. The god of this cult is the gloomy Siva, the stern, vengeful destroyer, clad in a tiger's skin, adorned with a necklace of skulls, assuming the form of an ascetic sitting in the ashes of the cremation ghat, with matted hair and bloodshot eyes, performing impossible austerities. His wife, Parviti, under the form of Kali, is the black goddess of Bengal, who delights in blood and the sacrifice of young children. The third way is the way of devotion. This is the broad way to heaven for the common herd, who have not the wisdom to think their souls free unto God, nor the earnestness to slay sin and self by works of merit earned by bodily pain and suffering. The lord of these pilgrims, and of this road, is Vishnu, "preserver of the universe," "the protector of the world," "the supreme man," "made of money." The method by which Vishnu became as honey to the depraved taste of the Hindu palate was by his being born as Krishna—the most genial and human of all the gods. The god who is afar off, sitting aloof, "void of qualities," becomes translated, by incarnation, into the common speech of the people, full of love for human beings, full of pity for human woes, born in a village home, playmate with village children, wanton lover of countless milkmaids, fearless champion of bewitched peasants. But to bring the thought of God within the range of man's mind, and to endear the nature of God to the affections of his heart without degrading the ideas of his divine majesty and holiness, is a work beyond unaided human skill. So Krishna was made not only in the likeness of man, but was deified human lust—the most profligate and shameless of all the creations of man's unbridled fancy. He is a god within the sphere of human love and interest, but he is the mirror of the human heart in its intensest depravity and vileness. The revolt of the Hindu mind from the cold negations of Buddhism on the one hand, and the pitiless Sivite doctrine of works through physical suffering on the other, was greatly assisted by a famous devotee of Krishna named Chaitanya, who was born in 1485, two years after Luther. Chaitanya was a native of a Bengal village not far from Calcutta. After having filled his mind with the Sri Bagavat, the book of Krishna, he went forth to his life work to preach the "riches of Krishna's love." He had fits of devotion, in which he fell on the ground, rolled in the dust, wept, laughed, and danced in turns. He soon gathered bands of disciples of both sexes, who spent whole nights together, singing the praises of Krishna and his mistresses, at which the god himself is said to have appeared, and by a miracle divested all the dancing devotees of their garments. The modern Vaishnavas of Bengal are the disciples of Chaitanya, nursed on his mania, fed on the doctrine of love, which takes the ardor of sexual passion as its highest symbol. Hence the worship of Vishnu, modified to human need in the incarnation of Krishna, quickened in the example and devotion of Chaitanya, has become the fountain head of a religion whose streams are lewdness and sensuality. One of the many carnivals of this popular religious sect of Vaishnavas is held every year among the mango groves of Ghosepara, a village some thirty miles from Calcutta. Special trains are run from distant parts, many walk on foot or jolt along in bullock carts across the plains, making a concourse of twenty thousand people, most of whom spend three days and nights under the trees. To the usual follies and frivolities of a great fair are added the mystic rites of the erotic worship. A magnet of such quality could not fail to draw a mass of the lowest and meanest of mankind. The dregs of the Calcutta slums, the outcasts and abandoned from the higher castes of Hinduism, the frail and fallen widows from the village homes, the sorcerers with their charms and witchcraft, the gamblers with their tables and cards, the harlots with their musicians, the priests with their fetiches, were all elements in a crowd that drove the mind into recollection of the abominations of ancient Babylon, and the description that Gibbon gives of the groves of Daphne. One of the most painful sights is the little knot of sick folk lying on the ground, or crouching round a holy friar who has the reputation of working miracles. Another saint is supposed to have special power over dumb spirits. He is trying his art on a timid little maiden of some seven years, who trembles with fear under his exorcisms. Here one of the bands is celebrating the ek mon, a kind of sacramental rite in which the man is sitting in a posture of abstraction, while his female disciples prostrate themselves in worship before him. Then they put rice and sweetmeats into his mouth, and he in turn puts a few grains of boiled rice into each of their mouths, and they thus show that they are of one mind in love to their god and in their love to each other. Mother Shuchi is the presiding goddess of the neighboring tank, and rejoices in the name of the "Sea of Snow," where women guilty of unwomanly sins are bathing in its muddy water in the hope of forgiveness. Close by is a representative of Shuchi Ma, receiving the tithes of the year's earnings of shame, which the poor fallen ones are bringing her, with every mark of reverence and devotion, after their ablutions. The sacred pomegranate tree, which grows on the bank of the filthy pool, is also held in high veneration for its healing properties. To eat even the dirt near its root is said to cure many complaints. So many bits of earth are eaten that a great hole is now formed at the root of the tree. The leaves of the tree wrapped up in little tubes of iron or silver and worn on the arms as armlets, are also considered sure safeguards against sickness. These precious properties have their money value to the families who own the temple and the tank. In the temple area sat three or four fat Bengali priests on a raised dais, reclining on big pillows, while they lazily puffed away at their silver-tipped hookahs, receiving the tribute of the deluded souls, who passed through in crowds, eager to offer their silver and copper to the first object that demands their devotion. As darkness closed in over the scene, thousands of Christian tracts had been distributed; many portions of Scripture had been sold; the band of preachers and singers had worn themselves out in proclaiming Jesus Christ as the only true Saviour of men. The indecencies of daylight were bad enough, but the orgies of the night were indescribable. In this religion love, modesty, and purity have no place; its worshipers have become vain in their imaginations, and their foolish heart darkened, "wherefore God also gave them up to uncleanness, through the lusts of their own hearts, to dishonor their own bodies between themselves."—Condensed from Work and Workers.