Verse 9.33

Verse 9.33: “How much more (certainly) then the pious Brahmins and the Royal-sages who are My devotees? Having come into this impermanent and joyless world, do thou become My devotee. (475)

Commentary called Jnaneshwari by Jnaneshwar:

How much more worthily do the holy Brahmins win that divine home? For, amongst the religious castes, they indeed are the princely majesties enthroned with royal insignia; heavenly paradise is a free gift divinely bequeathed to the Brahmins, whose knowledge is the mother (fountain-spring) of all sacred lores in this world. They are the very Gods on earth, embodiment as it were in flesh and blood of holy penances, the rising visible glory of all sacred waters. In name, the holy art of sacrifice has its true eternal home, and the very Vedas shine forth as armour-clad; all auspicious array of things is reared in Fortune’s lap of their august and blissful presence.

Virtue and right action are nourished and fostered on the lap of their high resolve, and truth has its life-breath by their firm will. By the Brahmins’ benedictory utterance, fire is blessed into a God of everlasting life, who then is given a resting place by the sea out of love for the Brahmins. For the Brahmin’s sake, did I once part company with the Goddess Lakshmi, take-off my necklace—“Kaustubha”—from my person, and offered My breast-basin to have the imprint of the Brahmin’s sacred foot. That sacred imprint have I since borne with pride wherewith to preserve My divine glory. The Brahmin’s wrath, Oh thou excellent warrior, is the birth-place of the all-consuming, destructive deities of Time, Fire and Rudra; and the eightfold supernatural powers come as a free gift of his benedictory utterance.

Wherefore then need it be said in (so many) words that worthy Brahmins of such venerable piety, with an intensely passionate devotion to Me reach their divine home in Me? For knowest thou not that even the unworthy Nimb trees nearby, touched off by the breeze, wafting along the sandal trees, rise to the eminence of besmearing the foreheads of Gods? And could thou doubt that the sandal wood itself fails in reaching that glorious position, so that only words should put that truth into thy mind? The crescent moon is unceasingly worn on the head by the God Shiva in the hope of cooling down; how then should the sandal wood, wholly perfect and soothing, and more fragrant, be not worthy of covering the holy body? When way-side waters flowing into the Ganges run to the ocean without further ado should the sacred Ganges herself reach other destinations? May the devotee be a Brahmin seer or a Kshatriya prince, I am in all things their protector, the very life-breath of their mind and soul; and in truth I am the support of their life. How strange unconcern would be in any one sailing in a boat pierced at hundred places? And how should a man risk his life under a hail storm of missiles? How should one, exposed to an impending stone, fail to protect oneself? And should a man tormented with disease be unmindful of cure? And it would be queer indeed, if one should not escape from flames threatening him on all sides; and it is no less queer in men born into this mortal world not to betake themselves to the path of devotion.

And what indeed is that self-confidence on the strength of which earth-born men, scorning the path of devotion, feel secure in the full enjoyment of worldly pleasures? Or barring pious devotion to Me, how should mortals count upon youth and worldly wits to yield the full measure of life’s joys? All that suffering mortals endure is for the pleasure of the body and that body is ever wasting away in the jaws of death. Alas! In this mortal world bundles of miseries are being unloaded and death is being measured out in huge heaps till at the last stage the soul arrives in the human market! Where life is not worth an hour’s purchase, what goods of happiness can man expect from this warehouse? Can you kindle a light by blowing up ashes? As well might you hope to win your way to immortal life by swallowing the extract of poisonous root.

Sensuous enjoyment is thus a hotbed of miseries, and what a pity indeed that the benighted human soul never loathes it? Happiness in this mortal world is as futile a mockery as healing the footrot by cutting the head. Where then is the earth-born man, who has listened to the tale of happiness, in this mortal life? How can (one) expect to enjoy sound sleep on a bed of embers? In this world the moon herself is infected with the wasting disease. Everything overhead rises to sink, and utter misery under the cover of pleasure envelops one and all; it is here in mortal life that even a sprout of enjoyment is already strangled by the malignant cover of unlucky turn, and death steals into the (secret chamber of the) womb to grip the poor helpless yet unborn soul. And while the mortal sufferer is made to brood over fatuous vanities, he is suddenly snatched away by death to a place of which little is known.

Not even the most searching glance has ever come across a single return foot-print along the manifold exits from this life, and all the myths and legends of this miserable world recount but untold tales of mortals who have been gathered into the dateless night. Not even the creator in his appointed time can, with any measure of final utterance, extol to the skies the glorious impermanence of this world. And how amazing is the utter unconcern of men born into this miserable existence? For these niggardly wretches stint a pie towards their real good in this or other worldly life, and yet become munificient in their evil designs. In their eyes men ensnared in lascivious pleasures are now at the summit of ambition and he is reckoned worldly-wise that is enslaved by greed.

Aging, that shortens the lease of life and makes body and mind shrink in power, is held to raise men to the eminence of venerable elders. The yearly return of the birth-day of the child is fondly celebrated as a festival, with total unconcern about the shortened life. From the birth onwards the child is slowly caught in the meshes of all-devouring time, and yet every advancing year is a festivity. Alas! While not putting up with the imprecation ‘die’, they lament the deaths of kith and kin, and never heed that life’s days are numbered. Even while the snake threatens to swallow the frog, the frog smacks its lips at sight of a fly; even so, human mortals are slaves of their greed, of what heaven knows! Alas! How sadly and monstrously perverse indeed is the array of things in this mortal world? Being fated to be born into such a world, shake off the dust of thy feet and betake thyself to the path of devotion and love; so shalt thou reach My eternal divine abode.