There’s a widespread belief that dogs have always been looked down upon in Hinduism. But economist Bibek Debroy discovers that the truth is a little more complicated as he traces the Indian attitude to dogs chronologically in his book Sarama and her children, beginning with the Indus Valley civilisation to Sarama, the dog of the gods in the Rg Veda, to references in the epics.
After returning to Ayodhya, Rama began to rule. Vashishtha, Kashyapa, other sages and advisers and ministers helped him rule well. Every day, Lakshmana’s job was to go outside the court, to check to see if there was anyone with a complaint. Normally, there were no complainants. Rama’s rule was such that there was no disease. The earth yielded plenty of food. Evil disappeared, fearing the king’s wrath. Such was Rama’s rule that there was no evil at all.
On one such day, Lakshmana found that there was no one outside the court. “Go back and look again,” said Rama. Lakshmana returned to the main gate and found a dog barking away. “What do you want?” Lakshmana asked the dog. “If you have something to tell the king, come with me. Don’t be scared.” “I can’t come with you,” said the dog.
“Dogs are not allowed inside temples, palaces and the houses of brahmanas. Those are the residing places of gods like Agni, Indra, Surya and Vayu. We aren’t allowed there because we are an inferior species.” But Rama gave special permission to the dog to approach the court. The dog had marks of a beating on his head.
“What is your problem, dog?” Rama asked. “Don’t be scared.” “A brahmana named Sarvarthasiddha was looking for alms and has beaten me without any provocation,” replied the dog. On Rama’s orders, the brahmana was summoned. “Why have you beaten this dog?” asked Rama. “I was hungry and was roaming around, looking for alms,” replied the brahmana. “This dog was on the road, blocking my way. I asked him to move, but he didn’t. So I beat him with my stick,” replied Sarvarthasiddha. “I am guilty of rage. Please punish me. If I am punished, I’ll no longer have to fear going to hell.”
Rama consulted his advisers and ministers like Bhrigu, Angirasa, Kutsa, Kashyapa and Vashishtha. Their advice was unanimous. According to the shastras, a brahmana should not be punished. “But you have promised,” said the dog. “You promised to set right my complaint. Please make this brahmana the kulapati of Kalanjara.” Strictly speaking, a kulapati was a person who fed ten thousand sages and studied under them. Perhaps, addiction to power and wealth corrupted the kulapati system, so that becoming a kulapati became a curse rather than a boon. Kalinjara or Kalanjara is in Bundelkhand.
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Anyway, this seemed fair enough, because Sarvarthasiddha was not exactly being punished. He was sent off to Kalanjara, riding on an elephant. “You have given him a boon instead of punishing him,” remarked the ministers. “Not quite,” responded Rama. “Ask this dog.” On Rama’s instructions, the dog related his story. “I used to be the kulapati of Kalanjara,” said the dog.
“I served gods and brahmanas and spent my time ensuring everyone’s welfare. I ate after everyone else had eaten. I shared my property with everyone else. But having been a kulapati, I am now destined to this dog’s life. That brahmana is cruel and quick to anger. He will now become a kulapati and the next forty-nine of his descendants will spend their lives in hell. No one should accept the post of a kulapati. If you want to make certain that an individual and his friends, sons and animals go to hell, make him a kulapati.” Having related his story, the dog went off to the holy city of Varanasi, resolving to starve himself to death there and thus perform penance.
(Excerpted with permission from Penguin Books India from Sarama and her Children: The Dog in Indian Myth by Bibek Debroy)
SARAMA AND HER CHILDRENBibek Debroy
Publisher: Penguin Books India
Price: Rs 350
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