Priestcraft in government means pessimism in the creed and despair in the heart. Under sacerdotal rule in India it seemed paradise enough to leave the world, and the only hell dreaded was a return to it. ‘The twice-born man,’ says Manu, ‘who shall without intermission have passed the time of his studentship, shall ascend after death to the most exalted of regions, and no more spring to birth again in this lower world.’ Some clause was necessary to keep the twice-born man from suicide. Buddha invented a plan of suicide-in-life combined with annihilation of the gods, which was driven out of India because it put into the minds of the people the philosophy of the schools. Thought could only be trusted among classes interested to conceal it.

The power and authority of a priesthood can only be maintained on the doctrine that man is ‘saved’ by the deeds of a ceremonial law; any general belief that morality is more acceptable to gods than ceremonies must be fatal to those occult and fictitious virtues which hedge about every pious impostor. Sacerdotal power in India depended on superstitions carefully fostered concerning the mystical properties of a stimulating juice (soma), litanies, invocations, and benedictions by priests; upon sacrifices to the gods, including their priests, austerities, penances, pilgrimages, and the like; one characteristic running through all the performances—their utter worthlessness to any being in the universe except the priest. An artificial system of this kind has to create its own materials, and evoke forces of evolution from many regions of nature. It is a process requiring much more than the wisdom of the serpent and more than its harmfulness; and there is a bit of nature’s irony in the fact that when the Brahman Rishi gained supremacy, the Cobra was also worshipped as belonging to precisely the same caste and sanctity.

There are traces of long and fierce struggles preceding this consummation. Even in the Vedic age—in the very dawn of religious history—Tetzel appears with his indulgences and Luther confronts him. The names they bore in ancient India were ViswÁmitra and Vasishtha. Both of these were among the seven powerful Rishis who made the hierarchy of India in the earliest age known to us. Both were composers of some of the chief hymns of the Vedas, and their respective hymns bear the stamp of the sacerdotal and the anti-sacerdotal parties which contended before the priestly sway had reached its complete triumph. ViswÁmitra was champion of the high priestly party and its political pretensions. In the Rig-Veda there are forty hymns ascribed to him and his family, nearly all of which celebrate the divine virtues of Soma-juice and the Soma-sacrifice. As the exaltation of the priestly caste in Israel was connected with a miracle, in which the Jordan stopped flowing till the ark had been carried over, so the rivers Sutledge and Reyah were said to have rested from their course when ViswÁmitra wished to cross them in seeking the Soma. This Rishi became identified in the Hindu mind for all time with political priestcraft. On the other hand, Vasishtha became equally famous for his hostility to that power, as well as for his profoundly religious character,—the finest hymns of the Vedas, as to moral feeling, being those that bear his name. The anti-sacerdotal spirit of Vasishtha is especially revealed in a strange satirical hymn in which he ridicules the ceremonial BrÁhmans under the guise of a panegyric on frogs. In this composition occur such verses as these:—

‘Like BrÁhmans at the Soma-sacrifice of AtirÂtra, sitting round a full pond and talking, you, O frogs, celebrate this day of the year when the rainy season begins.

‘These BrÁhmans, with their Soma, have had their say, performing the annual rite. These Adhwaryus, sweating while they carry the hot pots, pop out like hermits.

‘They have always observed the order of the gods as they are to be worshipped in the twelvemonth; these men do not neglect their season....

‘Cow-noise gave, Goat-noise gave, the Brown gave, and the Green gave us treasures. The frogs, who give us hundreds of cows, lengthened our life in the rich autumn.’1

ViswÁmitra and Vasishtha appear to have been powerful rivals in seeking the confidence of King SudÁs, and from their varying fortunes came the tremendous feud between them which plays so large a part in the traditions of India. The men were both priests, as are both ritualists and broad-churchmen in the present day. They were borne on the stream of mythologic evolution to representative regions very different from any they could have contemplated. Vasishtha, ennobled by the moral sentiment of ages, appears as the genius of truth and justice, maintaining these as of more ‘merit’ than any ceremonial perfections. The BrÁhmans, whom he once ridiculed, were glad enough in the end to make him their patron saint, though they did not equally honour his principles. On the other hand, ViswÁmitra became the type of that immoral divinity which received its Iranian anathema in Ahriman. The murder he commits is nothing in a personage whose Soma-celebrations have raised him so high above the trivialities of morality.

It is easy to see what must be the further development of such a type as ViswÁmitra when he shall have passed from the guarded pages of puranic tradition to the terrible simplicities of folklore. The saint whose majesty is built on ‘merits,’ which have no relation to what the humble deem virtues, naturally holds such virtues in cynical contempt; naturally also he is indignant if any one dares to suggest that the height he has reached by costly and prolonged observances may be attained by poor and common people through the practice of virtue. The next step is equally necessary. Since it is hard to argue down the facts of human nature, Vasishtha is pretty sure to have a strong, if sometimes silent, support for his heretical theory of a priesthood representing virtue; consequently ViswÁmitra will be reduced at length to deny the existence of virtue, and will become the Accuser of those to whom virtues are attributed. Finally, from the Accuser to the Tempter the transition is inevitable. The public Accuser must try and make good his case, and if the facts do not support it, he must create other facts which will, or else bear the last brand of his tribe—Slanderer.

Leaving out of sight all historical or probable facts concerning ViswÁmitra and Vasishtha, but remembering the spirit of them, let us read the great Passion-play of the East, in which their respective parts are performed again as intervening ages have interpreted them. The hero of this drama is an ancient king named Harischandra, who, being childless, and consequently unable to gain immortality, promised the god Varuna to sacrifice to him a son if one were granted him. The son having been born, the father beseeches Varuna for respite, which is granted again and again, but stands firmly by his promise, although it is finally commuted. The repulsive features of the ancient legend are eliminated in the drama, the promise now being for a vast sum of money which the king cannot pay, but which ViswÁmitra would tempt him to escape by a technical fiction. Sir Mutu CumÁra SwÁmy, whose translation I follow, presents many evidences of the near relation in which this drama stands to the religious faith of the people in Southern India and parts of Ceylon, where its representation never fails to draw vast crowds from every part of the district in which it may occur, the impression made by it being most profound.2

We are first introduced to Harischandra, King of AyÒdiah (Oude), in his palace, surrounded by every splendour, and by the devotion of his prosperous people. His first word is an ascription to the ‘God of gods.’ His ministers come forward and recount the wealth and welfare of the nation. The first Act witnesses the marriage of Harischandra with the beautiful princess ChandravatÍ, and it closes with the birth of a son.

The second Act brings us into the presence of Indra in the Abode of the Gods. The Chief enters the Audience Hall of his palace, where an assembly of deities and sages has awaited him. These sages are holy men who have acquired supernatural power by their tremendous austerities; and of these the most august is ViswÁmitra. By the magnitude and extent of his austerities he has gained a power beyond even that of the Triad, and can reduce the worlds to cinders. All the gods court his favour. As the Council proceeds, Indra addresses the sages—‘Holy men! as gifted with supernatural attributes, you roam the universe with marvellous speed, there is no place unknown to you. I am curious to learn who, in the present times, is the most virtuous sovereign on the earth below. What chief of mortals is there who has never told a lie—who has never swerved from the course of justice?’ Vasishtha, a powerful sage and family-priest of Harischandra, declares that his royal disciple is such a man. But the more powerful ViswÁmitra denounces Harischandra as cruel and a liar. The quarrel between the two Rishis waxes fierce, until Indra puts a stop to it by deciding that an experiment shall be made on Harischandra. Vasishtha agrees that if his disciple can be shown to have told a lie, or can be made to tell one, the fruit of his life-long austerities, and all the power so gained, shall be added to ViswÁmitra; while the latter must present his opponent with half of his ‘merits’ if Harischandra be not made to swerve from the truth. ViswÁmitra is to employ any means whatever, neither Indra or any other interfering.

ViswÁmitra sets about his task of trying and tempting Harischandra by informing that king that, in order to perform a sacrifice of special importance, he has need of a mound of gold as high as a missile slung by a man standing on an elephant’s back. With the demand of so sacred a being Harischandra has no hesitation in complying, and is about to deliver the gold when ViswÁmitra requests him to be custodian of the money for a time, but perform the customary ceremony of transfer. Holding Harischandra’s written promise to deliver the gold whensoever demanded, ViswÁmitra retires with compliments. Then wild beasts ravage Harischandra’s territory; these being expelled, a demon boar is sent, but is vanquished by the monarch. ViswÁmitra then sends unchaste dancing-girls to tempt Harischandra; and when he has ordered their removal, ViswÁmitra returns with them, and, feigning rage, accuses him of slaying innocent beasts and of cruelty to the girls. He declares that unless Harischandra yields to the Pariah damsels, he himself shall be reduced to a Pariah slave. Harischandra offers all his kingdom and possessions if the demand is withdrawn, absolutely refusing to swerve from his virtue. This ViswÁmitra accepts, is proclaimed sovereign of AyÒdiah, and the king goes forth a beggar with his wife and child. But now, as these are departing, ViswÁmitra demands that mound of gold which was to be paid when called for. In vain Harischandra pleads that he has already delivered up all he possesses, the gold included; the last concession is declared to have nothing to do with the first. Yet ViswÁmitra says he will be charitable; if Harischandra will simply declare that he never pledged the gold, or, having done so, does not feel bound to pay it, he will cancel that debt. ‘Such a declaration I can never make,’ replies Harischandra. ‘I owe thee the gold, and pay it I shall. Let a messenger accompany me and leave me not till I have given him thy due.’

From this time the efforts of ViswÁmitra are directed to induce Harischandra to declare the money not due. Amid his heartbroken people—who cry, ‘Where are the gods? Can they tolerate this?’—he who was just now the greatest and happiest monarch in the world goes forth on the highway a wanderer with his ChandravatÍ and their son DevarÁta dressed in coarsest garments. His last royal deed is to set the crown on his tempter’s head. The people and officers follow, and beg his permission to slay ViswÁmitra, but he rebukes them, and counsels submission. ViswÁmitra orders a messenger, Nakshatra, to accompany the three wretched ones, and inflict the severest sufferings on them until the gold is paid, and amid each ordeal to offer Harischandra all his former wealth and happiness if he will utter a falsehood.

They come to a desert whose sands are so hot that the wife faints. Harischandra bears his son in his arms, but in addition is compelled to bear Nakshatra (the BrÁhman and tormentor) on his shoulders. They so pass amid snakes and scorpions, and receive terrible stings; they pass through storm and flood, and yet vainly does Nakshatra suggest the desired falsehood.

Then follows the ordeal of Demons, which gives an interesting insight into Tamil Demonology. One of the company exclaims—‘How frightful they look! Who can face them? They come in battalions, young and old, small and great—all welcome us. They disport themselves with a wild dance; flames shoot from their mouths; their feet touch not the earth; they move in the air. Observe you the bleeding corpses of human beings in their hands. They crunch them and feed on the flesh. The place is one mass of gore and filth. Wolves and hyÆnas bark at them; jackals and dogs follow them. They are near. May Siva protect us!’

Nakshatra. How dreadful! Harischandra, what is this? Look! evil demons stare at me—I tremble for my life. Protect me now, and I ask you no more for the gold.

Harischandra. Have no fear, Nakshatra. Come, place thyself in the midst of us.

Chief of the Goblins. Men! little men! human vermin! intrude ye thus into my presence? Know that, save only the BrÁhman standing in the midst of you, you are all my prey to-night.

Harischandra. Goblin! certainly thou art not an evil-doer, for thou hast excepted this holy BrÁhman. As for ourselves, we know that the bodies which begin to exist upon earth must also cease to exist on it. What matters it when death comes? If he spares us now he reserves us only for another season. Good, kind demon! destroy us then together; here we await our doom.

Nakshatra. Harischandra! before you thus desert me, make the goblin promise you that he will not hurt me.

Harischandra. Thou hast no cause for alarm; thou art safe.

Chief of the Goblins. Listen! I find that all four of you are very thin; it is not worth my while to kill you. On examining closely, I perceive that the young BrÁhman is plump and fat as a wild boar. Give him up to me—I want not the rest.

Nakshatra. O Gods! O Harischandra! you are a great monarch! Have mercy on me! Save me, save me! I will never trouble you for the gold, but treat you considerately hereafter.

Harischandra. Sir, thy life is safe, stand still.

Nakshatra. Allow me, sirs, to come closer to you, and to hold you by the hand (He grasps their hands.)

Harischandra. King of the Goblins! I address thee in all sincerity; thou wilt confer on us a great favour indeed by despatching us speedily to the Judgment Hall of the God of Death. The BrÁhman must not be touched; devour us.

The Goblin (grinding his teeth in great fury). What! dare you disobey me? Will you not deliver the BrÁhman?

Harischandra. No, we cannot. We alone are thy victims.

[Day breaks, and the goblins disappear.]

Having thus withstood all temptation to harm his enemy, or to break a promise he had given to treat him kindly, Harischandra is again pressed for the gold or the lie, and, still holding out, an ordeal of fire follows. Trusting the God of Fire will cease to afflict if one is sacrificed, Harischandra prepares to enter the conflagration first, and a pathetic contention occurs between him and his wife and son as to which shall be sacrificed. In the end Harischandra rushes in, but does not perish.

Harischandra is hoping to reach the temple of Vis WanÀth3 at Kasi and invoke his aid to pay the gold. To the temple he comes only to plead in vain, and Nakshatra tortures him with instruments. Finally Harischandra, his wife and child, are sold as slaves to pay the debt. But ViswÁmitra, invisibly present, only redoubles his persecutions. Harischandra is subjected to the peculiar degradation of having to burn dead bodies in a cemetery. ChandravatÍ and her son are subjected to cruelties. The boy is one day sent to the forest, is bitten by a snake, and dies. ChandravatÍ goes out in the night to find the body. She repairs with it to the cemetery. In the darkness she does not recognise her husband, the burner of the bodies, nor he his wife. He has strictly promised his master that every fee shall be paid, and reproaches the woman for coming in the darkness to avoid payment. ChandravatÍ offers in payment a sacred chain which Siva had thrown round her neck at birth, invisible to all but a perfect man. Harischandra alone has ever seen it, and now recognises his wife. But even now he will not perform the last rites over his dead child unless the fee can be obtained as promised. ChandravatÍ goes out into the city to beg the money, leaving Harischandra seated beside the dead body of DevarÁta. In the street she stumbles over the corpse of another child, and takes it up; it proves to be the infant Prince, who has been murdered. ChandravatÍ—arrested and dragged before the king—in a state of frenzy declares she has killed the child. She is condemned to death, and her husband must be her executioner. But the last scene must be quoted nearly in full.

Verakvoo (Harischandra’s master, leading on ChandravatÍ). Slave! this woman has been sentenced by our king to be executed without delay. Draw your sword and cut her head off. (Exit.)

Harischandra. I obey, master. (Draws the sword and approaches her.)

ChandravatÍ (coming to consciousness again). My husband! What! do I see thee again? I applaud thy resolution, my lord. Yes; let me die by thy sword. Be not unnerved, but be prompt, and perform thy duty unflinchingly.

Harischandra. My beloved wife! the days allotted to you in this world are numbered; you have run through the span of your existence. Convicted as you are of this crime, there is no hope for your life; I must presently fulfil my instructions. I can only allow you a few seconds; pray to your tutelary deities, prepare yourself to meet your doom.

ViswÁmitra (who has suddenly appeared). Harischandra! what, are you going to slaughter this poor woman? Wicked man, spare her! Tell a lie even now and be restored to your former state!

Harischandra. I pray, my lord, attempt not to beguile me from the path of rectitude. Nothing shall shake my resolution; even though thou didst offer to me the throne of Indra I would not tell a lie. Pollute not thy sacred person by entering such unholy grounds. Depart! I dread not thy wrath; I no longer court thy favour. Depart. (ViswÁmitra disappears.)

My love! lo I am thy executioner; come, lay thy head gently on this block with thy sweet face turned towards the east. ChandravatÍ, my wife, be firm, be happy! The last moment of our sufferings has at length come; for to sufferings too there is happily an end. Here cease our woes, our griefs, our pleasures. Mark! yet awhile, and thou wilt be as free as the vultures that now soar in the skies.

This keen sabre will do its duty. Thou dead, thy husband dies too—this self-same sword shall pierce my breast. First the child—then the wife—last the husband—all victims of a sage’s wrath. I the martyr of Truth—thou and thy son martyrs for me, the martyr of Truth. Yes; let us die cheerfully and bear our ills meekly. Yes; let all men perish, let all gods cease to exist, let the stars that shine above grow dim, let all seas be dried up, let all mountains be levelled to the ground, let wars rage, blood flow in streams, let millions of millions of Harischandras be thus persecuted; yet let Truth be maintained—let Truth ride victorious over all—let Truth be the light—Truth the guide—Truth alone the lasting solace of mortals and immortals. Die, then, O goddess of Chastity! Die, at this the shrine of thy sister goddess of Truth!

[Strikes the neck of ChandravatÍ with great force; the sword, instead of harming her, is transformed into a string of superb pearls, which winds itself around her: the gods of heaven, all sages, and all kings appear suddenly to the view of Harischandra.]

Siva (the first of the gods). Harischandra, be ever blessed! You have borne your severe trials most heroically, and have proved to all men that virtue is of greater worth than all the vanities of a fleeting world. Be you the model of mortals. Return to your land, resume your authority, and rule your state. DevarÁta, victim of ViswÁmitra’s wrath, rise! (He is restored to life.)

Rise you, also, son of the King of Kasi, with whose murder you, ChandravatÍ, were charged through the machinations of ViswÁmitra. (He comes to life also.)

Harischandra. All my misfortunes are of little consequence, since thou, O God of gods, hast deigned to favour me with thy divine presence. No longer care I for kingdom, or power, or glory. I value not children, or wives, or relations. To thy service, to thy worship, to the redemption of my erring soul, I devote myself uninterruptedly hereafter. Let me not become the sport of men. The slave of a Pariah cannot become a king; the slave-girl of a BrÁhman cannot become a queen. When once the milk has been drawn from the udder of a cow nothing can restore the self-same milk to it. Our degradation, O God, is now beyond redemption.

ViswÁmitra. I pray, O Siva, that thou wouldst pardon my folly. Anxious to gain the wager laid by me before the gods, I have most mercilessly tormented this virtuous king; yet he has proved himself the most truthful of all earthly sovereigns, triumphing victoriously over me and my efforts to divert him from his constancy. Harischandra, king of kings! I crave your forgiveness.

Verakvoo (throwing off his disguise). King Harischandra, think not that I am a Pariah, for you behold in me even YÁma, the God of Death.

Kalakanda (ChandravatÍ’s cruel master, throwing off his disguise). Queen! rest not in the belief that you were the slave of a BrÁhman. He to whom you devoted yourself am even I—the God of Fire, Agni.

Vasishtha. Harischandra, no disgrace attaches to thee nor to the Solar race, of which thou art the incomparable gem. Even this cemetery is in reality no cemetery: see! the illusion lasts not, and thou beholdest here a holy grove the abode of hermits and ascetics. Like the gold which has passed through successive crucibles, devoid of all impurities, thou, O King of AyÒdiah, shinest in greater splendour than even yon god of light now rising to our view on the orient hills. (It is morning.)

Siva. Harischandra, let not the world learn that Virtue is vanquished, and that its enemy, Vice, has become the victor. Go, mount yon throne again—proclaim to all that we, the gods, are the guardians of the good and the true. Indra! chief of the gods, accompany this sovereign with all your retinue, and recrown him emperor of AyÒdiah. May his reign be long—may all bliss await him in the other world!

The plot of this drama has probably done as much and as various duty as any in the world. It has spread like a spiritual banyan, whose branches, taking root, have swelled to such size that it is difficult now to say which is the original trunk. It may even be that the only root they all had in common is an invisible one in the human heart, developed in its necessary struggles amid nature after the pure and perfect life.

But neither in the Book of Job, which we are yet to consider, nor in any other variation of the theme, does it rise so high as in this drama of Harischandra. In Job it represents man loyal to his deity amid the terrible afflictions which that deity permits; but in Harischandra it shows man loyal to a moral principle even against divine orders to the contrary. Despite the hand of the licenser, and the priestly manipulations, visible here and there in it—especially towards the close—sacerdotalism stands confronted by its reaction at last, and receives its sentence in the joy with which the Hindu sees the potent Rishis with all their pretentious ‘merits,’ and the gods themselves, kneeling at the feet of the man who stands by Truth.

It is amusing to find the wincings of the priests through many centuries embodied in a legend about Harischandra after he went to heaven. It is related that he was induced by NÁrada to relate his actions with such unbecoming pride that he was lowered from Svarga (heaven) one stage after each sentence; but having stopped in time, and paid homage to the gods, he was placed with his capital in mid-air, where eyes sacerdotally actinised may still see the aerial city at certain times. The doctrine of ‘merits’ will no doubt be able for some time yet to charge ‘good deeds’ with their own sin—pride; but, after all, the priest must follow the people far enough to confess that one must look upward to find the martyr of Truth. In what direction one must look to find his accuser requires no further intimation than the popular legend of ViswÁmitra.