Wit and Wordplay in Indian Mythology

On the 15th  day of the war, the sun was at its zenith, burning down on the Kurukshetra battlefield. The Pandavas were suffering severe losses; the Kauravas were clearing winning, and how?!! The Kaurava general, Drona was wreaking havoc on the Pandava armies. Kunti’s sons realised, the only way they could cut their losses was to rein in Drona’s ferocious advance. And there was only one way to do it. Attack his weakness – his son, Ashwattama!!

The rest, as they say,  is history, eh…well, mythology!

For the first time in his life, Yudhishtra was asked to speak a half lie! He managed to convince Dronacharya that his son was dead- ‘Ashwathama hatha’, (Ashwathama is dead) he announced loudly, following  it with a muted utterance of ‘kunjara’ (elephant) that Drona could not hear. Extremely aggrieved to hear about the death of his son from none other than the virtuous Yudhistra, Drona gave up his life. His death became the game-changer  in the war that eventually led to Pandavas' victory.

Of course, everyone  knows this story.

But the interesting thing to note here is how the Sanskrit language and its syntax have been cleverly used to communicate varying ideas. It is wonderful how the syntax of Sanskrit lends itself to tremendous opportunities for word play, which it is said, were well exploited by Kalidasa in his literary works to add glitter to his language.

Sanskrit’s rich vocabulary and unique syntax led to the composition of works such as Raghavayadaveeyam, a composition comprising 30 verses that tells the story of Rama (Ramayana) when read from top to bottom, and the story of Krishna (Bhagavatha) when read in the reverse order.

In mythology too, wordplay was used to give stories a tangy twist.

For instance, in the Ramayana, when Kumabhakarna seeks a boon from Brahma, he mistakenly asks for Nidrasana (a state of sleep) when he actually wanted to ask for Indraasana (the seat of Indra) and instead of Nityatvam (immortality), he asked for Nidratvam (state of sleep). Thus, the poor fellow was condemned to deep slumber and had to eventually pay a price with his life for his 'lapses lingua'.

In yet another story from the Ramayana, Ahalya, sage Gautama’s wife has a consensual sexual encounter with Lord  Indra when her husband is out to have his holy bath. But when Gautama returns, Indra turns himself into a cat and runs away. Seeing this, Ahalya exclaims, 'Maarjaara' meaning cat in Sanskrit. But, with a slight variation, her words could turn into 'mama' (my) 'jaara' (friend – boyfriend?!), a damning but unlikely confession by Ahalya!

Another story from the Bhagavatha Purana tells the story of sage Narada, who, owing to an intense desire to marry a princess,  asks Narayana for the face of 'Hari', meaning the handsome face of Narayana alias Vishnu. Naughty Narayana, to teach the lusty sage a lesson, gives Narada the face of a monkey, as the word 'Hari' also means monkey.

Wordplay was not confined to Sanskrit alone,  it thrived and flourished in Tamil too. In the Sthlapurana of Pazhamudircholai, one of the six heavenly abodes of Lord Muruga in Tamil Nadu, one can find evidence of it in the story of young Murugan’s encounter with Avvaiyar (Avvai), an old lady, who was both a  scholar and poet.

One hot summer day, after a long and tiring walk, Avvai reached a grove and sat under the shade of a tree. She was very thirsty. Looking up at the tree above, she found a boy sitting on one of the branches of the tree that was laden with jamun fruits. She asked the boy to throw down a few to her so she could quench her thirst. The boy agreed to help her but asked if she wanted her fruits hot or cold (sutta pazham venuma, sudatha pazham venuma?). 

Avvai was puzzled. How could fruits ever be hot or cold, she wondered. Maybe, the chit of a boy was playing pranks on her, she thought. She sternly ordered the boy not to ask silly questions and to simply throw down a few fruits for her from the tree. Chastised by the old lady, the boy did as he was told. Picking up the fruits that the boy threw down, Avvai started to blow at them to get rid of the sand and dust sticking to the fruits. Seeing her blow at the fruits, the boy asked Avvai if she was finding the fruits too hot? Avvai was stunned by the boy’s word play. Hot fruits meant the ripe ones, to which the dust sticks and had to be 'blown away' (as if in a gesture to cool them) cold fruits meant the unripe ones to which dust does not stick. 

Of course, it turns out that the boy was none other than Lord Muruga and the story is narrated in the context of how he humbled the complacent Avvai.

It is told that Max Mueller, the much-revered Indo-German scholar firmly believed that mythology was 'the disease of language'. Surprising! When these stories actually tell you the contrary!!