Can classics speak truth to power?

These timeless works reveal subtle truths about the inner workings of our very being, writes Vanamala Viswanatha

Classics are celebrated the world over for their power to delineate timeless and universal truths about the human condition. But, being imbricated in the dominant ideology of their world, and fostered largely by royal patronage, can classics really go against the grain and speak truth to power? Can they speak truth to a post-truth socio-political order like ours? Unlike science or scriptures, which explore objective or propositional truth using the language of royal decree (Prabhu Samhita), literature which depicts experiential truth appeals to the hearts of readers. In fact, the experience of reading literature is likened to “Kantha Samhita” — an intimate, affectionate communication from the beloved. Drawing the reader into the vortex of specific human struggles, classics reveal subtle truths about the inner workings of our very being. 

Kannada literary culture, with its unbroken and documented history of over 1,500 years, is replete with classics that uphold the enduring values of truth and non-violence against the dominant Kshatriya ethos of war and valour. Kannada’s adikavi, the primal poet, Pampa of the 10th century, celebrates our common humanity in his rewriting of the Mahabharata by shining a kindly light on the character of Karna, who is discriminated against based on his caste. 

In ‘Adipurana’, his re-creation of Jinasena’s foundational Sanskrit work from the Jaina tradition, Pampa affirms, “Isn’t all of humanity but one caste (jaati)?” This epic narrates the story of two mighty brothers, Bharata and Bahubali, who go to war with each other to establish their sovereignty. But, in keeping with the Jaina tenet of non-violence, their learned ministers advise them: “Considering the welfare of the subjects, the army, and the country, we suggest you have a limited Dharma yuddha (righteous battle). Apart from Drishti yuddha (battle of staring), Jala yuddha (battle in water), and Malla yuddha (wrestling), there should be no combat with munitions.” Such wise counsel, so rare to come by! The taller and stronger Bahubali, who wins the first two battles, is about to pulverise Bharata. And, in that moment, Bahubali realises the transience of power, forsakes his kingdom, and turns to penance.

‘Vaddaradhane’ (Jane Tales of Moksha, Murty Classical Library of India, Harvard University Press, in press), yet another Jaina work of the early 10th century, recounts the dramatic tales of kings and wealthy merchants, who realise the essentially impermanent nature of human existence, and in a moment of epiphany, and turn away from the ephemeral Rajyalakshmi or Dhanalakshmi to the eternal Mokshalakshmi. Consider the story of King Harishchandra, known for his veritas. It is a story that inspired Gandhi to make truth the core of his political philosophy. The Life of Harishchandra (Murty Classical Library of India, Harvard University Press, 2017), my translation of Raghavanka’s 13th-century Kannada kavya, tells the riveting tale of the dispossession and deprivation of King Harishchandra, who suffered for — and survived through — his commitment to truth. In this kavya, keeping one’s word constitutes truth; conversely, going back on one’s word amounts to untruth. This notion of truth goes back to Basavanna, who spearheaded the Veerashaiva movement in the 12th century: “If your deed does not follow your word, would Kudala Sangama Deva (Shiva) be pleased?”

Yet, even a pious king like Harishchandra is not spared. Once, the king, at the end of an exhausting hunt, is entertained by two maidens from the untouchable holeya caste, with their divine singing. A pleased king wants to gift them his jewellery. Refusing it, they express their desire to marry him. When he spurns them, the maidens confront him about his caste pride: “The ears that enjoyed every note of our music are not defiled;/ The eyes that feasted on our shapely form are not defiled;/ The mouth that acclaimed our art is not defiled;/ The nose that smelled the fragrance of our bodies wafted by the gentle wind is not defiled./ How is it that only our touch is defiling?/ How is it that, among the five composite senses,/ One is inferior and the other four superior?”

Raghavanka’s text enacts a shift in perspective from seeing caste as a feature that attaches to one by birth to understanding caste as something emerging from one’s words and deeds, equating godliness with truthfulness.

But do you hear the devil’s advocate grumbling: Can classics which uphold the ideals of non-violence, truth, and compassion make sense in a society full of violence and changing narratives? Can classics with their verities and certitudes offer us an inner moral compass to act in a world where facts are constantly challenged? Can classics with their complex textuality help us develop a questioning mind to resist ‘fake’ narratives? Can classics foster empathy in us?

Well, try reading them!

The Heritage Shelf is a monthly column from the Murty Classical Library of India, published by Harvard University Press, presenting India’s greatest literary works and the enduring traditions that shaped them. 

(The author is a bilingual scholar and translator who has taught, published, and promoted Indian literatures in translation.)