“The socíety of good men renders good.”
Jaganath, eight years old, is the son of a Jnáníndra; he brought a puppy into a house where an idol was worshipped, put him there in the idol’s place, and drew the mark of cast on his head. The boy was asked: “What art thou doing?” He answered: “The stone has no life; why should you not rather worship the puppy than this idol? Besides, each person worships what he finds agreeable. Because this worship is a play, I play with this dog.” And none of the people of the house raised a hand on account of the boy’s liberty, but uttered blessings upon him.
In the year 1049 of the Hejira (1639 A. D.) the author of these pages visited in Kachmir a Jnáníndra, and was delighted with his society. He called him his atma, that is, his “intellectual soul.” The Jnáníndra was asked: “Who is thy disciple?” He answered: “It is he who, having arrived to the self-existent God, knows and sees himself to be nothing else but God.”
At the time when the writer of this book was walking with a Hindu pious man on the border of the lake of Kashmir, a Sanyási who had pretensions to independence, joined us. There, a meal was brought to us, and the Sanyási eat with that pious man. After this, he began to boast: “Hitherto I have not eat any flesh: it is but now that I have tasted some.” The Jnání offered a cup of wine to him, who drank it for the sake of discarding care. He then reassumed the theme of self-praise. The pious philosopher had some bread of the bazar, which according to the Hindu faith is still more prohibited than wine, brought upon the table-cloth. The Sanyási broke a bit of the bread, eat it, and again praised himself without measure: “Now,” said he, “am I free of all bonds.” The wise smiled, and said: “Nothing remains but to eat cow-flesh.” The Sanyási, as soon as he heard this, left the company.
Of the distinguished disciples of the Jnáníndrás, whom the author of this work saw, are: Shankar bhat, Kanésh bhat, Sudarshan Kal, Adab bhat, Máhatápindra, and Avat, known under the name of Kopál Kúl. A goldsmith asked Shankar bhat, one of the disciples just mentioned: “Why do the Jnáníndras, with all their pretensions to independence, still worship idols?” Shankar said: “Why dost thou work in gold?” The goldsmith replied: “This is my profession for gaining my livelihood.” The answer to this was: “And worship too is a trade and a means to procure food.”
Mulla Shídáyi, a Hindu, who has a name amongst the poets, and possessed a very impressive eloquence, went one day with the author of this book to the house of a Jnáníndra, and conversed with him; he saw his disciples, and having observed the manners of the people of the house, he was struck with astonishment, and said: “My whole life passed in devotedness to pious persons; but my eyes never beheld such independence, and my ears never heard any thing comparable to the speeches of those emancipated men.”
Hara Ráma púrí was a Sanyási, and one of the Jnánís possessing the perfection of independence. When he came to Kashmír, being vexed by the length of his hair, which was like ropes, he cut it off, on the bank of a river near a house called Bhat jatáyi. Sri Kant Bhat, a Pandit and Hindu judge, saw it and said: “Whenever thou cuttest off thy hair, thou shouldst do it in a tirth, that is, in ‘a house of worship.’” Hara answered: “There is a place in the most holy of mansions, where the heart gets delighted, and on the spot where the dead are burnt, all obscure points are terminated.” In the year 1051 of the Hejira (1641 A. D.) he went to Kichtovar,[153] and settled in a plain called chawgan, where they played at ball, practised equitation, and burnt the dead. Maha Singh, the son of Baháder Singh, Rája of Kishtovár, became his disciple, and by devotion he rendered himself free of the bonds of exterior things; now he likes the society of the pious; he is young and conversant with poetry. In the year 1052 of the Hejira (1642 A. D.) a war broke out in Kishtovar, between the Rája and the rebels of this country. When they made resound the drum of battle, a general carnage began on both sides of the combatants; Hara Rámapúrí, having got upon the top of an elevated ground, was occupied with the sight of it, and at the uproar of the warriors and the sound of pipes, and clarions, and kettle-drums, he began to dance, and in the midst of his transport his foot stumbled; he fell headlong from the mountain, and in rolling down received from a great stone a head-wound, of which he died. Mirza Rafíah says:
“When the darkness of my heart became enlightened by the knowledge of wisdom,
Whatever speeches were proffered as her arguments,
They bore upon some errors of my desires;