Bhagavad-gita chapter 7, sloka
mattah parataram nanyat
kincid asti dhananjaya
mayi sarvam idam protam
sutre mani-gana iva
O Arjuna, great conqueror of wealth, there is no
truth superior to Me. Everything rests upon Me, as pearls are
strung on a thread.
This verse is one of my all-time favorites. I love the imagery
and the aesthetics of it. And I am amazed that in a few short
words, Lord Krishna is able to convey a message that is at once
bold and direct, and yet also layered with subtleties and nuance. I
love the way that the Gita reconciles ideas that – at first blush –
seem to be paradoxical.
Krishna’s claim that there is no truth superior to him, may rub
us the wrong way. It may sound exclusivist, dogmatic, unreasonably
demanding. Many of us have been happily reading through a sacred
wisdom text like the Gita or the Bible, only to come across a God
who hits us with this sort of cosmic “my way or the highway (to
hell?)” …and have checked out of religion entirely as a result of
it. And while Hinduism is often celebrated as promoting pluralism
(and it does), it also has its fair share of religious “truth
The brilliance of this verse, to me, is that Krishna doesn’t
stop there. He gives Arjuna (and us) a vivid analogy to appreciate
his claim in a deeper way. To say that God is the thread upon which
we, the individual pearls, are strung, carries with it some profound
First, it tells us that the Divine doesn’t express his supremacy
through cruel, tyrannical demands for submission. He is
ever-present, providing the foundation upon which we can rest.
There is a comfort there–we are not lonely pieces floating
aimlessly adrift some ocean of meaninglessness. We are supported
and loved, an intrinsic part of the greater whole.
Second, it reminds us that there is a connection between all of
us. As disparate as we might seem, as much as we experience the
world and our journeys as individuals, the Divine is there as the
unifying, common factor. We are people with stories, bound together
in the struggle and pain and joys of love–bound by the Divine
source of us all. And just as the necklace is considered well-made
when the thread tightly binds each pearl to the other, when each
stone is close to the other, our perfection is found in how we can
fill those gaps between us.
Third, it tells us that we are precious. Krishna is intentional
(and maybe a bit humorous) in calling Arjuna by the epithet
Dhananjaya, the “conqueror of wealth.” Could it be that in a
world that puts a premium on wealth – money, cars, and yes, jewels
– the real treasure waiting to be discovered is us, the self within
and the people around us?
Finally, here Lord Krishna displays an attribute of the Divine
that we don’t often see: a sense of humility. We are the shining
pearls, the jewels seen and appreciated by others; he is the
thread, simple and unseen, performing the thankless task of holding
everything together. A beautiful necklace is one in which the
pearls get the praise; nobody compliments the thread. There is
something awesome about a God who is content to remain invisible,
who is glorified by allowing his creation to receive the glory. And
it gives us a hint of how we might aspire to be. It reminds us how
sacred and powerful of a force humility truly is.
Throughout the Gita, Lord Krishna does
this–he plays with our expectations of what God should be, what we
are called to be, what the relationship between the two is. He
turns things on their heads and inspires us to see the world in a
Please feel free to share your thoughts. Let me know what you think in the comments section below.
My inbox was flooded today with emails from friends, co-workers, and family members, full of smiley face emoticons and an overuse of exclamation marks, excitedly directing me to YouTube to see President Obama deliver his Diwali Message. The two minute video has Mr. Obama summarizing the significance of Diwali for Hindus, Jains, and Sikhs, and asking that we take the opportunity to reflect on those less fortunate.
Of particular delight to Vaishnava-Hindus (the majority of the folks flooding my inbox): in recounting one of the more popular Diwali narratives, President Obama took the name of Lord Rama. According to the tradition, one’s life can be perfected just by uttering once the sacred sound of Rama’s name.
Whether one believes that Obama earned cosmic credits by mentioning Rama by name, or just that he racked up good PR with the Hindu-American community, I expect that the emails flooding my inbox — smiley faces, exclamation marks, and all — will keep coming.
Here’s the video:
Video courtesy of WhiteHouse.gov and YouTube. After the video playsthere may be several links presented to other videos. Om Sweet Om has no control over the selections presented and is notresponsible for their contents.
How’s this for an early Diwali gift for Hindu-Americans (and, perhaps, Hindus around the world): President Barack Obama lit a ceremonial diya (traditional candle) and delivered a characteristically smooth speech in which he declared that he was happy to join “some of the world’s greatest faiths” in celebrating a holiday that heralds “the triumph of good over evil.”
The ceremony – held Wednesday, October 14 in the White House’s stately (and aptly named) East Room – wasn’t the first time the White House held an official diya-lighting to honor Diwali, but it was the first one graced with the personal presence of the Commander-in-Chief himself.
And that, it seems, makes all the difference in the world.
To be fair, former president George W. Bush was the one who inaugurated the practice of a White House Diwali in the first place. But, fair or not, few remember or care about this bit of trivia; it was his conspicuous absence from the gathering year after year that many Hindus seemed to notice most. When they coupled Dubya’s failure to show up to the party with his uber-Christian leanings, some Hindus wondered whether the whole affair was a shallow overture, more of a diss than a distinction.
Two years ago, I attended the celebration myself. I have to admit, I was pretty stoked to find myself on the guest list. And standing in the stately (and ironically named) Indian Treaty Room wearing a dhoti (loose-fitting robes, often worn by Hindu priests), and anointed with bright Vaishnava tilak on my forehead, felt both exhilarating and disconcerting.
Here’s a nice group picture I found from that event:
Although a few of the women attending wore elegant saris, most of the other guests looked decidedly Washington DC – slightly wrinkled power-suit, loosened tie, the tell-tale harried-yet-sociable look of a lobbyist. As we sipped soft drinks and munched on catered vegetarian snacks, almost every conversation seemed to lead back to how disappointing it was that the President couldn’t be bothered to attend. My excitement began to wane. Soon enough, the president’s deputed aide arrived, and after a rather lackluster candle-lighting, delivered a speech that invoked Diwali but quickly launched into a gushing tribute to the US-India Nuclear Deal. My waning excitement just about sputtered out entirely, as I came face-to-face with my own naÃ¯vetÃ©: I had been expecting a spiritual celebration and a public acknowledgment of my faith; instead I got a front-row seat to an exercise in Indo-US realpolitik.
As exciting as the prospects of attending a White House Diwali had seemed, the reality didn’t quite deliver.
With this year’s celebration (which sadly I was not able to attend personally), things might be changing. Sure, on the one hand, the cynical side of me wonders how much the Diwali celebration was just window dressing for Obama’s decision to sign an order re-establishing the Asian-American and Pacific Islanders (AAPI) advisory commission.
On the other hand, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t won over by the president’s enthusiastic hands-on participation, flanked by traditional priest Pandit Narayanacharya Digalakote (sporting a huge tilak identifying him as a member of the Sri Vaishnava lineage, one of Hinduism’s most orthodox denominations) chanting Vedic mantras.
President Obama lights the diya, flanked by Pandit Narayanacharya Digalakote, who chanted the prayer “asato ma sad gamaya…” from the Bá¹›hadÄraá¹‡yaka Upaniá¹£ad
Sri Ganesh (also spelled Ganesa) is considered the lord of new beginnings. From the homemaker beginning her day, to the business owner commencing his account ledger, to the Bollywood director beginning the first scene of a movie shoot–they all turn to Ganesh. Hindus of all denominations and lineages invoke his name, and his status as the guardian of the threshold of a new opportunity seems to be universally accepted in the Hindu world. It is rare to find anyone who worships Ganesh as Supreme – most Hindus relegate him to the role of a devata (demigod), a divinely empowered being not unlike an archangel – but it is equally rare to find a Hindu who will neglect to first offer him due respects.
For me, born and raised in New York City (c. the early 1980s), Ganeshji (the -ji is a Sanskrit suffix of respect, and brings me back to a childhood where I wouldn’t dare to utter the name of a devata, or of a family elder for that matter, without adding the honorific) always posed a problem.