On the Method of Oru Moḷi in a Sri Lankan Hindu Tradition

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Summā irukka vaittān suttirattai nān ariyen, 

Ammā porul ithena adaiya vilunginandi!

Made in silence simply to be, the secret I do not know; 

When I came to know the meaning, alas, it has swallowed me! 

-Pattinattar 

CONTENTS 

1. Introduction
2. Mantra: The Word in Hindu Doctrine
3. Sandhā Bhāṣā: Intentional Language
4. Oru Moḷi: ‘A Single Utterance’ 
5. Yoga Swami: An Oru Moḷi Tradition
6. Conclusion
7. Notes 

I. Introduction 

A brief survey of both the major and minor religions of the world shows the universal importance attached to the revealed Word. The phenomenal world is seen to be in constant flux, but truths expressed in words are felt to be immortal, in spite of the very fleeting quality of the word–as soon as one hears it, already it is gone. The Semitic religions, each of which has its sacred Book, share a common reverence for sacred utterances, especially when they are repeated in the language in which they were originally set forth. Among the major world religions, however, it is probably Hinduism which has had the most sustained and manifold interest in the nature of the word (Skt. nāda or śabda). A mystic science of sound (nāda or vidyā) developed even in Vedic times, and ever since it has been not simply tolerated and regarded as the lunatic fringe of the religion, but rather has held the highest place in regard by orthodox Hindus, for ‘sound’ or rather the principle of sound, is considered to be among the most subtle manifestations of God (nāda brahma, ‘sound as God’). 

This paper will explore but one of the innumerable traditions (paramparā, lit. from one to another) or lineages which have evolved over the centuries, shaping in their course the manner in which one-fifth of mankind apprehends reality. That paramparā is preserved in Tamil, the classical language of Dravidian (i.e. south) India, and is still extant today in Tamil Nadu and especially in the Tamil portion of Sri Lanka.  The literature on this paramparā is scarce, even in Tamil, and that dealing directly with the topic of this paper is non-existent, at least in European languages. I rely for this study on accounts related to me by individuals in Sri Lanka and Tamil Nadu over a period from 1971 to 1984, and on a modern anthology published in Tamil of the relevant songs of the great medieval poets of the Tamil country. This paper, therefore, may be regarded as a preliminary reconnaissance of a little-studied area. Accordingly, its methodology and conclusions should be regarded as tentative at best. 

II. Mantra: The Word in Hindu Doctrine 

For Hindus, the highest manifestation of sound is expressed through the Vedas, whose origins are supernatural or non-human (apauruśeya). Revelation for them means being śruti (‘heard’) and means that, rather than having been once uttered and ever since preserved by men, instead they are eternal resonances which express the truth (satyam) and may even today be perceived by those whose heart (or ‘divine ear’) is sufficiently purified. Mantra originally meant those portions of the Vedas which are to be recited during sacrifice. The term consists of the root man, which means to think or imagine, and the suffix -tra, a nominal ending which makes the word function as an instrument or tool. In other words, a mantra is a mental tool or means for focusing the mind. That is, the importance of a mantra is believed to lie not in its structure (for satyam, or truth, may be expressed in countless ways) but rather in its function, in its ability to elicit a desired frame of mind apart from whatever ideas might happen to be the current objects of thought. In the tantric literature, mantra is analysed as a combination of the roots man (to think) and trai (to liberate), suggesting that a mantra is that which, when meditated upon, liberates.1 While less plausible as a genuine etymology, this interpretation does specify the ultimate purpose of a mantra as it came to be understood in later Hinduism. 

The literature dealing with mantras is immense, reflecting the vital role which it is perceived to play not in just a few schools of Hinduism, but across the entire spectrum of Hindu belief and practice down through the ages. Often one can infer the sect to which a Hindu belongs just from knowing the mantra which he or she recites mentally only or audibly as well. Nowadays, most Hindus are of devotional temperament, so for them a mantra is understood to be an appellation of God and a means for fixing one’s mind upon Him. In any study of mantra, it is crucial to note that it can only legitimately be obtained from a preceptor (guru) who or herself has received the mantra from a previous guru. One is not considered to be connected to a tradition (paramparā) until one has received initiation (abhiśekha or dikṣa), preceded sometimes by upadeśa or preliminary instruction. Without such a connection to a living tradition, the mantra is said to be ineffectual. 

III. Sandha Bhāṣā or Intentional Language 

Somewhat different from the concept of mantra, but still relying heavily upon the same theoretical foundation, is the concept of sandhā bhāṣā or ‘intentional language’. Maurice Winternitz, writing in 1933, was perhaps the first scholar to understand this obscure term as ‘intentional language’, which he defined as “enigmatical speech in which a secret meaning is intended.”2 Notable scholars who have addressed the issue since then include Mircea Eliade, Anagarika Govinda and Agehananda Bharati; Bharati’s opus magnus The Tantric Tradition contains the most thorough treatment of the subject to date. 3 

Early scholars read the term as sandhyā bhāṣā, or ‘twilight language’, and even in recent times Anagarika Govinda suggests such a reading, which “indicates that its words bear a double meaning, in accordance with whether they are understood in their ordinary or in their mystic sense.”4 But Eliade 5 has demonstrated convincingly, and Bharati and others concur with him, that Vidhuśekar Shastri was correct in 1928 when he identified the term as based on a śortened form of the word sandhāya, which may be translated as ‘aiming at’, ‘having in view’ or ‘intending’. 6 

Apart from the meaning of the term itself, there are a number of views about the purpose of such enigmatic language. Significantly, the term is associated with tantrism, as most Indian pandits assume that it is employed to disguise such teachings as may be resented by the orthodox public.7 Other scholars are of the view that its purpose was to prevent the non-initiate from dabbling in or misusing the described practices. 8 Bharati further suggests that sandhā bhāṣā may have been used facetiously, to flaunt the tantrics’ heresy. 9 

Regarding the purpose of sandhā bhāṣā, the last word has been given by Eliade. His chapter on ‘intentional language’ deserves to be quoted at length: 

Tantric texts are often composed in an ‘intentional language’, a secret, dark, ambiguous language in which a state of consciousness is expressed by an erotic term and the vocabulary of mythology or cosmology is charged with hatha yogic or sexual meanings. 10

Sandhā bhāṣā serves not only to conceal tantric practices from the uninitiated, Eliade wrote, but more importantly “it seeks to project the yogi into the “paradoxical situation” indispensable to his training”.11 I believe that Eliade here has put his finger on the heart of the matter, for, like mantra, sandhā bhāṣā is not just a way to communicate but rather is part and parcel of the tantric practitioner’s sādhana or discipline. Our internal and external dialogues describe and sustain our perceptual and conceptual environment. The ambiguity of intentional language is purposeful, for it substitutes our usual system of concrete references with a semantic polyvalence of words. The result is a destruction of ordinary language, which in turn breaks down our usual semantic universe. The tantric aspirant learns first to step foot in another plane and finally to move freely between planes without attachment. When he has arrived at that state, then he is a siddha, one who is accomplished or perfected. In a sense, he witnesses the creation and destruction of whole universes. These universes, which he recognizes as projections of his own mind, are no longer ‘hard’ realities to him; they are soft and mutable. 

IV. Oru Moḷi: ‘A Single Utterance’ 

The concept of oru moḷi, literally ‘one saying’ or ‘single utterance’, is not new in Tamil literature, for it appears several times in the devotional songs of the Shaiva Nayanars, who date from the early Christian era. In each instance, it is used in the technical sense of an utterance handed down from one’s preceptor which, when its deepest secret is penetrated, purifies the soul of ignorance and acts as the gateway to final emancipation. The following verse by Thāyumānavar both largely defines oru moḷi and expresses high regard for its efficacy: 

Oru moḷiye pala moḷikkum iaan kodukkum, antha 

Oru moḷiye malam olikkum olikkum, ena moḷintha 

Gurumoḷiye, malaiyilakku, marrai moḷi ellam 

Kodinri vaddadal kolvathokkum kanday. 

One Word, a wondrous Word, there is Which in itself contains all other words. 

By it is cleansed the soul of all its stains. 

It is the Word the guru gave, one Word, unmoving goal, fixed as a mountaintop is firm, towards which moves the soul. 

All other words beside it are as vain, devoid of aim, as are the pawns at random moved, moved in an aimless game. 10  

-Thāyumānavar, 186 

One might infer from this verse that the term oru moḷi is equivalent to mantra. But there are important differences. For the elements of a mantra may or may not bear a syntactic relationship to each other, but those of oru moḷi must. And unlike a mantra, whose elements are usually meaningless syllables, an oru moḷi also displays a semantic structure. That is, meaning(s) may be inferred both of the utterance taken as a whole and of its separate components or words. 

V. Yoga Swami: An Oru Moḷi Tradition 

Perhaps the best documented use of oru moḷi in modern times is found in the life of Yoga Swami of Colombuthurai, a suburb of Jaffna in the far northern peninsula of Sri Lanka. Born in 1872, he passed away only in 1964 at the age of nearly ninety two. Significantly, he received the rudiments of an ‘English education in a Christian missionary school and had a good knowledge of the English language. As a young man, he worked for several years with the Public Works Department before meeting his guru, Chellappā Swami, and soon giving up everything to follow him. 

Chellappā Swami was usually to be found near the great Shiva temple of Nallur, the old capital of former Tamil kingdoms. His favorite haunt was the large building used to store the massive ‘car’ on which the deity was taken in procession annually. Dressed in rags and begging for his food, Chellappā Swami would sit on the steps of the building and do nothing. He was regarded by most people as mad, for he would throw stones at anyone who would try to approach him and abuse them in obscene language. His own guru, Kadai Swami (lit. ‘lord of the bazaar’, so called because he constantly roamed the market place) was of an even wilder demeanor and behavior, and was known to physically assault people at times. 

Chellappā Swami could be heard muttering to himself, sometimes for weeks or months, the same thing (oru moḷi). Four such utterances are known to us, for they came to be part of Yogaswami’s discipline or sādhana. They have come to be known as mahāvākyas (Skt. ‘great sayings’), a prestigious term which however draws attention away from the functional quality of an oru moḷi, for they are statements pregnant with several levels of interpretation which function much in the manner of mantras. Chellappā Swami’s four Great Sayings are as follows: 13 

• Oru pollāpum illai. “There is nothing wrong.” 
• Nām ariyom. “We (inclusive) don’t know.” 
• Eppavo mudintha kariyam. “It is complete/accomplished from the very beginning (lit. ‘since when?’).”
• Muluthum unmai. “Truth, truth everywhere; all is truth.” 

More Utterances of Chellappā Swami (Guru Moli)

An elucidation of the yogic or psychological implications of each of these utterances will follow in later papers. What is of interest to us here is that these utterances are not expressed in lofty technical or metaphysical language, but in the ordinary vernacular of everyday parlance. Those souls who were persistent enough (or simple hearted enough) to manage to engage Chellappā Swami or later Yoga Swami in a dialogue would frequently find these expressions as an integral part of the discussion, in either a worldly or other-worldly context, depending on how one chose to understand it. Just what Chellappā Swami meant often did not occur to people until much later. In the case of the followers of Yoga Swami, they at times had to ponder on a saying of his for months or even years before understanding it. 

It is here that we begin to see a resemblance between oru moḷi and sandha bhāṣā. Both may be understood on either literal or metaphorical levels. The literal understanding may make per-fect sense in the social context, or it may sound absurd or socially unacceptable. Both function to project the aspirant’s mind onto an ideal plane and eventually to shatter the barriers which separate those planes, i.e. to demonstrate the nonduality of consciousness which is freed of conceptualization. 

However, there are limits to this presumed similarity as well. For oru moḷi is not a coded language; its meaning can be inferred without need of ‘translation’. In fact, it is held that a ‘single utterance’ is most effective when it is not explained, that is, when the aspirant through observation and reflection arrives at an understanding by him or herself. This is just the opposite of sandhā bhāṣā, which must be interpreted for the aspirant by the preceptor. Further, one is not ‘flaunting’ anything in employing an oru moḷi, for they appear as sober, common enough comments in an everyday context. 

As an example of the multi-valence of an oru moḷi, take the following incident related about one of the followers of Yoga Swami. This aspirant was especially eager to spend time in Yoga Swami’s company and to have his darśana (Skt. ‘vision’). But for some reason, each time he came to Yoga Swami’s compound (Skt. āśrama, usually a walled garden with living quarters), the sage would abuse him and order him out, saying “Get out, and don’t come back!” (“Veliye poy thirumbi varāthe!”). Yoga Swami would then hustle him out through the compound gate and slam it behind him. The poor aspirant once scaled the walls and came back, only to receive a thrashing and be kicked out once again. It was only after a long time that the inner meaning of Yoga Swami’s utterance became clear. 

Veli means ‘outside’, any open area, but it is also employed in the sense of the ‘Open or Pure Void’. To ‘come back’ in Hinduism means to be reborn. Thus, the deeper sense of this oru moḷi is that Yoga Swami was bidding him to realize the ultimate Reality and to stop the cycle of transmigration. In fact, once he understood this meaning of the saying, he found that he was welcome in Yoga Swami’s compound.14 

Before concluding this paper, mention should be made of that oru moḷi which is considered to be the most potent or profound of all, namely summā iru. Iru is the second person singular non-respective imperative of the verb meaning to be or sit; hence “Be!” or “Exist!”. To translate summā, however, is a more difficult task, for it has many shades of meaning depending on the context, but generally it means something like ‘simply’, ‘only’, ‘naked’, ‘still’, ‘quiet’ or ‘idle’. A mother quiets her unruly child with ‘summā iru‘: ‘Hush and be still!’ One who is playing or acting with no purpose in mind is said to be summā. Tea without cream or sugar, i.e. unembellished, is summā. One who is destitute is summā. 

In the context of yoga, to be summā (summā irukka) means to abandon all pretext and ambition, to be simple as a child and to have a mind which is like the clear sky through which thoughts float like unto clouds, totally unobstructed and spontaneous. It is not a state of withdrawal, quietude or stupor, but a state of stillness,as in the biblical injunction “Be still, and know that I am God!” It is the state of sahaja (Skt. ‘co-emergent’) or spontaneity in which the siddha is freed not only of all social conventions, but ultimately of the limitations of individuality itself. No longer can anything harm him, for he has arrived at an inner state of utmost simplicity which is untouched by the contingencies of the phenomenal world. He acts as he pleases, and whatever happens, happens right (‘Oru pollāppum illai’). 

Hence, summā iru is both the oru moḷi par excellence and the goal of an aspirant’s sādhana; it is the means and the end in itself. For one who is summā, the meaning of all the oru moḷis becomes perfectly transparent. Indeed, even the profane speech and actions of the multitudes is seen to reflect universal truths. He loses the distinctions of sacred and profane, of self and other, of mukti and samsāra, yet mysteriously his personality remains and he goes on acting in the world as if it were a play. 

VI. Conclusion 

I have sought in the preceding pages to demonstrate the concept of mantra, as broad and multi-faceted as it is, still does not embrace all the possibilities which Hinduism has developed to use the Word to effect ultimate emancipation of the soul. Sandha bhāṣā, or ‘intentional language’, creates through language a parallel universe of discourse, thought and action, after whose creation all ‘universes’ are seen as relative constructs of mind. Oru moḷi, or ‘a single utterance’, an even less studied linguistic tool for achieving salvation, is found to be a method related to, but distinct from, both of the above traditional techniques. I suggest that it represents an aspect of South Asian studies which is worthy of serious scholarly attention. 

NOTES 

1. S.B. Dasgupta, Aspects of Indian Religious Thought, A. Mukherjee & Co., Calcutta 1957, p. 22. 
2. Maurice Winternitz, History of Indian Literature, University of Calcutta 1933, Vol. II p. 392. 
3. Agehananda Bharati, The Tantric Tradition, Rider & Co. London 1965, pp. 164-184. 
4. Anagarika Govinda, Foundations of Tibetan Mysticism, Rider & Co.,London 1961, p. 53. 
5. Mircea Eliade, Yoga Immortality and Freedom, Bollingen Series LVI, Pantheon Books, New York 1958, pp. 249-254. 
6. Vidhushekar Shastri, “Sandhabhāṣā”, in Indian Historical Quarterly, IV, 2 (1928), pp. 287-296. 
7. Agehananda Bharati, The Tantric Tradition, p. 168. 
8. Anagarika Govinda, Foundations of Tibetan Mysticism, p. 46. 
9. Agehananda Bharati, The Tantric Tradition, pp. 170-172. 
10. Mircea Eliade, Yoga Immortality and Freedom, p. 249. 
11. Op. cit. p. 250. 
12. Manuscript copy of translation by Swami Gauribāla Giri, Jaffna 1950. 
13. Hon. Lord Soulbury, Foreward to Natchintanai: Songs  and Sayings of Yogaswami, Thirumakal Press, Jaffna 1974, pp. xxxiii-xxxv. 
14. Oral account given to researcher. 

1985 article by Patrick Harrigan