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The Jnaneshwari is no routine commentary upon the
Bhagavadgita: it is regarded as a classic of early Marathi literature on its own, writes
B.N. Goswamy
Working as I currently am on an exhibition of Indian manuscripts due to open later this year at the Frankfurt Book Fair, I am constantly learning, I find. And, in the process, becoming aware at the same time of how little we know of our own land, and how narrow are the grooves in which our minds, and our information, move. Did I know, for instance, that far away from our part of the country, in a picturesque little place called Alandi, near Pune, there is a hallowed text called the Jnaneshwari recitation of which has gone on by its devotees, uninterrupted, for the last seven hundred years or more? Or that the saint- poet, Jnanadeva, also called Jnaneshwar, who wrote that work in the 13th century as a commentary on the Bhagavadgita— he had named it Bhavartha Dipika, but everyone calls it the Jnaneshwari, after him— wrote it when he was less than sixteen years of age? Or, again, that Jnaneshwar was very close to another great Marathi saint, Namdeva, some of whose compositions find their place in the Guru Granth Sahib, and whose ashes lie buried under the doorstep of the temple of his favoured deity at Pandharpur, so that they keep being blessed by the feet of devout men? I confess I did not. All, or nearly all, that I carried in my head about Jnaneshwar till then were some faded childhood memories of a black and white film of that name—as a concession to us northerners it was titled Sant Gyaneshwar, not Jnaneshwar—in which a sweet-looking young boy wandered about from place to place carrying an ektara in his hand, and singing. But I decided to look things up when a colleague drew my attention to a fine painted leaf of the Jnaneshwari that he felt deserves to find a place in the show of manuscripts at Frankfurt. It is indeed a crisply painted folio, uncommonly large in size for Indian manuscripts, and filled not only with text and a principal illustration but a whole range of small vignettes of paintings interspersed with the text. The text is of course in Marathi but is not difficult to read. The more I looked at the page, the more engrossed I became in it, for the strategy of illustration was so different from the one ordinarily seen in Indian illustrated manuscripts. This led to further things: for instance to a whole set of two magnificent volumes of the Jnaneshwari, complete with a colophon—that gives details of who wrote it and when and for whom—which is now in the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts at Richmond in the United States. Joseph Dye, Curator of Indian Art in that Museum, and author of a fine catalogue of its Indian holdings, plans to write on these lavish volumes, but meanwhile, he has shared information with his readers. This work was scribed by "Narayana, assistant pupil of the officials Govindanatha and Srilakshmidarananda", he notes in his translation of the colophon, "for Sri Gopinatha’s son and for the future of the tradition of the Prakrita (Marathi) commentary, Jnaneshwari", in the Shaka year 1685, which works out to AD 1763, at Nagpur. So little do we know of 18th century work done at Nagpur, and so uncommon is the quality of this manuscript, that one will wait with great anticipation for that publication. Meanwhile, there are the few published leaves to build one’s thoughts upon. The Jnaneshwari is no routine commentary upon the Bhagavadgita: it is regarded as a classic of early Marathi literature on its own, intensely poetic and shot through with insights of great brilliance. The Gita, as the great Sanskrit work is often simply called, is not an easy text but, as Jnaneshwar himself noted: "As a generous giver refuses no one, it gives nothing less than final liberation to one who reads, hears, or understands it." His aim, however, was to bring its philosophy and its subtle layering of meaning within the reach of the common man who understood no Sanskrit and few metaphors. In his own work therefore he set about to ‘simplify it’ without losing anything of the original meaning or its poetic quality. What he turned out in the process was then "a marvellous text, a tremendous sustained sermon on life with a sweep and gusto, a piling on of imagery, and a development of simile that is almost numbing in its power", as a discerning critic wrote describing the Jnaneshwari. One can here cite only an example or two. The eleventh chapter of the Bhagavadgita which contains one of the most impassioned descriptions to be found anywhere of the Cosmic Form of God – the Vishwarupa – is filled with image after image, reference upon reference, trying to communicate to Arjuna, and to us, the essential nature of the godhead, the immanence of it all. To Arjuna who stands seeing this vision filled with "the light of a thousand suns piled upon another thousand suns", this personification of "all Time, Past, Present and Future", the Truth is revealed in one dazzling instant, but understanding cannot keep pace with it. Slowly, therefore, things are explained further, first in the text, and then in the great commentary. Jnaneshwar must have spoken to his listeners as he wrote: interpreting things, in a gentle voice, using images from ordinary, daily life. Every shloka is broken up into small fragments and practically every word is elucidated. What is the Meru mountain that the Lord likens himself to; who are the eight Vasus; how is Shankara the chief among the Rudras; what is the love of the chakravaka birds, and so on. And what does the artist do on his own part? Completely breaking free of the rules of how each page is to be composed, he varies the size of images; interrupts the text to introduce an easily understood icon; moves from region to region, space to space, almost at will. Creating in the process a wonderful melange of text and image, without, however, almost in the manner of Jnaneshwar himself, losing anything of the poetic quality of the text, or its subtleties. Everything is brought within easy reach; every vignette is a complete picture in itself. It is a virtuoso performance, almost worthy of the great work.
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