By Ravindra Svarupa dasa
In Sanskrit the word haṁsa is the name for both a bird and an advanced yogī. The bird has such estimable qualities that its very name became applied to the spiritual practitioner.
In English, Prabhupāda followed a well-established convention and rendered haṁsa as “swan.” The advanced yogī or devotee is accordingly “swan-like.”
For example, Prabhupāda once remarked, in reference to his disciples: “So Kṛṣṇa consciousness means swan-like, they should be like swans. Their behavior should be like swans. They should live in clean place, at refreshing place.”
In this second usage, haṁsa has probably become most generally encountered when prefixed by the superlative parama, meaning “highest,” best,” and so on. Strictly speaking, paramahaṁsa denotes the highest of the four ranks of sannyāsa (see ŚBh 5.1.27, purport), but it is used in more general sense to describe the best of the sages or devotees.
We often see the word placed as a title before the names of a variety of spiritual teachers.
If dedicated transcendentalists are compared to swans, it should come as no surprise that committed materialists are likened to crows. The Bhāgavatam (1.5.10) describes worldly literature as vāyasaṁ tīrtham—a pilgrimage site for crows, that is to say, a garbage pile. In his commentary to this text, Prabhupāda elaborates on the bird metaphor:
Crows and swans are not birds of the same feather because of their different mental attitudes. The fruitive workers or passionate men are compared to the crows, whereas the all-perfect saintly persons are compared to the swans. The crows take pleasure in a place where garbage is thrown out, just as the passionate fruitive workers take pleasure in wine and woman and places for gross sense pleasure. The swans do not take pleasure in the places where crows are assembled for conferences and meetings. They are instead seen in the atmosphere of natural scenic beauty where there are transparent reservoirs of water nicely decorated with stems of lotus flowers in variegated colors of natural beauty. That is the difference between the two classes of birds.
A special talent traditionally attributed to the haṁsa is said to be the basis of the extension of the avian name to a spiritually advanced person. Prabhupāda explains (Kṛṣṇa chapter 85):
The word paramahaṁsa mentioned here means “the supreme swan.” It is said that the swan can draw milk from a mixture of milk and water; it can take only the milk portion and reject the watery portion. Similarly, a person who can draw out the spiritual portion from this material world and who can live alone, depending only on the Supreme Spirit, not on the material world, is called a paramahaṁsa.
Even one of the avatāras of the Lord bears the name “Haṁsa.”
Therefore, after all this, it may come as a shock to discover that the avian haṁsa is, in fact, a goose—in taxonomical nomenclature, the anser indicus, known otherwise as the “bar-headed goose.”
As we shall see, the haṁsa—the anser indicus—is an extraordinary, amazing bird fully qualified to give its name to great devotees and even to the Lord himself. So why then the English “swan?”
The reason can only be that in English-speaking countries, the goose has long been the subject of very bad p.r. So much so, that the very word “goose” has come to be synonymous with “fool” or “idiot.”
Even proverbially, the goose has suffered invidious comparison with the swan, as, for example, in this still remembered observation—made in 1786—by Horace Walpole, Fourth Earl of Oxford, concerning the painter Sir Joshua Reynolds : “All his own geese are swans, as the swans of others are geese.”
Two centuries later, the goose received the same unfavorable evaluation in popular lines by Charles Kingsley:
When all the world is young, lad,
And all the trees are green;
And every goose a swan, lad,
And every lass a queen. . . .
It’s no wonder, then, that the only good translation, connotatively speaking, for haṁsa is “swan.” It’s a no-brainer, really: Consider the expressions “goose-like great sage,” or “top-most goose-like devotee.” They just don’t do the job.
Nevertheless, it is time we end this historic discrimination and rehabilitate the goose. Especially the haṁsa. Of course, this effort was pioneered in the celebrated 2001 documentary Winged Migration, in which the haṁsa itself takes a cameo star-turn (see the beginning of Chapter 7 in the DVD).
The actual haṁsa—anser indicus or bar-headed goose—is in its own right the perfect emblem and symbol for the greatest of transcendentalists.
Like the swan (Cygnus), it is beautiful . . .
. . . and likewise graceful in water:
In fact, you can see from this photograph why Europeans could take the haṁsa for a kind of swan.
In flight, the haṁsa is spectacular:
Interestingly, the Wikipedia article notes of the haṁsa: “It has sometimes been separated from Anser, which has no other member indigenous to the Indian region, nor any at all to the Ethiopian, Australian, or Neotropical regions, and placed in the monotypic genus Eulabeia.”
A “mon0typic genus” is a genus that contains only one species. In other words, the haṁsa is in a class by itself. And not a goose (Anser). I don’t know who came up with the name Eulabeia, but it is appropriate: According to a lexicon of New Testament Greek, eulabia means “reverence toward God.”
Haṁsas are “super birds,” in the judgment of S. Marsh Tenney, a professor of physiology who has studied them extensively. “They do everything even better than other birds.” He is quoted in an article in Audubon magazine by Lily Whiteman, who gives quite an account of the birds’ annual prodigious feat:
At 29,028 feet, Mount Everest is tall enough to poke into the jet stream, a high-altitude river of wind that blows at speeds of more than 200 miles an hour. Temperatures on the mountain can plummet low enough to freeze exposed flesh instantly. Its upper reaches offer only a third of the oxygen available at sea level—so little that if you could be transported instantly from sea level to Everest’s summit, without time to acclimatize, you would probably lose consciousness within minutes. Kerosene cannot burn here; helicopters cannot fly here. Yet every spring, flocks of bar-headed geese—the world’s highest-altitude migrants—fly from their winter feeding grounds in the lowlands of India through the Himalayan range, sometimes even directly above Everest, on their way to their nesting grounds in Tibet. Then every fall these birds retrace their route to India. With a little help from tailwinds, they may be able to cover the one-way trip—more than 1,000 miles—in a single day.
In other words, the haṁsa when migrating flies at about the normal cruising altitude for passenger jets.
Moreover, by using tailwinds, the geese capitalize on weather that could pulverize lesser creatures. “These birds are powerful flappers, not soarers that just glide with the wind,” says M.R. Fedde, an emeritus professor of anatomy and physiology at Kansas State University’s School of Veterinary Medicine, who has conducted laboratory studies of the bar-headed goose’s respiratory system. Partly because their wings are huge, have a disproportionately large surface area for their weight, and are pointed to reduce wind resistance, “they can fly over 50 miles an hour on their own power,” Fedde says. “Add the thrust of tailwinds of perhaps 100 miles an hour if they are lucky, and these birds really move.” Able to gauge and correct for drift, bar-headed geese can even fly in crosswinds without being blown off course. The same powerful and unremitting flapping that helps propel them over the mountains also generates body heat, which is retained by their down feathers. This heat, in turn, helps keep ice from building up on their wings.
(Here is the complete article, with more wonders of the bird and some speculation so far-fetched it only deepens the mysteries of the haṁsa.)
We hear of great yogīs and sages in past ages retiring to the Himalayan mountain fastness to practice severe austerities as they sought the divine in profound and prolonged meditation. It is said that by power of yoga practice, these paramahaṁsas could greatly reduce their respiration, thereby slowing their metabolism; they could at will increase their bodily heat. Thus remaining in a remote place which provided them with neither air, nor food, nor heat, they pursued their spiritual goal with unwavering determination.
(By the way: Even though we can hardly imitate them today, we can apply their principles practically—at least according to the directions of Bhāgavad-gītā, which set forth what is, in effect, a domestication of the path of transcendence. You don’t have to go to the Himalayas: you can do it right at home.)
Yet even for us, the prodigious, Himalayan-traversing haṁsa is a fitting emblem and symbol for the paramahaṁsa, the great, heroic athletes of the spirit in whose footsteps we should follow. Let us therefore cherish the memory not only of the human paramahaṁsa but of the bird haṁsa as well.
And compared to the haṁsa, the swan is nothing but a goose.
Vaisesika told me recently that he spoke to the head of the Botany department at a major university, who also (not surprisingly) happened to know something about zoology.
When Vaisesika told him that swans are said to be able to extract milk from water, this scientist said he knew very well that swans can do that, and went on to explain how they do it: They have an enzyme in their beak which curdles the proteins in the milk-water mixture. The swan then swallows the curds and spits back out the liquid.
It is interesting to hear that “hamsas” are in fact not truly European swans (Cygnus) but are a kind of goose (Anser) indigenous to India. I suppose these bar-headed geese also have the ability to extract milk from water. Perhaps all swans and geese have this extraordinary ability. I never looked it up.
One thing about the geese I have encountered in Europe and North America, though: They have rather quarrelsome dispositions. They will not hesitate to bite a child who comes to play with them. This is another aspect of how they differ from the beautiful European swans, who so majestically float on the water, and another reason why Europeans have glorified swans and maligned geese. (The honking voice of geese can also be annoying).
I hope the bar-headed geese are more like the Cygnus and not the Anser in these respects (although they may be classified in modern taxonomy as a kind of Anser).
Another question arises: How do we know for sure that the Anser Indicus, which is known as the hamsa today, is the same as the hamsa that Narada Muni was talking about in the Srimad Bhagavatam? Don’t people also call the Cygnus “hamsa”?
One might object, mundane historical zoologists believe there were no Cygnae in ancient India, but the “Anser” (sorry) to this objection is that Narada Muni travels through all time and space and is familiar with every species of life. Besides, mundane historical zoologists have no good way of knowing what birds frequented the hermitages of India 5,000 years ago.
Of course, neither do I. Before reading this article I had never heard of the “anser indicus” and had no idea that they were called hamsas. I always had an image of a majestic, white cygnus in my mind when I heard someone say “hamsa”, and this was confirmed for me in the iconography of ISKCON that I became familiar with.
Its disappointing but I guess it doesn’t matter whether a “hamsa” is really a cygnus. The real point is it is not like a crow.
According to Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swan):
“Swans are revered in many religions and cultures, especially Hinduism. The Sanskrit word for swan is hamsa or hansa, and it is the vehicle of many deities like the goddess Saraswati. It is mentioned several times in the Vedic literature, and persons who have attained great spiritual capabilities are sometimes called Paramahamsa (“Great Swan”) on account of their spiritual grace and ability to travel between various spiritual worlds. In the Vedas, swans are said to reside in the summer on Lake Manasarovar and migrate to Indian lakes for the winter, eat pearls, and separate milk from water in a mixture of both. Hindu iconography typically shows the Mute Swan. It is wrongly supposed by many historians that the word hamsa only refers to a goose, since today swans are no longer found in India, not even in most zoos. However, ornithological checklists clearly classify several species of swans as vagrant birds in India.”
I think the jury is still out whether the word “hamsa” may only properly be applied to the anser indicus or “bar-headed goose.”
Not to malign that wonderful, high-flying creature, who can cover its 1,000 migration in just one day by taking advantage of the jet stream.
I cannot say I know for certain whether Lord Brahma rides on a cygnus swan or an anser indicus bar-headed goose, or on some other swan-like bird (I imagine that whatever he or she is, Lord Brahma’s carrier is much bigger than the swans or geese known to modern bird-watchers.)
The same goes for other celestial beings like Airavata, Ucchaisrava, Nandisvara, Vasuki, etc. They are probably somewhat different in many respects from the elephants, horses, bulls and serpents we are likely to encounter in our earthly experience.
What do you say, Ravindra Swarup Prabhu? Did you hear from some infallible source that the Sanskrt word “hamsa” only refers to the bar-headed goose?
At first blush this article about geese and swans may seem a light-hearted diversion from our usual preoccupation with more weighty philosophical subjects. However, it indirectly raises the important issue of learning by hearing from infallible authorities.
I once asked Drutakarma Prabhu about why we claim certain recipes to be favorites of Lord Krishna, when empirical historians say that the ingredients such as chiles, potatoes, tomatoes, etc. were only recently imported to India in the past five or so centuries and before that were unknown there.
Rather than answer my question, Drutakarma chastised me for asking a question that could destroy the faith of simple devotees. But I responded that the reason I had asked him was that I believed him to be especially qualified to destroy the doubts that could trouble and hinder such faith, and he seemed to be satisfied with my response.
Of course, his books about physical anthropology and the sociology of scientific knowledge had already begun to skewer my doubts before I even asked the question.
Some leading devotees have raised concerns about our ability to know what kind of clothes Krishna wore, what He ate, the architecture of His dwelling places and so on. Modern Hindu iconography and traditions reflect non-Vedic influences, particularly in the north of India where so many Muslim dynasties held power for so long. In the modern world of jumbo jets, internet and satellite TV, hardly any part of the globe is free from the influence of numerous cultures. So hasn’t the notion of what is truly “Vedic” or what things were like in Satya yuga or even Dvapara yuga been lost to antiquity?
However, we need not trouble ourselves with such concerns. For one thing, Krishna is the Lord of the Universe and He created everything. He inspired Moorish architects and Inuit mask makers, and there is no cultural expression that is foreign to Him.
Fon another, we can know for certain that devotees like His Divine Grace A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, Srila Bhaktivinode Thakur and Srila Rupa Goswami are eternal associates of Krishna constantly dwell in His lila. They know exactly what it is like, but rather than try to give descriptions we could not understand, they offer to engage us in practices that we help us progress to the point where we can see for ourselves.
It is similar to the “moon landing” issue. Our faith should be reposed in those whose knowledge comes from the infallible realm.
Once I asked Srila Hrdayananda Maharaja about the “Bhoga Arati” song by Bhaktivinode Thakur. There, the great acarya is telling us about many kinds of preparations Srimati Radharani and Mother Yasoda offer to satisfy the senses of Lord Krishna. Maharaja astonishingly told me that Bhaktivinode was not describing the cuisine of Vrndavana 5,000 years ago, but of 19th century Bengalis.
After mulling over this response, which I am still not sure I have digested, I decided that even if that were true, whatever Bhaktivinode Thakur chose to describe was actually enjoyed by Krishna, and was perfectly suited for my contemplation of the delicacies Krishna feasted on.
Bhaktivinode Thakur was certainly aware of the unlimited kinds of palatable foodstuffs and unlimited architecture and clothing that Krishna’s internal energy provides for His transcendental enjoyment, but out of all that, the Thakur has chosen to describe this particularly sweet scene of Krishna’s meal, which fully satisfies us to meditate on.
Empirical historians have no conception of infallible, limitless truth. They only believe what they can surmise based on the data provided to their blunt material senses, and the fantasies they assemble from such raw materials cannot bring them to the platform of perfect knowledge.
I do not mean to rain on their endeavors. Let them go on trying to explain the world according to their lights. Gross sense perception, though inferior, is nonetheless an important source of knowledge everyone must rely on to some extent or another.
However, we should offer them a glimpse of the infinitely superior, self-illuminated information that is descending from the spiritual world through the disciplic succession.
Once upon a time Catholic cardinals ridiculed Galileo for using a telescope to understand the heavens. This was the method of craftsmen, of lens grinders and goldsmiths and blacksmiths. These arts have their place, but they do not reveal God.
Modern scientists ridicule these cardinals without percieving the wisdom of their critique. In the modern world, philosophers have been reduced to the role of blacksmiths’ apprentices, though they are meant for glimpsing higher truths.
We idealize philosophers as rugged individualists, but most people behave like flocks of geese, drafting off the wingspray of other thinkers.
Our task is to encourage them to join the migration of celestial swans to higher realms.
I could not but help but remember H.C.Andersen , ” The Ugly Duckling”, where someone appears to just be an ugly duckling when in reality he is really a swan..a Hamsa,
Wether the Indian Swan is similar to the western is not really my concern-but just like in the fairytale of H.C.Andersen , Srila Prabhupada actually turned Ugly Ducklings into
Swans.Srila Prabhupada said this is my real mystic power.
Jaya Srila Prabhupada
Now regarding the claims about the Bhoga artik song not being in line with Krsnas actual breakfast ,lets analyze it here is the translation of the song
4) They are then served a feast of sukta and various kinds of green leafy vegetables, then nice fried things, and a salad made of the green leaves of the jute plant. They are also served pumpkin, baskets of fruit, small square cakes made of lentils and cooked down milk, then thick yogurt, squash cooked in milk, and vegetable preparations made from the tower of the banana tree.
5) Then they receive fried squares of mung dahl patties, and urad dahl patties, capatis, and rice with ghee. Next, sweets made with milk, sugar and sesamum, rice flour cakes; thick cooked-down milk; cakes floating in milk; and sweet rice.
6) There is also sweet rice that tastes just like nectar due to its being mixed with camphor. There are bananas, and cheese which is nectarean and delicious. They are also served twelve kinds of sour preparations made with tamarinds, limes, lemons, oranges, and pomegranates.
7) There are puns made with white flour and sugar; puns filled with cream; laddus; and dahl patties boiled in sugared rice. Krsna eagerly eats all of the food.
8) In great ecstasy and joy Krsna eats the rice, curried vegetables, sweets, and pastries cooked by Srimati Radharani.
9) Krsna’s funny brahmana friend Madhumangala, who is very fond of Laddus, gets them by hook or by crook. Eating the laddus he shouts, “Haribol! Haribol!~’ and makes a funny sound by swapping his sides under his armpits with his hands.
10) Beholding Radharani and Her gopifriends out of the courters of His eyes, Krsna eats at the house of mother Yasoda with great satisfaction.
Having compared it with the description of Krsnas breakfast lilas from Govinda Lilamrta by Krsna das Kaviraja and from Krsna Bhavanamrta by Srila Visvanatha Chakravati Tahkura –Bhaktivinoda Thakura has not made up anything.It is the same that is being offered to Krsna.
Thanks, Payonidhi Prabhu, for pointing out that the foodstuffs described by Bhaktivinoda Thakur were previously described by Krishnadas Kaviraja Goswami and Visvanatha Cakravarthy Thakur. This should establish, even to the most diehard empiricist historian, that the meal described predated 19th century Bengali cuisine, and was nearly identical to a meal described three centuries earlier.
It still might not satisfy the skeptic that it was the same as a meal from 5,000 years ago.
Of course, why should we care about the skeptic? We simply accept the acaryas, and have compassion on the poor skeptics.
I guess the problem is, to be really compassionate in a skeptical world, we need to find the right way to destroy their various doubts, which are just like demons that may impede their ability to surrender to Krishna and chant His names with real feeling.
Of course if they were honest, mundane historians would admit that they know virtually nothing about the India of 3,000 BCE. (They are apt, however, to try to fit their concept of historical Krishna-era India into their notions about world history based on archeological evidence and assumptions about the laws of nature and human society.)
Has anyone read Shukavak Prabhu’s book “Hindu Encounter With Modernity — Kedarnath Datta Bhaktivinoda, Vaisnava Theologian”?
It is a very interesting book that gives a thoughtful analysis of the life and teachings of the great acarya. In it, he describes how the Thakur dealt philosophically with the problem of presenting Krishna consciousness to modern intellectuals and non-Hindus. It is too big of a subject for a Dandavats comment, but seems appropriate to the discussion.
Shukavak writes:
“Bhaktivinoda sees mystics such as Vyasadeva and Jayadeva as spiritual artists. In sahaja-samadhi (mystic trance), these mystics have a vision of the cit realm and then return to paint spiritual landscapes using the words and concepts of this world. The challenge they face is that the words they must use to describe what they have seen are material and cannot adequately describe their visions. In spite of this, it is out of material language, utilizing the closest material counterpart of the real cit form, that the mystic poets describe what they have seen in sahaja-samadhi.”
We know the words of such saints are fully spiritualized, and can carry us to complete realization, but they are manifest to our present, limited senses and conceptions.
Jadurani told about asking Srila Prabhupada whether it rains in Krishnaloka. Srila Prabhupada reportedly replied, “If I told you it rains, you still wouldn’t know what it is like.”
Shukavak writes:
“The depictions of lila in the Bhagavata that enact transcendence, such as the forms of Krishna holding peacock feather and flute, are not symbols in the way a modern theologian such as Paul Tillich or a mythologist such as Joseph Campbell would speak of them, but are indicators (nidarshana) or reflections (praticchaya) because they bear a direct relationship to their real spiritual counterparts. The things of this world which are used “symbolically” in the Bhagavata are not symbols in the typical modern sense, but are symbols in the sense of being indicators or reflections because of their direct relationship of their ‘more real’ spiritual counterparts. I call this relationship between matter and spirit, where the material ‘vikara’ is used to indicate its spiritual counterpart, *descending* symbolism.”
As Srila Prabhupada writes in Krishna book, Chapter 87, “Prayers by the Vedas Personified”: “When properly utilized, neither the superior nor inferior energies emanating from the Supreme Personality of Godhead are false.”
We may hear about Krishna’s peacock feather or flute (or Lord Brahma’s swan), and they are peacock feathers and flutes and swans, but they are unlike the feathers, flutes and swans of our limited experience.
The very senses with which we experience things and the objects of those senses are transformations of Krishna’s energy, as are the mental images and words in which we conceive of the descriptions of Krishna or His material creation.
Even when Krishna walked on earth in His manifest lila, although He could be seen by everyone, there were those (like Sisupala and many others) who could not perceive His actual nature.
Actually, no one can perceive His true nature, but He reveals Himself to His devotees in a way suitable for accepting their loving service in the internal energy of sat, cit and ananda. Likewise, He allows the envious to perceive the distorted “reflection” or “shadow” version of this world under the influence of material gunas.
It is by the mercy of the devotees, the walking Bhagavatas, that we have the chance to taste prasadam or hear about Krishna’s transcendental activities. Only then we can get a glimpse of what the “cakes floating in milk” or “urad dahl patties” were really like.
Krsna wears
a garland of pearls (moti). The pearl necklace that hang on his chest lookes like a row of swans flying across a blue cloud…such nice descriptions Rupa Goswami has given.