Mantric Language: An Excerpt from David Frawley's Wisdom of the Ancient Seers

    Mantra is the original form of all language, the original language from which all others derive. Mantric language, to define it succinctly, is language in which sound and meaning correspond. It is like poetry wherein the sound of words reflects their meaning and aids in its manifestation More than this, it is a science of sound wherein the meaning and force of all sounds is known and developed towards mergence in the Divine Word.

    To the organic logic of the intuitive mind, words are not mere arbitrary designations for various objects, with sound and meaning corresponding only through the incidence of custom and usage. Rather, the sound projects the meaning, partakes of it and is not separate from the object it names. Such names are not mere words that veil the being or essence of things with the memory associations of the externally directed mind. They are not names in our ordinary sense at all. They are the essential sound- idea behind the object that evokes it’s being, which becomes the tool whereby its essence comes forth and is grasped. They are the mantric names of objects which arise within the mind in meditative perception, as the mark of entry of the being of the object into the fabric of the mind.

    Such mantric names cannot arise when we cast our labels and titles upon things, when we place our arbitrary values, judgments and determinations upon them. These reflect our manipulation of objects rather than what they are in themselves. Mantric names arise spontaneously when we open our minds to the being of things in choice less observation. They are the vibration of the mind uniting to the being of the object in the unity of seeing. As such, they serve to invoke and to become that state. Mantric names, by their psychic connection in being, arouse in us the essence or archetype behind the object, serving as a catalyst to allow it to come forth in its spiritual significance. In the mantric sense, therefore, to name is to know the nature of a thing, to touch its essence.

    Such mantric names do not reflect merely an arbitrary cultural usage. They reflect the archetypal vibrations behind all phenomenal objects, the vibrations of the Divine Word itself. This is not a religious belief, but the vibratory energy of cosmic intelligence that informs all things. Such words are ways of contacting the Word of God, which is not the word of some anthropomorphic deity, but the creative vibration at the heart of life in which all life is a unitary movement. Mantric language is the Word of God made manifest, which is not a set of moralistic commandments but the cosmic principles in all things, whereby their unique nature is comprehended. 

    This Divine Word is the Word of Life, in which rest the organic laws of creation. It is the word that lets things be, which enables the soul of things to come forth by receptivity. It is the word-law of the essence, of which all nature is an effusion and evil is only the attempt to selfishly limit its flow. Such a language is a cosmic language that attunes us to the cosmic creative vibration which we are isolated from by the inertia of our animal and social conditioning. It is this language alone that can comprehend life and its fluid harmonies, that can qualitatively extract the essence of things, whereas our present rigid languages shadow life in artificial concepts and quantitative values in which all things are reduced to some manipulative or material value that denies their soul or timeless significance.

    Such a mantric language is called a revelation or scripture. All the world’s great scriptures have some sense of it. It is a multidimensional intuitive language that combines symbol, myth, legend, ritual, alchemy, yoga, philosophy and theology — all inner and outer ways of knowing. In it everything becomes archetypal and takes on a cosmic meaning, reflecting the universal, the eternal and the infinite. 

    Mantra is the language of the soul wherein we feel all life as cosmic and sense each thing as a unique revelation of the all. It is the language of truth realization which reveals the vibratory structure of all objects within the unitary field of consciousness, unveiling their eternal being. Mantra is the basis of all religion, language and culture because it alone can manifest the eternal laws by which anything can endure or have any real order and harmony. Only through such mantric language can real change be possible for humanity because it bears the ascending creative vibration that brings about all transformations. All true creativity, thinking and perception partakes of this mantric language whose most original, extensive and primal manifestation for the human race came with the ancient seers of the Himalayas, through which they brought forth human culture in the beginning.

    To understand the Rig Veda or any ancient teaching or scripture requires this sense of mantra, this different approach to language that takes all things as evocations of the cosmic being. Such words become means of unification for ourselves and our environment with our true nature. Their meanings are not artificially limited, but expand creatively towards a universal comprehension. Such a language really has only one word, which is the cosmic word of truth and harmony. It has only one message: that all is Divine, all a formation of the Divine Word. It has no practical message for the mind, nor any social, political or intellectual meaning or bias. Its purpose is to break all the barriers of the mind and merge it into the unity of cosmic intelligence — to break all our limiting constructs and dissolve the mind into the direct seeing of unconditioned being.

    Mantric language develops organically from various roots which are its prime mantras. In later Tantric texts these were called “seed-syllables” or “bija mantras,” As such, mantric language can always be consistently understood in terms of its prime root meanings. It is always etymologically decipherable. These roots do not possess rigid meanings. They are currents of meaning that unify. They reflect a way of being that manifest on all levels, a quality of energy, a spectrum or vibratory range of meaning that has a certain characteristic but no single indication. They are like prime numbers from which complex equations can be evolved, but into which they are always resolvable. Such root sounds can never quite be put into words or defined in any final manner.

    There is the root “Vas,” for example, which has three major sets of meaning. In the first, it means “to shine,” like the light of the sun as it rises in the morning. In the second, it means “to be,” as in the sense of to remain (English “was” being a derivative of it). In the third, it means “to put on,” as in to wear something. Yet we find that all these meanings are related under the common idea of what is pervading or encompassing. Light is what fills, pervades and manifests being. It is also what encompasses, defines, invests or clothes us. 

    Hence illumination, being and investiture merge into a single yet more primordial idea. As such, in its deepest sense “Vas” means the plenary light of being and in the general sense it means the Divine itself (Vasudeva). Such mantric root meanings are designed not to give us precise, rigidly defined terms with exclusive meanings, as does our current analytic, intellectual language. They are meant to instill in us a sense of the universality of meaning in the prime value that is being itself and which is the Divine. They are the tools of a synthetic and organic comprehension designed to lead us into oneness.

    There is the root “Vas,” for example, which has three major sets of meaning. In the first, it means “to shine,” like the light of the sun as it rises in the morning. In the second, it means “to be,” as in the sense of to remain (English “was” being a derivative of it). In the third, it means “to put on,” as in to wear something. Yet we find that all these meanings are related under the common idea of what is pervading or encompassing. Light is what fills, pervades and manifests being. It is also what encompasses, defines, invests or clothes us. Hence illumination, being and investiture merge into a single yet more primordial idea. 

    As such, in its deepest sense “Vas” means the plenary light of being and in the general sense it means the Divine itself (Vasudeva). Such mantric root meanings are designed not to give us precise, rigidly defined terms with exclusive meanings, as does our current analytic, intellectual language. They are meant to instill in us a sense of the universality of meaning in the prime value that is being itself and which is the Divine. They are the tools of a synthetic and organic comprehension designed to lead us into oneness.

    There is the root “Vas,” for example, which has three major sets of meaning. In the first, it means “to shine,” like the light of the sun as it rises in the morning. In the second, it means “to be,” as in the sense of to remain (English “was” being a derivative of it). In the third, it means “to put on,” as in to wear something. Yet we find that all these meanings are related under the common idea of what is pervading or encompassing. 

    Light is what fills, pervades and manifests being. It is also what encompasses, defines, invests or clothes us. Hence illumination, being and investiture merge into a single yet more primordial idea. As such, in its deepest sense “Vas” means the plenary light of being and in the general sense it means the Divine itself (Vasudeva). Such mantric root meanings are designed not to give us precise, rigidly defined terms with exclusive meanings, as does our current analytic, intellectual language. They are meant to instill in us a sense of the universality of meaning in the prime value that is being itself and which is the Divine. They are the tools of a synthetic and organic comprehension designed to lead us into oneness.

    We see, therefore, that language does not develop arbitrarily but organically according to root-sound-meanings. The artificial usage and development of our language has obscured this, but cannot efface it, for without it no real language is possible, no poetry and nothing scriptural. 

    The ancient seers developed their language consistently along these lines. They remained conscious of these broad sound-symbol-idea correlations with multiple plays on words. A typical hymn may have dozens of such associations. These our language cannot produce, and we can hardly imagine them to be possible according to our more precise sense of meaning. Hence, most translators miss them altogether. 

    The ancient language has much more depth than ours. Its meanings are much more fluid, intricate and subtle, with abstract and concrete, spiritual and material senses combined. It is like a multidimensional gestalt pattern that can be read on many different levels. With a shift of perspective, we can change levels and elicit a whole new strata of meanings. We open up an entire new domain of knowledge by understanding its symbols; for example, now in terms of myth, now in terms of alchemy or yoga, now in terms of astrology, ancient history or the highest spiritual truths. 

    The Rig Veda is like the Glass Bead Game of Hetman Hesse’s novel Magister Ludi-- a musical mantric system upon which we can play the essence of all knowledge. Yet unlike the intellectual sterility that limited the Glass Bead Game, it has an intuitive creativity that opens us up to the domains of cosmic intelligence and unconditioned perception. The depth and variability of meaning that can be read into these mantras is beyond the conception of most of us. They contain universal analogues which comprehend all forms and levels of knowledge— the creative power and myriad strata of the Divine Word itself. The ancients saw in them and through them the awe, magic, mystery and wonder that only distant quasars may still evoke in our more conditioned intellectuality.

    Through these prime roots, all terms of the Vedic language resolve themselves into unity, not by overt philosophical statements, but by the natural coalescence of their meanings into the Divine, the ancient seers employed an intuitive language designed to open up the depths of our being to the oneness of existence. The language itself is the secret teaching, hidden in the sounds of the words and letters. The complexity of symbol, metaphor and even riddles we find in the Veda is the reflection of this sense of one in all and all in one. The meaning of the mantra is oneness in which all words resolve themselves into the Divine Word of the silent mind, the mind vibrating in harmony with all life. To understand the ancients and the spiritual roots of our civilization, we must remember the mantric form and meaning of their language.

Method of Translation

    This translation differs radically from most Vedic translations, particularly those of scholars or intellectuals who have no real mystical background or understanding of mantra. The language is taken here in an inward, spiritual and abstract sense, whereas most other translators aim at the most concrete, literal meaning, even to the point where it often becomes incomprehensible. This translation is not literal. However, the ancient language itself, consisting of mantric sound-symbol archetypes, is never literal either. 

    Literal translation is often not possible, and all translators are compelled by the fluidity of the language to shift their translations of the same term even in the same hymn. Vedic words are expansive in their meaning, not restrictive as is modern language. They have whole ranges of meaning both abstract and concrete. Here, the inner, more abstract sense is given its place and priority. It regularly makes perfect sense, is consistent etymologically and reveals various word plays within the hymns, which otherwise would be inexplicable.

    The term “Vrka,” for example, appears to mean a wolf. Etymologically it means “what tears,” from the root “vrasch,” to tear. Yet in one passage it clearly means a “plow.” Our word wolf could certainly not also mean a plow. The Vedic term could because the general etymological sense still predominated. By this sense of root meanings, the ancient language has a more abstract sense and is only symbolically or superficially concrete. Vrka is “a tearer,” by image a wolf, but also anything that tears, including not only an evil man but the Gods as destroyers of darkness. 

    To take all these terms concretely and literally — wolf, cow, horse, etc. — does violence to the language and makes it seem primitive when it is really the organic language of a higher intuitive intelligence. Another example is the word “Prthivi,” which usually means “the Earth” and is almost invariably translated. Etymologically it means what is wide or broad. Yet the only hymn to Prthivi is not to the Earth but to the power of the atmosphere, as again the abstract sense of wideness prevails over the concrete connotation.

    Most notably is the case of the famous Vedic Cow, “Gau. Its range of meaning is so great, we have nothing even close. Gau is symbolically a cow. Generally, it is anything that comes from a cow, is made from a cow or is somehow cow-tike. From the cow as the basic wealth of the ancients, it meant wealth, nourishment and value generally. Yet even this is only the beginning. It means a ray of light; the rays as the cattle of the Sun, its wealth and nourishing force. As such, it more generally means light (which is the best equivalent for it most of the time). Light for the seers was also consciousness. The Cow was the receptive mind, the tame or docile soul (as the Vedic herdsman was like the good shepherd of the Bible) or wisdom that gives nourishment and propagates itself like cattle.

    The herds of the seers, the cattle they milk are their truth-perceptions, words or mantras. The Cow is the soul that is the being of perception whose field is that of the senses. The Cow is the Divine Word-Wisdom at the heart of the soul which yields all boons. As such, the cow is the Goddess, who is inwardly consciousness and outwardly the sky, the dappled cow being the night sky with its stars. Or the cow in the masculine tense can be a general term for the Gods as powers of light and the wisdom-word. The variegated cow is the Sun and its manifold rays.

    There is an additional root “Ga,” meaning “to sing.” The Cow is the singer, as is the soul. Yet it is also a note in the song. The cow in its most correct sense means an archetype, word, note or number, the essential unit. It is knowledge that is the measure of all things and which grows and overflows organically. This sense comprehends all the other meanings of the word. The Cow is the basic archetypal symbol of reality that is the beneficence of consciousness. 

    How, therefore, can we translate Gau as Cow? It reduces and violates the actual usage of the term and ignores many deeper implications and etymological word-plays. All translators are compelled to render the term Gau as cow, milk, leather, a ray of the sun, the sky, the earth, a word or chant. Why should we accept only the broad range of concrete connotations when the abstract ones are equally applicable and relevant?

    This same trend applies to all Vedic terms. There is the word “Pasu,” from the root “Pas” meaning to fix or bind. It is usually rendered as cattle, which are bound or kept in a stall. But there is also the root “Pas” meaning to see. These are not two separate roots. To see is to fix in form; to pierce, penetrate and possess. The cattle of the seers are their perceptions. The hymns play upon this dual meaning of the root: “Yours is all that can be seen (pasavyam, or relating to cattle), which you see (pasyasi) by the eye of the Sun” (VH.98.6). As the Sun is elsewhere the Self, the sole Seer, we can hardly suspect such abstract implications not having been intended. In giving the inner or spiritual meaning of the text, perception is more accurate than cattle, which is only the metaphor. It is also etymologically literal and justified.

    Hymns play upon this dual meaning of the root: “Yours is all this that can be seen (pasavyam, or relating to cattle), which you see (pasyasi) by the eye of the Sun” (VH.98.6). As the Sun is elsewhere the Self, the sole Seer, we can hardly suspect such abstract implications not have been intended. In giving the inner or spiritual meaning of the text, perception is more accurate than cattle, which is only the metaphor. It is also etymologically literal and justified.

    Another example is “Ghrta,” which literally means “what is heated or clarified” and by image is clarified butter. Yet in its usage, it fills Heaven and Earth, drips from the Gods and so on. Inwardly Ghrta means clarity, the clarity of awareness transmuted by the heat of concentration. This sense is quite consistent with its cosmic implications and also is as etymologically sound To render it only as clarified butter is like calling the Milky Way (our name for the galaxy, a term also found in the Rig Veda) not a galaxy but a stream of milk.

    There is the frequent solicitation in ancient teachings for cows and horses (if we insist on a merely concrete sense of these terms) and other forms of outer wealth. This is understandable to our idea of the ancients as primitive people. We imagine them praying to their nature Gods for the forms needed to sustain their simple lives. Yet it does not do justice to the connotations of these words. They can generically mean wealth or prosperity outwardly, or inwardly as measures of abundance. This also ignores the fact that the Vedic Cow is usually light and the Vedic Horse is usually the Sun. In the mystic sense it is the cosmic cow and cosmic horse that are sought, which are spiritual knowledge and energy.

    In fact, the ancients really had nothing that we would consider as a substantive noun, no word that meant only a specific object like a cow and only a cow, or a man and only a man. Their words retain a general adjectival character that can be related to several objects, such as Vrka, wolf and plow. We find this in some older languages that exist today, like that of American Indians such as the Hopis, which are similarly generally adjectival in nature. Yet we cannot translate Vrka as a tearer. It would not make sense to us. 

    What is necessary is to bring in both the abstract and concrete senses of the Vedic words and relate them to the spiritual meaning and orientation of a scripture. This is what I have attempted here. It has been done with consistency to etymological meanings, and to grammar and phraseology insofar as English allows. The translation has been done directly from the original Sanskrit text of the Rig Veda, and it is not based on any other translation. It has more in common with the modern spiritual translations of hymns of the Rig Veda coming from India, like those of Dayananda Sarasvati or Sri Aurobindo, than any Western versions.

    Anyone familiar with the Sanskrit of the text knows the variability of the language, its broad and, by our sense, sometimes bizarre metaphors, the multiple meanings of single words and the apparent large number of synonyms. There is nothing definitive or authoritative about any Vedic translation, and to arrive at their more primitive sense of the book, translators will often change or ignore grammar and etymological meanings of terms. They translate the same term in different senses in the same hymn or in different hymns. 

    Even so, they label some passages as hopelessly or willfully obscure. To get their more literal, primitive and concrete meanings, they have to take as much freedom with the language as is done here — only theirs is a negative freedom that reduces the meaning of hymns which everywhere expand into cosmic proportions. It is possible to show word by word, according to grammar and etymology, the meanings set forth here, but it takes too much space and is not of interest to the general reader (I have done this elsewhere for more specialized publications). To this end I have included a glossary of key Sanskrit terms and their range of meanings.

    The basic method I have employed is to go to the etymological meaning of the root in both its abstract and concrete senses and set forth aspects of each for an integral comprehension with, however, the more inner, abstract sense predominating over the outer, concrete connotation.

    Each term or mantric word represents a stream of archetypal sound-symbol-meaning of which we can only indicate the current. To fix the meaning artificially as with the words of our own language is to ignore and violate the ancient usage of language itself, which was radically different from our own. It is not enough merely to translate their terms into our terms, as their linguistic background and usage was of an entirely different order. Some sense of that background has to be translated also to make their full stream of associations understandable. This accounts for the variability and complexity of some translations I have given here, which is to some extent unavoidable given the radically different nature of ancient language.

    It is not a matter of merely finding equivalent terms in English, which seldom exist, but of revealing a totally different, more spiritual, mantric language — which English must be stretched considerably to even intimate. It is not a case of simply translating from one contemporaneous language to another, like French poetry into English, which itself can be difficult. 

    It is translating from one kind of mentality to another, from one world-age to another, from a creative and intuitive language of open meanings to a fixed and intellectual language of closed meanings. There is no simple meeting of these two languages and mentalities. It is not a matter of merely finding equivalent terms in English, which seldom exist, but of revealing a totally different, more spiritual, mantric language — which English must be stretched considerably to even intimate. 

    It is not a case of simply translating from one contemporaneous language to another, like French poetry into English, which itself can be difficult. It is translating from one kind of mentality to another, from one world-age to another, from a creative and intuitive language of open meanings to a fixed and intellectual language of closed meanings. There is no simple meeting of these two languages and mentalities. The ancient mantras cannot be reduced to modem English. English has to be expanded to incorporate them* which is what is attempted here. Vedic phraseology has been preserved where possible, which accounts for some unusual sentence formation and syntax.

    The ancient language appears primitive at first with its endless references to cows and horses and solicitations for food and wealth. However, as we get to know it better, we find a wealth of deeper associations emerging, multiple meanings of words justified by manifold word plays in the hymns themselves. We find these terms used with abstract and cosmic connotations we would never associate with them.

    Finally, we reach a point where the ancient language spreads its wings for us and we find an inexhaustible depth of meaning, etymological associations of vast proportions moving on multiple levels. After this, we find the English language to be a much poorer, more rigid and less expressive tongue. It is like the difference between organic food from the garden and junk food from a fast food restaurant. We understand why the ancient language was called mantra and said to be the language of the Gods.

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