Religions of India in Practice

Satya Pīr is a holy man or saint, in the form of a mythic Muslim pīr, who has been popular in the Bengali-speaking region of the South Asian subcontinent since the early sixteenth century. During the following three centuries, Satya Pīr’s popularity prompted his followers to compose scores of literary works—poems, songs, epic narratives—dedicated to his praise and the promulgation of his cult. Today we can find over one hundred extant works dedicated to this powerful figure.

Bengalis worshiped Satya Pīr’s power to provide for the general weal of the individual and family, to attain wealth, to ward off disease, and to counter the activities of demonic figures. At some indeterminate time, but probably in the seventeenth or early eighteenth century, Satya Pīr came to be identified with the Hindu god Satya Nārāyaṇa, a majestic form of Viṣṇu, and today the two epithets are used interchangeably. In a sophisticated and long-term process of Sanskritization, the primary exploits of Satya Nārāyaṇa were incorporated into two late Sanskrit Purāṇas. But the Bengali cycle of tales has historically dominated the practices of the cult. Today Muslims worship Satya Pīr only sporadically, whereas Hindus more consistently include him as part of their vrata household ritual cycle. The story of Satya Pīr has become, in this apparent shift of allegiance, ossified, and much more narratively predictable than suggested in the earliest compositions. The literary creativity of his devotees seems to have spent itself, for no new stories have been composed within the last century, a fact that is coincident with the development of strong communal and sectarian identities in Bengal.

The collection of writings dedicated to Satya Pīr is arguably the largest literary heritage in medieval Bengal, even challenging in breadth the prolific Gauḍiya Vaiṣṇava literature of the period. But unlike the literature of the Vaiṣṇavas, that of Satya Pīr has no highly developed theology or aesthetic theory to help the reader interpret his stories: his is a popular literature that deals with immediate and local problems that beset his Bengali audience. The earliest manuscripts dedicated to Satya Pīr point to the prominent Muslim ruler, Ḥusain Shāh (r. 1497-1525 C.E.), or more frequently to his daughter, as the popularizer of the cult. The historicity of such a claim is almost impossible to establish; but the fact that authors would seek to connect Ḥusain Shāh to the figure of Satya Pīr is in itself not surprising because of that king’s notable patronage of both Hindu and Muslim literary culture. During his long and rather peaceful reign, classics from Sanskrit and Persian were translated into the local Bengali vernacular, and many original Bengali works were commissioned. The Bengali literature of this period was not sharply divided, in most instances, between Muslim and Hindu subject matter. The designations “Muslim” and “Hindu,” especially for popular productions, such as the Satya Pīr stories, seem to have been read back onto the literature from the public, political formations of the nineteenth and twentieth century. The early literature of Satya Pīr appears to have been for all Bengalis, and the benefits from worshiping Satya Pīr knew no such communal boundaries, even though differences between Hindus and Muslims were certainly acknowledged. Bengalis worshiped Satya Pir because to do so was effective.

The earliest Satya Pīr compositions take the form of the traditional pālagāna (a dramatic production that is either sung or acted) and the popular pāñcālī (a collection of short verses in praise of a deity), which were often set to music. A common literary trope of the Satya Pīr literature, which is akin to the maṅgala kāvya genre (a highly developed form of narrative poem on the exploits of a god or goddess), is the adventure of the merchant, who suffers dangerous and often demeaning trials prior to his worship of Satya Pīr. His fortunes reverse when, usually at the instigation of his wife or daughter-in-law, he acknowledges the power of Satya Pīr and proffers with respect the appropriate substances, traditionally the mixture of rice, sugar, milk, and spices, called śirṇi or śinni. This offering, which is directed to Satya Pīr in an aniconic ritual, restores wealth, health, and even the lost lives of the merchant’s sons, to the obvious mutual benefit and pleasure of all.

The image of Satya Pīr found in the merchant’s story is one that remains fairly constant throughout the literature: a wandering mendicant Sufi in tattered rags, vengeful and harsh to those who spurn him, but benevolent and gracious to those who show respect. He represents the raw power of divinity, which he can channel positively or negatively. But his field of action is not limited to any particular community, such as the merchants noted above; Satya Pīr is class-, race-, sect-, and gender-blind, in both his rewards and punishments, and his stories, when taken collectively, address every segment of society. That same lack of bias is reflected in the eclecticism of the texts’ language. Perso-Arabic elements are woven into the Sanskrit-based Bengali to create a rich linguistic tapestry that shows remarkable local variation, and that, possibly more than any other literary examples from this period of Bengal’s history, reflects the culture’s linguistic pluralism. Satya Pīr’s literature is, in the real sense of that word, a popular literature, aimed at a general listening public.

Satya Pīr addresses certain existential concerns relevant to survival in Bengal, such as gaining wealth, escaping disease, avoiding crocodiles, and so on, and he does so in terms that are coherent and rational according to a commonly held local knowledge regarding human action. You, as an individual, are responsible for your actions, which will in turn determine your future—a rather generic, popular form of causality. If you do the morally right things and worship Satya Pīr, you will reap the rewards—and, of course, the converse holds true as well. The efficacy of the action is justification enough for belief. What else one might believe or disbelieve did not affect this perceived reality for the Bengali of the premodern period; Satya Pīr rewards and punishes in culturally relevant terms that cut across social divisions. Worshiping Satya Pīr in pre-modern Bengal had no negative effect on one’s worship of, or belief in, Allah or Viṣṇu.

Starting in the nineteenth century, certain political groups within the populace, generally labeled as “reformers,” sought to establish more clearly their group identities as Muslims. It would seem that only with the emergence of a new fundamentalism did Muslims begin to confront the worship of Satya Pīr as a glaring inconsistency in their personal actions: it became embarrassing and problematic to worship a pīr who was promoted by Hindu “idolaters” and “polytheists.” This process is quite the opposite of syncretism; it is one of differentiation and demarcation. Muslims began to perceive a contradiction in the construction of their personal (and group) identity, so they began to withdraw their general support of the Satya Pīr community in an effort to overcome the disjunction. Conversely, with the concomitant articulation of a new Hindu identity, Satya Pīr could be comfortably accommodated into the hegemonic theological structure of Vaiṣṇava avatāra theory; he confirmed his identification with Lord Viṣṇu, who in this final aeon, the Kaliyuga, assumed the image of the holy man of India’s conquerors prior to the British. Where previously no Muslim felt it a contradiction to believe both in this figure of local power, Satya Pīr, and in Islam, increasingly in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, many Muslims apparently did begin to perceive it so. Today in Bengal—both Bangladesh and West Bengal—the disappearance of Satya Pīr from the Muslim world seems imminent.

The three most common tales found in this broad literature, and the set that now reflects the shift toward a Hindu appropriation of Satya Pīr, is the “Story of the Poor Brahman,” the highly abbreviated “Woodcutter’s Tale,” and the longer “Merchant’s Adventure.” This narrative set has been incorporated into the Sanskrit Skanda Purāṇa (5.233-36) and Bhaviṣya Purāṇa (3.2.24-29). The Bengali pāñcālī versions of this story by Rāmeśvara Bhaṭṭācārya and by Śaṅkarācārya follow the puranic account and redact the narrative in explicitly Hindu terms according to the avatāra theory of the Vaiṣṇavas: Satya Pīr is Nārāyaṇa Viṣṇu come to earth in a Muslim guise. This and the other narratives are told in as many different ways and styles as there are authors, and there are a lots of them.

To give a sample of the distinct regional variations, the local flavor of the narrative, and its popular oral basis, the Satya Pīr cycle is presented here from several different works. The salutation and invitation to worship (translation 1) come from the Satyadeva Saṃhitā (“Scripture Dedicated to Satyadeva”) of Dvija Rāmabhadra, edited by Vyomakeśa Mustaphī (Baṅgīya Sāhitya Pariṣad Patrikā 8:2 [1308 B.S.], pp. 131-32). Dvija Rāmabhadra was a poet popular in East Bengal (today Bangladesh) during the late eighteenth century. The description of Satya Pīr in the garb of a fakir (translation 2) comes from the elegant work, Satyanārāyaṇera Vratakathā (“The Story of the Vow to Satya Nārāyaṇa”) of Bhāratacandra in Bhāratacandra Granthāvalī, edited by Vrajendranātha Bandyopādhyāya (Calcutta: Baṅgīya Sāhitya Pariṣat, 1357 B.S.), p. 440. Bhāratacandra Rāya Guṇākara was court poet to Rājā Kṛṣṇacandra in the early eighteenth century. Śaṇkarācārya’s accounts of the poor brahman’s and the woodcutter’s tales (translations 3 and 4) come from his Satyanārāyaṇa Pāñcālī (“Song of the Vow to Satya Nārāyaṇa”), Gaurāngasundara Bhaṭṭācārya, Baṭṭalā edition (Calcutta: Rajendra Library, n.d.). And the final story, the merchant’s adventure, comes from the elaborate work of Ayodhyārāma Kavicandra Rāya, who wrote during the sixteenth century. That work, Satyanārāyaṇa Kathā (“The Tale of Satyanārāyaṇa”), edited by Vyomakeśa Mustaphī (Baṇgīya Sāhitya Pariṣat Patrikā 8, no. I [1308 B.S.], 61-72), has proved especially popular in the Rāḍha region of southwest Bengal.

Three works are recommended: Anoop Chandola, The Way to True Worship: A Popular Story of Hinduism (Lanham, Maryland: University Press of America, 1991); S. Mitra, “On the Worship of the Deity Satyanārāyaṇa in Northern India,” Journal of the Anthropological Society of Bengal 9:7 (1919), 768-811; and Asim Roy, The Islamic Syncretistic Tradition in Bengal (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983).

Stretching fully prostrate on the earth,

I make obeisance to the lord Gaṇapati [Gaṇeśa],
the son of Lord Śiva.

Second, I bow to the sun,

whose complexion is redder than the hibiscus flower,
residing in a chariot of a single disc.

Obeisance likewise to Lord Nārāyaṇa,

enthroned as lord of the heavens,
wielding conch, disc, club, and lotus.

Fourth, I bow low to Hara [Śiva],

whose naked body is clothed in ash,
above whose head, where the Gaṅgā flows, rests the moon.

Fifth, revering the Mother [Umā],

I bow low to the daughter of the Himalayas,
the enchanting magician, slayer of the buffalo demon.

Keeping Gaṇapati in the cave of my heart,

I make obeisance to [the goddesses] Lakṣmī, Sarasvatī,
and the ten-armed [Durgā] riding her lion.

I bow to the Bhāgīrathī and Gaṅgā rivers,

cleansers of the offences of the Kali age,
and to the sacred sites of Nīlācala [Purī] and Varanasi.

To the hosts of deities

gathered at his lotus feet I bow,
basking in the bliss of the divine play of Govinda.

In age after age he descends,

stealing away the burden of the earth
as the Fish, the Tortoise, the Boar, and the Dwarf.

I prostrate myself at the feet of

the Plow Holder [Haladhara Balarāma] and the Man-Lion
and Jāmadagnya [Paraśurāma], the destroyer of warriors.

Obeisance be to Rāma, green as a blade of durbā grass,

accompanied by [his wife, Sītā] Jānakī
and [his brother] Lakṣmaṇa, who holds the royal parasol over his head,

whose exploits made famous Setubandhu,

where they destroyed the ten-headed [Rāvaṇa].

I revere Buddha and Kalki, and the other incarnations—

Obeisance be to Kṛṣṇa,

the complete godhead, the formless Brahman,
the one who plays among the trees in the forests of Vṛndā.

The scion of the Yadu clan,

having destroyed the demonic Kaṃsa,
partially descends in the form of Satya [Pīr].

[For him] there is no sacrifice, yoga, asceticism,

purification of the body, nyāsa ritual,¹ recitation of the names,
nor ritual worship with fire according to the injunctions;

Famed and revered throughout the world,

made accommodating only by a loving devotion,
God extends his parental love to his devotees.

You, who embody the heavenly realm of Gokula,

who are named Satya Nārāyaṇa—the Pure and True Refuge of Man—have laid hold the wicked to save them!

Take note of these poor and lowly folk,

grant your mercy through your own good nature!
Whoever knows will attest to your greatness.

You, O Lord, friend of the lowly,

fetch me across this ocean of existence,
alleviate my misery!

Simply by recalling your name,

one gains the desired four goals of life [wealth, pleasure, duty, and liberation].

You are the living soul of all living beings.

He who develops proper devotion to you

is certain to achieve liberation;
but how can I, a fool, even know enough to speak [of this]?

To serve your lotus feet,

Rāmabhadra has composed this book—
Alleviate the searing agony of this earth!

Everyone listen carefully and with great concentration

to the manner of Satya Nārāyaṇa’s advent.

In the citadel of Hastināpura, the Pāṇḍava king

Yudhiṣṭhira met one day with Govinda [Kṛṣṇa].

In seclusion they sat, holding long and serious discussions.

With palms pressed together in supplication, Yudhiṣṭhira entreated [Govinda].

“The Kali Age has begun. My body shudders at the prospect.

Where are people to turn? Speak, Gadādhara—Wielder of the Club!”

Govinda replied, “What you, O King, have said is of widespread concern.

For the sake of living beings I have descended in age after age.

One hundred thousand qualities accrued in the Satya age,

are reduced to ten thousand qualities in the Tretā age,

one thousand qualities in the Dvāpara, and one hundred in the Kali.

Five thousand years after the Kali age begins,

I will descend in the city of Avantī.

By virtue of my grace, people will find a dwelling in heaven,

for the name of Hari is fire and the Kali but mounds of cotton.

Toward the end of the Kali age, foreigners will appear.

Through the Kalki avatāra I will destroy them.”

King Yudhiṣṭhira was relieved to hear this.

Meditating on Govinda, he was then bodily transported to heaven.

Listen now to the amazing tale of how, at the appropriate time,

Nārāyaṇa [Kṛṣṇa] descended to the city of Avantī!

While on the earth he assumed the name of

Satya Nārāyaṇa—The Pure and True Refuge of Man—

whose fame spread from region to region with each passing day.

Assuming the dress of an ascetic renunciate, Satya Nārāyaṇa

made his first appearance before a beggar brahman.

In this Kali age the societal offices of the twice-born, the warriors, the common folk, and the lowly servers have gradually disintegrated, succumbing to the might of foreign Muslims. At this, Lord Hari came down, taking on the body and form of a fakir, and strategically positioned himself at the foot of a banyan tree. Slightly stooped, he wore a beard and mustache, his body covered by a patchwork wrap, a cap on his head, in his hand a staff. From his shoulder swung a knitted bag. He was replete with splendor, effulgent like the sun itself. From his mouth poured forth the speech of Muslim pīrs and the Prophet. His were the lips that uttered prayers to God, and kissed the dust of the tombs of saints.

Obeisance to Satya Nārāyaṇa, with many salutations! In proper order I salute all of the gods. In order to institute the worship of Satya Deva—the True Lord—in the Kali age, Lord Nārāyaṇa has appeared. The Lord has come to the world of mortals. Traveling far and wide, he eventually reached the city of Mathura.

In Mathura there lived a poor brahman who passed all his time in misery, knowing not one moment of pleasure. One day this brahman was making his rounds through town and, unsuccessful in obtaining food by way of his begging, grew distraught. His heart ached. Dejected, he sat under a banyan tree and wept bitterly, hopeful for a meager handout. The more the twice-born [the brahman] wept, the more disconcerted he grew.

Watching the whole affair was Satya Pīr. Assuming the form and dress of a [Muslim] fakir, he presented himself and inquired, “For what reason do you weep, my brahman son? A great compassion wells as I watch you in your misery.”

The fakir countered, “O twice-born, what harm can it do? Tell me your story exactly as it transpired.”

The twice-born said, “I eat whatever I can beg from people. Today, for no apparent reason, I received no offerings of food. Not only did I fail to obtain any rice, I am now bereft of clothing as well. You can see for yourself that without oil to dress my hair, my scalp has begun to crack. The day has passed and I have not tasted even the semblance of a meal. I do not believe that I can bear any more the searing agony of my miseries!”

The fakir answered, “From this day forward, your miseries shall fade into darkness. Incomparable wealth awaits you. Go now to your own village! I have spoken to you with the certainty of truth, for I am Satya Pīr, the Saint of Truth. In the Kali age I appear on earth. When someone reflects on me in this form and proffers an offering of rice and milk śirṇi, it brings results. Riches are guaranteed to accrue to you.”

The twice-born observed, “Each day I worship [Nārāyaṇa’s sacred] śālagrāma stone; should I fail, a disastrous fate is surely in store. My only hope has lain in doing that diligently. In a future time, when Lord Nārāyaṇa comes, that act is sure to be rewarded. How can I simultaneously worship a [Muslim] pīr, as I discharge this [duty]? Were I to follow such a barbaric and foreign custom, I would sink to the depths of hell.”

Smiling, the fakir replied, “Listen well, ignorant one! That pīr is one and the same as the Lord Nārāyaṇa! Understand that the Veda and the Qur’ān derive from a common source. Do not listen to them as two separately created entities here on earth.” As he was speaking he transmuted into the universal sovereign who holds in his hands the conch, the disc, the club, and the lotus. The kaustubha gem [one of Kṛṣṇa’s emblems] hung from his neck, his chest radiating splendor. He was the full and eternal Brahman, a reservoir of unimaginable power.

Seeing this image, the twice-born fell to the earth and in choked words sang the praises of his Lord. “No one is capable of recognizing you as an ordinary mendicant—how much more difficult it is for me, a poor and lowly brahman.” As [the brahman] looked on, the fakir resumed his previous form.

The twice-born continued, “Tell me everything so that I can worship you and have my birth fulfilled. In what fashion should I offer the rice and milk śirṇi to make the worship appropriate? Speak, speak, great Lord, for I am listening attentively!”

And speak the fakir did, solely for the benefit of that brahman. “Collect one and one-quarter seers [about two pounds] of coarse white rice powder and spread five and one-quarter gaṇḍās of bananas [either twenty-one bananas or twenty-one cowrie shells’ worth] on a sanctified pedestal. Then prepare and offer five and one-quarter gaṇḍās of betel quids [areca nut, spices, and lime wrapped in a betel palm leaf]. Finally offer one and one-quarter seers of sugar and one and one-quarter seers of clotted cream. With this, I, who am Satya Pīr—the Saint of Truth—will be pleased.

“If you cannot procure the sugar and clotted cream, then offer milk and molasses, liberally mixed with devotion. Combine all the ingredients and place them in the middle of all the devotees, whom you will seat all around. You must perform the worship, observing faultlessly the rules of the sacred ritual manuals. At the end of the worship, you will listen closely to the story of the vow.”

Satya Pīr continued, “Place your hand on your forehead. When your hand rests there, you avert untold calamities. Repeating the name ‘Satya Satya Nārāyaṇa’ again and again, press your palms together and make respectful obeisance. Everyone who is present will consume what is left, the prasāda, which embodies [Nārāyaṇa’s] grace.”

“Go back into the city, brahman, where you will receive much to eat! This is my promise. Afterwards, go home and spend the night. The following day, worship Satya Pīr unerringly!”

After he imparted these instructions, the pīr disappeared. The blessed twice-born went to collect his food. The brahman ate and shortly thereafter was to receive great wealth. He returned to his own house and explained everything in detail to his brahman wife. He fasted throughout the night, but grew apprehensive. By the second watch of the morning, he went out and visited a number of houses. He received extraordinary quantities of food and other goods. When the brahman’s wife heard, she was overjoyed and quickly gathered the necessities to perform the worship service. The twice-born dedicated the worship ritual to the feet of Nārāyaṇa through an assortment of appropriate offerings, for it was by the grace of the pīr that the brahman had gained his wealth. If one receives such favor, then little by little a matchless wealth will accumulate—such is the power of this ritual worship!

Servants, male and female, cows, water buffaloes, horses, elephants—these and innumerable guests soon filled the twice-born’s house. First the brahman prepared the articles for worship. Then he methodically acknowledged all of those present. The woodgatherers, who had gone out to cut wood, stopped by the brahman’s home seeking refreshment. When they beheld [his new wealth], the woodsmen were all amazed. In the course of a single day and night this poor brahman had been transformed into a king! Recovering from the shock, they eagerly questioned the brahman. The best of twice-born responded with the story from beginning to end, leaving out nothing. The woodsmen then proffered the śirṇi offering in exactly the way it had been described. Their miseries and hardships instantly disappeared. Happiness entered every household.

. . . After erecting a sprawling abode

the woodcutters, deeply satisfied,
routinely offered śirṇi with great public show.

A merchant trader,

appropriately named Ratnākara—Treasure Mine of Gems—
landed his vessel’s tender at that ghat.

The merchant, being very inquisitive,

questioned the workers who met him,
“What kind of religious ritual are you doing, brothers?”

The woodcutters responded,

“We are worshipping Satya Narāyaṇa.
When understood, it is an exhilirating experience!

If one worships, all powers obtain,

riches, sons, weal, and long life,
for Narāyaṇa is Satya—the True—in the Kali age.”

Perceiving only the tiniest glimmer of [the ritual’s] majesty,

the merchant declared, “Then I too shall do worship,
if to me a child be born.

As I have spoken before my attendants,

I will offer the śirṇi under those conditions.”
Speaking thus, he boarded his dinghy.

He returned to his own land

and reentered his own sprawling domain—
So sings the poet Ayodhyārāma.

Proud and respectful of his śirṇi, the merchant returned to his home.

With his wife, Sīmantinī, the merchant deceived even the night,

for the trader truly outshone the face of the moon in his love.

His blessed wife, her gait graceful like the elephant’s, grew ever more pregnant.

In time she gave birth to a girl of uncommon beauty,

just as Jayā had been born from the womb of Yaśodā [Kṛṣṇa’s foster mother].

The little girl grew [each day] as noticeably as the moon waxes.

After seven months she was given the desired name of Suśīlā—Good Conduct.

When the time was deemed appropriate, the young woman was betrothed

to the son of the merchant Sadānanda Nāga of Kāṭoyā.

The two men, father and son-in-law, discussed, trader to trader,

how the stream of their forefathers’ lineages had merged.

Pleased in a number of ways, the merchant returned to his abode

and reflected on the need to undertake a voyage for business.

The trader supplied his wife with

ten thousand gold coins for household expenses.

Diamonds, rubies, silver, gold, coral,

yak-tail fly whisks, sandalwood, and conches he collected in limitless quantity.

With great fanfare, cymbals clashed, kettle drums rumbled, and horns blew,

while the two men auspiciously boarded their vessel.

The cannons were fired with flickering wicks,

the horrendous thunder reminiscent of the monsoon clouds of July.

Sadāgara called out, “May we be protected! May we be safe!”

as he slipped away from his own realm of Bāgīśanagara.

Veṇīpura lay to port and Sanata to starboard.

Coming behind him from upstream blew a healthy breeze.

Sailing swiftly past Baḍajāṃhāpura, he arrived at Sākāi.

Stopping over at Kāṭoyā and Indrāṇī, he made for Pāṭuli.

Sailing past Kubjapura, the successful merchant

stopped off in Navadvīpa, then left behind the paddy land along the river.

He sailed by Guptipāḍā, which lay to the right in the distance,

while on the left lay the village called Śāntipura.

Jirāṭa, next in the merchant’s itinerary, was left behind

when he reached the Triveṇī, where three streams form the Bhāgīrathī.

Briefly he visited the city of Hugli, where

he performed the ritual worship of Lord Ṣānḍeśvara [Śiva] in Cuṃuḍā.

With favorable winds his boat easily sailed to Degaṅga,

where yellow cāmpaka flowers blossomed among the medicinal nim trees.

At Cākala he worshiped Hara [Śiva], which was especially gratifying.

He likewise performed the rituals for Jagannātha as the sole Lord.

To port were Bhadrakhāli, Bāli, and Varāhanagara;

then Sadāgara passed on through Dihi and Calcutta.

He sailed past Dhulanta on the left and Jirāṭa on the right.

Slipping past Bhavānīpura, he made his way to Kālīghāṭa.

There he performed the rituals to Kālī according to the injunctions,

whereupon he boarded again—so sings Ayodhyārāma.

Pushing off from Kālīghāṭa,

his seven boats then set sail,
making Sadāgara extremely happy.

To the beat of kettle and gourd drums,

with the village of Rasā sitting on the left,
the shackled oarsmen broke into song.

Sailing by the small subdivision of Sārabhāṭṭa,

Vaiṣṇavaghāṭṭā passed to starboard.
The boats shot like arrows downstream.

With Māhāmāyapura lying off the port bow,

they left Mālañca far behind,
arriving soon at Mradanmala.

Just beyond Bāruipura,

the merchant Ratnākara
negotiated the duties owed to the collector.

When he reached the village of Bārāśat,

he offered a variety of collected items,
and reverently worshiped the primordial Viśvanātha—Lord of Cosmos.

Hard on Hetegaḍa,

they escaped the turbulent and swift currents, and the men cried, “Hari, Hari!” in relief.

They ceremoniously touched the Gaṅgā’s waters,

making obeisance to Kapila, and
paid homage to Mādhava [Kṛṣṇa] at Gaṅgāsāgara, the river’s mouth.

They begged the protection of Dakṣiṇa Rāya—Tiger Lord of the South—

before the boats slipped into the ocean expanse
where the waves swell high and coast disappears.

A great distance from their point of departure,

from the towns where the river currents swirl into the ocean,
the blue mountains of Orissa crept into view.

In Orissa, of Lord Jagannātha—the Lord of the Universe—

together with his sister Subhadrā—the Fortunate One—
the merchant took darśana.²

Whoever looks but once

is subject to no more rebirth—
such is the power of the unseen, supreme Lord.

The intrinsic value of that place

is comparable only to the heaven of Vaikuṇṭha.
Whoever gives up his life in that city,

becomes accommodated to Viṣṇu,

four-armed, filled with a majestic power, and
is whisked straight away to heaven on a celestial chariot.

That most accomplished of merchants

purchased and consumed prasāda,³then immediately launched the ship.

He passed through many lands,

seeing many strange and wonderful things along the way,
reaching the embankment of Rāma in the middle of the ocean.⁴

He kept Māṇikapura to starboard,

and Siṃhalapāṭana to port,
staying far away from the fatal whirlpools of Kālīdaha.

After sailing for six full months

he arrived at Hiraṇyapāṭana, the City of Gold—
so reports Ayodhyārāma.

It took six months for the trader to reach the City of Gold.

It lay in a land whose king was appropriately named

Citrasena—the Amazing Warrior.

Satya Nārāyaṇa began to brood,

“Those two merchants failed to offer the śirṇi they promised.”

Whatever treasures lay in the storehouses of King Citrasena

were stolen away by Satya Nārāyaṇa.

By the power of his yoga, he deposited them in the boats of the merchants.

Seeing his treasury emptied, that king of men swelled with anger.

He had seized and brought for questioning the chief of police,

who was of fierce countenance, and was called “He Who Nets His Foe.”

Furious, the monarch screamed, “Listen, police!

You have an hour to bring that thief to justice!

If not, I will have you severed in two,

and will impale the rest of your lineage on pikes.”

The policeman, shaken by the threat of the king,

sent guards to cordon the city and scour every beat.

When the police arrived at the docks, they saw seven ships

and immediately detained the two merchants.

They discovered the king’s wealth filling the boats floating there—

sacks and sacks of diamonds, emeralds, silver, and gold.

The two merchants, father-in-law and son-in-law, were viciously bound,

just as Aniruddha had been seized by the magical arrows of Bāṇa.

Thousands upon thousands of men hauled out the treasure.

Citrasena, that kingly ornament of earth, watched this with great satisfaction.

Then the order was issued to the policeman,

“Slap both the father-in-law and son-in-law in jail!”

When the fates grow cranky, such events take place.

The merchant and his son[-in-law], made out as thieves, sat trapped in jail.

Meanwhile, the wife of the merchant grew increasingly miserable.

All the money that had been left for her was spent, and no more arrived, so

food no longer came into her hands; the days were passed in weeping.

She was wasting away to skin and bones, and she worried,

“My husband has gone far away on a money-making venture,
and I have heard no news at all, good or bad.”

Now there was a local twice-born, named Hariśarma—

He Who Finds Shelter in God—who daily offered śirṇi, and,

as luck would have it, the attractive wife of the merchant happened by there.

With hands humbly pressed together, she inquired of that brahman’s wife,

“Tell me, my noble woman, whose worship are you performing?”

Heeding her request, the brahman’s wife explained its point.

“We offer śirṇi to worship Satya Nārāyaṇa.

All suffering and misery disappear, and destroyed are all obstacles to whatever you wish or desire.”

Understanding this little bit about Satya Nārāyaṇa’s power,

the merchant’s wife offered śirṇi in precisely the same way [as the brahman].

“When my son-in-law and merchant husband return safely,

I promise to offer śirṇi once again to the very best of my ability.”

With this contingency, the worship was performed by mother and daughter,

and Satya Nārāyaṇa was contented and absolved their faults.

He, Satya Nārāyaṇa, showed himself in a dream to the king,

lord of the land where the son-in-law and father-in-law were captive.

To the lord among men, Citrasena, he spoke secretly,

“The two merchants were imprisoned for no good reason.

In that prison you are punishing two of my devoted servants.

In the morning, release them and send them back to their own land!

You will award them ten times the wealth with which they arrived!

If you do not, I will, in my anger, kill everyone in your lineage.”

At the end the king was yanked hard by his hair—

and calling on Govinda, he trembled in fear.

In the morning, like one mad, the king

hastily summoned the chief of police,

“Bring to me those two thieves from the boat!”

Heeding the order, he brought the two merchants forward with alacrity.

Then, at the king’s command, the barber

shaved and trimmed the two merchants.

After bathing and performing worship, they ate contentedly.

The king addressed them, “Please forgive my many faults!

Look, by reason of fate, Rāma was forced into the forest,

and I cannot begin to describe the misery suffered by Vatsarājā.

The five brothers, Yudhiṣṭhira and the rest, were exiled to the forests,

And Kali dispatched Nala from his kingdom.”⁵

Having made his apologies, the king called the chief of police,

“Fill a cart with valuables from the treasury.”

The king bestowed on them many fine garments, much jewelry and treasure,

to a value ten times [their original cargo], and bade them farewell.

Without delay, they filled their seven ships with diamonds,

emeralds, coral, conches, yak-tail fly whisks, and sandal.

At a particularly auspicious moment, the two men pushed off

and continued on their journey—so sings Ayodhyārāma.

Filling their vessels with riches,

the two traders
set sail for their own country.

Their winds were favorable,

stiff, yet consistent,
as the boats sailed day and night.

On both shores were villages,

too numerous to name,
after which they passed Orissa.

Where the [Gaṅgā] River meets the ocean,

they bathed and made offerings
in the presence of Lord Kapila.

Having paid their respects to Mādhava,

they then continued the journey,
until they landed up at Kālīghāṭa.

Performing the worship of Mother Kāli,

they departed Calcutta;
the boats struck for Śrīpāṭa.

Hṛṣīkeśa [Nārāyaṇa] assumed

the guise of a celibate student of the Vedas,
and queried the trader.

“What riches are aboard your ships?

Please describe them in detail.

Can’t you please give me something of them?”

The merchant responded this way,

“What words can I say?
I’m hauling nothing but coal.”

When this patent lie was voiced,

everything on the boat turned to ash
through divine intervention.

As if the very life had escaped his body,

the merchant was dumbstruck,
as was his son-in-law.

He disembarked the boat and

headed for the man who was dressed as a student;
he fell at his feet, which he clasped hard to his breast.

“I am a miserable cretin!

I did not recognize you
and so spoke to deceive.

What good will a mirror do

for one with no eyes,
or scriptures for the illiterate farmer?

You are Nārāyaṇa,

the eternal Brahman,
while I am but an ignorant child.

The lion does not get angry

at the stupidity of the jackal!
Can an animal recognize riches?”

The Lord listened

to the self-effacing admission of the merchant
and, growing compassionate, spoke,

“That offering of śirṇi, which you promised to me,

and which I had previously prescribed,
you failed to offer.

Your loving wife

offered śirṇi—
an act for which you gained reprieve.

Go back to your home

and offer me śirṇi,
if you wish to live!

From the bowels of that prison,

I sprang you free,
and now you try to deceive me.

Risking your wealth and son [-in-law]

to cross the Gaṅgā
is like waving bananas in front of hungry crocodiles.”

Having explained the situation,

Satya Nārāyaṇa
then disappeared.

The holds of their ships,

which had held nothing at all,
they realized, were now filled with treasure.

The treasure, as much as before,

the two men recovered
and secured in their holds for sailing.

In such an extraordinary fashion

they returned to their homeland
after twelve long years.

That evening

a messenger came and began,
“Greetings to the wife of the merchant!

Amazing news—

your husband and son-in-law
have returned to this land.

Their ships, filled with treasures

and priceless gems,
have plied the ocean of misery.”

Hearing these auspicious words,

the mother and her daughter
had at last grasped the moon!

When they had made their offerings of śirṇi,

the merchant’s daughter, Suśīlā—Good Conduct—
dropped some of the prasāda on the ground.

She ran quickly

to meet the returning ships,
woefully disrespectful of her god.

Satya Nārāyaṇa grew

exceedingly irritated at the thought,
“She has thrown down my śirṇi!

Of such self-centeredness

I shall bestow on her the fruit”—
as is told by the poet Ayodhyārāma.

When the merchant’s daughter cast the śirṇi onto the ground,

her husband and his ship went straight to the bottom.

The merchant watched as his son-in-law drowned and floated to the ghat.

Grieving, he cried out, beating his chest.

Right then Suśīlā came up to the ghat

and upon arrival saw that things had gone terribly awry—

her father was weeping bitterly, and her husband’s boat had disappeared.

Her face withered instantly, no breath could enter her lungs.

The radiant wife of the merchant worriedly inquired, “O my lord,

Why do you cry and strike yourself on the head?”

The merchant replied, “No one is as wretched as I!

At this very ghat my son-in-law just drowned.”

Hit with the news, the mother and daughter were stunned.

They struck their foreheads with such violence that blood began to flow.

Sobbing uncontrollably, the merchant’s daughter cried out,

“A terrible misery plagues me, affecting my entire life!

Alas, what now is to become of me?”

Crying, Suśīlā decided to plunge into the waters;

but Satya Nārāyaṇa then appeared in the guise of an astrologer.

He presented himself before the merchant’s daughter.

“Beautiful one, why do you want to give up this life that stirs in your heart?

I can foretell anything in the three realms of the universe.

You will regain your husband and undo this awful misfortune.”

Pretending to make calculations, he drew some figures on the ground.

Seating the mother and daughter to calculate the results,

the Lord spoke, “I have determined the nature of the situation.

You threw down some śirṇi, which is prasāda, as you hurried to the ghat.

On account of this, calamity has struck.

Gather up that śirṇi and eat it with proper devotion!

You will regain your husband at once! Go and raise his ship!”

Heeding his words, the daughter scurried off with her mother close behind,

while Satya Nārāyaṇa vanished with a smile.

Where she had thrown down the śirṇi, they ate, even licking the ground.

The ship carrying her husband sprang up from the deep.

Catching sight of his son-in-law, the merchant was overjoyed,

while the mother and daughter ran back to the landing ghat.

The merchant’s wife let loose the auspicious hulāhuli sound of triumph

and, together with her daughter, greeted the incoming ship.

A din arose with the sounds of kettle drums, large and small, cymbals,

double conches, jagajhampa,⁶ double-ended drums, and so forth.

The two men—the father-in-law and his son-in-law—landed on the bank,

mindful of nothing but Satya Nārāyaṇa.

They reflected, “We shall offer śirṇi to Satya Nārāyaṇa.”

Exhibiting great devotion, they gathered together all the necessary items.

The men called all of their neighbors and friends,

as the merchant’s wife made ready the sacred space for worship.

Demarcating it with elaborate designs drawn with colored rice flour,

the wife installed a seat of honor in the center.

With assorted flowers and especially fragrant sandalwood paste,

she lovingly set the stage to her satisfaction.

The merchant brought śirṇi worth one thousand rupees;

the crowd was seated all around in neat rows.

The officiating priest sat before them like Bṛhaspati himself

and installed Satya Nārāyaṇa there [on the seat].⁷

The glories of Satya Nārāyaṇa were read to the group.

Those gathered ate the śirṇi, quickly running their hands over their heads.

When the merchant offered the previously promised śirṇi,

Satya Nārāyaṇa was pleased and granted a boon.

[The merchant’s] wealth grew without limits,

making him equal to Śakra, king of the gods,

while Lakṣmī, the goddess of wealth, herself the daughter of the ocean, looked favorably on him.

His family grew and their servants, male and female, likewise were many.

Thousands upon thousands of people came and were fed in that house.

And in this fashion the father- and son-in-law, delighted,

lived in their respective homes, prosperous without limit.

Whatever wish is made with the promise of offering śirṇi

is certain to be fulfilled by Satya Nārāyaṇa!

In this Kali age, he is filled with mercy, the very limits of compassion—

what human can fathom his extraordinary majesty?

So it has been written by Ayodhyārāma, the masterful moon of poets.

Everyone rejoice with the words, “Hari, Hari!” as this book draws to a close.

1. Nyasa is a personal ritual wherein the observer sanctifies the working of the body to its proper function by placing the hand on each part and reciting a mantra to a deity appropriate to that part.

2. Darśana is the ritual viewing of the icon wherein the devotee looks on the image with loving devotion and the activated image is understood to look back, a sort of visual touching (because the sense of sight is active, not passive) that connects the two. Darśana is a major component of most temple ritual and especially prominent in the cult of Jagannātha.

3. Prasāda here is the leftover food offered to Jagannātha, which is styled mahāprasāda. Jagannātha’s prasāda is renowned throughout northeast India for its effectiveness in purifying and protecting devotees.

4. The “embankment of Rāma” is the strip of land once believed to have connected India and Sri Lanka.

5. These four stories all refer to ranking kṣatriya rulers who, for various reasons, were forced into exile in the prime of their lives. Rāma is the hero of the epic Rāmāyaṇa, Yudhiṣṭhira the eldest of the five Pāṇḍava brothers of the Mahābhārata. The stories of Vatsarājā and Nala are also found in the Mahābhārata. It should be noted that Kali here is not the goddess Kālī, but the personification of the Kali age, who tormented Nala.

6. Jagajhampa is an old instrument made of gourd, covered on both ends with stretched animal hide, with one or more strings pulled through. The sound is produced by plucking the string, which is amplified by the skins; tone is changed by tension.

7. Although the word for “installed” is used, it should be noted that the worship of Satya Pīr is an aniconic ritual, so installation is temporary and understood more in terms of invocation. Bṛhaspati is preceptor to the gods.