The Cosmic Courtroom:
Every civilisation, every religion, has cherished the idea of record-keeping. Hinduism, built on the principle of Karma – cause and effect – even has a specialist God for it: the humble Chitragupt, efficient assistant to Yama, the God of Death. Chitragupt’s meticulous account holds every person responsible for their actions, forming the basis of Yama’s decision: will each soul attain liberation or face the consequences of its misdeeds, cycling again through the chaurasi lakh joni, 8.4 million life forms.
Look beyond Hinduism, and there are echoes of this concept everywhere. There’s the metaphorical image of St. Peter guarding the gates of heaven. In Greek mythology Dike, the Goddess of Justice, along with her two sisters, again guarding the gates of heaven.
Now, why guard heaven’s gates if not to decide who can enter? And where there is judgement, there must exist advocacy.
The beautiful, pious and wise Savitri fiercely made her case before Yama himself and brought her dead husband to life. When Yama granted her three boons – anything except her husband’s life – she used precision worthy of a modern lawyer. She asked first that her father-in-law’s sight and kingdom be restored, then a hundred sons for her father, and finally, a hundred sons of her own by her husband. Caught in his own condition, Yama relented. Savitri returned with the love of her life, and prosperity for her tribe. That, surely, is advocacy at its finest.
If the Gods could be petitioned, then surely someone was arguing mankind’s case before them. It seems lawyering, mystical art of persuasion, is as ancient as time itself.
The Prototypes:
Every profession has their own set of stalwarts. Mythology is no different.
Krishna, the blue-bodied, Pundarikaaksha (lotus-eyed), flute-playing sweetheart of the milk-maids, is perhaps the most notable advocates of all times. Call him kingmaker, the archetype of diplomats, or political strategist – his gift lay in persuasion. He could foresee moves, prepare arguments, and articulate complex themes for easy understanding. The Bhagvad Geeta, his counsel to a wavering Arjun, is the prime example: divine lessons simplified for the benefit of mere mortals riddled with Dharmic conundrum. No matter what role he played, at his core, he was a consummate lawyer, aside from being a God, of course.
Another exemplary advocate happens to be everyone’s favourite deity to call upon when fear strikes their hearts. The only side-character important enough to have a whole chapter of the Ramayana dedicated to his adventures. Yes, the hero of the Sundar-Kaand, Hanuman.
As Ram’s emissary, he combined intellect and eloquence. He actually managed to locate Sita, demonstrating impeccable research skills – the hallmark of any lawyer.
Once he found Sita, he could have easily left Lanka, unseen, unhurt, just as he had arrived. But no, like a good lawyer, who loves to walk that extra mile for his clients, Hanuman orchestrated his arrest. He counselled peace to the war-mongering Raavan. And, even with his tail aflame (lawyers with tight deadlines will know that feeling) made a smooth exit, leaving behind a smouldering evidence of divine justice.
Then, there’s Yudhisthir.
Opinions about Yudhisthir may be divided, but, credit where credit is due, he represents the philosophical spine of law. We are all aware of his encounter with Yaksha, who was Yama in disguise. Yaksha hurls many complex questions at Yudhisthir and heanswers them all. One cannot say that his answers were correct, but they were to Yaksha’s immense satisfaction, peppered with logic and reasoning. That’s lawyering 101 – you may not always be right, but you must convince another. His reasoning has distilled Dharma into something almost jurisprudential.
Outside of Hindu lore, the Egyptian God Thoth deservesa special mention. He is said to be the inventor of written texts – hieroglyphics. Now, who loves to draw things down in black and white more than lawyers?
The Loopholes:
Our Puraanic tales are full of brilliant loopholes and fatal drafting errors. Every time a Danav or an Asura petitions for a boon, you can hear a lawyer groan, “Please, check the phrasing!”
Take Hiranyaksh for example. Sought a boon from Brahma to make him immortal. Brahma refused, of course. So he improvised: Let me not be killed by any devta, human, asura or animal. His desire to be invincible burnt so deep in his heart that he went on to specify the names of animals as well. In his eagerness though, he missed mentioning a pig, thus setting the stage for Vishnu to take the form of a boar (Varaha) and demolish him.
Upon his death, his brother Hiranyakashyapu, vowed to take revenge. He went ahead and performed a severe penance to please Brahma. Adequately pleased, Brahma granted him a boon too. This guy was wiser than his brother – at least he thought so. Thus went his prayer: Let me not be slain by any creation of thee (Brahma), neither man, nor animal, nor deva or asura. Let me not be slain in darkness or daylight. Let me not be slain by any weapon, man-made or divine. Let me not be killed inside or outside my house, neither in heaven nor on earth.
Isn’t that brilliantly comprehensive? But the Holy Trinity had senior advocates on their payroll. Who am I kidding? They were the primordial law-makers!
We all know his fate. Vishnu appeared as Narsimha, half lion, half man, neither man nor beast, and definitely not born of Brahma. Narsimha tore apart his chest with his claws, a weapon, neither man-made nor celestial. He was killed at twilight, when it is neither dark nor daylight; at the threshold of his courtyard, which is neither inside nor outside his house; and was placed atop Narsimha’s lap with his feet dangling in the air, which is neither earth nor was it the heavens.
Hiranyakashyapu was not slain, he was lawyered.
The pattern continues. Mahishasur, Raktabeej, Raavan, Bhasmaasur, the list is endless. Each demon who sought immunity from death met poetic defeat through his own clause. Raavan, consumed by arrogance, secured protection from Gods, demons, beasts – but never from human beings. Enter Rama, Vishnu’s human avatar, and the rest, as they say, is history.
You get the drift. Lawyering has divine sanction.
Dharma’s Due Process and Flawed Judgements:
The mythical loopholes may be entertaining, hilarious even, but they serve as a serious reminder that law is only as flawless as its interpreter.
Dharma, much like the practice of law in modern times, is not just about what’s written but rather the spirit behind the enactment. Dharma must be backed by logic and rationale, and it can never be rigid. Everything that is written must be interpreted with context, depending on cold-hard facts supported by evidence.
It is a truth we cannot deny that justice in the realm of man is almost always delayed, and sometimes, despite the best intentions of our judges, it is flawed. Acceptance of this truth is the very basis of the existence of appellate authorities.
The realm of the Divine is no different. Every time a boon is decreed, the aggrieved party goes to appeal to a higher authority, in the hope of finding a loophole. Sita’s trial by fire and her eventual exile is the most heart-breaking story of due process denied – an order pronounced without adequate hearing.
Yet this illustrates an important facet of law. For law, and its practice, is seldom perfect. There is always that tussle, that dilemma, between truth and its consequence, between evidence (or lack of it!) and hidden realities.
To err, therefore, is not just human; it follows from the divine.
And now I rest my case:
Law lives through its interpreters – the advocates who translate philosophy into precedent, arguments into commercial standards, each through their craft. The ancient beings understood this way before law was codified. The Gods rewarded logic, reasoning and precision – the pillars that sustain modern advocacy.
A senior colleague once told me that advocacy, stripped down to its bones, is the art of story-telling. Our religious and mythological tales with its never-ending drama, its boons and curses, the loopholes and solutions, narrate a story of belief: a belief that well-placed words can change fate itself and bend destinies.
And that, My Lords, is the timeless art of advocacy.