V
THE PRECURSORS OF KĀLIDĀSA AND ÇŪDRAKA
1. The Precursors of Kālidāsa
Kālidāsa refers in the prologue to the Mālavikāgnimitra not only to Bhāsa but to Saumilla and Kaviputra—perhaps rather the Kaviputras—as his predecessors in drama. Saumilla, whose name suggests an origin in Mahārāṣṭra, is mentioned by Rājaçekhara along with Bhāsa and a third poet Rāmila. Further, the same authority tells us that Rāmila and Somila composed a Çūdrakakathā, which is compared to Çiva under the form of Ardhanārīçvara, in which he is united with his spouse, perhaps a hint at the union of heroic and love sentiments in the tale. A fine stanza is attributed to them in the Çārn̄gadharapaddhati:[1]
savyādheḥ kṛçatā kṣatasya rudhiraṁ daṣṭasya lālāsrutiḥ
kiṁcin naitad ihāsti tat katham asau pānthas tapasvī mṛtaḥ?
ā jñātaṁ madhulampaṭair madhukarair ārabdhakolāhale
nūnaṁ sāhasikena cūtamukule dṛṣṭiḥ samāropitā.
‘Had he been ill he would have been emaciated; wounded, he would have bled; bitten, have shown the venom; no sign of these is here; how then has the unhappy traveller met his death? Ah! I see. When the bees began to hum as they sought greedily for honey, the rash one let his glance fall on the mango bud’. Spring is the time for lovers’ meetings; the traveller, far from his beloved, lets himself think of her and dies of despair.
The Kaviputras, a pair according to the verse cited from them in the Subhāṣitāvali[2], were apparently also collaborators, a decidedly curious parallel with Somila and Rāmila, as such collaboration seems later rare. The stanza is pretty:
bhrūcāturyaṁ kuñcitāntāḥ kaṭākṣāḥ: snigdhā hāvā lajjitāntāç ca hāsāḥ
līlāmandaṁ prasthitaṁ ca sthitaṁ ca: strīṇām etad bhūṣaṇam āyudhaṁ ca.
[[128]]
‘The play of the brows, the sidelong glances which contract the corners of the eyes, words of love, bashful laughter, the slow departure in sport, and the staying of the steps: these are the ornaments and the weapons of women.’
Strange that so scanty remnants should remain of poets who must have deserved high praise to receive Kālidāsa’s recognition, but the fame of that poet doubtless inflicted on them the fate that all but overtook Bhāsa himself.
2. The Authorship and Age of the Mṛcchakaṭikā
The discovery of the Cārudatta of Bhāsa has cast an unexpected light on the age of the Mṛcchakaṭikā, but has still left it dubious whether or not the author is to be placed before Kālidāsa. That this rank was due to him was the general opinion before Professor Lévi attacked the theory, and it is curious that later he should have inclined to doubt the value of his earlier judgement. The existence of the Cārudatta would explain, of course, the silence of Kālidāsa on the Mṛcchakaṭikā, if it existed in his time. Explicit use of the drama by Kālidāsa or the reverse would be conclusive, but unhappily none of the parallels which can be adduced have any effective force, and from rhetorical quotations we only have the fact that Çūdraka was recognized as an author by Vāmana,[3] for Daṇḍin’s citation of a verse found in the Mṛcchakaṭikā is now clearly known to be a citation from Bhāsa, in whose works the verse in question twice occurs. With this falls the hypothesis of Pischel,[4] who, after ascribing the play to Bhāsa, later fathered it upon Daṇḍin, to make good the number of three famous works with which he is in later tradition credited.
The play itself presents Çūdraka, a king, as its author and gives curious details of his capacities; he was an expert in the Ṛgveda, the Sāmaveda, mathematics, the arts regarding courtesans, and the science of elephants, all facts which could be concluded from the knowledge shown in the play itself; he was cured of some complaint, and after establishing his son in his place, and performing the horse sacrifice, he entered the fire and [[129]]died at the age of a hundred years and ten days. We have a good deal more information of a sort regarding his personality; he was to Kalhaṇa in the Rājataran̄giṇī[5] a figure to be set beside Vikramāditya; the Skanda Purāṇa[6] makes him out the first of the Andhrabhṛtyas; the Vetālapañcaviṅçati knows of his age as a hundred, and gives as his capital either Vardhamāna or Çobhāvatī, which is the scene of his activities according to the Kathāsaritsāgara, which tells of the sacrifice of a Brahmin who saves him from imminent death and secures his life of a hundred years by killing himself. In the Kādambarī he is located at Vidiçā, and in the Harṣacarita we hear of the device by which he got rid of his enemy Candraketu, prince of Cakora, while Daṇḍin in the Daçakumāracarita refers to his adventures in several lives. The fact that Rāmila and Somila wrote a Kathā on him is significant of his legendary character in their time, considerably before Kālidāsa. A very late tradition in the Vīracarita and the younger Rājaçekhara[7] brings him into connexion with Sātavāhana or Çālivāhana, whose minister he was and from whom he obtained half his kingdom, including Pratiṣṭhāna.[8]
These references seem to suggest that Çūdraka was a merely legendary person, a fact rather supported than otherwise by his quaint name, which is absurd in a king of normal type. Nevertheless, Professor Konow treats him as historical, and finds in him the Ābhīra prince Çivadatta, who, or whose son, Īçvarasena, is held by Dr. Fleet to have overthrown the last of the Andhra dynasty and to have founded the Cedi era of A.D. 248–9.[9] This remarkable result is held to be supported by the fact that in the play the king of Ujjayinī is Pālaka, and is represented as being overthrown by Āryaka, son of a herdsman (gopāla), and the Ābhīras are essentially herdsmen. But this is much more than dubious; we have in fact legendary history in the names of Pālaka, Gopāla—to be taken probably in the Mṛcchakaṭikā as a proper name—and Āryaka. The proof is indeed overwhelming, for Bhāsa, who is the source of so much of the Mṛcchakaṭikā, [[130]]mentions in his Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa as sons of Pradyota of Ujjayinī both Gopāla and Pālaka, and the Bṛhatkathā must have contained the story of Gopāla surrendering the kingdom on Pradyota’s death to Pālaka, and of the latter having to make room for Āryaka, his brother’s son. To make history out of these events, which belong to the period shortly after the Buddha’s death, say 483 B.C., and history of the third century A.D., is really impossible. Çūdraka is really clearly mythical, as is seen by the admission that he entered the fire, for no one can believe that he foresaw his death-day so precisely, or that the ceremony referred to is that performed on becoming an ascetic, or even that the prologue was added after his death; if it had been, it would have doubtless been of a different type. Still less can we imagine that he was helped in his work by Rāmila and Somila.
Windisch,[10] on the other hand, attempted to prove a close similarity between the plot of the political side of the play and the legend of Kṛṣṇa, instancing the prediction of Āryaka’s attaining the throne, the jealousy of the king and his efforts to destroy him, and the final overthrow of the tyrant. The similarity, however, is really remote; the story is a commonplace in legend, and nothing can be made of the comparison.
We are left, therefore, to accept the view that the author who wrote up the Cārudatta, and combined with it a new play, thought it well to conceal his identity and to pass off the work under the appellation of a famous king. Lévi’s suggestion that he chose Çūdraka for this purpose because he lived after Vikramāditya, patron of Kālidāsa, and wished to give his work the appearance of antiquity by associating it with a prince who preceded Vikramāditya, is clearly far-fetched, and insufficient to suggest a date. Nor can anything be deduced from the plentiful exhibition of Prākrits, which is not, to judge from Bhāsa, a sign of very early date; while the use of Māhārāṣṭrī Prākrit would be, if proved, conclusive that he is fairly late. Konow’s effort to support Çūdraka’s connexion with Pratiṣṭhāna by this use is clearly untenable.
There is more plausibility in the argument from the simple form of the construction of the drama; the manner of Bhāsa is [[131]]closely followed; thus in Act IX the absurd celerity with which the officer of the court obeys the order to bring the mother of Vasantasenā on the scene, and secures the presence of Cārudatta, is precisely on a par with Bhāsa’s management of the plot in his dramas. The scenes of violence, in which Vasantasenā is apparently killed and Cārudatta is led to death, are reminiscent of Bhāsa’s willingness to present such scenes, but they do not depart from the practice of the later drama as in Bhavabhūti’s Mālatīmādhava. The Çakāra and Viṭa are indeed figures of the early stage, but they are taken straight from Bhāsa and prove nothing. The position of the Buddhist monk is more interesting, but here again it is borrowed, though developed, and we find Buddhism respected in Kālidāsa and Harṣa. The arguments based on the apparent similarity with the Greek New Comedy are without value for an early date, for they apply, if they have any value at all, to the Cārudatta of Bhāsa. We are left, therefore, with no more than impressions, and these are quite insufficient to assign any date to the clever hand which recast the Cārudatta and made one of the great plays of the Indian drama.[11]
3. The Mṛcchakaṭikā
The first four acts of the play are a reproduction with slight changes of the Cārudatta of Bhāsa;[12] the very prologue shows the fact in the inexplicable transformation in the speech of the director, who opens in Sanskrit and then changes to Prākrit, while in the Cārudatta he speaks Prākrit only as fits the part of the Vidūṣaka which he is to play. The names are slightly changed; the king’s brother-in-law is called Saṁsthānaka, and the thief Çarvilaka. Act I carries the action up to the deposit of the gems by Vasantasenā; Act II relates the generosity of the hetaera to the shampooer who turns monk, and the attack made on him as he leaves her house by a mad elephant, from which Karṇapūraka, a servant of Vasantasenā’s, saves him, receiving as reward a cloak which Vasantasenā recognizes as Cārudatta’s. In Act III we learn of Çarvilaka’s success in stealing the jewels, and the generous resolve of the wife of Cārudatta to give her necklace to [[132]]replace them. In Act IV Çarvilaka gives the jewels to Vasantasenā, who, though aware of the theft, sets his love free. As he leaves with her, he hears of the imprisonment of his friend Āryaka by order of the king, who knows the prophecy of his attaining the kingship, and leaving his newly-made bride, he hastens to aid his friend who is reported to have escaped from his captivity. The Vidūṣaka then comes with the necklace, which the hetaera accepts in order to use it as a pretext to see Cārudatta once more. The visit occupies Act V, which passes in a storm forcing Vasantasenā to spend the night in Cārudatta’s house. Act VI reveals her next morning offering to return to Cārudatta’s wife the necklace, but her gift is refused. The child of Cārudatta appears, complaining that he has only a little earth cart (mṛcchakaṭikā), whence the name of the play; Vasantasenā gives him her jewels that he may buy one of gold. She is to rejoin Cārudatta in a neighbouring park, the property of Saṁsthānaka, but by error she enters the car of Saṁsthānaka, while Āryaka, who has been seeking a hiding-place, leaps into that of Cārudatta and is driven away; two policemen stop the cart, and one recognizes Āryaka, but protects him from the other with whom he contrives a quarrel. In Act VII Cārudatta, who is conversing with the Vidūṣaka, sees his cart drive up, discovers Āryaka, and permits him to go off in it, while he himself leaves to find Vasantasenā. In the next act Saṁsthānaka, with the Viṭa and a slave, meets in the park the shampooer turned monk, who has gone there to wash his robe in the tank; he insults him and beats him. The cart with Vasantasenā then is driven up, and the angry Saṁsthānaka first tries to win her by fair words; then, repulsed, orders the Viṭa and the slave to slay her; they indignantly refuse; he pretends to grow calm, dismisses them, and then rains blows on Vasantasenā, who falls apparently dead; the Viṭa, who sees his action, deserts at once his cause and passes over to Āryaka’s side. Saṁsthānaka, after burying the body under some leaves, departs, promising himself to put the slave in chains; the monk re-enters to dry his robe, finds and restores to life Vasantasenā, and takes her to the monastery to be cared for. In Act IX Saṁsthānaka denounces Cārudatta as the murderer of Vasantasenā to the court;[13] her [[133]]mother is summoned as a witness, but defends Cārudatta, who himself is cited; the police officer testifies to the escape of Āryaka, which implicates Cārudatta; the Vidūṣaka who enters the court, while en route to return to Vasantasenā the jewels she had given the child, is so indignant with the accuser that he lets fall the jewels; this fact, taken together with the evidence that Vasantasenā spent the night with Cārudatta and left next morning to meet him, and the signs of struggle in the park, deceives the judge, who condemns Cārudatta to exile; Pālaka converts the sentence into one of death. Act X reveals the hero led to death by two Caṇḍālas, who regret the duty they have to perform; the servant of Saṁsthānaka escapes and reveals the truth, but Saṁsthānaka makes light of his words as a disgraced and spiteful slave, and the headsmen decide to proceed with their work. Vasantasenā and the monk enter just in time to prevent Cārudatta’s death, and, while the lovers rejoice at their reunion, the news is brought that Āryaka has succeeded Pālaka whom he has slain, and that he has granted a principality to Cārudatta. The crowd shout for Saṁsthānaka’s death, but Cārudatta pardons him, while the monk is rewarded by being appointed superior over the Buddhist monasteries of the realm, and, best of all, Vasantasenā is made free of her profession, and thus can become Cārudatta’s lawful wife.
To the author we may ascribe the originality of combining the political and the love intrigue, which give together a special value to the play. We know of no precise parallel to this combination of motifs, though in the Bṛhatkathā there was probably a story recorded later[14] of the hetaera Kumudikā who fell in love with a poor Brahmin, imprisoned by the king; she allied herself to the fortunes of a dethroned prince Vikramasiṅha, aided him by her arts to secure the throne, and was permitted by the grateful prince to marry her beloved, now released from prison. The idea was doubtless current in some form or another, just as for the incidents of Bhāsa’s story we can trace parallels in the Kathā literature of hetaerae who love honest and poor men and desire to abandon for their sakes their hereditary and obligatory calling, which the law will compel them to follow.[15] The conception of the science of theft is neatly paralleled in the Daçakumāracarita, [[134]]where a text-book of the subject is ascribed to Karṇīsuta, and the same work contains interesting accounts of gambling which illustrate Act II. The Kathāsaritsāgara[16] tells of a ruined gambler, who takes refuge in an empty shrine, and describes in Sarga xxxviii the palace of the hetaera Madanamālā in terms which may be compared with the description by the Vidūṣaka in Act IV of the splendours of Vasantasenā’s palace.[17] The court scene conforms duly to the requirements of the legal Smṛtis of the sixth and seventh centuries A.D., but the conservatism of the law renders this no sign of date.
Though composite in origin and in no sense a transcript from life, the merits of the Mṛcchakaṭikā are great and most amply justify what else would have been an inexcusable plagiarism. The hints given in the Cārudatta here appear in full and harmonious development aided and heightened by the introduction of the intrigue, which combines the private affairs of the hero with the fate of the city and kingdom. Cārudatta’s character is attractive in the extreme; considerate to his friend the Vidūṣaka, honouring and respecting his wife, deeply devoted to his little son, Rohasena, he loves Vasantasenā with an affection free from all mere passion; he has realized her nobility of character, her generosity, and the depth and truth of her love. Yet his devotion is only a part of his life; aware of the vanity of all human things, he does not value life over-highly; his condemnation affects him most because it strikes at his honour that he should have murdered a woman, and he leaves thus to his child a heritage of shame. Not less attractive is Vasantasenā, bound, despite herself, to a profession which has brought her great wealth but which offends her heart; the judge and all the others believe her merely carried away by sensual passion; Cārudatta and his wife alone recognize her nobility of soul, and realize how much it means for her to be made eligible for marriage to her beloved. There is an admirable contrast with the hero in the Çakāra Saṁsthānaka, who is described vividly and realistically. His position as brother-in-law of the king and his wealth make him believe that he is entitled to whatever he wants; Vasantasenā’s repulse of him outrages his sense of his own importance [[135]]more than anything else; brutal, ignorant[18] despite his association with courtiers of breeding and refinement, and cowardly, he has only skill in perfidy and deceit, and is mean enough to beg piteously for the life he has forfeited, but which Cārudatta magnanimously spares. The Viṭa is an excellent foil to him in his culture, good taste, and high breeding; despite his dependence on his patron, he checks his violence to Vasantasenā, strives to prevent his effort to murder her, and when he fails in this takes his life into his own hands and passes over to Āryaka’s side. The Vidūṣaka may be fond of food and comfortable living, but he remains faithful in adversity to his master, is prepared to die for him, and consents to live only to care for his son.
The minor characters among the twenty-seven in all who appear have each an individuality rare in Indian drama. Çarvilaka, once a Brahmin, now a professional thief, performs his new functions with all the precision appropriate to the performance of religious rites according to the text-books. The shampooer, turned Buddhist monk, has far too much worldly knowledge to seek any temporal preferment from the favour of Āryaka. Māthura, the master gambler, is a hardened sinner without bowels of compassion, but the two headsmen are sympathetic souls who perform reluctantly their painful duty. The wife of Cārudatta is a noble and gentle lady worthy of her husband, and one who in the best Indian fashion does not grudge him a new love if worthy, while the lively maid Madanikā deserves fully her freedom and marriage with Çarvilaka. Even characters which play so small an actual part as Āryaka are effectively indicated. The good taste of the author is strikingly revealed by the alteration made in the last scene by a certain Nīlakaṇṭha,[19] who holds that the omission to bring upon the stage Cārudatta’s wife, his son, and the Vidūṣaka was due to the risk of making the time occupied by the representation of the play too great. He supplies the lacuna by representing all three as determined to commit suicide when Cārudatta rescues them; the author himself would never have consented to introduce the first wife at the moment when a second is about to be taken.
The author is not merely admirable in characterization; he is [[136]]master of pathos, as in the parting of Cārudatta from his son who asks the headsman to kill him and let his father go, and above all he abounds in humour and wit; even in the last act Goha, the headman, relieves the tension by the tale of his father who advised him on his death-bed not to slay too quickly the criminal on the off-chance that there might be a revolution or something to save the wretch’s life, and, when after deliverance comes the noble Cārudatta forbids the slaying with steel of the grovelling Saṁsthānaka, Çarvilaka cheerfully remarks that is all right: he will be eaten alive by the dogs instead.
These merits and the wealth of incident of the drama more than compensate for the overluxuriance of the double intrigue, and the lack of unity, which is unquestionable. A demerit in the eyes of the writers on poetics is the absence of elaborate descriptions, but the simple and clear diction of the play adds greatly to its liveliness and dramatic effect, and the poet has perfect command of the power of pithy and forcible expression. The Viṭa effectually rebukes the arrogance and pride of family of Saṁsthānaka:
kiṁ kulenopadiṣṭena çīlam evātra kāraṇam
bhavanti sutarāṁ sphītāḥ sukṣetre kaṇṭakidrumāḥ.
‘Why talk of birth? Character alone counts. In rich soil the thorn trees grow fastest.’ Cārudatta on the point of death asserts his fearlessness:
na bhīto marāṇād asmi kevalaṁ dūṣitaṁ yaçaḥ
viçuddhasya hi me mṛtyuḥ putrajanmasamo bhavet.
‘I fear not death, but my honour is sullied; were that stain removed, death would be as dear as the birth of a son.’ Admirable is his expression of belief in Vasantasenā who may be dead:
prabhavati yadi dharmo dūṣitasyāpi me ’dya: prabalapuruṣavākyair bhāgyadoṣāt kathaṁcit
surapatibhavanasthā yatra tatra sthitā vā: vyapanayatu kalan̄kaṁ svasvabhāvena saiva.
‘If righteousness prevails, though to-day I am undone by the slanderous words of one in power through my unhappy fate, may she, dwelling with the gods above or wherever she be, by her true nature wipe out the blot upon me.’ Sadly he apostrophizes his child deemed to be at play: [[137]]
hā Rohasena na hi paçyasi me vipattim: mithyaiva nandasi paravyasanena nityam.
‘Ah! Rohasena, since thou dost not know my plight, ever dost thou rejoice in thy play falsely, for sorrow is in store.’
The character of Cārudatta is effectively portrayed by the Vidūṣaka:[20]
dīnānāṁ kalpavṛkṣaḥ svaguṇaphalanataḥ sajjanānāṁ kuṭumbī
ādarçaḥ çikṣitānāṁ sucaritanikaṣaḥ çīlavelāsamudraḥ
satkartā nāvamantā puruṣaguṇanidhir dakṣiṇodārasattvo hy
ekaḥ çlāghyaḥ sa jīvaty adhikaguṇatayā cocchvasanti cānye.
‘A tree of bounty to the poor, bent down by its fruits, his virtues; a support for all good men; a mirror of the learned, a touchstone of virtue, an ocean that never violates its boundaries of virtue; righteous, free from pride, a store-house of human merit, the essence of courtesy and nobility; he gives meaning to life by the goodness which we extol; other men merely breathe.’
The evils of poverty are forcibly depicted by Cārudatta himself:[21]
çūnyair gṛhaiḥ khalu samāḥ puruṣāḥ daridrāḥ
kūpaiç ca toyarahitais tarubhiç ca çīrṇaiḥ
yad dṛṣṭapūrvajanasaṁgamavismṛtānām
evam bhavanti viphalāḥ paritoṣakālāḥ.
‘Like empty houses, in truth, are poor men, or wells without water or blasted trees; for fruitless are their hours of relaxation, since their former friends forget them.’ The same idea is again expressed by the hero:[22]
satyaṁ na me vibhavanāçakṛtāsti cintā: bhāgyakrameṇa hi dhanāni bhavanti yānti
etat tu māṁ dahati naṣṭadhanāçrayasya: yat sauhṛdād api janāḥ çithilībhavanti.
‘My dejection, assuredly, is not born of the mere loss of my wealth, for with the turn of fortune’s wheel riches come and go. Nay, what pains me is that men fail in friendship to him whose sometime wealth has taken flight.’ The repetition of the idea becomes, indeed, wearisome, but the ingenuity and fancy of the author are undoubted. [[138]]
Love is also effectively described. The Viṭa is an admirer of Vasantasenā and thus addresses the fleeting lady:[23]
kiṁ tvaṁ padair mama padāni viçeṣayantī
vyālīva yāsi patagendrabhayābhibhūtā?
vegād aham praviçṛtaḥ pavanaṁ nirundhyām
tvannigrahe tu varagātri na me prayatnaḥ.
‘Why, surpassing my speed with thine own, dost thou flee like a snake, filled with fear of the lord of birds? Were I to use my speed I could outstrip the wind itself, but I would make no effort to seize thee, O fair-limbed one.’ Cārudatta praises the rain:[24]
dhanyāni teṣāṁ khalu jīvitāni: ye kāminīnāṁ gṛham āgatānām
ārdrāṇi meghodakaçītalāni: gātrāṇi gātreṣu pariṣvajanti.
‘Happy the life of those whose limbs embrace the limbs of their loved ones, come to their home, dripping wet and cold with the water of the clouds.’
Moreover, while to later Indian critics the descriptive stanzas of the poet are lacking in that elaboration and cleverness which are admitted by developed taste, to us much of the poetic value of the drama depends on the power of the poet to describe with point and feeling in simple terms which require no effort to appreciate. The whole scene of the storm gains by the stanzas in which its beauties are described, once we consent, as we must do in appreciating any Sanskrit play, to ignore the inappropriateness of these lyric effusions in the actual circumstances. In real life a lady seeking eagerly an interview with her beloved, in resplendent attire, would have no time to display her command of Sanskrit poetry in description, when counsels of prudence urged her to her destination with the least possible delay:[25]
mūḍhe nirantarapayodharayā mayaiva: kāntaḥ sahābhiramate kiṁ tavātra?
māṁ garjitair iti muhur vinivārayantī: mārgaṁ ruṇaddhi kupiteva niçā sapatnī.
‘ “If, foolish one, my beloved has joy clasped in my bosom’s embrace, what is that to thee?” Thus night with her thunders, seeking to stay me, blocks my path, like an angry rival.’
meghā varṣantu garjantu muñcantv açanim eva vā
gaṇayanti na çītoṣṇaṁ ramaṇābhimukhāḥ striyaḥ.
[[139]]
‘Let the clouds rain, thunder, or cast down the levin bolt; women who speed to their loved ones reckon nothing of heat or cold.’[26]
gatā nāçaṁ tārā upakṛtam asādhāv iva jane
viyuktāḥ kāntena striya iva na rājanti kakubhaḥ
prakāmāntastaptaṁ tridaçapatiçastrasya çikhinā
dravībhūtam manye patati jalarūpeṇa gaganam.
‘The stars disappear, like a favour bestowed on a worthless man; the quarters lose their radiance, like women severed from their beloved; molten by the fierce fire of Indra’s bolt, the sky, I ween, is poured down upon us in rain.’[27]
unnamati namati varṣati garjati meghaḥ karoti timiraugham
prathamaçrīr iva puruṣaḥ karoti rūpāṇy anekāni.
‘The cloud rises aloft, bows down, pours rain, sends thunder and the dark; every show it makes of its wealth like the man newly rich.’[28]
Last we may cite the rebuke of Vasantasenā to the lightning:
yadi garjati vāridharo garjatu tannāma niṣṭhurāḥ puruṣāḥ
ayi vidyut pramadānāṃ tvam api ca duḥkhaṁ na jānāsi?
‘If the cloud must thunder, then let him thunder; cruel were men ever; but, O lightning, can it be that thou too dost not know the pangs of a maiden’s love?’[29]
The merits of the play are sufficient to enable its author to dispense with praise not deserved. For Çūdraka, regarded as the author, has been credited[30] with the distinction of being a cosmopolitan; however great the difference between Kālidāsa, ‘the grace of poetry’[31] and Bhavabhūti, ‘the master of eloquence,’[32] these two authors, it is said, are far more allied in spirit than is either of them with the author of the Mṛcchakaṭikā; the Çakuntalā and the Uttararāmacarita could have been produced nowhere save in India, Çakuntalā is a Hindu maid, Mādhava a Hindu hero, while Saṁsthānaka, Maitreya, and Madanikā are citizens of the world. This claim, however, can hardly be admitted; the Mṛcchakaṭikā as a whole is a drama redolent of Indian thought and life, and none of the three characters adduced have any special claim to be more cosmopolitan than some of the [[140]]creations of Kālidāsa. The variety of the characters of the play is unquestionably laudable, but the praise in part is due to Bhāsa, and not to his successor. To the same source also must be attributed the comparative simplicity of the style, which certainly contrasts with the degree of elaboration found even in Kālidāsa, and carried much further in Bhavabhūti. The variety of incident is foreshadowed in Bhāsa, but the development of the drama must be attributed to the author, and frankly it cannot be said to be wholly artistic; that the drama is unnecessarily complex must be conceded, nor can the action be said to proceed with complete ease and conviction. The humour of the play is undoubted, but here again to Bhāsa must honour be given. Bhāsa again is the prototype for the neglect of the rule of the dramaturgy which demands the presence of the hero on the stage in each act; the naming of the play, in defiance of convention, from a minor incident may justly be ascribed to the author himself.
The real Indian character of the drama reveals itself in the demand for the conventional happy ending, which shows us every person in a condition of happiness, with the solitary exception of the evil king. Cārudatta is restored to affluence and power from the depths of infamy and misery; Vasantasenā’s virtue and fidelity are rewarded by the signal honour of restoration to the rank of one whom the hero may marry; the monk, who refuses worldly gain, has the pleasure of becoming charged with spiritual oversight, with its attendant amenities—not inconsiderable to judge from our knowledge of the wealth of Buddhist monasteries. Even Saṁsthānaka is spared, to save us, we may assume, the pain of seeing anything so unpleasant as a real, even if well deserved, death on the stage, for the king perishes at a distance from the scene. If, as Cārudatta asserts at the end of the play, fate plays with men like buckets at the well, one rising as another falls, Çūdraka is not inclined to seek realism sufficiently to permit of his introducing even a tinge of sorrow into the close of his drama.
4. The Prākrits
No extant play exhibits anything like the variety of Prākrits found in the Mṛcchakaṭikā, which seems almost as if intended to [[141]]illustrate the precepts of the Nāṭyaçāstra in this regard.[33] The commentator obligingly provides us with the names of the dialects represented and those who speak them. Çaurasenī is spoken by the director after his Sanskrit exordium, the comedienne, Vasantasenā, Madanikā, her servant, Karṇapūraka, her slave, her mother, the wife of Cārudatta, the Çreṣṭhin or guildsman, and the officer of the court, and Radanikā, Cārudatta’s servant. Avantikā is attributed to the two policemen Vīraka and Candanaka. The Vidūṣaka speaks Prācyā. The shampooer who turns monk, Sthāvaraka, servant of the Çakāra Saṁsthānaka, Kumbhīlaka, servant of Vasantasenā, Vardhamānaka, servant of Cārudatta, and the little Rohasena speak Māgadhī. The Çakāra speaks Çākārī, the Caṇḍālas who act as headsmen Cāṇḍālī, and the chief gambler Ḍhakkī. Sanskrit, on the other hand, is spoken by the hero, the Viṭa, the royal claimant Āryaka, and the Brahmin thief Çarvilaka. This distribution of Prākrits agrees with that of the Nāṭyaçāstra as we have it in one important aspect; it ignores the Māhārāṣṭrī, though for some not obvious reason Konow claims that this was introduced into the drama by Çūdraka. On the other hand, it does not assign to slaves, Rājputs, or guildsmen the Ardha-Māgadhī of the Nāṭyaçāstra. In the case of Rohasena the Māgadhī ascribed to him has been largely converted into Çaurasenī in the manuscripts. The Çāstra ascribes Āvantī to Dhūrtas, which is interpreted as meaning gamblers; the distinction between it and Çaurasenī is minimal; it is said to have s and r and be rich in proverbs by Pṛthvīdhara, and this accords adequately with the actual speeches of the officers. But the second, Candanaka, expressly gives himself out as a southerner, and we can hardly avoid the conclusion that the dialect is Dākṣiṇātyā which the Çāstra ascribes to warriors, police officers, and gamblers. The Prācyā of the Vidūṣaka is nothing more or less than Çaurasenī, though it is given separately in the Çāstra also; it may have been an eastern dialect of the main language. The Ḍhakkī ascribed to the gamblers should probably[34] be named Ṭakkī, or Ṭākkī, an easy error because of the confusion of the letters in manuscripts. Pischel regarded it as an eastern dialect which had l, and preserved two [[142]]sibilants ç and s in which ṣ was merged; Sir G. Grierson finds in it a western dialect, which seems more probable. The Çākārī of Saṁsthānaka is nothing more or less than Māgadhī, which is given as the language of that person by the Nāṭyaçāstra, and the Cāṇḍālī is merely another variety of that Prākrit. Thus the rich variety reduces itself in effect to Çaurasenī[35] and Māgadhī with Ṭakkī, of which we have too little to say precisely what it was.
5. The Metres
The author of the Mṛcchakaṭikā shows considerable skill in metrical handling; his favourite metre is naturally enough the Çloka, which suits his rapid style and is adapted to further the progress of the dialogue. It occurs 83 times, while the next favourite, the pretty Vasantatilaka, appears 39 times, and the Çārdūlavikrīḍita 32 times. The only other important metres are the Indravajrā (26), with the Vaṅçasthā (9), and the Upajāti combination of both (5). But there occur also the Puṣpitāgrā, Praharṣiṇī, Mālinī, Vidyunmālā,[36] Vaiçvadevī, Çikhariṇī, Sragdharā, and Hariṇī, and one irregular stanza. Of the Āryā there are 21 cases, including one Gīti, with 30 morae in each half stanza, and there are two instances of the Aupacchandasika. The Prākrit metres show considerable variety; of the Āryā type there are 53 as against 44 of other types.[37] [[143]]
[3] Lévi, TI. i. 198; Vāmana, iii. 2. 4. [↑]
[4] Rudraṭa, pp. 16 f. But see Hari Chand, Kālidāsa, pp. 78 f. [↑]
[6] Wilson, Works, ix. 194. [↑]
[7] IS. xiv. 147; JBRAS. viii. 240. [↑]
[8] He is later the hero of a Parikathā, the Çūdrakavadha (Rāyamukuṭa, ZDMG. xxviii. 117), and of a drama, Vikrāntaçūdraka (Sarasvatīkaṇṭhābharaṇa, p. 378). [↑]
[9] KF. pp. 107 ff. Cf. Bhandarkar, Anc. Hist. of India, pp. 64 f.; CHI. i. 311. [↑]
[10] Berichte der Sächs. Gesellsch. d. Wissenschaften, 1885, pp. 439 f. [↑]
[11] Jacobi (Bhavisattakaha, p. 83) believes in Çūdraka as a king, but thinks Kālidāsa older. [↑]
[12] See G. Morgenstierne, Über das Verhältnis zwischen Cārudatta und Mṛcchakaṭikā (1921). [↑]
[13] Jolly (Tagore Law Lectures, 1883, pp. 68 f.) compares the procedure of the Smṛtis. [↑]
[15] Daçakumāracarita, ii. [↑]
[17] Cf. Çlokasaṁgraha, x. 60–163. [↑]
[18] His errors in the field of mythology are appalling, e.g. Kuntī for Sītā, i. 21. [↑]
[19] Stenzler’s ed. pp. 325 ff.; Wilson, i. 177. [↑]
[22] i. 13; cf. Cārudatta, i. 5. [↑]
[23] i. 22; cf. Cārudatta i. 11, on which it improves. [↑]
[30] Ryder, The Little Clay Cart, p. xvi. [↑]
[31] Jayadeva, Prasannarāghava, i. 22. [↑]
[32] Mahāvīracarita, i. 4. [↑]
[33] Cf. Pischel, Prākrit-Grammatik, pp. 25 ff. [↑]
[34] JRAS. 1913, p. 882; 1918, p. 513. Cf. Kāvyamīmāṅsā, p. 51. [↑]
[35] Used in verse even, e.g. by the Vidūṣaka. [↑]
[36] — — — —, — — — —. In no other classical drama is it found. [↑]
[37] The apparent occurrence of Māhārāṣṭrī stanzas is in all probability not in accordance with the original text, which knew only the Prākrits given in § 4; see Hillebrandt, GN. 1905, pp. 436 ff. [↑]
VI
KĀLIDĀSA
1. The Date of Kālidāsa
It is unfortunate, though as in the case of Shakespeare not surprising, that we know practically nothing of the life and age of Kālidāsa save what we can infer from his works and from the general history of Sanskrit literature. There are indeed stories[1] of his ignorance in youth, until he was given poetic power by the grace of Kālī, whence his strange style of Kālidāsa, slave of Kālī, which is not one prima facie to be expected in the case of a poet who shows throughout his work the finest flower of Brahmanical culture. But these tales are late and worthless, and equally without value is the fiction that he was a contemporary of King Bhoja of Dhārā in the first half of the eleventh century A.D. As little value, however, attaches to a tale which has been deemed of greater value, the alleged death of Kālidāsa in Ceylon when on a visit there by the hand of a courtesan, and the discovery of his murder by his friend Kumāradāsa, identified with the king of that name of the early part of the sixth century A.D. The tradition, as I showed in 1901, is very late, unsupported by the earliest evidence, and totally without value.[2]
The most prevalent tradition makes Kālidāsa a contemporary of Vikramāditya, and treats him as one of the nine jewels of that monarch’s entourage. Doubtless the king meant by the tradition, which is late and of uncertain provenance, is the Vikramāditya whose name is associated with the era of 57 B.C. and who is credited with a victory over the Çakas. Whatever truth there may be in the legend, and in this regard we have nothing but conjecture,[3] there is not the slightest reason to accept so early a date for Kālidāsa, and it has now no serious supporter outside India. But, based on Fergusson’s suggestion[4] that the era of [[144]]57 B.C. was based on a real victory over Hūṇas in A.D. 544, the reckoning being antedated 600 years, Max Müller[5] adopted the view that Kālidāsa flourished about that period, a suggestion which was supported by the fact that Varāhamihira, also a jewel, certainly belongs to that century, and others of the jewels might without great difficulty be assigned to the same period. The theory in so far as it rested on Fergusson’s hypothesis has been definitely demolished by conclusive proof of the existence of the era, as that of the Mālavas, before A.D. 544, but the date has been supported on other grounds. Thus Dr. Hoernle[6] found it most probable that the victor who was meant by Vikramāditya in tradition was the king Yaçodharman, conqueror of the Hūṇas, and the same view was at one time supported by Professor Pathak,[7] who laid stress on the fact that Kālidāsa in his account of the Digvijaya, or tour of conquest of the earth, of the ancient prince Raghu in the Raghuvaṅça[8] refers to the Hūṇas, and apparently locates them in Kashmir, because he mentions the saffron which grows only in Kashmir.
An earlier date, to bring Kālidāsa under the Guptas, has been favoured by other authorities, who have found that the reference to a conquest of the Hūṇas must be held to be allusion to a contemporary event. This date is attained on second thoughts by Professor Pathak,[9] who places the Hūṇas on the Oxus on this view, and holds that Kālidāsa wrote his poem shortly after A.D. 450, the date of the first establishment of their empire in the Oxus valley, but before their first defeat by Skandagupta, which took place before A.D. 455, when they were still in the Oxus valley and were considered the most invincible warriors of the age. On the other hand, Monmohan Chakravarti,[10] who converted Professor Pathak to belief in the contemporaneity of Kālidāsa with the Guptas, places the date at between A.D. 480 and 490, on the theory that the Hūṇas were in Kālidāsa’s time in Kashmir. The whole argument, however, appears fallacious; Raghu is represented as conquering the Persians, and there is no [[145]]contemporary ground for this allegation; manifestly we have no serious historical reminiscences, but, as is natural in a Brahmanical poet, a reference of the type of the epic which knows perfectly well the Hūṇas. The exact identity of the Hūṇas of the epic is immaterial; as the name had penetrated to the western world by the second century A.D. if not earlier, there is no conceivable reason for assuming that it could not have reached India long before the fifth or sixth centuries A.D.[11]
Other evidence is scanty. Mallinātha, as is notorious, finds in verse 14 of the Meghadūta a reference to a poet Nicula, a friend of Kālidāsa, and an enemy Dignāga; the latter would be the famous Buddhist logician, and, assuming that his date is the fifth century A.D., we have an argument for placing Kālidāsa in the fifth or sixth century A.D. But the difficulties of this argument are insurmountable. In the first place, it is extremely difficult to accept the alleged reference to Nicula, who is otherwise a mere name, and to Dignāga; why a Buddhist logician should have attacked a poet does not appear, especially as every other record of the conflict is lost. Nor is the double entendre at all in Kālidāsa’s manner;[12] such efforts are little in harmony with Kālidāsa’s age, while later they are precisely what is admitted, and are naturally seen by the commentators where not really intended. It is significant that the allusion is not noted by Vallabhadeva, and that it first occurs in Dakṣināvarta Nātha (c. A.D. 1200) and Mallinātha (fourteenth century), many centuries after the latest date assignable to Kālidāsa. Even, however, if the reference were real, the date of Dignāga can no longer be placed confidently in the fifth century A.D., or with other authorities in the sixth century. On the contrary, there is a good deal of evidence which suggests that A.D. 400 is as late as he can properly be placed.[13]
As little can any conclusion be derived from the allusion in Vāmana to a son of Candragupta in connexion with Vasubandhu, which has led to varied efforts at identification, based largely on the fifth century as the date of Vasubandhu. But it is far more [[146]]probable that Vasubandhu dates from the early part of the fourth century, and nothing can be derived hence to aid in determining the period of Kālidāsa.[14]
More solid evidence must be sought in the astronomical or astrological data which are found in Kālidāsa. Professor Jacobi has seen in the equalization of the midday with the sixth Kāla in the Vikramorvaçī a proof of Kālidāsa’s having lived in the period immediately subsequent to the introduction from the west of the system of reckoning for ordinary purposes the day by 12 Horās, Kāla being evidently used as Horā. The passage has been interpreted by Huth as referring to a sixteenfold division, and the argument to be derived from it is not established, but Huth, on the other hand, manifestly errs by making Kālidāsa posterior to Āryabhaṭa (A.D. 499) on the score that in the Raghuvaṅça he refers to eclipses as caused by the shadow of the earth, the reference being plainly to the old doctrine of the spots on the moon. It is, however, probable that Kālidāsa in the Vikramorvaçī refers to the figure of the lion in the zodiac, borrowed from the west, and it is certain that he was familiar with the system of judicial astrology, which India owes to the west, for he alludes both in the Raghuvaṅça and the Kumārasambhava to the influence of the planets, and above all uses technical terms like ucca and even jāmitra, borrowed from Greece. A date not probably prior to A.D. 350 is indicated by such passages.[15]
Similar evidence can be derived from Kālidāsa’s Prākrit, which is plainly more advanced than that of Bhāsa, while his Māhārāṣṭrī can be placed with reasonable assurance after that of the earlier Māhārāṣṭrī lyric, which may have flourished in the third and fourth centuries A.D. He is also earlier than the Aihole inscription of A.D. 634, where he is celebrated, than Bāṇa (A.D. 620), and above all than Vatsabhaṭṭi’s Mandasor Praçasti of A.D. 473. It is, therefore, most probable that he flourished under Candragupta II of Ujjayinī, who ruled up to about A.D. 413 with the style of Vikramāditya, which is perhaps alluded to in the [[147]]name Vikramorvaçī, while the Kumārasambhava’s title may well hint a compliment on the birth of young Kumāragupta, his son and successor.[16] The Mālavikāgnimitra with its marked insistence on the horse sacrifice of the drama seems to suggest a period in Kālidāsa’s early activity when the memory of the first horse sacrifice for long performed by an Indian king, that of Samudragupta, was fresh in men’s minds. Moreover the poems of Kālidāsa are essentially those of the Gupta period, when the Brahmanical and Indian tendencies of the dynasty were in full strength and the menace of foreign attack was for the time evanescent.
2. The Three Dramas of Kālidāsa
The Mālavikāgnimitra[17] is unquestionably the first dramatic work[18] of Kālidāsa; he seeks in the prologue to excuse his presumption of presenting a new play when tried favourites such as Bhāsa, Saumilla, and the Kaviputras exist, and in the Vikramorvaçī also he shows some diffidence, which has disappeared in the Çakuntalā. The great merits of the poet are far less clearly exhibited here than in his other plays, but the identity of authorship is unquestionable, and was long ago proved by Weber against the doubts of Wilson.
The play, performed at a spring festival, probably at Ujjayinī, is a Nāṭaka in five Acts, and depicts a love drama of the type seen already in Bhāsa’s plays on the theme of Udayana. The heroine Mālavikā is a Vidarbha princess, who is destined as the bride of Agnimitra; her brother, Mādhavasena, however, is captured by his cousin Yajñasena; she escapes and seeks Agnimitra, but en route to his capital in Vidiçā her escort is attacked [[148]]by foresters, perhaps by order of the rival Vidarbha prince; she escapes again, however, and reaches Vidiçā, where she finds refuge in the home of the queen Dhāriṇī, who has her trained in the art of dancing. The king happens to see a picture in which she is depicted, and falls in love with her. To arrange an interview is not easy, but Gautama, his Vidūṣaka, provokes a quarrel between two masters of the dance, who have recourse to the king to decide the issue of superiority. He in turn refers the matter to the nun Kauçikī, who is in reality a partisan of Mālavikā, who had been in her charge and that of her brother, who was killed when the escort was dispersed. She bids the masters produce each his best pupil; Gaṇadāsa brings out Mālavikā, whose singing and dancing delight all, while her beauty ravishes the king more than ever. She is victorious. In Act III the scene changes to the park, whither comes Mālavikā at the bidding of Dhāriṇī to make the Açoka blossom, according to the ancient belief, by the touch of her foot. The king hidden with the Vidūṣaka behind a thicket watches her, but so also does Irāvatī, the younger of Agnimitra’s queens, who is suspicious and jealous of any rival in the king’s love. The king overhears Mālavikā’s conversation with her friend, and realizes that his love is shared; he comes forth and embraces her, but Irāvatī springs out of her hiding-place and insults the king. Dhāriṇī has Mālavikā confined to prevent any further development of the intrigue. The Vidūṣaka, however, proves equal to the occasion with the aid of Kauçikī; he declares himself bitten by a snake; the only remedy proves to require the use of a stone in the queen’s ring, which is accorded for that purpose, but employed for the more useful end of securing the release of Mālavikā, and the meeting of the lovers, which Irāvatī, who has excellent grounds for her vigilance, again disturbs. The king’s embarrassment is fortunately mitigated by the necessity of his going to the rescue of the little princess Vasulakṣmī, whom a monkey has frightened. Act V cuts the knot by the advent of two unexpected pieces of news; envoys come bearing the report of victory over the prince of Vidarbha and conveying captives; two young girls introduced before the queen as singers recognize both Kauçikī and their princess Mālavikā among the queen’s attendants, and Kauçikī explains her silence on the [[149]]princess’s identity by obedience to a prophecy. Further, Puṣyamitra, Agnimitra’s father, sends tidings of victory from the north; the son of Dhāriṇī, Vasumitra, has defeated the Yavanas on the bank of the Indus, while guarding the sacrificial horse, which by ancient law is let loose to roam for a year unfettered before a king can perform rightfully the horse sacrifice, which marks him as emperor. Dhāriṇī already owes Mālavikā a guerdon for her service in causing the Açoka plant to blossom; delighted by the news of her son’s success, she gladly gives Agnimitra authority to marry Mālavikā, Irāvatī begs her pardon, and all ends in happiness.
Puṣyamitra, Agnimitra, and Vasumitra are clearly taken from the dynasty of the Çun̄gas, formed by the first through the deposition of the last Maurya in 178 B.C.[19] Contact with Yavanas in his time is recorded and the horse sacrifice is doubtless traditional, but equally it may reflect the sacrifice of Samudragupta, the most striking event of the early Gupta history, since it asserted the imperial sway of the family. The rest of the play is based on the normal model.
The Vikramorvaçī,[20] by many reckoned as the last work[21] in drama of Kālidāsa, seems rather to fall in the interval between the youthful Mālavikāgnimitra and the mature perfection of the Çakuntalā. The theme is that of the love of Purūravas, a king, and Urvaçī, an Apsaras, or heavenly nymph. The prologue, which has been unjustly suspected of being proof of the incompleteness and therefore later date of the drama, is followed by screams of the nymphs from whom Urvaçī on her return from Kailāsa has been torn away by a demon; the king hastens to her aid, recovers her, and restores her first to her friends, and then to the Gandharva king, but not before both have fallen desperately in love. In the entr’acte a servant of the queen extracts cleverly from the Vidūṣaka the secret of the change which has come over the king, his love for Urvaçī. The king himself then appears; in conversation with the Vidūṣaka he [[150]]declares his love, to meet with scant sympathy; Urvaçī and a friend appear in the air, and Urvaçī drops a letter written on birch bark breathing her love; the king reads it and gives it to the Vidūṣaka; Urvaçī’s friend appears, and finally Urvaçī herself, but after a brief exchange of love passages Urvaçī is recalled to play a part in heaven in a drama produced by Bharata. The message, unluckily, falls into the queen’s hands, and she refuses to be appeased by Purūravas’s attempts to soothe her. In the entr’acte before Act II we learn from a conversation between two pupils of Bharata that Urvaçī was so deeply in love that she played badly her part in the piece on Lakṣmī’s wedding; asked whom she loved, she answered Purūravas instead of Puruṣottama, Viṣṇu’s name, and Bharata cursed her; but Indra intervened and gave her leave to dwell on earth with her love until he had seen the face of her child. The Act that follows shows the king, anxious to please the queen, engaged with her in celebrating the festival of the moon’s union with Rohiṇī; Urvaçī and her friend, in disguise and unseen by the king in a fairy mist, watch his courtesy which fills the nymph with anguish, though her friend assures her that it is mere courtesy. To her joy she finds that the queen has decided to be reconciled, and to permit the king the enjoyment of his beloved; pressed to stay with the king, she refuses, and Urvaçī joins Purūravas, her friend leaving her, bidding Purūravas to care for her so that she may not miss her friends in the sky.
The prelude to Act IV tells us of misfortune; the nymphs who mourn by the sea her absence learn that, angry at her husband for some trivial cause, she had entered the grove of Kumāra, forbidden to women, and been turned into a creeper. In distraction[22] the king seeks for her; he deems the cloud a demon which has stolen her away, demands of the peacock, the cuckoo, the flamingo, the bee, the elephant, the boar, the antelope what has become of her; he deems her transformed into the stream, whose waves are the movements of her eyebrows while the rows of birds in its waters are her girdle; he dances, sings, cries, faints in his madness, or deems the echo to be answering [[151]]him, until a voice from heaven tells him of a magic stone, armed with which he grasps a creeper which in his embrace turns into Urvaçī.
From this lyric height the drama declines in Act V. The king and his beloved are back in his capital; the moon festival is being celebrated, but the magic stone is stolen by a vulture, which, however, falls pierced by the arrow of a youthful archer; the arrow bears the inscription, ‘the arrow of Āyus, son of Urvaçī and Purūravas’. The king had known nothing of the child, but, while he is amazed, a woman comes from a hermitage with a gallant boy, who, educated in the duties of his warrior caste, has by his slaying the bird violated the rule of the hermitage and is now returned to his mother. Urvaçī, summoned, admits her parentage, but, while Purūravas is glad, she weeps to think of their severance, now inevitable, since he has seen his son. But, while Purūravas is ready to abandon the realm to the boy and retire to the forest in grief, Nārada comes with a message of good tidings; a battle is raging between the gods and the demons; Purūravas’s arms will be necessary, and in reward he may have Urvaçī’s society for his life.
The play has come down in two recensions, one preserved in Bengālī and Devanāgarī manuscripts and commented on by Ran̄ganātha in A.D. 1656, and the other in South Indian manuscripts, commented on by Kāṭayavema, minister of the Reḍḍi prince, Kumāragiri of Koṇḍavīḍu about A.D. 1400. The most important among many differences is the fact that in Act IV the northern manuscripts give a series of Apabhraṅça verses, with directions as to the mode of singing and accompanying them, which are ignored in the southern manuscripts. The northern text calls the play a Troṭaka, apparently from the dance which accompanied the verses, the southern a Nāṭaka which it in essentials is. The arguments against the authenticity of the verses are partly the silence of the theorists, the fact that the existence in Kālidāsa’s time of Apabhraṅça of the type found is more than dubious,[23] that there is sometimes a degree of discrepancy between the verses and the prose of the drama, and that in the many imitations of the scene (Mālatīmādhava, Act IX, Bālarāmāyaṇa, Act V, Prasannarāghava, Act VI, and Mahānāṭaka, [[152]]Act IV) there are no similar verses. These reasons are on the whole conclusive, and the problematic fact that the Prākrit of the northern recension is better is not of importance.
The Çakuntalā[24] certainly represents the perfection of Kālidāsa’s art, and may justly be assumed to belong to his latest period of work. The prologue with his usual skill leads us up to the picture of the king in swift pursuit of an antelope entering the outskirts of the hermitage; warned of the sacred character of the spot, the king alights from his chariot and decides to pay his respects to the holy man whose hermitage it is; he is absent, but Çakuntalā, his foster-daughter, is there with her friends; pursued by a bee she calls for help; they reply that Duḥṣanta the king should aid as the hermitage is under his protection, and the king gallantly comes forward to help. From the maidens he elicits the tale of Çakuntalā’s birth; she is daughter of Viçvāmitra and Menakā, and is being reared not for the religious life but for marriage to some worthy one. The king loves and the maiden begins to reciprocate his affection, when the news that a wild elephant is menacing the hermitage takes him away. Act II reveals his Vidūṣaka groaning over the toils of the king’s hunting. But the king gives order for the hunt to end, not to please the Vidūṣaka but for Çakuntalā’s sake, and, while he recounts his feelings to his unsympathetic friend, receives with keen satisfaction the request of the young hermits to protect the hermitage against the attacks of demons. The Vidūṣaka he gets rid of by sending him back to the capital to take part in a festival there, assuring him, in order to prevent domestic trouble, that his remarks about Çakuntalā were not serious. In the entr’acte before Act III a young Brahmin praises the deeds of Duḥṣanta, and we learn that Çakuntalā is unwell, and her maidens are troubled regarding her state, as she is the very life breath of Kaṇva. The Act itself depicts Çakuntalā with her maidens; she is deeply in love and writes a letter at their suggestion: the king who has overheard all comes on the scene and a dialogue follows, in which both the king and the maiden express their feelings; the scene is [[153]]ended by the arrival of the nun Gautamī to fetch away her charge. The entr’acte that follows tells us from the conversation of Priyaṁvadā and Anasūyā, Çakuntalā’s dear friends, that the king after his marriage with Çakuntalā has departed and seems to have forgotten her; while Kaṇva is about to return and knows nothing of the affair. A loud cry interrupts them; Çakuntalā in her love-sickness has failed to pay due respect to the harsh ascetic Durvāsas, who has come to visit the hermitage: he curses her, and all the entreaties of her friends succeed in no more than mitigating the harshness of his curse; she will be forgotten by her husband, not indeed for ever, but until she presents to him the ring he gave her in token of their union. The curse is essential; the whole action of the play depends on it. The Act itself tells us that the difficulty regarding Kaṇva has been solved; a voice from the sky has informed him at the moment of his return of the marriage and Çakuntalā’s approaching maternity. He has decided to send her under escort to the king. Then follows a scene of intense pathos; the aged hermit unwillingly parts with his beloved foster-daughter, with words of advice for her future life, and Çakuntalā is desolated to leave him, her friends, and all that she has loved at the hermitage.
Act V shows us the king in his court, overwhelmed with the duties of office, for Kālidāsa takes care to show us Duḥṣanta as the great and good monarch. News is brought that hermits with women desire an interview, while a song is heard in which the queen Haṅsavatī laments the king’s faithlessness to her; the king dispatches the Vidūṣaka to solace her, and receives in state the hermits. They bring him his wife, but, under the malign influence of the curse, he does not recognize her and cannot receive her. The hermits reprove him, and insist on leaving her, refusing her the right to go with them, since her duty is by her husband’s side. The king’s priest is willing to give her the safety of his house till the babe be born, but a figure of light in female shape appears and bears Çakuntalā away, leaving the king still unrecognizing, but filled with wonder. In the entr’acte which follows a vital element is contributed; policemen mishandle a fisherman accused of theft of a royal ring found in a fish which he has caught; it is Duḥṣanta’s ring which Çakuntalā had dropped while bathing. The Act that follows tells us of the [[154]]recognition by the king of the wrong unwittingly done and his grief at the loss of his wife; he seeks to console himself with her portrait, when he is interrupted by a lady of the harem, and then by the minister, who obtains from him the decision of a law case involving the right of succession; the episode reminds the king of his childlessness. From his despair the king is awakened by the screams of the Vidūṣaka who has been roughly handled by Mātali, Indra’s charioteer, as an effective means of bringing the king back to the realization that there are duties superior to private feeling. The gods need his aid for battle. In Act VII Duḥṣanta is revealed victorious, and travelling with Mātali in a divine car high through the air to Hemakūṭa, where dwells in the place of supreme bliss the seer Mārīca and his wife. Here the king sees a gallant boy playfully pulling about a young lion to the terror of two maidens who accompany him in the dress of the hermitage; they ask the king to intervene with the child in the cub’s interest, and the king feels a pang as he thinks of his sonlessness. To his amazement he learns that this is no hermit’s son, but his own; Çakuntalā is revealed to him in the dress of an ascetic, and Mārīca crowns their happiness by making it clear to Çakuntalā that her husband was guiltless of the sorrow inflicted upon her.
A drama so popular has naturally enough failed to come down to us in a single recension.[25] Four are normally distinguished, Bengālī, Devanāgarī, Kāçmīrī, and South Indian, while a fifth may also be traced. There are, however, in reality, two main recensions, the Bengālī, with 221 stanzas, as fixed by the commentators Çan̄kara and Candraçekhara, and the Devanāgarī, with 194 stanzas, of Rāghavabhaṭṭa; the Kāçmīrī, which supplies an entr’acte to Act VII, is in the main an eclectic combination of these two representatives of North Indian texts, and the South Indian is closely akin to the Devanāgarī; Abhirāma and Kāṭayavema among others have commented on it. The evidence of superior merit is conflicting; Pischel[26] laid stress on the more correct Prākrit of the Bengālī and the fact that some readings in [[155]]the Devanāgarī are best explained as glosses on the Bengālī text, while Lévi[27] proved that Harṣa and Rājaçekhara knew the Bengālī recension in some shape. On the other hand, Weber[28] contended for the priority of the Devanāgarī; certainly some readings there are better, and some of the Bengālī stanzas are mere repetitions of others found in both texts. Unless we adopt the not very plausible view of Bollensen that the Devanāgarī version is the acting edition of the play revised for representation, we must hold that neither recension is of conclusive value: the argument from the Prākrit is not conclusive, for it may merely rest on the superior knowledge of the copyists from whom the Bengālī original ultimately issued.[29]
3. Kālidāsa’s Dramatic Art
The order of plays here adopted is in precise harmony with the development in a harmonious manner of Kālidāsa’s dramatic art. The Mālavikāgnimitra is essentially a work of youthful promise and some achievement;[30] the theme is one less banal probably in Kālidāsa’s time than it became later when every Nāṭikā was based on an analogous plot, and there is some skill in the manner in which the events are interlaced; the Vidūṣaka’s stratagems to secure his master the sight of his beloved are amusing, and, though Agnimitra appears mainly as a love-sick hero, the reports of battles and victories reminds us adequately of his kingly functions and high importance. The most effective characterization, however, is reserved for the two queens, Dhāriṇī and Irāvatī: the grace and dignity, and finally the magnanimity of the former, despite just cause for anger, are set off effectively against the passionate impetuosity of the latter, which leads her to constant eavesdropping, and to an outbreak against the king, forgetful of his rank and rights. The heroine is herself but faintly presented, but her friend Kauçikī, who has been driven by a series of misfortunes to enter the religious life, is a noble [[156]]figure; she comforts and distracts the mind of Dhāriṇī; she is an authority on the dance and on the cure for snake bite, and alone among the women she speaks Sanskrit. The Vidūṣaka is an essential element in the drama, and he plays rather the part of a friend and confidant of the king than his jester; without his skilled aid Agnimitra would have languished in vain for his inamorata. But on the other hand he contributes comparatively little to the comic side of the drama.
In the Vikramorvaçī Kālidāsa shows a marked advance in imagination. We have no precise information of the source he followed; the story is old, it occurs in an obscure form in the Ṛgveda, and is degraded to sacrificial application in the Çatapatha Brāhmaṇa; it is also found in a number of Purāṇas, and in the Matsya[31] there is a fairly close parallel to Kālidāsa’s version, for the motif of the nymph’s transformation into a creeper, instead of a swan, is already present, Purūravas’s mad search for her is known as well as his rescue of her from a demon. The passionate and undisciplined love of Urvaçī is happily displayed, but it is somewhat too far removed from normal life to charm; her magic power to watch her lover unseen and to overhear his conversation is as unnatural as the singular lack of maternal affection which induces her to abandon forthwith her child rather than lose her husband; her love is selfish; she forgets her duty of respect to the gods in her dramatic act, and her transformation is the direct outcome of a fit of insane jealousy. The hero sinks to a diminutive stature beside her, and, effective in the extreme as is his passionate despair in Act IV, his lack of self-restraint and manliness is obvious and distasteful. The minor characters are handled with comparative lack of success; the incident of the boy Āyus is forced, and the ending of the drama ineffective and flat. The Vidūṣaka, however, introduces an element of comedy in the stupidity by which he allows himself to be cheated out of the name of Urvaçī, and the clumsiness which permits the nymph’s letter to fall into the hands of the queen. The latter, Auçīnarī, is a dignified and more attractive figure than the nymph; [[157]]like Agnimitra in his scene with Irāvatī, Purūravas cuts a sorry figure beside her, seeing how just cause she had to be vexed at his lack of faith and candour towards her.
In the Çakuntalā Kālidāsa handles again with far more perfect art many of the incidents found in his earlier drama. He does not hesitate to repeat himself; we have in the first and third Acts the pretty idea of the king in concealment hearing the confidential talk of the heroine and her friends; the same motif is found in Act III of the Mālavikāgnimitra. Like Urvaçī, Çakuntalā, when she leaves the king, makes a pretext—her foot pricked by a thorn and her tunic caught by a branch—to delay her going; in the same way both express their love by letters; the snatching by a bird of the magic stone in the Vikramorvaçī is paralleled by Mātali’s seizure of the Vidūṣaka in Act VI; Āyus has a peacock to play with, as the little Bharata a lion, but in each case the comparison is all to the good of the Çakuntalā. The same maturity is seen in the changes made in the narrative of the Mahābhārata[32] which the poet had before him. The story there is plain and simple; the king arrives at the hermitage; the maiden recounts to him her ancestry without false shame; he proposes marriage; she argues, and, on being satisfied of the legality of a secret union, agrees on the understanding that her son shall be made heir apparent. The king goes away; the child grows up, until at the due season the mother, accompanied by hermits, takes him to court; the hermits leave her, but she is undaunted when the king out of policy refuses to recognize her; she threatens him with death and taunts him with her higher birth; finally, a divine voice bids the king consecrate the child, and he explains that his action was due solely in order to have it made plain that the child was the rightful prince. This simple tale is transformed; the shy heroine would not dream of telling her birth; her maidens even are too modest to do more than hint, and leave the experienced king to guess the rest. Çakuntalā’s dawning love is depicted with perfect skill; her marriage and its sequel alluded to with delicate touches. The king’s absurd conduct is now explained; a curse produces it, and for that curse Çakuntalā was not without responsibility, for she allowed her [[158]]love to make her forgetful of the essential duty of hospitality and reverence to the stranger and saint. Before the king she utters no threat but behaves with perfect dignity, stunned as she is by his repudiation of their love. The king is a worthy hero, whose devotion to his public duties and heroism are insisted on, and who deserves by reason of his unselfishness to be reunited with his wife. His love for his son is charmingly depicted, and, accepting as an Indian must do the validity of the curse,[33] his conduct is irreproachable; it is not that he despises the lovely maiden that he repulses her, but as a pattern of virtue and morality he cannot accept as his wife one of whom he knows nothing. Çakuntalā’s own love for him is purified by her suffering, and, when she is finally united to him, she is no longer a mere loving girl, but one who has suffered tribulation of spirit and gained in depth and beauty of nature.
The other characters are models of skilful presentation. Kālidāsa here shakes himself free from the error of presenting any other woman in competition with Çakuntalā; Duḥṣanta is much married, but though Haṅsavatī deplores his faithlessness he does not meet her, and, when Vasumatī enters in Act VI, the effect is saved by the entry of the minister to ask the king to decide a point of law. The Vidūṣaka, who would have ruined the love idyll, is cleverly dismissed on other business in Act II, while he serves the more useful end of introducing comic relief; Mātali playfully terrifies him to rouse the king from his own sorrows. Kaṇva is a delightful figure, the ascetic, without child, who lavishes on his adopted daughter all the wealth of his deep affection, and who sends her to her husband with words of tender advice; he is brilliantly contrasted with the fierce pride and anger of Durvāsas who curses Çakuntalā for what is no more than a girlish fault, and the solemn majesty of Mārīca, who, though married, has abandoned all earthly thoughts and enjoys the happiness of release, while yet contemplating the affairs of the world and intervening to set them in order with purely disinterested zeal The companions of the heroine are painted with delicate taste; both are devoted body and soul to their mistress, but Anasūyā is serious and sensible; Priyaṁvadā [[159]]talkative and gay. There is a contrast between the two hermits who take Çakuntalā to the court; Çārn̄garava shows the pride and hauteur of his calling, and severely rebukes the king; Çāradvata is calm and restrained and admonishes him in lieu. Equally successful is the delineation of the police officers, whose unjust and overbearing conduct to the fisherman represents the spirit of Indian police from the first appearance in history. The supernatural, which is in excess in the Vikramorvaçī, is reduced to modest dimensions, and intervenes hardly at all in the play, until we come to the last Act, where the theory permits and even demands that the marvellous should be introduced, and the celestial hermitage is a fit place for the reunion of two lovers severed by so hard a fate. The episode of the ring whose loss prevents the immediate recognition of the heroine is effectively conceived and woven into the plot.
Kālidāsa excels in depicting the emotions of love, from the first suggestion in an innocent mind to the perfection of passion; he is hardly less expert in pathos; the fourth Act of the Çakuntalā is a model of tender sorrow, and the loving kindness with which even the trees take farewell of their beloved one contrasts with the immediate harsh reception which awaits her at the royal court. Kālidāsa here, as in the fourth Act of the Vikramorvaçī and in the garden scenes of the Mālavikāgnimitra, displays admirably his love for nature and his power of description of all the stock elements of Indian scenery, the mango, the Bimba fruit, the Açoka, the lotus, and his delicate appreciation of the animal world of India. In the last Act of the Çakuntalā also we have the graceful picture of the appearance of the earth viewed in perspective from the celestial car of Mātali.
The humour of the Vidūṣaka is never coarse; his fondness for food is admitted; cakes and sugar suggest themselves to him when the hero admires the moon or is sick of love; heroics he despises: the king is summarily compared to a thief in his dislike for discovery; if caught, he should imitate the latter who explains that he was learning the art of wall breaking. Or again, he is in his contempt for the ladies of his harem like one sated of sweet dates and desiring the bitter tamarind. Mālavikā is summarily treated; she is like a cuckoo caught by a cat when Dhāriṇī places her in confinement, but he is no more respectful [[160]]of himself, for, seized by Mātali, he treats himself as a mouse in mortal fear of a cat. Best of all is his description in Act II of the miseries brought on him by Duḥṣanta’s hunting; the Brahmins were no admirers of the sport, though they had to acquiesce in it in kings, and the Vidūṣaka’s picture is vivid in the extreme.
The range of Kālidāsa’s technical knowledge is apparent in his skilled use of the dance and song to set off his dramas; the Mālavikāgnimitra contains an interesting exposition by the dancing master of the theory of the art and its importance; not only is Mālavikā a dancer, but Çakuntalā shows her skill in movement in Act I. The songs of the trees and of Haṅsavatī in the same play enable him to add a fresh interest to the drama, and in the Vikramorvaçī spectacular effects seem to have been aimed at, while in the Bengālī recension song is prominently introduced in Act IV of the Vikramorvaçī.
Admirable as is Kālidāsa’s work, it would be unjust to ignore the fact that in his dramas as in his epics he shows no interest in the great problems of life and destiny. The admiration of Goethe and the style of the Shakespeare of India accorded by Sir William Jones,[34] the first to translate the Çakuntalā, are deserved, but must not blind us to the narrow range imposed on Kālidāsa’s interests by his unfeigned devotion to the Brahmanical creed of his time. Assured, as he was, that all was governed by a just fate which man makes for himself by his own deeds, he was incapable of viewing the world as a tragic scene, of feeling any sympathy for the hard lot of the majority of men, or appreciating the reign of injustice in the world. It was impossible for him to go beyond his narrow range; we may be grateful that, confined as he was, he accomplished a work of such enduring merit and universal appeal as Çakuntalā, which even in the ineffective guise of translations has won general recognition as a masterpiece.
4. The Style
Kālidāsa represents the highest pitch of elegance attained in Sanskrit style of the elevated Kāvya character; he is master of the Vaidarbha style, the essentials of which are the absence of [[161]]compounds or the rare use of them, and harmony of sound as well as clearness, elevation, and force allied to beauty, such as is conveyed to language by the use of figures of speech and thought. He is simple, as are Bhāsa and the author of the Mṛcchakaṭikā, but with an elegance and refinement which are not found in these two writers; Açvaghoṣa, we may be sure, influenced his style, but the chief cause of its perfection must have been natural taste and constant reworking of what he had written, a fact which may easily explain the discrepancies between the recensions of his work. But his skill in the Çakuntalā never leads him into the defect of taste which betrayed his successors into exhibiting their skill in the wrong place; skilled as he is in description, and ready as he is to exhibit his power, in the fifth Act he refrains from inserting any of these ornamental stanzas which add nothing to the action, however much honour they may do to the skill of the poet. His language has also the merit of suggestiveness; what Bhavabhūti, the greatest of his successors, expresses at length, he is content to indicate by a touch. He is admirably clear, and the propriety of his style is no less admirable; the language of the policeman and the fisher is as delicately nuanced as that of the domestic priest who argues at once in the best style of the philosophical Sūtras. The Prākrit which he ascribes to the maidens of his play has the supreme merit that it utterly eschews elaborate constructions and long compounds, such as Bhavabhūti places without thought of the utter incongruity in the mouths of simple girls.
The rhetoricians[35] extol the merits of Kālidāsa in metaphor, and they repeatedly cite his skill in the use of figures of speech, sound and thought, which they divide and subdivide in endless variety. He excels in vivid description (svabhāvokti) as when he depicts the flight of the antelope which Duḥṣanta pursues to the hermitage:
grīvābhan̄gābhirāmam muhur anupatati syandane baddhadṛṣṭiḥ
paçcārdhena praviṣṭaḥ çarapatanabhayād bhūyasā pūrvakāyam
darbhair ardhāvalīḍhaiḥ çramavivṛtamukhabhraṅçibhiḥ kīrṇavartmā
paçyodagraplutatvād viyati bahutaraṁ stokam urvyāṁ prayāti.
[[162]]
‘His glance fixed on the chariot, ever and anon he leaps up, gracefully bending his neck; through fear of the arrow’s fall he draws ever his hinder part into the front of his body; he strews his path with the grass, half chewed, which drops from his mouth opened in weariness; so much aloft he bounds that he runs rather in the air than on earth.’ Inferential knowledge is illustrated by a brilliant stanza:[36]
çāntam idam āçramapadaṁ sphurati ca bāhuḥ phalam ihāsya
atha vā bhavitavyānāṁ dvārāṇi bhavanti sarvatra.
‘This is the hermitage where all desires are stilled; yet my arm throbs; how can here be found the fruit of such a presage? Nay, the doors of fate are ever open.’ The rôle of conscience in human action is finely portrayed:[37]
asaṁçayaṁ kṣatraparigrahakṣamā: yad āryam asyām abhilāṣi me manaḥ
satāṁ hi saṁdehapadeṣu vastuṣu: pramāṇam antaḥkaraṇapravṛttayaḥ.
‘Assuredly the maiden is meet for marriage to a warrior, since my noble mind is set upon her; for with the good in matters of doubt the final authority is the dictate of conscience.’ Of the departing Çakuntalā after her rejection the king says:[38]
itaḥ pratyādeçāt svajanam anugantuṁ vyavasitā
muhus tiṣṭhety uccair vadati guruçiṣye gurusame
punar dṛṣṭiṁ bāṣpaprasarakaluṣām arpitavatī
mayi krūre yat tat saviṣam iva çalyaṁ dahati mām.
‘When I rejected her she sought to regain her companions, but the disciple, in his master’s stead, loudly bade her stay; then she turned on cruel me a glance dimmed by her falling tears, and that now burns me like a poisoned arrow.’ At his son’s touch he says:[39]
anena kasyāpi kulān̄kureṇa: spṛṣṭasya gātreṣu sukhaṁ mamaivam
kāṁ nirvṛttiṁ cetasi tasya kuryād: yasyāyam an̄gāt kṛtinaḥ prarūḍhaḥ?
‘When such joy is mine in the touch on my limbs of a scion of some other house, what gladness must not be his, from whose [[163]]loins, happy man, this child is sprung?’ The punishment of the king for his disloyalty is severe:[40]
prajāgarāt khilībhūtas tasyāḥ svapne samāgamaḥ
bāṣpas tu na dadāty enāṁ draṣṭuṁ citragatām api.
‘My sleeplessness forbids the sight of her even in a dream; my tears deny me her pictured form.’ On reunion the picture is very different:[41]
çāpād asi pratihatā smṛtirodharūkṣe: bhartary apetatamasi prabhutā tavaiva
chāyā na mūrchati malopahataprasāde: çuddhe tu darpaṇatale sulabhāvakāçā.
‘Thou wert rejected by thy husband, cruel through the curse that robbed him of memory; now thy dominion is complete over him whose darkness is dispelled; on the tarnished mirror no image forms; let it be cleaned and it easily appears.’
There is pathos in Purūravas’s reproach to Urvaçī:[42]
tvayi nibaddharateḥ priyavādinaḥ: praṇayabhan̄gaparān̄mukhacetasaḥ
kam aparādhalavam mama paçyasi: tyajasi mānini dāsajanaṁ yataḥ?
‘My delight was ever in thee, my words ever of love; what suspicion of fault dost thou see in me that, O angry one, thou dost abandon thy slave?’ The metrical effect is here, as usual, extremely well planned. His vain efforts to attain his beloved are depicted forcibly:[43]
samarthaye yat prathamam priyām prati: kṣaṇena tan me parivartate ‘nyathā
ato vinidre sahasā vilocane: karomi na sparçavibhāvitapriyaḥ.
‘Whatever I deem to be my beloved in a moment assumes another aspect. I will force my eyes to be sleepless, since I have failed to touch her whom I adore.’ There are no limits to the strength of his love:[44]
idaṁ tvayā rathakṣobhād an̄genān̄gaṁ nipīḍitam
ekaṁ kṛti çarīre ’smiñ çeṣam an̄gam bhuvo bharaḥ.
[[164]]
‘In this body no member has value save that which, thanks to the movement of the chariot, she has touched; all else is a mere burden to the earth.’ Hyperbole[45] is permissible:
sāmantamaulimaṇirañjitapādapīṭham: ekātapatram avaner na tathā prabhutvam
asyāḥ sakhe caraṇayor aham adya kāntam: ājñākaratvam adhigamya yathā kṛtārthaḥ.
‘Despite the radiance shed on my footstool by the jewelled diadems of vassal princes, despite the subjection of the whole earth to my sway, not so much joy did I gain from attaining kingship as the satisfaction won from paying homage to the feet of that lady, O my friend.’ The recovery of the nymph from her faint caused by the savage onslaught upon her is described in a happy series of similes:[46]
āvirbhūte çaçini tamasā ricyamāneva rātrir
naiçasyārcir hutabhuja iva cchinnabhūyiṣṭhadhūmā
mohenāntar varatanur iyaṁ lakṣyate mucyamānā
gan̄gā rodhaḥpatanakaluṣā gacchatīva prasādam.
‘As the night, freed from the darkness when the moon has appeared, as the light of a fire in the evening when the smoke has nearly all gone, so appears this lady fair, recovering from her faint, and winning back her calmness, like the Ganges after her stream has been troubled by the falling of her banks.’
The Mālavikāgnimitra, it is true, has far fewer beauties of diction than the other two dramas, but it contains many verses which are unmistakably the work of Kālidāsa, though they present much less than the maturity of his later style. The figure of discrepancy (viṣama) is illustrated by the description of the god of love whose bow, so innocent in seeming, can yet work such ill:[47]
kva rujā hṛdayapramāthinī: kva ca te viçvasanīyam āyudham
mṛdutīkṣṇataraṁ yad ucyate: tad idam manmatha dṛçyate tvayi.
‘How strange the difference between this pain that wrings the heart, and thy bow to all seeming so harmless. That which is [[165]]most sweet and most bitter at once is assuredly found in thee, O God of Love.’ Agnimitra is ready enough with a pun, when Mālavikā, on being bidden to show fearlessly her love towards him, slyly reminds him that she has seen him as terrified as herself of the queen:[48]
dākṣiṇyaṁ nāma bimboṣṭhi baimbikānāṁ kulavratam
tan me dīrghākṣi ye prāṇās te tvadāçānibandhanāḥ.
‘Politeness, O Bimba-lipped one, is the family tradition of the descendants of Bimbaka; nevertheless, what life I have depends entirely on the hope of thy favour.’ The excellent Kauçikī consoles and comforts Dhāriṇī with her approval of her acts:[49]
pratipakṣeṇāpi patiṁ sevante bhartṛvatsalāḥ sādhvyaḥ
anyasaritām api jalaṁ samudragāḥ prāpayanty udadhim.
‘Even to the extent of admitting a rival, noble ladies, who love their spouses, honour their husbands; the great rivers bear to the ocean the waters of many a tributary stream.’ There is an amusing directness and homeliness in the king’s utterance on learning of the true quality of Mālavikā:[50]
preṣyabhāvena nāmeyaṁ devīçabdakṣamā satī
snānīyavastrakriyayā patrorṇaṁ vopayujyate.
‘This lady, fit to bear the title of queen, has been treated as a maid-servant, even as one might use a garment of woven silk for a bathing cloth.’ But Kālidāsa shows himself equal to the expression of more manly sentiments as well; the nun thus tells of her brother’s fall in the effort to save Mālavikā when the foresters attack them:[51]
imām parīpsur durjāte parābhibhavakātarām
bhartṛpriyaḥ priyair bhartur ānṛṇyam asubhir gataḥ.
‘Eager in this misfortune to protect her, terrified by the enemy’s onslaught, he paid with his dear life his debt of affection to the lord whom he loved.’ The king’s reply is manly: bhagavati tanutyajām īdṛçī lokayātrā: na çocyaṁ tatrabhavān saphalīkṛtabhartṛpiṇḍaḥ. ‘O lady, such is the fate of brave men; thou must not mourn for him who showed himself thus worthy of his master’s salt.’ [[166]]
5. The Language and the Metres
In Kālidāsa we find the normal state of the Prākrits in the later drama, Çaurasenī for the prose speeches, and Māhārāṣṭrī for the verses.[52] The police officers and the fisher in the Çakuntalā use Māgadhī, but the king’s brother-in-law, who is in charge of the police and is a faint echo of the Çakāra, speaks, as we have the drama, neither Çākārī nor Māgadhī nor Dākṣiṇātyā but simply Çaurasenī. By this time, of course, we may assume that Prākrit for the drama had been stereotyped by the authority of Vararuci’s Prākrit grammar, and that it differed considerably from the spoken dialect; there would be clear proof if the Apabhraṅça verses of the Vikramorvaçī could safely be ascribed to Kālidāsa. The Māhārāṣṭrī unquestionably owes its vogue to the outburst of lyric in that dialect, which has left its traces in the anthology of Hāla and later texts, and which about the period of Kālidāsa invaded the epic.[53]
Kālidāsa’s Sanskrit is classical; here and there deviations from the norm are found, but in most instances the expressions are capable of defence on some rule or other, while in others we may remember the fact of the epic tradition which is strong in Bhāsa.
The metres of Kālidāsa show in the Mālavikāgnimitra a restricted variety; the Āryā (35) and the Çloka (17) are the only metres often occurring. In the Vikramorvaçī the Āryā (29) and the Çloka (30) are almost in equal favour, while the Vasantatilaka (12) and the Çārdūlavikrīḍita (11) make a distinct advance in importance. In the Çakuntalā the Āryā (38) and Çloka (36) preserve their relative positions, while the Vasantatilaka (30) and Çārdūlavikrīḍita (22) advance in frequency of use, a striking proof of Kālidāsa’s growing power of using elaborate metrical forms. The Upajāti types increase to 16. The other metres used in the drama are none of frequent occurrence; common to all the dramas are Aparavaktra,[54] Aupacchandasika,[55] and Vaitālīya, Drutavilambita, Puṣpitāgrā, Pṛthvī, Mandākrāntā, Mālinī, Vaṅçasthā, Çārdūlavikrīḍita, Çikhariṇī, and Hariṇī; the Mālavikāgnimitra [[167]]and the Çakuntalā share also Praharṣiṇī, Rucirā,[56] Çālinī, and Sragdharā; the latter adds the Rathoddhatā,[57] the Vikramorvaçī a Mañjubhāṣiṇī.[58] The earliest play has one irregular Prākrit verse, the second two Āryās, and 29 of varied form of the types measured by feet or morae, and the last seven Āryās and two Vaitālīyas. The predominance of the Āryā is interesting, for it is essentially a Prākrit metre, whence it seems to have secured admission into Sanskrit verse.
Not unnaturally, efforts[59] have been made on the score of metre to ascertain the dates of the plays inter se, and in relation to the rest of the acknowledged work of Kālidāsa. The result achieved by Dr. Huth would place the works in the order Raghuvaṅça, Meghadūta, Mālavikāgnimitra, Çakuntalā, Kumārasambhava, and Vikramorvaçī. But the criteria are quite inadequate; the Meghadūta has but one metre, the Mandākrāntā, which occurs so seldom in the other poems and plays that any comparison is impossible,[60] and the points relied upon by Dr. Huth are of minimal importance; they assume such doctrines as that the poem which contains the fewest abnormal caesuras is the more metrically perfect and therefore the later, while the poem which has the largest number of abnormal forms of the Çloka metre is artistically the more perfect and so later. A detailed investigation of the different forms of abnormal caesuras reveals the most perplexing counter-indications of relative date, and the essential impression produced by the investigations is that Kālidāsa was a finished metrist, who did not seriously alter his metrical forms at any period of his career as revealed in his poems, and that there is no possibility of deducing any satisfactory conclusions from metrical evidence. The fact that the evidence would place the mature and meditative Raghuvaṅça,[61] which bears within it unmistakable proofs of the author’s old age, before the Meghadūta and long before the Kumārasambhava, both redolent of love and youth, is sufficient to establish its total untrustworthiness. [[168]]
[1] Hillebrandt, Kālidāsa (1921), pp. 7 ff. [↑]
[2] JRAS. 1901, pp. 578 ff. [↑]
[3] e.g. Konow, SBAW. 1916, pp. 812 ff. [↑]
[4] JRAS. xii. (1880), 268 f. [↑]
[5] India (1883), pp. 281 ff. [↑]
[6] JRAS. 1909, pp. 89 ff. [↑]
[9] Meghadūta (ed. 2), pp. vii ff. In v. 67 he reads Van̄kṣū = Oxus, for Sindhu; see Haranchandra Chakladar, Vātsyāyana, p. 23. [↑]
[10] JRAS. 1903, pp. 183 f.; 1904, pp. 158 f. [↑]
[11] Huth, Die Zeit des Kâlidâsa, pp. 29 ff. [↑]
[12] Thomas’s suggestion (Hillebrandt, p. 12) of a reference to the Sārasvata school in the same passage only adds to the improbability of the reference. [↑]
[13] Keith, Indian Logic, p. 28. [↑]
[14] Pathak, IA. xl. 170 f.; Hoernle, 264; Haraprasād, JPASB. i. (1905), 253; JBORS. ii. 35 f.; 391 f. [↑]
[15] Jacobi, ZDMG. xxx. 303 ff.; Monatsber. d. kgl. Preuss. Akad. d. W., 1873, pp. 554 ff.; Huth, op. cit., pp. 32 ff., 49 ff. [↑]
[16] Keith, JRAS. 1909, pp. 433 ff.; Bloch, ZDMG. lxii. 671 ff.; Liebich, IF. xxxi. 198 ff.; Konow, ID., pp. 59 f.; Winternitz, GIL. iii. 43 f. [↑]
[17] Ed. F. Bollensen, Leipzig, 1879; trs. A. Weber, Berlin, 1856; V. Henry, Paris, 1889; C. H. Tawney, London, 1891. The existence of a variant recension is shown by the divergence of a citation from it in comm. on DR. iii. 18 from the manuscript tradition. [↑]
[18] That the Meghadūta is younger is suggested, not proved, by the lesser lyric power shown (Huth, p. 68). The Ṛtusaṁhāra, however, is doubtless earlier; its authenticity is demonstrated by me in JRAS. 1912, pp. 1066 ff.; 1913, pp. 410 ff. The relation of the Kumārasambhava and Raghuvaṅça to the two later dramas is uncertain. [↑]
[19] For the history, see CHI. i. 519 f. [↑]
[20] Ed. F. Bollensen, Leipzig, 1846; S. P. Paṇḍit, Bombay, 1901; M. R. Kale, Bombay, 1898; trs. E. B. Cowell, Hertford, 1851; L. Fritze, Leipzig, 1880; E. Lobedanz, Leipzig, 1861. The Bengālī recension is ed. Pischel, Monatsber. d. kgl. Preuss. Akad. d. W., 1875, pp. 609 ff. [↑]
[21] Cf. Huth, op. cit., pp. 63 ff. [↑]
[22] The prototype here is clearly Rāma’s search for Sītā; Rāmāyaṇa, iii. 60. The Sudhanāvadāna, cited by Gawroński (Les sources de quelques drames indiens, pp. 19, 29) draws probably from the same source. [↑]
[23] Jacobi, Bhavisattakaha, p. 58; Bloch, Vararuci und Hemacandra, pp. 15 f. [↑]
[24] Bengālī recension, R. Pischel, Kiel, 1877; M. Williams, Hertford, 1876, and M. R. Kale, Bombay, 1908, represent the Devanāgarī version, and so mainly S. Ray, Calcutta, 1908; C. Cappeller, Leipzig, 1909. There are South Indian edd., Madras, 1857, 1882. See also Burkhard, Die Kaçmîrer Çakuntalā-Handschrift, Vienna, 1884. [↑]
[25] Konow, ID., pp. 67 f.; Hari Chand, Kālidāsa, pp. 243 ff.; B. K. Thakore, The Text of the Śakuntalā (1922); Windisch, Sansk. Phil. pp. 344 f. [↑]
[26] De Kâlidâsae Çâkuntali recensionibus (1870); Die Recensionen der Çakuntalā (1875). [↑]
[27] TI. ii. 37. The erotic passages in Act III in the Bengālī recension must be judged by Indian taste; cf. Thakore, p. 13 for a condemnation. [↑]
[28] IS. xiv. 35 ff., 161 ff. Cf. Bühler, Kashmir Report, pp. lxxxv ff. [↑]
[29] Cf. above, p. 121, n. 1 as to the variation in correctness in different classes of MSS. [↑]
[30] For a warm eulogy, see V. Henry, Les littératures de l’Inde, pp. 305 ff. [↑]
[31] xxiv; Viṣṇu, iv. 6; Bhāgavata, ix. 14; Pischel and Geldner, Ved. Stud. i. 243 ff.; L. v. Schroeder, Mysterium und Mimus, pp. 242 ff. A. Gawroński (Les sources de quelques drames indiens, pp. 19 ff.) suggests a popular legend, comparing the Sudhanāvadāna, No. 30 of the Divyāvadāna. [↑]
[32] i. 74. Winternitz’s denial (GIL., i. 319 f.) of priority is impossible; cf. Gawroński, Les sources de quelques drames indiens, pp. 40, 91. [↑]
[33] The absurd silence as to Mālavikā’s origin in the Mālavikāgnimitra is rendered acceptable by belief in prophecy. [↑]
[34] See S. D. and A. B. Gajendragadkar, Abhijñānaçakuntalā, pp. xxxvi ff.; below, chap. xii. [↑]
[35] See Hari Chand, Kālidāsa et l’art poétique de l’Inde (1917), pp. 68 ff. On his suggestiveness, cf. Ekāvalī, p. 52. [↑]
[42] Vikramorvaçī, iv. 55. [↑]
[44] Ibid., iii. 11; for the text see Hari Chand, Kālidāsa, p. 231. [↑]
[45] Vikramorvaçī, iii. 19. [↑]
[46] Ibid., i. 9. The parallelism is, of course, complete in Sanskrit, but inexpressible directly in English. [↑]
[47] Mālavikāgnimitra, iii. 2. [↑]
[52] Traces of Çaurasenī in verses appear in the Çakuntalā. Cf. Hillebrandt, Mudrārākṣasa, p. iii; GN. 1905, p. 440. [↑]
[53] Cf. Pravarasena’s Setubandha. On Hāla and Kālidāsa, cf. Weber’s ed., p. xxiv. [↑]
[54] ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ — ⏑ — ⏑ — | ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ — ⏑ ⏑ — ⏑ — ⏑ — bis. [↑]
[55] 16 + 18 bis: normal type ⏑ ⏑ — ⏑ ⏑ — ⏑ — ⏑ — — | ⏑ ⏑ — — ⏑ ⏑ — ⏑ — ⏑ — —. [↑]
[56] ⏑ — ⏑ —, ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ — ⏑ — ⏑ —. [↑]
[57] — ⏑ — ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ — ⏑ — ⏑ —. [↑]
[58] ⏑ ⏑ — ⏑ —, ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ — ⏑ — — ⏑ —. [↑]
[59] Huth, op. cit., Table. [↑]
[60] Hillebrandt (Kālidāsa, p. 157) points out the complexity of the position. [↑]
[61] H. A. Shah (Kauṭilya and Kālidāsa (1920), p. 5), argues that Raghuvaṅça, ix. 53, shows a more advanced view of hunting as a useful sport when regulated (Arthaçāstra, p. 329) than the Çakuntalā. But the dramatic propriety of the passage of the Çakuntalā renders the contention uncertain. Whether Kālidāsa knew precisely our Arthaçāstra is also uncertain. [↑]
VII
CANDRA, HARṢA, AND MAHENDRAVIKRAMAVARMAN
1. Candra or Candraka
Some mystery exists as to the identity and character of Candra as a dramatist.[1] We have in a Tibetan version a Lokānanda, a Buddhist drama telling of a certain Maṇicūḍa, who handed over his wife and children to a Brahmin as a sign of supreme generosity, which is ascribed to Candragomin, the grammarian, in whose Çiṣyalekhā is found a verse ascribed to Candragopin in the Subhāṣitāvali. If this is the dramatist Candaka or Candraka, who is placed by Kalhaṇa under Tuñjina of Kashmir, and who rivalled the author of the Mahābhārata in a drama, is wholly uncertain. The grammarian must have lived before A.D. 650, as he is cited in the Kāçikā Vṛtti though not by name; a more precise date it is impossible to give, for his reference to a victory of a Jarta over the Hūṇas cannot be made precise until we know what Jāṭ prince is referred to, though Yaçodharman has been suggested. The identification by Lévi of Candra with a person of that name mentioned by I-Tsing as living in his time is seemingly impossible, though I-Tsing ascribes to him the verse found in the Çiṣyalekhā mentioned above; the verse is lacking in the Tibetan version and I-Tsing may have made a slip. His contemporary seems to have been a Candradāsa, and to have dramatized the Viçvantara legend.
To Candaka is ascribed in the Subhāṣitāvali[2] a fine verse of martial tone:
eṣā hi raṇagatasya dṛḍhā pratijñā: drakṣyanti yan na ripavo jaghanaṁ hayānām
yuddheṣu bhāgyacapaleṣu na me pratijñā: daivaṁ yad icchati jayaṁ ca parājayaṁ ca.
[[169]]
‘I go to battle, and I swear that my foes shall never see the backs of my steeds; for the rest, fate directs the destiny of the wavering fight; I promise nothing, but shall take defeat or victory as it pleases destiny.’ A verse of love is:[3]
prasāde vartasva prakaṭaya mudaṁ saṁtyaja ruṣam
priye çuṣyanty an̄gāny amṛtam iva te siñcatu vacaḥ
nidhānaṁ saukhyānāṁ kṣaṇam abhimukhaṁ sthāpaya mukham
na mugdhe pratyetum bhavati gataḥ kālahariṇaḥ.
‘Be gentle; show a little joy; lay aside thy anger; beloved, my limbs are dried up, let thy speech pour ambrosia upon them. Turn to me for a moment thy face, the abode of happiness; foolish one, time is an antelope which, gone, cannot be recalled.’ The other citations we have show skill both in tragic and erotic sentiment.
Candraka was evidently admired by the authorities on poetics; we find in the commentary on the Daçarūpa[4] a verse, elsewhere ascribed to him, cited as an example where diverse sentiments blend but where one, that of coming parting of lovers, is predominant:
ekenākṣṇā paritataruṣā vīkṣate vyomasaṁstham
bhānor bimbaṁ sajalalulitenāpareṇātmakāntam
ahnaç chede dayitavirahāçan̄kinī cakravākī
dvau saṁkīrṇau racayati rasau nartakīva pragalbhā.
‘With one angry eye she gazes on the orb of the sun as it tarries on the horizon; with the other, dimmed by her tears, she looks on her soul’s beloved; thus the mate of the Cakravāka, feeling the approach at nightfall of separation from her dear one, expresses two emotions, even as a clever actress.’
Curiously enough we have no less than four stanzas of benediction ascribed to him, which illustrate a formal feature of the Sanskrit drama, the introduction of each play with one or more stanzas involving divine favour. The verses are interesting, not so much for the intrinsic merits of their poetry, which frankly are not great, but because of the curious manner in which Indian poetry treats its deities; the greatest of gods nevertheless in his sportive moods is yet made the prototype of the human lover:[5] [[170]]
cyutām indor lekhāṁ ratikalahabhagnaṁ ca valayam
çanair ekīkṛtya hasitamukhī çailatanayā
avocad yam paçyety avatu sa çivaḥ sā ca girijā
sa ca krīḍācandro daçanakiraṇapūritatanuḥ.
‘Smiling, the daughter of the mountain wrought into one a digit fallen from the moon and a bracelet broken in a love quarrel, and said to her lord, “Behold my work”. May he, Çiva, protect you, and the lady of the mountain, and that moon of dalliance all covered with bites and rays.’
mātar jīva kim etad añjalipuṭe tātena gopāyyate
vatsa svādu phalam prayacchati na me gatvā gṛhāṇa svayam
mātraivam prahite guhe vighaṭayaty ākṛṣya saṁdhyāñjalim
çambhor bhinnasamādhir uddharabhaso hāsodgāmaḥ pātu vaḥ.
‘O mother.—My life.—What is it that my father guards so carefully in the palm of his hand?—Dear one, it is a sweet fruit.—He will not give me it.—Go thyself and take it.—Thus urged by his mother, Guha seizes the closed hands of his sire as he adores the Twilight and drags them apart; Çiva, angry at the interruption of his devotion, stays his wrath at sight of his son and laughs: may that laughter protect you.’[6]
2. The Authorship of the Dramas ascribed to Harṣa
Three dramas, as well as some minor poetry, have come down to us under the name of Harṣa, unquestionably the king of Sthāṇvīçvara and Kanyakubja, who reigned from about A.D. 606 to 648,[7] the patron of Bāṇa who celebrates him in the Harṣacarita and of the Chinese pilgrim Hiuan-Tsang who is our most valuable source of information on his reign. That the three plays are by one and the same hand is made certain in part by the common ascription in a verse in the prologue mentioning Harṣa as an accomplished poet, partly by the recurrence of two verses in the Priyadarçikā and the Nāgānanda and of one in the former play and the Ratnāvalī, and above all by the absolute similarity of style and tone in the three works, which renders any effort to [[171]]dissociate them wholly impossible. The question of their actual authorship was raised in antiquity; for, while Mammaṭa in his Kāvyaprakāça[8] merely refers to the gift of gold to Bāṇa—or Dhāvaka in some manuscripts—by Harṣa, the commentators explain this of the Ratnāvalī, which was passed off in Harṣa’s name. This is, however, not in any way borne out by early tradition; I-Tsing[9] clearly refers to the dramatization of the subject of the Nāgānanda by Harṣa and its performance, and in the Kuṭṭanīmata[10] of Dāmodaragupta, who lived under Jayāpīḍa of Kashmir (A.D. 779–813), a performance of the Ratnāvalī, ascribed to a king, is mentioned. The ascription to Bāṇa has nothing even plausible in it, so disparate are the styles of the dramas and the Harṣacarita, and we have the option of believing that Harṣa wrote them himself with such aid as his Paṇḍits might give, or of accepting them as the work of some unknown dramatist, who allowed the king to claim the credit for them.
3. The Three Dramas
The Ratnāvalī and the Priyadarçikā are closely connected both in subject-matter and form; they are Nāṭikās, each in four Acts; their common hero is Udayana, whom Bhāsa already celebrated, and the common theme one of his numerous amourettes. The Ratnāvalī,[11] in special, has found favour in the text-books of the drama, and has served to illustrate the technical rules.
The ubiquitous Yaugandharāyaṇa, insatiable in seeking his master’s welfare, has planned marriage for him with the daughter of the king of Ceylon, but to attain this end has been difficult; to avoid vexing the queen Vāsavadattā, he has kept her in the dark, and has spread a rumour which he has had conveyed by Bābhravya, the king’s chamberlain, of the death of Vāsavadattā in a fire at Lāvāṇaka. The king of Ceylon then yields the hand of his daughter, and dispatches her in the care of the chamberlain and his minister Vasubhūti to Vatsa, but, wrecked at sea, she is rescued by a merchant of Kauçāmbī, taken there, and handed [[172]]over to Vāsavadattā who, seeing her beauty, decides to keep her from contact with her inconstant spouse. But fate is adverse; at the spring festival which she celebrates with Vatsa, Sāgarikā, as the princess is called from her rescue from the sea, appears in the queen’s train; hastily sent away, she lingers concealed, watches the ceremony of the worship of the god Kāma, thinking Vatsa is the god in bodily presence, but is undeceived by the eulogy of the herald announcing the advent of evening. In Act II Sāgarikā is presented with her friend Susaṁgatā; she has depicted the prince on a canvas, and Susaṁgatā in raillery adds her beside him; she admits her love, but the confidence is broken by the alarm created by the escape of a monkey from the stables. In its mad rush it breaks the cage in Sāgarikā’s keeping, and the parrot escapes. The king and the Vidūṣaka enter the grove where the bird is, hear it repeat the maidens’ talk, and find the picture. The maidens returning for the picture overhear the confidences of the king and the Vidūṣaka, until Susaṁgatā sallies out and brings the lovers face to face. Their meeting is cut short by the advent of the queen, who sees the picture, realizes the position, and departs without manifesting the deep anger which she feels and which the king vainly seeks to assuage. In Act III the Vidūṣaka proves to have devised a scheme to secure a meeting of the lovers; Sāgarikā dressed as the queen and Susaṁgatā as her attendant are to meet Vatsa, but the plot is overheard, and it is Vāsavadattā herself who keeps the rendezvous; she listens to Vatsa’s declarations of love, and then bitterly reproaches him, rejecting his attempts to excuse himself. Sāgarikā, who had come on the scene too late, hears the king’s plight; weary, she ties a noose to her neck, when she is saved by the advent of the Vidūṣaka and the king, who naturally mistakes her for Vāsavadattā whom he fears his cruelty has driven to suicide. He joyously recognizes his error, but the queen, who, ashamed of her anger, has returned to make friends with her husband, finds the lovers united, and in violent anger carries off the maiden and the Vidūṣaka captive. But in Act IV we find the Vidūṣaka released and forgiven, but Sāgarikā in some prison, the king helpless to aid her. Good news, however, arrives; the general Rumaṇvant has won a victory over the Kosalas and slain the king. A magician enters and is allowed to display his art, [[173]]but the spectacle is interrupted by the advent of Vasubhūti and Bābhravya, who also have escaped the shipwreck. They tell their tale of disaster, when another interruption occurs; the harem is on fire; Vāsavadattā, shocked, reveals that Sāgarikā is there; Vatsa rushes to aid her, and emerges with her in chains, for the fire has been no more than a device of the magician. Bābhravya and Vasubhūti recognize in Sāgarikā the princess, and Yaugandharāyaṇa arrives to confess his management of the whole plot and the magician’s device. Vāsavadattā gladly gives the king to Ratnāvalī, since her husband will thus be lord of the earth, and Ratnāvalī is her full cousin.
The Priyadarçikā[12] introduces us in a speech by his chamberlain, Vinayavasu, to the king Dṛḍhavarman, whose daughter is destined for wedlock with Vatsa despite the demand for her hand made by the king of Kalin̄ga, who revenges himself during Vatsa’s imprisonment at the court of Pradyota by attacking and driving away Dṛḍhavarman. The maid is carried away by the chamberlain and is received and sheltered by Vindhyaketu, her father’s ally, but he offends Vatsa, is attacked and killed by his general Vijayasena, who brings back as part of the booty the unlucky Priyadarçikā; the king allots her to the harem as attendant on Vāsavadattā with the name Āraṇyikā (Āraṇyakā). In Act II we find the king, who has fallen in love with the maiden, seeking to distract himself with his Vidūṣaka. Āraṇyikā enters, to pluck lotuses, with her friend; she tells her love, which the king overhears; a bee attacks her when her friend leaves her, and in her confusion she runs into the arms of the king. Vatsa rescues her, but retires when her confidante returns. Act III tells that the aged confidante of the queen, Sāṁkṛtyāyanī, has composed a play on the marriage of Vatsa and Vāsavadattā which the queen is to see performed; the rôle of queen is to be played by Āraṇyikā, and Manoramā is to act the part of king, but she and the Vidūṣaka have arranged to let the king take the part. The performance causes anxiety to the queen, so ardent is the love-making, though Sāṁkṛtyāyanī reminds her it is but play-making; she leaves the hall, and finds the Vidūṣaka asleep; rudely wakened, he lets out the secret and the queen refuses to listen to Vatsa’s lame excuses. Act IV reveals Āraṇyikā in [[174]]prison, the king in despair, and the queen in sorrow, as she has learned from a letter from her mother that Dṛḍhavarman, her aunt’s husband, is in bondage, needing Vatsa’s aid. But Vijayasena brings news of the defeat of the Kalin̄ga king and the re-establishment of Dṛḍhavarman, and the chamberlain of the latter brings his thanks, his one sorrow being his daughter’s loss. Manoramā enters in terror; Āraṇyikā has poisoned herself, Vāsavadattā, filled with remorse, has her fetched, as Vatsa can cure her; the chamberlain recognizes his princess, Vatsa’s magic arts bring her back to consciousness, and Vāsavadattā recognizes in her her cousin, and grants her hand to the king.
The Nāgānanda[13] performed at a festival of Indra, perhaps in the autumn, differs from these dramas in its form, for it is a Nāṭaka in five Acts, and in its inspiration; those are variants by Harṣa on the theme of Vatsa’s loves, this is the dramatization of a Buddhist legend, the self-sacrifice of Jīmūtavāhana, which was told in the Bṛhatkathā, whence it appears in the later versions of that text[14] and in the Vetālapañcaviṅçati.[15] Jīmūtavāhana is a prince of the Vidyādharas, who has induced his father to resign his kingship, and give himself up to a life of calm; he has made the acquaintance of Mitrāvasu, the prince of the Siddhas, who has a sister. She has had a dream in which Gaurī has revealed to her her future husband, and Jīmūtavāhana hidden behind a thicket overhears her confiding this dream to her friend; the Vidūṣaka forces a meeting on the timid lovers, who shyly confess their affection, when an ascetic from the hermitage arrives to take the maiden away. In Act II Malayavatī is love-sick, resting on a stone seat in the garden; a sound makes her move away, when the king enters, equally oppressed, declares his love and paints his fancy. Mitrāvasu comes to offer him his sister’s hand; the king declines it, ignorant of whom he loves; she deems herself disdained and seeks to hang herself, but her friends rescue her and call for aid. Jīmūtavāhana appears, and proves that she is his love by showing the picture. The two exchange vows, and the marriage is concluded. In Act III, after a comic interlude, we find them walking in the park in happiness; Jīmūtavāhana is [[175]]apprised of the seizure of his kingdom, but accepts the news gladly. But the last two Acts change the topic. While strolling with Mitrāvasu one day, Jīmūtavāhana sees a heap of bones and learns that they are the bones of serpents daily offered to the divine bird Garuḍa; he resolves to save the lives of the serpents at the cost of his own, gets rid of Mitrāvasu, and goes to the place of offering. He hears the sobs of the mother of Çan̄khacūḍa, whose son is about to be offered, consoles her by offering himself in ransom, but is refused with admiration for his gallantry. But, when the two have entered the temple to pray before the offering, he gives himself to Garuḍa as substitute and is borne away. The last Act opens with the anxiety of the parents of Jīmūtavāhana, to whom and his wife is borne a jewel fallen from his crown; Çan̄khacūḍa, also, emerged from the temple, finds the sacrifice made and reveals to Garuḍa his crime. It is too late; the hero expires as his parents arrive. Garuḍa is ashamed, and Gaurī appears to cut the knot, revive the prince, and re-establish him in his realm, in order to keep faith with Malayavatī; by a shower of ambrosia the snakes slain by Garuḍa revive, and he promises to forego his cruel revenge.
4. Harṣa’s Art and Style
Comparison with Kālidāsa is doubtless the cause why Harṣa has tended to receive less praise than is due to his dramas. The originality of his Nāṭikās is not perhaps great, but he has effectively devised the plot in both; the action moves smoothly and in either play there is ingenuity. The scene of the magician’s activity in the Ratnāvalī is depicted with humour and vivacity; the parrot’s escape and its chatter are sketched with piquancy, and the exchange of costumes in the Ratnāvalī is natural and effective. The double comedy in the Priyadarçikā is a happy thought, the intrigue in Act IV is neatly conducted, so as to show us Vāsavadattā in the light of an affectionate niece, and the scene with the bee is attractive. It is true that the plays are full of reminiscences of the Mālavikāgnimitra, such as the escape in the Ratnāvalī of the monkey, and the monkey that there frightens the little princess while Sāṁkṛtyāyanī is Kauçikī revived. But in this artificial comedy elegance is sought, not [[176]]originality,[16] and Harṣa is a clever borrower. The similarity of development of both plays is perhaps more to be condemned; they are too obviously variations of one theme.
The dominant emotion in either is love of the type which appertains to a noble and gay (dhīralalita) hero, who is always courteous, whose loves, that is to say, mean very little to him, and who does not forget to assure the old love of his devotion while playing with the new. This is a different aspect of Vatsa’s character from that displayed by Bhāsa, and admittedly a much inferior one. Vāsavadattā suffers equal deterioration, for she is no longer the wife who sacrifices herself for her husband’s good; she is rather a jealous, though noble and kind-hearted woman, whose love for her husband makes her resent too deeply his inconstancy. The heroines are ingénues with nothing but good looks and willingness to be loved by the king, whom they know, though he does not, to be destined by their fathers as their husband. In neither case is any adequate reason[17] suggested for the failure to declare themselves in their true character, unless we are to assume that they would not, in the absence of sponsors, have been believed. Susaṁgatā, the friend of the heroine in the Ratnāvalī, is a pleasant, merry girl who makes excellent fun of her mistress. The Vidūṣaka[18] in both plays is typical in his greediness, but his figure lacks comic force; he is, however, a pleasant enough character, for his love for his master is genuine; he is prepared to die with him in the Ratnāvalī, though he thinks his action in rushing into the fire quixotic. The magician is an amusing and clever sketch of great pretensions allied to some juggling skill.
The Nāgānanda reveals Harṣa in a new light in the last two Acts. His liking for the marvellous is exhibited indeed in the last Acts of both the Nāṭikās in accord with the theory, but it has a far wider scope in the Nāgānanda, where the supernatural freely appears, and, though the drama be Buddhist in inspiration, Gaurī is introduced to solve the difficulty of restoring [[177]]Jīmūtavāhana. Harṣa here rises to the task of depicting the emotions of self-sacrifice, charity, magnanimity, and resolution in the face of death; Jīmūtavāhana, however bizarre his setting, is one of the ideals of Buddhism, a man seized with the conviction that to sacrifice oneself for others is the highest duty. Çan̄khacūḍa and his mother too appear as noble in character, far superior to the savage Garuḍa. There is, it must be admitted, a decided lack of harmony between the two distinct parts of the drama, but the total effect is far from unsuccessful. Perhaps as a counterpoise to the seriousness of the last part, Harṣa has introduced effective comedy in Act III. The Vidūṣaka, Ātreya, is hideous and stupid; as he lies sleeping, covered by a mantle to protect him from the bees, the Viṭa, Çekharaka, sees him, mistakes him for his inamorata, embraces him and fondles him. Navamālikā enters, and, indignant, the Viṭa makes the Vidūṣaka, though a Brahmin, bow before her and drink alcohol. A little later Navamālikā makes fun of him before the newly married couple by painting his face with Tamūla juice.
Harṣa is fond of descriptions in the approved manner; the evening, midday, the park, the hermitage, the gardens, the fountain, the marriage festival, the hour for the bath, the mountain Malaya, the forest, the palace, are among the ordinary themes beloved in the Kāvya. In imagination and grace he is certainly inferior to Kālidāsa, but he possesses the great merit of simplicity of expression and thought; his Sanskrit is classical, and precise; his use of figures of speech and thought restrained and in good taste. There is fire in his description of a battle:[19]
astravyastaçirastraçastrakaṣaṇaiḥ kṛttottamān̄ge muhur
vyūḍhāsṛksariti svanatpraharaṇair gharmodvamadvahnini
āhūyājimukhe sa Kosalādhipatir bhagne pradhāne bale
ekenaiva Rumaṇvatā çaraçatair mattadvipastho hataḥ.
‘Heads were cleft by the blows of swords on helmets sore smitten; blood flowed in torrents, fire flashed from the ringing strokes; when his main host had been broken, Rumaṇvant challenged in the forefront of the battle the lord of Kosala, who rode on a maddened elephant, and alone slew him with a hundred arrows.’ The matching of the sound to the sense [[178]]is admirable, while a delicate perception is evinced in the line describing the king’s success in soothing the wounded queen:[20]
savyājaiḥ çapathaiḥ priyeṇa vacasā cittānuvṛttyādhikam
vailakṣyeṇa pareṇa padapatanair vākyaiḥ sakhīnāṁ muhuḥ
pratyāsattim upāgatā na hi tathā devī rudatyā yathā
prakṣālyeva tayaiva bāṣpasalilaiḥ kopo ’panītaḥ svayam.
‘It was not so much by my false oaths of devotion, my loving words, my coaxing, my depths of dejection, and falling at her feet, or the advice of her friends, that the queen was appeased as that her anger was wiped away by the cleansing water of her own bitter tears.’ Pretty, if not appropriate, is the king’s address to the fire:[21]
virama virama vahne muñca dhūmānubandham: prakaṭayasi kim uccair arciṣāṁ cakravālam?
virahahutabhujāhaṁ yo na dagdhaḥ priyāyāḥ: pralayadahanabhāsā tasya kiṁ tvaṁ karoṣi?
‘Stay, stay, fire; cease thy constant smoke; why dost thou raise aloft thy circle of flames? What canst thou avail against me, whom the fire of severance from my beloved, fierce as the flame that shall consume the universe, could not consume?’ There is excellent taste and propriety in Vatsa’s address to the dead Kosala king:[22] mṛtyur api te çlāghyo yasya çatravo ’py evaṁ puruṣakāraṁ varṇayanti. ‘Even death for thee is glorious when even thy foes must thus depict thy manly prowess.’ Such a phrase may reveal to us the true Harṣa himself, the winner of many victories, and the hero of one great disaster.
The Nāgānanda strikes varied notes; there is fire and enthusiasm in the assurances which Mitrāvasu gives the prince of the swift overthrow of his enemy, Matan̄ga, at the hands of his faithful Siddhas, will he but give the word:[23]
saṁsarpadbhiḥ samantāt kṛtasakalaviyanmārgayānair vimānaiḥ
kurvāṇāḥ prāvṛṣīva sthagitaravirucaḥ çyāmatāṁ vāsarasya
ete yātāç ca sadyas tava vacanam itaḥ prāpya yuddhāya siddhāḥ
siddhaṁ codvṛttaçatrukṣayabhayavinamadrājakaṁ te svarājyam.
‘With their chariots, meeting together and o’erspreading the whole surface of the sky as they speed along, darkening the day [[179]]as when the sun’s rays are hidden in the rain, my Siddhas await but the bidding to fare forthwith hence to the battle; but say the word and thy haughty foe shall fall, and thy kingdom be restored to thee, while the princes bow before thee in fear of his fate.’
Jīmūtavāhana, however, has other views of his duty:[24]
svaçarīram api parārthe yaḥ khalu dadyām ayācitaḥ kṛpayā
rājyasya kṛte sa katham prāṇivadhakrauryam anumanye?
‘Gladly, unasked, would I give my own life for another in compassion; how then could I consent to the cruel slaughter of men merely to win a realm?’ The saying is essential to the drama, for it leads immediately to the determination of the prince to sacrifice himself for the Nāga.
There is dignity and force in the admonition addressed by the dying hero to the repentant Garuḍa who begs him to command him:[25]
nityam prāṇātipātāt prativirama kuru prākkṛte cānutāpam
yatnāt puṇyapravāhaṁ samupacinu diçan sarvasattveṣv abhītim
magnaṁ yenātra nainaḥ phalati parimitaprāṇihiṅsāttam etad
durgāḍhāpāravārer lavaṇapalam iva kṣiptam antar hradasya.
‘Cease for ever from taking life; repent of thy past misdeeds; eagerly accumulate a store of merit, freeing all creatures from fear of thee, so that, lost in the infinite stream of thy goodness, the sin of slaying creatures, in number limited, may cease to fructify, even as a morsel of salt cast in the unfathomable depths of a great lake.’
Though Buddhist the drama, the benediction is enough to show how effectively the spirit of the Nāṭikā has been introduced into the legend:[26]
dhyānavyājam upetya cintayasi kām unmīlya cakṣuḥ kṣaṇam?
paçyānan̄gaçarāturaṁ janam imaṁ trātāpi no rakṣasi
mithyākāruṇiko ’si nirghṛṇataras tvattaḥ kuto ’nyaḥ pumān?
serṣyam Māravadhūbhir ity abhihito Buddho[27] jinaḥ pātu vaḥ.
‘ “Feigned is thy trance; of what fair one dost thou think? Open thine eyes for a moment and gaze on us whom love doth [[180]]drive mad. Protector art thou; save thou us. False is thy compassion; could there be any man more pitiless than thou?” May he, whom Māra’s beauties thus addressed, the Buddha, the conqueror, protect you.’
But Harṣa’s chief merit is undoubtedly shown in erotic verses as in the description of the shyness of the new-made bride in the Nāgānanda:[28]
dṛṣṭā dṛṣṭim adho dadhāti kurute nālāpam ābhāṣitā
çayyāyām parivṛtya tiṣṭhati balād ālin̄gitā vepate
niryāntīṣu sakhīṣu vāsabhavanān nirgantum evehate
jātā vāmatayaiva me ’dya sutarām prītyai navoḍhā priyā.
‘Looked at, she casts down her face; addressed, she gives no reply; with head averted she lies on the couch; forcibly embraced, she trembles; when her maidens leave her chamber, she seeks also to depart; perverse though she be, my new-wed love delights me more and more.’ The accuracy of the aim of love as an archer is described in the Ratnāvalī:[29]
manaḥ prakṛtyaiva calaṁ durlakṣyaṁ ca tathāpi me
anan̄gena kathaṁ viddhaṁ samaṁ sarvaçilīmukhāiḥ.
‘Mind is naturally mobile and hard to find; nevertheless mine has been pierced by love at once with all his darts.’ In entire harmony with Indian taste Harṣa dwells on the points of physical perfection in the adored one in the Nāgānanda:[30]
khedāya stanabhāra eṣa kim u te madhyasya hāro ’paras
tāmyaty ūruyugaṁ nitambabharataḥ kāñcyānayā kim punaḥ
çaktiḥ padayugasya noruyugalaṁ voḍhuṁ kuto nūpurau
svān̄gair eva vibhūṣitāsi vahasi kleçāya kiṁ maṇḍanam?
‘The burden of thy bosom serves to weary thy waist; why then add the weight of thy necklace? Thy thighs are wearied by the bearing of thy hips; why then thy girdle of bells? Thy feet can barely carry the load of thy thighs; why add thine anklets? When in every limb thou dost possess such grace, why dost thou wear ornaments to thy weariness?’ Harṣa is also capable of expressing a deeper side of love, as when the king in the Ratnāvalī[31] fancies that Vāsavadattā has been driven to suicide by his faithlessness: [[181]]
samārūḍhaprītiḥ praṇayabahumānād anudinam
vyalīkaṁ vīkṣyedaṁ kṛtam akṛtapūrvaṁ khalu mayā
priyā muñcaty adya sphuṭam asahanā jīvitam asau
prakṛṣṭasya premṇaḥ skhalitam aviṣahyaṁ hi bhavati.
‘My beloved, whose love for me waxed daily because of my affection and respect, has seen my falsity which she has never known before, and now assuredly she seeks to lay life aside in despair; for unendurable is a wrong against a noble love.’
5. The Language and the Metres of Harṣa’s Dramas
Harṣa’s Sanskrit is of the usual classical type, eschewing any deviation from the beaten paths, and his Prākrits, mainly Çaurasenī with Māhārāṣṭrī in the verses, offer nothing of special interest, beyond evidence of his careful study of Prākrit grammar.[32]
His use of metrical forms, on the other hand, marks the tendency to reject the simplicity of the earlier dramatists, and to insist on the use of the more elaborate metres, which in themselves are wholly undramatic, but give a much wider range of opportunity for the exhibition of merits of description. Harṣa’s favourite is the Çārdūlavikrīḍita, which occurs 23 times in the Ratnāvalī, 20 times in the Priyadarçikā, and 30 times in the Nāgānanda; the Sragdharā takes second place with 11, 8, and 17 occurrences. The Çloka occurs in the Ratnāvalī (9) and the Nāgānanda (24), the frequency in the latter being due to the more epic character of the piece; its absence from the Priyadarçikā is marked. The Āryā occurs 9 times each in the Nāṭikās, and 16 times in the Nāgānanda. The Priyadarçikā suggests by its content immaturity, and its poverty in metres supports this view; it has but seven in all, including Indravajrā, Vasantatilaka (6), Mālinī, and Çikhariṇī. The Nāgānanda has also Çālinī and Hariṇī, in common with the Ratnāvalī, and Drutavilambita, while the Ratnāvalī adds Puṣpitāgrā, Pṛthvī, and Praharṣiṇī. That play has 5 Prākrit Āryās and 1 Gīti, the other two 3 Āryās apiece, while the Ratnāvalī contains a pretty pair of rhymed verses, each with Pādas of 12 morae. [[182]]
6. Mahendravikramavarman
Almost a contemporary to a day of Harṣa was Mahendravikramavarman, son of the Pallava king Siṅhaviṣṇuvarman, and himself a king with the styles of Avanibhājana, Guṇabhara, and Mattavilāsa, all alluded to in his play,[33] who ruled in Kāñcī, the scene of his drama, in the first quarter of the seventh century A.D.[34] Chance rather than any special merit has preserved for us his Prahasana,[35] which is so far the only early farce published, and which has special interest as it comes from the south, and, as we have seen, shows signs of the same technique as that of Bhāsa. Thus the play is opened by the director at the close of the Nāndī, which is not preserved, and the prologue is styled Sthāpanā, and not, as usual, Prastāvanā. We have also a reference to Karpaṭa as the writer of a text-book for thieves, as in the Cārudatta of Bhāsa, but there is an essential difference in the fact that great care is taken in the prologue to set out at length the merits of the author as well as the name of the drama.
The director introduces the play by a dialogue in which he by skilled flattery induces his first wife to aid him in the work, despite her annoyance at his taking to himself of a younger bride, and the transition to the actual drama is accomplished as in Bhāsa by his being interrupted in the midst of a verse by a cry from behind the scene, which leads him to complete his stanza by mentioning the appearance of the chief actor and his companion. They are a Çaiva mendicant of the skull-bearing order, a Kapālin, and his damsel, Devasomā by name. Both are intoxicated, and the maiden asks for her companion’s aid to prevent her from falling; he would hold her if he could, but his own condition hinders aid; in remorse he proposes to forswear strong drink, but the lady entreats him not for her sake thus to break [[183]]his penance, and he joyfully abandons the rash project, praising instead his rule of life:[36]
peyā surā priyatamāmukham īkṣitavyam: grāhyaḥ svabhāvalalito ’vikṛtaç ca veṣaḥ
yenedam īdṛçam adṛçyata mokṣavartma: dīrghayur astu bhagavān sa pinākapaṇiḥ.
‘Long live the god who bears the trident and who has revealed to men this as the way of salvation, to drink brandy, to gaze on the face of one’s beloved, to wear beautiful and becoming raiment.’ He is reminded by his companions that the Arhants have a very different definition of the path of salvation, but he has little trouble in disposing of them:
kāryasya niḥsaṁçayam ātmahetoḥ: sarūpatāṁ hetubhir abhyupetya
duḥkhasya kāryaṁ sukham āmanantaḥ: svenaiva vākyena hatā varākāḥ.
‘They establish that an effect, as self-caused, is of the same nature as its causes; when, therefore, they declare that pleasure is the effect of pain, the poor fools contradict their own dogmas.’ There follows a complimentary description of Kāñcī, and a careful parallel between the tavern where the pair are seeking more charity and a scene of sacrifice; the Kapālin also discovers that Surā has a celestial origin; it is none other than the form taken by the god of love when burnt by the flame from Çiva’s eye, a conclusion heartily accepted by his friend. The two are successful in attaining alms, but the tragic discovery is made that the skull, which serves as begging bowl, and which seems indeed at first to be the raison d’être of the Kapālin, is lost, though he consoles himself by reflecting that it was only a sign and that his occupation is still intact. A search through Kāñcī follows, and suspicion falls on a Buddhist monk, Çākyabhikṣu, who is lamenting the fact that despite the excellent fare he has received the law forbids the enjoyment of strong drink and women; he concludes that the true gospel of the Buddha contained no such ridiculous restrictions, and expresses his desire to benefit the whole community by discovering the authentic text. [[184]]Naturally, when challenged, he denies that his begging bowl is that of the Kapālin, and blesses the master for his good sense in insisting on shaving the head, since it prevents the damsel from succeeding in her well-meant effort to aid her companion by pulling his hair. His arguments as to the identity of his bowl are unconvincing to the Kapālin:
dṛṣṭāni vastūni mahīsamudra—: mahīdharādīni mahānti mohāt
apahnuvānasya sutaḥ kathaṁ tvam: alpaṁ na nihnotum alaṁ kapālam?
‘Thou art the son of one who denies in his folly things that we see, the earth, the ocean, mountains and so forth; how then art thou not ready to deny so small a thing as a bowl?’ Moreover, when the Buddhist, politely and with commendable charity, picks up Devasomā when her fruitless assault on his locks lands her on the ground, he accuses him of taking her in marriage and invokes punishment on this violator of the rights of Brahmins. A Pāçupata, a more respectable type of Çaiva sectarian, comes on the scene and is appealed to as an arbitrator, but finds the task too difficult; both claimants proudly assert their adherence to a creed which forbids lying, and the Buddhist recites in addition the whole list of moral rules which makes up the Çikṣāpada. The obvious arguments from colour and shape in favour of the Buddhist are made out by his rival to be no more than signs of his skill in changing objects at pleasure. Finally the Pāçupata suggests that they must take the matter before a court. En route, however, a diversion is made by an Unmattaka, or madman, who has rescued the skull from a dog, the real thief; he first appears willing to give it as a present to the Pāçupata, who haughtily rejects the horrible object, but suggests the Kapālin as the recipient; then he changes his mind, but, annoyed by the cry of ‘mad’, asks the Kapālin to hold the skull and to show him the madman; the Kapālin, nothing loth, accepts the skull, and misdirects the madman. All are now happy; the Kapālin makes a handsome apology to the Buddhist monk, and the usual Bharatavākya with a reference to the ruling king, the author, concludes the work.
The author undoubtedly shows a considerable knowledge of the tenets of the Buddhists, and the play is not unamusing, [[185]]though the subject is much too trivial for the pains taken to deal with it. The style is certainly appropriate to the subject-matter; it is like that of Harṣa, simple and elegant, while many of the verses are not without force and beauty. In the prose speeches of the Kapālin, however, we have occasional premonitions[37] of the unwieldy compounds of Bhavabhūti. There is, as in all the later Prahasanas, a certain incongruity between the triviality of the subject-matter and the elaboration of the form but the king has the merit of avoiding the gross vulgarity which marks normally the later works of this type.
Short as is the play, it shows a variety of Prākrits, for of the dramatis personae only the Kapālin and the Pāçupata speak Sanskrit, while the madman, the Buddhist, and Devasomā talk in Prākrit. That of the Buddhist and of Devasomā is practically Çaurasenī, but the madman uses Māgadhī.[38] The Prākrits show some of the signs of antiquity which have been seen in Bhāsa’s dramas; thus forms of the plural in āṇi and ññ in lieu of ṇṇ are found, doubtless as a result of the influence of Bhāsa. The frequency of such forms as aho nu khalu and kiṁ nu khalu is precisely in the manner of Bhāsa, and mention may be made of the employment of mā with the infinitive in Prākrit in a prohibition.
The variety of metres is large in view of the brief extent of the play. There are nine different stanzas employed; five each of the Çloka and Çārdūlavikrīḍita, three each of Indravajrā type and Āryā, two each of Vaṅçasthā type and Vasantatilaka, the solitary Prākrit verse being of the former kind, and one each of Rucirā, Mālinī, and Sragdharā.[39] [[186]]
[1] Lévi, BEFEO. iii. 38 f.; Liebich, Das Datum des Candragomin und Kalidasas; Konow, ID. pp. 72 f.; GIL. iii. 185, 399 f. [↑]
[4] p. 163; Subhāṣitāvali, 1916; Çārn̄gadhara, cxvii. 14; text uncertain. [↑]
[7] M. Ettinghausen, Harṣa Vardhana, Louvain, 1905; S. P. Paṇḍit, Gaüdavaho, pp. cvii ff.; K. M. Panikkar, Sri Harsha of Kanauj, Bombay, 1922. It is impossible to connect the dramas with any definite incident of his reign such as the Prayāga festival celebrated by Hiuan-Tsang. [↑]
[8] i. 2. Cf. Soḍhala (A.D. 993) in Kāvyamīmāṅsā (GOS. i), p. xii. [↑]
[9] Trs. Takakusu, pp. 163 f. [↑]
[11] Ed. C. Cappeller, Böhtlingk, Sanskrit-Chrestomathie, 3rd ed., pp. 326 ff.; trs. Wilson, ii. 255 ff.; L. Fritze, Schloss Chemnitz, 1878. It was performed at a spring festival of Kāma. [↑]
[12] Ed. R. V. Krishnamachariar, Srirangam, 1906; trs. G. Strehly, Paris, 1888. [↑]
[13] Ed. Calcutta, 1886; TSS. 1917; trs. P. Boyd, London, 1872; A. Bergaigne, Paris, 1879; E. Teza, Milan, 1904. [↑]
[14] KSS. xxii. 16–257; xc. 3–201; BKM. iv. 50–108; ix. 2. 776–930. [↑]
[16] Many traces of the Svapnavāsavadattā can be seen in the Ratnāvalī, especially in the characterization of the Vidūṣaka. [↑]
[17] Āraṇyikā suggests that assertion would be undignified, seeing her actual condition. In the Mālavikāgnimitra a prophecy is made to do service as a motif. [↑]
[18] Cf. Schuyler, JAOS. xx. 338 ff. [↑]
[22] Ibid., iv. 6/7. Cf. Priyadarçikā, i. on Vindhyaketu’s death. [↑]
[27] Or bodhau, ‘on his enlightenment.’ [↑]
[32] Māgadhī is found in the Nāgānanda spoken by the servant. On the variation of forms in the northern and southern editions see Barnett, JRAS. 1921, p. 589. [↑]
[33] The Mattavilāsa, ed. TSS. lv. 1917. [↑]
[34] EI. iv. 152; South Ind. Inscr. i. 29 f.; G. Jouveau-Dubreuil, The Pallavas, pp. 37 ff. [↑]
[35] A Sarvacarita is attributed to a Bāṇa in Rājarāma Çastrin’s Sūcīpatra, but it may really be Vāmana Bhaṭṭa Bāṇa’s as is the Pārvatīpariṇaya (against Ettinghausen, Harṣa Vardhana, pp. 122 f.). The Mukuṭatāḍitaka of Bāṇa is cited in Caṇḍapāla’s comm. on the Nalacampū, p. 227. [↑]
[36] This verse is attributed to Bhāsa by Somadeva in his Yaçastilaka; Peterson, Reports, ii. 46. [↑]
[38] So the Unmattaka in the Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa of Bhāsa. [↑]
[39] Antiquity is claimed by the editors of Caturbhāṇī (1922) for the Bhāṇas, Ubhayābhisārikā of Vararuci, Padmaprābhṛtaka of Çūdraka, Dhūrtaviṭasaṁvāda of Īçvaradatta, Pādatāḍitaka of Ārya Çyāmilaka, but no reliance can be placed on the first two ascriptions, and none of the plays need be older than 1000 A.D. Their technique is similar to that of the Mattavilāsa. [↑]
VIII
BHAVABHŪTI
1. The Date of Bhavabhūti
Bhavabhūti tells us in his prologues that he belonged to a family of Brahmins styled Udumbaras, of Padmapura, apparently in Vidarbha, who were of the Kāçyapa Gotra and followed the Taittirīya school of the Black Yajurveda. His full name was Çrīkaṇṭha Nīlakaṇṭha, son of Nīlakaṇṭha and Jātūkarṇī, grandson of Bhaṭṭa Gopāla, fifth in descent from Mahākavi, a Vājapeya sacrificer, famed for his scholarship. He was skilled in grammar, rhetoric, and logic, or perhaps in grammar, logic, and Mīmāṅsā,[1] if we may believe the legend that he was a pupil of Kumārila preserved in one manuscript of the Mālatīmādhava, which complicates the matter by styling the author also Umvekācārya, a commentator on Kumārila’s works. As he expressly mentions his knowledge of the Vedas, the Upaniṣads, Sāṁkhya and Yoga, and gives Jñānanidhi as his teacher, we may probably discard this suggestion. The whole three of his plays were performed for the feast of the Lord Kālapriya, who is normally identified with Mahākāla of Ujjayinī, though the scene of the Mālatīmādhava is laid in Padmāvatī. We may conjecture, therefore, that he left his home and proceeded to Ujjayinī or Padmāvatī in search of fortune. From the silence in his dramas on any good luck, it is strange to find that Kalhaṇa in the Rājataran̄giṇī[2] expressly asserted that he was a member of the entourage of Yaçovarman of Kanyakubja, who was defeated by Muktāpīḍa Lalitāditya of Kashmir, not earlier, probably, than A.D. 736. A further indication of date is afforded by the [[187]]reference in Vākpati’s Gaüḍavaha[3] to Bhavabhūti’s ocean of poetry; the poem is a prelude to a description in Prākrit of Yaçovarman’s defeat of a Gauḍa king, and, as it seems never to have been finished, it presumably was interrupted by the king’s own defeat. We must, therefore, place Bhavabhūti somewhere about A.D. 700. The silence of Bāṇa regarding him suggests that he was not known to him, while it is certain that he knew Kālidāsa; the first writer on poetics to cite him is Vāmana.[4] Verses not in our extant dramas are ascribed to him, so he may have written other works than the three dramas, two Nāṭakas on the Rāma legend and a Prakaraṇa, which we have. His friendship with actors is a trait to which he himself refers, and efforts have been made to trace in his works evidence of revision for stage purposes.
2. The Three Plays
Perhaps the earliest of the works is the Mahāvīracarita, but the evidence for this is uncertain, and there is no reason to assign it definitely to an earlier date than the Mālatīmādhava; both antedate, perhaps considerably, the Uttararāmacarita. The Mālatīmādhava,[5] as a Prakaraṇa, should have a plot invented by the author, and this is true to the extent that the combination of elements which make up the intrigue is clearly the poet’s, though the main motif of the story and the chief episodes can all be paralleled in the Kathā literature even as we have it.
Bhūrivasu, minister of the king of Padmāvatī, has asked an old friend, now turned nun, Kāmandakī, to arrange a marriage between his daughter, Mālatī, and Mādhava, son of an old friend Devarāta, minister of the king of Vidarbha, who has sent his son to Padmāvatī, mainly in the hope that Bhūrivasu would remember a compact of their student days to marry their children to each other. The obstacle in the way is the desire of [[188]]Nandana, the king’s boon companion (narmasuhṛd), to wed Mālatī with the king’s approval. Kāmandakī, therefore, decides to arrange the meeting of the young people and their marriage, so as to be able to present the king with a fait accompli. Both hero and heroine have friends, Makaranda and Madayantikā, sister of Nandana, and, after Acts I and II have made the main lovers sufficiently enamoured, in Act III, when the lovers are meeting in a temple of Çiva, Madayantikā is in danger of death from an escaped tiger, and is rescued by Makaranda, not without injury. These two then are deeply in love. But Act IV shows us the king resolved on the mating of Mālatī and Nandana; Mādhava, despairing of success through Kāmandakī’s aid alone, decides to win the favour of the ghouls of the cemetery by an offering of fresh flesh; this leads him in Act V to a great adventure, for on his ghastly errand he hears cries from a temple near by, and rushes in just in time to save Mālatī whom the priest Aghoraghaṇṭa and his acolyte Kapālakuṇḍalā were about to offer in sacrifice to the goddess Cāmuṇḍā. He slays Aghoraghaṇṭa. In Act VI Kapālakuṇḍalā swears revenge, but for the moment all goes well; Mālatī is to wed Nandana, but by a clever stratagem Makaranda takes her place at the temple where she goes to worship before her marriage, and, while Mādhava and Mālatī flee, Makaranda is led home as a bride. In Act VII we hear how poor Nandana has been repulsed by his bride; Madayantikā comes to rebuke her sister-in-law, finds her lover, and elopes. But they are pursued, as they make their way to rejoin their friends, and in Act VIII we learn that the fugitives were succoured by Mādhava and so splendidly routed their foes that the king, learning of it, gladly forgives the runaways. But in the tumult Mālatī has been stolen away by Kapālakuṇḍalā, and Act IX is devoted to Mādhava’s wild search with his friend to find her, which would have been fruitless, had not Saudāminī, a pupil of Kāmandakī, by good fortune come on Kapālakuṇḍalā and rescued her victim. A scene of lament at the beginning of Act X is interrupted by the return of the lovers, and the king approves the marriage.
The source of the Mahāvīracarita[6] is very different; it is an [[189]]effort to describe the main story of the Rāmāyaṇa by the use of dialogue narrating the main events, but a deliberate bid for dramatic effect is made through treating the whole story as the feud of Rāvaṇa, and his plots to ruin Rāma. The motif is introduced in Act I; at Viçvāmitra’s hermitage Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa see and love Sītā and Ūrmilā, daughters of Janaka of Videha. Rāvaṇa, however, sends a messenger to demand Sītā’s hand in marriage, but Rāma defeats the demon Tāḍakā, and Viçvāmitra gives him celestial weapons, and summons Çiva’s bow, which, if he bends, he may have Sītā. The bow is broken and Rāvaṇa’s envoy departs in rage. In Act II Rāvaṇa’s minister Mālyavant plots with his sister Çūrpaṇakhā how to make good the defeat sustained; a letter from Paraçurāma suggests a means; they incite him to avenge the breaking of Çiva’s bow. Paraçurāma acts on the hint in his usual haughty pride; he arrives at Mithilā, insults Rāma and demands a conflict. In the next Act the exchange of insults continues; Vasiṣṭha, Viçvāmitra, Çatānanda, Janaka, and Daçaratha in vain seek to avoid a struggle between the youth and the savage Brahmin, slayer of his own mother and exterminator of Kṣatriyas, but they fail. Act IV reveals that Paraçurāma has been defeated, and has saluted with respect the victor; Mālyavant bethinks him of a new device, Çūrpaṇakhā will assume the dress of Mantharā, servant of Kaikeyī, Daçaratha’s favourite wife, and destroy the concord of the royal family. That family is in excellent spirits; Rāma is at Mithilā with his father-in-law when the supposed Mantharā appears, bearing an alleged letter from Kaikeyī asking him to secure Daçaratha’s fulfilment of two boons he had once granted her; these are the selection of her son Bharata as crown prince and Rāma’s banishment for fourteen years. Meanwhile Bharata and his uncle Yudhājit have asked Daçaratha to crown Rāma forthwith; he is only too willing, but Rāma arrives, reports the demands of Kaikeyī and insists on leaving for the forest, accompanied by Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa, while Bharata is bidden remain, though he treats himself but as vicegerent. In Act V a dialogue between the aged vultures Jaṭāyu and Sampāti informs us of Rāma’s doings in the forest and destruction of demons; Sampāti is uneasy and bids Jaṭāyu guard Rāma well. Jaṭāyu fares on his duty, sees Sītā stolen by Rāvaṇa, and is slain in her defence. [[190]]We see Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa in mourning; they wander in the forest, save, and receive tidings from, an ascetic; Vibhīṣaṇa, brother of Rāvaṇa, exiled from Lan̄kā, wishes to meet them at Ṛṣyamukha where also are the jewels dropped by Sītā in her despair. Vālin, however, on the instigation of Mālyavant, seeks to forbid their entry; Rāma persists and slays his foe, who bids his brother Sugrīva lend his aid to Rāma’s search. In Act VI Mālyavant appears desolated by the failure of his plans; he hears of Hanumant’s setting Lan̄kā on fire. Rāvaṇa appears, doting on Sītā; in vain Mandodarī warns him of the advance of the enemy, but his disbelief is rudely dispelled; An̄gada bears terms of surrender of Sītā and humiliation before Lakṣmaṇa; he refuses, and seeks to punish the envoy, who escapes. He then goes out to battle, described at length by Indra and Citraratha, who, as divine, can watch it from the sky; Rāvaṇa performs feats of valour, but Hanumant revives with ambrosia Rāma and his comrades, and Rāvaṇa finally falls dead beside his gallant son, Meghanāda. In Act VII the cities Lan̄kā and Alakā, represented by their deities, exchange condolences; it is reported that Sītā has by the fire ordeal proved her chastity. The whole of Rāma’s party are now triumphant; an aerial journey carries them to the north, where they are welcomed by Rāma’s brothers and Daçaratha’s widows, and Viçvāmitra crowns Rāma.
The Uttararāmacarita[7] is based on the last and late book of the Rāmāyaṇa. Janaka has departed; Sītā enceinte is sad and Rāma is consoling her. News is brought from Vasiṣṭha; he bids the king meet every wish of his wife, but rank first of all his duty to his people. Lakṣmaṇa reports that the painter, who has been depicting the scenes of their wanderings, has finished; they enter the gallery, and live over again their experiences, Rāma consoling Sītā for her cruel separation from her husband and friends; incidentally he prays the holy Gan̄gā to protect her and that the magic arms he has may pass spontaneously to his sons. Sītā, wearied, falls asleep. The Brahmin Durmukha, who has been sent to report on the feeling of the people, reveals that they doubt Sītā’s purity. Rāma has already promised Sītā to let her visit again the forest, scene of her wanderings; he now decides [[191]]that, when she has gone, she must not return, and the command is obeyed. Act II shows an ascetic Ātreyī in converse with the spirit of the woods, Vāsantī; we learn that Rāma is celebrating the horse sacrifice, and that Vālmīki is bringing up two fine boys entrusted to him by a goddess. Rāma enters, sword in hand, to slay an impious Çūdra Çambūka; slain, the latter, purified by this death, appears in spirit form and leads his benefactor to Agastya’s hermitage. In Act III two rivers Tamasā and Muralā converse; they tell us that Sītā abandoned would have killed herself but Gan̄gā preserved her, and entrusted her two sons, born in her sorrow, to Vālmīki to train. Then Sītā in a spirit form appears, unseen by mortals; she is permitted by Gan̄gā to revisit under Tamasā’s care the scenes of her youth. Rāma also appears. At the sight of the scene of their early love, both faint, but Sītā, recovering, touches unseen Rāma who recovers only to relapse and be revived again. Finally Sītā departs, leaving Rāma fainting.
The scene changes in Act IV to the hermitage of Janaka, retired from kingly duties; Kauçalyā, Rāma’s mother, meets him and both forget self in consoling each other. They are interrupted by the merry noises of the children of the hermitage; one especially is pre-eminent; questioned, he is Lava, who has a brother Kuça and who knows Rāma only from Vālmīki’s work. The horse from Rāma’s sacrifice approaches, guarded by soldiers. Lava joins his companions, but, unlike them, he is undaunted by the royal claim of sovereignty and decides to oppose it. Act V passes in an exchange of martial taunts between him and Candraketu, who guards the horse for Rāma, though each admires the other. In Act VI a Vidyādhara and his wife, flying in the air, describe the battle of the youthful heroes and the magic weapons they use. The arrival of Rāma interrupts the conflict. He admires Lava’s bravery, which Candraketu extols; he questions him, but finds that the magic weapons came to him spontaneously. Kuça enters from Bharata’s hermitage, whither he has carried Vālmīki’s poem to be dramatized. The father admires the two splendid youths, who are, though he knows it not, his own sons.
In Act VII all take part in a supernatural spectacle devised by Bharata and played by the Apsarases. Sītā’s fortunes after [[192]]her abandonment are depicted; she weeps and casts herself in the Bhāgīrathī; she reappears, supported by Pṛthivī, the earth goddess, and Gan̄gā, each carrying a new-born infant. Pṛthivī declaims against the harshness of Rāma, Gan̄gā excuses his acts; both ask Sītā to care for the children until they are old enough to hand over to Vālmīki, when she can act as she pleases. Rāma is carried away, he believes the scene real, now he intervenes in the dialogue, now he faints. Arundhatī suddenly appears with Sītā, who goes to her husband and brings him back to consciousness. The people acclaim the queen, and Vālmīki presents to them Rāma’s sons, Kuça and Lava.
Indian tradition asserts that of the Mahāvīracarita Bhavabhūti wrote only up to stanza 46 of Act V, the rest being completed by Subrahmaṇya Kavi; if this were to be taken as certain, it would be a sign that that drama was never completed, and so was the last work of the author, but the maturity of the Uttararāmacarita makes it clear that, whatever there may be of truth in the story, the incompleteness cannot have been due to lack of time.
3. Bhavabhūti’s Dramatic Art and Style
It is difficult to doubt that Bhavabhūti must have been induced to write his Prakaraṇa in an effort to vie with the author of the Mṛcchakaṭikā. It is true that no such humour as lightens that drama is found in the Mālatīmādhava, but that was doubtless due to Bhavabhūti’s own temperament; conscious that he had no gift[8] in that direction, he omitted boldly the part of the Vidūṣaka which he could clearly not have handled effectively. But in doing so he lessened greatly his resources, and has to select for his theme in lieu of comic relief incidents of the terrible and horrible type blended with the supernatural. The main love-story, with the episode of the two young lovers, whose desires are thwarted by interposition of a powerful suitor, and whose affairs are mixed up with those of two other lovers, both affections ending in elopements, occurs in the Kathāsaritsāgara,[9] [[193]]and in that collection as elsewhere[10] we find the motifs of the sacrifice of a maiden by a magician and the offering of flesh to the demons to obtain their aid. But the credit is due to Bhavabhūti of combining them in an effective enough whole, and of producing in Act V a spectacle at once horrible and exciting. He has also improved his authorities in detail; the escaped tiger replaces the more conventional elephant; and the intrigue is more effectually welded together by making Madayantikā the sister of Nandana, the king’s favourite. Further, he has introduced the machinery of Kāmandakī and her assistants Avalokitā and Saudāminī. This again is taken from the romance; Daṇḍin, as Brahmanical an author as Bhavabhūti himself, adopts Buddhist nuns as go-betweens, and Kāmandakī’s offices are perfectly honourable; she merely undertakes, at the request of the parents, to subtract Mālatī from marriage with one unworthy of her and not her father’s choice. The influence of Kālidāsa explains Act IX, which is a manifest effort to rival Act IV of the Vikramorvaçī, which it excels in tragic pathos, if it is inferior to it in grace and charm. The same Act has a flagrant imitation of the Meghadūta in Mādhava’s idea of sending a cloud message to his lost love, and is full of verbal reminiscences of that text.
The plot, however interesting, is extremely badly knit together; the action is dependent to an absurd degree on accident; Mālatī twice on the verge of death is twice saved by mere chance. Moreover, the characters live apart from all contact with real life; they are in a city like the characters of the Mṛcchakaṭikā, but seem to exist in a world of their own in which the escape of tigers and the abduction of maidens with murderous intent cause no surprise. There is little individuality in hero or heroine, though the shy modesty of the latter contrasts with the boldness of Madayantikā, who flings herself at Makaranda’s head. A friend of Mādhava, Kalahaṅsa, is asserted later[11] to be a Viṭa, but has nothing characteristic, and probably the assertion is without ground.
The Mahāvīracarita lacks the novelty of the Mālatīmādhava, [[194]]but Bhavabhūti’s effort to give some unity to the plot is commendable, though it is unsuccessful. The fatal error, of course, is the narration of events in long speeches in lieu of action. The conversations of Mālyavant and Çūrpaṇakhā, of Jaṭāyu and Sampāti, of Indra and Citraratha, and of Alakā and Lan̄kā are wholly undramatic; the word-painting of the places of their adventures, as seen from the aerial car on the return home, has not the slightest conceivable right to a place in drama. The elaborate exchange of passionate and grandiose defiances between Rāma and Paraçurāma which drags through two Acts does credit to the rhetorical powers of the dramatist, but is wearisome and a mere hindrance to the action. On the other hand, the scene where Bharata determines to act as vicegerent and that between Vālin and Sugrīva are effective, while with excellent taste Vālin is made an enemy, who opposes Rāma under bad advice, and the treachery and fraternal strife of the Rāmāyaṇa disappear for good. The characterization is feeble; Rāma and Sītā are tediously of one pattern without shadow on their virtue, and neither Mālyavant nor Rāvaṇa surpasses mediocrity.
The Uttararāmacarita reaches no higher level as a drama; he has a period of twelve years to cover, as he had fourteen in the Mahāvīracarita, and to produce effective unity would be hard for any author; Bhavabhūti has made no serious effort to this end; he has contented himself with imagining a series of striking pictures. The first Act is admirably managed; the tragic irony of Sītā’s gazing on the pictures of a sorrow over for good just on the verge of an even crueller fate, and of asking for a visit to see the old scenes of her unhappiness as well as her joy, which affords the king the means of immediately abandoning her, is perfectly brought out. Yet excuses are made for the king; it is the voice of duty that he hears; his counsellors who might have stayed his rash act are away. The scene in Act III, when Sītā sees and forgives her spouse, is admirable in its delicacy of the portrayal of her gradual but generous surrender to the proof that, though harsh, he deeply loved her. Lava again is a fine study in his pride, followed by submission to the great king when approached with courtesy, but the Vidyādhara’s tale of the use of the magic weapons, doubtless an effort to vie with Bhāravi’s Kirātārjunīya, is ineffective. The last Act, however, reveals [[195]]Bhavabhūti at his best; the plain tale of the Rāmāyaṇa makes Kuça and Lava recite the story of the Rāmāyaṇa at a sacrifice and be recognized by their father; here a supernatural drama with goddesses as actors leads insensibly to a happy ending, for Bhavabhūti again defies tradition to attain the end, without which the drama would be defective even in our eyes. Sītā and Rāma are splendidly characterized; the one in his greatness of power and nobility of spirit, the other ethereal and spiritual, removed from the gross things of earth. Janaka and Kauçalyā are effectively drawn; their condolences have the accent of sincerity, but the other characters—there are twenty-four in all—present nothing of note. It was not within Bhavabhūti’s narrow range to create figures on a generous scale; in his other dramas they are reduced to the minimum necessary for the action.
As a poem the merits of the Uttararāmacarita are patent and undeniable. The temper of Bhavabhūti was akin to the grand and the inspiring in nature and life; the play blends the martial fervour of Rāma and his gallant son with the haunting pathos of the fate of the deserted queen, and the forests, the mountains, the rivers in the first three Acts afford abundant opportunity for his great ability in depicting the rugged as well as the tender elements of nature; what is awe-inspiring and magnificent in its grandeur has an attraction for Bhavabhūti, which is not shown in the more limited love of nature in Kālidāsa. He excels Kālidāsa also in the last Act, for the reunion of Sītā and Rāma has a depth of sentiment, not evoked by the tamer picture of the meeting of Duḥṣanta and Çakuntalā; both Rāma and Sītā are creatures of more vital life and deeper experience than the king and his woodland love.
We find, in fact, in Bhavabhūti, in a degree unknown to Kālidāsa, child of fortune, to whom life appeared as an ordered joyous whole, the sense of the mystery of things; ‘what brings things together’, he says, ‘is some mysterious inward tie; it is certainly not upon outward circumstances that affection rests’.[12] Self-sacrifice is a reality to Bhavabhūti; Rāma is prepared to abandon without a pang affection, compassion, and felicity, nay Sītā herself, for the sake of his people,[13] and he acts up to his resolve. Friendship is to him sacred; to guard a friend’s interests [[196]]at the cost of one’s own, to avoid in dealings with him all malice and guile, and to strive for his weal as if for one’s own is the essential mark of true friendship.[14] Admirable also is his conception of love, far nobler than that normal in Indian literature; it is the same in happiness and sorrow, adapted to every circumstance of life, in which the heart finds solace, unspoiled by age, mellowing and becoming more valuable as in course of time reserve dies away, a supreme blessing attained only by those that are fortunate and after long toil.[15] The child completes the union; it ties in a common knot of union the strands of its parents’ hearts.[16] Bhavabhūti was clearly a solitary soul; this is attested by the prologue of the Mālatīmādhava:
ye nāma kecid iha naḥ prathayanty avajñām: jānanti te kim api tān prati naiṣa yatnaḥ
utpatsyate ’sti mama ko ’pi samānadharmā: kālo hy ayam anavadhir vipulā ca pṛthvī.
‘Those that disparage me know little; for them my effort is not made; there will or does exist some one with like nature to mine, for time is boundless and the earth is wide.’ Yet we may sympathize with those who felt[17] that his art was unfit for the stage, for Bhavabhūti’s style has many demerits in addition to the defects of his technique.
Bhavabhūti in fact proclaims here as his own merit richness and elevation of expression (prauḍhatvam udāratā ca vacasām) and depth of meaning, and we must admit that he has no small grounds for his claims. The depth of thought and grandeur which can be admitted in the case of Bhavabhūti must be measured by Indian standards, and be understood subject to the grave limitations which are imposed on any Brahmanical speculation as to existence by the orthodoxy which is as apparent in Bhavabhūti as it is in the lighter-hearted Kālidāsa. When, therefore, we are told[18] that ‘with reference to Kālidāsa he holds a position such as Aeschylus holds with reference to Euripides’, we must not take too seriously the comparison. No poet, in fact, suggests less readily comparison with Euripides than does Kālidāsa. He has nothing whatever of the questioning mind of the [[197]]Greek dramatist, contemporary of the Sophists, and eager inquirer into the validity of all established conventions. In style again he aims at a level of perfection of achievement, which was neither sought nor attained by Euripides. Unquestionably, if any parallel were worth making, Kālidāsa would fall to be ranked as the Sophokles of the Indian drama, for as far as any Indian poet could, ‘he saw life steadily and saw it whole’, and was free from the vain questionings which vexed the soul of Euripides. Bhavabhūti again cannot seriously be compared with Aischylos, for he accepted without question the Brahmanical conceptions of world order, unlike the great Athenian who sought to interpret for himself the fundamental facts of existence, and who found for them no solution in popular belief or traditional religion. There can, moreover, be no greater contrast in style than that between the simple strength of Aischylos, despite his power of brilliant imagery,[19] and the over-elaboration and exaggeration of Bhavabhūti. The distinction between Kālidāsa and his successor is of a different kind. Both accepted the traditional order, but Kālidāsa, enjoying, we may feel assured, a full measure of prosperity in the golden age of India under the Gupta empire, viewed with a determined optimism all that passed before him in life, in strange contrast to the bitterness of the denunciations of existence which Buddhism, then losing ground, has set forth as its contribution to the problems of life. Bhavabhūti, on his part, recognized with a truer insight, sharpened perhaps by the obvious inferiority of his fortunes and failure to enjoy substantial royal favour, the difficulties and sorrows of life; his theme is not the joys of a pleasure-loving great king or the vicissitudes of a Purūravas, too distant from humanity to touch our own life, but the bitter woes of Rāma and Sītā, who have for us the reality of manhood and womanhood, as many a touch reminds us:[20]
kim api kim api mandam mandam asattiyogād: avicalitakapolaṁ jalpatoç ca krameṇa
açithilaparirambhavyāpṛtaikaikadoṣṇor: aviditagatayāmā rātrir evaṁ vyaraṅsīt.
‘As slowly and gently, cheek pressed against cheek, we whispered soft nothings, each clasping the other with warm embrace, the night, whose watches had sped unnoticed, came to an end.’ [[198]]
As regards the formal side of Bhavabhūti’s style we must unquestionably admit his power of expression, which is displayed equally in all three dramas. To modern taste Bhavabhūti is most attractive when he is simple and natural, as he can be when it pleases him. Thus in Act VI of the Mālatīmādhava we have a pretty expression of Mādhava’s joy at the words of love of him uttered by Mālatī when she has no idea of his presence near her:
mlānasya jīvakusumasya vikāsanāni: saṁtarpaṇāni sakalendriyamohanāni
ānandanāni hṛdayaikarasāyanāni: diṣṭyā mayāpy adhigatāni vacomṛtāni.
‘Fortune has favoured me, for I have heard the nectar of her words that make to bloom again the faded flower of my life, delightful, disturbing every sense, causing gladness, sole elixir for my heart.’ The deliberate rhyming effect is as appropriate as it is uncommon in such elaboration, and it is characteristic that the same effect is shortly afterwards repeated. Effective simplicity and directness also characterize the speech, in Sanskrit contrary to the usual rule, of Buddharakṣitā in Act VII, when she clinches the argument in favour of the elopement of Madayantikā and Makaranda:
preyān manorathasahasravṛtaḥ sa eṣaḥ: suptapramattajanam etad amātyaveçma
prauḍhaṁ tamaḥ kuru kṛtajñatayaiva bhadram: utkṣiptamūkamaṇinūpuram ehi yāmaḥ.
‘Here is thy beloved, on whom a thousand times thy hopes have rested; in the minister’s palace the men are asleep or drunken; impenetrable is the darkness; be grateful and show thy favour; come, let us silence our jewelled anklets by laying them aside, and depart hence.’ Equally effective is the expression of the admirable advice tendered to Mādhava and Mālatī at the moment when Kāmandakī has succeeded in securing their union:
preyo mitram bandhutā vā samagrā: sarve kāmāḥ çevadhir jīvitaṁ vā
strīṇām bhartā dharmadārāç ca puṅsām: ity anyonyaṁ vatsayor jñātam astu.
‘Know, my dear children, that to a wife her husband and to a husband his lawful wife are, each to each, the dearest of friends, the sum total of relationships, the completeness of desire, the [[199]]perfection of treasures, even life itself.’ Pretty again are the terms in which Kāmandakī laments Mālatī in Act X when she learns of her disappearance:
ā janmanaḥ pratimuhūrtaviçeṣaramyāṇy: āceṣṭitāni tava samprati tāni tāni
cāṭūni cārumadhurāṇi ca saṁsmṛtāni: dehaṁ dahanti hṛdayaṁ ca vidārayanti.
‘My body is aflame and my heart torn in sunder by the memory of thy childish movements which grew more delightful every hour from thy birth, and of the beauty and sweetness of thy loving words.’
It is, therefore, the more to be regretted that Bhavabhūti was not content with simplicity, but is often too fond of elaborate and overloaded descriptions, which are fatally lacking in simplicity and intelligibility and can be fully comprehended only after careful study and examination. We must, however, it is clear, admit that Bhavabhūti definitely improved in taste as the years went on. The latest of his dramas, the Uttararāmacarita, is far less obnoxious to criticism for defects of judgement than the Mālatīmādhava, which may be set down as an adventure in a genre unsuited to the poet’s talent. There is an admirable touch in the scene in Act I of the play where Sītā, wearied, falls to rest on the pillow of Rāma’s arm, that arm which no other woman can claim and which has ever lulled her to sleep, and he gazes on her in fond admiration:[21]
iyaṁ gehe lakṣmīr iyam amṛtavartir nayanayor
asāv asyāḥ sparço vapuṣi bahulaç candanarasaḥ
ayaṁ kaṇṭhe bāhuḥ çiçiramasṛṇo mauktikasaraḥ
kim asyā na preyo yadi param asahyas tu virahaḥ.
‘She is Fortune herself in my home; she is a pencil of ambrosia for the eyes; her touch here on my body is as fragrant as sandal juice; her arm round my neck is cool and soft as a necklace of pearls; what in her is there that is not dear, save only the misery of separation from her?’ Scarcely are the words said than the attendant enters with the word, ‘It has come’, which on her lips is to announce the advent of the spy whose report is to lead to Sītā’s banishment, while the audience, following the words, applies it at once to the separation which Rāma was deploring, [[200]]and which to him was the parting in the past when Rāvaṇa stole his bride.
The spontaneous regard which springs up for each other in the hearts of the two princes Lava and Candraketu when they meet is admirably depicted:[22]
yadṛcchāsampātaḥ kim u guṇagaṇānām atiçayaḥ
purāṇo vā janmāntaranibiḍabandhaḥ paricayaḥ
nijo vā sambandhaḥ kim u vidhivaçāt ko ’py avidito
mamaitasmin dṛṣṭe hṛdayam avadhānaṁ racayati?
‘Is it this chance encounter, or his wealth of splendid qualities, or an ancient love, firm bound in a former birth, or a common tie of blood unknown through the might of fate, which draws close my heart to him even at first sight?’
The rebuke which Vāsantī addresses to Rāma for his treatment of Sītā, despite the loyalty of the queen, is effectively broken off by a faint:[23]
tvaṁ jīvitaṁ tvam asi me hṛdayaṁ dvitīyam
tvaṁ kaumudī nayanayor amṛtaṁ tvam an̄ge
ity ādibhiḥ priyaçatair anurudhya mugdhām
tām eva çāntam athavā kim ataḥ pareṇa.
‘ “Thou art my life, my second heart, thou the moonlight of my eyes, the ambrosia for my body thou”: with these and a hundred other endearments didst thou win her simple soul, and now alas—but what need to say more?’
Elsewhere we have less simplicity, but in these cases we must distinguish carefully between those instances in which the difficulty and complexity of expression serve to illustrate the thought, and those in which the words are made to stand in lieu of ideas. In many cases Bhavabhūti may justly claim to have achieved substantial success, even when he is not precisely simple. The effect of love on Mādhava is effectively expressed:[24]
paricchedātītaḥ sakalavacanānām aviṣayaḥ
punarjanmany asminn anubhavapathaṁ yo na gatavān
vivekapradhvaṅsād upacitamahāmohagahano
vikāraḥ ko ’py antar jaḍayati ca tāpaṁ ca kurute.
‘An emotion, evading determination, inexpressible by words, never before experienced in this birth of mine, wholly confusing [[201]]because of the impossibility of examination, is at once numbing me within and filling me with a torment of fire.’
The poet’s command of the philosophical conceptions of his day is shown in the verse following:
paricchedavyaktir bhavati na puraḥsthe ’pi viṣaye
bhavaty abhyaste ’pi smaraṇam atathābhāvavirasam
na saṁtāpacchedo himasarasi vā candramasi vā
mano niṣṭhāçūnyam bhramati ca kim apy ālikhati ca.
‘Though an object be before one’s gaze, determination is not easy; brought back, memory intervenes to introduce an element of falsity; neither in the cool lake nor in the moonbeams can passion be quenched; my mind, powerless to attain a fixed result, wanders, and yet records something.’
We have a further effective picture of the physical effect of love on Mādhava when he seeks to assuage his sorrows by depicting his beloved from memory:[25]
vāraṁ vāraṁ tirayati dṛçor udgamam bāṣpapūras
tatsaṁkalpopahitajaḍima stambham abhyeti gātram
sadyaḥ svidyann ayam aviratotkampalolān̄gulīkaḥ
pāṇir lekhāvidhiṣu nitarāṁ vartate kiṁ karomi.
‘Time after time the tears that stream from my eyes blind my sight; my body is paralysed by the numbness born of the thought of her; when I seek to draw, my hand grows moist and trembles incessantly; ah, what is there that I can do?’
It is, however, easy to pass into exaggeration, as in:[26]
līneva pratibimbiteva likhitevotkīrṇarūpeva ca
pratyupteva ca vajralepaghaṭitevāntarnikhāteva ca
sā naç cetasi kīliteva viçikhaiç cetobhuvaḥ pañcabhiç
cintāsaṁtatitantujālanibiḍasyūteva ca lagnā priyā.
‘So have I grasped my dear one that she is as it were merged in me, reflected in me, depicted in me, her form mingled in me, cast into me, cemented with adamant to me, planted within me, pinned to my soul by the five arrows of love, firmly sewn into the fabric of my thought continuum.’
A stanza like this, whatever credit it may do to the ingenuity of its author, hardly gives any high opinion of his literary taste, but we are undoubtedly forced to assume that he believed deliberately in the merits of the style he adopted, which as [[202]]contrasted with that of Kālidāsa belongs to the Gauḍī type,[27] which loves compounds in prose, and aims at the grandiose rather than sweetness and grace. The adoption of such a style, possibly under the influence of the reputation of Bāṇa, is wholly unjustified in drama; the prose, which normally in the plays moves freely and easily, is hampered by compounds of ridiculous length which must have been nearly as unintelligible to his audiences as they are now without careful study. The defect, it is true, gradually diminishes; the Uttararāmacarita is far freer from sins of this type. In the verse the theory does not make such demands for compounds, so that the poetry is often better than the prose; especially in his latest drama it gains clearness and intelligibility. Sanskrit, however, was clearly in large measure an artificial language to Bhavabhūti; he employs far too freely rare terms culled from the lexicons, honourable to his scholarship but not to his taste, and the same lack of taste is displayed in the excess of his exaggerations. Of the sweetness and charm of Kālidāsa he has as little as of the power of suggestion displayed by his predecessor; but he excels in drawing with a few strokes the typical features of a situation or emotion. He seeks propriety in his characters’ utterances; Janaka shows his philosophical training, as do the two ascetics in Act IV; Lava manifests his religious pupilship under Vālmīki; Tamasā as a river goddess uses similes from the waters. Effective is the speech of the old chamberlain who addresses the newly-crowned Rāma as ‘Rāma dear’ to remember the change and fall back on ‘Your Majesty’. It may be admitted also that in many passages Bhavabhūti does produce effective concatenations of sounds, but only at the expense of natural expression and clearness of diction. The appreciation which he has excited in India is often due not to his real merits, but to admiration of these linguistic tours de force, such as the following:
dordaṇḍāñcitacandraçekharadhanurdaṇḍāvabhan̄godyataṣ
ṭan̄kāradhvanir āryabālacaritaprastāvanāḍiṇḍimaḥ
drākparyastakapālasampuṭamiladbrahmāṇḍabhāṇḍodara—
bhrāmyatpiṇḍitacaṇḍimā katham aho nādyāpi viçrāmyati.
‘The twang, emanating from the broken staff of Çiva’s bow, bent by his staff-like arms, is the trumpet sound proclaiming to the [[203]]world the youthful prowess of my noble brother; it ceases not yet, its reverberations enhanced by its rumbling through the interstices of the fragments of the universe rent asunder by the dread explosion.’ It may readily be admitted that the sound effect of such a verse is admirable, but it is attained only at the sacrifice of clearness and propriety of diction.
4. The Language and the Metres
Bhavabhūti, with his limited scope, confines himself to Çaurasenī, and models his style on Sanskrit, so that the speakers of Prākrit are committed to the absurdity of elaborate style in what is supposed to be a vernacular. For him doubtless as for later poets the production of Prākrit was a mechanical task of transforming Sanskrit according to the rules of Vararuci or other grammarians.
In metre the Mahāvīracarita shows a free use of the Çloka, as is inevitable in an epic play; it is found 129 times; the Çārdūlavikrīḍita (75), Vasantatilaka (39), Çikhariṇī (31), and Sragdharā (28) are the other chief metres; the Upajāti, Mandākrāntā, and Mālinī are not rare, but the Āryā (3) and Gīti (1) are almost gone, and there are only sporadic Aupacchandasika, Puṣpitāgrā, Pṛthvī, Praharṣiṇī, Rathoddhatā, Vaṅçasthā, Çālinī, and Hariṇī. The Uttararāmacarita has the same metres, save the Sragdharā, a curious omission; it adds the Drutavilambita and Mañjubhāṣiṇī; the occurrences of the Çloka are 89, the Çikhariṇī is second (30), Vasantatilaka third (26), and Çārdūlavikrīḍita fourth (25). The Mālatīmādhava has the same metres as the Uttararāmacarita plus the Narkuṭaka[28] and a Daṇḍaka of six short syllables and sixteen amphimacers; here the Vasantatilaka takes first place (49), Çārdūlavikrīḍita (32), Çikhariṇī (21), and Hariṇī (12). The Mālinī (21) and Mandākrāntā (15) take on greater importance, while the Çloka is negligible (14). The fact that there are only 8 Āryās reflects the changed character of Bhavabhūti’s versification from that of Kālidāsa. [[204]]
[1] Pādavākyapramāṇajña; see Belvalkar, HOS. XXI. xxxvi. ff. where the attempt to identify Padmapura with Padmāvatī as Pavāyā near Narvār and the shrine of Kālapriya with Kālp on the Jumna is disproved. On his Vedic studies, see Keith, JRAS. 1914, pp. 729 f. He knew the Kāmasūtra; JBRAS. xviii. 109 f. [↑]
[2] iv. 144. On the dates, see Stein’s Intr., § 85, and notes on iv. 126 and 134. [↑]
[4] i. 2. 12 (anonymous). That Bhavabhūti knew Bhāsa may be assumed; his use of the rare Daṇḍaka metre may be borrowed, and similarities between Uttararāmacarita, Act II and Svapnavāsavadattā, Act I, &c., exist. [↑]
[5] Ed. R. G. Bhandarkar, Bombay, 1876 (2nd ed., 1905); trs. Wilson, ii. 1 ff.; G. Strehly, Paris, 1885; L. Fritze, Leipzig, 1884. Cf. Gawroński, Les sources de quelques drames indiens, pp. 43 ff.; Cimmino, Osservazioni sul rasa nel Mālatīmādhava, Naples, 1915. [↑]
[6] Ed. F. H. Trithen, London, 1848; NS. 1901; trs. J. Pickford, London, 1892. [↑]
[7] Ed. and trs. S. K. Belvalkar, HOS. xxi–xxiii; trs. C. H. Tawney, Calcutta, 1874; P. d’Alheim, Bois-le-Roi, 1906. [↑]
[8] The deplorable effort in Act IV of the Uttararāmacarita at deliberate humour shows his weakness in this regard. A certain measure of irony of situation is all that he ever attains, e.g. in connexion with Rāma’s ignorance of the identity of his sons, cf. Uttararāmacarita, iv. 22/3; vi. 19/20. [↑]
[10] KSS. xviii.; xxv. (Açokadatta and the Rākṣasas): cxxi. (Kāpālika and Madanamañjarī); DKC. vii. (Mantragupta and Kanakalekhā). [↑]
[11] Kumārasvāmin, Pratāparudrīya, i. 38. [↑]
[12] Uttararāmacarita, vi. 12. [↑]
[14] Mahāvīracarita, v. 59. Cf. Uttararāmacarita, iv. 13, 14. [↑]
[16] Uttararāmacarita, iii. 18. [↑]
[18] Ryder, The Little Clay Cart, p. xvi. [↑]
[19] G. Norwood, Greek Tragedy, pp. 121 ff. [↑]
[27] Vāmana, i. 2. 12; SD. 627; Kāvyādarça, i. 40 ff. [↑]
[28] ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ — ⏑ — ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ — ⏑ ⏑ — ⏑ ⏑ —. [↑]
IX
VIÇĀKHADATTA AND BHAṬṬA NĀRĀYAṆA
1. The Date of Viçākhadatta
A curious vagueness besets our knowledge of Viçākhadatta or Viçākhadeva, son of the Mahārāja Bhāskaradatta or the minister Pṛthu, grandson of the feudatory Vaṭeçvaradatta. None of these persons are elsewhere known, and for his date we are reduced to conjectures. The play ends with a stanza mentioning Candragupta as would be natural in a play of which he is hero, but there are variants in the manuscripts, including Dantivarman, Rantivarman, and (A)vantivarman. The last has been utilized to fix the date, but in two different ways; Avantivarman might be the Maukhari king whose son married Harṣa’s daughter, or the king of Kashmir (A.D. 855–83); Jacobi[1] identifies the eclipse referred to in the play as that of December 2, 860, when, he holds, Çūra, the king’s minister, had the play performed. There is no conclusive argument for or against this clever combination. Konow[2] sees in Candragupta the ruler of the Gupta line, and would make the poet a younger contemporary of Kālidāsa, but this is fantasy. We have some evidence of imitation of Ratnākara by Viçākhadatta, but it is possibly not conclusive as to date. Still less weight attaches to the fact that in one manuscript the Nāndī is supposed to be over before the play begins, for that is merely a habit of South Indian manuscripts, true to the Bhāsa tradition. There is nothing that prevents a date in the ninth century, though the work may be earlier.[3] [[205]]
2. The Mudrārākṣasa
Whatever its date, the Mudrārākṣasa[4] is one of the great Sanskrit dramas, although in India itself its merits have long been underrated, because it does not conform to the normal model. It is a drama of political intrigue, centred in the person of Rākṣasa, formerly minister of the Nandas, who is now sworn to revenge their destruction on Cāṇakya, the Brahmin who vowed to ruin them, and who, in pursuance of this end, secured an alliance between Candragupta, their rival, and Parvateça[5] and attacked Pāṭaliputra. Rākṣasa seeing resistance vain surrendered the city; the last of the royal house, Sarvārthasiddhi, retired to an ascetic life, and Rākṣasa left to weave plots elsewhere. His effort by a poison maiden to slay Candragupta miscarried; instead, Parvateça fell a victim through Cāṇakya’s cunning. This so far aided Rākṣasa that his son Malayaketu left Candragupta and is now his ally, preparing with the aid of a host of motley origin, including princes of Kulūta, Malaya, Kashmir, Scind, and Persia to attack the capital. Act I shows Cāṇakya’s schemes; in a monologue he expresses his detestation of the Nandas and his determination to secure Rākṣasa as minister for his lord, for he is convinced of Rākṣasa’s worth and has no desire himself to rule. Nipuṇaka, his spy, enters; he has found a Jain Jīvasiddhi hostile to the king—he is in reality Cāṇakya’s agent; the scribe Çakaṭadāsa is a real enemy, as is the jeweller Candanadāsa, in whose house are Rākṣasa’s wife and child; by good fortune he has secured the signet ring of Rākṣasa, dropped by the former in pulling indoors the child. Cāṇakya sees his chance; he writes a letter, has it copied in good faith by Çakaṭadāsa and sealed with Rākṣasa’s seal; Çakaṭadāsa is then arrested, but on the point of impalement is rescued by Siddhārthaka, another spy of the minister’s, who flees to Rākṣasa; Jīvasiddhi is banished in ignominy to the same destination, and Candanadāsa is flung into prison, to await death for having harboured Rākṣasa’s family, which has escaped. Finally, it is reported that Bhāgurāyaṇa and others of the court are also fled, [[206]]news received by Cāṇakya with admirable composure, for they are also his emissaries.
Act II shows Rākṣasa’s counter-plots. Virādhaka, in a serpent-charmer’s disguise, bears him news of ill import: the scheme to murder Candragupta, as he passed under a coronation arch, has failed, Vairodhaka, uncle of Malayaketu, who stayed when his nephew fled and had been crowned also as lord of half the realm, being slain in lieu of Candragupta; Abhayadatta, who offered him poison, has been forced to drink the draught; Pramodaka, the chamberlain, has flaunted the wealth sent to him to use in bribes, and is dead in misery; the bold spirits, who were to issue from a subterranean passage into the king’s bedchamber, have been detected by the king through the sight of ants bearing a recent meal, and burnt in agony in their hiding place; Jīvasiddhi is banished, Çakaṭadāsa condemned to the stake, Candanadāsa to the same fate. The tale of woe is interrupted by the advent of Çakaṭadāsa with Siddhārthaka, who restores his seal to Rākṣasa, saying he had picked it up at Candanadāsa’s house, and begs permission to remain in his train. Virādhaka now gives the one piece of good news: Candragupta is tired of Cāṇakya. At this moment Rākṣasa is asked if he will buy some precious jewels, and hastily bids Çakaṭadāsa see to the price, little knowing that they are sent by Cāṇakya to entrap him. Act III displays Cāṇakya at his ablest; a fine scene takes place between him and Candragupta, on the score that he has forbidden all feasting without telling the king; the monarch finally upbraids him, the minister taunts him with ingratitude and insolence, resigns office, and leaves in high dudgeon; none but the chief actors know the whole is but a ruse, and Rākṣasa’s fortunes seem again fair. In Act IV the bright prospect begins to darken; Bhāgurāyaṇa, for the officials who have deserted to Malayaketu, explains to that monarch that they desire to deal direct with him, not Rākṣasa; the latter, they suggest, is no real foe of Candragupta; if Cāṇakya were out of the way, there would be nothing to hinder his allying himself with Candragupta. The king is perplexed, and his doubt increases when he overhears a conversation between Rākṣasa and a courier who bears the glad tidings of the split between the king and Cāṇakya; Rākṣasa eagerly exclaims that Candragupta is now in the palms of his hands [[207]](hastatalagata), a phrase which unhappily lends itself to the suspicious interpretation that he meditates alliance with that king. Malayaketu’s conversation with Rākṣasa, which ensues, leaves him half-hearted for an advance, for he cannot rid himself of his suspicions of the minister. The Act ends with Jīvasiddhi’s admission to see Rākṣasa, who asks him in vain for intelligible advice as to the time for an advance, receiving in lieu much astrological lore and what is really a presage of disaster. This is achieved in Act V. First Jīvasiddhi approaches Bhāgurāyaṇa, who is entrusted with the grant of permits to leave the camp, and admits—with feigned reluctance—in order to get a permit, that he fears Rākṣasa, who used him formerly when he was arranging for the poisoning of Parvateça, but now seeks to slay him. The king, who overhears this, is wild with rage; he had deemed his father slain by Cāṇakya, and Bhāgurāyaṇa has great difficulty in persuading him that Rākṣasa’s action might be deemed justifiable, and that at any rate vengeance must wait. Siddhārthaka, however, now appears a prisoner, caught trying to escape without a passport; beaten, he finally gives evidence against Rākṣasa in the shape of the letter written in Act I by Çakaṭadāsa, which he asserts he was to bear from Rākṣasa to Candragupta, a jewel sealed, like the letter, with Rākṣasa’s seal—one given by Malayaketu to Rākṣasa and by him to Siddhārthaka for rescuing Çakaṭadāsa, and a verbal message, stating the terms demanded by the allied kings for their treachery, and Rākṣasa’s own demand, the removal of Cāṇakya. The king confronts Rākṣasa with the proofs, and the minister has made his case worse from the start, for, asked the order of march proposed, he assigns to the allied kings the proud duty of guarding the king’s person, which Malayaketu interprets as a device to facilitate their treachery. Rākṣasa is bewildered; he can deny the message, but the seal and the writing are genuine; can Çakaṭadāsa have turned traitor through fear? The argument against him is clinched by the king’s seeing that he wears a fine jewel, one of those purchased at the close of Act II; it was the king’s father’s, and must, he insists, be the price of the minister’s treachery. Incensed, the foolish king gives orders to bury alive those allied kings who craved territory as their reward, and to trample under elephants those who sought them as their share. [[208]]All is confusion, and Rākṣasa, insolently spared, slips away to fulfil his duty of rescuing his friend Candanadāsa.
Act VI reveals Rākṣasa in the capital deeply soliloquizing on the failure of all his ends, and the fate of his friend. A spy of Candragupta’s approaches him, and passes himself off as one seeking death, in despair for Candanadāsa’s fate, on which Candragupta’s mind is relentlessly set. He warns Rākṣasa that he may not attempt a rescue, for, when they fear one, the executioners slay the victim out of hand, and Rākṣasa sees that nothing save self-sacrifice is left for him. The net is now firmly cast; Act VII sees Candanadāsa led out to death, his wife and child beside him, a scene manifestly imitated from the Mṛcchakaṭikā; the wife is determined to die also, but Rākṣasa intervenes; Cāṇakya and Candragupta come on the scene, and Rākṣasa decides to accept the office of minister pressed on him by both, when thus alone he can save, not his own life, but that of Candanadāsa and his friends. They, indeed, are in sore case, for Malayaketu’s massacre of the kings has broken the host into fragments, and the apparent rebels have taken the moment to capture him and his court. As minister, Rākṣasa is permitted to free Malayaketu and restore his lands, Candanadāsa is rewarded, and a general amnesty approved.
The interest in the action never flags; the characters of Cāṇakya and Rākṣasa are excellent foils. Each in his own way is admirable; Cāṇakya in his undying and just hatred of the Nandas, and Rākṣasa in his unsparing devotion to their cause, his noble desire to save Candanadāsa, and his fine submission, for the sake of others, to a yoke he had purposed never to bear. The maxims of politics in which both delight may amuse us; they are essentially the Indian views of polity and give the play a contact with reality which Professor Lévi[6] wrongly denies; the plots and counterplots of both ministers are the type in which Indian polity has ever delighted. The minor figures are all interesting; Siddhārthaka and Samiddhārthaka, gentlemen who even disguise themselves as Caṇḍālas in the last Act, so that they may serve Cāṇakya’s aims; Nipuṇaka, whose cleverness in finding the seal justifies the name he bears; the disguised Virādhaka, the honest Çakaṭadāsa, the noble Candanadāsa and [[209]]his wife, the one female figure in the play. The kings Candragupta and Malayaketu represent the contrast of ripe intelligence with youthful ardour, and the weak petulance of one who does not know men’s worth, and who rashly and cruelly slays his allies on the faith of treachery. Bhāgurāyaṇa, who is the false friend deluding Malayaketu in Candragupta’s interest, is a carefully drawn figure; he dislikes the work, but dismisses his repulsion as essentially the result of dependence which forbids a man to judge between right and wrong.
Viçākhadatta’s diction is admirably forcible and direct; the martial character of his dramas reflects itself in the clearness and rapidity of his style, which eschews the deplorable compounds which disfigure Bhavabhūti’s works. An artist in essentials, he uses images, metaphors, and similes with tasteful moderation; alone of the later dramatists, he realizes that he is writing a drama, not composing sets[7] of elegant extracts. Hence is explained the paucity of citations from him in the anthologies, which naturally find little to their purpose in an author of a more manly strain than is usual in the drama. It is significant that the Subhāṣitāvali cites but two stanzas, under his name, as Viçākhadeva, both pretty but undistinguished; the second[8] is graceful:
sendracāpaiḥ çṛtā meghair nipatannirjharā nagāḥ
varṇakambalasaṁvītā babhur mattadvipā iva.
‘The mountains, with their leaping waterfalls, girt with rainbow clouds, shone like rutting elephants clad in raiment of bright hue.’
More characteristic is the terse and effective phraseology in which he describes the dilemma of Malayaketu when his mind has been poisoned against Rākṣasa:[9]
bhaktyā Nandakulānurāgadṛḍhayā Nandānvayālambinā
kiṁ Cāṇakyanirākṛtena kṛtinā Mauryeṇa saṁdhāsyate
sthairyam bhaktiguṇasya vā vigaṇayan satyasandho bhavet
ity ārūḍhakulālacakram iva me cetaç ciram bhrāmyati.
‘His loyalty was founded on his love for the family of Nanda, it rested on a scion of that house; now that the cunning Maurya is severed from Cāṇakya, will he make terms with him? Or, [[210]]faithful ever in loyalty, will he keep his pact with me? Perplexed with these thoughts my mind revolves as on a potter’s wheel.’
There is effective gravity in the manner in which the aged chamberlain handles the regular topic of his failing powers in old age:[10]
rūpādīn viṣayān nirūpya karaṇair yair ātmalābhas tvayā
labdhas teṣv api cakṣurādiṣu hatāḥ svārthāvabodhakriyāḥ
an̄gāni prasabhaṃ tyajanti paṭutām ājñāvidheyāni me
nyastam mūrdhni padaṁ tavaiva jarayā tṛṣṇe mudhā tāmyasi.
‘Sight, alas, and the other organs, wherewith aforetime I was wont to grasp for myself the sights and objects of desire which I beheld, have lost their power of action. My limbs obey me not and suddenly have lost their cunning; thy foot is placed on my head, old age; vainly, O desire, dost thou weary thyself.’
Rākṣasa’s name inevitably demands the usual play on its sense of demoniac, but Malayaketu’s feeling redeems the use from triviality:[11]
mitram mamāyam iti nirvṛtacittavṛttim
viçrambhatas tvayi niveçitasarvakāryam
tātaṁ nipātya saha bandhujanākṣitoyair
anvarthasaṃjña nanu Rākṣasa rākṣaso ’si?
‘My father’s mind rested secure in thy friendship; in his confidence he entrusted to thee the whole burden of his affairs; when, then, thou didst bring him low midst the tears of all his kin, didst thou not act, O Rākṣasa, like the demon whose name thou dost bear?’
The martial spirit of Rākṣasa is admirably brought out in Act II:[12]
prakārān paritaḥ çarāsanadharaiḥ kṣipram parikṣipyatām
dvāreṣu dvipadaiḥ pratidvipaghaṭābhedakṣamaiḥ sthīyatām
muktvā mṛtyubhayam prahartumanasaḥ çatror bale durbale
te niryāntu mayā sahaikamanaso yeṣām abhīṣṭaṁ yaçaḥ.
‘Around the ramparts be the archers set at once; station at the portals the elephants, strong to overthrow the host of the foeman’s herd; lay fear aside, in eagerness to smite the host of the foe that cannot withstand us, and issue forth with me with one [[211]]accord, all to whom glory is dear.’ The burden of duty is expressed admirably:[13]
kiṁ Çeṣasya bharavyathā na vapuṣi kṣāṁ na kṣipaty eṣa yat
kiṁ vā nāsti pariçramo dinapater āste na yan niçcalaḥ
kiṁ tv an̄gīkṛtam utsṛjan kiraṇavac chlāghyo jano lajjate
nirvyūḍhiḥ pratipannavastuṣu satām ekaṁ hi gotravratam.
‘Is it because Çeṣa feels not the pain of the burden of the earth that he flings it not aside? Is it that the sun feels no weariness that he does not stand still in his course? Nay, a noble man feels shame to lay aside the duty he has taken on him, like a meaner creature; for the good this is the one common law, to be faithful to what one has undertaken.’ The minister’s resolve to save his friend is forcibly put:[14]
audāsīnyaṁ na yuktaṁ priyasuḥrdi gate matkṛtām eva ghorām
vyāpattiṁ jñātam asya svatanum aham imāṁ niṣkrayaṁ kalpayāmi.
‘Indifference is impossible since my dear friend has fallen into this disaster for my sake; I have it: my own life do I set as ransom for his.’ There is grim humour in the command of the infuriated Malayaketu:[15] ‘Those who desired my land, take and cast into a pit and cover with dust; those two who sought my army of elephants slay by an elephant,’ and in the Caṇḍāla’s remark[16] when he bids his friend impale Candanadāsa: ‘His family will go off quickly enough of their own accord.’ The revelation of Jīvasiddhi’s treachery wrings from Rākṣasa the cry:[17] ‘My very heart has been made their own by my foes (hṛdayam api me ripubhiḥ svīkṛtam).’ Proverbs are aptly used, as in the same context the Sanskrit equivalent for an accumulation of evils (ayam aparo gaṇḍasyopari sphoṭaḥ).
3. The Language and the Metres of the Mudrārākṣasa
The Sanskrit of the Mudrārākṣasa is classical, and the Prākrits number three, for, in addition to the normal Çaurasenī and Māhārāṣṭrī, Māgadhī is used by the Jain monk, by Siddhārthaka and Samiddhārthaka as Caṇḍālas, by a servant and an envoy. We may take it that Viçākhadatta wrote from the grammars, and this is confirmed by the fact that we find in some [[212]]of the manuscripts traces of the carrying through of characteristic Māgadhī features, ññ for ṇṇ for Sanskrit ny; ẖk for kṣ; çc for cch, st for sth, sṭ for ṣṭ and for ṣṭh, and the usual ç, l, and e. It is possible, of course, that these are no more than restorations by scribes, but they may easily be more venerable. It is also interesting to note that there appear traces of Çaurasenī verses, which is perfectly possible, as the theory does not necessitate all persons who use Çaurasenī in prose singing in Māhārāṣṭrī; that is given as requisite for women only, and in this play they are men who use these Çaurasenī verses.
The metres most used are Çārdūlavikrīḍita (39), Sragdharā (24), Vasantatilaka (19), and Çikhariṇī (18); the Çloka occurs also 22 times. Other metres are sporadic, save Prākrit Āryās; they include Upajāti, Aupacchandasika, Puṣpitāgrā, Praharṣiṇī, Mālinī, Mandākrāntā, Rucirā, Vaṅçasthā, Suvadanā (iv. 16), and Hariṇī.
4. The Date of Bhaṭṭa Nārāyaṇa
The age of Bhaṭṭa Nārāyaṇa, Mṛgarājalakṣman is unknown. But he is cited by Vāmana (iv. 3. 28) and Ānandavardhana[18] and so is before A.D. 800. Tradition, preserved in the Tagore family, makes him out to be a Brahmin summoned from Kanyakubja to Bengal by Ādisūra, the founder of a dynasty of eleven kings, who are supposed to have reigned before the Pāla dynasty came to the throne in the middle of the eighth century A.D. It has been suggested[19] that it was identical with the Guptas of Magadha since Ādityasena, son of Mādhavagupta of Magadha, made himself independent of Kanyakubja; this would make Ādisūra Ādityasena, who was alive in A.D. 671. The date, however, is clearly conjectural for the present.
5. The Veṇīsaṁhāra
Bhaṭṭa Nārāyaṇa has chosen as his topic[20] one episode from the great epic and has endeavoured to make it capable of dramatic representation. One of the worst of the insults heaped on Draupadī in the gambling scene of the epic is the dragging of her by the hair before the assembly by Duḥçāsana, one of the [[213]]Kauravas. Draupadī vows never to braid her hair again until the insult is avenged, as it ultimately is.
Act I shows Bhīma in conversation with Sahadeva as they await the result of Kṛṣna’s visit as an envoy to seek to settle the feud between Pāṇḍavas and Kauravas; Bhīma shows his insolent confidence in his power and his bitter anger, by declaring that he will break with Yudhiṣṭhira if he makes peace before the insult to Draupadī has been avenged. Sahadeva in vain seeks to appease him, and Draupadī adds to his bitterness by relating a fresh insult in a careless allusion by Duryodhana’s queen. Kṛṣṇa returns, nothing effected; indeed he has had to use his magic arms to escape detention in the enemies’ camp. War is inevitable, but Draupadī, more human now, bids her husbands take care of their lives against the enemy. Act II opens with an ominous dream of Bhānumatī, Duryodhana’s queen; an ichneumon (nakula) has slain a hundred serpents; it is a presage that the Pāṇḍavas—of whom Nakula is one—will slay the hundred Kauravas. The king, overhearing but not understanding, thinks he is betrayed; learning the truth, at first he inclines to fear, but shakes off the temporary depression. The queen offers oblation to the sun to remove the evil omen; the king appears to comfort her: a storm arises, and they seek security in a pavilion, where they indulge in passages of love. Then appears the mother of Jayadratha of Sindhu, slayer of Abhimanyu, son of Arjuna, who fears the revenge of the Pāṇḍavas; Duryodhana makes light of her fears; he despises the resentment of the Pāṇḍavas, gloating over the remembrance of the insults heaped on Draupadī. Finally he mounts his chariot for the battle. Act III presents an episode of horror but also of power; a Rākṣasī and her husband feed on the blood and flesh of the dead on the battlefield; they have been summoned thither, for Ghaṭotkaca, son of Hiḍimbā by Bhīma, is dead, and his demon mother has bidden them attend Bhīma in his revenge on the Kuru host. They see the first-fruits in Droṇa’s death at the hands of Dhṛṣṭadyumna, when he lets fall his arms, deceived by the lie of his son’s death. They retire before Açvatthāman who advances, but is filled with grief when he learns of the treacherous device which cost his father’s life. His uncle Kṛpa consoles him, and bids him ask Duryodhana for the command in the battle. But in the meantime Karṇa has poisoned Duryodhana’s mind; Droṇa had fought, [[214]]only to win the imperial authority for his son, and has sacrificed his life in disappointment at the failure of his plans. Kṛpa and Açvatthāman come up; Duryodhana condoles, Karṇa sneers, Açvatthāman asks for the command, but is refused it, as Karṇa has been promised it. Açvatthāman quarrels with Karṇa, and a duel is barely prevented; Açvatthāman accuses Duryodhana of partiality, and will fight no more. Their disputes are interrupted by Bhīma’s boast that he will now slay Duḥçāsana; Karṇa at Açvatthāman’s instigation makes ready to rescue him, Duryodhana follows suit, Açvatthāman would go also, but is stayed by a voice from heaven and can only bid Kṛpa lend his aid.
In Act IV Duryodhana is brought in wounded; recovering, he learns of Duḥçāsana’s death and a Kuru disaster; a messenger from Karṇa tells in a long Prākrit speech of the death of Karṇa’s son, and gives an appeal for aid written in Karṇa’s blood. Duryodhana makes ready for battle, but is interrupted by the arrival of his parents, Dhṛtarāṣṭra and Gāndhārī with Sañjaya, whose advent begins Act V. The aged couple and Sañjaya urge in vain Duryodhana to peace; he refuses, and again, hearing of Karṇa’s death, unaided, is ready to part for the field, when Arjuna and Bhīma appear; Bhīma insists on their saluting with insults their uncle; Duryodhana reproves them, but Arjuna insists that it is just retribution for the acquiescence of the aged king in Draupadī’s ill-treatment. Duryodhana defies Bhīma, who would fight, but Arjuna forbids, and Yudhiṣṭhira’s summons takes them away. Açvatthāman arrives, and seeks reconciliation with Duryodhana, who receives him coldly; he withdraws, followed by Sañjaya, bidden by Dhṛtarāṣṭra to appease him.
Act VI tells us from an announcement to Yudhiṣṭhira and Draupadī of Duryodhana’s death at Bhīma’s hands. But a Cārvāka comes in, who tells a very different story; Bhīma and Arjuna are dead. Yudhiṣṭhira and Draupadī resolve on death, and the Cārvāka, who is really a Rākṣasa, departs in glee. When, however, they are about to die, a noise is heard; Yudhiṣṭhira, deeming it Duryodhana, rushes to arms, while Draupadī runs away, and is caught by her hair by Bhīma, whom Yudhiṣṭhira seizes. The ludicrous error is discovered, and Draupadī binds up at last her locks. Arjuna and Vāsudeva arrive, the Cārvāka has been slain by Nakula, and all is well.
The play is on the whole undramatic, for the action is choked [[215]]by narrative, and the vast abundance of detail served up in this form confuses and destroys interest. Yet the characterization is good; Duryodhana, as in the later Indian tradition, is unlovable; he is proud and arrogant, self-confident, vain, and selfish; he laughs at Bhānumatī’s fears and has no sympathy for the maternal anxiety of Jayadratha’s mother. He is suspicious of Droṇa and Açvatthāman, and thus deprives himself of their effective aid; Karṇa, whose jealous advice he accepts, he leaves to perish. Bhīma again is a bloodthirsty and boastful bully; Arjuna is equally valiant, but he is less an undisciplined savage, while Kṛṣṇa intervenes with wise moderation. Yudhiṣṭhira is, as ever, grave and more concerned with the interest of his subjects than his personal feelings. Horror and pathos are not lacking, but the love interest is certainly not effective, and it may be that it was forced on the author by tradition rather than any thought of producing a real interest of itself. Bhaṭṭa Nārāyaṇa’s slavish fidelity to rule brought him censure even from Indian critics.
The style of the play is clear and not lacking either in force or dignity: dismayed by the dream of Bhānumatī Duryodhana comforts himself.[21] An̄giras says:
grahāṇāṁ caritaṁ svapno nimittāny upayācitam
phalanti kākatālīyaṁ tebhyaḥ prajñā na bibhyati.
‘The movements of the planets, dreams, omens, oblations, bear fruit by accident; therefore wise men fear them not.’ Graceful is his address to Bhānumatī if out of place:[22]
kuru ghanoru padāni çanaiḥ çanair: api vimuñca gatiṁ parivepinīm
patasi bāhulatopanibandhanam: mama nipīḍaya gāḍham uraḥsthalam.
‘O firm-limbed one, make slow thy steps; stay thy trembling gait; thou dost fall into the shelter of my arms; clasp me closely in thine embrace.’ But any display of tenderness is abnormal in Duryodhana; he rebukes his aged mother when she urges him to save his life by coming to terms with the enemy:[23]
mātaḥ kim apy asadṛçaṁ vikṛtaṁ vacas te: sukṣatriyā kva bhavatī kva ca dīnataiṣā
nirvatsale sutaçatasya vipattim etām: tvaṁ nānucintayasi rakṣasi mām ayogyam.
[[216]]
‘O mother, strange and unseemly is thy bidding. Ill accord thy noble birth and this faintness of spirit. Shame on thee, without natural affection, in that thou dost forget the cruel fate of thy hundred sons in seeking to save my life.’ In vain is Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s manly appeal to him:[24]
dāyādā na yayor balena gaṇitās tau Droṇabhīṣmau hatau
Karṇasyātmajam agrataḥ çamayato bhītaṁ jagat Phālgunāt
vatsānāṁ nidhanena me tvayi ripuḥ çesapratijño ’dhunā
krodhaṁ vairiṣu muñca vatsa pitarāv andhāv imau pālaya.
‘Slain are Droṇa and Bhīṣma whose peers none were deemed in might; all shrank in terror before Arjuna as he slew Karṇa’s son before his eyes; my dear ones slain, the foe’s whole aim is against thee now; lay aside thine anger with thy foes, and guard these thy blind parents.’ Admirably expressed is Bhīma’s wild fury when he disdains Yudhiṣṭhira’s effort to secure peace:[25]
mathnāmi Kauravaçataṁ samare na kopād: Duḥçāsanasya rudhiraṁ na pibāmy urastaḥ
saṁcūrṇayāmi gadayā na Suyodhanoru: sandhiṁ karotu bhavatāṁ nṛpatiḥ paṇena.
‘Shall I not in anger crush the hundred Kauravas in battle; shall I not drink the blood from Duḥçāsana’s breast; shall I not break with my club the thighs of Duryodhana, although your master buy peace at a price?’ Admirable also is his description of the sacrifice of battle:[26]
catvāro vayam ṛtvijaḥ sa bhagavān karmopadeṣṭā hariḥ
saṁgrāmādhvaradīkṣito narapatiḥ patnī gṛhītavratā
Kauravyāḥ paçavaḥ priyāparibhavakleçopaçāntiḥ phalam
rājanyopanimantraṇāya rasati sphītaṁ yaçodundubhiḥ.
‘We are the four priests, and the blessed Hari himself directs the rite; the king has consecrated himself for the sacrament of battle, the queen has taken on herself the vow; the Kauravyas are the victims, the end to be achieved the extinction of our loved one’s bitterness of shame at the insult done her; loudly the drum of fame summons the warrior to the fray.’ Equally effective is his summing up of his feat:[27]
bhūmau kṣiptaṁ çarīraṁ nihitam idam asṛk candanam Bhīmagātre [[217]]
lakṣmīr ārye niṣaṇṇā caturudadhipayaḥsīmayā sārdham urvyā
bhṛtyā mitrāṇi yodhāḥ Kurukulam akhilaṁ dagdham etadraṇāgnau
nāmaikaṁ yad bravīṣi kṣitipa tad adhunā Dhārtarāṣṭrasya çeṣam.
‘His body is cast upon the ground; his blood is smeared as sandal paste on Bhīma’s limbs; the goddess of fortune, with the earth bounded by the waters of the four oceans, rests on my noble brother’s lap; servants, friends, warriors, the whole house of the Kurus has been burned in this fire of battle; the name alone, O king, is left of Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s race.’ Effective is the appeal which Dhṛtarāṣṭra bids the faithful Sañjaya address to the righteously indignant Açvatthāman:[28]
smarati na bhavān pītaṁ stanyaṁ cirāya sahāmunā
mama ca malinaṁ kṣaumam bālye tvadan̄gavivartanaiḥ
anujanidhanasphītāc chokād atipraṇayāc ca tad—
vikṛtavacane māsmin krodhaç ciraṁ kriyatāṁ tvayā.
‘Forget not the milk which thou didst so long drink from the same breast with him; forget not my robe that thy childish feet so often soiled in play; his grief is bitter for the death of the younger brother whom he loved so dearly; be not, therefore, wroth for the unjust words he hath spoken to thee.’
On the other hand, we find in Bhaṭṭa Nārāyaṇa many of the defects of Bhavabhūti, in special the fondness for long compounds both in Prākrit and in Sanskrit prose[29] and the same straining after effect which gives such a description of the battle as that vouchsafed to Draupadī by Bhīma, when she warns him nor to be overrash in battle:[30]
anyonyāsphālabhinnadviparudhiravasāmāṅsamastiṣkapan̄ke
magnānāṁ syandanānām upari kṛtapadanyāsavikrāntapattau
sphītāsṛkpānagoṣṭhīrasadaçivaçivātūryanṛtyatkabandhe
samgrāmaikārṇavāntaḥpayasi vicaritum paṇḍitāḥ Pāṇḍuputrāḥ.
‘The sons of Pāṇḍu are well skilled to disport in the waters of the ocean of the battle, wherein dance headless corpses to the music of the unholy jackals, that yell in joy as they drink the thick blood of the dead, and the footmen in their valour leap over the chariots that are sunk in the mud of the blood, fat, [[218]]flesh, and brains of the elephants shattered in mutual onslaught.’ The adaptation of sound to sense here is doubtless admirable, and the picture drawn is vivid in a painful degree, but the style is too laboured to be attractive to modern taste.
None the less Nārāyaṇa has the merit, shared by Viçākhadatta, of fire and energy; much of the fierce dialogue is brutal and violent, but it lives with a reality and warmth which is lacking in the tedious contests in boasting, which burden all the descriptions in the Rāma dramas of the meeting of Rāma and Paraçurāma. Duryodhana is not behind Bhīma himself in insolence, though perhaps more subtle than that of the violent son of the Wind-god:[31]
kṛṣṭā keçeṣu bhāryā tava tava ca paços tasya rājñas tayor vā
pratyakṣam bhūpatīnām mama bhuvanapater ājñayā dyūtadāsī
tasmin vairānubandhe vada kim apakṛtaṁ tair hatā ye narendrā
bāhvor vīryātibhāradraviṇagurumadam mām ajitvaiva darpaḥ.
‘Thy wife—whether thine, O beast, or that king’s or the twins’—was seized by the hair, in the presence of all the princes, by my command as lord of the earth, she won as my slave at the dice. With this abiding cause of hatred between us, say what wrong was wrought by the kings whom thou hast slain? When thou hast not conquered me, why vainly dost thou boast of the cumbrous strength of thy huge arms?’
Violent as is the language, there is some excuse for it in the extraordinarily heartless character of Bhīma’s address to the ill-fated Dhṛtarāṣṭra, which almost justifies the recalling of the disgraceful slight put on Draupadī:[32]
nihatāçeṣakauravyaḥ kṣībo Duḥçāsanāsṛjā
bhan̄ktā Duryodhanasyorvor Bhīmo ’yaṁ çirasā nataḥ.
‘Bhīma bows low his head before thy feet, Bhīma who has slain all the scions of Kuru, who is drunk with the blood of Duḥçāsana, and who shall shatter the thighs of Duryodhana.’ Effectively contrasted is the stern, but courteous rebuke addressed by Yudhiṣṭhira to Kṛṣṇa’s elder brother:[33]
jñātiprītir manasi na kṛtā kṣatriyāṇāṁ na dharmo
rūḍhaṁ sakhyaṁ tad api gaṇitaṁ nānujasyārjunena
tulyaḥ kāmam bhavatu bhavataḥ çiṣyayoḥ snehabandhaḥ
ko ’yam panthā yad asi vimukho mandabhāgye mayi tvam?
[[219]]
‘Thou hast forgotten the love due to kindred blood, thou hast violated the law of the warrior, thou hast ignored the deep friendship between thy younger brother and Arjuna. Granted that thy love for both thy pupils may be equal, nevertheless what is the cause that thou dost show hostility to me in my misfortune?’
These and many other passages are cited by the writers on poetics who find in the Veṇīsaṁhāra an inexhaustible mine of illustration of the theory which doubtless deeply affected the author in his composition. They do not, however, eulogize him blindly; the love scene with Bhānumatī is definitely treated as out of place.[34]
6. The Language and the Metres of the Veṇīsaṁhāra.
The Sanskrit and the Prākrits offer no special features of interest. The latter is mainly in Çaurasenī, but the speeches of the Rākṣasa and his wife at the beginning of Act III are clearly in Māgadhī; they show the characteristic signs of e for the nominative singular, both masculine and neuter, of a-stems; l for r, and ā in the vocative of a-stems. The suggestion of Grill[35] that the dialect is more precisely Ardha-Māgadhī is not necessary, for the points enumerated—the presence of s beside ç, the variation of o and aṁ in the nominative for e, and the use of jj for ry, and not yy—can be explained readily by the error of the scribes or the mistakes of the author. The freedom with which those worthies acted is seen clearly enough in the fact that one representative of the Bengālī as opposed to the Devanāgarī recension of the text has systematically rewritten the Prākrit into Çaurasenī.
The metrical treatment is noteworthy for the almost equal use of Vasantatilaka (39), Çārdūlavikrīḍita (32), Çikhariṇī (35), and Sragdharā (20). There are 53 Çlokas, and a few stanzas of Mālinī, Puṣpitāgrā, Praharṣiṇī, and one each of Aupacchandasika, Vaitālīya, Indravajrā, and Drutavilambita, with 6 Āryās, and 2 Prākrit Vaitālīyas. The versification is thus decidedly of the later type. [[220]]
[1] VOJ. ii. 212 ff.; contra Dhruva, VOJ. v. 25; Charpentier, JRAS. 1923, pp. 585 f. [↑]
[2] ID. pp. 70 f. Cf. Antani, IA. li. 49 f.; Winternitz, GIL. iii. 210. [↑]
[3] Keith, JRAS. 1909, pp. 145 f.; Hertel, ZDMG. lxx. 133 ff. It is later than the Mṛcchakaṭikā, the Raghuvaṅça (vii. 43 as compared with v. 23), and the Çiçupālavadha (i. 47 as compared with the last verse). [↑]
[4] Ed. A. Hillebrandt, Breslau, 1912; trs. Wilson, ii. 125 ff.; L. Fritze, Leipzig, 1886; V. Henry, Paris, 1888. [↑]
[5] Or Parvataka. For an effort to extract history, see CHI. i. 470 ff. It must be regarded as very dubious. [↑]
[7] His ability in this regard can be seen in the jingle of Malayaketu’s lament in v. 16. [↑]
[20] Ed. J. Grill, Leipzig, 1871; Bombay, 1905; trs. S. M. Tagore, Calcutta, 1880. Traces of different recensions exist. [↑]
[29] E.g. vi, p. 87 (Sanskrit); v, p. 59 (Prākrit). [↑]
[34] SD. 408. Lévi, however, is in error (TI. i. 35, 224) in suggesting that SD. 406 censures as inappropriate Duryodhana and Karṇa’s dialogue in Act III. [↑]