The Buddhist Art of Gandhara: The Story of the Early School, its Birth, Growth and Decline c12: Chapter 6. Adolescence

The Buddhist Art of Gandhāra: The Story of the Early School, its Birth, Growth and Decline c12

Language: English

Chapter 6. Adolescence

The influx of Hellenistic art described in the preceding chapter was short-lived. It began soon after the Parthian conquest of Gandhāra in *circa* A.D. 25, and ended abruptly with the advent of the Kushāns soon after A.D. 60. But it left an enduring mark on the nascent School of Buddhist sculpture, and its influence can be seen, clear and unmistakable, long after that date. This period, covered by the first four or five decades of Kushān rule, is in some ways the most fascinating in the history of the School. It is the period when Gandhāra art was in a formative, adolescent stage; when we can discern more clearly than at other times the efforts of the artists to overcome their initial difficulties, to reconcile Greek and local ideas, and to create from them a new synthesis of religious art suited to the needs of the Buddhist Church. Of all the sculptures dating from this period some of the earliest and most attractive are comprised in the collection which formerly belonged to the Guides' Mess at Mardān. For the preservation of these sculptures we owe no small debt to the officers of the Guides; but it could be wished that they had spared themselves the trouble of trying to brighten up the sculptures by occasionally blacking and polishing them, since the effect has been completely to obscure the surface texture and fine finish, and to make it virtually impossible to secure satisfactory photographs. How disastrous for reproduction this maltreatment has proved can be seen by comparing fig. 56, which was taken in 1927, with fig. 54, which was taken more than half a century ago when the relief was first unearthed. I stress this point the more because many of the other illustrations which follow suffer from the same serious defect, and it is important that full allowance should be made for it, if the merits of the sculptures are to be correctly assessed.

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I have labelled this group of sculptures the 'Mardān' group for no other reason than that they happened to be preserved in that place, before being transferred to the Peshāwar Museum where they are now. Of their original provenance no reliable record seems to have been kept. From inquiries I made on the spot in 1903 I concluded that the majority had come from Swāt, but there were some that had come from other sites, and it would, therefore, be misleading to call it the Swāt group.

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With these prefatory remarks I now turn to some characteristic examples. The first of these to merit our notice is fig. 53—a small, unpretentious slab about 8 in. high. The six figures disposed in a single row are closely akin to those on several of the slabs discussed in the last chapter (e.g. figs. 40 and 41) and are clearly carrying on the Hellenistic tradition. Hellenistic, too, are their poses and the treatment of their drapery, with its graceful folds and careful definition. Unfortunately, this is one of the many sculptures that have been blackened and polished, so that the photograph gives little idea of the delicate workmanship. The scene portrayed has been identified by M. Foucher (A.G.-B.G. vol. I, p. 474, fig. 239) as the Presentation of the Jetavana Garden at Śrāvastī. Towards the left end of the relief stands the Buddha, distinguished by his halo, with a companion monk behind him. In front of the Buddha is the merchant Anāthapiṇḍada, with a water-vessel in his hand to symbolize the gift he is making, and behind him three more lay-worshippers, one of whom is holding a small object in his hand—possibly a bowl of coins for the purchase of the land. Assuming that M. Foucher is right, and I see no reason to doubt it, this relief affords a striking illustration of the wide gulf between Gandhāra and Indian art. The stock Indian version is much more realistic (loc. cit. p. 475, fig. 240). It shows us the Jetavana Garden with the Buddha (represented by his tree), Anāthapiṇḍada in front of him with a libation vessel in his hand, attendants engaged in covering the ground with coins, and even the bullock-cart which brought the coins and the two bullocks outspanned beside it. Compared with this, the Gandhāra version is dull and unimaginative, but it has the advantage of dignity and repose, qualities which in the long run were more suited to the development of a great and far-reaching ecclesiastical art.

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In the history of the Gandhāra School this relief has a unique value. It is the earliest representation of the Buddha by a Gandhāra artist known to us. We are in fact here present at the birth, or as near the birth as it is possible to be, of the canonical Buddha standing image which was now to replace the older symbolism of the church and to become for future generations of Buddhists the centre and focus of their liturgical worship.

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Therefore it is of supreme interest to observe that in this relief the Buddha is of the same stature and appearance as the rest of the figures, with nothing yet evident to distinguish him from the monk beside him except his halo. Whether the Buddha was at this stage crowned with the familiar top-knot (*uṣṇīṣa*) is a point that the damaged state of the relief prevents our determining. Within a few years of the carving of this relief the *uṣṇīṣa* was to become an invariable feature of all Buddha images, and it is at least highly probable that it was present in this one,¹ but we are not yet entitled to take it for granted. The halo, it need hardly be said, was a Greek invention; and the monk’s dress worn by the Buddha and his companion was also Greek: of a pattern which, as M. Foucher long ago pointed out, is exemplified in the well-known Sophocles statue in the Lateran Museum. Presumably the dress had been adopted by the Buddhist *bhikshus* at a time when Greek fashions were prevalent in that area. It is a type of dress that is not found among the early figural reliefs of India.

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¹ [A more recent photograph of the relief reproduced in fig. 53 shows that, as was surmised by the author, the *uṣṇīṣa* is indeed present. See I. Lyons and H. Ingholt, *Gandhāran Art in Pakistan*, New York, 1957, fig. 95. ED.]

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One other characteristic of this relief that deserves particular notice is the fact that all six figures have the same distinctive cast of countenance: the same refined and slightly pointed nose, the same small drooping moustache, the same strongly marked cheek-bones. These are features that we shall encounter again in other sculptures.

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Closely linked in age and style with the foregoing are the two reliefs illustrated in figs. 54 and 55, the one depicting the ‘Interpretation of Māyā’s dream’, the other the ‘Seven Steps of the Infant Buddha’. The two panels came from the same monument in Swāt, where these two small but excellent photographs were taken by Mr Caddy sometime before the panels passed into the possession of the Guides. By the side of fig. 54, fig. 56 makes it all too clear that the first of the two panels has suffered from blacking and polishing before this later photo (fig. 56) was taken. In the same way fig. 57 shows how much the other panel had suffered from mutilation, particularly to the infant Buddha’s legs.

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In the scene of the Dream Interpretation King Śuddhodana is seated, full-face, on a richly decorated throne, on the back of which lean two women attendants with fly-whisks in their hands. Above the king’s head is the royal umbrella fringed with bells. To his left and right, seated on wicker stools, are the Rishi Asita and his nephew Naradatta. Both are holding water vessels in their left hands. Māyā, who is usually present in later versions of this scene is absent from this one.

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In the companion piece depicting the ‘Seven Steps’ the infant Buddha stands under the royal umbrella in the centre, and behind him is an attendant holding the umbrella shaft with his left hand and a fly-whisk in his right. On the infant’s left is Indra, recognizable by his head-dress and thunderbolt (vajra), and on his right, Brahmā, with the Brāhman’s kamaṇḍalu in his left hand. Behind the two gods were six other heavenly beings, three on one side and three on the other.

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Excluding their borders these two panels are less than 6 in. high and of exquisitely fine workmanship, with the quality of ivory miniatures rather than stone carvings. Their close affinity with the Partho-Greek reliefs described in the last chapter is evident in many features: in the formal, scenic character of the composition and the self-conscious poses of the individual figures; in the careful delineation of the facial features notwithstanding their minute scale; in the graceful draping of the robes and masterly precision in the modelling of their folds; and in the framing of the panels between pairs of rounded Corinthian pilasters. These and other details of style and technique make it clear beyond question that these two panels follow at no long interval in the track of the Partho-Greek reliefs, and this conclusion is confirmed by the relationship in which they stand to later members of the same group which we shall presently examine. On the other hand, there is a radical difference between these panels and their Partho-Greek predecessors. The latter, as we have seen, were little more than servile imitations of Hellenistic originals, with the actors sometimes dressed in local instead of Greek costume, sometimes carrying a lotus instead of a wine-cup in their hands, to give a Buddhist atmosphere to the scene. But the changes are superficial and do not affect their essentially Hellenistic character. Here, in these two panels, the sculptor still has the Greek outlook, is still inspired by Greek ideals, still employs the Greek technique and expresses himself in the Greek idiom. But he is now moving in a new atmosphere, the religious atmosphere of Buddhism, is deeply immersed in its sacred traditions and is putting all his skill and artistry into the narration of its legends. Reliefs of this character are manifestly too mature and complex to have been created overnight or by the genius of a single artist. They presuppose earlier efforts of a more empirical, less assured kind, and it may be hoped that examples of these may one day be turned up by the spade of the excavator. Meanwhile we must be content to recognize that, with these panels, we are now for the first time coming face to face with the real Graeco-Buddhist Art of Gandhāra—an art which was dependent for its life-blood as much on the traditions and inspiration of Buddhism as on those of the local Hellenism, and which could have been born nowhere else in Asia but on the soil of Gandhāra.

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Before taking leave of these reliefs there are two more features that we ought to notice. One is that the Corinthian pilasters are no longer such an integral part of the architectural design as they were in the preceding group (figs. 43-47). In that group the pilasters were supported on a continuous moulded plinth, which had the effect of linking them and the carved panels between them in a common scheme of decoration. In the later panels the continuous moulded plinth is lacking, the pilaster bases being carried to the bottom of the panel, with a plain flat band to support the reliefs between. It is a small point but it marks a definite change in the architectural integration of the design.

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The second feature is the fine surface decoration carved in low relief on the throne and footstool of fig. 54. In spite of its being on such a small scale the details of the patterns, of which the ‘rosette and sheaf’ is the principal, are remarkably clear and effective. It is only at this period, so far as I know, that this highly refined type of ornamentation is found.

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The next relief is slightly larger than the foregoing, being about 10.5 in. in height, including the plinth (fig. 58). The stone of which it is made is said to be a dark micaceous schist, whether chloritic could not be determined owing to the black pigment covering the surface. The scene portrayed is the ‘Bath of the infant Buddha’. In the foreground two female attendants are supporting the child on a three-legged stool, while Indra and Brahmā pour water from lotas over his head. To right and left, four more figures, doubtless divine, have come to adore the newborn Buddha. Behind the infant’s head is the usual halo; above, the usual umbrella. The likeness of this to the two preceding reliefs is obvious. There is the same facial expression, the same short and delicately modelled nose, the same bone structure of the cheeks, the same draping of the robes, the same framing of the panel between Corinthian pilasters. But the workmanship in this relief is not up to the same high standard. The modelling of the attendant figures is heavier, the folds of their draperies coarser. Indeed, in the case of one of the kneeling women, the folds, instead of being modelled, are indicated merely by incised, wavering lines. This may mean nothing more than that the carving at this point was unfinished, but, quite apart from this particular defect, we cannot fail to be conscious of the incipient signs of failing technical skill visible in this relief.

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Fig. 59, the following piece, is exceptionally interesting. It is a fragment of chloritized micaceous schist which came from Loriyān Tangai and is now in the Calcutta Museum. No doubt it represents the First Sermon (cf. figs. 4 and 117). In the centre is the Buddha, represented by a pillar surmounted by three interlaced wheels symbolizing at once the Law (*dharmacakra*) and the Trinity or Three Jewels (*triratna*). The triple wheels are supported by a *yaksha* emerging *à mi-corps* from the foliate capital of the Corinthian pillar, on the shaft of which is a vine-scroll in low relief, with the footprints of the Teacher on the base below. To the right and left of the pillar are two arched doorways, and in front of each, in attitudes of worship, are two shaven monks representing Kauṇḍinya and his companions, one of whom is missing where the stone is broken at the left-hand bottom corner. On the left side of the fragment are three celestials, come to adore the Buddha, and above them a winged angel holding an offering in his left hand. The flat base of the panel is enriched with a band of rosette-and-sheaf pattern. In the details of this relief there is much to merit attention. We note in particular the similarity of the fine surface ornament, including the rosette-and-sheaf pattern, to that on the throne of Śuddhodana in fig. 54, and also the similarity of the fine delineation of the monks’ features. On the other hand, we cannot help being struck by the deterioration in the treatment of the robes, with little more than incised lines to represent their folds, just as in the decadent Graeco-Śaka work of an earlier generation. But while this panel evidences a further stage in the decline of technical skill, it also evidences a brave effort on the part of the sculptor to introduce a touch of realism and variety into the scene by depicting the monks as if they had just emerged from the doorway of their cells. It matters little that his experiment was not very successful: that the doorways are oddly awry. It was a step in the right direction—a step that was eventually to lead to a freer and more decorative kind of composition, though to the end, let it be said, Gandhāra art never succeeded in attaining anything like the freedom of the Early Indian School.

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If further confirmation of the date of this fragment is needed, it is furnished by three of the celestial beings at the left side of the fragment. One of these is the winged angel at the top. In sculptures of the Early Indian School winged angels are the rule rather than the exception, but in the Gandhāra School they are very rare, and are found, so far as I know, only in work of this early period. The second is the *deva* with drooping moustache and twisted turban, standing immediately below the angel. He bears a quite remarkable likeness to a figure of chloritized micaceous schist which I unearthed at the Dharmarājikā at Taxila in 1913 (fig. 60). Such a striking similarity makes it impossible to doubt that both pieces came from the same atelier, if not from the hand of the same sculptor. The third is the lowest one of the *deva* figures with a brush instead of a drooping moustache. Celestial beings with this particular kind of moustache were one of the stock types in the early art of Gandhāra, but the type does not seem to have survived for more than two or three generations.

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To return, however, to the sculptures from the Guides' Mess. The next in chronological sequence are two panels belonging to the same stūpa (figs. 61 and 62). The first depicts the grass-cutter Svastika presenting a bundle of grass to the Bodhisattva on his way to the bodhi tree. The second depicts the adoration of the Bodhisattva's head-dress in the Trayastriṃśa Heaven. These two panels doubtless issued from the same atelier. Their close affinity to the sculptures already described is obvious. Compare, for example, the attendant worshippers in fig. 62 with those in the Bath Scene, fig. 58. The stylistic resemblance speaks for itself. But the carving is steadily becoming coarser, and losing little by little the sensitiveness of the earlier work; most of the actors, too, are of heavier, more thick-set, build. On the other hand, the artists' outlook continues to expand, their ideas to multiply, their work to become more eloquent. The representation of the Buddha in bodily form simplifies and encourages the portrayal of scenes from his daily life, which from now onwards become more numerous and diversified. From the start there seems to have been some confusion about the figures of the Buddha and the Bodhisattva, but this is a detail which mattered little so long as the meaning of the scene was clear. What did matter was that the Buddha was emerging at this time in a form that could instantly be recognized. In the case of fig. 53 we were left in some doubt as to whether the Buddha, then appearing for the first time, was distinguished by his uṣṇīṣa or not.¹ In this, his next, appearance, there is no such doubt. The uṣṇīṣa is larger and more conspicuous than in later sculptures and the halo is emphasized by a well-defined rim. These, with the Greek monastic robes, are characteristic traits shared by all the Buddha figures belonging to this group, and they are more than enough to make those figures instantly recognizable. Along with the Buddha, his inseparable companion, the Vajrapāṇi, also makes his appearance, and it is noteworthy that his characteristic dress at this period is identical in all respects with that worn by the attendant (?) in the Graeco-Parthian drinking-scenes (figs. 40, 41), namely, a short chiton or tunic, caught in round the waist and provided with a scalloped turn-over edge at the top. Another point for passing notice is that some of the devas in fig. 62 wear the same long, unconfined locks as the youthful Brahmā in fig. 58 but with the addition of a small top-knot. To the above examples I have added fig. 63, a panel in the Berlin Museum, because of its outstanding clarity and close resemblance to them. A feature of this fine panel is the care with which the pupils of the eyes are delineated. As to the outsize uṣṇīṣa, see above, fig. 61. The stūpa which yielded the above panels seems also to have yielded several small pilasters which served to divide the panels one from another. At this period such pilasters usually took the form of Corinthian half-columns with rounded shafts. Here the half-column is replaced by a female figure standing on a vase pedestal of Persepolitan pattern under a canopy of foliage. Two examples are illustrated in figs. 64 and 65. The first is a female guard in native dress, armed with shield and spear. The second is a musician, in Greek dress, playing on a lute. The motif of a yakṣī standing on a Persepolitan vase base is a familiar one in the Early Indian School at Bodh-Gayā and elsewhere. The two pilasters are of the same height as the panels and are said to be of the same dark, micaceous schist.

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¹ [See note on p. 42. ED.]

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From another stūpa of slightly later date come the two reliefs 66 and 67, each about 15 in. high and adorned with the same running pattern along its lower edge. Fig. 66 depicts the Buddha visiting a Brāhman ascetic in his hut; fig. 67 the attack of Māra. In the former panel the Buddha accompanied by his Vajrapāṇi, is standing at the entrance to the hut, within which the hermit is seated on his rolled-up mat. The Buddha here is almost an exact replica of the Buddha in fig. 61, with the same moustache, the same wide-open eyes, the same over-sized uṣṇīṣa, the same rimmed halo, and the same monk’s dress, the only slight difference being that his outer robe (the Greek himation) is draped less stiffly over his left arm. The Vajrapāṇi, too, is wearing the same short tunic with the same scalloped border as in the other relief, but in this panel he is no longer a bearded man but a young Brahmacārin with the characteristic locks of the Brahmā in fig. 58. As to the Brāhman ascetic, the modelling of his features is rather more sensitive than that of the other figures, and we are reminded that the motif of a Brāhman ascetic seated at the entrance of his hut was sufficiently topical in the first century to be engraved on a copper seal as a canting badge of a certain Brahmadatta.¹ It may be, therefore, that the sculptor of this panel was more at home with this particular figure than with the others.

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¹ Cf. Taxila, vol. I, pp. 170-1; vol. II, p. 680, no. 24; vol. III, pl. 208, no. 50; ibid. vol. II, pp. 720-1, no. 134; vol. III, pl. 222, no. 134.

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The companion panel, fig. 67, shows a precisely similar Buddha seated on his grass-strewn throne beneath a canopy of leaves. He is in the Earth-touching attitude (bhūmi-sparśa-mudrā). On his left is Māra, sword in hand, being held in check by Indra; on his right, one of Māra’s warriors, similarly held by Brahmā. In front of the throne are two more fallen warriors, and above, two pairs of angels bringing offerings to the Buddha. The figure of Brahmā resembles the youthful Brahmā in fig. 58 and bears a striking likeness to the Vajrapāṇi in fig. 66, but is not wearing the short Greek chiton which distinguished the Vajrapāṇi figures at this period. His long-sleeved coat seems to be of the same pattern as that worn by Indra. In our examination of these panels we must not forget that at the time they were executed Gandhāra Buddhist sculpture was still in the making, and we must not be surprised to find occasional anomalies and inconsistencies. For example, in fig. 66 the artist did not stop to ask himself whether it was before or after his Enlightenment that the Buddha visited the hermit. Whatever the occasion, it was enough for him to repeat the accepted type of the Teacher, complete with ūrṇā, uṣṇīṣa and halo. Similarly, in regard to 67, it is fruitless to argue that the tree canopying the Buddha ought to be a pipal, or that Indra is wearing the wrong sort of head-dress. In the eyes of the artist the *śāla* tree, invariably present in the familiar Nirvāṇa scenes, was the tree *par excellence* associated with the Buddha and he used this tree as a convenient cliché, whether he was telling the story of the Buddha’s Enlightenment or his Death, or of his meetings with the hermit or the grass-cutter. As to Indra’s dress the artist has evidently indulged his imagination in clothing the god in the local kind of pyjama-like trousers. For his head-dress there is some authority, since the lower part of it at least is paralleled in the Indra of fig. 84. But we must not be too punctilious about such details. After all, artists who could make edifying pictures for the Buddhists out of Graeco-Parthian drinking-parties were not likely to bother their heads overmuch about the difference between a *ficus religiosa* and a *shorea robusta* tree or about the particular fashion in toques favoured by Indra.

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Of the many *parinirvāṇa* scenes known to me the oldest, I think, is one from the Guides’ Mess Collection which is reproduced in fig. 68, but this photograph does not, unfortunately, show the entire panel, which comprises the remnant of a Corinthian pilaster on the left and the mutilated figure of a monk at the foot of the couch on the right. In the centre of the panel is the dead Buddha on a couch. In front, the mourning monks. At the head, the Vajrapāṇi. At the foot, the newly arrived Mahākāśyapa (not in the photo). Behind the couch, two weeping Malla chieftains with another monk (?) on their right and a representative *deva* of the stock type on their left. To complete the scene, two *śāla* trees are added in the background with dryads or tree-spirits ensconced among their foliage. In this composition—the earliest that has survived but by no means the first of its kind—there is much to engage our attention. First there is the poignant sorrow written in the faces and actions of the mourners. The Malla chiefs are unrestrained in their grief; the monks, as is fitting, are more resigned; and so, too, is the Vajrapāṇi; but tears, which the sculptor has been at pains to show, are streaming down their cheeks. Only the *deva* stands tearless and reverently saluting the dead; for it is against the nature of a god to weep or display strong emotion. Then, we note the care with which the artist has delineated the faces of the mourners, distinguishing between those of the monks and Vajrapāṇi on the one hand, and of the wild, uncouth-looking Mallas on the other, with the deva in a class by himself. As to the recumbent figure of the Buddha himself, the artist has made a brave effort to disclose the lines of his form beneath the folds of the monk's robe, and to make it appear as if the dead were sleeping relaxed and peaceful on his side. In this respect there is a striking difference between this relief and later versions of the same scene in which the Buddha is made to appear like a full-length image of stone laid, stiff and rigid, on its side. Finally, we note that in this panel the Vajrapāṇi, clad in the orthodox tunic of the period and only a little less sturdy and thick-set than in the earlier reliefs, is standing at the head of the couch, whereas in later versions he is usually placed on another side (cf. figs. 72, 87, 127-9 below).