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A History of Sanskrit Literature c10.s2: 2. Açvaghoṣa's Style and Language

A History of Sanskrit Literature c10.s2

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2. Açvaghoṣa's Style and Language

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Daṇḍin³ draws a vital distinction between two styles as prevalent in his day, the Gauḍa and the Vaidarbha, eastern and southern, and from his account and other evidence we gather that among the characteristics of the former was the love of long compounds not merely in prose, where they were accepted even by the Vaidarbha, but in verse also; love of alliteration and of harsh sound effects; the use of recondite etymologizing phraseology, and a desire for strength resulting often in bombast and affectation. It has been suggested by Jacobi¹ that the contrast of styles has a historical basis; Sanskrit poetry was practised, it is argued, eagerly in the east and Sanskrit poetry there had developed the evil effects of old age, before the art became current in the west and south. The simpler style of the south was also on this view influenced by the freshness of the lyric of Mahārāṣṭra born of close contact with the people. It is already a serious objection to such a conclusion that in the *Nāṭyaçāstra* we find the qualities which Daṇḍin ascribes as characteristic of the Vaidarbha ascribed to the Kāvya style in general; this is a strong suggestion that at the time of the *Nāṭyaçāstra* there had not developed those characteristics of the Gauḍa style, and that they emerged gradually with the development of poetry at the courts of princes of Bengal.

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This view gains support from the fact that, though Daṇḍin praises the Vaidarbha style, and evidently disapproves of the Gauḍa, in practice poets of later date often affect the Gauḍa manner. Açvaghoṣa, however, affords a more convincing proof still of the early character of the Vaidarbha; his style unmistakably is of the Vaidarbha type; as Bāṇa later says of the western poets, it aims at sense rather than mere ornament; it is his aim to narrate, to describe, to preach his curious but not unattractive philosophy of renunciation of selfish desire and universal active benevolence and effort for the good, and by the clarity, vividness, and elegance of his diction to attract the minds of those to whom blunt truths and pedestrian statements would not appeal. This project left no room for mere elegance or for deliberate straining after effect, and thus it results that Açvaghoṣa’s works attain a high measure of attractiveness, especially when we make the necessary allowance for the decidedly bad condition of the text tradition of both epics. Simple, of course, in the sense in which it can be applied to English poetry, is an inappropriate epithet as regards any Sanskrit Kāvya, but relatively to the later standard, even in some measure to Kālidāsa, Açvaghoṣa's style is simple. Nor may we deny it the epithets of sensuous and passionate;

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the picture of the pleasures of love drawn by Açvaghoṣa is already marked by that wealth of intimate detail which appeals to all Indian poets, but proves a grave stumbling block to critics who find matter for offence even in the charming picture of the deceiving Zeus in the *Iliad* and reprobate in the author of the *Odyssey* the episode of the amour of Ares and Aphrodite. But still more sincere is the burning enthusiasm of the poet for his own ideal, not the Arhat, contented to seek his own freedom from rebirth in this world of misery, but the Bodhisattva, the Buddha to be, who delays, however, his entering into Nirvāṇa until he has accomplished his view of freeing all other creatures from the delusion which makes them cling throughout the ages to mortal life and its woes. This is a new note in Sanskrit poetry; Vālmīki has majesty and a calm seriousness, but he is free from passion like his hero, who though he experiences vicissitudes yet stands apart from them, and of whose ultimate success we never doubt. Nanda's rejection of Sundarī may seem to us heartless enough; his transference of his fickle affection to the Apsarases has its comic side, but in the end he seeks the welfare of others, even as does the Buddha; Rāma on the contrary in his rejection of Sītā after the long agony of separation from him has no warmer motive than obedience to the doctrine that Caesar's wife must be above suspicion.

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³ *Kāvyādarça*, i. 40 ff.

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¹ *Ausgewählte Erzählungen in Mâhârâshṭrî*, pp. xvi f.

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As Çuddhodana reminds us of Daçaratha, so Sundarī has traces of Sītā, but with a vehemence of passion unknown to that queen, and without her dignity and steadfast courage. Nor is it in theme and character-drawing alone that Vālmīki is laid under contribution; the metaphors and similes of the *Rāmāyaṇa*¹ appear in more refined form; the king, hearing of his son's final resolve, falls, smitten by sorrow as Indra's banner is lowered when the festival is over (*Çacīpater vṛtta ivotsave dhvajaḥ*); the maidens stand drinking in the prince's beauty with eyes that stay wide open in joy (*niçcalaiḥ prītivikacaiḥ pibantya iva locanaiḥ*); they display their bosoms that are like bowls of gold (*suvarṇakalaçaprakhyān darçayantyaḥ payodharān*). The epic speaks of the ocean laughing with the foam of its waves, the poet embodies the idea in the picture of a sleeping beauty of the harem, with a daintiness of elaboration which is far removed from the epic:

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¹ Cf. Walter, *Indica*, iii. 11 ff.

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*vibabhau karalagnaveṇur anyā: stanavisrastasitāṅçukā çayānā*
*ṛjuṣaṭpadapaṅktijuṣṭapadmā: jalaphenaprahasattaṭā nadīva.*

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‘And one lay resplendent, holding a flute in her hand, while her white garment slipt from her bosom, like unto a river whose banks laugh with the foam¹ of her waves, and in whose lotuses long rows of bees delight.’ Açvaghoṣa unquestionably is at his best in simple and elegant description by which a clear picture is presented to the eyes:

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¹ Cf. *Meghadūta*, 50.

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*tathāpi pāpīyasi nirjite gate: diçaḥ praseduḥ prababhau niçākaraḥ*
*divo nipetur bhuvi puṣpavṛṣṭayo: rarāja yoṣeva vikalmaṣā niçā.*

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‘So when the evil one had retired worsted, the sky became calm, the moon shone forth, flowers fell in rain from heaven on the earth; night shone clear like a maiden free from stain.’ When the charioteer returns:

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*punaḥ kumāro vinivṛtta ity atho: gavākṣamālāḥ pratipedire ’ṅganāḥ*
*viviktapṛṣṭhaṁ ca niçamya vājinam: punar gavākṣāṇi pidhāya cukruçuḥ.*

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‘“’Tis the prince returned”, said the women and rushed to their windows, but, seeing the steed’s back bereft of its master, closed them again and wailed aloud.’ Yaçodharā, who is more akin to Sītā than Sundarī, laments her husband’s new lot:

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*çucau çayitvā çayane hiraṇmaye: prabodhyamāno niçi turyanisvanaiḥ*
*kathaṁ bata svapsyati so ’dya me vratī: paṭaikadeçāntarite mahītale.*

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‘How can he sleep to-night, my faithful one, on one poor mat covering the bare earth, he who hath slept aforetime on a couch of gold undefiled, and whom music hath aroused from his slumbers?’ Açvaghoṣa is also a master of simple pathos:

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*mahatyā tṛṣṇayā duḥkhair garbheṇāsmi yayā dhṛtaḥ*
*tasyā niṣphalayatnāyāḥ kvāhaṁ mātuḥ kva sā mama.*

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'With deep longing and many a pain did she bear me in her womb; all her effort hath come to nought; why was she mother, why was I her son?' As often the idea has a prototype in the *Rāmāyaṇa*,¹ but Açvaghoṣa has heightened by his delicate touch the effect of the whole.

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¹ ii. 53. 20.

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Sanskrit poetry, which does not aim at rhyme, nevertheless is fond of the repetition of the same syllables in close relation, especially if the meaning thus conveyed is altered, and instances of Yamakas, as they are styled, are not rare in Açvaghoṣa as in *praṇaṣṭavatsām iva vatsalāṁ gām*, 'like a loving cow which hath lost its calf', a clear refinement on the *vivatsā vatsalā kṛtā* of the epic; a more elaborate effect is produced in Canto i where stanzas 14–16 approximate to rhyme as in *udārasaṁkhyaiḥ sacivair asaṁkhyaiḥ*, 'with countless ministers of noble counsels' and *samagradevīnivahāgradevī*, 'queen supreme of all the host of queens', but such effects are rarely² sought. Occasionally a phrase is overworked as in *tapaḥpraçāntaṁ sa vanaṁ viveça*, 'he entered the penance grove where penance had ceased', and now and then the poet errs in his display of his culture,³ as when he derives a simile from the use of the verbal form *asti* as a particle, though his successors equally delight to prove by recondite allusions that they are masters of the works of Pāṇini. His own skill is shown especially in Canto ii of the *Saundarananda* where he exhibits his knowledge of aorist forms, and he evidently felt pleasure in the skill which uses *mīyate* as the passive of the three verbs *mā*, *mi*, and *mī*, *ajījipat* as the aorist of *jap* and *ji*, and *adīdipat* as that of *dā* and *do*. On the other hand we find forms which, if excusable, are so only on the ground of the epic, as in the gerunds *gṛhya* and *vivardhayitvā*; beside the common *niçamya*, hearing, we find *niçāmya*, observing, and, while the derivative form *daiçika* is regularly used *sudeçika* stands beside it. The periphrastic future as *ahaṁ praveṣṭā* replaces *praveṣṭāsmi*, and in the use of particles Açvaghoṣa permits himself irregularities which are not rare in Buddhist Sanskrit; thus *kim bata* and *prāg eva* denote ‘how much more’; *saced* is used for *ced*; and, as in the epic, some pleonasm of particles is allowed; we find, unless we amend, *api* repeated, *hi* and *tu* combined in one sentence and even *na jaharṣa na cāpi cānutepe*. Some Buddhist terms occur, such as *prativedha*, *iñjita*, *praçrabdhi*, and *praverita*, while *maitrā*, for the wonted *maitrī*, is based on Pāli *mettā*; moreover it is impossible to defend some of Açvaghoṣa’s genders. But these are minor blemishes in a Sanskrit which is normally grammatically correct.

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² *harituragaturaṅgavatturaṅgaḥ*, *Buddhacarita*, v. 87, is not a success.

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³ The poet shows in a simile his knowledge of the new art of Gandhāra. His use of the technical terms *bhāva* and *hāva* (iv. 12) proves his knowledge of Alaṁkāra, and he fully employs Yathāsaṁkhya, v. 42; ix. 16. For artistic parallels see Foucher, *L'Art Gréco-Bouddhique du Gandhāra*, i. 321, 339 ff.

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Nor is there any real doubt as to Açvaghoṣa’s metrical skill, though the manuscripts do undoubtedly present a text in which metrical deficiencies are not rarely present. In addition to the more easy metres he adopts the Udgatā for Canto iii of the *Saundarananda*, an example followed in Canto xii of the *Kirātārjunīya* and Canto xv of the *Çiçupālavadha*, while the Suvadanā and the Vardhamāna species of the Upasthitapracupita¹ are also found.

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¹ *Saund.* ii. 65; cf. Jacobi, ZDMG. xxxviii. 603; SIFI. VIII. ii. 113.

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