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A History of Sanskrit Literature c12: V. Bhāravi, Bhaṭṭi, Kumāradāsa, and Māgha

A History of Sanskrit Literature c12

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V. Bhāravi, Bhaṭṭi, Kumāradāsa, and Māgha

1. Bhāravi

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OF Bhāravi's life we know nothing whatever, though he ranks as second in magnitude among the constellations of the Kāvya. External evidence proves that he was older than A.D. 634 when he is mentioned with Kālidāsa in the Aihole inscription, and he is cited in the *Kāçikā Vṛtti*; on the other hand he manifestly is influenced by Kālidāsa, while he strongly affected Māgha.¹ Bāṇa ignores him, so that he can hardly have preceded him long enough for his fame to compel recognition. It is, therefore, wiser to place him *c.* A. D. 550 than as early as A.D. 500.

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¹ Cf. Jacobi, WZKM. iii. 121 ff.

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His *Kirātārjunīya*² is based, as usual, on the epic. The *Mahābhārata*³ tells us how, when the Pāṇḍavas with their wife Draupadī have retired under their vow of twelve years' banishment to the Dvaita forest, Draupadī, with truly feminine faithlessness, urges the heroes to break their pledge. A council is held; Yudhiṣṭhira pleads for the bond; Bhīma controverts his contentions. Vyāsa counsels retirement from the Dvaita forest, and the brothers go to the Kāmyaka wood, where Yudhiṣṭhira takes the prudent course of bidding Arjuna, as a preliminary to war, to secure from Çiva divine weapons. Arjuna obeys, practises in the Himālaya severe penances, meets and struggles with a Kirāta, who proves to be Çiva himself; he grants the boon desired, to which the other gods add further largesse. This theme Bhāravi has chosen to expand and illustrate with all the resources of a refined and elaborate art. The opening shows at once the hand of the artist; in the epic the discussion of the brothers arises merely from the dreary plight in which they are placed; Bhāravi begins instead with the return of a spy whom Yudhiṣṭhira has sent to report on the deeds of Suyodhana—as he is always styled; he bears the unwelcome tidings that the king is walking in the ways of virtue and charming the hearts of the people. Hence, naturally, Draupadī, anxious for the future, taunts Yudhiṣṭhira with his inglorious plight and urges swift battle (i). Bhīma adds his support;

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Yudhiṣṭhira, the unready, has scruples of honour (ii), but seeks counsel from Vyāsa, and the sage admits that war must be, but, since the foe is so strong, urges that Arjuna should by penance in the Himālaya win Indra's aid. He vanishes, but a Yakṣa appears to lead Arjuna on his way, and they depart, cheered by the good wishes of the remainder of the party (iii). At this point the poet's invention displays itself in elaboration; just before, by omitting all mention of the move to the Kāmyaka wood, he had shortened the narrative, improving greatly the effect; now he takes the opportunity to display the poet's command of language. In Canto iv the Yakṣa leads Arjuna on; and a brilliant picture is drawn of the autumnal scene, partly in narrative, partly in the mouth of the Yakṣa. Then follows (v) the description of the Himālaya itself, the Yakṣa lays stress on the mystery which guards it and on its close kinship with Çiva and Pārvatī, and vanishes after bidding Arjuna do penance on Indrakīla. The penance of Arjuna terrifies the Guhyakas, the spirits who haunt Indrakīla; they appeal to Indra to aid them, and he sends Gandharvas and Apsarases to disturb the asceticism which menaces the quiet of his mountain (vi). The heavenly host speeds through the air to Indrakīla and makes there its camp; their elephants merit special description (vii). The Apsarases now leave their palaces, just made by their magic power, and wander in the woods to pluck the flowers;

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then the Ganges invites them to the bath, and the bathing scene is described with much charm and beauty (viii). Evening comes, the sun sets, the moon arises—the banal theme wins new effect through the poet's skill; the nymphs and their lovers drink and seek the pleasures of love; the day dawns (ix). The Apsarases now turn their minds to their task; aided by the seasons who now appear six in number to second their efforts, they expend, but in vain, all their charms on the young ascetic (x). Seeing his minions thus foiled through Arjuna's constancy, Indra appears himself in the guise of a sage, admires the fervour of the penance, but contends that to bear arms and practise asceticism are inconsistent; Arjuna admits the logic of the censure, but asserts that he will do all to save his family's honour. Indra is touched, reveals himself, and bids him win the favour of Çiva (xi). Here ends the poet's invention, and we again find the epic as his source. Arjuna continues his penance in order that Çiva may bless him; the seers in distress appeal to the great god, who expounds to them Arjuna's divine nature as an incorporation of Nara, a part of the primeval spirit; a demon Mūka in boar form plans to slay him; therefore Çiva bids his host follow him to guard the prince (xii). The boar appears to Arjuna; it falls pierced by his own and Çiva's dart; the prince advances to recover his arrow, but is challenged by a Kirāta who claims it in his master's name (xiii).

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Arjuna rejects the demand in a long speech; the Kirāta returns, and Çiva launches, but in vain, his host against Arjuna, who endures unscathed the shower of their arrows (xiv). The host is rallied from flight by Skanda and Çiva himself, who then begins a deadly battle of arrows with Arjuna (xv). The two then strive with magic weapons, the hero is beaten (xvi), but grasps again his bow, and with sword, mighty rocks, and the trunks of great trees assails the god, but all in vain (xvii). They box, at last they wrestle; Çiva reveals his true form, and the hero, humbled at last, praises the greatness of the god and begs him for strength and victory; the god and the world guardians, who come to the scene, accept his devotion and give him the magic weapons that he craves.

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² Ed. NSP. 1907; trans. C. Cappeller, HOS. 15, 1912; i-iii, with Citrabhānu's comm., TSS. 63.

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³ iii. 27-41.

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The introduction of Çiva's host, of its struggles under Skanda's leadership with the hero, and the whole episode of the contest with magic weapons are the fruit of the poet's imagination. One difficulty is obvious; it is made necessary to duplicate the episode of the force of the penance causing fear and evoking divine intervention, and the prolongation of the conflict results in some repetition of ideas. Duplication also results from the description of the amours of the nymphs with the Gandharvas and their attempts on the prince. The poet's skill led him, we must confess, to exhibit it too freely, and the introduction of magic weapons leaves us cold. In this regard Vālmīki has a fatal influence on Sanskrit poetry; the mythical background of the Rāma legend produced the unreality of his combats, which every epic poet felt bound to copy. Another influence seen strongly in the first two Cantos is that of the political principles of the day, which have ample opportunity of illustration in the record of Suyodhana’s rule and in the arguments by which Yudhiṣṭhira seeks to justify the keeping of their faith by his brothers.

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There is no doubt of the power of Bhāravi in description; his style at its best has a calm dignity which is certainly attractive, while he excels also in the observation and record of the beauties of nature and of maidens. The former quality is revealed repeatedly in the first Canto, the very first line of which strikes the true note of high policy; then follows:

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*kṛtapramāṇasya mahīṁ mahībhuje: jitāṁ sapatnena nive-
dayiṣyataḥ*
*na vivyathe mano na hi priyam: pravaktum icchanti mṛṣā
hitaiṣiṇaḥ.*

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‘When he bent low in homage his mind wavered not, though he had to tell the king that his realm had been won by his foe, for men who seek one’s good care not to speak flattering words.’ In the same strain Suyodhana is praised:

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*na tena sajyaṁ kvacid udyataṁ dhanuḥ: kṛtaṁ na vā tena
vijihmam ānanam*
*guṇānurāgeṇa çirobhir uhyate: narādhipair mālyam ivāsya
çāsanam.*

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‘Never has he raised his bow to shoot, never has a frown distorted his face; loving his virtues the kings bear as a garland on their heads his royal orders.’ The setting sun and the rising moon are happily portrayed:

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*aṅçupāṇibhir atīva pipāsuḥ: paṅkajaṁ madhu bhṛçaṁ
rasayitvā*
*klībatām iva gataḥ kṣitim eṣyañl: lohitaṁ vapur uvāha
pataṅgaḥ.*

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‘Ruddy glowed the sun as he hastened to rest, as though overdeep he had drunken with his rays, in his thirst, the sweetness of the lotus.’

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*samvidhātum abhiṣekaṁ udāse: Manmathasya lasadaṅçu-jalaughaḥ*
*yāminīvanitayā tatacihnaḥ: sotpalo rajatakumbha ivenduḥ.*

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‘For Love’s consecration the lady night raised aloft the moon with its shimmering sea of beams and its spots full in view, like a silver chalice decked with lotuses.’ The advent of the cool season is thus greeted:

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*katipayasahakārapuṣparamyas: tanutuhino ’lpavinidrasinduvāraḥ*
*surabhimukhahimāgamāntaçaṁsī: samupayayau çiçiraḥ smaraikabandhuḥ.*

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‘Then came the cool season, Love’s one friend, lovely with its mango blooms here and there, when frost is rare and but a few Sinduvāras awake from sleep, the harbinger of the end of winter and the coming of spring.’ The bathing scene is rich in prettinesses:

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*tirohitāntāni nitāntam ākulair: apāṁ vigāhād alakaiḥ prasāribhiḥ*
*yayur vadhūnāṁ vadanāni tulyatāṁ: dvirephavṛndāntaritaiḥ saroruhaiḥ.*

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‘Hidden by their long hair in utter disorder through plunging in the water, the maidens’ faces seemed like lotuses covered with swarms of bees.’

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*priye ’parā yacchati vācam unmukhī: nibaddhadṛṣṭiḥ çithilākuloccayā*
*samādadhe nāṁçukam āhitaṁ vṛthā: viveda puṣpeṣu na pāṇipallavam.*

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‘Yet another, face upturned and eyes fixed on her lover as he spoke, gathered not together her garment, though the knot slipped and fell, nor realized that her tender hand had missed the flowers it sought.’ Characteristically, the same idea is varied later in the canto:

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*vihasya pāṇau vidhṛte dhṛtāmbhasi: priyeṇa vadhvā madanārdracetasaḥ*
*sakhīva kāñcī payasā ghanīkṛtā: babhāra vītoccayabandham aṁçukam.*

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‘As her hand, full of water, was laughingly grasped by her lover, ’twas her kindly girdle which the water had stiffened that saved from falling the garment of the loving maiden, for the knot that held it had slipped.’ His play of fancy is constant and extensive; he acquired the style of parasol-Bhāravi from his comparison (v. 39) of the lotus dust driven by the winds to the goddess Lakṣmī mirrored in a golden parasol. Still less attractive to our taste is a simile¹ based on the mute letter (*anubandha*) between stem and ending in grammar.

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¹ xiii. 19; cf. xvii. 6. Cf. Māgha, ii. 47, 95, 112; x. 15; xiv. 66; xvi. 80; xix. 75.

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Bhāravi, however, is guilty of errors of taste from which Kālidāsa is free. Especially in Canto xv he sets himself to try *tours de force* of the most foolish kind, redolent of the excesses of the Alexandrian poets. Thus one verse has the first and third, second and fourth lines identical; in another all four are identical; one has practically only *c* and *r*, another only the letters *s*, *ç*, *y*, and *l*; in other stanzas each line reads backwards the same way as the next, or the whole stanza read backwards gives the next; one stanza has three senses; two no labial letters; or each verse can be read backwards and forwards unchanged. One sample must serve:

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*na nonanunno nunnono nānā nānānanā nanu*
*nunno ’nunno nanunneno nānenā nunnanunnanut.*

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‘No man is he who is wounded by a low man; no man is the man who wounds a low man, o ye of diverse aspect; the wounded is not wounded if his master is unwounded; not guiltless is he who wounds one sore wounded.’ But at least he eschews long compounds, and, taken all in all, is not essentially obscure.

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Bhāravi sets a bad example in his fondness for showing his skill in grammar, and he is in many ways the beginner of mannerisms in the later poets. The ridiculously frequent use of the root *tan* begins with him;² he is fond of passive perfect forms, including the impersonal use; the adverbial use of prepositional compounds is a favourite form of his; many of Pāṇini’s rules of rare type³ are illustrated by him, as *çās* with double accusative, *darçayate* in the same use, *anujīvisātkṛta*, *stanopapīḍam*, the double negative as a positive, and *na* compounded as in *nanivṛtam*; it occurs also with the imperative. Most interesting in his elaborate care in the use of the narrative tenses, which Kālidāsa and the other poets treat indifferently. In Bhāravi the imperfect and the aorist are not tenses of narrative use; they occur only in dealing with what the speaker has himself experienced (*aparokṣe*), and the imperfect denotes what happened in the more remote past (*anadyatane*), the aorist the immediate past (*adyatane*), exceptions being minimal; the aorist hence is extremely rare, occurring only ten times to 272 times in Māgha. The perfect is the tense of narrative, save in the case of the present perfects *āha* and *veda*. The present occurs with *sma* not rarely in narrative as a past; the participle in *tavant* is used in speeches only, that in *ta* in both. Both the imperative and the aorist with *mā* are found in interrogations beside their normal uses, and *labdhā* is used in the passive, the periphrastic future having always its precise sense of a distant event. Errors in grammar are few, but *ājaghne* seems indefensible.

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² Walter, *Indica*, iii. 34 f.

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³ Cappeller, pp. 153 ff. On the perfect cf. Renou, *La valeur du parfait*, p. 87.

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In metrical form Bhāravi is as developed as he is in the use of the figures of speech, of which scores can be illustrated from his poem. Only once does he condescend to use a single difficult metre, the Udgatā, for a whole canto (xii), a single Praharṣiṇī terminating it. In v he uses sixteen, in xviii also sixteen different forms. The Upajāti of Indravajrā type predominates in iii, xvi, and xvii; Vaṁçasthā in i, iv, and xiv; Vaitālīya in ii; Drutavilambita in xviii; Pramitākṣarā in vi; Praharṣiṇī in vii; Svāgatā in ix; Puṣpitāgrā in x; Çloka in xi and xv; Aupacchandasika in xiii. Of the other metres few save Vasantatilaka¹ have much use; Aparavaktra, Jaloddhatagati, Jaladharamālā occur, like Candrikā, Mattamayūra, Kuṭila, and Vaṁçapattrapatita, once only. The Rathoddhatā is a good deal used in xiii; but Çālinī, Mālinī, Prabhā, and Çikhariṇī are all rare.²

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¹ The final syllable is ᴗ in three cases in line *a*, in one case in line *c*.

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² Thus Bhāravi has eleven or twelve principal metres to six of Kālidāsa and sixteen of Māgha.

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In the Çloka Bhāravi conforms in general to the same rules as Kālidāsa. But he never uses the fourth Vipulā form, and in his 250 half-stanzas he uses the first three Vipulās respectively fifteen, eight, and two times; Kālidāsa, on the contrary, likes best the third Vipulā.

2. Bhaṭṭi

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Bhaṭṭi, the author of the *Rāvaṇavadha*,¹ more usually simply styled *Bhaṭṭikāvya*, tells us that he wrote in Valabhī under Çrīdharasena. But four kings of this name are known, the last of whom died in A. D. 641, so that we remain with nothing more secure than that as a *terminus ad quem*. The suggestion² that he is to be identified with Vatsabhaṭṭi of the Mandasor inscription lacks all plausibility, if only for the reason that Vatsabhaṭṭi commits errors in grammar. The name Bhaṭṭi is Prākritized from Bhartṛ, and it is not surprising that in tradition he has been either identified with Bhartṛhari or made a son or half-brother of that famed poet. There is, however, nothing but the name to support the suggestion. We know, however, that he was imitated by Māgha, and it is a perfectly legitimate suggestion that his work gave Māgha the impetus to show his skill in grammar to the extent that he does. More important still is the plain fact that he was known to Bhāmaha. In ending his poem he boasts that it needs a comment:

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¹ Ed. with Jayamaṅgala’s comm., Bombay, 1887; with Mallinātha, BSS. 1898; i–iv ed. and trans. V. G. Pradhan, Poona, 1897. Cf. Hultzsch, EI. i. 92; Keith, JRAS. 1909, p. 435.

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² B. C. Mazumdar, JRAS. 1904, pp. 395–7; 1909, p. 759.

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*vyākhyāgamyaṁ idaṁ kāvyaṁ utsavaḥ sudhiyām alam*
*hatā durmedhasaç cāsmin vidvatpriyatayā mayā.*

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‘This poem can be understood only by a comment; it suffices that it is a feast for the clever and that the stupid come to grief in it as a result of my love of learning.’ Bhāmaha rather clumsily repeats in almost identical terms this verse. The list of Alaṁkāras given by Bhaṭṭi is in a certain measure original, when compared with those of Daṇḍin and Bhāmaha; its source is still unknown.

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Bhaṭṭi’s poem, a lamp in the hands of those whose eye is grammar, but a mirror in the hands of the blind for others, is esssentially intended to serve the double plan of describing Rāma’s history and of illustrating the rules of grammar. In the latter aspect its twenty-two cantos fall into four sections; the first four cantos illustrate miscellaneous rules; v–ix the leading rules, x–xiii¹ are given to illustration of the ornaments of poetry, the names of the figures unfortunately being supplied merely in the commentary or the manuscripts, and the rest of the poem illustrates the use of the moods and tenses. The combination of pleasure and profit is by no means ill devised, and Indian opinion gives Bhaṭṭi without hesitation rank as a Mahākavi. It is dubious if any sound taste can justify this position; what is true is that, considering the appalling nature of the obstacle set and the rather hackneyed theme adopted, Bhaṭṭi contrives to produce some fairly interesting and, at its best, both lively and effective verse. His aim in some degree helps his style, as it prevents the adoption of long compounds or too recondite allusions or ideas.

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¹ x is on figures; xi on the quality of sweetness; xii on Bhāvika, vivid description; xiii gives verses which can be read as Sanskrit or Prākrit.

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His style may best be judged by a fragment of the scene where Rāvaṇa in his need turns to Kumbhakarṇa for aid, and airs his aorists:

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*nājñāsīs tvaṁ sukhī Rāmo yad akārṣīt sa rākṣasān*
*udatārīd udanvantaṁ puraṁ naḥ parito ’rudhat*
*vyajyotiṣṭa raṇe çastrair anaiṣīd rākṣasān kṣayam.*
*na prāvocam ahaṁ kiṁcit priyaṁ yāvad ajīviṣam*
*bandhus tvaṁ arcitaḥ snehān mā dviṣo na vadhīr mama.*
*vīryaṁ mā na dadarças tvaṁ mā na trāsthāḥ kṣatāṁ puram.*
*tavādrākṣma vayaṁ vīryaṁ tvam ajaiṣīḥ purā surān.*

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‘Hast thou not known in thy happiness what Rāma hath done to the Rākṣasas? He hath crossed the ocean, and completely hemmed in our city. He hath warred brilliantly and his weapons have brought death to the Rākṣasas. Never in all my life have I spoken one word of flattery; thou hast been honoured by me from love of kin; do not fail to slay my foes. Fail not to show thy might, fail not to guard our smitten town; thy might have we beheld, thou didst aforetime conquer the gods.’ The flow of the narrative is, it will be seen, simple and limpid, but it lacks fire and colour, and the task of illustrating the figures of speech proves extremely wearisome to all but the commentators, whose joy the poet was. Some, no doubt, of the passages are happy enough; in one we find a proverb known from the *Vikramorvaçī*:²

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² ii. 16 (ed. Pandit).

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*Rāmo ’pi dārāharaṇena tapto: vayaṁ hatair bandhubhir ātmatulyaiḥ*
*taptena taptasya yathāyaso naḥ: sandhiḥ pareṇāstu vimuñca Sītām.*

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‘Rāma is aflame through Sītā’s rape, we through the death of kinsfolk dear as ourselves; let us make compact with our foe as flaming iron with flaming iron; let Sītā go free.’ Another example¹ describes Rāvaṇa’s advent:

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¹ xi. 47; imitated by Māgha, i. 19.

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*jalada iva taḍitvān prājyaratnaprabhābhiḥ: pratikakubham udasyan nisvanaṁ dhīramandram*
*çikharam iva Sumeror āsanaṁ haimam uccair: vividhamaṇivicitram pronnataḥ so ’dhyatiṣṭhat.*

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‘Like a lightning cloud through the rays sparkling from his jewels, and emitting like it on all sides a deep dull resonance, the lofty prince sat him on a high golden throne, radiant with many a gem, as the cloud clings to a pinnacle of mount Sumeru.’ The use of *viçāla*, broad, in the next example illustrates the straits into which a poet may be driven, even if he is a grammarian:²

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² xii. 59; Māgha, i. 47 (below, § 4).

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*kva strīviṣahyāḥ karajāḥ kva vakṣo: daityasya çailendraçilāviçālam*
*sampaçyataitad dyuṣadāṁ sunītam: bibheda tais tan narasiṁhamūrtiḥ.*

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‘What can finger-nails meet for maidens’ breasts avail against the bosom of the demon, that is broad as a rock of the lord of mountains? Nay, consider this cunning scheme of the immortals; with these in his shape as man and lion (Viṣṇu) clove this bosom.’

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The chief metre used by Bhaṭṭi is the Çloka, which is used in Cantos iv–ix and xiv–xxii. Upajāti of the Indravajrā type prevails in i–ii, xi and xii. The Gīti form of Āryā prevails in xiii, and x is largely in Puṣpitāgrā; no other metre has any currency of importance. Only Praharṣiṇī. Mālinī, Aupacchandasika, Vaṁçasthā, and Vaitālīya occur six times or more; Açvalalita, Nandana, Pṛthvī, Rucirā, and Narkuṭaka occur only once each; others used are Tanumadhyā, Toṭaka, Drutavilambita, Pramitākṣarā, Praharaṇakalikā, Mandākrāntā, Çārdūlavikrīḍita, and Sragdharā. The absence of the longer metres in frequent use explains, of course, the comparative ease of the style, for the larger stanzas encourage development both of thought and expression.

3. Kumāradāsa

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Fate was long unkind to the *Jānakīharaṇa*¹ of Kumāradāsa, since it left the poem preserved only in a Sinhalese word-for-word translation, though, since first published from this source, it has come to light in southern India, where Sanskrit literature has often found preservation denied in the north. Ceylonese tradition of no early date or value asserts the identity of the author with a king of Ceylon (A. D. 517–26) who is connected, as we have seen, in tradition with the death of Kālidāsa. What is certain is that Kumāradāsa was a zealous admirer of Kālidāsa and very freely imitates him in manner as well as in general treatment of the subject, as comparison of Canto xii of the *Raghuvaṁça* with the relevant portions of the *Jānakīharaṇa* establishes beyond cavil. On the other hand, it is really beyond question that he knew the *Kāçikā Vṛtti* (*c.* A. D. 650), while on the other hand he must have been known to Vāmana (*c.* A. D. 800) who censures the use of *khalu* as first word, found in Kumāradāsa, and cites a stanza which in content and form proclaims itself as unquestionably a citation from the lost part of the *Jānakīharaṇa*. Finally, he was probably earlier than Māgha, who seems to echo a verse of his. Rājaçekhara, the poet (*c.* A. D. 900), asserts his fame:²

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¹ Ed. Ceylon, 1891; i–x, Bombay, 1907; xvi, BSOS. iv. 285 ff. See Leumann, WZKM. vii. 226 ff.; Thomas, JRAS. 1901, pp. 253 ff.; Keith, *ibid.*, 578 ff.

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² In the *Kāvyamīmāṁsā* he mentions his blindness, as also that of Medhāvirudra (p. 12).

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*Jānakīharaṇaṁ kartuṁ Raghuvaṁçe sthite sati*
*kaviḥ Kumāradāsaç ca Rāvaṇaç ca yadi kṣamaḥ.*

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‘No poet save Kumāradāsa could dare to sing the rape of Sītā when the *Raghuvaṁça* was current, even as none but Rāvaṇa could perform the deed, when Raghu’s line remained on earth.’

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The *Jānakīharaṇa* suffers, of course, from the trite theme; Sanskrit poetry affords us a very vivid explanation of the complaint of a great poet: *cui non dictus Hylas puer et Latonia Delos*, for we actually have so many poems on the same theme preserved for us. Still, it is fair to say that Kumāradāsa does very well indeed in handling his story; his invention is negligible, but he uses effectively the innumerable opportunities for description which the theme offers. Thus we have poetic pictures of Daçaratha and his wives as well as of Ayodhyā (i); in ii Bṛhaspati, in appealing to Viṣṇu for aid, sketches the exploits of Rāvaṇa; in iii he revels in his themes; the king and his wives disport in the garden, then, as in Bhāravi, we have the king’s own description of the scene; the poet then describes the sports in the water, the king the sunset, then night and morning are sketched. Cantos iv and v carry on the narrative, the one from the birth of Daçaratha’s sons to the slaying of the Rākṣasī who plagues the hermitage, the other to the close of the defeat of the Rākṣasa host. In vi the scene shifts to Mithilā where Viçvāmitra and Janaka exchange greetings. In vii Sītā and Rāma meet; he describes her beauty, the poet their love and marriage. Then follows the picture of the joys of their union ending with a fine description of sunset and night (viii). The next canto brings us to Ayodhyā, and in x the poet shows his command of the maxims of politics by giving us a lecture from Daçaratha, who proposes to crown Rāma, on the duties of the sovereign. Events are crowded together, and Sītā is stolen before the canto closes. With equal haste are related the reception of the news by Rāma, his alliance with Hanumant who fights Vāli; the poet then turns to the more graceful theme of the rainy season, which he first himself and then through Rāma describes with considerable beauty. Canto xii matches the description of spring (iii) with a picture of autumn; then policy once more has its turn, for Sugrīva tenders ill counsel and Lakṣmaṇa rebukes him. Rāma is dejected, and to cheer him Sugrīva describes the mountain, while in xiv we have first a picture of the monkeys as they build the causeway, then Rāma’s impression of the scene, after which the poet resumes the description and presents a lively impression of the crossing of the host. Canto xv gives us the mission of Aṅgada as envoy to Rāvaṇa; Canto xvi the revels of the Rākṣasas; xvii–xx Rāma’s triumph.

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Kālidāsa influenced Kumāradāsa in style as well as subject;

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he adopts the Vaidarbha form,¹ and he develops in a marked degree the love of alliteration, though he never carries it to the point of affectation, as in the efforts of such poets as Māgha to produce effects by the constant repetition of a single letter. Nor is he fond of the Yamaka form to any undue degree: a good example is:

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¹ Nandargikar (*Kumāradāsa*, p. xxiv) asserts that he uses the Gauḍī, but this exaggerates, though he may have known Māgha. The reverse is probable; cf. *Jān.* iii. 34 f. with Māgha, v. 29; below, § 4. Walter (*Indica*, iii. 34, 36) claims that Bhāravi borrows the use of *tan* and perfect impersonal passives from him, but this is doubtless the reverse of the truth.

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*atanunātanunā ghanadārubhiḥ: smarahitaṁ rahitaṁ pradidhakṣuṇā*
*rucirabhācirabhāsitavartmanā: prakhacitā khacitā na na dīpitā.*

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‘Strong love, eager to burn the lover deserted, kindled with cloud-logs the sky refulgent and irradiated with the lightning.’ Prettiness is, perhaps, the chief characteristic of Kumāradāsa; he abounds in dainty conceits expressed with a felicity of diction and a charm of sound and metre which no language but Sanskrit can produce. Thus we have a pretty picture of the naughty Rāma as a child:

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*na sa Rāma iha kva yāta ity: anuyukto vanitābhir agrataḥ*
*nijahastapuṭāvṛtānano: vidadhe ’līkanilīnam arbhakaḥ.*

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‘“Rāma is not here; where has he gone?” the women called as they searched for him, but the child, covering his face with his clasped hands, played hide-and-seek with them.’ Though flagrant imitations of Kālidāsa, these stanzas are not unworthy of that poet:

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*puṣparatnavibhavair yathepsitaṁ: sā vibhūṣayati rājanandane*
*darpaṇaṁ tu na cakāṅkṣa yoṣitāṁ: svāmisammadaphalaṁ hi maṇḍanam.*

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‘With richness of jewels and flowers she adorned herself before the prince as was his will; but she sought not a mirror, for woman’s tiring hath its guerdon in her lord’s delight.’

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*kaitavena kalaheṣu suptayā: sa kṣipan vasanam āttasādhvasaḥ*
*cora ity uditahāsavibhramaṁ: sapragalbham avakhaṇḍito 'dhare.*

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‘In their dalliance she feigned to fall asleep; then as he touched her robe in diffidence, “Thief!” she exclaimed in laughing confusion, and boldly kissed him on the lips.’ Another verse, describing love-weariness, proves use of Canto viii of the *Kumārasambhava*:¹

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¹ viii. 14 is copied in Kumāradāsa, viii. 8 and 24.

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*tasya hastam abalā vyapohitum: mekhalāguṇasamīpasaṅginam*
*mandaçaktir aratiṁ nyavedayat: lolanetragalitena vāriṇā.*

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‘Though in her weariness she had not strength to push away the hand that sought to loosen her girdle, still she showed her indifference by the tears that fell from her glancing eyes.’ A famous crux in the creation of woman’s beauty is posed:

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*paçyan hato manmathabāṇapātaiḥ: çakto vidhātuṁ na mimīla cakṣuḥ*
*ūrū vidhātrā hi kṛtau kathaṁ tāv: ity āsa tasyāṁ sumater vitarkaḥ.*

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‘If he looked, then love’s darts must have pierced his heart; if he closed his eyes, he could not have seen to create; how then did the creator fashion the beauty of her limbs? Thus even the wisest was at fault.’ Love and nature are inseparably blended:

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*prāleyakālapriyaviprayoga-: glāneva rātriḥ kṣayam āsasāda*
*jagāma mandaṁ divaso vasanta-: krūrātapaçrānta iva krameṇa.*

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‘Night perished, as a maiden fadeth through severance from her lover in winter’s cold, and in her place slow came the day, as though wearied by the fierce spring heat.’

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In another stanza we may have a reminiscence of Bhāravi:²

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² x. 36 compared with *Jānakīharaṇa*, iii. 9; cf. ix. 21 with i. 4.

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*vāsantikasyāṅçucayena bhānor: hemantam ālokya hataprabhāvam*
*saroruhām uddhṛtakaṇṭakena: prītyeva ramyaṁ jahase vanena.*

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‘Seeing that winter’s prowess had been quelled by the army of the rays of the spring sun, sweetly laughed the forest in its joy that the tormenter of the lotuses had been banished.’

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Though not a pedant, Kumāradāsa was a keen student of grammar, and there is no doubt that he must rank as an authority of some weight in judging the correctness of disputed forms. He himself sneers in a paronomasia at bad poets who spoil their compositions by the use of such particles¹ as *tu*, *hi*, *na*, by incorrect employment of roots, and by hiding their meaning through wrong words, and doubtless he had authority for such formations as *halacarma*, furrow, where *carma* is clearly from *car*, go, and *maruta*, a by-form of *marut*. He borrows from the *Kāçikā* the rare forms *vitūst*-, to comb one’s top-knot, *marmāvidh*, piercing the vitals, *satyāp*-, declare truth, and such aorists as *acakamata*; other rare terms from the grammarians are *anyataredyus*, one day, *āyaḥçūlikatā*, violence, *ikṣuçākaṭa*, field of sugar cane, *jampatī*, husband and wife, *nīçāra*, covering, *paçyatohara*, robber in broad daylight, *pravara*, covering, *bhidelima*, fit to be broken, *muṣṭiṃdhaya*, fist-sucking baby, *çāyikā*, sloth, and *saukharātrika*, asking if one has slept well. Of constructions he has very freely adverbial prepositional compounds, the impersonal use of the perfect passive, and the weird passive *muninā joṣam abhūyata*, ‘the sage rejoiced’. The accusative with *sarvatas* and *ubhayatas* is grammatical; *kālasya kasyacit* has a similar origin, but *samāḥ sahasrāṇi* seems careless and *doṣā* as instrumental of *doṣan* is unparalleled; the use of *khalu* and *iva* at the beginning of lines is quite wrong, and censured by Vāmana as regards *khalu*.² From Vālmīki he has *tanucchada*, feather, from Kālidāsa *avarṇa*, shame, and *ajarya*, friendship. His love of periphrasis is remarkable: he styles himself even Kumāraparicāraka.

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¹ Already in *Vāsavadattā* (p. 134); see *Jān.* i. 89; viii. 29.

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² xiii. 39. In *Māgha*, ii. 70 the use is correct, as ’*khalu* there equals *alam*. Nandargikar (pp. xii f.) gives some dubious words, *klamathu*, *āsa* as perfect, *tapasyadbhavanam*, *jayamānam* as middle, *ātmasu* as plural.

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Kumāradāsa’s use of metre is skilled, but he follows in the main the manner of Kālidāsa without seeking the elaboration of the use of many shifting metres as in Bhāravi. The Çloka³ is dominant in Cantos ii, vi, and x; Drutavilambita in xi; Pramitākṣarā in xiii; Upajāti of Indravajrā type in i, iii, and vii; Vaṅçasthā in v, ix, xii, and iii. 64-76; Vaitālīya in iv; and Rathoddhatā in viii. The minor metres are Çārdūlavikrīḍita, Çikhariṇī, Sragdharā, Puṣpitāgrā (xvi), Praharṣiṇī, Vasantatilaka, Avitatha, Mandākrāntā, and Mālinī.

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³ In 424 half-stanzas in ii, vi, and x there are only 10 Vipulās, 8 first, 1 second (irregular ◡ — — — beginning), 1 third; 4 fourth Vipulās in Nandargikar’s ed. must be false readings. Before the first Vipulā the first foot is 6 times ◡ — — — or ◡ ◡ — — as against 2 ◡ — ◡ —, a phenomenon like the facts in Kālidāsa.

4. Māgha

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All that Māgha tells us of himself is the fact that his father was Dattaka Sarvāçraya, and his grandfather, Suprabhadeva, was the minister of a king whose name is variously read by the manuscripts as Varmalākhya, Varmalāta, &c. Now an inscription¹ exists of a certain king Varmalāta of A.D. 625, and it is plausible to hold that thus we can date Māgha somewhere in the later part of the seventh century. This accords satisfactorily with the fact that he is clearly later than Bhāravi, who in a sense was his model, than Bhaṭṭi, whose *mumuhur muhuḥ* he trumps with his *kim u muhur mumuhur gatabhartṛkāḥ*, 'ever and again they fainted, their spouses gone', and probably than Kumāradāsa. Nor is there really any doubt that Māgha knew the *Kāçikā Vṛtti*. What is more important is that in ii. 112 the only natural interpretation of the verse is that we have a reference to the Nyāsakāra, a commentator on the *Kāçikā*, Jinendrabuddhi, whose date must be *c.* A.D. 700. It is much wiser to accept this date, and to place Māgha about that time than to endeavour to explain the passage away, and there is no reason whatever to think the date too late. He certainly knew the *Nāgānanda* of Harṣa, and the effort to prove that he was used by Subandhu, though very ingenious, is unconvincing. It is simplest to recognize that the similarities between the two writers, if not due to their working in the same field with similar models, is due to Māgha's knowledge of the romance of *Vāsavadattā*.²

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¹ Kielhorn, GN. 1906, pp. 143 f.; JRAS. 1908, p. 499. Cf. Jacobi, WZKM. iv. 236 ff.; Bhandarkar, EI. ix. 187 ff.; Hultzsch, ZDMG. lxxii. 147; Walter, *Indica*, iii. 32 (Māgha, xx. 47, *Jānakīharaṇa*, i. 4).

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² The text is ed. NSP. 1923. Trans. up to xi. 25 by C. Schütz, Bielefeld, 1843; extracts Cappeller, *Bālamāgha* (1915), and as a whole by Hultzsch, *Asia Major*, ii.

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Māgha's theme is borrowed like that of Bhāravi from the *Mahābhārata*,³ but, while Bhāravi magnifies Çiva, Māgha's favourite god is Viṣṇu; the contrast is doubtless deliberate, just as in Cantos iv and xix he sets himself out to vie with Cantos iv and xv of the *Kirātārjunīya* as studies in variety of metre and curiosities of form respectively. The epic tale is simple; Kṛṣṇa encourages Yudhiṣṭhira to perform his royal consecration. The rite proceeds, and Bhīṣma's counsel results in the award to Kṛṣṇa of the present of honour. Çiçupāla, king of Cedi, is wroth and leaves the hall; Yudhiṣṭhira would follow him and appease him, but Bhīṣma extols Kṛṣṇa and restrains him. Çiçupāla stirs up revolt and seeks to destroy the sacrifice. Yudhiṣṭhira seeks Bhīṣma's counsel as usual; he is advised to trust Kṛṣṇa and defy the king. The latter insults Bhīṣma who retorts by a denunciation of him, and explains that Kṛṣṇa has been under a promise to the king's mother to endure a hundred deeds of evil of her son. Çiçupāla then transfers his vituperation to Kṛṣṇa, who replies, evoking a fresh onslaught of words, including a reproach for Kṛṣṇa's theft of his affianced bride. Kṛṣṇa replies that he has now fulfilled his pledge, and with his discus severs the head of his foe. Māgha shows decided originality in touching up this theme; in Canto i we have a new *motif*;

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the sage Nārada appears in the house of Vasudeva where Kṛṣṇa lives, and in the name of Indra bids the hero dispose of the Cedi king whose hostility menaces men and gods. This affords Māgha the opportunity of displaying his skill in politics; Kṛṣṇa takes counsel with Balarāma and Uddhava; the former advises immediate war, the latter acceptance of the invitation to Yudhiṣṭhira's consecration. Then, imitating Bhāravi in Cantos iv–xi, he leaves his original entirely and proceeds to exhibit his skill in a longer series of descriptions. Kṛṣṇa leaves Dvārakā for Indraprastha, not without a fine picture of his capital (iii). Mount Raivataka is reached, and Dāruka, his charioteer, expatiates to Kṛṣṇa on its loveliness (iv). The army encamps, enabling Māgha to air his knowledge of campaigns as they should be conducted in poetry (v); needless to say the women are not forgotten: the queens accompany the host in litters, their ladies ride on horses or the humble ass, the hetairai swarm and make their toilets for their masters; soldiers, elephants, and women alike must enjoy the bath. Kṛṣṇa himself must have pleasure; so the six seasons as fair maidens appear to give one more opportunity of picturing love (vi). No wonder that the Yādavas imitate him; with fair ladies they wander in the woods (vii), and share the bath (viii). The sun, charmed by the appearance of these heroes, desires to imitate them and bathe in the waters of the western ocean;

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thus we have a very elaborate and often happy picture of the sunset and the rising of the moon, which waken again love in the hearts of the women, who send their eyes and their invitations to their lovers (ix). They are only too eager to accept them, and after drinking together they indulge in the joys of love (x). Day dawns (xi), the army awakens to its duties, and the Yamunā is crossed (xii), Kṛṣṇa enters Indraprastha and is welcomed by Yudhiṣṭhira; the poet remembers to vie with Açvaghoṣa and Kālidāsa in describing the feelings of the women who crowd to see him enter. We now return to the narrative of the epic, but in more polished form. The ceremony is performed, Kṛṣṇa receives the gift of honour (xiv). Çiçupāla protests, Bhīṣma challenges him, he leaves the hall and prepares his army for battle (xv). A *tour de force* follows; Çiçupāla’s envoy brings a message of set ambiguity, either a defiance or a submission; Sātyaki answers it, and the envoy replies haughtily (xvi). The two armies move forward to battle (xvii); their contest is described at length, not without ability, though, like nearly every Sanskrit writer, he gives the impression of painting his picture from books, not life and death. In the end the two rivals meet, fight with their arrows, then with supernatural weapons, until Kṛṣṇa slays his foe, whose power passes over to the victor.

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³ ii. 33-45.

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The changes made in the epic narrative are not inconsiderable. One great improvement is the shortening of the rival speeches, though even so they remain long. The picture of the sacrifice replaces the single line given to it in the epic, and the preliminaries of the contest are carried on not by the the rivals but by envoys. More important is the imitation of Bhāravi’s procedure in making a struggle between rival armies precede the duel.

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Admitting that these stories taken over from the epic gave little scope for the highest qualities of poetry, and that, as in Bhāravi, plot and characterization are of no great account, Māgha unquestionably has no mean poetical merits, though we need not accept the eulogies of later critics who claimed that he united the merits of his greatest rivals. If he lacks the conciseness, the calm serenity and dignity of Bhāravi at his best, he possesses much luxuriance of expression and imagination, and in the many love passages of his epic sweetness and prettinesses abound. He admits directly his indebtedness to the *Kāmasūtra* and exhibits intimate knowledge of its details in a manner which western taste finds tedious, while Indian opinion—*homo sum, humani nil a me alienum puto*—accepts it with admiration. The worst of his sins is his deplorable exhibition in xix of his power of twisting language. He actually compares the array of the army to the appearance of a Mahākāvya when verses are put in the form of the figures Sarvatobhadra, Cakra, Gomūtrikā, &c., and such figures he illustrates in his poem. No doubt we hear in the Alexandrian age, as in later Roman poetry,¹ of such things as Sotadean verses to be read backwards, of Simmias making poems, *technopaignia*, in the form of an axe, or a nightingale's egg, of Dosiadas's similar feat with an altar, and so on. It may be that these tricks arose from the practice of writing inscriptions on swords or leaves, but in any case Māgha shows himself devoid of taste; so also in the construction of such a stanza as xix. 3 where the first line has no consonant but *j*, the second only *t*, the third *bh*, and the last *r* with a final Visarga. More clever is the speech of the envoy in xv which begins:

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¹ Cf. Martial, ii. 86. 9 f.: *turpe est difficiles habere nugas*

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*abhidhāya tadā tad apriyaṁ: Çiçupālo 'nuçayaṁ paraṁ gataḥ*
*bhavato 'bhimānaḥ samīhate: saruṣaḥ kartuṁ upetya mānanam.*

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'Çiçupāla, having merited your displeasure, in deep regret (in high anger) seeks eagerly (fearlessly) to come before you and pay due homage (slay you).' These *double entendres* are beloved in India, and Bhāravi has a fair number, but it is impossible, while admitting their cleverness, to cultivate a real taste for such tricks. Moreover they have a fatal effect on language; if a double sense is to be expressed, it is impossible for the best of poets to avoid straining meanings, constructions, and word order. The effort leads to constant ransacking of the poetical lexicons extant and turns the pursuit of poetry into an intellectual exercise of no high value to the utter ruin of emotion and thought.

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Happily there is much in Māgha to make up for his demerits.

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*et stultus labor est ineptiarum.*

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He can imitate the good sense and simplicity of Bhāravi's moral sentiments:

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*nālambate daiṣṭikatāṁ na niṣīdati pauruṣe*
*çabdārthau satkavir iva dvayaṁ vidvān apekṣate.*

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‘He relies not on fate, he depends not on human power alone; as a good poet has regard to sound and sense alike, so he cultivates both.’ Or again:

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*saṁpadā susthirammanyo bhavati svalpayāpi yaḥ*
*kṛtakṛtyo vidhir manye na vardhayati tasya tām.*

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‘If a man think himself established securely by a slight success, then, I ween, Fate, having accomplished all he seeks, affords him no further blessing.’ In more elaborate style, with a distinct aim at suiting sense and sound, he vies with Bhaṭṭi¹ and echoes perhaps a phrase of Kumāradāsa:²

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¹ xii. 59; Māgha, i. 47.

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² xi. 45.

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*saṭāchaṭābhinnaghanena bibhratā: nṛsiṁha saiṁhīm atanuṁ tanuṁ tvayā*
*sa mugdhakāntastnasaṅgabhaṅguraiḥ: urovidāraṁ praticaskare nakhaiḥ.*

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‘O man-lion, when thou didst assume that mighty lion form and cleft with thy tawny mane the clouds, thou didst tear him to pieces, rending asunder his breast with those nails which bend so gently on a loving maiden's bosom.’ There is a martial tone in:

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*āyāntīnām aviratarayaṁ rājakānīkinīnām*
*itthaṁ sainyaiḥ samam alaghubhiḥ çrīpater ūrmimadbhiḥ*
*āsīd oghair muhur iva mahad vāridher āpagānām*
*dolāyuddhaṁ kṛtagurutaradhvānaṁ auddhatyabhājām.*

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‘As the hosts of the king with unbroken flow, with unceasing clamour in their proud onslaught, advanced against the vast armies of Kṛṣṇa, there arose a battle swaying to and fro as when the waters of the streams mingle with the foaming waves of ocean.’ More commonplace but neatly phrased is:

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*sajalāmbudharāravānukārī: dhvanir āpūritadiṅmukho rathasya*
*praguṇīkṛtakekam ūrdhvakaṇṭhaiḥ: çitikaṇṭhair upakarṇayāmbabhūva.*

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‘The roar of the chariot, matching the thunder of the rain-cloud and filling the air, was eagerly echoed by the peacocks, who stretched out their necks and redoubled their loud calls.’ There is real strength in this vignette of the battle:

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*tūryārāvair āhitottālatālair: gāyantībhiḥ kāhalaṁ kāhalābhiḥ*
*nṛtte cakṣuḥçūnyahastaprayogaṁ: kāye kūjan kambur uccair jahāsa.*

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‘Over a corpse that danced blindly moving its hands midst the loud roll of the drums and the trumpet’s clangour, the conch rang shrill as it laughed aloud.’

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Extremely characteristic is the plan of blending the emotion of love with war; we have two strange pictures of a stricken field, wholly Indian in spirit:

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*kaçcin mūrchām etya gāḍhaprahāraḥ: siktaḥ çītaiḥ çīkarair vāraṇasya*
*ucchaçvāsa prasthitā taṁ jighṛkṣur: vyarthākūtā nākanārī mumūrcha.*

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‘One, sore smitten, fainted; then drenched with cool water from his elephant’s trunk breathed again, and the heavenly nymph, who had started to seize him, her purpose foiled, fell back fainting.’

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*tyaktaprāṇaṁ saṁyuge hastinīsthā: vīkṣya premṇā tat-kṣaṇād udgatāsuḥ*
*prāpyākhaṇḍaṁ devabhūyaṁ satītvād: āçiçleṣa svaiva kaṁ-cit puraṁdhrī.*

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‘One lady who seated on an elephant had seen her beloved slain in the battle and on the spot died from grief, winning by her faith complete divinity, embraced once more in heaven her husband.’ Māgha, however, is capable of very effective strength and simplicity, especially in the speeches of his heroes, as in Çiçupāla’s dignified protest against the honour paid by Yudhiṣṭhira to Kṛṣṇa:

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*yad apūpujas tvam iha Pārtha: Murajitam apūjitaṁ satāṁ*
*prema vilasati mahad tad aho: dayitaṁ janaḥ khalu guṇīti manyate.*

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*anṛtāṁ giraṁ na gadasīti : jagati paṭahair vighuṣyase*
*nindyam atha ca Harim arcayatas : tava karmaṇaiva vikasanty asatyatā.*

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‘That thou hast honoured, o king, the slayer of Mura, unhonoured by the good, doth prove thy partiality; one, forsooth, deemeth virtuous him whom he loveth. “Thou sayst no word of falsehood”, so art thou proclaimed with beat of drum throughout the world; yet by having honour paid to the worthless Hari, thou dost blazon abroad thy falsity.’ We prefer this eloquence to the ingenuity which won him the sobriquet of bell-Māgha, because of his cleverness¹ in comparing a mountain, on one side of which the sun set, while on the other the moon rose, to an elephant from whose back two bells hung, one on either side. His use of figures is free and often, as may be seen above, happy; his alliterations usually have point and effect.

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¹ iv. 20; Peterson, OC. VI, III. ii. 339.

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Māgha is an adept in language and affords abundant exemplification of grammatical rules,² very possibly under Bhaṭṭi’s influence. His periphrastic perfects passive such as *bibharāmbabhūve* are frequent; rare uses are *madhyesamudram* and *pārejalam*; *vairāyitāras* is from the denominative *vairāyate*; *aghaṭate*, *niṣedivān*, and *nyadhāyiṣātām* are recondite forms; purely borrowed from Pāṇini are the unique use in i. 51 of the imperative to express repeated action, and of the future in lieu of the imperfect after a verb of remembering.

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² Cappeller, *Bālamāgha*, pp. 187 f.

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As regards metre Māgha’s chief feat is his accomplishment in Canto iv when he manages to use twenty-two as opposed to the mere sixteen of Bhāravi’s corresponding *tour de force*. The Çloka is the most common, being the basis of Cantos ii and xix; Upajāti of Vaṅçasthā type prevails in i and xii; the Indravajrā type³ in iii; the Udgatā in xv; the Aupacchandasika in xx; the Drutavilambita in vi; the Puṣpitāgrā in vii; the Pramitākṣarā in ix; the Praharṣiṇī in viii; the Mañjubhāṣiṇī in xiii; the Mālinī in xi; the Rathoddhatā in xiv, and the Rucirā, Vasantatilaka,³

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³ In these metres occasionally *a* and *c* end in ◡, a licence as a rule permissible only in the even lines; cf. Vāmana, v. 1. 2 f.; *Sāhityadarpaṇa* 575. He uses a short final thrice in the first, once in the second Vipulā; Bhāravi never permits this, and Kālidāsa only once, doubtfully, has ◡ in the first Vipulā.

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Vaitālīya, and Çālinī in xvii, v, xvi, and xviii respectively, an enumeration which shows how proud was Māgha of his skill in varying the metre of the cantos. The Svāgatā in x was doubtless borrowed from Bhāravi, and Bilhaṇa in his turn freely uses this rare form. The Gīti form of Āryā occurs twice, while there is but one stanza each of the Utsara, Kalahaṅsa, Citralekhā, Jaladharamālā, Jaloddhatagati, Toṭaka, Dodhaka, Dhṛtaçrī, Pṛthvī, Prabhā, Pramadā, Bhramaravilasita, Mañjarī, Mahāmālikā, Vaṅçapattrapatita, Vaiçvadevī, Çikhariṇī, Sragdharā, Sragviṇī, and Hariṇī. The Mattamayūra, Mandākrāntā, and Çārdūlavikrīḍita have two, three, and four stanzas apiece.

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In his use of the Çloka Māgha has out of 464 half-stanzas 125 cases of Vipulā forms, 47 of the first, 44 of the second, and 34 of the third, no case of the fourth being allowed.¹ This frequency of use is in striking contrast to that of Kālidāsa and Bhāravi, for he has one Vipulā in every three or four verses while in the others the proportions range from one to twelve or fourteen. Kālidāsa again prefers the third to the second Vipulā, while Bhāravi hardly has the third, and Māgha treats them equally. Māgha is not quite so polished a writer as Bhāravi, for he allows the weak caesura in *manāg abhyāvṛttyā vā*, and in xi. 18 and 22 omits this caesura entirely, without the excuse of recondite forms of xix. 52 and 108. A further sign of decline in feeling is the almost equal use in the case of the first Vipulā of the form ⏑ – ⏑ – for the first foot as opposed to ⏑ ⏑ – –, the figures being twenty-one to twenty-six; Māgha evidently did not appreciate the desirability of differentiating between the treatment of the first and second Vipulās. From his frequent employment of Vipulās Jacobi² suggests a western origin for the poet, having regard to the similar fact in the case of Hemacandra, and the poet’s knowledge of the Vindhya, but this conclusion must be deemed uncertain.

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¹ In SIFI. viii. ii. 55 the figures are given as 45, 45, 33, and 3, different readings being followed.

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² IS. xvii. 444. His style, however, is Gauḍa, not Vaidarbha. Tradition makes him a native of Çrīmāla, and this place may have been under Varmalāta's rule.

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