A History of Sanskrit Literature c13.14

c13.14

Māgha's great influence is seen also in the *Haravijaya*,¹ the work of another Kashmirian, Ratnākara with the styles Rājānaka and Vāgīçvara, who flourished under Bṛhaspati or Cippaṭa Jayāpīḍa and Avantivarman, and was thus in his prime about A.D. 850. The theme is of the lightest, the slaying of the demon Andhaka, born of Çiva when Pārvatī playfully covered his eyes with her hands. The child thus unhappily born blind grows up, by austerities wins sight, and becomes master of the three worlds until, as usual, Çiva finds it necessary to kill him. The plan is the same scheme we have seen already; Çiva's capital must be described (i), then his Tāṇḍava dance (ii), the seasons (iii), and mount Mandara (iv, v). Then comes in the *motif* of the appeal of the seasons, headed by spring, to Çiva for protection against the new conqueror. Çiva's counsellors now debate, and the poet has up to Canto xvi to display his perfection in the art of politics. After all the talk an envoy is dispatched to the demon to bid him retire from the realms he has usurped. Here is the moment for the usual digression, and we have thirteen cantos of the sports of the retinue of Çiva, precisely of the same sort already recorded, including sunrise, sunset, the stormy sea, and a very careful exposition of the practice of the Kāmaçāstra in xxix. The envoy at last reaches the demon's kingdom in heaven, which necessarily must be described at length (xxxi). The exchange of speeches which follows requires seven cantos. The envoy naturally returns without having accomplished anything save a prodigious amount of bad rhetoric; the forces of Çiva take four cantos to be made ready for battle—for which their amorous sports would seem to render them dubiously fitted. They prove somewhat mediocre warriors, but after Canto xlvii has been variegated by the insertion of a hymn to the dread goddess Caṇḍī, the poem is allowed to close at Canto l with the death of the miscreant. The poet claims to have imitated Bāṇa, and some notice is taken of him in the anthologies, but, though he is doubtless responsible for some good stanzas, and Kṣemendra attests his skill in the Vasantatilaka metre, his poem is a hopeless blunder and his fondness for Yamakas adds to its inherent dreariness. No more striking instance exists than this of the utter lack of proportion which can afflict the minds of poets with considerable technical facility and abundant knowledge.