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A History of Indian Literature v3.c35.s13: Ornate Fiction

A History of Indian Literature v3.c35.s13

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English

Contents

Ornate Fiction

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It has already been mentioned above, that according to Indian rhetoricians metre does not constitute an essential component of poetry, rather a “kāvya” can be composed equally well in either verse or in prose or in admixture of prose and poetry³. “Kāvyas” in prose are the Sanskrit fictions. Of the ornate court poetry, they possess all the characteristics excepting the metre : descriptions overrun with ornate pictures and similes, unending long compounds, puns and other embellishments. However, the plot of the fiction is not taken as in the epics, or from the legends of gods and heroes, but mostly from fable-literature.

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³ See above p. 13 f.

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In this manner the Daśakumāracarita, “the Adventures of Ten Princes”⁴ differs from works like Guṇāḍhya’s Bṛhatkathā more on account of perfection in the style of ornate court poetry than in the matter of the subject-matter. Daṇḍin’s work too is a cycle of tales and stories that are set in a common frame. The frame-story, in brief, is as follows :— The king of Magadha is defeated in a battle by the king of Mālava and flees away into the forest, where his wife gives birth to a son, Prince Rājavāhana. At the same time a son is born to each of the four minister of the king, and shortly after him five different princes are brought in a wholly wonderful manner to take shelter under the former king. These ten boys, princes and ministers’ sons, grow up together and are trained in all crafts and sciences in a similar manner. When they grow up, the prince with his companions starts for “victory of the world” (*digvijaya*). One day, in the Vindhya-mountains he meets a Brāhmaṇa Mātaṅga, whom he renders some help in achieving certain magical power for acquisition of mastery over the nether-world. After different adventures the prince resumes his own journey. In the meantime his companions, searching for him, go out into the world. Since the prince does not find them, he too begins to stroll about and at last comes to a park, where he meets some of his companions. One by one all the ten princes are reunited, and each of them narrates the story of his adventure, that he has experienced during the intervening period.

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⁴ Edited by G. Bühler and P. Peterson, Bombay 1887 and 1891 (BSS Nos. 10 and 42); an earlier edition by H. H. Wilson, London 1846. German translations by J. J. Meyer, Leipzig, Lotus-Verlag o. J. (1902) with a valuable introduction, and by H. Haberlandt (with abridgements) ,München 1903. Cf. H. H. Wilson, Works III, 342 ff; Weber, Ind. Streifen I, 308 ff; Talub-ul-Ilm. Ind. Ant. 4, 1875, 157. ff. Winternitz states that the edition of N. B. Godabole and K. P. Parab, Bombay, NSP. 1883 and that of M. R. Kale, Bombay 1917 were not available to him. A new German translation of the Daśakumāracarita had been just published by J. Hertel (Die Zehn Prinzen, ein indischer Roman von Daṇḍin, Vollständig verdeutscht, 3 vols., Indische Erzähler Bd. 1-3, Leipzig 1922).

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The stories that are narrated within this frame have very colourful contents. J. J. Meyer¹ has called the Daśakumāracarita a “Schelmenroman (knaves’ fiction)” and Pischel² a “Sittenroman (moral fiction)” and likewise one may call it also a “tale-fiction”. Some of the stories of are knave’s fictions, so the stories of Apahāravarman, Upahāravarman and Arthapāla, that are full of intrigues, knaveries and scoundrel’s activities. Hertel calls it a “political fiction”, and in his opinion it is a narrative work meant for instruction, like the Tantrākhyāyika. But this does not appear to be correct. Although the poet has occasionally shown his knowledge of arthaśāstra, still he has planned his work as a light literature.

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¹ In the title to his translation.

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² DLZ 1903, Sp. 3002.

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Prince Apahāravarman is a master-thief and scientifically schooled burglar. He speaks about larceny as a wholly honourable profession. Therein he is not a person devoid of moral grounding. He plunders a city for the purpose of helping a man ruined by a harlot, so that he may regain his fortune, since he has heard that the city is full of rich miserly fellows : for this he is resolved to follow "the instruction prescribed by Karṇīsuta¹ in order to make them realise the perishability of wealth and to bring them to senses thereby". Even Upahāravarman, the hero of the second story, in his turn, who has no scruple either in respect of falsehood, or cheating or killing in his activities directed for getting possession of a queen, is declared "moralist" by Rājavāhana, who says :

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¹ Author of a work on theft.

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*paśyata pāratalpikamupādhiyuktamapi gurujanabandhavya-*
*sanamuktihetutayā duṣṭāmitrapramāpaṇābhyupāyatayā rājyopa-*
*labdhimūlatayā ca puṣkalāvarthadharmāvapyarīradhat* ।

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“See , even by sinful mounting the nuptial bed of another person he has earned abundant profit (*artha*) and merit (*dharma*) inasmuch as the main purpose has been to secure release from arrest his venerable elders and it has been the means of killing a wicked enemy and that of the root of attainment of a kingdom.”

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All the stories are full of tale-like branches and rare adventures. The complication of treatment sometimes reaches to such a degree that the reader often gets tired in loosening the thread of the story. In all the stories miracle plays such a great rôle that it significantly interferes with suspense. Everything , for example, is ordained from before. All happens as it must happen. But this takes place, not on the ground of some internal necessity, but as a sequence to some curse, a predestination, a dream, a prophesy, etc. The arbitrary nature of tales prevails everywhere. When there is something bad with the hero, the reader has no fear about him, since it is known from before that he will somehow be relieved of it. Everywhere strong eroticism prevails. With predilection the poet tarries when he describes the beauty of women and when he paints love-scenes. Many of these places do not only prove Daṇḍin's thorough knowledge of the kāmaśāstra, but also of real poetry. Full of thoughtful coloursplendour is, for example, the description from the beginning of the fifth chapter, where Pramati narrates, how he falls asleep in the forest and suddenly wakes up in the company of beautiful women and finds himself close to the most wonderful princes Navamālikā, the most beautiful of all of them.

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That our poet does not lack in humour is demonstrated by the story of Ṛṣi Marīci and the harlot Kāmamañjarī:—

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One day the harlot rushes forth into the hermitage of Ṛṣi Marīci after declaring that she is determined to lead a forest-life. The mother of the harlot follows her and protests against her adopting this course. The sage decides that she may live in the hermitage for a day, know the forest-life, return back to her mother and then again follow her profession. But the harlot serves the sage with great love and attention, and she does not take a long time to make the sage begin to love her fully. To a harlot's talk on virtues he retorts with a talk about the love-god. Lastly she invites him to the town on the occasion of the love-feast where she appears with the age, who is entirely captivated by her, in a royal park, where it is promptly declared that the harlot had made a bet that she would allure Ṛṣi Marīci with her charms. After she has won the bet, she bids the sage farewell, who returns back to his hermitage ashamed and full of remorse. Through this lesson he finds again the path to attainment of peace¹.

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¹ That this story of Marici is a transformation of the legend of Ṛṣyaśṛṅga, as meant by Lüders, NGGW 1897, 109, is not believed by W. Cf. also J. J. Meyer, Das Weib im altindischen Epos, p. 407 f. The story may be compared also with the legend of Saint Martinianus, but Garbe (Indien und das Christentum, p. 116 f. A) rightly considers the similarity as accidental. In both the stories, there is a harlot who bets that she will allure a sage, but the rest is wholly different. But the stories of alluring holy men are so frequent in Indian as well as in Christian literature that we can hardly think of dependence of the one on the other.

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In respect of language Daṇḍin shows himself as a master of the kāvya-style overburdened with embellishments that of course alternate with the simple language of the plain narrator. Here is an example of the poet's metaphorical language :—

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After this the above-mentioned sage Marīci to whom Apahārvaman has narrated his story, *tanmanas cyutatamaḥspraśabhiyevāstaṁ raviragāt ṛṣimuktaśca rāgaḥ sandhyātvenāsphurat tatkathādattavairāgyānīva kamalavānāni samakucan.*

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“The sun set as if out of fear of touching the dark that had leaked out of his mind. And the lustre of love discarded by the sage shone forth as the evening-glow. The lotus-forests folded themselves as if they had been given freedom from passion”¹.

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¹ Translation from the German rendering of Meyer, p. 212 (text ed. Godabole, p. 89).

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The entire chapter VII is a stylish ornate work, in which there occurs not a single labial sound², since the lips of the narrator Mantragupta have been wounded by his struggling beloved in their amorous sport. It is no wonder that there the language has become very bombastic, so when Mantragupta narrates: *nakṣatrasantānahārayaṣṭyagragrathitaratnaṁ kṣaṇadāndhakāra-gandhahastidāraṇaikakesariṇaṁ kanakaśailaśṛṅgaraṅgalāsyalī-lānaṭaṁ gaganasāgaraghana-taraṅgarājilaṅghanaikacakraṁ kāryākāryasākṣiṇaṁ sahasrārciṣaṁ sahasrākṣadigaṅganāṅga-rāgarāgāyitakiraṇajālaṁ raktnanīrañjalimārādhya nijaniketa-tanaṁ nyaśiśriyam*; “I returned home having worshipped the sun, the jewel strung at the top of the garland of the line of the stars, the lion, who alone tears asunder the elephant in rut of darkness, the dancer who dances at the peak of the mountain of gold, the o n l y crocodile who traverses the surface of the thick waves of the ocean of the sky, who is a witness of noble and ignoble activities, who has thousand rays, whose net of rays is painted with the sandal of the body of the lady of the direction of the thousand-eyed god “with offerings of red lotuses⁴”.

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² In the Kāvyādarśa 3, 83 Daṇḍin himself states that this ornate piece is particularly difficult. “In fact, when somebody hears the seventh chapter read aloud he has actually the impression as if somebody is reciting it with wounded lips (Jacobi, ZDMG 40, 1886, 99 f.).

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⁴ That is Indra, the defender of the East. The quarters are of the female sex.

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As regards the height of the creative talents of Daṇḍin it is hardly difficult for us to arrive at a decision as to how far the stories have been composed by his own-self or have been worked upon some older sources. Probably the writer took the motif of the frame-story from the Bṛhatkathā of Guṇāḍhya, since in the Kathāsaritsāgara (chapters 69-103) we find the story of a prince, who had ten ministers’ sons as his companions, who were separated from each other as a sequel to a curse and after their reunion each of them narrated his own experience. In other stories as well we find many parallels and harmonies between the Kathāsaritsāgara and the Daśakumāracarita. They make it apparent that the poet knew the Bṛhatkathā and had utilized it. Since many of the stories occur also in the jātaka-books, in any case, it is certain that Daṇḍin had not composed all the stories himself¹.

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³ So also Ratnāvali, Act III, V, 49. J. J. Meyer (p. 324), following W., appears to have read *ekanakram* for *H-cakram*. Peterson (text II, p. 46) does not give a variant reading for *nakram*.

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¹ The vetāla-stories are included in the story of the sixth minister in the Kathāsaritsāgara. Similarly in the Daśakum. in Mitragupta’s story of the sixth “*kumāra*” are included four stories, of which the 4th one, that is of Nitambavatī, that has the common tendency with one of the vetāla-stories, in which the hero attains his goal through the crude trick that he practises on his wife under the suspicion of her being a witch. Cf. Charpentier, Paccekabuddhageschichten, p. 143 ff; Lacôte, Essai sur Guṇāḍhya 289. Here we find also the story of the ungrateful wife (also in the Kathāsaritsāgara 65, 2 ff. and the jātaka No. 193, see above II, 104; transl. p. 130) and of the ideal wife who can prepare a dainty dish out of paddy-straws (in the jātaka No. 546 narrated with much wit and humour).

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The Daśakumāracarita is of great interest for cultural history. In particular we get an insight into the life and activities of unworthy people, rogues, buffoons, thieves, gamblers, and harlots. We see here amongst others a presentation of buffoons, over whose head stands a Brāhmaṇa. Here we are able to know about the life in a gambling den and we can see the practices of a poison-doctor being ridiculed. We find here described the fight of cocks and a detailed picture of the ball-dance of a princess. We obtain a thorough knowledge about the condition of life of harlots. The profession of harlots is as ordained by the creator and is under the protection of the king. The story of Nimbavatī in chapter VI throws remarkable sidelight on sexual relationships and on the position of women in society. The story of Vīrabhadra in chapter VIII is important (also for the history of nītiśāstra), where the daily course of king’s life is described more minutely and in apparent agreement with the Kauṭilīya-Arthaśāstra.

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Unfortunately the Daśakumāracarita has not come down to us in an intact form. The original work must have been developed from an introduction and the stories of ten princes. But the beginning and the end got lost early, so that the genuine text contains only seven stories and the beginning of the eighth one. But our text begins with a section (*pūrvapīṭhikā*) that contains not only, as might be expected, the introduction (on the birth and early youth of the ten young men), but also the stories of two princes and also the beginning of the story of Rājavāhana. This *pūrvapīṭhikā* is the composition of a later writer, who has attempted to imitate the style of Daṇḍin. The last story has remained incomplete¹.

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¹ In many manuscripts the *pūrvapīṭhikā* is wanting, a thing that is a strong proof for its not being genuine. Another attempt made to complete the work of Daṇḍin is one Daśakumāracaritapūrvapīṭhikā in verses of Vināyaka and yet another is the Daśakumāra kathāsāra, likewise in verses, of Appayya Mantrin (or Appayāmātya). Moreover, the Daśakumārakathāśeṣa, in 5 ucchvāsas, of Dīkṣita Cakra-pāṇi is a continuation of the work of Daṇḍin. Lastly Mahārājādhirāja Gopīnātha in his Daśakumārakathā claims to have improved upon Daṇḍin's work, but in fact he has, under insignificant alterations and additions, merely added his own introduction and his own conclusion; see Eggeling, Ind. Off. Cat. VII, p. 1551 ff. Meyer, Introduction to his translation, p. 134 ff. has tried to defend the authenticity of the pūrvapīṭhikā. R. Schmidt (ZDMG 64, 1910, 476) is satisfied with one "non liquet". But most of the researchers are unanimous in declaring it as spurious. Cf. A. Gawroński, Sprachliche untersuchungen über das Mṛcchakaṭika und das Daśakumāracarita, Diss. Leipzig 1907, p. 45 ff; Charpentier, Paccekabuddhageschichten, p. 144 f.; Lacôte in Mélanges Lévi, p. 267. Hertel (Die zehn Prinzen, Bd. 3) has now with the help of documents proved that the pūrvapīṭhikā is spurious. He believes (vol. 3, p. 46) that Daṇḍin never completed either its beginning or the end. As regard the beginning W. says that he does not think this opinion as probable. It is, however, possible, that the work was never completed.

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As a master of "crooked speech" (vakrokti), Subandhu, the author of the fiction Vāsavadattā², enjoys high reputation in India. Bāṇa says that before the 'Vāsavadattā" pride of poets sank down³. A century later Vākpati (Gaüḍavaha, verse 800) says about himself that he enjoyed the poetry of Bhāsa, Kālidāsa, Subandhu and Haricandra. And still in later centuries Subandhu is mentioned among the earliest poets¹. We know nothing about the life of this writer and we do not find his any other work mentioned anywhere. Subandhu has nothing in common with the drama of Bhāsa except the name of the heroine. It is not known what was the source whence Subandhu took the plot for this fiction. He has hardly created it himself. But even if he himself has composed the story he has in any case utilized a long series of current tale-motives: love in dream, talking bird, magic horse, transformation into a stone-slab etc. But it is clear that it did not occur to the poet to invent adventures and to narrate them, but rather he wanted to show his mastery in respect of the kāvya-style. His style is *Gauḍī rīti*, that is the kāvya-style over burdened with long compound words, accumulated puns, antitheses, hyperboles, ornate similes and all other possible figures of speech. A brief survey of the contents and a few probes of the style can hardly be of any use, since the style is garbed in such a different language that is totally untranslatable, a fuller representation from this little delightful work is given below :—

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² Standard edition of Fitzedward Hall with the commentary of Śivarāma Tripāṭhin in the Bibl. Ind. Calcutta 1859, translated into English by L. H. Gray (with reprint of the transcription of the Telugu edition, Madras 1862) New York CUIS, Vol. 8, 1913. Cf. Weber, Indische Streifen I, 369 ff.

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³ Bāṇa (Harṣacarita v. 12) does not mention Subandhu as the author of the "Vāsavadattā". It is not probable that he means Bhāsa's "Vāsavadattā", because Bhāsa has been mentioned in v. 16. However, there was a much older *ākhyāyikā* with the title "Vāsavadattā" that has been referred to by Patañjali (on Pāṇ. 4, 3, 87), and materially it cannot be concluded that this is meant by Bāṇa. But the researches of W. Cartellieri (WZKM 1, 1887, 155, ff.), Thomas, (ib. 12, 1898, 21 ff.) and Mankowski (ibid 15, 1901, 246 f.) have shown that Bāṇa had imitated Subandhu and had tried to surpass him, and it can hardly be doubted that in this verse he means the "Vāsavadatttā" of Subandhu.

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¹ Vāmana quotes the "Vāsavadattā" in his poetics. The author of an inscription of the year 808 A. D. tries to imitate the style of the Vāsavadattā; see Kielhorn, Ep. Ind. 6, 239 ff.

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Kandarpaketu, the son of King Cintāmaṇi, sees in a morning-dream a young girl of wonderful beauty and begins to love desperately this dream-picture. With his friend Makaranda, he goes out in search of his beloved. They pitch their night-tent under a tree in a forest. At midnight the prince is aroused from slumber by a conversation. He watches and listens to the talk of a parrot-couple and thence learns as follows:—The king of Kusumapura has only one daughter Vāsavadattā who refuses all suitors, although she now is of marriageable age and her father has already arranged for selection of a husband by her ownself. But in a dream she sees a young man who possesses all the beauty and perfection that she likes and learns that his name is Kandarpaketu. She is overtaken with burning love for this youth. A preacher-crow is sent in search of the beloved. The latter eventually sits on a tree and immediately hands over to Kandarpaketu a love-letter written to him in verse by Vāsavadattā. Under the guidance of the love-messenger they immediately start for Kusumapura. The two lovers meet in a pleasure house in a garden and each of them begins to love the other at the very first sight: they fall into swoon, and recover fully at once. The friend, of Vāsavadattā describes to Kandarpaketu the torture of love that her mistress has undergone and in the meanwhile she says :—*tvatkṛte yānayā vedanānubhūtā sā yadi nabhaḥ patrāyate sāgaromelandāyate brahmā lipikarāyate bhujaṅgapatirvā kathakāyate tadā kathamapyanekairyuga-sahasrairabhilikhyate kathyate vā* : “The agonies of this young girl on your account can be described only if the sky becomes a leaf, the ocean, an inkpot, Brahman himself becomes the scribe, Śeṣa, the world-snake, the narrator; and still the time that will be taken to do this will be many thousands times of the age of the world”¹.

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¹ As Zachariae (Gurupūjākaumudī, p. 39) has shown that this passage (ed. Hall, p. 238 ff.) goes back to an old verse. The same idea recurs also in the Talmud and in the Koran, in the German folk-song (“Und wenn der Himmel Papiere wär” etc.) and in songs of many other nations, as shown by R. Köhler (Kleinere Schriften III, 293 ff.) and A. Herrmann (Ethnologische Mitteilungen aus Ungarn I, 1887, p. 12 ff., 211 ff., 319 ff.; supplement by R. Köhler, ibid p. 312 ff.), Zachariae (ZVV 11, 1901, 331) shows a passage in Ph. Baldaeus in his book on India (1672) where the deeds of Kṛṣṇa are described with the same hyperbole.

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But Vāsavadattā is to be given in marriage the same day to the king of Vidyādharas according to the decision of her father. So Kandarpaketu runs away with her on his wonderful horse and returns back in a moment into the Vindhya forests. They pass the night in a hiding grove. In the morning they are tired and fall fast asleep. When Kandarpaketu wakes up he finds that Vāsavadattā has already disappeared. He searches for her in vain, and is so much perplexed that he wants to commit suicide. But a heavenly voice, that promises to unite him with her, prevents him from doing this. For many months he lives in the forest. There one day, while strolling about, he sees a stone-bust, that looks like his beloved, embraces it—and Vāsavadattā lovingly stands before him. She has gone away to collect fruits for her beloved and is knocked down by two mutually fighting heroes, who in the fight not only strike one-another but also destroy the hermitage of a sage. The sage mistakes Vāsavadattā to be the cause of the mischief and curses her to be transformed into a slab of stone, but he tones down the curse by saying that she will regain her real form, as soon as she is touched by her lover.

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Much more important than this tale for Subandhu is the description of persons with unendingly lengthy high epithets, descriptions of the night, of the moon, of the sunrise, of the sunset, of the spring, of the rains etc. He possesses mastery in the use of words and expressions having two meanings. For example Kandarpaketu is described as one “who like the spring has distributed pleasures to many thickets”, that may be rendered also as: “who like the spring has offered much pleasure to different beautiful women. The beauty of Vāsavadattā, as seen in dream by the prince, is sketched in ornate pictures in which the poet manifests his accurate knowledge of kāmaśāstra and does not omit a single physical charm of the beautiful woman¹. The swelling breasts, the slender body and the heavy hips are especially described with bold similes: for example, “she is ornamented with a look that has become quite small with anxiety that she (the look) can not see her moon-like face that has become curved under the weight of her high breasts, or likewise on account of the fatigue caused by the pressure of the tough round hips and the pitcher-like breasts…… she is sparkling with her golden breasts that resemble coffers filled with diamonds of love, that are visible seal-like nipples, or that they are fixed in the spike-like nipples for fear of tumbling down on account of their extraordinary growth,……and they are like little houses in which the god of love, tired in course of his conquest of the three worlds, has taken his abode, etc.”

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¹ He occasionally mentions also one Kāmasūtra of Mallanāga.

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The beauty of Vāsavadattā, as it is actually seen for the first time by Kandarpaketu, is described in a multitude of puns, that may appear to the people of the West so tasteless, but probably they charm the Indian paṇḍitas the most, since they prove the poet's knowledge of all sciences. For example, it is said: "she has painted her feet red (*raktapāda*) like grammar", (since *raktapāda* may also mean "underlined in red for analysis"); "she has beautiful joints (*suparvans*) like the Mahābhārata" (the sections of the Mahābhārata too are called *parvans*); "she is like logic because of her shining beauty (*uddyotakarasvarūpā*), since it is said in respect of logic that it attained its final form through Uddyotakara, the famous author" etc.

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In the description of nature Subandhu has an inexhaustible source of similies: so the stars are like the froth of the foam, emitted by the sun's panting horses tired on account of their journey in the sky; they raise the doubt, whether they are not white lotus-blossoms in the great lake of the sky; they look like zeroes that the creator has written on the ink-black antelope-hide, namely the dark for the purpose of expressing the absolute voidness of the *saṃsāra* at the time of calculation of creations ... and they are comparable to the tear-drops of the residents of the heaven who are weeping on account of disappearance of the sun." The rising sun is red "as if with the blood of the elephant of darkness killed by the lion of the morning crimson with his paws...like a vessel of melted iron......like the red the ante-curtain of the great actor time", etc.

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The descriptions in unendingly long passages with endlessly long compound words are often intercepted by very small expressions that are meant to describe some sentiment. So for example in a description of the night the dialogue...wholly small passages, full of expressions having two meanings reproduce the nocturnal activities of the lovers.

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The large number of extant commentaries on the Vāsavadattā¹ on one hand prove great popularity of the work, especially in scholarly circles, and on the other they show how difficult it is.

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¹ They have been enumerated by Hall, Preface p. 43. On Śivarāma's commentary see Gray, JAOS 24, 1903, 57 ff.

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The author of the second famous fiction is Bāṇa (Bāṇabhaṭṭa), the first poet, about whose life and age we know more surely. He lived in the court of king Harṣavardhana of Thānesar (606-648 A.D.), and as his court-poet wrote his main work the Harṣacarita (Life and Deeds of Harṣa)¹. It is a historical novel in prose with only a few verses scattered here and there². In the introductory stanzas, that form a kind of foreword, he praises Vyāsa, the poet of the Mahābhārata, as the highest of all among his predecessors, the prose-writers Subandhu and Haricandra, the poem-writer Sātavāhana (Hāla), the epic writer Pravarasena, the dramatists Bhāsa and Kālidāsa and the story-teller Guṇāḍhya, the author of the Bṛhatkathā. Then he generally speaks about poery. He requires in poetry a new subject, fine judicious expressions, unusual play of words, a clearly expressed sentiment and an elegant language". These requirements are actually fulfilled in his work. In the matter of style he competes with Subandhu³, whom he hardly reaches in respect of play of words and artifices, but still stands far above him in real poetical genius. His plays of words in fact often are witty, his pictures and similes are not artificial, but indeed poetically fashioned. Fortunately the admixture of poetry and truth occurs both in the narrative and descriptive parts⁴, in which we cannot easily distinguish between poetry and truth. Above all true are the numerous descriptions of the life in the court, the usages, customs and religious conditions of the age. For the latter in particular the Harṣacarita is of unestimable value. Bāṇa comes of a Brāhmaṇa family, in which religious ceremonies are strictly observed. Hence he is perhaps thoroughly conversant with all the religious practices and he never misses an opportunity to describe the religious ceremonies, that are observed on the birth of a child, at the time of a marriage, after death, at the start on a sojourn, on homecoming, while marching into the battle and on all other possible occasions. On each such occasion the presents that are made to Brāhmaṇas are mentioned. In respect of cults, however, the offerings and ceremonies in honour of Śiva, Durgā and the Mother prevail. Often the topic is about the Śaiva sect and ascetics. Astrology and favourable and unfavourable omens as well as the means of protection against the latter do not play an insignificant rôle. But numerous other cults and sects are mentioned. Harṣa's father was a sun-worshipper. Harṣa himself appears in chapter VIII as a distinguished friend of Buddhists and direct adherent of Buddhism. Interesting is, however, the enumeration of the followers of different sects and mendicants who crowd a forest-hermitage described here¹. The poet speaks about all the religious sects with equal veneration. However, he is still sufficiently worldly and does not miss the opportunity to hurl unkind criticisms at the mendicants of the different sects; so for example in the beautiful enumeration of the beings that are difficult to be found in the world² :

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¹ Edited with Śaṅkara's commentary by A. A. Führer, Bombay 1909 (BSS). Translated into English by E. B. Cowell and F. W. Thomas, London 1897. Cf. Bhāu Dāji in JBRAS X, 1871, 38 ff; Führer in OC VI Leiden III, 2, 199 ff.; R.W. Fraser, Literary History of India, p. 255 ff. The English translation is based on the edition published in NSP, 1892. On the two recent editions of the Harṣacarita (by P. V. Kane, Bombay 1918, and by S. D. and A. B. Gajendragadkar Poona 1919) see F.W. Thomas, JRAS 1920, p. 384 ff.

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² In the main colophon the work is mentioned as a *mahākāvya*, but in the introductory verses (20 f.) Bāṇa himself calls it an *ākhyāyikā*. So all the manuals of poetics. Cf. Lacôte in Mélanges Lévi 268 f.

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³ See above p. 394, note 3.

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⁴ As a work of history the Harṣacarita is of limited value. It is significant that Bāṇa tells us that his hero was born "in the month of Jyaiṣṭha, on the 12th day of the dark fortnight, at the moment when the tulā (libra) was in ascension, immediately after the time of the dusk, when the baby night had just begun to rise up", but the year of his birth is not given. Yet many of the statements of Hiuen-Tsiang and of the inscriptions are supplemented and corrected by the valuable information given by Bāṇa; see Bühler, Vikramāṅkadevacarita, Introd. p. 4 f; Ep. Ind. 1, 67 ff; 4, 208 ff; and Rapson, JRAS 1898, 448 ff.

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¹ Ed. Führer, p. 316, English translation, p. 236. —*vītarāgairārhatairmaskarībhiḥ śvetapaṭaiḥ pāṇḍurabhikṣubhirbhāgavatairvarṇibhiḥ . . . . . anyaiśca svān svān siddhāntāñchṛṇvadbhirabhiyuktaiścintayadbhịḥ . . . . . *

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² Ed. Führer, p. 249, English translation p. 171 f.

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*yadyapi ca vibhuranabhimāno dvijātiraneṣaṇo muniraroṣaṇaḥ kapiracapalaḥ kaviramatsaro vaṇigataskaraḥ priyājānirakuhan ḥ sādhuradaridro draviṇavānakhalaḥ kīnāśonakṣigataḥ mṛgayurahiṁsraḥ pārāśarī brāhmaṇyaḥ sevakaḥ sukhī kitavaḥ kṛtajñaḥ gopyaḥ priyavāgamātyaḥ satyavādī rājasūnuradurvinītaśca . . . . . ’*

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“A prince having no pride, a Brāhmaṇa, not seeking any gain, a sage, who does not get angry, a monkey, that is not unsteady, a poet who has no jealousy, a

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trader, who is not a thief, a husband who is not vindictive, a noble man, who is not poor, a wealthy person, who is not wicked, a niggard, who is not a thorn in the side, a hunter, who is not ferocious, a Pārāśarya monk, who may be a pious Brāhmaṇa, a servant, who is happy, a gambler, who is grateful, a mendicant, who is not a ravenous¹, a slave, who gives friendly advice, a minister, who speaks the truth, a king's son, who is not discourteous.”……”

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¹ This is wanting in Führer's edition.

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In the first two chapters Bāṇa tells his biography that contains extraordinarily valuable statements about his life.

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The poet begins with the statement that he narrates a legendry history of his family of the Vātsyāyanas², wholly in the style of the purāṇas.-- But after this he reports in a wholly historical fashion about his birth, his early education and lastly his vocation in the court of King Harṣa. He was a son of a Brāhmaṇa Citrabhānu and of the Brāhmaṇī Rājadevī. When still a boy he lost his mother, and in the 14th year after his birth also his father, who had become his second mother and whom he loved cordially. In the beginning he bemoans on account of the bereavement, but soon he finds himself in a bad company and commits many heinous crimes, due to which he attains notoriety. In fact it was a remarkable Bohemian, about whom young Bāṇa, according to his own story, used to move about : there were poets, amongst whom there were also such ones as composed in popular languages, musicians of all types, begging mendicants of different sects and all classes of nuns, a snake-charmer, a young doctor, a reader, a goldsmith, a scribe, two singers, a painter, an actor, an actress, a chamber-maid, a magician, a buffoon, etc. His parents had left to him a handsome heritage, but his lust for adventure carried him to foreign regions, where he made great travels for the purpose of seeing foreign countries. After he had whiled away his youth in such an unrestrained manner, by and by he learnt about the life in court and in society of clever and wise people and got trained in traditional and spiritual practices prevalent in the family of the Vātsyāyanas. And when in course of years he returned back to his native land he was greeted by members of his family “as if on some feast.” After he lived at home with his relations for a long time, there came one day a message from his friend Kṛṣṇa, king’s brother, that the latter asked him to come to the court of the king, since it was not right that he passed his life away from the court, “like a fruitless tree far away from the rays of the sun”. After some deliberation he resolved to follow the vocation. He quits his native place and joins the court of King Harṣa, whose love and confidence of the highest degree he wins very soon. After he has spent some time in the court¹, he goes to meet one of his relations in his native land. He is received, honoured and greeted. A reader is ready to read from the Vāyupurāṇa. On this occasion a singer compares the deeds described in the purāṇas with those of Harṣa, that induces a cousin of the poet to request him to narrate the story of Harṣa. After some modest hesitation Bāṇa agrees to abide by this request.

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² We are obliged to leave the question of deciding whether we have here a tradition current in the family or if it is purely a fabrication of the poet in imitation of the purāṇa-legends. Winternitz considers the latter as probable.

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¹ With this begins the third chapter and the transition to the life of Harṣa. This introduction corresponds to the usual introductions found in the purāṇas, that usually begin with the statement that a ṛṣi appears in the assembly of curious people and after a short or prolonged request he begins the story. Bāṇa has developed in an original manner, this purāṇa-type of introduction into a piece of autobiography.

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In many places the narrative itself is as interesting as the description of persons. So the descriptions of localities and situations as well as the descriptions of nature occupy much space, in which bold pictures and similes are as little wanting as puns. Only a few probes from Bāṇa’s style can be given here².

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² It is in any case impossible to present an accurate account of the style of this ornate prose, since the compact Sanskrit construction (participles, compounds, locative absolute) is as unimitable as the numberless puns and alliterations are.

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The panegyric description of Harṣa, when Bāṇa sees him for the first time, occupies not less than ten printed pages¹, that make a single sentence. "He saw Harṣa" (all that follows is expressed in participles)...

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*kāvyakathāsvapītamapyamṛtamudvamantam… aruṇapādapalla-vena sugatamantharoruṇā vajrāyudhaniṣṭhuraprakoṣṭhapṛṣṭhena vṛṣaskandhena bhāsvadvimbādhareṇa prasannāvalokitenı candra-mukhena kṛṣṇakeśena vapuṣā sarvadevatāvatāramivaikatra darśa-yantam‥ vikacamukhakamalakarṇikākośena anavaratamāpīyamā-naśvāsas‧urabhamivādhomukhena nāsāvaṁśena…harṣamadrākṣīt-*

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"who was vomitting fort the nectar, that he had not drunk even in the discourses on poetry" (that is, he was reciting the poem, that he had not heard from anybody else, but had composed himself),……who was appearing, with his body with his reddish shoot-like delicate reddish foot (with the sprout of feet of Aruṇa)², with his beautifully slowly moving thighs (with slow thighs of Buddha), with his forearm, that was as hard as the weapon of thunderbolt (with strong arm of the holder of the thunderbolt i.e. Indra), with his shoulder of a bull (with the shoulder of the god Dharma¹), with his brilliant lower lip (with the lower-lip of the sun-god), with his pleasant look (with the pleasant look of Avalokita) with his moon-like face (with the face of the moon-god), with his black hair (with the hair of Kṛṣṇa), like the incarnation of all gods in one body……who with his nose, that resembled the bud of a fully blossomed lotus, extending out of his face, was inhaling the fragrance of its smell etc."

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¹ Ed. Führer, pp. 110-120, (English translation, pp. 56-64). 3 Ed. Führer, p. 175 (English translation, p. 101 f.).

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² Aruṇa was born without legs. He is the chariot-driver of the sun-god. The second meaning of each of the double-sensed compounds is given within the brackets.

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¹ 3. So according to the commentary : Vṛṣan may be an epithet of Agni, Viṣṇu or Śiva.

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About Prabhākaravardhana, the father of Harṣa, it is said that he was a quarrelsome man so much so that even the sight of his own reflection in a mirror in the sheathe of his sword that he had in his hand was painful to him⁴. "For him hostility was a present, fight, a favour; beginning of a battle, a festivity; the enemy, sight of treasure; excess of foes, a good luck; call to fight, a boon; an accidental fall, a great favour done by fate and striking with sword, shower of wealth¹.

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⁴ *karadhṛtadhautāsiprativimbitenātmanāpyadūyata.*

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¹ *yaśca vairamupāyanaṁ vigrahamanugrahaṁ samarāgamaṁ mahotsavaṁ śatruṁ nidhidarśanaṁ aribāhulyaṁ abhyudayaṁ āhavāhvānaṁ varapradānamavaskandapātaṁ diṣṭavṛddhiṁ śastraprahārapatanaṁ vasudhārāmamanyata.* Ed. Führer, p. 175, (English translation, p. 101f.)

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The early bringing up of Harṣa is beautifully described. His lotus-like face shining with little teeth looked like sprouts of pleasant smile pushing up as a consequence of wetness caused by the sprinkles with the pitchers of his mother's breasts².

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² *janan īpayodharakalaśapayaḥśīkarasekādiva jāyamānairvilāsahasitāṅkurairdaśanakairalaṅkriyamāṇamukhakamalam* : Ed. Führer, p. 191 (English translation, p. 116).

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In chapter V the scene of death of King Prabhākaravardhana is described in an attractive manner. Among the king's physicians there is one who is only 18 years old, but he is particularly clever, who loves the king sincerely and when he sees that the condition of the latter has become hopeless, burns his ownself. Whilst at this Harṣa is wholly perplexed, a maidservant of the queen comes and reports to him that his mother has made up her mind to die by burning herself in fire. Harṣa rushes forth into the female apartment. Then he is struck with the cries of the queens, who are resolved to die with their husband. They touchingly take leave of even the trees of the garden and of the birds in the cages and of maidservants. As he enters, he sees his mother, who is ready to die. In her hand "she is holding a picture of her husband so firmly, as if she is determined to die." She is decorated by her servant and by her devotion to her husband; she is firmly supported by a swoon and an old woman, both of whom are well-trusted by her; she is embraced by a friend and agony who are united with her in her trouble; she is surrounded by an attendant and pain, that have taken possession of all of her limbs; the sons of the high royal family and strong breathing are by his side and behind her are standing the very old chamberlains and agonies'"¹. Harṣa falls at the feet of the queen and implores her not to forsake him and to abstain from the decision: But she replies that she, as daughter, wife and mother of heroes, does not mind anything else so much as not to live as a widow. For her it is life, not death that is the greater evil. Harṣa is obliged to accept her argument as correct, so unfortunately it is with him too. Yaśovatī burns herself on the bank of the river Sarasvatī, and a little after this the king dies. The corpse is burnt and death ceremonies are performed. The servants and ministers of the deceased partly die and partly become ascetics or monks of different sects.

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¹ *dhātryā bhartṛbhaktyā ca nijayā prasādhitāṁ mūrcchayā jaratyā ca nija-saṁstutayā dhāryamāṇāṁ sakhyā pīḍayā ca vyasanasaṅgatayā samāliṅgitāṁ parijanena santāpena ca gṛhītasarvāvayavena parītāṁ kulaputtrocchavasitaiśca mahattarairadhiṣ-ṭhitāṁ kañcukibhirdunkhaiścātivṛddhairanugatām . . . . . mātaraṁ dadarśa* (Ed. Führer, p. 229).

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Bāṇa is a master in the description of personalities. So the military events of Field-Commander Siṁhanāda (in chapter VI) are described with greater prudence and with much more ornate puns. Splendid is the description of the commanding officers of the elephant-troups, "whereof the bridge of the nose (*nāsāvaṁśa*) is as the family-tree of his own king (*nijanṛpavaṁśa*)".

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With the description of the crimson red setting sun and of the rising moon—the sunset indicates the bloody battle and the fall of Harṣa's enemies, the white moon the brilliant fame of Harṣa—ends the chapter VIII, and for us the whole work. It is not probable that this is the actual end of the work or that the poet left the work incomplete. Rather we are to assume that the end is lost to us.

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The Kādambarī², a novel, is the second work of the poet. It remained incomplete on account of death of Bāṇa while he was working on it. It was continued and completed by the his sons Bhūṣaṇabhaṭṭa or Bhaṭṭa Pulina¹ in the style of his father. This novel rests on a tale, that we find in Somadeva's Kathāsaritsāgara (59, 22-178) and in Kṣemendra's Bṛhatkathāmañjarī (16, 183 ff.), and from this we have to assume that Bāṇa knew the Bṛhatkathā of Guṇāḍhya². The work consists of a series of intercalated stories in the style of narrative poetry. The story itself is of little interest. The style is similar to that of the Harṣacarita, only with this difference that corresponding to the context pain on account of love and yearning for love are the basic motif of the poem—the sentiment is a different one. In the Harṣacarita the pathos prevails and in the Kādambarī, quietism and love. Here too we find big descriptions, far-fetched similes and puns, unendingly long compounds and endless sentences. “The story”, as Weber says³, “proceeds in high-flown bombasts, under which (or at least the patience of the reader) often gets disturbed…… This prose is a real Indian forest, where progress is impossible through the undergrowth until the traveller cuts out a path for himself, and where even then he is confronted by malicious wild beasts in the shape of uncommon words to terrify him.” However, it is remarkable that the monstrous words and atrocious sentences are capable of being cut into small sentences in simple and natural prose. However tiring the reading of the novel may be for the people of the West, we must keep in mind that for an Indian reader it presupposes that he has a thorough knowledge of Sanskrit and for him the work has its own charm. But when we find in a modern Bengali novel published in 1871 that the heroine in her boudoir reads the “Kādambarī”, it certainly does not reflect the actual condition of life, but it merely shows that the Bengali author wants to prove his knowledge of Sanskrit literature. The “reading of this book” has never been easy, nay even for the learned Indians, so a novel that ladies read in their boudoir for diversion could not be this. A few probes about the style and character of the work may be sufficient.

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² Edited by P. Peterson, Bombay 1883 BSS; translated with occasional omissions by C. M. Ridding, London 1896. Index of the contents by Peterson in the introduction to the edition of Weber, Indische Streifen I, 352 ff. and Lacôte in Mélanges Lévi 259 ff.

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¹ So he is called in a manuscript of the year 1647 in M. A. Stein Catalogue of Sanskrit MSS at Jammu, Bombay 1894, p. 299.

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² Kṣemendra knew the work of Bāṇa. Bāṇa has probably changed the names of persons and places and has introduced into the story more of complications. The concluding portion, particularly the one completed by the son of the poet, contains many deviations. Hence he must have known the plan of his father. Cf. Mankowski in WZKM 15, 1901, 213 ff.

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³ Ibid 353, Against this Lacôte (ibid p. 259) praises as “le charme de cette oeuvre tout imprégnée de tendresse, de mélancholie et d'espérance en une seconde vie”.

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The love between Kādambarī, the heroine, and Candrāpīḍa originated at the first sight as follows :—

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“*śeṣendriyāṇyapi me vedhasā kimiti locanamayānyeva na kṛtāni । kimvānena kṛtamavadātaṁ karma cakṣuṣā yadanivāritamenāṁ paśyati । aho citrametadutpāditaṁ vedhasā sarvaramaṇīyānāmekaṁ dhāma l kutaḥ ete rūpātiśayaparamāṇavaḥ samāsāditāḥ l tannūnamenāmupādayato vidheḥ karatalaparāmarśakleśena ye vigalitā locanayugalādaśrujalabindavastebhya etāni jagati kumudakamalakuvalayasaugandhikavanānyutpannāni” ilyevaṁ cintayata evāsya t syā nayanayugale nipapāta cakṣuḥ । tadā tasyā api...cintayantyā rūpātiśayavilokanavismayasmeraṁ niścalanibaddhalakṣaṁ cakṣustasmin suciraṁ papāta । locanaprabhādhavalitastu kādambarīdarśanavihvalocala iva tatkṣaṇamarājata candrāpīḍaḥ । dṛṣṭvā ca prathamaṁ romodgamaḥ । tato bhūṣaṇaravaḥ tadanu kādambarī samuttasthau । atha tasyāḥ kusumāyaudha eva svedamajanayat । sasaṁbhramotthānaśramo vyapadeśobhavat । urukampa eva gatiṁ rurodha । nūpuraravākṛṣṭahaṁsamaṇḍalamapayaśo lebhe । niśvāsapravṛttir evāṁśukaṁ calaṁ cakāra । cāmarānilo mimillatāṁ yayau l antaḥpraviṣṭacandrāpīḍasparśalobhenaiva nipapāta hṛdaye hastaḥ l sa eva karaḥ stanāvaraṇavyājo babhūva l ānanda evāśrujalamapātayat calitakarṇāvataṁsakusumarajovyājamāsīt । lajjaiva vaktuṁ na dadau । mukhakamalaparimalagatālīvṛndaṁ dvāramagāt l madanaśaraprathamavedanaiva sītkārmakarot l kusumaprakaraketakikaṇṭakakṣatiḥ sādhāraṇatāmavāpa l vepathureva karatalamakampayat l nivedanodyatapratihārinīvāraṇaṁ kapaṭamabhūt । tadā ca kādambarīṁ viśato manmathasyāpi manmatha ivābhūddvitīyaḥ tayā saha yo viveśa candrāpīḍahṛdayam ॥*

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“When the prince saw the beauty of the moonlike face of Kādambarī, his heart began to throb violently with pleasure like the nectar of the ocean (when in the whirl the moon and Lakṣmī see each other). And he thought within his own self - “Why did the creator not convert all my other limbs into eyes ? Or what noble action was performed by my eye (in an earlier birth) that it has found the oportunity of seeing her uninterruptedly ? : Ah ! what a wonder that the creator has made her an abode of all lovely objects ! Where did he find the atoms for making this exquisite beauty ? Certainly all these fragrant lusters, clotuses and water-lilies, that are in the world, originated from the drops of tears from her two eyes on account of the fatigue caused by the touch of the hands of the creator while making her”. —While he was thus thinking his eye fell on her two eyes. Then even her eyes, that were smiling with astonishment caused at the sight of excessive beauty, remained motionless gazing at him. But Candrāpīḍa, shining under the rays of her eyes, bewildered at the sight of Kādambarī, was at that instant looking like a mountain. After she saw him, her hairs got erect; then there ensued the sound of her ornaments and then there stood Kādambarī. Then the god with flower arrow (i.e. god of love) himself caused sweat (on her body)—exertion caused by sudden rising was the pretension. Trembling of the thighs prevented her movement, but the swarm of bees attracted at the tinkling of her anklets were held guilty for this. Her garment was set into motion due to heavy breathing, but the wind of the deer's tail passed for the cause. Her hand fell on her heart on account of desire for touching Candrāpīḍa, who had entered within it, but that very hand became the object with which she covered her breasts. Pleasure caused tears to drop from her eyes, but the pollens of flowers of the ear-ring passed for its cause. Bashfulness prevented her from speaking, but the swarm of bees that had arrived on account of fragrance of the lotus of the face was taken to be the instrument. The pain caused by the wound of the first arrow of love-god caused sigh, but pricking of the thorn of the *ketakī* in the heaps of its flowers passed for the cause. Tremor caused shaking of the palm of the hand, under the pretext of the stopping the messenger, who was ready to deliver a message. And when the god of love entered into Kādambarī, there was born a second Cupid, and with her he entered into the heart of Candrāpīḍa”¹.

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¹ Ed. Peterson, p. 189f., Ed. NSP. p. 344 ff.

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Very characteristic of Bāṇa’s (as in Subandhu’s) style are the dialogues inserted in the middle of a description or a narrative in quite small sentences for the purpose of giving lively expression to some sentiment. So Kādambarī sends the following love-message to her lover :

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*kiṁ vā sandiśāmi : atipriyosīti paunaruktyam । tavāhaṁ priyātmeti jaḍapraśnaḥ । tvayi garīyānanurāga iti ve'yālāpaḥ । tvayā vinā na jīvāmītyanubhavavirodhaḥ । paribhavati māmanaṅga ityātmadoṣopalambhaḥ । manobhavenāhaṁ bhavate dattetyupasarpāṇopāyaḥ । balāddhṛteti bandhakīdhārṣṭyam । avaśyamāgantavyamiti saubhāgyagarvaḥ । svayamāgacchamīti strīcāpalam । ananyānuraktoyaṁ parijana iti svabhaktinivedanalāghavam । pratyākhyānaśaṅkayā na sandiśāmītyaprabuddhabodhanam । anapekṣitānujīvitaduḥkhadāruṇā syāmītyatipraṇayitā । jñāsyasi maraṇena prītimityasambhāvyam ॥*

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“What message can I send to you ? ‘You are very dear to me’—will be tautological. ‘I am yours’—will be a silly propo ition. ‘I have deep affection for you’—will be the talk of a prostitute. ‘Without you I cannot live’—will be a contradiction to actuality. ‘I am overtaken by Cupid’—this will be impertinent. ‘I have been forcibly abducted’—this will be impudence of a captive girl. ‘You must come’—this will be expressive of pride on account of good luck. ‘I come of my own accord’—this will be fickleness of a woman. ‘This slave is not devoted to anybody else’—this will be my meanness to report my own devotion. ‘I do not send message for fear of refusal’—this will be bringing to sense a senseless person.—‘I shall suffer terrible pains in case I lead an undesired life’—this will be excessive familiarity. ‘You will come to know of my love through (my) death’—this will be an impossibility”¹.

First 86 of 121 passages. Read on

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