Chapter XXII: Act III: The swing scene contains really effective lines of (1)

word-painting, in harmonious metre: [493]

vicchaanto ṇaararamaṇīmaṇḍalassāṇaṇāiṁ
viccholanto gaaṇakuharaṁ kantijoṇhājaleṇa
pecchantīṇaṁ hiaaṇihiaṁ ṇiddalanto a dappaṁ
dolālīlāsaralataralo dīsae se muhendū.

‘Paling the face of every beauty here, making the sky’s vault to ripple with the liquid moonlight of her loveliness, and breaking the haughty pride in the hearts of maids that regard her, appeareth the moon-like orb of her face as she moveth straight to and fro in her sport on the swing.’ The effective alliteration and paronomasia of this stanza are surpassed by the metrical perfection of the next but one, where the Pṛthvī metre, with ‘its jingling tribrachs and bell-like, chiming cretics’, is employed in a stanza which admirably conveys by its sound the sense at which it aims:

raṇantamaṇiṇeuraṁ jhaṇajhaṇantahāracchaḍaṁ
kaṇakkaṇiakin̄kiṇīmuhalamehalāḍambaraṁ
vilolavalaāvalījaṇiamañjusiñjāravaṁ
ṇa kassa maṇomohaṇaṁ sasimuhīa hindolaṇaṁ.

‘With the tinkling jewelled anklets, With the sound of lovely jingles
With the flashing jewelled necklace, From the rows of rolling bangles,
With the show of girdles garrulous Pray whose heart is not bewildered
From their ringing, ringing bells While the moon-faced maiden swings?’

Excellent also is the king’s address [494] to the Açoka when made to blossom by the touch of the foot of his young beloved, but more characteristic in his comment, [495] inspired by the Vidūṣaka’s ungallant comparison of the fresh beauty of the maiden with the passée comeliness of his queen:

bālāu honti kuūhaleṇa emeya cavalacittāo
daralasiathaṇīsu puṇo ṇivasai maaraddhaarahassaṁ.

‘Though maidens in their young zest for life are fickle of faith, yet it is with them—their breasts just budding—that the mystery of the dolphin-bannered doth abide.’

For technique Rājaçekhara is of interest, because he uses in the Karpūramañjarī the old form of prologue quite openly, with the Nāndī recited doubtless by the Sūtradhāra, followed by the advent of the Sthāpaka who recites two verses. It is noteworthy that the manuscripts often alter the Sthāpaka to the Sūtradhāra despite the clear sense of the text. The late Pārvatīpariṇaya likewise has a Nāndī before the Sūtradhāra speaks a verse. It is probable that the older technique long persisted in the south.

Rājaçekhara’s indebtedness to his predecessors is wholesale; the influence of Kālidāsa, Harṣa, and Bhavabhūti is obvious, and it is probably an indication of his contemporaneity with, or slight posteriority to, Murāri that he does not seem to have known his writings. Influence of the vernacular or of Prākrit is to be seen in his occasional use of rhyme, such as is found in the later Gītagovinda or the Mohamudgara.

6. BHĪMAṬA AND KṢEMĪÇVARA

A verse attributed to Rājaçekhara mentions the five dramas of Bhīmaṭa, of which the Svapnadaçānana won him chief fame. He is described as a Kaliñjarapati, whence the suggestion has been made that he was a connection of the Candella king Harṣa of Jejākabhukti, who, we know, was a contemporary of Mahīpāla of Kanyakubja, patron of Rājaçekhara, but we have no ground for positive assertion. [496]

The case is different with Kṣemīçvara, who in his Caṇḍakauçika wrote for Mahīpāla, doubtless the king of Kanyakubja, patron of Rājaçekhara. Kṣemīçvara asserts his patron’s victory over the Karṇāṭas, which was doubtless the view taken in royal circles of the contest against the Rāṣṭrakūṭa Indra III, who for his part claims victory over Mahodaya, or Kanyakubja.[496] A variant of the name is Kṣemendra, but he is not to be identified with the Kashmirian poet of that name. His great-grandfather was called Vijayakoṣṭha or Vijayaprakoṣṭha, who is designated as both Ārya and Ācārya, and was, therefore, a learned man of some sort.

Kṣemīçvara has left two dramas. The Naiṣadhānanda [497] in seven acts deals with the legend of Nala, famous in the epic and later. The Caṇḍakauçika [498] reveals the stupid story of Hariçcandra, who, seeing as he thought the sacrifice of a damsel on the fire rebukes the Kauçika Viçvāmitra, and in return for his gallant action is cursed by the irascible sage, who was merely bringing the sciences under his control. He secures pardon by the surrender of the earth and a thousand gold pieces; to secure the latter he sells wife and child to a Brahmin, and himself to a Caṇḍāla as a cemetery keeper. One day his wife brings the dead body of their child, but it turns out merely to be a trial of his character; his son is alive and is crowned king. The plot is as poor as the execution of the piece. He shows in metre a special fondness for the Çikhariṇī, which occurs 20 times, nearly as often as the Çārdūlavikrīḍita (23), while the Vasantatilaka appears 27 times and the Çloka 36. His Prākrits, Çaurasenī and a few Māhārāṣṭrī stanzas, are artificial.

The compilers of anthologies make little of Kṣemīçvara, with sufficient reason, for his verses do not rise above mediocrity. The second stanza of the three-verse benediction in the Naiṣadhānanda is on a common theme, but not unhappily expressed; it follows a verse in honour of Puruṣottama and Çrī, with the usual impartiality of this period:

asthi hy asthi phaṇī phaṇī kim aparam bhasma bhasmaiva tac
carmaiva carma kiṁ tava jitaṁ yenaivam uttāmyasi
naitāṁ dhūrta paṇīkaroṣi satatam mūrdhni sthitāṁ Jāhnavīm
ity evaṁ Çivayā sanarmagadito dyūte Haraḥ pātu vaḥ.

‘A skull is but a skull, a serpent a serpent; what more? The ashes and the skin also which thou dost wear are but ashes and skin. What of thine hast thou lost that thus thou art outworn? Ah, rogue, it is that thou wilt not stake Jahnu’s daughter that rests ever on thy crest. May Hara guard you, Hara to whom Çivā once spake playfully when they diced.’

This amusing play on the unwillingness of Çiva to prolong the dicing after he has unsuccessfully staked his necklace of skulls and serpents, and his clothing of ashes and hide, is followed by a wearisome eulogy of the glances of the god in the Tāṇḍava dance, alluding to the great moments in his history. Similar bad taste is shown in the curious and unusual form of the last verse of the drama:

yenādiçya prayogaṁ ghanapulakabhṛtā nāṭakasyāsya harṣād
vastrālaṁkārahemnām pratidinam akṛçā rāçayaḥ sampradattāḥ
tasya kṣattraprasūter bhramatu jagad idaṁ Kārttikeyasya kīrtiḥ
pāre kṣīrāmbhusindho ravikaviyaçasā sārdham agresarena.

‘Through all the universe beyond the ocean of milk, heralded by the fame of his bard, the sun, may the fame wander of that scion of heroism, that god of war, who bade this drama be performed and who in keen delight at the pleasure he found in it gave daily to the poet abundant store of raiment, jewels and gold.’ Such a mode of immortalizing himself, and his patron can hardly be regarded as precisely dignified, and it certainly is not in harmony with the traditions of the drama.

XI

THE DECLINE OF THE SANSKRIT DRAMA

1. THE DECADENCE OF THE DRAMA

We have seen already in Murāri and Rājaçekhara the process which was depriving the drama of real dramatic quality. The older poets were, indeed, under the influence of the epic; they lived in the atmosphere of the poetry of the court and their dramatic instincts had always to fight against the tendency to introduce epic and lyric verses into their works, heedless of the ruin thus wrought on the drama. Had the stage been a more popular one, this defect might have been counteracted, but the audience for whose approval a poet looked was essentially one of men of learning, who were intent on discerning poetic beauties or defects, and who, as the theory proves, had singularly little idea of what a drama really means.

Other factors doubtless helped the decline of the drama. The invasion of the Mahomedans into northern India, which began in earnest with the opening of the eleventh century, was a slow process, and it could not immediately affect the progress of the dramatic art. But gradually, by substituting Mahomedan rulers—men who disliked and feared the influence of the national religion, which was closely bound up with the drama—for Hindu princes, the generous and accomplished patrons of the dramatists, it must have exercised a depressing effect on the cultivation of this literary form. The drama doubtless took refuge in those parts of India where Moslem power was slowest to extend, but even there Mahomedan potentates gained authority, and drama can have been seldom worth performing or composing, until the Hindu revival asserted the Indian national spirit, and gave an encouragement to the renewal of an ancient national glory.

Yet a further and most important consideration must have lain in the ever-widening breach between the languages of the drama and those of real life. In Bhāsa’s days and even those of Kālidāsa we may imagine that there was not too great difficulty in following the main features of the drama both in Sanskrit and in Prākrit, but the gulf between the popular languages and those of learning went on widening every year, and Rājaçekhara, as we have seen, was, despite his boasted studies, of which we have no reason to doubt, unable to discriminate correctly his Prākrits. It in no wise disproves this view that the Lalitavigraharājanāṭaka of Somadeva shows a close connexion with the language as laid down in Hemacandra’s grammar, for, as that work preceded the play in date and was produced at the court of Aṇhilvāḍ, which was in close connexion with that of Sambhār, where Somadeva lived, we need not doubt that copies of Hemacandra’s work were available for the production of artificial Prākrit.

It was clearly a very different thing to compose in Sanskrit and Prākrit in A.D. 1000, when the vernaculars were beginning to assume literary form, than in A.D. 400, and the difficulty of composition in any effective manner must have rapidly increased with the years, and the growth of the realization that it was idle to seek fame under modern circumstances by the composition of dramas, for which there was no popular audience and only a limited market. What is amazing is that for centuries the Sanskrit drama continued to be produced in very substantial numbers, as the existence of manuscripts proves, and that so strong was the force of tradition that the first attempt to introduce the vernacular into the drama by Bidyāpati Ṭhākur in Behar took the form of producing works in which the characters use Sanskrit and Prākrit and the songs only are in Maithilī. So powerful has been the strength of the Sanskrit drama that it is only in the nineteenth century that vernacular drama has exhibited itself in Hindi, and in general it is only very recently that the drama has seemed proper for vernacular expression. But the writing in artificial languages has revenged itself on the writers; their works are reminiscent of modern copies of Greek or Latin verses, which only too painfully reveal through all the artifices suggested by careful study the impossibility of the production of real poetry, not to mention drama, in dead languages. It is significant in this regard that perhaps the most interesting of later dramas is the Prabodhacandrodaya of Kṛṣṇamiçra, a drama of allegory on philosophical topics, which claim as their right Sanskrit as a mode of expression. The Sanskrit of the author thus represents the medium of his habitual use in discussions and is appropriate to the matters dealt with.

This is essentially the period when the dramatic rules, strong in their hold earlier over the minds of dramatists, attain even greater sway. It is to this that we owe the few specimens we have of the rarer types of drama which are not represented among the scanty remains of the classical drama. There is no reason to suppose that these types were popular among the earlier dramatists; they had, it seems, their vogue in the time before the Nāṭyaçāstra assumed its present form, but were rejected as unsuitable by the classical drama. We have also specimens of types which may have been regularly produced in classical times, but none of which are represented in the extant literature. Finally, we have specimens of new forms, the result of efforts to introduce into Sanskrit dramatic forms which had sprung up in more popular circles.

2. THE NĀṬAKA

The Nāṭaka remains throughout the post-classical period of the drama the natural exponent of the higher form of the dramatic art. No change of importance appears in its character; it merely steadily develops those features which we have seen in full process of production in Murāri and Rājaçekhara, the subordination of action to description, and the degeneration of the description into a mere exercise in style and in the use of sounds.

The character of the decline is obvious enough in the Prasannarāghava, [499] a Nāṭaka in seven Acts, in which the logician Jayadeva (c. A.D. 1200), son of Mahādeva and Sumitrā, of Kuṇḍina in Berar, endeavours to tell again the story of the Rāmāyaṇa. [500] In Act I a disciple of Yājñavalkya appears and repeats from the speech of two bees heard behind the scene the news they are discussing; the Asura Bāṇa is to rival Rāvaṇa for the hand of Sītā. Two heralds then appear to describe the suitors for the maiden’s hand; they are interrupted and insulted by a gross and rough arrival who casts a contemptuous eye on the bow which the suitor must bend, and would forcibly seize the prize. The heralds soothe him, but he assumes the monstrous form of Rāvaṇa with his ten heads. Bāṇa then appears, tries in vain the bow, insults Rāvaṇa and retires. In Act II we have a ludicrous scene in which Rāma watches Sītā and her friend; both he and she describe the beauties of the union of the Vāsantī creeper and the mango-tree, an allusion to their own state to be, and confronted shyly whisper love. In Act III we have an intolerable series of compliments exchanged by all the parties, Viçvāmitra, Çatānanda, Janaka, Daçaratha, Rāma, and Lakṣmaṇa; Viçvāmitra bids Rāma bend the bow of Çiva, though a message from Paraçurāma deprecates such an insult. The bow is broken, there is great joy, and the marriage is celebrated. In Act IV Paraçurāma himself arrives; his great feats are set out in a dialogue of Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa; he encounters them, exchanges harangues, is dissuaded by Janaka, Çatānanda, and Viçvāmitra from battle, but an insult of his to Viçvāmitra breaks down Rāma’s patience; they fight, Rāma is victor, but falls at his rival’s feet and asks his blessing. In Act V we have a new and picturesque conception and one wholly aloof from drama. The river goddess Yamunā tells Gan̄gā of her grief at Vālin’s act in exiling his brother, Sugrīva. Sarayū joins them and reports the fate of Rāma until his departure for exile; her flamingo arrives to carry on the tale until Rāma’s fatal departure in pursuit of a golden deer. Anxious, the rivers hasten to the ocean, Sāgara, to learn the news; they find Godāvarī in converse with Sāgara; she tells of the rape of Sītā, the death of Jaṭāyu, the fall of Sītā’s jewels and their transport to Ṛṣyamukha. The Tun̄gabhadrā arrives with her tale; Rāma has slain Vālin and made alliance with Sugrīva and Hanumant. Suddenly a great mass flies over the ocean. Is it the Himālaya? the Vindhya? Sāgara goes out to see and the rivers follow. In Act VI we find that sorrow has all but driven Rāma mad; he asks the birds, the moon, for his beloved. Fortunately two Vidyādharas by magic art are able to show him the events in Lan̄kā; Sītā appears, saddened lest Rāma suspect, or be faithless to her; Rāvaṇa seeks her love; she despises him; angry, he reaches out his hand for his sword to slay her, but receives in it the head of his son, Akṣa, slain by Hanumant, who it is who has leaped the ocean and attacked Lan̄kā. Sītā is desperate; she seeks to burn herself on a funeral pyre, but the coal changes to pearl, and Hanumant consoles her by news of Rāma’s fidelity. In Act VII Rāvaṇa is given by Prahasta a picture sent by Mālyavant showing the details of the enemy’s attack and the bridge; he refuses to regard it as more than a painter’s fancy; Mandodarī, his wife, enters; she has received an oracular response which terrifies her and also Prahasta, but Rāvaṇa scorns it. At last, however, he realizes that the city is attacked, sends Kumbhakarṇa and Meghanāda to their death, and at last himself issues forth to die; his fate is described by a Vidyādhara and his mate. Then enter Rāma, Sītā, Lakṣmaṇa, Vibhīṣaṇa, and Sugrīva, who all describe in turn the setting of the sun and the rise of the moon; they mount the aerial car, describe a few points of interest in the country over which they pass in their journey north, and then in turn solemnly describe the rising of the sun.

The play is typical of the later drama; its one merit is Act V where the spectacle of the river goddesses grouped round the ocean affords admirable scope for an effective tableau, but it is wholly out of harmony with dramatic action. As usual, the author is fond of the long metres, though the Vasantatilaka is his favourite; then comes the Çārdūlavikrīḍita, Çloka, Çikhariṇī, and Sragdharā, while he shows decided fondness for the Svāgatā, which occurs a few times in Rājaçekhara and the Mahānāṭaka, but is not employed in the earlier drama. The drama is superior in merit to the other very popular Rāma drama, the Jānakīpariṇaya [501] by Rāmabhadra Dīkṣita, who flourished and wrote many bad works at the end of the seventeenth century. The number of Rāma dramas already known is enormous; any one of merit appears still to be unearthed. The commentary on the Daçarūpa knows a Chalitarāma which would probably date before A.D. 1000, but its preservation is problematical. The Adbhutadarpaṇa [502] of Mahādeva, son of Kṛṣṇa Sūri, a contemporary of Rāmabhadra Dīkṣita, shows Jayadeva’s influence in that it presents the events at Lan̄kā as happening by means of a magic mirror. Its ten acts cover only the period from An̄gada’s mission to Rāvaṇa to the coronation of Rāma, and it introduces, contrary to the rule in Rāma dramas, the figure of the Vidūṣaka.

The Kṛṣṇa legend naturally attracted not less note; the Kerala prince Ravivarman, born in A.D. 1266, is the author of a Pradyumnābhyudaya. [503] The minister of Husain Shāh Rūpa Gosvāmin wrote about A.D. 1532 the Vidagdhamādhava [504] and the Lalitamādhava [505] in seven and ten Acts respectively on the theme of the loves of Kṛṣṇa and Rādhā, in pursuance of his eager support of the movement of Caitanya. For the son of Ṭodar Mall, Akbar’s minister, Çeṣa Kṛṣṇa wrote the Kaṅsavadha [506] which in seven Acts covers the ground of Bhāsa’s Bālacarita, as well as other plays on the Rāma legend. The winning of Rukmiṇī by Kṛṣṇa is the theme of the Rukmiṇīpariṇaya [507] by Rāmavarman of Travancore (1735–87), and Kṛṣṇa’s generosity to a poor friend, though in a surprising shape, is recounted by Sāmarāja Dīkṣita in the Çrīdāmacarita [508] written in A.D. 1681.

The number of dramas based on the Mahābhārata is decidedly smaller. We have not the Citrabhārata of the indefatigable Kṣemendra of Kashmir, who wrote in the middle of the eleventh century. But from that century probably are the Subhadrādhanaṁjaya and Tapatīsaṁvaraṇa [509] of the Kerala king Kulaçekharavarman, and from about A.D. 1200 the Pārthaparākrama, [510] a Vyāyoga, to be discussed hereafter, of Prahlādanadeva, a Yuvarāja, brother of Dhārāvarṣa, lord of Candrāvatī.

Of other mythological subjects we have the Harakelināṭaka [511] of the Cāhamāna king Vīsaladeva Vigraharāja, of whom we have an inscription of A.D. 1163, and whose work is partially preserved on stone. The Pārvatīpariṇaya [512] of Vāmana Bhaṭṭa Bāṇa, who wrote about A.D. 1400 under the Reḍḍi prince Vema of Koṇḍavīḍu, owes its fame to its being mistaken for a work of Bāṇa. The Haragaurīvivāha [513] of Jagajjyotirmalla of Nepal (1617–33) is interesting, because it is rather an opera than a play and the vernacular verses are its only fixed element, but this is not likely to be a primitive feature.

Of dramas with lesser personages of the saga as heroes we have the Bhairavānanda [514] of the Nepalese poet Maṇika from the end of the fourteenth century, and at least a century later the Bhartṛharinirveda [515] of Harihara, which is interesting, as it shows the popularity of Bhartṛhari; he is represented as desolated by his wife’s death, through despair on a false rumour of his own death, but, consoled by a Yogin, he attains indifference, so that, when his wife is recalled to life, neither she nor their child has any attraction for him.

Of historical drama we have little, and that of small value. The Lalitavigraharājanāṭaka, [516] preserved in part in an inscription, is a work of the latter part of the twelfth century by Somadeva in honour of Vīsaladeva Vigraharāja, the Cāhamāna. The Pratāparudrakalyāṇa [517] by Vidyānātha, inserted in his treatise on rhetoric as an illustration of the drama, celebrates his patron, a king of Warangal about A.D. 1300.

More interesting is the Hammīramadamardana, [518] written between A.D. 1219 and 1229 by Jayasiṅha Sūri, the priest of the temple of Munisuvrata at Broach. It appears that Tejaḥpāla, brother of Vastupāla, minister of Vīradhavala of Gujarāt, visited the temple, and, with the assent of his brother, complied with the request of Jayasiṅha for the erection of twenty-five golden flagstaffs for Devakulikās. As a reward Jayasiṅha not merely celebrated the brothers in a panegyric, of which a copy has been preserved along with his drama, but wrote, to please Jayantasiṅha, son of Vastupāla, the play for performance at the festival of the procession of the god Bhīmeçvara at Cambay. He claims that it includes all nine sentiments, in contrast to Prakaraṇas, exploiting the sentiment of fear, with which the audience has been surfeited.

In Act I, after the introductory dialogue between the Sūtradhāra and an actor, Vīradhavala is brought in, conversing with Tejaḥpāla, the theme being the extraordinary merits of Vastupāla as a statesman. But times are still troublous; the realm is menaced by the Turuṣka Hammīra, by the Yādava Siṅhana, [519] who may hope for aid from Saṁgrāmasiṅha, nephew of Siṅha, lord of Lāṭa. Vastupāla enters, and extols the skill of Tejaḥpāla’s son Lāvaṇyasiṅha, whose spies bring in valuable information. He then with Tejaḥpāla compliments the king, who tells them of his proposed attack on Hammīra. Vastupāla warns him against excessive valour in pursuit, and counsels him to secure the aid of the Mārvār princes. In Act II we find that the advice has been followed with success, as related by Lāvaṇyasiṅha, who has an opportunity of repaying the compliments showered on him by his uncle. The spy Nipuṇaka then enters with a tale of success; he has entered Siṅhana’s camp, passed himself off as a spy on Vīradhavala’s movements, reported that that king was making ready an attack on Hammīra, and persuaded Siṅhana to wait in the forest of the Tapti a favourable opportunity to attack Vīradhavala, after his forces have been weakened by battle with Hammīra. In the meantime Nipuṇaka’s brother Suvega, who has been serving Devapāla of Mālava, steals the best steed of his master and presents it to Saṁgrāmasiṅha, who is leading Siṅhana’s army. He then presents himself in the guise of a Tāpasa to Siṅhana, but runs away when the king goes to pay him due honour. Suspicion is thus aroused, and Suvega is seized; from his matted locks is extracted a letter addressed to Saṁgrāmasiṅha. It refers to the horse which it treats as a present from Devapāla to Saṁgrāmasiṅha, and advises him to attack Siṅhana when he has entered Gujarāt, the Mālava king engaging to assail him at that moment. Siṅhana asks Nipuṇaka to ascertain the truth about the horse, and he has no difficulty through Suvega in terrifying Saṁgrāmasiṅha into flight. We then find Vastupāla on the stage; his spy Kuçalaka reports that Saṁgrāmasiṅha menaces Cambay; Vastupāla takes precautions for its defence, and summons Bhuvanapāla, Saṁgrāmasiṅha’s minister, with whom he arrives at an understanding, assuring Vīradhavala of that prince’s aid. In Act III Vīradhavala and Tejaḥpāla hear from a spy Kamalaka the fate of Mewār’s king Jayatala; attacked by the Mlecchas, the people in despair flung themselves into wells, burned themselves in their houses or hanged themselves, until he had heartened them and discouraged the foe by announcing the approach of Vīradhavala, at whose name the Turuṣkas fled in terror. Vīradhavala extols the cleverness of Vastupāla, who has enabled him to dispose of all his enemies save the Mlecchas, and Tejaḥpāla assures him of success even against these foes. What Vastupāla is doing is shown by a conversation between two spies, Kuvalayaka and Çīghraka, which forms the entr’acte to Act IV; he has induced the Kaliph of Baghdad by a false report to instruct Kharpara Khāna to send Mīlacchrīkāra to him in chains, and he has won over various Gūrjara princes by promising them the lands of the Turuṣkas when they are defeated. We then find Mīlacchrīkāra discussing his situation with his minister Gorī Īsapa; Kharpara Khāna, on the one hand, and Vīradhavala press him hard; the king declines, however, even to think of retreat, but both king and minister flee hastily before the sound of the approach of Vīradhavala’s army and the voice of the king, who is disappointed not to capture his foes, but obeys loyally Vastupāla’s counsel against rash pursuit. Act V shows us the triumphant return of the king, his reunion with his wife Jayataladevī, and exchange of felicitations with Vastupāla and Tejaḥpāla. We learn that Vastupāla has accomplished a further feat; he has intercepted at sea Radī and Kadī, Mīlacchrīkāra’s preceptors, returning from Baghdad, and the king has been forced, in order to secure their safety, to enter into friendly relations. Finally the king enters Çiva’s temple, where the god presents himself before him, and grants him a boon; the king, however, has little that is not formal to ask, so fortunate is he in his ministers.

Neither as history nor as poetry does the work claim any high merit. Its chief aim is to provide unlimited eulogy for Vastupāla and Tejaḥpāla, and secondarily for the king who is lucky enough to have in his retinue these remarkable models of intelligence and skill. It must be admitted, however, that the author does not exactly convey the impression of the real success of his objects of admiration; the impression is rather one of minor successes and a good deal of rather obvious diplomacy. Style, Prākrit, and metres are decidedly stereotyped.

A certain number of dramas of similar type has been preserved. [520] Gan̄gādhara’s Gan̄gadāsapratāpavilāsa [521] celebrates the struggle of a Campānīr prince against Muhammed II, Shāh of Gujarāt (A.D. 1443–52). The stream, though scanty, flows continuously to the Ḍillīsāmrājya [522] of Lakṣmaṇa Sūri of 1912.

The adaptation of English drama is seen in R. Kṛṣṇamachari’s adaptation in 1892 of the Midsummer Night’s Dream in his Vāsantikasvapna. [523]

3. THE ALLEGORICAL NĀṬAKA

We cannot say whether Kṛṣṇamiçra’s Prabodhacandrodaya [524] was a revival of a form of drama, which had been practised regularly if on a small scale since Açvaghoṣa or whether it was a new creation, as may easily have been the case. At any rate, his work can be dated with precision; it was produced for one Gopāla in the presence of the Candella king Kīrtivarman of Jejākabhukti, of whom we have an inscription of A.D. 1098. Gopāla had restored, we learn, Kīrtivarman after his defeat by Karṇa of Cedi, who was living in A.D. 1042, but we can only guess that he was a general. The play in its six Acts is devoted to the defence of the Advaita form of the Viṣṇu doctrine, a combination of Vedānta with Viṣṇuism.

The supreme reality which is truly one, but is united with illusion, has a son, Spirit, who again has two children, Discrimination (viveka) and Confusion (moha); the posterity of the latter has largely gained in strength, and the position of the former and his offspring is menaced. This is told us at the outset of the drama by Love in converse with Desire; the former is sure he has done much to attain the result. The one danger is the old prophecy that there will arise Knowledge (prabodha) and Judgement or Science (vidyā) from the union of Discrimination and Theology, Upaniṣad, but these two are long since parted, and their reunion seems unlikely. The two, however, flee before the approach of the king Discrimination who is talking with Reason (mati), one of his wives; to his joy he finds that she is all in favour of his reunion with Theology which she is fain to bring about. In Act II we find Confusion in fear of overthrow; he hastens by the use of Falsity (dambha) to secure Benares as the key of the world; Egoism, grandfather of Falsity, visits the city and discovers to his joy his relative. Confusion enters in triumphant pomp his new capital; the Materialist Cārvāka supports him. But there is bad news; Duty is rising in revolt; Theology meditates reunion with Discrimination; Confusion bids his minions cast Piety, daughter of Faith (çraddhā) in prison and orders Heresy (mithyādṛṣṭi) to separate Theology and Faith. In Act III Piety appears supported by her friend Pity; she has lost her mother Faith and is in sad plight, even dreaming of suicide, from which Pity dissuades her. In Digambara Jainism, Buddhism, and Somism she searches in vain for Faith; each appears with a wife claiming to be Faith, but she cannot recognize her mother in these distorted forms. Buddhism and Jainism quarrel; Somism enters, makes them drunk with alcohol and pleasure, and takes them off in search of Piety, the daughter of Faith. In Act IV Faith in great distress tells of a danger; she and Duty have escaped from a demoness who would have devoured them but for Trust in Viṣṇu, who has saved them. She brings a message to Discrimination to start the battle. He musters his leaders, Contemplation, Patience, Contentment, and himself goes to Benares, which he describes. In Act V the battle is over; Confusion and his offspring are dead. But Spirit is disconsolate, mourning the loss of Confusion and Activity. The doctrine of Vyāsa, the Vedānta, appears, disabuses his mind of error, and he resolves to settle down as a hermit with the one wife worthy of him, Inactivity. Act VI shows us the ancestor of all Being; he is still under the influence of Confusion, who, before dying, dispatched to him spirits to confuse him, and his companion, Illusion, favours their efforts. But his friend Reasoning shows him his error, and he drives them away. Peace of heart reunites Theology and Discrimination; she tells of her mishaps with Cult and Exegesis, Nyāya and Sāṁkhya, and reveals to Being that he is the Supreme Lord. This, however, is too much for his intellect, but the difficulty is cleared away by Judgement, which is the immediate supernatural child of the reunion of the spouses. The appearance of Trust (bhakti) in Viṣṇu to applaud the result terminates the drama.

No one can doubt the cleverness with which the strife of races of one stock in the Mahābhārata and the plot and love interest of the usual Nāṭikā are combined, nor the ingenuity of fitting in the Vedānta doctrine of the Absolute and the devotion of the Vaiṣṇava creed. There is certainly some comedy in the exchange of views of Egoism and Falsity, who are perfect examples of hypocrisy, and the scenes between Buddhism, Jainism, and Somism are distinctly funny. None the less it would be idle to pretend that the play has any dramatic force. Its chief merits are its effective and stately stanzas of moral and philosophical content. Kṛṣṇamiçra is an able master of the Çārdūlavikrīḍita, his favourite metre; he has also effective Vasantatilakas, and rhymed Prākrit stanzas.

Kṛṣṇamiçra’s example has caused the production of numerous dramas of the same type, but of much less value. The Saṁkalpasūryodaya [525] of Ven̄kaṭanātha of the fourteenth century is excessively dreary, but it is better than the famous Caitanyacandrodaya [526] of Kavikarṇapūra, which is an account of Caitanya’s success, but which wholly fails to convey any suggestion of his spiritual power. He turns out as a long-winded discourser of a muddled theology, surrounded by obedient and unintelligent pupils. Two Çaiva dramas are the Vidyāpariṇayana [527] and Jīvānandana [528] written at the end of the seventeenth and beginning of the eighteenth century. They have no merits.

An example of a Jain allegory of comparatively early date is afforded by the Moharājaparājaya, [529] the conquest of King Confusion, describing the conversion of the Caulukya king of Gujarāt, Kumārapāla, to Jainism, his prohibition of the killing of animals, and his cessation from the practice of confiscating the property of persons dying without heirs in the realm, as a result of the efforts of the famous sage, Hemacandra. The author, Yaçaḥpāla, was the son of a minister Dhanadeva and Rukmiṇī, of the Moḍha Bania caste, and he served the Cakravartin Abhayadeva or Abhayapāla, who reigned after Kumārapāla from A.D. 1229–32. The play is in five Acts, and all the personages save the king, Hemacandra, and the Vidūṣaka, are personifications of qualities, good and evil. The play was performed on the occasion of the festival of the idol of Mahāvira at the Kumāravihāra, or temple erected by Kumārapāla, at Thārāpadra, where the author seems to have been governor or resident.

The play begins with an invocation in three stanzas of the Tīrthakaras, Ṛṣabha, Pārçva, and Mahāvīra, followed by the usual dialogue of the Sūtradhāra and the actress, his wife. Then are introduced Kumārapāla with the Vidūṣaka, to whom enter Jñānadarpaṇa, the Mirror of Knowledge, the spy who has been sent to report on the affairs of King Confusion. He reports the successful siege by Confusion of the city of Man’s Mind, whose king, Vivekacandra, the Moon of Discrimination, has been forced to flee accompanied by his bride Calm, and his daughter Kṛpāsundarī, in whom Compassion is incorporated, and of whose escape Kumārapāla learns with joy. The spy further reports a meeting with Kīrtimañjarī, the Garland of Fame, daughter of Good Conduct by his wife Polity, and herself wife of Kumārapāla. She complains that the king has turned from her and her brother, Pratāpa, Valour, owing to the efforts of a Jain monk. She has, therefore, sought the aid of Confusion and he is preparing to attack Kumārapāla. The spy, however, disappoints her by answering her inquiry as to the victory in the struggle by insisting that it will be Confusion that must fall. The king expresses his determination to overthrow Confusion, and the announcement of the hour of worship by bards terminates the Act.

An entr’acte then tells us through Puṇyaketu, the Banner of Merit, minister of the king, that Discrimination has arrived at the penance grove of Hemacandra, and has met the king, who has looked favourably at his daughter. The Act itself shows us in the accustomed mode the king with the jester spying on Kṛpāsundarī and Somatā, Gentleness, [530] her companion, and ultimately speaking to them; as usual the queen, Rājyaçrī, the Royal Fortune, with her companion, Raudratā, Harshness, intervenes, and the king vainly craves pardon. In Act III Puṇyaketu overcomes the obstacle to the match by a clever device; he stations one of his servants behind the image of the goddess to which the queen goes to seek the boon of the disfigurement of her rival, and thus, through apparent divine intervention, the queen is taught that by marriage with Kṛpāsundarī alone can the king overcome Confusion, and is induced to beg Discrimination for the hand of his daughter. Discrimination consents, but insists that to please his daughter the seven vices must be banished, and the practice of confiscating the property of those dying without heirs shall be abolished, terms to which the queen consents. The king also agrees, and the Act ends in his action in forgoing the property of a millionaire believed dead, who, however, opportunely turns up with a new bride in an aerial car.

In Act IV we have the fulfilment of the pledge to banish the seven vices. It first tells of the meeting of the Fortune of the City with that of the Country; the former persuades the latter to accept the tenets of Jainism. Then appears Kṛpāsundarī who is annoyed by the noises of hunting and fishing, but consoled by the appearance of the police officer, who proceeds to the business of banishing vices. Gambling, Flesh-eating, Drinking, Slaughter, Theft, and Adultery must depart, despite the plea that the king’s predecessors permitted them, and that they bring revenues to the State; Concubinage may remain if she will. In Act V the king, armed by Hemacandra with his Yogaçāstra, which is his armour, and the Vītarāgastuti, which serves to make him invisible, inspects the strong places of Confusion, and finally rendering himself visible does battle with the adversary and wins a great victory. He restores Discrimination to his capital, and pronounces a benediction in which praise of the Jina and of Hemacandra blend with the desire of close union with Kṛpā and Discrimination, and the hope that ‘my fame, allied with the moon, may prevail to dispel the darkness of Confusion’.

The play is certainly not without merits; in the main it is written in simple Sanskrit, free from the artifices which disfigure more pretentious plays, and it has also the merit of bringing vividly before us the activities of Jainism in its regulation of Kumārapāla’s kingdom, casting an interesting light on what is known from inscriptions and other sources of the history of Gujarāt. The marriage of the king with Kṛpāsundarī is recorded by Jinamaṇḍana in his Kumārapālaprabandha as taking place in A.D. 1159. Interesting details are given of the forms of gambling, including chess, and of the sects which approve slaughter. The Prākrits are, of course, deeply influenced by Hemacandra’s grammar, and include Māgadhī and Jain Māhārāṣṭrī.

4. THE NĀṬIKĀ AND THE SAṬṬAKA

The Nāṭikā differs in no real essential from a Nāṭaka save in the number of Acts, but its type continues to be rigidly restricted to that set by Harṣa. The Karṇasundarī [531] of Bilhaṇa belongs to the period about A.D. 1080–90. It seems to have been written out of compliment to Karṇadeva Trailokyamalla of Aṇhilvāḍ (1064–94), and to celebrate his wedding in advanced age with Miyāṇalladevī, daughter of the Karṇāṭa king, Jayakeçin. The story runs that the Cālukya king is to marry Karṇasundarī, daughter of the Vidyādhara king. The minister introduces her into the harem, and the king first sees her in a dream, then in a picture. He falls in love, and the queen is jealous; she breaks in on their meeting, and once assumes Karṇasundarī’s guise to present herself to the king. Next she tries to marry the king to a boy in Karṇasundarī’s clothes, but the minister adroitly substitutes the real for the feigned damsel, and the usual tidings of triumph abroad ends the play, which is a patent jumble of reminiscences of Kālidāsa, Harṣa, and Rājaçekhara.

Madana Bālasarasvatī, preceptor of the Paramāra Arjunavarman of Dhārā, wrote the Vijayaçrī or Pārijātamañjarī, [532] a Nāṭikā in four Acts, of which two are preserved on stone at Dhārā. A garland falls on the breast of Arjunavarman after his victory over the Cālukya king, Bhīmadeva II, and becomes a maiden, who is handed over to the charge of the Chamberlain. She is the daughter of the Cālukya, and the usual sequence of events leads to her wedlock with the king. There is doubtless a historical reference; the date of the play is early in the thirteenth century.

Rather less commonplace is Mathurādāsa’s effort in the Vṛṣabhānujā [533] to make a Nāṭikā of the love of Kṛṣṇa and Rādhā. He was a Kāyastha of Suvarṇaçekhara on the Ganges and Yamunā, and he uses the motive of the jealousy of Rādhā for a portrait of a lady which Kṛṣṇa has, but which turns out to be one of herself. A philosophic play is Narasiṅha’s Çivanārāyaṇabhañjamahodaya, in honour of a prince of Keonjhor.

The Saṭṭaka with its demand for Prākrit was too exacting for the average poet; we have only the Ānandasundarī [534] of the tedious Ghanaçyāma, minister of the Marāṭha Tukkojī and the Çṛn̄gāramañjarī [535] of the Almora poet Viçveçvara of the eighteenth century.

5. THE PRAKARAṆA

The example of the Mṛcchakaṭikā induced few imitations, doubtless because would-be imitators had the sense to realize the appalling difficulties of producing anything worthy of setting beside that masterpiece. There is, however, a servile redaction of the same idea as that of the Mālatīmādhava of Bhavabhūti in the Mallikāmāruta [536] of Uddaṇḍin or Uddaṇḍanātha, who has had the quite undeserved honour of being taken for Daṇḍin, but who was really no more than the court poet of the Zemindar of Kukkuṭakroḍa or Calicut in the middle of the seventeenth century. The plot follows that of Bhavabhūti’s play almost slavishly. The magician Mandākinī is eager to arrange a marriage between Mallikā, daughter of the minister of the Vidyādhara king and Māruta, son of the minister of the king of Kuntala. She arranges an interview between the two, who fall in love, but the match is disturbed by the desire of the king of Ceylon for Mallikā’s hand. Māruta’s friend Kalakaṇṭha is also in love with Ramayantikā. In Act III there is the usual temple scene, and a couple of elephants are let loose to frighten the two maidens and cause two rescues. Then Māruta is told by an emissary of the king of Ceylon that Kalakaṇṭha is dead, and is only saved from suicide by his friend’s appearance. In Act V Māruta tries conjuring up spirits; he finds Mallikā stolen by a Rākṣasa, rescues her, but is himself stolen, and finally overcomes the demon. But the marriage is to proceed, so that we have the elopement of Māruta and Mallikā, and the usual deception of the bridegroom, while the other couple follow the example set and elope also. The inevitable second abduction of Mallikā takes place, with the necessary search for her, which at last is rewarded; all are united under Mandākinī’s protection, and the king and the parents accord their sanction.

The work is metrically interesting, because the author shows a remarkable preference for the Vasantatilaka (118), and, while he is fond of the Çārdūlavikrīḍita and employs a great variety of metres, he, unlike most later authors, uses freely the Āryā in its different forms (74).

We know also of Prakaraṇas written by Jain writers. [537] Rāmacandra, pupil of the great Hemacandra, who perished under the reign of Ajayapāla, nephew and successor of Hemacandra’s patron, Kumārapāla, between A.D. 1173 and 1176, wrote, besides other plays, the Kaumudīmitrāṇanda [538] in ten Acts. The work is wholly undramatic and is really the working up in the form of a play of a number of Kathā incidents, presenting a result not unlike the plot of a modern pantomime. We first learn of a merchant’s son, Mitrāṇanda, who on the island of Varuṇa attains as wife the daughter, Kaumudī, of the head of a monastery, after he and his friend have freed from durance the Siddha king, cruelly nailed to a tree by Varuṇa. She reveals to him the fact that the ascetics are frauds, and that the fate of her husbands is normally to be flung into a pit under the nuptial chamber; in this case, however, attracted to her husband by the love charm he had received from Varuṇa, she agrees to flee with him and the treasure collected from former spouses to Ceylon. There the pair would have been in evil plight, since Mitrāṇanda is taken for a thief by the police, had he not cured from death by snake-bite the crown prince Lakṣmīpati with the aid of the magic spell given to him to revive the dead by the goddess Jān̄gulī on the occasion of his marriage. The king in gratitude entrusts the pair to the minister, who, however, is enamoured of Kaumudī and anxious to get rid of her husband. The opportunity is given by a human sacrifice which a vassal of the king wishes to offer; Mitrāṇanda is sent by the minister with a letter intended to secure his being the victim, but luckily is recognized by Maitreya, his companion, who had won the vassal’s favour by curing him by a magic herb. Kaumudī in the meantime is expelled from the minister’s house by his jealous wife, and wanders until she meets Sumitrā, daughter of a merchant, and her family; all are captured by a prince of the aborigines Vajravarman, to whom also is brought one Makaranda, who turns out to be a friend of Mitrāṇanda. A letter from Lakṣmīpati arrives to ask for the welfare of Mitrāṇanda and Kaumudī, and the latter takes advantage of it to induce Vajravarman to celebrate the marriage of Makaranda and Sumitrā. The three then have an adventure at Ekacakrā with a Kāpālika, who induces the women to go into a subterranean cave, while he asks Mitrāṇanda’s aid against a Vidyādhara, described as eager after women. He breathes life into a corpse which takes a sword in its hand, but Mitrāṇanda by a magic formula induces it to strike the Kāpālika, who disappears. In Act IX Makaranda has to establish before Lakṣmīpati his claim to his own caravan, which a certain Naradatta claims; the dispute is settled by the appearance of Vajravarman and Mitrāṇanda, while Act X disposes of the piece by uniting husband and wife in the abode of the Siddha king. The work is, of course, wholly without interest other than that presented by so many marvels appealing to the sentiment of wonder in the audience. The author refers to Murāri in such a way as to suggest to Dr. Hultzsch [539] his contemporaneity with him, but this is in no wise rendered necessary by the wording of the passage cited, and, secondly, would very badly agree with the fact that Man̄kha knew and cites Murāri about A.D. 1135, for it takes some time for an author to reach the stage of being treated as an authority.

Another Jaina composition is the Prabuddharauhiṇeya [540] of one Rāmabhadra Muni, pupil of Jayaprabha Sūri, of the school of Deva Sūri, the famous writer on Nyāya, who died in A.D. 1169. It was written for performance in a temple of Yugādideva, that is the Tīrthakara Ṛṣabha, on the occasion of a procession festival. It is in six Acts. In Act I Rauhiṇeya, who is a bold bandit, steals away Madanavatī, a married woman, while his helper, a Çabara, who speaks Māgadhī, keeps her lover at bay. In the next Act he dresses up as the mother of a youth Manoratha, and abducts him for the sake of his ornaments, terrifying the bystanders with a snake made out of rags. The next three Acts tell of the complaints of these robberies made to Çreṇika of Magadha, and the efforts of his minister Abhayakumāra to find the guilty man, ending ultimately in the arrest of the robber, who, however, stoutly maintains his innocence, though he fails in succeeding in winning his discharge. In Act VI women and musicians under the control of Bharata, a teacher of dancing, endeavour to deceive him into the belief that he is in heaven, and thus to win a confession of his misdeeds from him. But he sees through the play, for he remembers a verse which he had heard spoken by Vardhamāna Svāmin before his captivity, in which the characteristics [541] of the gods, freedom from perspiration, unfaded garlands, and feet that do not touch the ground, were set out. The miscreant thus is pronounced innocent, but, liberated, manifests his penitence by taking the king and the minister to the mount Vaibhāra, in which are the treasures he has stolen and the missing boy and woman. The topic is one handled by Hemacandra in the matter illustrating his Yogaçāstra.

Quite different is the character of the Mudritakumudacandra [542] of Yaçaçcandra, son of Padmacandra, grandson of Dhanadeva of the Dharkaṭa family, who was, it seems, the minister of a prince of Çākambharī in Sapādalakṣa. The play describes the controversy which took place in A.D. 1124 between the Çvetāmbara Jaina teacher Deva Sūri, mentioned above, and the Digambara Kumudacandra, in which the latter was silenced, whence the title of the piece.

6. THE PRAHASANA AND THE BHĀṆA

Popular as the Prahasana or farce must have been, we have in this period no example preserved certainly older than the Laṭakamelaka, [543] written in the earlier part of the twelfth century under Govindacandra of Kanyakubja by Çan̄khadhara Kavirāja. The nature of the play is characteristic; the action passes at the house of the go-between Danturā, to which come all sorts of people anxious to buy the affection of the fascinating Madanamañjarī. Comic relief is further provided by the arrival of doctor Jantuketu to extract a fish-bone from the damsel’s throat. He is perfectly incompetent and his methods absurd, but they affect their purpose indirectly, since, through laughing at his antics, the bone is happily dislodged. The bargaining of the lovers is satirized, and the marriage which is actually arranged is one between the go-between herself and a Digambara, a type doubtless sure to raise a laugh.

Of much later date is the well-known Dhūrtasamāgama [544] of Jyotirīçvara Kaviçekhara, son of Dhaneçvara, grandson of Rāmeçvara, of the family of Dhīreçvara who wrote under the Vijayanagara king Narasiṅha (A.D. 1487–1507), though a Nepalese manuscript makes his father Dhīrasiṅha and his patron Harasiṅha, who has been identified, implausibly, with Harisiṅha of Simraon (A.D. 1324). The first part of the play relates the contest of the religious mendicant Viçvanagara and his pupil Durācāra, whose names are significant, over the beautiful Anan̄gasenā; the pupil has every reason to complain, since it was he who saw the fair one and confided his love to his master, who meanly seeks to secure the damsel’s favour in lieu. She insists on the matter being referred to arbitration, and in the second part the Brahmin Asajjāti, Impure Race, an expert at dealing with delicate matters of casuistry, undertakes the duty, and wisely decides to impound the damsel for himself, though, while he is deliberating, his Vidūṣaka seeks to secure the prize for himself. The case over, the barber Mūlanāçaka, Root Destroyer, turns up to demand payment of a debt from Anan̄gasenā. She refers him to Asajjāti, who pays him with his pupil’s purse; he then demands the barber’s care; the latter ties him up and leaves him to be rescued by the Vidūṣaka.

Very popular is Jagadīçvara’s Hāsyārṇava. [545] The king, Anayasindhu, Ocean of Misrule, is devastated because all goes ill in his realm: Caṇḍālas make shoes, not Brahmins, wives are chaste, husbands constant, and the good respected. He asks his minister where best he can study the character of his people, and is advised to go to the house of the go-between, Bandhurā, who presents to him her daughter, Mṛgān̄kalekhā. The court chaplain enters with his pupil, and they are attracted to the damsel. A comic doctor is called in for Bandhurā, who feels ill; his remedies are worse than the disease, and he has to run away. A series of other figures are introduced. Then a barber, who has cut a patient; the latter demands damages, but is non-suited; then comes the chief of police, Sādhuhiṅsika, Terror to the Good, the comic general Raṇajambuka, the astrologer Mahāyātrika, who indicates as the time for a journey the conjunction of stars presaging death. The king disappears at the end of the first Act; the second deals with the efforts of the chaplain and his pupil to obtain the damsel; but rivals come in the form of another man of religion and his pupil; finally the two older reprobates secure the damsel, while the boys content themselves with Bandhurā, who is delighted with the turn of events. But the celebration of these double marriages is left to another holy man, Mahānindaka, who also desires to share the hetaera. The date of the piece is unknown, as is that of the Kautukasarvasva [546] of Gopīnātha Cakravartin, written for the autumn festival of the Durgāpūjā in Bengal. It is more amusing and less vulgar than most of these pieces; the king, Kalivatsala, who is licentious, addicted to every kind of vice, and a lover of hemp juice, ill-treats the virtuous Brahmin Satyācāra, who finds that everything is wrong in the state, even the people being valiant in oppression, skilled in falsehood, and persevering only in contempt for the pious. The general is valiant: he can cleave a roll of butter with his blade, and trembles at the approach of a mosquito. Play is made with the immoralities recounted in the Purāṇas; the objections of the Ṛṣis to vice are put down to the fact that they censured in others what they themselves were too old to enjoy. The king proclaims free love, but becomes himself involved in a dispute over a hetaera. He is summoned back to the queen, which so annoys the hetaera that every one hastens to console her, and the king, obligingly to please her, banishes all Brahmins from the realm.