1. Essays in Sanskrit Criticism K Krishnamoorthy

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ESSAYS IN SANSKRIT

CRITICISM

NADAR

ESSAYS

IN

SANSKRIT CRITICISM

41822

By DR. K. KRISHNAMOORTHY, M.A., B. T., Ph. D. Reader in Sanskrit and Head of the Department, Karnatak University, Dharwar

WITH A FOREWORD by PROFESSOR ARMANDO MENEZES

7.1 808.1 891,204 Kri

KARNATAK UNIVERSITY

DHARWAR

1964

Publisher: S. S. Wodeyar, M. A., L.L. B. Registrar, Karnatak University, Dharwar.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENT *

The Karnatak University, Dharwar, is grateful to the University Grants Commission, New Delhi for the 50% financial assistance towards the publication of this work under the scheme of publi- cation of Learned Research Works (Humanities).

S. S. Wodeyar Registrar

BY WAY OF FOREWORD

I will not be excessively apologetic for introducing a collection of erudite essays in a field unfamiliar to me- though I do feel, just a wee bit, like Ruth when she stood in tears amid the alien corn. Also, like her, sick for home. It is no use pretending I am not sick for home-for those dim, and yet how splendid, halls hung with the cloudy trophies of a dead, immortal past, in which one's best youth was dandled. And yet, the only Sanskrit I ever knew was Latin; and something, perhaps, of the glory that was Greece, though without its language. But, as the Greek dramatist so happily said, the gods are to each other not unknown: there is a secret fellowship that spans time and space to make all the classics of the world one kin. It is an advantage, surely, when you have to write a foreword, not to be too far, but also not too near. So one gets the right perspective. And perspective is all there is to it. The fascination of Dr. Krishnamoorthy's essays: published in this volume is that he is doing here something which, to my knowledge, has not yet been done, nor is. being even attempted, in our country: an effort to under- stand Sanskrit critical concepts and attitudes against the background of Western thought. This naturally involves severe intellectual discipline and, above all, honesty. Much. ignorance has been perpetuated by hit-or-miss renderings. of Sanskrit terms into English. Translation is always, at its best, a betrayal; but this is especially so when creative literature is what is being translated. In the translation of

X

·critical literature, the task cannot be so desperate, provided care is taken to get the fullest possible sense of the terms involved, in both languages. Oftener than not, a complete correspondence is not to be found, the parallel-if one may indulge in a geometrical solecism-is only tangential, and the result is a simultaneous obscuration of both terms.

Dr. Krishnamoorthy has tried to keep clear of this trap. His renderings are usually tentative, generally con- fining themselves to that aspect of the original which is most relevant to the context, neither shirking the issue nor claiming completeness. None knows better than he that, while etymology helps in rescuing a word from later accre- tions born of the vagaries of usage, still a word is not just its etymology, any more than the author of King Lear is just the son of Mary Arden and John Shakespeare.

The originality of these essays lies in that most of them could have only been written by a man who knows a great deal more than Sanskrit; one who can switch fluently from one literature to another; one who can illuminate knotty points in Sanskrit criticism by intelligent reference to English critics, even the very modern, like Eliot and Richards.

As a lover of Sanskrit, but especially of that branch of its critical literature which is concerned with Poetics, Dr. Krishnamoorthy is particularly anxious to save our classics from the thousand-and-one commentaries that over- lay and overweigh them. To isolate, and affirm, beauty as a value, to resolve the entire question of criticism into one of good taste versus bad taste, and do it, not by fond, arbitrary fancy, but with the aid of authority intelligently

xi

and sympathetically interpreted, is a heroic effort to resur- rect a buried city; to make us see, as the author suggests in his Introduction, the wood in the trees. And few scholars have, to my knowledge, better qualifications for this task than Dr. Krishnamoorthy. Like the work of his own favourite critic, Anandavardhana, these essays constitute, not a commentary, but a discovery.

DHARWAR, I-I-1964 Armando Menezes

PREFATORY NOTE

The essays here collected deal mostly with several aspects of ancient Indian critical theory and practice. The collection might appear uneven since they have been written over a period of several years; many of them have appeared in different periodicals. What brings them together into something like a unity is, I hope, their common concern with interpretation of Indian literary ideas. They return again and again to certain common concepts of critical judgment. Nearly all of them treat of Sanskrit poetry and drama in some aspect or other. Since the study of poetry is a single pursuit, I hope that they may be found to have some connection with each other and to display something of a point of view on matters in which most lovers of poetry are interested. In modern discussions of critical theory, the Sanskrit theorists are, more often than not, ignored; and it is hoped that these essays may show how their ideas do not merit neglect even today. The word 'criticism' in the title is used broadly to include principles of literary theory and is not used in the narrow sense of practical criticism. Sanskrit criticism believes in poetic values which can be considered in their own right, and their discussions involve something more than an account of personal likes and dislikes. It has been my aim to make my account of these as much of interest to the general reader as to the specialist. I should express my thanks to the Editors of The Aryan Path, The Indian Historical Quarterly, The Poona Orientalist,

xiv

and the Karnatak University Journal for the courtesy of permission to reprint the essays first published by them. I am grateful to Professor Armando Menezes for adding to the value of this book by contributing his Foreward. I am extremely obliged to Dr. D.C. Pavate, Vice-Chancellor of the Karnatak University, for encouraging me by permit- ting this work to be released as a University publication. My thanks are also due to Sri C.S. Kanavi, Director of Publi- cations, and his courteous staff for assistance in seeing the book through the Press.

KARNATAK UNIVERSITY DHARWAR K. Krishnamoorthy January 4, 1964.

CONTENTS

Foreword ... ix Preface xiii. I Introduction 1. II Sanskrit Criticism and Alankāra 20 III The nature of meaning in poetry-an Indian approach ... 37 IV Bhatta Tauta's defence of poetry ... 46 V Tradition and Experiment in Sanskrit Poetry 51 VI The key-terms of Sanskrit literary criticism reconsidered 58: VII "Rasa" as a canon of literary criticism 64 VIII The Riddle of "Rasa" in Sanskrit Poetics 74 IX The concept of Suggestion in Sanskrit Poetics ... 96 X The concept of Rasabhasa in Sanskrit Literary theory ... 114 XI A novel view of Mahimabhatta: on the place of metre in poetry 137 XII The doctrine of dosas in Sanskrit Poetics 145 XIII The Sanskrit Conception of a poet ... 167 XIV Sanskrit critics on poetic imagination 187 XV The Office of the Sanskrit poet in theory and practice 199- XVI Indian definitions of poetry 208 XVII The Essence of poetry ... 224 XVIII Ruyyaka's views on the nature of poetic beauty 230

XIX The Golden Age of Sanskrit drama ... ... 241

XX Modern Sanskrit drama ... 247 XXI A new play by Aśvaghoșa? ... 260 XXII The message of the Sanskrit epics-an early estimate by Ānandavardhana 268. ... XXIII Indian Poetics and T. S. Eliot's 'Three voices of poetry' ... ... 274- XXIV Some thoughts on Sanskrit literature 281 XXV The Contribution of Karnataka to Sanskrit literature 294- ... XXVI The date of Ajitasena's Alankāra-cintāmaņi 307 Index 321

Errata 327

I

INTRODUCTION

Most modern accounts of ancient Indian poetry and poetic theory lay emphasis on the stereotyped nature of its critical rules and canons, with their unending divisions and subdivisions. Historical surveys of the categories of Sanskrit poetics, more often than not, miss the wood for the trees. It would appear as though the ancient Indian writers had an obsession for labels and classifications, whether of figurative turns or character types, of literary genres or poetic excellences. On fundamental issues like the nature and function of poetry, its ways and means, it would seem we are given some ready-made catchwords or sūtras . which are liable to be interpreted far too mechanically. Even granting that this view is all right as far as it goes, some might feel that it does not go far enough. For the extant treatises on the subject are all posterior to the richly creative period of Sanskrit literature, which saw the rise of master-poets like Vālmīki and Kālidāsa, Aśvaghosa and Bharavi; and they are couched in a style avowedly aphoristic, allowing no room for any general discussion of principles. But this cannot be taken as sufficient to warrant the conclusion that Indians were devoid of doctrines and points of view which are televant for all time in criticism. The achievemeet of a Välmiki or a Kālidāsa cannot be explained solely in terms of the later rules, however detailed; their works point to a body of sound literary and critical principles shared by poets and critics alike in their time. These general critical ideas have to be gathered from stray hints dropped by the poets themselves in their works, and from the hints supplied by

2 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

unconventional writers like Rajasekhara, author of the interesting Kāvyamīmāmsā (c. 900 A.D.) Rājasekhara, for instance, tells us how there were reputed literary critics in important cities like Ujjayini and Pätalīputra, and how they adjudged the merits of poets like Kalidasa, Bhartr-mentha and Bharavi. How could they have discharged their function satisfactorily unless they were sure of the grounds of criticism? It is difficult for us to conceive that they took a verse at random from any given work and pronounced judgement on the author's relative merits solely on grounds of technical skill. If we are to believe Rājasekhara, they seem to have had a very sharp critical acumen, in so far as they had a well-defined scale of assessment to measure not only poetic success but also poetic failure, a scale admitting of more than a dozen precise categories of poets-good, bad and indifferent-the highest being that of 'Kaviraja'. That well-organised critical opinion was an established fact in the time of Kalidasa is clearly evidenced by the modest tone adopted by him in the prefaces to some of his poems and plays. If he calls himself a dullwit aspiring after poetic fame (mandah kaviyasahprarthī) in his Raghuvamša, he openly states in the prologue to his best play that he would be loth to take pride in his dramatic skill until the learned critics were satisfied with the performance of his play; and ends with the note: "Let the words of the learned flourish!" (sarasvatī śrutamahatāmn mabīyatām). Who are these 'learned' ones that Kālidāsa cannot forget whenever he starts or closes one of his works? All too easily, one might take them to be identical with the pandits at the Court, learned in the several disciplines of thought in general and in the rules of rhetoric in particular.

Introduction 3

But it can only be a prejudiced view. That Kalidasa was addressing his works to a select band of 'experts' at the court is a modern canard. If it were true to any extent, the modest poet would not have mustered his courage to tell them to their faces that they would be a pack of fools if they underrated him, in comparison with the older playwrights, simply because he was new. Why should he imagine that the 'experts' had to be taught the first lesson in critical judgement, that everything old need not be gold, or vice versa? Besides, he adds in the same breath that the theatre provides uniform entertainment to an audience whose tastes are myriad. We might, therefore, infer that enlightened critical opinion of literary critics was a factor which even Kalidasa could not ignore; and that he shows due deference to the good critics, while having a dig at the bad ones. There is no reason to assume that critics were confined to royal courts. For aught we know Kālidāsa might have addressed critics all over India. Nor is Kālidāsa a stray instance of this phenomenon. Extolling good taste and running down bad taste became almost the main theme of the conventional prefaces of every Sanskrit writer, from Bäna onwards. Though the remarks offered by the poets themselves on this question may be dismissed as meagre and insufficient to build up anything like a structure of the broad critical principles prevalent in India, we cannot ignore the fundamental fact that the critics with taste alone were honoured and looked upon as proper judges of poetry; not scholars or grammarians. Rules of technique were there, of course, for the guidance of poets and critics alike. But these never meant underat- ing of genius in the poet or of taste in the critic. Even the 'rules', often openly, did concede this first premiss.

4 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

We have been labouring at some length what is a commonplace today, because one of the major functions of criticism is to highlight the workings of genius on the one hand and of taste on the other. They have an affinity with each other inasmuch as they do not admit of a scientific analysis and are to some extent a mystery. They are also alike in their concern for aesthetic value. If genius creates beauty, taste recognises it; it is a full circle. The Indians would go to the extent of affirming the essential identity of genius and taste, because of identity in aesthetic experience. The difference is only in respect of function: one is creative, the other is not; that is all. What is the value of aesthetic experience? Why should the poet create and the critic appreciate? In ancient India, these questions did not appear to require any special pleading or elaborate discussion, because the poet's status was traditionally the most honoured in Indian life. Unlike any other country in the ancient world, India alone had a heritage of hoary poetry, viz., the Veda, which had come to be looked upon as infallible scripture in guiding man's life here and hereafter. The later lawbooks, like that of Manu, which derived their authority from these, were also poetic in their own way. And the vast body of epic literature, too, was at once secular poetry and sacred ethics and philosophy. Even in classical times, poetry was expected to present an integrated unity of the good, the true and the beautiful, though the last came to receive a more pointed attention. Even the highest kings and philosophers aspired after poetic glory as the only thing immortal in a mortal world. Against this background, one need not wonder at the claims made on behalf of poetry by the ancient Indian theorists. Their claim that,

Introduction 5

through poetry, all the known values of life can be realised, and delectably at that, is not an idle apology or a wild exaggeration when applied to the best and greatest poems of antiquity. A poem, say, the Ramayana, is ranked great not merely because of its aesthetic value, but also because of its ethical and religious or spiritual value. So the very name for the epic genre which came to be devised by the theorists was 'mahakavya' (great poem). Similarly 'great' plays (nataka) in India were required to be based on epic themes. Only when a play or a poem makes no pretence to 'greatness', are aesthetic criteria alone enough to assess its value. Indian criticism is not prepared to recognise a poem as 'great' solely on aesthetic grounds if it is ethically hollow, if its philosophy of life is not profound, if its extent is not vast. Such a work is recognised as precious poetry (muktaka) but only under the head of 'light' literature (laghu-kavya). This is the region of lyrics and epigrams, comedies and burlesques. The epic themes cover the whole of the human situation in all its variety, and the epic characters are semi-divine in stature. The epic imagination endows life and significance even to inanimate nature, and the treatment is throughout ideal. The poetic manner or vein (varnana) is just as important as the poetic matter. We step into a world altogether different from the world of stark reality, and yet appealing to our hearts as more real than reality. The heart accepts the world of art which our reason might reject. The Indian mind, with its love of the mystic, has always given to poetic or imaginative truth a place higher than scientific truth. Both the mystic philosopher and the epic poet are 'seers' (rsi); they see deeper into the life of things, and in

6 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

this they are alike. The difference lies only in the methods adopted by them to embody their vision, While the philosopher chooses the method of logical analysis and of abstract speculation, the poet prefers the synthetic method of concretising the abstract. It is only in this ideal sense that we can fully appreciate the traditional equation of the poet and the seer (nanrsih kavirityuktam). The court-poets who revelled in wordy conceits to please their kings do not merit any comparison with the maha-kavi-s who were rsi-s. They were only practitioners of the poetic trade, and not at all, in the true sense of the word, poets. The Indian explanation of the vital principle of unity underlying 'great' poems and plays is the much misunder- stood theory of 'rasa'. It has something to do with mental states and emotions, but is not, as often made out, identical with them. The theory is not merely psychological; it embodies the Indian philosophy of aesthetics. Harmony or propriety (aucitya) is of its very essence, and it should be interpreted as a principle of harmony between various factors involved in a literary work. It is not a ready-made scheme which can be indiscriminately applied to every work claiming to be poetry. The popular practice of regarding every love-song as an instance of Śrngara-rasa, and every limerick as an instance of hasya-rasa is jejune. It is only after making sure that, in a given work, there is aesthetic appeal or rasa that one can think of particularising it as this or that. Anyway, it must be realised that the principle of rasa has different applications in the different literary forms. In the drama, where its demand is uppermost, it becomes the sole criterion for the depiction of characters and for the development of plot. The principles of unity of action and consistency of

:

Introduction 7

character derive directly from the principle of rasa. In the epic, because of its vast dimensions, these principles get diluted, but do not disappear. They only become adjusted to the claims of variety in character and incident. This is true, by and large, of the prose romances also. In the lyric, where there is no variety and no plot or character- development, the self-same principle of rasa assumes a new form of harmony between mental states and moods through the central core of a dominant emotion underlying them all. It also embraces the assessment of the contribution made to the rasa by figures of speech and qualities of style. The older theorists were wont to confine the principle of rasa to drama and the lyric; hence it could only be one of the several aspects of beauty (alankara) in a full-fledged epic. But the new critics headed by Anandavardhana brilliantly pleaded for an unrestricted application of it to great epics also, on the ground that it was the sole aesthetic principle. This is a principle which pinpoints the poet's vision of, and emphasis upon, a dominant quality pervading the human universe, and which gives to the work of great poets that unique universality, tantamount to a 'criticism of life'. The Indian rasa-theorists speak of this as sādhāranīka- rana; and it is of the very essence of rasa. The poet's raw emotion, qua emotion, has no importance in poetry. It is only when it is impersonalised and universalised by the impact of the poet's genius that we have rasa. It is the unique pratibha (intuition) of the poet which accomplishes the miracle of giving to the particular the weight and force of the universal. We might conclude that rasa, as under- stood by the Indians, stands not only for the aesthetic value of emotions, but also for their universal significance

8 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

which is the sine qua non of literature. So interpreted, highly sensuous descriptions of amours will cease to be instances of srngara-rasa in literature; spectacular and sensa- tional melodrama will not provide instances of dramatic vTra-rasa; they will be only caricatures of the true rasa, though medieval Indian theorists like Rudrabhatta and Bhänudatta laboured under this misunderstanding. Among writers of Sanskrit poetics too, we have to distinguish, then, between pedants and connoisseurs, Jastrins and sabrdayas, the best representative of the latter being Anandavardhana with his sound principle of rasa-dhvani. It was he that worked out in full the practical implications of the aesthetic principle of rasa in every literary genre, and who reinter- preted all the earlier categories of poetics in the light of this vital principle. It was left to his able commentator, Abhinavagupta, to give rasa a strong metaphysical founda- tion. But for him, aesthetic experience (rasa) could not have claimed an independent and equal status with the other accepted values of truth and goodness. After him, artists could say that the contemplation of the beautiful (rasa) was as much a stepping stone to the summum honum (moksa) as that of the good (dharma) and the true (tattva-jnana). A full consideration of the general principle of rasa will remove the charge that the Indians neglected aesthetics in their fondness for ethics and metaphysical speculation. They achieved a synthetic harmony between the three fields, unknown in the history of other countries. All their canons of propriety and decorum follow from their aesthetic principle of rasa; all their categories of rhetoric, stylistic devices and figura- tive turns hinge upon this vital principle. Hence it is that the Indians talk of rasa as the very 'soul' (atman)

Introduction 9

of poetry. The tendency of studying the other concepts in isolation from rasa is both mistaken and misleading. As regards the structure of poetry, Indian thinkers, both old and new, are agreed on an organic view. They strive to stress the sahitya or organic unity between content (artha) and form (Jabda) and would frown upon their dichotomy. The very name of criticism in Sanskrit is sāhitya-sastra ('a study of the unity of content and form') of alankara-sastra ('a study of beauty in literature'). With these facts before us, we cannot make the sweeping generali- sation that the Sanskrit writers are proficient only in hair-splitting distinctions and tedious tabulations of 'orna- ments' and 'qualities' of poetry, and that they are deficient in the synthetic outlook. It becomes the duty of the modern interpreter to take pains to bring out the underly- ing logic of the rules, whatever their differences in detail. It might be very true that in a decadent age, in the hands of pedants, the rules might have degenerated into mechani- cal conventions and allowed the unimaginative critic to judge by a ready-made yardstick. Nonetheless, the essen- tial soundness of the philosophy behind the rules need not be impugned. We have observed that the poets enjoyed a high social reputation in India. They were almost ranked as prophets; royal honours were showered on them. The socially respected ideas of morality and religion, besides-intellectual attainments of a high order, were naturally expected of great poets along with their primary capacity to give aesthetic delight. That is why, in the traditional require- ments of a poet, though the first place is reserved for intuition, wide learning and a sound philosophy are also included as essential factors. Untiring practice of the tools

10 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

of the trade under a competent guide is the third require- ment laid down for ensuring the best results. The need for such a training must have been acutely present in a classical language like Sanskrit, with its complicated grammar, many-sided vocabulary, countless metres, and numerous figures of speech. We have no reason to conclude that every student was schooled in poetic composition as an essential part of his education, irrespective of his taste. In fact, the primacy of intuition stressed by the theorists gives the lie to any such conclusion. Sanskrit poets and critics are fond of comparing the world of poetic creation with the universe of God's creat- ion. In the comparison, it is the world of poetry that strikes as superior. The poet is a free creator, freer even than God; for God, according to Indian thought, is conditioned by the karma of the souls to be created. The world of God allows room for the ugly as well as the beautiful, for pain as well as joy. Not so the poet's world. It is one of unmixed beauty and unalloyed joy. An anonymous Prakrit poet makes Sarasvati, the goddess of poetry, proud of her new residence in the young poet's tongue in preference to that of her old husband, Brahma. Another poet waxes eloquent over the boundless sweep of the poet's imagination that can embrace all the fourteen worlds. In such a view, which makes the poetic world not an analogue or parallel of God's creation, but one more perfect and autonomous, it is a homely maxim that poets are exempt from restraint (nirankusa kavayab). The checks and restraints detailed by the theorists could in no wise limit the free play of the poet's imagination; they were only calculated to direct his attention to the incidental pitfalls involved in offence to grammar or prosody, decorum or scholarship. The typical

Introduction 11

Sanskrit theorist, exacting purist as he was, was not one without his share of aesthetic sensibility. He would be ready to ignore even palpable lapses and downright errors in master-poets, provided their power was impressively uni- form. This is illustrated in the well-known Sanskrit provision for poetic licence (mahakavi-prayoga).1 There is also the idea of impermanent 'faults' (anityadosa), i.e., 'faults' which become positive graces in exceptional circumstances involving a sudden outburst of emotion. All this goes to prove that the Indian critics, believing as they did in a rational theory of poetry, did not hold poetry itself to be entirely rational. What, precisely, is the Indian idea of artistic beauty? The question is more easily raised than answered, because Indian theorists do not pose the question at all in this particular way. There are different levels of beauty-beauty in the material handled, beauty in the manner of handling it, beauty in nature, and beauty imagined. The Indian thinkers are concerned, in their classifications of subjects fit for poetic treatment, styles, qualities and figures of speech, only with the first two which are, by implication, supposed to explain beauty. This analysis of technique down to the utmost detail is a singular achievement of the ancients,

1 Cf. Some lucky Licence answer to the full Th'intent propos'd, that Licence is a rule, Thus Pagasus, a nearer way to take, May boldly deviate from the common track; Great wits sometimes may gloriously offend And rise to faults true Critics dare not mend; From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art,. - Alexander Pope, Essay on Criticism, Il. 146-155.

12 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

though it certainly makes difficult reading today. Most of the theorists were themselves poets of a high order, and it is their speciality that they have given concrete illustrations of every device and grace defined by them, with examples of their own composition. Yet, it is too much to believe that any 'free' and inspired poet would consciously follow these rules while writing a poem. The truth seems to be that, both in content and form, a poet did achieve beauty which could be intellectually analysed only after the com- position was completed. The rules are like the skeletons of such analyses. Thcy relate primarily to technique and should not be confused with the broad question at issue, viz., 'what is beauty?'. But something like an answer to this question is indicated in connection with the principle of rasa; for, the subjects deemed fit for poetic treatment are detailed primarily from this angle. The subjects not only include pleasant ones, like victory and revelry, but also painful ones, like bereavement. Among the rasas them- selves, we have mutually opposed ones, like Srngāra (the erotic) and Santa (the tranquil), Hasya (the comic) and Karuna (the pathetic), Vīra (the heroic) and Bhayanaka (the frightful), Adbhuta (the wonderful) and Bibhatsa (the revolting). This open acceptance of the painful as well as the pleasurable within the ambit of the beautiful, is a measure of the depth of Indian thought on this question. The beauty even of ugliness is a rasa,-bībhatsa. The beauty of passive 'calm', too, is a rasa,-santa. In such a compre- hensive theory of beauty, we catch glimpses of the unique power of poetry which can, when handled by genius, transform anything and everything to beauty. Artistic beauty, according to Indian theory, is something different, not only in degree but in kind, from natural beauty and

Introduction 13

from the human beauty of form. Poetry can distil aesthetic joy from the most unexpected things in the natural world and in the world of human relations. Nay more, it can create an altogether new world of beauty undreamt of by ordinary men. This is the world of myths and metaphors, fancies and symbols. Though by ordinary standards they are untrue, they possess an aesthetic value or truth. Apart from this general idea of beauty, we have, in the works of Sanskrit master-poets, hints of random attempts at explaining the nature of beauty. Talking of feminine beauty, Kālidasa tells us that the Creator must have as- sembled the best parts of the different things of beauty in the universe, to create Parvati. This theory of selection from nature as the secret of constructive beauty is again seen in Kalidasa's description of Urvaśī. He observes that such an old fogey as Brahma, deadened to aesthetic sensi- bility and drooling out the sacred texts, could never be credited with such a beautiful creation as Urvasi; perhaps some one else, more aesthetically-minded, the Moon or Cupid or Spring, was the real creator! Similar ideas are found in his account of the love-lorn heroine in his Meghaduta, and we would not be wrong in concluding that artistic beauty, as Kalidāsa conceives it, consists of an intelligent selection by the artist of beautiful details from several objects and their artistic re-arrangement. Traces of a similar idea can be detected in the Sanskrit works on rhetoric. Words described by grammar and meanings noted in the dictionary are not aesthetic as such; the poet shows his aesthetic sensibility, first, in his selection of words and meanings, and next, in the re-arrangement of these with an eye to their aesthetic value. He is guided by the principles of euphony and assonance in his devices of

14 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

rhyme and alliteration. To invest his idea with a striking quality and a fresh charm, he will utilize the various figures based on the principles of metaphor, comparison, contrast, analogy, irony, hyperbole, symmetrical order, etc. His sense of rhythm is evidenced in his selection of metrical patterns. If we remember that the act of poetic creation is more intuitional than intellectual, we cannot fall into the error of regarding the figures and measures as external embellishments. They can be rightly looked upon as as- pects of organic form. The Indian theorists declare that the unifying principle underlying all this technique is the principle of atisaya or 'idealisation'. The poet deliberately departs from the normal and the natural; he unmakes and re-makes the given reality, he fancies and idealises -all to achieve the goal of creating beauty out of human experience. Poetry has both a logic and a magic about it. The logic of poetry (kavyanyaya) is the very reversal of the normal logic; it is called alankara. Its magic is felt by all, and yet it baffies analysis; it is called rasa. Thus, alankāra and rasa are the two magnetic poles in Sanskrit criticism, which appear opposed to each other at first sight and confuse even specialists, since both are given simultaneously in the Indian explanations of poetic beauty. In point of fact, they are complementary, and not contradictory, con- cepts. When the poetic art is viewed from the artist's angle, we get alankāra as the aesthetic principle. But that is not enough. There is the critic's response, which is not art, but only experience of art. From the angle of the reader's experience of beauty, we have the principle of rasa. One is the means, the other is the end. One answers the question 'how?', the other answers the question 'why?'. But the two are really bound up with each other so inti-

Introduction 15

mately that one cannot dissociate them in criticism. Yet, the principle of rasa is more comprehensive in its range and can explain the poet's experience better than the principle of alankāra. We can rightly ask at this stage: If rasa is primarily the aesthetic experience of the cultivated critic, what is the nature of the poet's experience itself? Is it also rasa?' It is here that we begin to feel the tyranny of words. The Sanskrit theorist would answer that in a sense it is, and in a sense it is not. Rasa is nothing more than aesthetic joy; hence the creative poet must perforce be credited with it. 'If a pot is not full, it cannot overflow' (yāvat pūrņo na caitena tavannaiva vamatyamum). If this is not conceded, the felt experience of the critic himself would go unexplained. Rasa is said to transcend the limits of time and space and to be as pure and infinite as the joy of the Lord Creator himself. In this sense, the creative urge or inspiration itself can be regarded as rasa. It is its very nature tò command the services of alankara without any special intellectual straining; and it lasts as long as the mood of creativity lasts. But the poet himself might appreciate his own work at a later stage after creating it. This is also rasa, but in another sense. We might distinguish the two as joy of creation and joy of appreciation; but there is only one word rasa in Sanskrit for, both. The first is a joy wholly imaginative and synthetic while the second has also room for the intellectual and analytical faculties. The problem becomes trickier when we are faced with the differing testimonies of both poets and critics regarding their experience. There are poets who say that creation for them is a relief from pain. There are connoisseurs who aver that the best music or poetry induces an experience of sorrow in them. Kalidāsa himself has

=,.

16 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

recorded in his masterpiece, the effect of a love-song on the hero, who was apparently unperturbed and cheerful until he heard the sweet song. The love-song had suddenly made him moody.2 The Indian explanation, also hinted at by Kalidasa himself, is first, that it is abnormal and secondly, that it is due to revived memories of a deeply buried past, extending into past births. The theory of rasa provides for such exceptions by stating that the ideal experience of rasa is one which completely disallows any intrusion from one's personal life, whether one be poet or critic. But in actual practice, the intrusions are perhaps unavoidable, and hence the proverbial variations in critical judgement. The acid test of beauty proposed by another Sanskrit poet is 'ever- new winsomeness' (ksane ksane yannavatāmupaiti|tadeva rūpam ramanīyatayāb/)8 Unfading charm, or the abiding value of poetry, can be adequately explained only in terms of rasa, or impersonal, disinterested, aesthetic joy. Finally, a word about the precise relation between poetic vision and rasa. The poetic world, as we have seen, is not a copy of the world of reality, but a parallel world of beauty answering only to the laws of imagination. To succeed, it must present us with a complex and yet a whole experience. Bits of experience, however skilfully presented, cannot be aesthetically satisfying. The secret of the whole literary process lies in the unfathomed depth of the human personality; and Sanskrit critics try to unravel the secret in their own way. Just as the Vedanta philosophers indicate

2 Cf. 'I am never merry when I hear sweet music'-Jessica. -Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, V. I. 70. 3 Cf. 'Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety'. -Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra, i.3,57.

Introduction 17

the Absolute in a negative way, indicating successively what it is not (neti, neti), so do rasa-theorists indicate the nature of rasa by excluding many things from the realm of poetry. In our daily parlance, we are familiar with words and their meanings. We are aware of referential or denotative. meanings, figurative meanings, connotative meanings with emotional overtones, contextual meanings and even struc- tural meanings of whole sentences. All these meanings are more or less definite or precise, the words and sentences. serving as precise signs or symbols to communicate the intended meanings. Poetry has room for all this, but is. essentially something plus; and that is rasa. In abstract thinking, as in mathematics, we are familiar with the phenomenon of signs remaining almost unrecog- nised as signs, and serving as promoters of ideas and relations between ideas. Thinking is not so much re- ferential as relation-finding. If we can also call complex thought 'meaning', such meaning is the direct result, not of word-signs and symbols, but of the meanings of the word- signs. This shows how, like words, ideas or meanings too can become symbols of further meaning. In poetry, too, we have a similar phenomenon, though, unlike mathe- matics, poetry deals with concrete and emotive symbols. Here also, the referential and other familiar meanings of words and symbols cease to act as ends in themselves; they in their turn become means for further ideas and meanings. The first meaning itself becomes the symbol for a second meaning, the second for a third. In this associative series of meanings, all are necessary, but only as subserving the last, of which alone the critic is sure. But the magic of poetry is such that the last meaning strikes us as though it were as direct as the first itself. And all the partakers in

:

18 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

the series of meanings are charged with feeling. Yet, none of them, except the last, are exclusively important, and it is this alone which is truly rasa. Sensuous images, associative thoughts, emotional overtones, turns of expression-all contribute in an unanalysable way to the totality of the final, aesthetic, experience. A trained reader can pass unhindered, from the mere words to this final experience at one stroke as it were. This whole process is well brought home to us in the theory of dhvani, or 'suggestion', propounded by Ānandavardhana. 'Suggestion' is the name given by him to the peculiar power or potency inhering in all the elements constituting poetry. Criticism, in his hands, becomes, not a commentary, but a discovery. The theory proves how poetry is much more than a re-arrangement of materials already given. Corresponding to the poet's joy of creation, we have in this theory, the critic's joy of discovery. It also brings out how the poet's vision must take a full view of human life, at its most significant level, before it can succeed in the task of creation. If such is the ultimate nature of rasa, we can now see how the chief passions of men provide the foundation for their characters and govern their lives. Such passions as love and heroism, in their variety and complexity, will serve as proper themes or subjects for literary artists. In Sanskrit, the word rasa is also used in a secondary sense, to denote these poetic themes. Theorists are aware that this is a loose usage, and do not forget to add that, technically, emotions as themes of a literary work are only sthayibhāvas (enduring emotions) and not rasas. Much of the confusion among Sanskrit writers of a later date is due to their neglect of this vital distinction. According to the theory of dhvani, all emotive compositions are not poetry; only

Introduction 19

such emotive compositions can become poetry as result in unmistakable rasa; and rasa has its own laws of propriety. In such a scheme, though the ideal poetry is one culminating in rasa, actual poems may often fall short of that high standard and yet be counted as successful poems. This is poetry of the second order, and its examples invariably indicate that the poet's talent has outrun his genius. Here we have the subordination of suggested mean- ing to the brilliant images of the denotative. There may be yet others without any genius whatever, like the authors of intellectual saws and puzzles. They are devoid of poetry because they are devoid of rasa. In this Introduction', we have endeavoured to sketch in broad outline some of the general critical issues which engaged the attention of ancient Indian poets and critics. We feel that some of their ideas merit consideration even today. The following chapters attempt to examine a few of them in greater detail.

II

SANSKRIT CRITICISM AND ALANKARA (POETIC IMAGERY)

"samastih sarvašāstrānām sāhityamiti gīyate"

['Criticism is the sum of all sciences'

I Religion, poetry and philosophy have ever been the most cherished pursuits of Indians; and we have some of the richest contributions of the Indian mind in these fields. The analytical subtlety of Indian thinkers is no less remark- able than their synthetic vision. As far back as the beginning of the Christian era, Indian thinkers had syste. matised their study not only of religious literature but also of the then known sciences and the arts. Literary studies were reated on the triple groundwork of Grammar, Metrics and Criticism.1 The Sanskrit name for criticism is either sāhitya-2 or alankāra- sastra. While the word sabitya (lit. 'togetherness') emphasises the indissoluble unity of form and content in literature, the word alankāra (beauty) indicates the subject of enquiry. It is equally significant that in the opinion of Sanskrit thinkers, criticism is entitled to

1 padavidyāmadhicchandovicitim vāgalankrtim trayim samuditāmetām tadvido vānmayam viduḥ. - Jinasena, Mahāpurāņa, XVI. 111. 2 In Sanskrit, the word sāhitya, like sāhitya-sāstra, meant origi- nally only criticism; it came to mean literature at a very late stage.

Sanskrit Criticism and Alankāra 2F

be regarded as a systematised body of knowledge. They are aware that while literature is primarily an act of creative: genius, criticism involves an intellectual or scientific analysis besides literary taste in the critic.8 That a cultivated taste is indeed the sine qua non of a literary critic is brought out by naming him a sahrdaya (lit. 'one akin to the poet in sensibility') or rasika (lit. 'one alive to the essence of poetry') The claims of criticism for the status of a science have: never been disputed in India, though the value of literature: itself has been sometimes called into question by orthodox. theologians. The critical theorists, therefore, make it a point to vindicate poetry by answering the charges made against it and declaring that in this world of ours wherein everything is liable to decay, poetry is the only source of imperishable fame to the poet and the only means of aesthetic delight, coupled with moral and spiritual enlighten- ment, to the reader. But what about the critic himself who stands midway between the poet and the reader? The: theorists do not raise this question at all because the status. of acting as guides to generations of honoured poets. required by no means any further justification on their part. Nonetheless, the question is most relevant today; and we have to consider whether criticism can ever attain scientific exactitude. It is a commonplace of criticism that no two critics agree in their judgment of a literary work ..

3 dve vartmanī girām devyāh śāstram ca kavikarma ca; prajňopajňyam tayorādyam pratibhodbhavamantimam. (quoted by Bhatta Gopāla in his commentary on the Kāvya-prakāsa.),

22 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

Yet, underneath all their differences, whether there is or is not significant agreement on the fundamentals of literature, is the question at issue; and Indian writers on Poetics presume that there is, and turn to investigate the broad principles of beauty in literature. Their method is one of formal definition, classification and illustration, using as few words as possible. Whatever the merits of this cryptic sīitra style, it presents no small difficulty to the modern reader in understanding aright the aesthetic principles underlying the laconic formulae of the Indian theorists. One is tempted to dismiss them as idle brainwork indicat- ing nothing more than the Indian flair for hairsplitting distinctions; yet one might discover a whole philosophy of beauty if one pauses to understand them fairly and fully. One might then realise that the business of Indian theorists was to classify only in order to clarify.

II The starting point for the Indian theory of beauty lies in the distinction of literary genres. Apart from the extrinsic division of literature into prose and poetry, the very first writer, Bhamaha, observes that from the stand-point of subject-matter, literature is divisible into four broad types :- I. Accounts of legendary gods and heroes, 2. Works of fiction, 3. Works based on the arts, 4. Works based on the sciences.

4 vrttadevādicaritam cotpādyavastu ca; kalāsāstrāśrayam ceti caturdhā bhidyate punaḥ. - Kāvyālankāra, I. 17.

Sanskrit Criticism and Alankara 23

He proceeds to add that, from the standpoint of presenta- tion, literature may be divided into five genres5 :- I. Epic, extending to several cantos, 2. Drama, meant for the stage, 3. Prose where the hero recounts his own adventure, 4. Romantic tale in prose, .5. Independent quatrains. It will be readily seen that though theoretically the two divisions are mutually inclusive, the last two categories of the first division can come mostly under the last genre under the second; and, strictly speaking, these fall outside the pale of literature proper. They have been mentioned only to indicate the unique presence of literary grace even in works on the arts and the sciences in the Sanskrit language, a grace due to conscious artistry. That apart, we are left with the following main heads under which all literature is subsumed :- I. Epic, legendary or heroic, 2. Epic, literary or romantic, 3. Drama, legendary or heroic, 4. Drama, romantic, etc.,6 5. Prose chronicle where the hero recounts his own adventures, 6. Romantic tale in prose, 7. Lyric quatrains, single or in small units.

5 sargabandho' bhineyartham tathaivākhyāyikākathe ; anibaddham ca kāvyādi tatpunah pancadhocyate. - Ibid., I. 18. 6 For the other forms of drama, comic, farcical, etc., the reader is referred by Bhamaha to the famous classification of Bharata. involving ten major types. Cf. Ibid. I. 24.

:24 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

Though it appears at first sight that the lyric is given but a secondary importance in this scheme, it should be remembered that all these types of epic, dramatic and prose works allow room for both prose and verse; and in the drama especially, lyric measures have an integral function. We have been considering this apparently mechanical division at some length, because it embodies a principle most basic to Sanskrit poetics. All the genres are concerned only with the lives of 'heroes' and 'heroines', low characters serving only as foils. The supernatural has free play everywhere except in the few types of social comedy and farce. Love and heroism become the two predominant emotions in every work, others like the pathetic, the comic and the furious, serving only to set the former in bolder relief. Realism is almost shut out from every genre and the world of literature is deliberately made an imaginative world of mystery, romance, and beauty. Just as man is idealised, so too is nature humanised; and the poet strains to visualise the supernatural participa- tion of nature in the affairs of 'heroes'. The poetic world is kept blissfully aloof from the cares and worries that beset the world of fact. Virtue (dharma) invariably triumphs over villainy in the long run. All these restrictions of the ancient theorists appear to us today as so many artificial canons which clipped the soaring wings of poetic genius, and hastened the decadence of Sanskrit poetry. While it is true that this prevented poetry from gaining in breadth, it is also equally true that it contributed to its growing in depth; it gave a fillip to the mythopoeic imagination of the poet; and this is not often realised. It is a unique phenomenon in world literature comparable only to the influence of Panini's rigid grammar on the

Sanskrit Criticism and Alankara 25

Sanskrit language. If the grammar arrested the natural growth of the language, it also saved it from 'linguistic decay' and helped its preservation in its pristine purity, so that in respect of clarity, after a lapse of even two thousand years, the Sanskrit language remains unique and unparalleled. If Sanskrit poets failed to add new dimensions to their art, they uniquely succeeded in perfecting the poetic technique to its highest water-mark in the history of world poetry. The first principles formulated by Sanskrit theorists on the art of literature deserve, therefore, careful attention even today. These principles have stood the test of time not only in Sanskrit, but also in the numerous vernacular literatures that came within the orbit of the cultural influence of Sanskrit. Life actually lived by the common people and life as portrayed in Sanskrit literature are, no doubt, two different things; but there is no unbridged gulf between them; for, imaginative sympathy or 'willing suspension of disbelief' is of the very essence of the enjoyment of literature; and it serves as a bridge between the two. One who is not experienced in ordinary life is not, in theory, qualified to be a critic of taste. The reader's taste, fashioned by life, is refined by literature; and, in its turn, helps him to live his normal life, in a refined way, according to Indian theory. That society can be refined or reformed by presenting exclusively the seamy side of life, is a notion foreign to Indian poetic theory. They think that the role of real life cannot be anything other than secondary in poetry III From the material of literature, we may now turn to its method or technique. In fact, the technique of Sanskrit poets directly derives from their material on the one hand,

26 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

and the standards fixed by grammar, prosody, etc., on the other. The one consideration central to Sanskrit criticism is impeccability. The slightest error, grammatical or logical, factual or metrical, is censured in the strongest terms even in the work of a master poet, when it is smacks of his ignorance (avyutpatti) and not of deliberate choice occasioned by literary considerations like emotional stress. In fact, we have long lists of other literary 'flaws' (dosas) that jar on the ear or are repulsive to good taste. As on the absence of palpable defects, so does Sanskrit theory insist on the presence of positive excellences (gunas) in all the recognisable elements of a composition. These excellences can be felt only by a trained critic. 'Sweetness', 'brilliance' and 'lucidity' are the universally accepted excellences, the first two being exclusive of each other, while the third is contributory to both of them. The indivisible unity (sahitya) of form and matter in literature is again realised in grasping the nature of the excellences. A passage will be 'sweet' as much on account of its matter as by reason of its form. We might go on analysing 'matter' under the heads of 'thought', 'emotional state', 'imaginative turn', etc., and 'form' under 'style', syntax, word, syllable, etc .; and in every ingredient we shall find the subtle presence of 'sweetness'. Similarly, in the opposed excellence of 'brilliance'. Besides these, other theorists count as many as seven more gunas; and the subtle music of language can be mastered only by constant practice (abhyasa) under the guidance of an accomplished master. It is this which accounts for the differences in style (sanghatana, rīti, or bandhaucitya) from poet to poet or even in the same poet; and it is this again which is synonymous with beauty (Jobha) in literature. From this

Sanskrit Criticism and Alankara 27

point of view Sanskrit critics show how, of a number of grammatical forms, only a few select ones best serve the poet's purpose. IV While the gunas form a pre-requisite condition in the equipment of the poet as well as of the trained critic, there is another equally important condition, viz., rasa or aesthetic emotion (distinct from personal emotion) which is part of one's innate endowment, and not an acquired sensibility. It is the poet's ability to partake of rasa, that spurs the imagination into creative activity and which endows the whole work with a unity of tone. The critic's first function is to recognise this underlying unity of tone in a work of poetry before he pauses to appreciate its excellences in particular elements. The concept of unity of rasa involves unity of action or patterning of theme in deference to the considerations of loftiness of character which we have already seen. V By far the most important contribution of Sanskrit criticism is the principle of alankara or 'poetic turn', which we have reserved last for a consideration here. From many a modern writer on the subject, this concept has received, I am afraid, a none too favourable comment. It has become the fashion of the day to translate alankāra as any trope or figure of speech, and, relying too much on the interpretation of medieval schoolmen, to take it literally to mean no more than an external embellishment like a' woman's necklace, which may be added to or removed from poetry at the sweet will of the poet. Nothing can be farther from the truth as envisaged by early theorists who

28 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

first coined the term to stand for the principle of beauty in poetry qua poetry, as distinct from beauty in nature, beauty in woman, beauty in the fine arts, etc. While guna is coextensive with poetic beauty whose presence can be distinctly felt in a passage but which cannot be appreciated intellectually, the term alankara stands for the principle of beauty which can be both felt and explained in terms of ordinary language. While figures of speech are many-by a loose usage, it is true, every figure is also called alankāra -the one principle underlying them all is also alankāra; and it is after the latter that the science of criticism is so named. It is this, again, which draws the line clearly between the function of words in poetry as distinguished from their function in daily discourse or science. In the sound aspect alone, words in poetry will present a pattern of rhythm and rhyme, alliteration and assonance, unknown elsewhere; this is sabdalankara. In their sense aspect, they acquire a heightening (atisaya) or undergo a transfiguration which is the sine qua non of the poetic act, A synonym of alankara in this wide eonnotation is vakrokti or 'oblique expression'. To poetise is to deviate from the normally accustomed habits of speech and thought; in this sense, every truly poetic line will involve some deviation or turn and it cannot be devoid of alankara without ceasing to be poetry. Nature description (svabhavokti) too, paradoxically though, involves a special touch of the poet't genius. For, it is admitted as an alankara only when the exceptionally observant eye of the poet is revealed even in the description of common birds, animals, children, etc. What we admire is his eye for picturesque detail and capacity to reveal beauty in things whose beauty we had missed through familiarity. Thus understood, the principle of alankāra

Sanskrit Criticism and Alankāra 29

deserves to be approximated to the modern idea of "imagery' in poetry. Whether imagery is an integral part of poetry or but an external adjunct, an added ornament which poetry may well do without, is a recurring question in the history of literary criticism, Western as well as Indian.7 The views of ancient Indian poets and rhetoricians on this question virtually shaped the progress of critical thought in India.

IV The poetic tradition in India is indeed very old, even as old as the Vedas. But the Vedas were cherished by

7 Cf. "The ancient writers on rhetoric spoke of them (figures) too mmuch as mere ornaments, to be added or taken away at will; and were content to make long lists of them with an elaborate nomen- clature, and to illustrate their use from poets and orators. They spoke as Professor Saintsbury has put it, as though the figures were a sugar which you sifted into the pudding in greater or lesser quantity as you thought well. Their definitions were superficial and left quite unexplained the fact of their being used at all. For figures of speech are not mere ornaments of style to be used or dispensed with at will. In their origin they are just such natural expressions of emotion as the shedding of tears, or a dog's wagging of its tail. Where they differ from these indications of feeling is in a greater distinctness, in being extensions of the articulate, not merely the inarticulate, expression of our feeling, variations and extensions of the use of language to communicate feeling. We may shed tears for so many different reasons that we need the help of language to convey what is exactly the cause of our shedding tears at any particular moment, and it is in the effort to do this adequately by means of language that we extend the range of language by using it in this figurative fashion". - Sir Herbert Grierson, Rhetoric and English Composition. (2nd edn.), p. 55.

30 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

posterity more as scriptures than as poems; and the epics of Valmiki and Vyāsa are usually regarded as indicating the dawn of secular poetry. Indian orthodoxy, however, soon invested these with religious importance and looked upon the epic heroes as embodiments of Hindu ethics codified in religious law-books. The Jains and Buddhists lost no time in using literature for purposes of religious propaganda; and the general atmosphere of the country was not at all conducive to the cultivation or preservation of purely secular poetry. To catch a glimpse of early secular poetry, we should turn to the all but lost collections of stray lyrics in Prakrit and Sanskrit. We strike a gold mine of lyrics in Hāla's Saptasatī (circa 2nd century A.D.), which is a collection of seven centuries of love-lyrics in Mahārāstrī Prakrit. The whole world of unsophisticated love is the main theme of the quatrains; and we miss in them the call of moral virtue (dharma) which is the burden of the epics. The lyrics are permeated by a zest for life, a keen sensitivity to the beauties of nature, and a loving or lingering attachment to joys of sense. That a similar poetic vein existed in Sanskrit also can be inferred from the stray quotations we get in Patañjali's Mahābhasya (2nd century B. C.) and Bharata's Nātyasastra (circa 200 A. D.) out of the floating literature of the period. There is a whole chapter in the latter work devoted to a discussion of different poetic measures; and we find in it how each metre was named after a graceful aspect of winsome women. Sragdhara (maiden decked in floral wreaths), Vasanta-tilaka (maiden with the vermil- lion mark of spring), and Mandakranta (maiden with the slow and majestic gait) are but examples taken at random. Every illustration given by Bharata amplifies the ideas

Sanskrit Criticism and Alankāra 31

implied as it were by the proper name, each containing a lover's address to his beloved. It is this tradition which is faithfully preserved in later works like Bhartrhari's Śrngāra- sataka, the Mayūrāstaka and the Amarusataka. This tradi- tion of secular poetry had to contend against the prejudice of moralists who would ban it as vulgar.8 Alongside of this popular current of erotic poetry, we find a highly artificial kind of poetry cultivated by stylists at courts. The court-poets tried to bridge the gulf between the epic narrative and the popular erotic tradition by combining the minimum elements of both and transform- ing them into something which was entirely new in point of polished style. They could startle the readers by their sound effects and turns of thought, and at the same time they could keep up a show of combining instruction with delight-instruction about the values of life (purusārtha) with the delight of genuine poetry (rasa). We owe the first works on Sanskrit poetics to this period of self-conscious art. Rhetoricians like Bhamaha and Dandin standardised in their works the practice of the court-poets and could claim for poetry a status on a par with the other branches of learning. In the equipment of a poet, they gave the first place to pratibha or genius, insisting at the same time on the necessity for the poet of wide scholarship (vyutpatti) and assiduous practice (abhyasa). In their analysis of poetic beauty, they discovered the principle of alankara or imagery; and the importance of the principle can be realised from the fact that the study of poetry itself came, as we have already noticed, to be named alankāra-šāstra.

8 Of. the dictum 'kāvyālāpāmśca varjayeť'.

32 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

An interesting feature of the early theorists (with the exception of Vämana) is that they generally illustrate their rules with their own compositions of poetry instead of selected passages from famous poets. This makes their rules smack of dogmatism. They show a number of ways in which 'figures of sound' like alliteration (anuprāsa) and rhyme (yamaka) can be devised, and 'figures of sense' like metaphor (rupaka) can be employed. They also speak of the various 'qualities' that can be felt in good poetry. At first sight the whole procedure would appear prosaic and dull. But a closer examination would reveal that they were laying their finger on the very essence of poetry when they spoke of one running principle behind the different alankaras. As we already saw, the principle is precisely that which distinguishes poetry from science (Jastra) on the one hand and from common speech (värta) on the other. They unerringly discerned that language in poetry was different not only from social usage but also from scientific dis- course. They named this principle, significantly enough, as atisayokti or vakrokti (i.e., 'flowery or hyperbolic expres- sion'). What might from the layman's standpoint appear as a distortion was itself the normal idiom of poetry. And the various ways in which 'distorted language' could manifest itself came to be catalogued as so many 'figures', because these were the very pointers to 'beauty' in poetry.9 Beauty is first vaguely felt by the appreciative reader; then he succeeds in characterising his feeling in terms of qualities

9 Cf. "The colour of a passage will be found on examination to depend in great measure not simply on the words we choose, but on whether we use them figuratively or not, on what we call the writer's imagery." - Sir Herbert Grierson, Op. cit. p. 54.

Sanskrit Criticism and Alankara 33

like 'sweetness' or 'brilliance'; after a more sustained intellectual effort at explaining it, he will be led up to the perception of vakrokti, which can be analysed in terms of one 'figure' or another. 'Implication' (samasokti), 'Sup- pression' (aksepa), 'Indirect exression' ( paryāyokta,) 'Hyper- bole' (utpreksa), 'Direct expression' (svabhāvokti), 'Metaphor' (rūpaka), 'simile' (upamā), 'Contrast' (visama), 'paradox' (virodhabbasa), 'paronomasia' (sleșa), Personification', Irony', 'Analogy', 'emotional climax'-these are only a few of the thirty-six and more 'figures' recognised. No doubt, in many of the verses supplied by the rhetoricians illustrating 'figures', we get the impress- ion of 'prose' dressed up as poetry through the turns of imagery; but the crux of the problem is whether the principle they postulate touches the essence of poetry or not. It is here that scope was provided for difference of opinion; and this led later theorists to formulate new explanations on more scientific grounds. It would appear that the Alankara-school was only regularising in a formal fashion the practice of popular poets; and the strain of erotic poetry in Sanskrit was replete with poetic conventions (kavi-samayas). The god of Love with his five arrows of flowers (like the lotus and the jasmine), his retinue of Spring in bloom, the South Wind, and the Moon, the nightly moan of the Cakravāka birds in love, the hum of mating bees, the stately swans enjoying their honeymoon in lotus-lakes, the fawn-eyed, moon-faced, elephant-gaited beauties, their wiles and guiles-all these and a hundred other conventions had been perfected by the poets long before the theorists came on the scene. These conventions of the lyric form were natural expressions of the creative poets; and the conventions, on 2

34 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

analysis, could only lead to a doctrine of alankara-cum- guna.10 The one common quality of all this lyric poetry was 'sweetness' (madhurya) and 'sweetness' was an index of the rasa (aesthetic emotion) of Srngara or Love. In epic poetry, as in prose fiction, the striking quality was ojas of 'floridity' corresponding to the rasas of Vira (the Heroic) and Raudra (the Furious). The theorists recognised a third quality 'lucidity' (prasada), which was common to both the lyric and the epic. If the idiom of poetry was analysed by them in terms of 'figures', it was because they found the poetry of their time virtually figurative and conventional. Dramatic theory, initiated by Bharata in his monu- mental work -Natyasastra,- emphasised rasa as the central principle because abhinaya or stage-representation of a play with the aid of music, dance and gesture could be only in terms of rasa. But in poetry, the place of abhinaya was taken up by varnana (description); and the suggestion of feelings, moods and emotions could only be through figurative expressions imbued with excellences or gunas. Early theorists did not, therefore, hesitate to regard rasas themselves as 'figures' in poetry, since rasas could some- times be evoked even without the natural aid of striking figures of speech. With Vamana (the author of the Alankara-sutra, 8th century A.D.) the question of the 'soul' (atman) of poetry came to prominence; and naturally, the emphasis shifted from the 'idiom' of poetry to its deepest content. He coined the expression rīti ('style') to convey the 'complex'

10 The flights of fancy are sometimes also called rasa in a very loose way, though: 'astu vastuşu mā vā bhūt kavivāci sthito rasaḥ' -Rājaśekhara, Kāvyamīmāmsā.

Sanskrit Criticism and Alankāra 35

of 'qualities' in poetry and recognised three styles as under- lying ten qualities of 'sound' and ten of 'sense'. In this re-arrangement, rasa could figure, of course, only as a 'quality'. He could assert boldly that alankaras were but appendages to the body of poetry (viz., sabda and artha) serving to embellish the soul of poetry, viz., 'style'. A philosophical analysis of the functions of language on the one hand and the content of poetry on the other, led the next critic Anandavardhana to formulate what he called dhvani (lit. 'tone') as the 'soul' because that expres- sion, as he explained, could apply both to the 'idiom', the 'form' and the 'matter' of poetry. He recognised that the erotic sentiment was the 'sweetest' of rasas; and added that, in the nature of things, all rasas, the 'matter' of poetry, could be only suggested; suggested, however by the aid of figures. He harmonised the earlier concepts by restricting the significance of 'alankara' to 'a turn of denotation' and bringing all suggestive elements under the comprehensive sphere of dhvani or 'suggestion'. Though Sanskrit literary criticism thus presents varied phases of thought, it would appear that all are agreed at the bottom on the nature of poetry and the uniqueness of the language of poetry. Vamana's and Anandavardhana's analyses of guna and dhvani respectively illustrate how literary appreciation can be directed to very minute elements in any given example of poetry. The principle of unity in a work as a whole may be ensured by the rules about rasa because that is the vital essence inspiring the poet towards creation. But a poet's imagination is free and obeys no law save its own. In conformity with its own law, it uses a language all its own, at once distinct from prose and science. If 'imagery' is the word which conveys in modern

36 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

criticism this unique essence of poetic language, the ancient Indian rhetoricians arrive at the same conclusion of inevitability of imagery in devious ways. With all their stock examples and conventional categories, they do not miss this important target. Their vague explanations of pratibha ('imagination') but confirm this conclusion. What they condemn is a craze for alankaras, not the need for alankara. Words are indeed capable of yielding multiple meanings, even unintended ones, by force of context.11 But the poet's employment of language is on another footing. Here, the several layers of meaning are not only all intended, but they are all made to partake in a final tone or significance (dhvani) which is just as clear and instantaneous as the surface meaning itself.12 When this is not achieved, when the beauty of denotative meaning outshines that of the suggested, there is a fall in the quality of poetry from first-rate to second-rate. Such is the magic of poetry and such its logic (aucitya) according to Indian criticism. Criticism is a science inasmuch as it avoids the a priori method and formulates the rules of aucitya in poetry inductively. Since such a study, to be authoritative, demands on the part of the critic an intimate knowledge of something of everything, criticism is regarded as the sum of all learning: "samaştih sarvašāstrāņām sahityamiti gīyate". It is no more a hunting-ground for the crazy, than poetry is the vocation of dreamers.

11 Cf. yathā sabdo'pi kasmimscit pratyāpyārthe vivakșite; avivak şitamapyartham prakāsayati sannidheh. - Bhartrhari, Vākyapadīya (Benares edn.), II. 303. 12 Cf. kāvyādhvani dhvanervyangyam prādhānyaikanibandhanam -Dhvanyaloka, III. 42 seq.

-.

III

THE NATURE OF MEANING IN POETRY- AN INDIAN APPROACH

While semantics is a science of recent origin in the West, we find in early Indian thought more than one sus- tained attempt to solve the mystery of meaning in language. Of these, the realistic conclusions of the time-honoured Mimamsakas and the idealist trend in the linguistic thought of the grammarians headed by Bhartrhari may be regarded as typical. The first writers on the art of poetry contented themselves with analysing the structure of poetic language and laying down formal canons of beauty under various heads. They generally defined poetry as a unity (sāhitya) of sabda (expression) and artha (significance) without discuss- ing the nature of these. Writers on drama developed the theory of rasa (aesthetic emotion) in great detail without raising the fundamental question of the aesthetic function of language. It was only when these two currents of poetic theory, viz., alankāra (beauty) and rasa, converged in Ānandavardhana's Dhvanyāloka (c. 850 A.D.) that the problem of meaning in poetry came to receive a systematic considera- ... tion for the first time. It was only then that Poetics in India came to be raised to the rank of Aesthetics. An attempt is made here to present the groundwork of semantics on which Ananda-rears his aesthetic theory of dhvani or suggestion in poetry.

I The concept of sahitya in Indian poetics is something akin to the modern idea of 'significant form' and the early writers like Bhämaha proceeded to the task of analysing

38 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

„that essentially indivisible whole into sabda (fotm) and artha (content) for purposes of formulating their aesthetic canons. They assumed that both these elements partook of beauty (alankāra) only under the conditions of absence of flaws (dosa-s) and presence of excellences (guna-s), conditions which were imposed by logical, grammatical and aesthetic considerations. Their mistake was that they just listed them together without trying to differentiate the aesthetic from the logical and the grammatical. Why 'cacaphony' should jar on the ear and why 'sweetness' (madhurya) is an excel- lence in poetry as much as 'lucidity' (prasada) and 'brilliance' (ojas) are questions they do not pause to answer. Though they were dimly aware that different compositions have different affective effects on the reader, they tried to explain these more in terms of stylistic structure (sanghatana or rīti), which in their analysis was the secret of 'significant form' and which varied from poet to poet according to his insight (pratihba), than in terms of the texture of meaning. The theorist thought that since the individual variations of poets were infinite, he could only distinguish between two or three broad types of style, viz., the Sweet (Vaidarbhī), the Florid (Gaudi) and the Mixed (Pancalr). Against this analytical background, they undertook to explain some clear-cut principles of beauty (Alankara) relating to form or content. They brought graces of rhyme and alliteration which contribute to rhythm under 'form' and graces of metaphor, irony, allusion, fancy, contrast, etc., under 'content'. Yet, nowhere do they state that these graces are just ornaments which may be added or discarded at will by the poet. On the other hand, they are convinced that there would be no beauty in poetry without one alankara or an- other, since, in their view, alankāras are integral elements

The nature of meaning in poetry-an Indian approach 39 of poetic beauty and form the very differentia of poetry. The ornamental use of figures of speech is a much later idea and the early theorists like Bhamaha and Dandin were not aware of it, though many a modern scholar has mis- judged them in this respect. A correct appreciation of the position of early theorists in regard to alankara is necessary to understand their idea of sabda and artha which forms the starting point for all semantic investigation. Their outspoken emphasis on vakrokti, or departure from the everyday use of language, as the underlying principle of all alankāras points to their realisation of the fact that poetic language is fundamentally distinct from everyday speech (varta) on the one hand and the language of science (Jastra) on the other; and they happened to give this distinct feature the name of alankāra whose field was theoretically as wide as to embrace all shades of felt beauty in poetry. Naturally, all the possible meanings in daily discourse and scientific writing, viz., the informative or literal, the secondary or metaphorical and the affective or emotive, were not only included, but imaginatively coloured so as to become aesthetic, in their illustrations of arthalankara-s. In their scheme, svabhāvokti or sensitive description of nature as it is, can be termed alankāra only by way of exception; and emotional states (cittavrtti-s) become alankara only when they are rasa, i.e., when they have undergone imaginative transfiguration. The treatment of alankara by the eatly theorists is thus practically useful and theoretically sound in its own way; but it is deficient in philosopical investigation into the nature of poetic meaning as such. On this question it takes for granted the conclusions of Mīmāmsa philosophers" on the one hand and of thinkers on dramaturgy on the other,

40 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

and accomodates them both in the broad category of alankara, laying, all the while, pointed emphasis on beauty which is the index of the poet's creative activity. None- theless, it is clear that by artha (content) they never meant the dictionary meaning of words, as is often misunderstood, or the objects logically denoted by words. The rhetoricians understood by artha the meaning complex intended by the poet, or, in other words, his theme.

II

Now we may turn to the Mimamsa school of philo- sophy which provided the basic semantic material for the researches of literary theorists. A serious consideration of the problem of meaning was forced upon this school which was concerned with vindicating the significance of assertions in the Veda which was, apparently, a confused mass of fact, myth and ritual. They laid down not only the conditions of context, etc., which were necessary to understand the meaning of sentences in the scriptures, but also the theory that the meaning of a sentence (vākyārtha) is its whole purport (satparya). They were the first in India to hold that 'potency' (Jakti) should be regarded as a distinct category in ontology; and according to them, every sentence has a potency for purport which may admit of error in the case of human speakers, but which is infallible in the case of scriptural statements as they are not of human origin (apauruseya). As components of a sentence, they recognised words which too have a potency to enter into relation with other words and a potency to express their conventional meaning as defined in the dictionary or their secondary meaning as indicated by the context. The potency of words to

The nature of meaning in poetry-an Indian Approach 41

signify conventional meaning is given the name abhidhā (primary power) and the potency to signify secondary meaning is given the name laksana (indicatory power). In the sentence 'He is an ass', the dictionary meaning of the word ass is due to abhidha; the figurative meaning of a fool is due to laksana. The second is as much sanctioned by usage as the first but individual speakers may use words in their own private way also to suit their meaning as in the language of lovers. Emotion does indeed play a part in the metaphorical usage of words in life. But it is raw emotion, and is not the same as aesthetic emotion in poetry. Of the two schools of Mīmāmsā, one (Prābhākara) holds that the sentence as a whole expresses an undivided meaning (anvitabhidhana), while the other (Bhātta) believes that word-meanings get related before the sentence-meaning is conveyed (abhibitānvaya).

III The school of Grammarians (Vaiyakaranas) developed a theory of meaning which is more idealistic than that of the Mimamsakas. Their best exponent was Bhartrhari who propounded the theory of sphota (lit. 'burst'), a concept which is primarily semantic. According to this theory, meaning is revealed in a flash by the whole and indivisible aspect of speech, an aspect which underlies all distinctions of syllables or sounds. When we say 'cow', the three letters are uttered in sequence, howsoever unnoticeable; and the total meaning of the animal we grasp is not the result of any summation of the part-meaning of the three letters. The words analysable into letters in varying shades of tone and pitch must have, according to this school, an abiding whole aspect which alone can reveal a whole

42 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

meaning and this aspect is termed sphota. Since words can have meaning only in the context of a sentence, the sphota of the sentence as a whole should be regarded as the revealer of meaning. This involves recognition of the 'revealing potency' in the whole sphota-aspect of words and sentences. The sentence reveals the sphota which in its turn reveals the meaning in one unitary flash. The revealer of meaning is thus the semantic aspect of sabda and the revealer of this in turn is its own linguistic aspect. The other schools of Indian philosophy generally regard the sphotavada as a spurious hypothesis.

IV Bharata, the authority on dramaturgy approached the problem of aesthetic experience from a purely psychological standpoint. Recognising rasa as the goal of all art, he said that the major function of the different art-forms was only to evoke rasa in the percipient. Dance gestures, musical notes, and poetic language, all shared this function in common. He did not undertake to define this function scientifically, but used descriptive terms like nispatti (causation), bhavana (stimulation) and abhivyakti (manifest- ation). His chief concern was in contrasting raw emotional states in life (cittavrtti-s) with the rasa-s in art. In life, moods are momentary and fleeting; they change as situations change and man has no control over situations. Even dominant emotions like love and hatred obey no artistic unity, and are often subordinated or accommodated to the urgent claims of economic and social living. In life we are involved in the emotions, and have no time to con- template them dininterestedly. But in art man throws away the thraldom of circumstances and turns to con-

The nature of meaning in poetry-an Indian Approach 43

template the emotions; and this gives him aesthetic joy. Even a passing mood may be given an artistic permanance as in lyric poetry; and the dominant emotions, with the complexity unknown to everyday life, might make the theme of a whole epic. The emotional unity in the situation, plot and characters is absent in life and present only in the best literature. Therefore, the sympathetic heart of the reader delights in rasa, only through literature. The rules of Bharata are mainly devoted to lay down the conditions of plot, character and style that contribute, towards rasa-s, in all their variety. Even the tragic emotion becomes singularly pleasurable in poetry because it is aesthetically contemplated and not personally suffered. And even fiction comes to be termed as artistically true for the same reason.

V It required a mastermind to propound a consistent theory out of the tangled skein of these apparently discon- nected strands of thought and the Dhvanyaloka of Ānanda- accomplished the miracle by a singular stroke of genius. Ananda-took his firm stand on the foundation of rasa set up by Bharata and applying the criteria of potencies propounded by the Mimamsakas, found them totally inadequate to explain the experience of rasa which was sui generis. Neither the primary nor the secondary usages of words could in themselves explain rasa (not even tatparya). A third potency which shines through them and yet rises above them had to be postulated to explain rasa. But the difficulty was that if everyday language could implicitly convey affective meaning or the speaker's content, and if philosophers found no necessity of postulating a third : linguistic function, in poetry too there would be no scientific

44 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

basis for such a postulate. Ananda- was up against all the currents of traditional thought in this respect. Yet he boldly vindicated that meaning in poetry was primarily rasa, a thing quite different from the speaker's intent or affective meaning in life. Rasa, the sine qua non of poetry could be realised only through the poet's conformity to aesthetic principles imposed by it, and could be felt only by men of cultivated taste. The principle of unity of rasa and its implications had never before been explained so pointedly. The term dhvani of the grammarians came in handy to Änanda- while designating this revealing or aesthetic func- tion of language, exclusively found in poetry. He called every good poem, taken as a whole, by the name dhvani. The individual words would never cease to have their primary and secondary senses; but they would only serve as means to the end of aesthetic significance. In poetry, then, the suggestive function was not confined to words, but ex- tended even to primary and secondary meanings on the one hand, and to every aspect of poetic technique on the other. No doubt the earlier writers on poetics had showed vaguely their awareness of these considerations in their ideas of guna, alankāra, rīti, etc. Ānanda-'s complaint against them is that they never cared to distinguish between the pre-eminent and the perfunctory, between the means and the end. He interprets that their artha-alankara can only mean 'embellishments of subject' and 'subject' can denote . only an 'idea', not rasa. So interpreted, all alankāra-s become mere beautifiers (only ornamental figures of speech), the beautified element being the poetic idea, and not rasa. This involves logically the pre-eminence of primary mean- ing, though by definition, the presence of rasa cannot be overlooked in any instance of poetry. Ānanda- admits

The nature of meaning in poetry-an Indian Approach 45

that such instances of poetry too might prove popular, and assigns them a second place in his scheme of classification. First-rate poetry is only that wherein the pre-eminence of rasa is assuredly felt by the man of taste. If in a pedantic piece the effect of rasa is all but lost, it is, strictly speaking, no poetry; it is but citra or word-spinning. Thus, in Ananda-'s review of early poetics, we have a dual role assigned to figures of speech; one as promoters of rasa and the other as important in themselves. One is the way of genius; and the other of talent. Both are desirable; but the first is better. Nor is it all. The art of dhvani in Ananda-'s opinion is wider than that of rasa also. It includes in its wide domain the limitless field of poetic ideas (vastu) and also figures which are not directly stated, but indirectly implied. The obliquely suggested idea and figurative idea come to be ranked on a par with rasa-dhvani itself, when felt as pre-eminent, because in Ānanda-'s opinion there is nothing that sis not raised to the rank of pure poetry by the magic touch of dhvani or the aesthetic function. The influence of Ananda-'s theory of dhvani was far- reaching in the history of Indian literary criticism. It provided the much-needed corrective in shaping the taste of Sanskrit literary critics. In Indian criticism, appreciation of the underlying tone of a poem as a whole unit, in which all the elements of technique have their share to contribute, is a truth which found its first spokesman in Ānanda -. His work contains hundreds of striking examples from the very best in Sanskrit poetry which serve to establish his theory of dhvani. His analysis of the nature of meaning in poetry appears to be substantially sound even by modern standards.

IV

BHAȚȚA TAUTA'S DEFENCE OF POETRY

Poetry in India originated as a handmaid of religion; and it ran for centuries in the groove prescribed by orthodoxy. The celebrated epics of Valmīki and Vyasa were construed as popular and pleasing presentations of the ethical codes laid down in law-books (Smrti or Dharmašastra). The ends or values sought to be achieved by the moral codes are the purusarthas-dharma (righteousness), artha (wealth), kama (pleasure) and moksa (liberation). While all the early codes (Jastras) are agreed on the primacy of the first three (called trivarga), philosopical schools emphasize the fourth, which alone, according to them, is the highest end of human life. If Valmiki is extolled by Indian commentators as the best poet, it is mainly because Rama, in their opinion, represents a living embodiment of all the precepts in the sästras regarding the triple values of life, and is a hero par exccellence. The Ramayana is great because it is both didactic and poetic. Vyasa's epic must be no less praiseworthy for its wider canvas on the one hand and for its exposition of moksa on the other. Even the Bhuddist poet Aśvaghoa readily admits that he has deliberately used the sugar-coat- ing of poetry to popularize the otherwise dry truth. Knowing the secret of popular appeal, he makes free use of the erotic and shows rare skill in devising melodious measures. But with all that he prefers to be known to posterity as a preacher rather than as a poet. Kālidāsa and Bhāravi, who are the two premier representatives of the later form of court-epics (mahākāvyas) are no exceptions to the trend we noted above. Their

Bhatta Tauta's Defence of Poetry 47

concern with poetry as a fine art is only matched by the didactic intent which underlies their plot and characterizat- ion. Their works point to the necessity of keeping the claims of artha and kama well within the bounds of dharma. Even the lyric Cloud Messenger does not appear to be an exception, in view of its initial reference to the hero's lapse and the curse consequent. The "didactic tradition" in Sanskrit poetry was thus followed by poets and patronized by kings until it eventually came to be standardized by early rhetoricians by the sixth century. Finding that poetry had been assigned no place in the traditional schemes of study (vidyāsthānas), rhetoricians like Bhamaha began to claim for poetry the highest place, inasmuch as it included in itself the essence of all the arts and all the sciences, and could be relied upon to instruct delightfully in all the values of life includ- ing moksa. Philosophers appear to have felt that the claims of poetry were being pitched too high. In the golden age of philosophical systematization (c. 500-800 A.D.), almost every thinker was actively engaged in clarifying the concept of moksa; and there was little chance of the views of rhetoricians going unchallenged, especially when they were encroaching upon the very raison d'étre of the philosophical schools. Although the different systems of philosophy (darsanas), like the earlier Dharmasastras, were not troubled about poetry so long as it did not clash with their premises, the inevitable clash between the immediate end of poetry and the ultimate value of philosophy could not be long avoided. So long as the theorists of poetry were content to hold that poetic delight was an end subsidiary to moral instruction, there was no conflict of interests. But when

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the apologists for poetry reversed their original position and came to hold that Rasa (aesthetic experience) was the value of values, when they began affirming, on ostensibly metaphysical grounds, that it was virtually on a par with moksa (Spiritual Beatitude) itself, the clash with the philosophers became unavoidable. Many a battle must have been fought by the champions of poetry and philosophy; but almost all the works that arose in the heat of controversy have been lost, and the curious student has to content himself with faint echoes he might happen to hear in the course of laborious research. Scholars know that the addition of Santa (Tranquillity), first as a ninth rasa, and later its vindication as the 'rasa' par excellence, are to be traced to this period of hot contro- versy. All that we know with certainty is that metaphysical explanations of art experience were in the air some time before the great Abhinavagupta wrote his magnum opus, the Abhinavabharati, and finalized them once and for all. Abhinavagupta himself has testified more than once to the fact that he owes most of his ideas to his revered guru, Bhatta Tauta, who wrote a treatise called Kāvya- kautuka or "The Wonder of Poetry." Among the stray quotations from this lost work which are available to us today, very few indeed have a bearing on the problem we are considering here. Our regard for Tauta is mostly confined to his celebrated definition of Pratibha, which reads almost like a Romantic's account of the "Imagination" :- Pratibha is the faculty of imagination which is freshly creative. A poet is one who is skilled in the artistic expression of that which is vivified by pratibha; and his work is Poetry. One can catch here some glimpses of the new trend in Sanskrit poetics. Poetry is now coming into its own,

Bhatta Tauta's Defence of Poetry 49

shaking off the accumulated shackles of extra-literary cate- gories. Poetry is being looked upon as a "Wonder," a. thing of beauty, valuable in itself, for its own sake. It emerges from another famous fragment of Tauta that he did not hesitate to raise the poet to the rank of a. "seer" (rsi) and to declare boldly that the poet-seer was greater than the seers of sastras, because of his creative genius. According to him :- Two are the paths of Sarasvati: One, Science, the result of intellect; and, two, Poetry, the product of pratibhā. One feels happy indeed to be able to read a few more quotations from Tauta's Wonder of Poetry in Sridhara's. Kavyaprakasa-viveka, published recently for the first time.1 The four verses preserved in this old commentary (13th century A.D.) throw interesting sidelights on the polemic between the champions of poetry and philosophy. Srīdhara introduces the four verses by stating the contention of philosophers who are prepared to concede, in a way, that poetry might be of help in the attainment of the first three values of life, but who demur when it comes to admitting the efficacy of poetry as a means to moksa. Their complaint is that poetry rouses the very passions whose absolute restraint is demanded by moksa. They point to the sensuous and erotic elements that are preponderant in poetry and ask how these, which are really hindrances, can be of help in the achievement of moksa. The objection seems unanswerable indeed; but Tauta makes short work of it in his ready rejoinder :-

1 Edited by Professor S. P. Bhattacharya and published in the Calcutta Sanskrit College Research Series as No. VII, 1959. P.9.

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Surely, there is no real existence of sense-objects in poetic experience. How, then, can you complain that passions are profoundly excited by poetry ? Should you urge that the dominant state of mind (revealed in poetry) is itself the object, well, your position contradicts the nature of aesthetic experience wherin the state of mind is not felt as an outside object. (Verse 1) If you should say that "aesthetic experience" itsolf is passion, you fail to distinguish once again botween aesthetic emotion and passion for womon. If you persist in holding that the badness of the stimulus is inferred from the badness of the res- ponse, we have only to ask you back how a character like Sītā can ever have dual objects of love. (Verse 2) Our position can be stated thus: Just as dust is used to clean up a rusty2 mirror, the mind of the critic is purified of passion through passion itself!8 (Verse 3) How can we ever have an all-inclusive experience (like that of moksa) at a jump, without the aid of a like experience [viz., rasa in poetry] ? 4 Therefore the Sage (Bharata) is rather earnest in stressing a delight known while discoursing on the ultimate values. (Verse 4) This "purification" theory of Bhatta Tautta may well remind one of the theory of "katharsis" in the Poetics of Aristotle. In the history of Sanskrit poetics, however, Tauta's contribution is significant as coming from not only an able advocate of poetry but also one who virtually inaugurated true aesthetics in Sanskrit, perfected later by his worthy disciple, Abhinavagupta.

2 The original word mala means both "dust" and "rust". Polished plates of metal were used as mirrors in ancient India. 3 The idea has its close parallel in the Ayurvedic principle- uşnamuşnena sāmyati. Cf. Milton' explanation of "katharsis" in homoeopathic terms: "As fire drives out fire, so pity pity." 4Cf. "It is not the business of poetry to save souls; it makes souls worth saving."-James Elroy Flecker.

V

TRADITION AND EXPERIMENT IN SANSKRIT POETRY

Sanskrit poetry is as old as the immemorial Vedas raised by tradition to the rank of sacred revelation. The poetry of the Rgveda represents an age when religion and science, life and literature, were almost interchangeable terms, when there was no sharp distinction yet between the different aspects of human personality like feeling, reason and imagination; when the functions of the poet and the priest, of the mystic and the myth-maker, of the seer and the worldling, still remained undivided. This vast body of sacred literature in archaic idiom, with only occasional gleams of secular interest, lies outside the scope of the present article, which purports to survey in broad outline the interaction of tradition and experiment in the long and chequeted history of secular Sanskrit poetry. Though all are agreed that we step into poetry proper in the Indian epics, viz., the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, there is no unanimity of opinion among modern scholars about their age or authenticity. If we turn to tradition, we find that, though it distinguishes the epics from the Vedas by regarding the former as of human authorship in contrast to the latter which are divine revelations, it still reckons the poets Valmīki and Vyasa as two hoary sages, entitled to veneration. We find already in the epic age the cleavage between the sophisticated life in cities and the saintly life of sages in their forest hermitages. But the gulf is not yet so wide as to shut out intercommunication. One might, in fact, go so far as to say that the kernel of the two epics is concerned with the commerce between the two worlds,

41822

52 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

the one of courtly sophistication and the other of saintly asceticism. Take away the forest of Dandaka from the Ramuyana and you will have practically emptied the epic of its essence. The important role of the forest-life in the Mahabharata may not be so obvious at first sight; but it will not take long to see that the epic really opens with the circumstances leading to the birth of the Pandava heroes in a forest, that their equipment for "the great war" was complete only after a long apprenticeship of twelve years' stay in a forest, and that the finale of the epic too presents to us a glowing picture of the ascetic ideal of forest-life. The Aristotelian test of the "beginning," "middle" and "end," or, in our own land, the principle of unity of rasa enunciated by Anandavardhana, shows how the two epics revolve round a similar axis and how Vālmīki and Vyāsa are deliberately devising their plots to bring out the mess- age of an ideal synthesis between conflicting ideals of worldliness and renunciation. Winternitz has discovered these alternating currents of thought even in the numerous ballads and episodes (upakhyanas) which are imbedded in the voluminous Mababharata and which might well repre- sent an earlier phase of popular poetry in India. Our analysis above is confirmed by the general account of these two ancient ideals preserved in ancient law-books and codes like that of Manu on the one hand and in Upanishadic literature on the other. The dawn of court poetry, by about the beginning of the Christian era, saw a growing split between the functions of the poet and the sage. The poet became more and more self-conscious of his art while the thinker began to forge a new kind of laconic prose to record his reflections in. This is the age which marks simultaneously the birth of artistic

Tradition and Experiment in Sanskrit Poetry 53

poems as well as philosophical sutras. With characteristic : love of analysis, the Indian mind evolved-though the beginnings are hazy-in this age not only the guiding rules of poetics but also the principles governing the universe; and the theistic trends of popular religion were there in the background. No wonder if the two national epics served as models. to the new poets in this formative stage of classical Sanskrit poetry. But the wonder is that none attempted to imitate them in entirety. A single heroic or romantic episode in the epic was found to be more than enough for the new poet to show his skill; and he borrowed, if at all, only the mythology of the epics, their occasional lyric vein and their way of treating Nature as suffused with human emotion and feeling. But he was a bold inventor in other directions: in devising a hundred new metrical patterns; in perfecting schemes of rhythm, rhyme and assonance; in enriching the Sanskrit vocabulary by discovering fresh turns of linguistic usage to denote an identical thought or different shades of thought through a variety of synonyms-e. g., the idea of" "sea," to take an instance at random, can be conveyed by no less than a hundred words in Sanskrit by employing synonyms of "water" with different descriptive suffixes (vāri-dhi, jala-dhi, ambu-rasi, etc.) or synonyms of "river" with the addition of "lord" (sarit-pati, apam-pati, etc,) or synonyms of "gem" or synonyms of "salt" with the addition of "home" (ratnakara, lavanakara, etc.), apart from regular synonyms whose derivations are doubtful-thus. exploiting all the linguistic resources that a formally perfect grammar like that of Panini could provide; and, above all, in discovering new turns of imagery, at once striking and artistic. It is because of the numerous experiments, in both

54 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

form and substance, of these pre-Kālidāsa pioneers that Sans- krit became so refined and polished once for all as to extract from a linguist like Sir William Jones the encomium :- The Sanskrit language is of a wonderful structure, more perfect than Greek, more copious than Latin, and more exqui- sitely refined than either.1 To these anonymous pioneers, again, we owe the genesis of more than one literary genre-drama and lyric (erotic and religious), prose romance and fable, panegyric and parable, besides the time-honoured court epic (mahā- kävya). The rich harvest of the next period in all these forms presupposes this seed-time of rigorous experiment on the part of poets and critics alike. The beauty of the popular Prakrits too had not escaped their attention: we find an honoured place assigned to Prakrit in plays as well as lyrics. This formative period of varied experimentation, whose traces have almost faded away, leads us on to the Golden Age of Sanskrit poetry, whose two peaks are represented by Kalidasa and Bhäravi, one in the North and the other in the South. What was just a hint in Valmiki flowers forth into a perfect lyric, the Meghaduta, in the hands of the master- poet Kālidāsa, while the genius of Bharavi is not at all lyrical. In his court epics, Kālidāsa also achieved a sweetness of poetic diction and elegance of thought rarely equalled. His genius left its indelible impress on every- thing he touched, poetry or drama; and his writing remains to this day the model of the best Sanskrit, combining ease and grace, form and significance. More than his insight into subtlest human emotions and his communion with the

1 Asiatic Researches, Vol. I, p. 422.

Tradition and Experiment in Sanskrit Poetry 55

secrets of Nature, what marks him out as the true heir of Valmīki is his underlying message, which is a happy blend of the epic values, worldly and spiritual. In this Bharavi bears a family resemblance to Kālidāsa though unlike him in every other way. Bharavi's poetry is vigorous and powerful, despite his pedantic diction; and- he prefers direct instruction to Kālidāsa's undertone of suggestion. But what makes him stand out as a stylist is his parade of acrostics. Unlike Kalidāsa, he often lets his learning get the better of his poetry and the result, therefore, is uneven. Soon both Kalidasa and Bharavi became "the poet's poets"; and the age-long tradition of the sages came under a cloud. The spirit lost, the letter began to exercise supreme sway over the the next generation of poets, among whom Bhatti, Māgha and Srīharsa deserve particular mention. All these poets are more learned than the earlier masters aud carry the process of external refinement and! polish to its acme. They revel in new coinages and quaint conceits. Striving after effect, they not only utilize all the paraphernalia of poetic conventions (kavi-samayas) known through books; they also invent new ones. In their enthusiasm to arrest the attention of the learned, they borrow their imagery from sources such as the philo- sophical systems, grammar and etymology. But the two disciplines which held them in thrall were Erotics and Poetics. They were, indeed the first to indulge in excesses: of description and to start the convention of set themes. for an epic. Even in these exercises, artificial to a degree, the spirit of experimentation is not wanting. They- narrowed the province of poetry in their love of formal. rules; but they also broadened the field of poetic conceits;

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and imagery. The poetic traditions of Kalidasa and Bhäravi assume new shapes in their hands, more startling, if less appealing. Meanwhile the lyric tradition which developed apace in the hands of masters like Bhartrhari and Amaru proved more and more popular and paved the way for revaluations of theories of poetry. Anandavardhana (ninth century) was the champion of a new theory of literature according to which dhvani or indirect suggestion was the very soul of poetry as well as drama, and without which the figures of speech were of little or no value. In his treatment the poet's imagination was given the highest place in the creative process; and not a bare mention along with equipment and practice as in the earlier texts of rhetoric. This reaction of literary critics (sahrdayas) against the, artificial excesses of post-Kalidasa poets gained ground throughout India; and we find again the poets of a later period turning to fresh fields of poetry. Poets like Padmagupta and Bilhana (eleventh century) take contemporary kings as their heroes and try to recapture the manner of Kālidāsa in their readable historical poems. Despite their shortcomings as historians, judged as poets, they merit praise inasmuch as they proved how poetry could be distilled from current history itself. The heritage of mythology was freely utilized by them to invest contemporary kings with the glory of epic heroes. Bāna's example of prefixing an autobiography to a wotk was also emulated by Bilhana. These are indeed new experiments which changed the course of the old poetic tradition considerably without departing from it in spirit. A noteworthy experiment in blending the lyric and the opera through songs and stanzas is noticed in Jayadeva's

Tradition and Experiment in Sanskrit Poetry 57

Gitagovinda, which provided the model for a number of imitators. The impact of the rising literatures in the verna- culars provided new themes; and semi-historical biographies of great saints and teachers like Samkara found favour with more than one author of note. Many a poet was drawn to the numerous heroes provided by popular religion; and the old tradition of epic poetry found new forms breathing devotional fervour. But judging from the paucity of origi- nal inspiration, one cannot help concluding that Sanskrit came to pass through a period of decadence and decline. It was, of course, the contact with Western literature that brought the much needed aufklarung into modern Indian literatures which were throughout basking in the sunshine of Sanskrit. Apart from the long line of imitators of Western models, two poets that stand out as true heirs of Indian tradition are Tagore and Sri Aurobindo. Each of these, in his own way, has succeeded in recapturing the deathless spirit of Indian poetry ih numerous forms. Sanskrit poetry may be vivified yet by the infusion of such new ideas from those who are both poets and sages. Inspired men with poetic vision that can penetrate un- erringly into the eternal truths underlying our ancient mythology, might yet succeed in writing immortal epics in Sanskrit in view of its unbroken and live epic tradition. If the present crisis in civilization is to be immortalized in an epic at all-who can foretell ?- Sanskrit might. well come in handy for the future poet. Sanskrit poetry has always stood for the ideal, and in all its myriad forms, has idealized the real and turned away from the starkly real. It now throws out a challenge to poets to extract signi- ficance from life today. Whether Sanskrit is a dead or live language depends on how the poets take up the challenge.

VI

THE KEY TERMS OF SANSKRIT LITERARY CRITICISM RECONSIDERED

We often find Sanskrit classics mentioned with respect; but our interest in them, if we are to be honest, is decidedly tepid. Sanskrit critical theories are usually taken for granted or ignored altogether. Though eminent scholars have written histories of Sanskrit Poetics, very few have undertaken the task of demonstrating the practical appli- cation of these theories to living literatures. The demons- tration, however desirable, is rendered difficult because scholars themselves do not seem to be unanimous on the precise meanings of even the key words in Sanskrit literary theory. It is proposed to discuss the significance of a few such terms in this short article. Poetry, says Bhamaha, is sabda and artha fused together (sahitau). The English equivalents usually provided are "word" and "meaning" and the matter is left at that. None is any the wiser for this so-called definition of poetry. Every cinema poster and every grocer's bill may be poetry at that rate. But the ancient writers themselves could not have been vague; for from the earliest critic, Bharata, down to the latest critic of today these terms were used and understood precisely. All the elements of the poetic art directed to please the ear came under sabda while artha embraced what we call the poetic theme or subject. The fusion of the two was the poetic process. This was indeed the foundation on which the theorists began to rear the structures of their deeper analyses. The first and foremost critical concept in Sanskrit literary theory is alankara. Literally it means ornament,

The Key Terms of Sanskrit Literary Criticism Reconsidered 59

and is usually translated as "figures of speech" in English. The critic of today at once equates it with the eternal truism about the extraneous nature of all embellishment and jumps to the conclusion that the ancient theorists were engrossed in cataloguing or indexing a number of needless tropes. But, as a matter of fact, ancients like Bhamaha were trying to prove that beauty in poetry is distinct from beauty in other arts, and they used the word alankara in its widest aesthetic application to include imagery as well as emotion (rasadi). They were aware that, more often than not, imagery was itself the language of poetic emotion, though they did not rule out the possibility that emotion might sometimes succeed without imagery. In other words, imagery (alankara) was not, in the opinion of Bhamaha and Dandin, a superimposed embellishment of poetry (other- wise originated), but its integral constituent (atman). They never pursued the trivial metaphor of body and soul to explain sabdarthau and alankaras, a metaphor which became a convenient device in the hands of later writers to bring the doctrine of alankaras into cheap disrepute. Rightly understood, the doctrine of alankaras in its dual aspect- one relating to sound impressions and the other to poetic images-will be seen to touch the very heart of the matter. It emphasizes how the indirect use of language (gamakatva) or circuitous speech (vakrokti) is of the very essence of the poetic process. It also keeps the door open for a few exceptions which may be pure poetry by sheer sweep of personal or universalized emotion (rasavad, preyas, urjasvin, samāhita, and bhavika alankāras). Vamana shifted the emphasis from alankāra to what he called rīti (translated usually as "style") by narrowing down the significance of the word alankara. He wanted the

60 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

metaphor of body and soul, sagely avoided by Bhamaha, to work. It could not; he therefore had to posit that the intrinsic beauty of poetic sabda and artha (a beauty designated as alankāra by Bhamaha) was analyzable into guņas (usually translated as "qualities"; "constituents" is better) which certainly related not to the exterior body but to the interior personality as a whole. For the vindication of the metaphor a poetic soul was still needed, and Vamana announced with triumph the age-old category of conventional styles1 under a new name, rīti. Rīti being itself an abstraction, Vamana had to exercise all his skill to distinguish, on the one hand, ten guntas of sabda to include such features of craftsmanship as verbal felicity, dignity, compactness, and gradual ascent or descent in syllabic quality and quantity; and, on the other, ten gunas of artha to cover diverse elements of poetic art like compactness of idea, looseness, clarity, wittiness, evenness of thought, the creative spark, indirect manner, impressiveness and emotional fervour. The gunas too being abstractions, Vamana's doctrine could hardly win any following. To the extent that he inflated his gunas-Bhamaha recognized only three -- Vamana had to depreciate the alankaras. While this theory fitted into the metaphor of body and soul very conveniently, it switched off criticism from imagery to a hundred elusive details. The essential and the insignificant were all heaped together in a jumble. The statement that all these twenty gunas are present in the best style, viz., the Vaidarbbī, while a few alone are instanced in the other two is a poor solution indeed of the basic problem. It is curious

1 Their number was originally two: 1, the Plain (Vaidarbhi) and, 2, the Florid (Gaudi), The Mixed (Pāncali) was added by Vamana.

The Key Terms of Sanskrit Literary Criticism Reconsidered 61

that even the question of the revelation of poetic personality is well-nigh absent in this doctrine of styles. The pursuit of the metaphor was continued, and it was given to Anandavardhana to clear the jungle and point to the essentials of poetry from all sides. He placed his finger on the indirect element in all great poetry-a fact already hinted at by Bhämaha-analyzed it most minutely and precisely for the first time and demonstrated that it was the soul of poetry. Though he said "soul," he did not, like Vämana, equate it with the soul of man, but compared it with the irresistible charm of lovely women. And in this indirect or suggested wealth of poetry he included not only poetic emotion but also imagery and ideas (vastu). He expounded this first element of poetry under the name dhvani. While emotions and feelings could not be appeal- ingly communicated in any way other than the indirect, the other two elements, viz., alankara and vastu, could be conveyed directly also. But, the moment the suggestive element appeared in a piece, it would be poetry-of the first order if pre-dominantly beautiful, or of the second order if subordinate in beauty to the directly communicated meaning (gunībhutavyangya). If the indirect element were absent altogether or almost absent, it would cease to be poetry and be something like science" or, if full of figures, something like a painting (citra). We should not forget here that images indirectly conveyed are of the first class of poetry, and even direct images having the undertone of suggestion are of the second class mentioned. Änandavardhana hastens to add that both classes of poetry are equally charming in point of beauty. It is only when imagery has no poetic purpose to serve that it fails. It would be a mistake to think that Anandavardhana

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underrated the value of alankāra. In fact he explained its function more searchingly than even its first propounder, Bhämaha. He gave a decent burial to the medley of Vamana's gunas and retained only the original three of Bhamaha (viz., sweetness, lucidity and brilliance). And even these three were associated by him, not with style primarily, but with poetic emotion (rasa). The poetic personality received due attention from him for the first time. Nor was rasa overemphasized, though in theory it was raised to the highest status of dhvani because its almost universal associa- tion with alankaras was duly acknowledged. This is the highest point reached by Sanskrit literary criticism. Then the word rasa was interpreted by Abhinavagupta as a synonym for aesthetic experience, and the claims of rasa so understood shoved away the claims of poetic imagery. Poetic imagery came to be counted as less intrinsic to poetry than rasa. If Mammata tried to hold the balance even once again, Visvanātha pulled in the opposite direction. To the latest writers the reconciliation between the two became a dilemma. Among the words in Sanskrit poetics whose meaning changes from writer to writer, alankāra and rasa are the most elusive and yet the most important. In the famous definition of Bharata, rasa is a thought-feeling synthesis instanced primarily in art representation or acting (nātya). By the combined effect of the characters in excitant natural setting (vibhava), their emotional gestures (anubhāva) and fleeting moods (vyabhicāribhava), rasa is said to be called forth. All these are primarily bound up with dominant emotions (sthayibbavas) as causes, effects and accessories. Now the fundamental question is about the locus of these bhavas which are transformed into rasa. Since all these

The Key Terms of Sanskrit Literary Criticism Reconsidered 63

are bodied forth only in the imagination of the creative artist in the first instance, it seems pretty certain that the locus meant by Bharata was the artist's mind. That is why Vālmīki, Kālidāsa and Ānandavardhana could repeat with one voice that the poet's sorrow (Joka) transfigured itself into poetry (sloka). The process whereby the poet's bhava is communicated to readers is perforce dhvani or suggestion, because a direct statement of an emotional state ceases to be emotive to the hearer. Such is the essence of Ananda- vardhana's theory, which has been stretched to needless lengths amid academic hair-splittings by Abhinavagupta. To the latter, both the bhava and the rasa are associated only with the mind of the critic because he alone has aesthetic experience (asvāda). As an English poet-critic, William Empson, warns us today :- All conventions have their pomp And all styles can come down to noise. But the Sanskrit theorists were not content with laying down conventions only. They persistently grappled with the eternal question of the relative importance of imagery and emotion in poetry. The randomness or inevitability of each in relation to the other has been the pivot around which their discussions have turned. But for the fact that the same key terms have been used in different senses by different writers, leading to a good deal of confusion, the findings of Sanskrit writers may be of great moment even to literary criticism today. This article is a modest attempt towards clearing up some of the outstanding misunderstandings.

VII

RASA AS A CANON OF LITERARY CRITICISM

Our ancient critics are agreed in regarding Vālmīki as the father of Sanskrit poetry. There is the well-known story of his overflowing pity for a bird in grief assuming the form of verse. Two of our greatest poets-Kālidāsa and Bhavabhuti-refer to this incident as an evidence of the tenderness of the poet's heart. To serve quite a different purpose, this incident is quoted by the author of the Dhvanyaloka. He intends to rear a new theory of literary criticism on its basis. Now it is one thing to characterize poetry in general, and a lyric outburst in particular, as a spontaneous overflow of powerful emotions, and another thing to characterize a whole epic like the Rāmayana as an embodiment of a particular emotion like pity or sorrow. Ānandavardhana does both-the one in his first chapter, and the other in his last. Again, it is not very clear in the first chapter whether he is talking of the lyric outburst only (namely, the distich "mā nişāda ... ") or of poetry in general. But the point does not affect the main argument to be set out here. If all our critics are agreed on any point, it is on the high mission of poetry. To them, poetry is no amusement for an idle hour. It is a serious art, which teaches through pleasing. Poetry delights the reader with its emotions and, almost without his knowledge, instructs him about the values of life so as to bring about a healthy change in his outlook. This dual aim of poetry can only be explained in terms of our epic and dramatic literature, with its flawless gods and heroes and their unfailing achievements. The greatness of a poem or a play thus depended on the

Rasa as a Canon of Literary Criticism 65

greatness of the theme. But what determined the nature of either as poem or play was, in the language of Bharata, rasa. Rasa is a term from dietetics, meaning taste or relish, and introduced by Bharata into the field of dramatic criticism to denote the complex of aesthetic enjoyment. According to his analysis, it is a complex involving almost the whole range of psycho-physical responses man is capable of. Drama or poetry is the stimulus by which multiple and ever-fleeting moods, feelings and responses are made to fall into a pattern around the more or less permanent nucleus of an emotion. This organized response-complex of the connoisseur is termed rasa and its possible varieties are eight or nine, depending on the classic number of nuclear emotions (sthuyibhavas). Though one of the oft repeated remarks of Bharata is that a play should have room for all the rasas, the demands of plot and character determine the nature and circumscribe the number of the rasas that can. actually be made prominent in any work. In a nataka, or the play par excellence, the plot has for its end the hero's achievement of one or more of the triple values of life, viz., love, wealth, and goodness, and the rasas that can conform to such a conclusion are only the Erotic and the Heroic. The consideration that the hero must be exalted and flawless rules out the possibility of other rasas playing a dominant role. It follows that the pathetic emotions can only appear as subordinate in such a play. The hero's suffering has to be, in the nature': of things, both transitory and heroic. Bharata's formulae were adopted wholesale by literary theorists like Bhamaha and Dandin in their definitions of mahakāvyas or epics. Surely, they had before them the 3

66 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

great epics of Vyāsa and Valmiki, and it is not much to expect that their definitions should be applicable to these two works at least. They lay down in general terms that the epic should provide scope for all the rasas, and that unity of action must be secured by observing the fivefold division of the plot laid down by Bharata. They mention that the heroes must be dignified and noble, virtuous and successful.1 The need for a single dominant rasa in a work as a whole which is implied by Bharata, if implied at all, is not noticed by these theorists. We can, of course, take each canto as a unit and point to one or the other rasa. But what about the rasa permeating the epic as a whole? At this point Anandavardhana comes forward with his facile answer. He examines the beginning, middle and end of the two Sanskrit epics-a procedure impeccable, no doubt-and comes to the conclusion that the Pathetic2 is the dominant rasa of the Ramayana, as the Tranquil is that of the Mababharata. This conclusion deserves some consideration here. From what we have seen of Bharata's rules, it stands out that neither the Pathetic nor the Tranquil can figure as a prominent rasa in a drama. Since the same considera- tions are applicable to the epic, mutatis mutandis, we become hesitant in going with Anandavardhana the whole way. When we remember that the Tranquil was most

1 Bhamaha, in particular, emphasizes the demands of "poetic justice" in the "logie of poetry" by branding the breach of this rule as a grave defect called "pratijnā-hīna" (Kāvyālamkāra, Ch.V). 2 The word "Pathetic" is not used here in the the sense meant by Aristotle when he divides epics into "ethical" and "pathetic". In his sense all emotions may be "pathetic."

Rasa as a canon of Literary Criticism 67

probably a late interpolation into Bharata's original scheme of eight rasas, our misgivings increase. Intrinsically considered, the premises of Anandavardhana in characteriz- ing the Mahābhūrata as a moksa-sāstra or a "treatise on emancipation," on the one hand, and an epic poem permeated with the Tranquil rasa on the other, are not above cavil. No one will deny that there is both poetry and philosophy in this epic. But when we are to rate it as poetry, we should not mix up our evaluation of it as poetry with our evaluation of it as philosophy. Ānanda- vardhana wants us to believe that poetry and philosophy are inextricably intertwined in the epic, and therefore, that the moksa-santa equation is the only solution of the problem. But, once again, one might feel that in the voluminous epic poetry and philosophy rarely run into each other, barring stray exceptions like the Bhagavad-Gita. The poetic part is clearly distinguishable from the philosophical part; and the former turns round the heroism of warring heroes. The ruling passion of the epic qua poetry would then be the Heroic (Vira), not the Tranquil (Santa). Nor is Anandavardhana's conclusion about the Rāmā- yana grounded on any firmer foundation. No one can gainsay the fact that Rama, the hero, is primarily heroic, heroic even in his sufferings. Bhavabhūti could designate him a mahavīra or a mighty hero. The theory of critics is faced with a baffling problem in the most unexpected unhappy ending of the epic. If the ending is really unhappy, then the very first rule of the Indian theorists is broken and the intended instruction from the poem, acknowledged by all critics, becomes a myth. If an ideal hero like Räma ended his career in frustration and sorrow, then why should anybody emulate him at all in his virtue?

68 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

That is a question which would readily occur to the traditional Indian mind, strange though it might appear today. There are only two ways out of the dilemma. The first is to say that poets have their licences (nirankusah kavayab) and that critical theory may require readjusting in the light of this. Then, the rasa of the Ramayana may perhaps be the pathetic (Karuna). Anandavardhana has adopted this course. The other is to deny the genuineness of the text, or the real intent of the "Uttarakanda" (or the last canto) of the epic, in which the tragic twist is given. Bhavabhūti in the Uttararamacharita chose to adopt this course and gives us an inset play from his own imagination as the original work of Valmiki, the tragic close of which, once again, is made, by an adroit dramatic device, to serve the purpose of a happy ending to the main play. He has killed two birds with one stone here-avoiding the unwanted tragic close and, at the same time, releasing the rasa of Adbhuta or Wonder, as laid down by Bharata. But the problem we are considering gets most tangled when we find Bhavabhüti himself suggesting through a character in Act III of his play that Karuna is the ruling rasa throughout, manifesting itself through multiple forms. Most critics are wont to regard this as the playwright's analysis of his entire play. But, at least in the bouts of fighting between the young heroes stretching over two acts (IV and V) the thread of this rasa gets very thin indeed, and one is almost tempted to believe that, after all, the scope of Bhavabhuti's side-remark is confined to Act III, wherein alone Rama's sorrow overflows without let or hindrance. We have hints, but no direct glimpses, of Rama's agony in any other act. Indeed, many of the ancient commentators

Rasa as a Canon of Literary Criticism 69

themselves prefer to take up this second stand and regard the ruling rasa of the play to be a variety of the Heroic (Vīra). Modern scholarship has done a great service to the literary critic in proving that the "Uttarakūnda" of the Rāmayana is a later appendage to Vālmīki's composition. But, though later than Valmiki, it must have been earlier than Kalidasa, who refers to its story, and our inquiry therefore is not entirely useless. Both Bhavabhūti and Anandavardhana are referring to the Ramayana with its "Uttarakānda". The main point at issue is whether Anandavardhana has rightly interpreted the spirit of the Rāmayana in regard- ing Karuna as its prominent rasa. We have seen that the Sanskrit conception of literature, emphasizing the reward of virtue, does not allow room for the hero's failure or frustration. Is it a feeling of good over evil we get promi- nently in the epic, or a sense of the unrewarded suffering of the good? Do Rama and Sīta represent for us models of heroic duty and feminine fortitude or just objects of pity? If our answer is the latter, we are almost accepting the practical success of Ravana, the embodiment of evil, in inflicting irrevocable sorrow on Rama and Sīta; and this gives the lie to the very credo of success as the core of ethics.3 The present writer feels that the greatness of Rāma and Sita stands out not so much in their passive sorrow as in their positive heroism in the midst of sorrow. No one can deny the presence of sorrow and suffering in the epic in

3 This corresponds to rewards promised by religion to the virtuous and perhaps points to the religious background of ancient Indian literary criticism.

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a large measure. But one might say that the emphasis of the poet is not sorrow but on the heroic attitude to sorrow. That indeed is the secret of all great tragedies; and this approach will make of Rama almost a tragic hero, though apparently Anandavardhana's stand might seem to do so more naturally. It is not the isolated unhappy ending alone which contributes to the tragic atmosphere; more so does the spirit of undaunted courage in facing sorrow. Among rasas, the closest approximations to the tragic emotions usually suggested are Karuna and Raudra. No doubt, Pity and Terror are best translated by these terms. But there appears to be a fundamental confusion in the equation of pity with Karuna and fear with Raudra. While "Pity" and "Fear" are emotions in the process of "catharsis" or purgation or purification, leading to the state of "calm, all passion spent" in the spectator, our Karuna Rasa and Raudra Rasa are aesthetic experiences in their purified state. Rasa is the name of that state of mind which represents the very last stage in the interplay of various moods, emotions and other responses. But pity and fear represent only earlier stages in the spectator's response, corresponding more or less to our sthuyibhavs, and not his final state of mind. If the excited state itself of pity and terror is to be termed rasa in a loose way, then our Karuna and Raudra Rasas would more closely approximate to the effects of sentimental sorrow or sensational fury in melodramas than to their counterparts in great tragedies, where characteri- zation plays a greater role. It follows, then, that the nearest approximation to the "tragic" experience will, if anything, be a gamut of Vīrarasa. If we understand that in the Ramayana the poet's emphasis is on the hero's stern sense of duty amidst trials

Rasa as a Canon of Literary Criticism 71

and tribulations that might have unnerved another of a weaker fibre, the poet's natural ending of the story would be a trial, perhaps the greatest trial, that ever man faced. Such is the episode of the banishment of Sita culminating in her descent to the Netherworld. On this view, the rasa can be described as that variety of the Heroic known as Dharmavira (Heroic-in-Duty). Anandavardhana has chosen to regard the episode of the hunter and the bird as the significant begining in the epic. Here agian, he appears to have followed a wrong trail. The natural beginning of the epic is the account of Ayodhya, and the incident of the bird is no more than a prelude. Our discussion has shown that rasa as a canon of literary criticism is far from dependable in the estimation of epics of vast proportions. Perhaps it is unnecessary. The only theorist that has attempted it, Ānandavardhana, misses his mark more than once. In the determination of the ruling passion of a work-epic or dramatlc-considera- tions of character should assume at least as much importance as consideration of plot. Anandavardhana has confined himself to the latter to the neglect of the former; and one cannot say that even in an epic the story alone is exclusively important. Nor are attempts to appreciate stray verses from epics or plays in terms of rasa likely to be very successful, inasmuch as rasa relates mainly to the unity of emotion or tone instanced in a whole work in the midst of a variety of moods and feelings. In the estimation of dramatic literature, however it may be of help if we keep the above in mind. But its greatest applicability is in the evaluation of lyrics; and the credit of having pointed this out should go to Anandavardhana. But he could not

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hearld any "romantic revival" in Sanskrit, and the pure lyrical form never found congenial soil for full-blooded growth. There are lyric elements in our epic and dramatic literature; they find greater expression in our epigrams (muktaka or anibaddha) ;* and they are strikingly present in poems like the Meghaduta and the Gitagovinda. But even these last are not unalloyed lyrics, like those of Shelley or Keats. There is a tendency on the part of the poet to view the subject-matter objectively-as existing outside and apart from his personality-and not subjectivly-that is, primarily as a personal experience. Kālidāsa and Jayadeva will give vent to the emotions of a Yaksa or a Rdha instead of their own.5 The intrusion of didactic and narrative elements mars the pure lyrical quality of even Bhartrhari's verses and the very best lyrics of love in Sanskrit, like those of Amaru, become sensuous to a. degree because of the formal and rigid categories of rasa theorists who enumerated types of heroes and heroines in love.6 The classical theory of rasa practically fails to leave the poet a free choice in the expression of his emotions and feelings in spite of its assertions that he is freer than God Himself in the creative realm. Even theorists who put rasa on a par with Absolute Bliss ( Brahmananda) are

4 This is inclusive of forms of irony and satire as in the case of "Anyokti" (Indirect Address.) 5 These may. perhaps come close to the "Ode" and Idyll" recognized as English lyrical types, and admitting of a certain amount of objectivity in the poet and a thin thread of narration. 6 None of these can be really equated with the type of "Song" in English literature because of their conscious artistry and limited range of feelings conveyed.

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often found illustrating it with sensuous verses. The paucity of lyrical types and lyric output in Sanskrit is itself an index of the limitations of the rasa theory. Rasa, then, cannot serve as a sole canon of Sanskrit literary criticism. It needs to be supplemented by the more serviceable criteria of Guna-Rzti (Qualities and Poetic Diction and Style) and Alankara (Figurative Imagery).7 We have refrained here from entering into niceties raised about rasa by commentators of Bharata's text because they are mostly abstract and metaphysical considerations valu- able for theory, but of little use for practical criticism.

7 A consideration of these we reserve for treatment in another- article.

VIII

THE RIDDLE OF RASA IN SANSKRIT POETICS

Rasa is one of those words in Sanskrit whose precise significance is as indefinite as its usage is wide-spread.1 In the history of Sanskrit poetics, perhaps no other concept has given rise to so much controversy. Even Jagannātha, the redoubtable author of Rasagangadhara, who tries to review in detail the diverse shades of expert opinion cent- ring round Rasa, is driven to confess at the end that the only common point that emerges is 'Rasa is felt as that which is invariably connected with the highest joy and partaking of beauty in the world.'2 The classical interpre-

1In the Vedic literature 'Rasa' (from y ras 'to taste') means 'taste', 'sweet juice', 'sap' or 'essence'. Cf. (i) पावमानीर्यो अध्येत्यृषिभिः संभृतं रसम्। तस्मै सरस्वती दुहे क्षीरं सर्पिरमधूदकम् ।।- Rgveda, IX. 67.32. (ii) यो वः शिवतमो रस: -Ibid.X.9.2 (iii) रसो वै मधु -Satapatha Brahmana, VI. iv. 3-2-7. (iv) प्राणो वा अङ्गानां रसः Brhadaranyaka Upanisad, 1-3-19. (v) पुरुषस्य वाग्रस: -Chandogya Upanisad, 1-1-2 (vi) रसो वै स: -Taittiriya Upanisad. 2-7-1. The word 'Srngara' as a Rasa is not found in Vedic literature and the early Upanişads. It first occurs in a later Upanisad, viz., Sāmarahasya (Adyar ed.) 234: 12; 243: 1; etc .; the old meaning of rasa is clear in epic literature also. of. रसोऽहमप्सु कौन्तेय -Gita VII. 8. 2 Of. इत्थं नानाजातीयाभिः शेमुषीभिर्नानारूपतयावसितोऽपि मनीषिभिः परमाल्हादाविनाभावितया प्रतीयमान: प्रपञ्चेऽस्मिन् रमणीयतामावहतीति निर्विवादम्। op. cit.p.35 (N.S.P. Ed.).

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tations of Bharata's famous Rasa-sutra by Lollata, Sankuka, Bhattanayaka and Abhinavagupta have been critically examined by modern scholars more than once.3 The idea seems to be well nigh established now that the great divid- ing line between the old (pracina) and new (navya) schools of Sanskrit Poetics is the attitude towards Rasa either as vacya or vyang ya.4 On the testimony of Anandavardhana, Abhinavagupta and Ruyyaka, it is assumed that all the ancients like Bhamaha, Dandin and Udbhata who regard rasavad, etc.,5 as alankaras on a par with upama, etc., imply that Rasas are vacyopaskaraka and not vyang ya aroused for the first time in the appreciative critic. After Abhinavagupta, Prof. M. Hiriyanna interprets the word Rasa as 'integral aesthetic experience' (akhandacarvana) and says-'According to this explanation, then, emotions are not communicated at all by the poet; he only suggests them and thereby helps their waking to life in the mind of a competent person when they will necessarily be experienced by him'.6 This state- ment which has the support of modern psychology also, may be a correct picture of Abhinavagupta's theory; but whether this was also the view of Bharata who propounded the Rasa theory and Anandavardhana who formulated the

3 Vide-(i) Dr. S. K. De: A. Mookerjee Silver Jubilee Commemo- ration Volume, III. pp. 207-253. (ii) Dr. P. V. Kane: History of Sanskrit Poetics. (iii) P. Panchapagesa Sastri: The Philosophy of Aesthetic Pleasure. (iv) Prof. T. N. Srikantaiya: 8860 ลงย สง ออ นิ .

4 Vide-Prof. M. Hiriyanna: The Problem of the Rasavadalankāra, P. O. C. XVI Session, pp. 267-70. 5i.e., Preyas, Ūrjasvin, Samāhita, and Bhāvika. 6 Prof. M. Hiriyanna, loc. cit. p. 269.

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principle of dhvani is a question which needs to be examined further. An attempt is made in the sequel to go into this question and also the related question about the view of the ancients regarding the place of Rasa in poetry. It will be seen that there is no break in tradition regarding Rasa on the part of the ancients like Bhamaha and that their idea of alankāra-synonymous with saundaryaprakāra or sobhakaradharma in the words of Dandin (II. I)-is much wider than is generally acknowledged.

I

We have the direct testimony of all the ancients- Bhamaha, Dandin and Vamana to the effect that they have read the Natyasastra. While admitting drama as a form of literature, they refrain from going into its details since these can be studied best in Bharata's great work.7 In forms other than drama also they declare in unambiguous terms that great works (i. e., Mahākavyas) must be full of Rasas and Bhavas and must have well-knit themes in conformity with Bharata's principle of sandhis.8 Is this not an open admission of the primary importance of the Rasa principle in poetry? A reading of the Natyasastra will show that Bharata never indulges in metaphysical discussions about the aesthetic response of the man of taste. In the only passage9 he devotes to the qualities of the ideal spectators (preksakas), he refrains in fact from using the words Rasa and Bhava. He speaks of the ideal spectator as one who is

7 Cf. Kāvyālankāra, I. 24; Kāvyādarsa I. 31 and Kavyālankāra- sūtravrtti I. 3. 30-32. 8 Cf. Kāvyālankāra, I. 20-1; Kāvyādarša, I. 18. 9 Viz., Ch. 27 (N. S. P. Edn.).

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happy at the sight of happiness, suffering at the sight of grief and full of pity at the sight of the piteous.10 This is what later writers call hrdaya-samvāda or varnanīya-visaya- tanmayībhavanayog yata or emotional sensitivity. Bharata recognises how it varies from individual to individual. He says that drama must please all tastes, the illiterate and the learned, the wealth-seeker and the world-weary, the heroic and the old. So it is that drama is meant for all sorts of characters, high as well as low, young as well as old, male as well as female.11 It will be seen that Kalidāsa is only echoing Bharata when he says-na tyam bhinnarucerjanasya bahudhapyekam samāradhākam ('even to men of myriad tastes, drama doth provide joy').12 With Bharata's text

10 यस्तुष्टे तुष्टिमायाति शोके शोकमुपैति च। दैन्ये दीनत्वमभ्येति स नाट्ये प्रेक्षक: स्मृतः ॥ XXVII. 52. Op.cit. 11 .... उत्तमाधममध्यानां वृद्धबालकयोषिताम् । तुष्यन्ति तरुणाः कामे विदग्धाः समयान्विते ।। अर्थेष्वर्थपराश्चैव मोक्षे वाथ विरागिणः॥शूरा वीभत्सरौद्रेषु नियुद्धेष्वाहवेषु च। धर्माख्यानपुराणेषु वृद्धास्तुष्यन्ति सर्वदा ॥। Ibid. 56. 8. We see here the interest of spectators being grounded on the four values of life (purusārthas), a point utilized by Alankārikas also Of. . Udbhata's Kāvyālankārasangraha :- चतुर्वर्गेतरौ प्राप्य परिहायौ क्रमाद्यतः। चैतन्यभेदादास्वाद्यात् स रसस्तादृशो मतः ॥ IV. 5. This clearly gives the reason why Srngara and Vira alone appeal to the audience as ruling sentiments. The reason is that they inspire kāma and artha respectively-two values universal to men. Didactic poems inspiring dharma and moksa can only have sectional appeal. That is why Santarasa had no importance in secular poems though it was holding sway in didactic epics. 12 Mālavikāgnimitra, Act. I.

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before us, we would not be justified in concluding that the nature of the joy provided is of the same kind for every- one. The conclusion reached is that Bharata does not give18 the name Rasa or Bhava to the entertainment (arādbana or unanda or usvada) which a play provides for an audience. What then is Rasa according to Bharata? Kalidāsa's summary of Bharata's views given above is once again helpful. It is the emotional element in the theme or plot of drama which falls into an organised pattern. In life too we have the interplay of several emotions; but they do not fall into any pattern; they are disorganised. The chaotic inter- play of emotions in the world never brings exclusive joy because the emotions in life are guided by the wayward elements of sattva, rajas and tamas which are always at loggerheads. Into the space of a single moment are packed various activities very often arising out of clashing desires and conflicting emotions. It is impossible to name one single ruling passion as the source of all our activities of even a single day, not to speak of our whole lives. The imagination of the playwright brings law and order into this lawless assemblage of indiscriminate diversity. It keeps out the incoherent elements and picks out only the

13 Nor does Kālidāsa. The expression hrdayasamvadi is used by Bharata himself as an adjective to artha or artistic matter in explaining how bhavas become rasas when universalised therein: योऽर्थः हृदयसंवादी तस्य भावो रसोद्द्रवः । शरीरं व्याप्यते तेन शुष्कं काष्ठमिवाग्निना ।I -VII. 7 Natya Sastra Dr. Manomohan Ghosh's translation reads: 'The state proceeding from the thing which is congenial to the heart is the source of the sentiment and it pervades the body just as fire spreads over the dry wood.' But Abhinavagupta appears to take this as an indication of the ideal spectator. Of. Dhvanyālokalocana, P. 78, (KSRI Edn).

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emotions, primary and derivative (sthāyi-and vyabhicāri- bhavas), their causes-human and material (vibhavas)-and. their effects (anubbavas) for representation. The emotions. thus sorted out by the poet become elemental or universal and shed their individualistic peculiarities. It is in this. sense that Bharata and Kālidāsa speak of drama as an ideal representation of the world's bhuvas.14 The primary emo- tions (bhavas) are called sthayi and are distingushed from emotions which are fleeting or vyabhicari. Since the former alone are conducive to unity and development, they get the name of Rasa when such unity has been achieved in a play through the organic arrangement or successful fusion into. an artistic unity of their causes and effects.15 This cannot be done in thin air. This has to be achieved through all the media at the disposal of the dramatist. So the characters. in a drama will fall into certain definite types in relation to- Rasa16; the plot will have links (sandbis) wherein each part will form an organic element of the whole. Metre and music, dance and gesture, voice and tone, dress and make- up are all directed to achieve this Rasa. The unity of Rasa in a drama does not warrant the exclusion of all other

14 Of. लोकवृत्तानुकरणं नाटयमेतन्मया कृतम् -Bharata, 1. 112; and त्रैलोक्यस्यास्य सर्वस्यं नाटयं भावानुकीर्तनम् -I. 107. The word. anukarana shows that only emotion idealized by the poet is meant and not his felt emotion .. Of .. Aristotle's idea of mimesis. 15 of. एवमेते स्थायिनो भावा रससंज्ञाः प्रत्यवगन्तव्याः -Ibid. VII P.112., and ...... स्थायी भावो रसनाम लभते -P. 107. For a fuller idea, read the English translation of Nātyasastra by Dr. Manomohan Ghosh. Ch. VI and VII. 16 Of. nāyikā-nāyaka-bhedas.

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Rasas. On the other hand it implies the inclusion of diverse Rasas since unity does not mean just uniformity. But even in the delineation of subordinate Rasas (angarasas), the law of propriety must be scrupulously observed. Mutually opposite Rasas like basya and karuna cannot be placed side by side. No angarasa (even if aviruddha or unopposed) should be over-developed. And of all the Rasas, srngāra and vīra have the greatest popularity and have the best claims for being angirasa (ruling sentiment). This is the barest summary of Bharata's rules about Rasa, rules which are scattered all over his Natyasastra. While determining the meaning of his famous Rasa-satra, this background must be kept in mind. When torn out of the context, the sutra may be interpreted to yield any meaning one likes. Now it is pretty clear that Bharata is formulating all these rules solely for the guidance of the artists-playwright or actor or both-and not for the education of the spectators, who, he assumes, have the necessary sensibility or taste. He has not said anywhere about Rasa or bhāva as arising first in the spectator; but on the other hand he has underlined throughout that the poet should observe certain rules in view of Rasa. He has not said that 'emo- tions are not communicated at all by the poet;' on the other hand, he indicates throughout that the poet's only task is to communicate Rasa as understood by him. All the media described at length-music, metre, language, gesture, voice etc.,-are nothing if not aids to this communication by the artist. When the rules of propriety (aucitya) men- tioned above are neglected by the poet, there is rasabhanga because communication has failed. If we thus analyse Bharata's rules objectively and realise that Rasa is the primary concern of the poet and

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that it is achieved by a systematic effort on his part in different directions, we will be in a position to understand his sutra clearly. In Bharata's psychological classification all possible emotions of man are brought under 49 heads of which the first 8 (rati etc.,) are permanent, the next 33 (nirveda etc.,) are fleeting and the last 8 (stambba etc.,) are involuntary and psychophysical. All these are bhavas or states of mind (citta-vrtti-visesa). Of these the first 8 alone have the possibility of being treated at length as ruling passions of diverse situations, antecedent and consequent. When so treated the sthayibhavas themselves are described as Rasa because then their appeal to the audience is certain. Though it is an undisputed fact that sahrdayas also possess these stayibhavas and that is why they can have hrdayasamvada and consequent asvada or ananda, Bharata is not intent on explaining that point. What he wishes to explain is that without an artistic and systematic representation of vibhavas etc., which he also calls artha (see note 13), no Rasa is possible; and without Rasas the artistic attempt is as good as useless (nahi rasadrte kascidurthah pravartate). If Rasa is kept steadily in view, then all his other rules relat- ing to it become indispensable. The sutra says that by vibhāvānubhāvavyabhicārisamyoga Rasa is called forth; or as explained by Bharata himself later, sthāyibhavas come to be called Rasa. But how the samyoga is to be effected is not explained in the sutra. It is the subject of the whole treatise, and it is the observance of these rules that makes a theorist a supporter of Bharata's doctrine of Rasa.

II

So the question boils down to this: Did Bhamaha, Dandin, Vamana and Udbhata openly recognise the canons 4

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of Rasa as enunciated by Bharata? If the answer is 'yes', they must all have realised the supreme importance of Rasa in poetry. No verdict of any later writer can change that position. Considered in this light, all the ancient writers will be found to be adherents of Bharata's Rasa School. Bhamaha says in no ambiguous words that a mahākāvya should contain "noble characters and incidents like state- discussions, marching armies and the hero's success; its story will have the five sandhis and it will not be recondite; it will be grand in scale and though all the four purusārthas (human values) are conveyed, the primary place is that of artha or worldly good. It will represent the way of the world and delineate each one of the Rasas".17 Are these .. not rules of Bharata himself, with just a few modifications to suit poetry, the literary form in question? These occur at the very beginning of his work and show that Bhamaha was perfectly alive to the demands of Rasa in poetry. Similarly, Dandin also echoes Bhämaha in the beginning of his Kavyadarsa and his expression rasabhavanirantaram points to the fact that he wanted the whole work to be permeated by Rasa.18 Vamana admits that drama is literature par excellence; and regards Rasa as a guna of artha or poetic content; something more than a mere ornament ( alankāra)

17 Vide- . सदाश्रयम् ॥ •'मन्त्रदूतप्रयाणाजिनायकाभ्युदयैश्च यत् । पञ्चभिः सन्धिभियुंक्तं नातिव्याख्येयमृद्धिमत् । चतुर्वर्गाभिधानेडपि भूयसार्थोपदेशकृत् । युक्तं लोकस्वभावेन रसैश्च सकलै: पृथक् ।। Kāvyālankāra, I. 19-21. 18 I. 31. Loc. cit.

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in its restricted sense19 as distinct from its wider mean- ing is also noted by him at the very commencement of his work, that alankara is a synonym of saundarya (beauty). All the ancient literary theorists are thus agreed on the fact that rules relating to Rasa though formulated by Bharata specifically for drama, deserve the study of poets too for endowing their works with charm. This implies that the total effect of a long poem like an epic (mahākāvya) is to be measured only in terms of Rasa. But so far as the smaller units of the poem are concerned, their beauty is enriched by a number of alankaras. Underlying all these alankaras, there is the imaginative element or creative element (called vakroktì by Bhāmaha and atišayokti by Dandin).20 The poet's imagery in the different units of the poem has a charm all its own and even when these are absent, if the Rasa element is strong enough, charm is not absent. Then the kavya will be only rasavad and if it is not a heightened rasa like srngāra, but only an agreeable bhāva or emotion like rati in relation to gods etc., or harsa (joy), it is preyasvat. If it is a spirited sentiment, it is urjasvin.

19 Of. दीप्तरसत्वं कान्ति: Kayalankarasutravrtti, III.ii.14; काव्यस्य शोभायाः कर्तारो धर्मा गुणाः; तदतिशयहेतवस्त्वलङकारा: Ibid. III. i. 1-2 and सौन्दर्यमलड्कार: I. i. 2. Rudrata is not taken into consideration because he openly gives the highest place to Rasa in poetry through- out his work. 20 Dandin also calls it Vakrokti in Kāvyādarsa, II. 362. It should be throughout observed that the ancients never regard anything which is devoid of the imaginative element as artha or kāvyārtha. H-24.

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The fall of an emotion is samabita.21 All these are alankāras of poetry in the sense that they happen to be the sources of charm even like upama and so forth, because both are products of the poet's creative imagination (kavisakti). The word alankara in both Bhamaha and Dandin is used in the wider sense of saundarya only and it thus enables them to speak of rasa, bhāva, etc., as also alankaras in the parts of a poem.22 But this does not mean that they could not differentiate between the importance of the two since in poetry Rasas are expressly declared to be important. Now we shall turn to Anandavardhana's approach to the question. He brings to the fore for the first time the relation between the media of poetry-words and conven- tional meanings (vakyartha)-and rasa. He finds that it can be at best indirect suggestion. Theoretically the conclusion is fool-proof since Rasa cannot be part of the conventional meaning of any of the aggregates or wholes that constitute a poem. He renders explicit what was only implicit in Bharata's discussions on Rasa. So far so good; but he takes all his predecessors to task for having laboured under a misconception that Rasa-which in its very nature can be

21 These are not recognised by Vamana, because he uses the word alankāra in the narrow sense as noted above. All these are concepts of the Natyasastra which are assigned their place in poetry. 22 Of. [i] सैषा सर्वत्र वक्रोक्तिरनयार्थो विभाव्यते । यत्नोडस्यां कविना कार्य: कोऽलङ्कारोऽनया विना ॥ Kāvyālankāra II. 85. [ii] यच्च सन्ध्यङ्गवृत्त्यङ्गलक्षणाद्यागमान्तरे। व्यार्वणितमिदं चेष्टमलङ्कारतयैव नः ।। Kāvyādarśa II. 366. The word alankara is used in its wider sense even by Bhoja. Cf. Dr. V. Raghavan's Srngāra Prakāsa.

--------= The Riddle of Rasa in Sanskrit Poetics 85

nothing but alankarya (what is embellished)-was just an alankara or an embellisher of sabda and artha. When he says this, the familiar words artha and alankara are being used by Anandavardhana in restricted senses possibly not intended by the ancients. To Anandavardhana artha is mere dictionary-meaning; to the ancients it is the poetic content.28 To Ānandavardhana alankāra is vācyopaskāraka only; but to the ancients it is saundarya which may be wyang yopaskāraka as well. Abhinavagupta lent his authority to Anandavardhana; and Mammata accepted the interpre- tation as correct. Ruyyaka in his Alankārasarvasva accepts fully the stand of Anandavardhana24; but in actual practice defines and illustrates rasavadādi alankāras also unlike

23 Poetic content is to be distinguished from plain talk and scientific writing, both of which are strictly kept out of the sphere of poetry by the ancients as they are wanting in vakrokti, the raison d'etre of alankara. Ānandavardhana is equating it with them in his criticism. Cf. "Poets write 'no language' or none that can be learned in advance of reading their poems. Being unique, poetic meaning neces- sarily works by departure from the expected sequence of normal spoken language. Not only is every trope such a departure but also every elaboration, reticence or conciseness; all that distinguishes poetry from ordinary talk." Prof. A.D.S. Fowler (Queen's College, Oxford) in Essays in Criticism, July, 1956, p. 355. This truth is as much in line with the ancient concept of vakrokti as the later theory of dhvani. There is no justification for regarding that alankāra is just vagvikalpa or turn of commonplace talk as Ānandavardhana holds. The poet's vision is indeed the sheet-anchor of the concept of alankāras also. For a fuller discussion of the meaning of artha, see the present writer's ' Key-Terms in Sanskrit Literary Criticism'. 24 Alankarasarvasva, Introductory section.

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Mammata who omits their consideration in strict conformity with Anandvardhana's position. Ruyyaka's procedure is thus an indirect pointer to the fact that Anandavardhana's explanation was not wholly acceptable to all critics. Anandavardhana has considered at length the ancient idea of rasavadalankara before dismissing it as unsound and revising it to suit his stand. The arguments reviewed in the Dhranyaloka deserve greater attention than they have received so far at the hands of scholars. In the beginning of the II Uddyota he refers to two ideas of the ancients about the rasavadalankāra :- (i) Delineation of direct emotional behaviour in senti- ent beings; or (ii) Delineation of emotional behaviour imputed to insentient beings. According to Anandavardhana the first alternative is untenable because it will rob or restrict the scope of other figures like simile inasmuch as the bulk of poetry relates to emotional behaviour of sentient beings; and a great part of poetry wherein emotional behaviour is imputed to insentient objects like hill and river will have to be branded as nīrasa (devoid of rasa). The second alternative is to be rejected because it strengthens the first reason already mentioned. Both these criticisms lose their force in view of the fact that the ancients recognise both sankara and samsrsti as alankāras. It is unfortunate that the reading of Bhamaha's example of rasavadalankāra25 is hopelessly corrupt. Nothing can be made of it. But in Bhattikavya26 we get the follow-

25 देवी समागमद्धर्ममस्फरिण्यतिरोहिता-III. 6, Loc. cit. 26 X. 48.

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ing example of rasavadalankāra: ग्रहमणिरशनं दिवो नितम्बम् विपुलमनुत्तमलब्धकान्तियोगम् । च्युतवनवसनं मनोऽभिरामं शिखरकरैरमदनादिव स्पृशन्तम् ॥ Here the subject of description is a high mountain. The mountain is said to be a lover tenderly touching with his peak the comely and bright curves of the disrobed darling viz., Heaven, whose girdle is starry. Here we see erotic behavior imputed to the mountain, an insentient object. The commentary Jayamangala quotes Bhamaha's definition of rasavadalankara in this connection. This con- firms the conclusion that Anandavardhana had before him some such definite view of Rasavadalankara which he sets out to refute. It remains to be consideted whether Ānandavardhana's rejection of the title rasavad for such examples is strictly warranted by his theory of dhvani. Anandavardhana him- self has given three similar examples-two are from Kālidāsas' Vikramorvasiya in this context27-and says that they are treasure-houses of Rasa (rasanidhanabhūta). Accord- ing to the narrow view of Rasavadalankara attributed by Anandavardhana to ancients, these will not be rasavad but nīrasa. But we have seen from Bhatti that they did include such instances also under rasavadalankara itself. The

27 तन्वी मेघजलार्द्र ... and तरङ्गभ्रूभङ्ग ... See the present writer's English Translation of Dhvanyāloka (Poona Oriental Series, p. 22-25). According to Ãnandavardhana Rasavadalankāra is instanced only when one Rasa is subordinate to another in a single passage. This idea in itself shows that the reader's āsvāda is far from being intended.

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position of the ancients has been narrowed down by Anandavardhana to suit his stand here also. Even granting for argument's sake that he has not distorted the older notion of rasavadalankara, can we say that Anandavardhana is justified in regarding these as examples of rasa-dhvani? That Änandavardhana is innocently trapped into a self- contradiction here will be evident by comparing his earlier remarks about samasokti which is only a gunībhūta-vyang ya- alankara according to him and not rasa-dhvani. The example cited for samusokti also is very similar to the ones we have been considering : उपोढरागेण विलोलतारकं तथा गृहोतं शशिना निशामुखम्। यथा समस्तं तिमिरांशुकं तया पुरोपि रागाद् गलितं न लक्षितम् ॥ Here, according to Anandavardhana, what is of primary importance is the vacya, viz., the moonlit night as the subject of description and etotic behaviour is imputed to it through dlesa which only adds to the beauty of the vūcya. This same argument can very well be advanced in the case of the instances cited earlier. The line of demarcation between them is far too slender; and if samāsokti is just an alankāra, imputed sentient behaviour of insentient objects too (acetane cetanavrttāntayojanā) can only be an alankāra even according to Anandavardhana himself who has admitted more than once28 that alankaras which are gunibhutavyang ya

28 See Dhvanyāloka, III. 34, 35, 36, 37 & 39. Kārika 40 says that from the stand-point of Rasa, gunibhūta-vyangya too will become dhvani only. This shift of standpoint is very tricky. According to Dandin, the cetanatvāropa on acetanas is samādhiguņa which is praised by him as the mainstay of poets. Cf. Kāvyādara, II. 98-100.

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are no less beautiful than dhvani-kāvya. But in samāsokti Anandavardhana conveniently forgets that nūyika-nāyaka- vyavabära involves rasābhivyakti which he brings to the fore in acetane cetanavrttāntayojanā. From this we conclude that Anandavardhana's attitude towards Rasa changes when he is criticising the ancients for their mistake in considering an alankārya as alankāra. In his own example of samāsokti he says not a word about Rasa while in similar examples of acetane cetanavrttanta-yojana he sees nothing but Rasa. Now we come to the crux of the problem. According to Anandavardhana Rasa is only uyang ya; and when it is. intended as important by the poet it should be termed only Dhvani and not alankara in its narrow sense of vacyopaskāraka. We have seen that the ancients too lay down that the importance of Rasa should be kept steadily before his mind by the poet and even when alankūras like upamadi are absent, Rasas and bhavas might partake of charm and get the name of alankara in the larger sense .. When one considers a poem from the standpoint of Rasa, it will always be rasavad, etc., according to the ancients29 or rasadi-dhvani in the language of Anandavardhana. Stated thus, the whole controversy appears just a quarrel over words. But it is much more than that. Anandavardhana endeavours to show that the poet's activity (vyapāra) must

29 Of. [i] अहृद्यमसुनिर्भेदं रसवत्त्वेऽप्यपेशलम् । काव्यं कपित्थमामं च केषाञ्चित् सदृशं यथा। Kāvyālankāra, V, 62 .. [ii] अस्पृष्टबन्धलालित्यमपेतं रसवत्तया । न तत्काव्यमिति ग्राम्यं केवलं कटु कर्णयोः ॥ Jinasena. Mahāpurāņa, I. 97. H-25

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primarily concern itself with Rasa and only secondarily with alankaras. More explicitly than the ancients, he has referred to each rule of Bharata regarding Rasa and pointed out its application in literary works. In the circumstances, the difference between the ancients and Anandavardhana ceases to be a difference in doctrine but amounts to only a difference in the degrec of emphasis on Rasa. Leaving out the logical implications of the dhvani theory, if we confine our attention to this difference in emphasis on Rasa bet- ween the ancients and Anandavardhana, we find that the ancients spoke of Rasa mainly with reference to composite works (prabandha); and for all manifestations of Rasa, bhava etc., in component parts of a work they devised the figures like rasavad. For short cūtus or muktakas (self- contained stanzas) though brimming with emotion, the ancients would appear to deny the full-fledged name Rasa; they account for their charm through alankāras like preyas and urjasvin. Anandavardhana on the other hand goes the whole length and says that there is as much Rasa in a part of a work as in a catu or muktaka,80 and that all bhavas etc., are more charming than upama etc. This is the real difference between the two view points. As we have already seen, Bharata's rules of Rasa have in mind only the plan of a whole work and it is difficult to imagine that he would have quoted any single stanza out of a whole drama as exemplifying this or that Rasa or accepted that bhavas, etc., had an independent status equal to that of Rasa. At the most he would say that there was a touch of Rasa or

30 Dhvanyāloka, vrtti on III. 7. But Abhinavagupta himself admits in his Abhinavabharati that Rasas are possible only in prabandhas and not in muktakas. Cf. V. Raghavan, Śrngāra Prakāša. p. 79.

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rasavattva therein. Viewed in this light, even Vamana's procedure of counting dīpta-rasas as a quality (guna) of artha or kavyartha as a whole, acquires significance. This attitude of the ancients points to a period in the history of Sanskrit Poetry when prabandhas were held in higher esteem than muktakas. But by Anandavardhana's time Amaru and others had made this genre most popular and Änandavardhana had no hesitation in giving them the highest status. It appears to the present writer that the grammatico-philosophical discussions of dhvani are primarily directed towards this end. In this process of enlarging the scope of Rasa to include muktakas and individual parts of a whole work, the word Rasa has been given a restricted meaning perhaps not contemplated by Bharata. It is only in this restricted sense Rasa can be a wyangya and not a vacyopaskāraka. But in the original unrestricted sense of Rasa, it could be uyangya only from a whole work; and in its parts it could only be a vācyopaskāraka, since the vācya was the poetic theme of the work as a whole, which it embellished. Herein lies the key to the riddle of Rasa. Änandavardhana was content only with enlarging the scope of Rasa to include parts of a work and muktakas. He did not attempt any philosophical justification of his position. But Abhinavagupta who was more of an original thinker than a commentator, gave the philosophical justifi- cation by equating Rasa with the critic's akhandananda, which is nothing but a burst of innate atmananda (mentioned in the Upanisads) divested of its shackles of self-interest etc.,31 temporarily though. The extreme implications of

31 We do not come across this identification clearly anywhere in the Dhvanyāloka itself.

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this theory deny Rasa to the poet himself and deny the very process of Rasa-communication from the poet to the critic.32 However great may be the importance of Abhinavagupta's conclusion in the history of Indian aesthetics, it is not a sound criterion with which to judge the ancients. Indian thought is chary of conceding that the later a doctrine, the more progressive it should necessarily be. In fact our best writers-Kalidasa and Bhavabhuti38, Bāna and Mägha, and great lexicographers like Amarasimha- are in line with the ancient tradition that Rasas are relative to the world of the poet's imagination, which in its turn may be assumed to find an echo (hrdaya-samvada) in the

32 Änandavardhana never denies the possibility of such communi- cation. Of. [i] शोक: श्लोकत्वमागतः I. 5 and [ii] शृङ्गारी चेत्कविः काव्ये जातं रसमयं जगत्। स एव वीतरागश्चेन्नीरसं सर्वमेव तत्।। Parikaraśloka after III. 41 Since śoka means 'pity' as well as 'sorrow', the word may well be taken in its sense of 'pity' here. Thus understood, the difficulty imagined by Abhinavagupta will disappear. See next note. 88 Of. [i] पुटपाकप्रतीकाशो रामस्य करुणो रसः and करुणस्य मूर्तिरथवा शरीरिणी विरहव्यथेव वनमेति जानकी। Uttararāmacarita. [ii] न वोर्ऽर्थो जातिरग्राम्या श्लेषोडक्लिष्ट: स्फुटो रसः। Harsacarita [iii] रसः शृङ्गारकरुणहास्यरौद्रभयानकैः । वीरादिभी रसैर्युक्तं काव्यमेतदगायताम्।। Ramayana, 1. iv. [iv] शृङ्गार: शुचिरुज्वलः, उत्साहवर्धनो वीर :- Natyavarga. As Kșirasvāmin points out, these are descriptions of Śrngāra and Vīra respectively; not synonyms (paryāya). Amarasimha considers that only pity at the sight of sorrow constitutes karunarasa which he explains as [NOTE CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE]

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critic and result in his aesthetic experience. Even Ānanda- vardhana has spoken of Rasa primarily with reference to the poetic content only.34 One more point emerges out of this discussion. The place of nature-poetry wherein there is no shade of emotional behaviour, will be much lower than that of poetry

कारुण्यं करुणा घृणा कृपा दयानुकम्पा स्यादनुक्लेशोऽपि ... This either points to a tradition different from that of Bharata or describes the spectator's response. Lollata, who is so much criticised by Abhinavagupta and others, (and who is possibly earlier than Anandavardhana) states in no uncertain terms even like Anandavardhana himself that long descriptions of Nature by poets irrespective of considerations of Rasa are to be regretted : Cf. सज्जनपुष्पावचयनसन्ध्याचन्द्रोदयादि वाक्यमिह । सरसमपि नातिबहुलं प्रकृतरसानन्वितं रचयेत् ।। यस्तु सरिदद्रिसागरपुरतुरगरथादिवर्णने यत्नः । कविशक्तिख्यातिफलो विततधियां नो मतः स इह ॥ -Quoted in Kāvyamīmāmsā Ch. IX. P. 45. 34 Cf. His numerous descriptions of Rasa as vakyārtha and रसवन्ति हि वस्तूनि सालङ्काराणि कानिचित् pp. 222, loc. cit. Even svaśabdavacyatvadosa which Anandavardhana makes much of is possible only in this sense. But in fact the ancients including Udbhata never said that svasabda was an independent mode of conveying Rasas. According to them, along with vibhāvadi, svasabdas too could usefully occur, e.g., in Kālidāsa's famous description of the pursued deer in fright-ग्रीवाभङ्नगाभिरामं etc. (Sakuntala I). The word bhiya .. is serving a very important purpose to convey the emotion of fright. If that svasabda is omitted, bhayānaka-rasa will not be communicated at all so successfully. The rigid distinction between the body (śarīra) and soul (ātman), is to say the least, vapid. An extreme dualism between the two in poetry is very misleading. Only an advaita or visistādvaita will explain the relation correctly.

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full of Rasa-dhvani. This point is recognised by Professor M. Hiriyanna who goes to the extent of calling it the contribution of Indian poetics to world criticism.35 That poetry dealing with beauty in nature can evoke aesthetic experience no less charming than that of Rasa is a well established fact in modern criticism. As Ruyyaka puts it there is vastusaundaryasamvada in nature-poetry in contrast to brdayasamvāda of rasavad. If nature's beauty in all its minute details is successfully communicated, it will be svabhavokti alankāra; if the beauty transformed in the imagi- nation of the poet is communicated, it will be bhūvika alankara. In fact there is no disputing the fact that these are shades of beauty which do not deserve to be under- rated in the domain of poetry. Thus the older notion of Alankara in its wide sense of saundaryaprakāra is as justi- fiable as the later notion of Rasa-dhvani. While the later school is forced to underrate allsources of poetic charm

35 Cf. "There are two types or orders of poetry, according to this school, one dealing with 'emotional situations' in life, as we may describe them and the other dealing with other situations in life or with objects of external naturo; and that the latter is reckoned as :

relatively inferior poetry" .- Art Experience (Studies in honour of S. Radhakrishnan, Allen & Unwin, p. 180). "Here is another point which is far more important, viz., the discovery that there is an order of poetry which requires a deeper form of appreciation and. yields a higher kind of aesthetic experience than is ordinarily ack- nowledged; and in this discovery we may say, consists one of the chief contributions of India to the general philosophy of art."-op. cit. p. 188. Perhaps the Dhvanikara would not subscribe to such a view since he says emphatically in I. 2. अर्थः सहृदयश्लाध्यः काव्यात्मा यो व्यवस्थितः । वाच्यप्रतीयमानाख्यौ तस्य भेदावुभौ स्मृतौ।

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other than that of Rasadi, the earlier school does not . understate the claims of Rasädi to the same extent in com- posite poems : रसोल्लासी कवेरात्मा स्वच्छे शब्दार्थदर्पणे । माधुर्योजीयुतप्रौढे प्रतिविन्द प्रकाशते ।। 36

36 Quoted by Pratīhārondurāja in his Udbhatavriti pp. 79-80. It is not part of the author's intention in this article to minimise the importance of Anandavardhana's searching analysis of the varities of dhvani, unique in the history of Sanskrit Poetics. All that is attempted is to show that the older doctrine of Alankara was neither ridiculously stupid nor devoid of poetic sensibility. The two schools are complimentary rather than contradictory to each other.

IX

THE CONCEPT OF SUGGESTION IN

SANSKRIT POETICS

The concept of Dhvani or Suggestion, was popularised by Anandavardhana in the 9th century A.D. Bhamaha, Dandin, and the other ancient theorists were mainly con- cerned with evolving the principle of intellectual beauty in literature; their aim was to guide the poet and educate the critic by pointing to such examples in literature as could be explained by intellectual categories. They were no doubt aware that literature is mainly 'a thing of beauty and a joy for ever'; but they also believed that this beauty in literature was not something elusive and indefinable, but something that could be recognised and scientifically ex- plained. It was this belief which made them distinguish a multitude of figures of speech and as many as ten qualities of style. Different modes of style too had been noticed, and a list of flaws in composition had been furnished for the benefit of the poets. This is in short the substance of the doctrines of Alankāra, Guņa, Rīti and Doșa. The essential defect common to all those doctrines is obvious. Enjoyment of literature is not so much intellectual as aesthetic and our intellectual standards of judgment are not often of much service in the matter of aesthetic appre- ciation. These early theorists often mistook wit for poetic genius and tricks of style for poetic greatness. The themes for an epic were categorically classified and one had but to present them in the orthodox figurative way to be sure of poetic fame. Time has now amply demonstrated the futility of such attempts. The countless Campu-works in

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Sanskrit literature which obey these rules so implicity and slavishly are anything but readable. Surprise is so essential an ingredient of wit that no wit will bear repetition. When it is overdone, a stock metaphor such as 'moon-face' or 'foot-lotus' becomes stale and repulsive to a degree, though it may be in strict conformity with a hundred and one rules of rhetoric. Even pun which may be regarded as wit of words, fails to send one to raptures after the first shock of sudden discovery is over. It is an intellectual game at best and can hardly claim an important place in a serious poem. To most of us today, who have drunk deep at the fountain of European literature, these may sound like so many hometruths and commonplaces of literary criticism. But by the 9th century A.D., when there was no English literature worth anything, when there was no literary contact between India and Greece or Rome, India could not only be proud of a rich possession of literature, but also had made such rapid strides in the matter of literary criticism that critics like Anandavardhana could propose solutions to the fundamental problems of literature, which have been only confirmed by the knowledge that has accrued in the centuries that have rolled since his time. There was no doubt a grain of truth in the investigations of the earlier theorists. Änandavardhana sifted this grain from the chaff and ably promulgated a sound theory of literature in his Locus Classicus of literary criticism,-the Dhvanyaloka. The Dhvanyaloka is an epoch-making work in the history of Sanskrit Poetics for more reasons than one. It not only differs from the previous works in its con- clusions but deviates from them even in the mode of approach to the subject and the method of treatment. The established procedure of the ancient writers was to define 5

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succinctly, explain summarily and illustrate sparingly. Individual bits of poetry would be selected to illustrate one technical device or another. Such bits strung together with the help of a story-slender though-were supposed to constitute a unit in literature (Sarga), and a collection of such units was called an epic Sargabandha).2 Hence the early rhetoricians never for a moment doubted that their procedure was just the right one to be adopted for explain- ing the essential elements in poetry. But Anandavardhana felt differently. He was of opinion that no proper literary estimate of a poem was possible unless it was considered as a whole unit and until the elements that accounted for its unity were traced down. In order that the greatness and beauty of a composition (Prabandha) be fully appreciated, Anandavardhana upheld the intrinsic nature of Rasas and endeavoured to bring out their significance by means of a brilliant and thorough- going analysis. Bharata's theory of Rasa which so far had been restricted in its scope to the field of drama, was now extended to the province of poetry and, what is more, the several factors that help or hinder the progress of Rasas in poetry were exhaustively and scientifically treated for the first time. Even in Mnktakas or single, self-contained, stanzas, the charm caused by the infusion of Rasas was given a higher place than that derived by the inclusion of Alankāras.8 The chief centre of appeal in all poetry is thus Rasa or aesthetic sentiment according to Anandavardhana; and

2 Cf. सर्गबन्धो महाकाव्यम्-Dandin's Kavyadarsa, I. 14. 3 प्रबन्धे मुक्तके वाऽपि रसादीन् बन्धुमिच्छता । यत्न: कार्य: सुमतिना परिहारे विरोधिनाम् ॥-ध्वन्यालोक, II. 17.

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they only are critics of culture and taste whose minds are receptive to the aesthetic sentiments delineated in literary compositions. In other words, sabrdayatva or rasajnata are interchangeable terms.4 The earlier writers on poetics had held bahusrutatva or vast erudition as an indispensable qualification of a literary critic, and his culture had been supposed to consist in the mastery of all the allied branches of learning like Grammar, Metrics and Rhetoric. Ānanda- vardhana ridicules the idea and rejects it. He states that not all the learning of these sciences will be of any avail in the matter of literary appreciation. The secret of literature will be open only to a few gifted souls.5 Only the universal appreciation of the best minds can have weight in literary criticism, not the dogmatic assertions of any group who accept and approve of certain conventional categories. There can never be any finality about such categories since they can be replaced by others at any time.6 The supremacy of Rasa in poetry was thus maintained by Anandavardhana and he demanded of the literary critic responsiveness or sabrdayatva. He also went a step further and tried to show how even the poet should strain every nerve of his in endowing his works with Rasa. The inseparable connection between poetic genius (Kavipratibha)

4 रसज्ञतैव सहृदयत्वम्-Ibid. p. 206 (Calcutta Sanskrit Series). 5 शब्दार्थशासनज्ञानमात्रेणैव न वेद्यते। वेद्यते स हि काव्यार्थतत्त्वज्ञैरेव केवलम् ॥- Ibid. I. 7. 6 किमिदं सहृदयत्वं नाम? कि रसभावानपेक्षकाव्याश्रितसमयविशेषाभिज्ञत्वं, उत रसभावादिमयकाव्यस्वरूपपरिज्ञाननैपुण्यम्? पूर्वस्मिन् पक्षे तथाविधस- हदयव्यवस्थापितानां शब्दविशेषाणां चारुत्वनियमो न स्यात्, पुनः समयान्त- रेणान्यथाडपि व्यवस्थापनसंभवात्।-Ibid.p.206.

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and Rasa was strikingly brought home by Anandavardhana. From the legend about the origin of the Ramayana, Anandavardhana draws the conclusion that it was the boundless pathos of the situation, when one of the happy pair of linnets was shot down in cold blood and the other was shrieking piteously, that spurred the creative imagi- nation of Valmiki to compose his immortal poem.7 He also traces the steady progress of Karuna-rasa or the pathetic sentiment from the beginning, right up to the end of the Ramayana.8 Anandavardhana waxes eloquent over the salutary influence of Rasas in poetry. Though the themes for poetry have always been the same, if there is yet endless variety from poet to poet, it is exclusively due to the multi-formed manifestation of Rasas. Rasas, in short, endow eternity of interest and charm to subjects otherwise limited and circumscribed.9 Even like trees in spring, well-known themes put on a charm and splendour altogether new and fresh, when they are asso- ciated with Rasa.10 That is why Anandavardhana appeals to the poets never to become indifferent to considerations of Rasa while writing their works.11

7काव्यस्यात्मा स एवार्थस्तथा चादिकवेः पुरा। कौञ्चद्वन्दववियोगोत्थशशोक: रलोकत्वमागतः ।-Ibid. 1.5. 8 For detailed information, see the present writer's article: "Val- -== mīki and Vyasa, an Indian approach." The Bharat Jyoti, Divali Number, 1947. 9 Cf. मितोऽप्यनन्ततां प्राप्तः काव्यमार्गो यदाश्रयात् ।-Ibid.IV. 3. 10 दृष्टपूर्वा अपि ह्यर्थाः काव्ये रसपरिग्रहात् । सर्वे नवा इबाभान्ति मधुमास इव द्रुमाः ॥-Ibid. IV. 4. 11 रसादिमय एकस्मिन् कविः स्यादवधानवान् ।-Ibid. IV. 5.

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What then are these considerations of Rasa to be so carefully kept in mind by the poet and so attentively appreciated by the critic? The first and most important consideration governing all compositions aiming at Rasa is Aucitya or propriety, and there can be no greater failing of a poet than Anaucitya or impropriety.12 The demands made by the principle of Aucitya are :- Firstly, the selection by the poet of such themes only as are rich in situations that admit of a free and full handling of the accessories of Rasa, viz., Sthāyibhāva, Vibhāva, Anubhāva and Sancaribhāva.13 Secondly, the poet should not be blindly faithful to the original story wherein conflicting Rasas may be found. He should not hesitate to recast the story so as to suit the dominant sentiment. Thirdly, the poet should construct his plot with a view to evoking the sentiments, and not in servile obedience to formal rules of Poetics. Fourthly, no single Rasa should be delineated incessantly. There should be a variety of Rasas, and at the same time the unity of the dominant emotion should not be impaired. Finally, the poet should use Alankäras sparingly, even when he is cap- able of using them in plenty.14 When the poet pays deference to the demands of Rasa and Aucitya, his poetry shines out supreme. He shakes off the artificial rules that enchain his creative imagination and becomes a free and fearless agent. Anandavardhana's language becomes poetic when he describes the poet's

12 अनौचित्यादृते नान्यद्रसभङ्गस्य कारणम् । प्रसिद्धौचित्यबन्धस्तु रसस्योपनिषत्परा ॥-Ibid.p.186. 13 For an explanation of the terms, see the present writer's article on 'Bharata's Theory of Rasa', The Poona Orientalist, Jan. 1948. 14 Cf. Dhvanyāloka, III 10-14.

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mission and privilege. 'In the boundless realm of poetry, the poet himself is to be regarded as the sole creator. According to his tastes, the whole world will revolve. If the poet is sensitive to emotions himself, the whole world will be depicted by him as suffused with emotion; on the other hand, if the should lack in feeling, the world of his creation also will be dry and sapless. He is free to lend life to inanimate objects and make even animate things look inanimate in their behaviour. It is a rare privilege of the poet that he can thus transmute anything and everything in the world to solid gold of poetry. But in this he succeeds just in the same proportion as he does justice to the claims of Rasa'.15 Having thus sttikingly demonstrated the all-important nature of Rasa in poetry and its superiority over other formal excellences, Anandavardhana attempted to give an explanatoin of the process by which Rasas are delineated by the poet and enjoyed by the critic. It was in this con- nection that he brought forward his famous theory of Dhvani or suggestion. We have so far postponed a discus- sion of this concept because in the first place its significance can be grasped only in its relation to the concepts of

15 अपारे काव्यसंसारे कविरेव प्रजापतिः । यथाऽस्मै रोचते विश्वं तथेदं परिवर्तते ।। श्रृङ्गारी चेत् कविः काव्ये जातं रसमयं जगत्। स एव वीतरागश्चेत् नीरसं सर्वमेव तत्।। भावानचेतनानपि चेतनवत् चेतनानचेतनवत् । व्यवहारयति यथेच्छं सुकविः काव्ये स्वतन्त्रतया ।। तस्मान्नास्त्येव तदूस्तु यत् सर्वात्मना रसतात्पर्यवतः कवेस्तदिच्छया तदभिमत- रसाङ्गतां न धत्ते। तथोपनिबध्यमानं वा न चारुत्वातिशयं पुष्णाति. -Ibid. p. 293.

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Alankara and Rasa, and secondly because it is none too simple. The problem that Anandavardhana had to solve pre- sented itself before him in some such way as this: What is the essence of literature? And how is this essence or soul of literature connected with the skill of the poet on the one hand and with the aesthetic response of the critic on the other? Is it possible to formulate a principle of literary criticism which is wide enough to explain all grades of beauty in literature and by following which one can be guided aright in the matter of recognising the multi-formed " manifestations of that life-bestowing essence of literature? These questions had not occurred to the minds of the earlier theorists precisely in this form. They took it for granted that literature is beautiful and they had tried to analyse this beauty minutely and to propose a scheme of Alankaras which in their opinion was quite exhaustive. All specific shades of beauty in literature were labelled as so many Alankaras,16 and general excellances as so many Gunas or Qualities of Sabda (sound), and Artha (sense) or both. Änandavardhana saw clearly that these considerations did not touch even the fringe of the fundamental problem. The presence or absence of Alankaras did not matter at all in masterpieces of literature. There were poems devoid of Alankaras and yet highly beautiful. There were also poems containing several Alankaras and yet lacking in appeal. As regards the Gunas, Rīti, Vrtti and so on, they never played any part in poetry by themselves, independent of other considerations. The particular Gunas, etc. in a poem were consequenced by the demands of Rasa only and

16 अनन्ता हि वाग्विकल्पास्तत्प्रकारा एव चालङ्कारा :- Ibid. p. 275.

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their value was thus not intrinsic but only conditioned by the exigencies of Rasa.17 Anandavardhana, then, could have easily settled the problem of the 'soul' of poetry by saying that Rasa is the soul, neither Alankāra, nor Guna. But here again there was the danger of the principle of Rasa being interpreted in a formal and mechanical way, and such an interpretation would surely have misled the aspiring poet and the budding critic alike by exercising the same stranglehold upon their minds as the categories of figures of speech had done before. Anandavardhana not only wanted to steer clear of this danger, but he was also anxious to avoid the pitfalls of the ancients who did not distinguish any varying grades of excellence in different works of literature but thought that all works contained a uniform kind of beauty. Both these objects of Anandavardhana were satisfactorily accomplished in the new concept of literary criticism that he formulated, viz., Dhvani. What are the essentials of the concept of Dhvani? The word Dhvani literarlly means 'Tone'; but it is used in the technical sense of Suggestiveness' in Anandavardhana's book: It is the characteristic par excellence of Rasa in poetry. Rasas cannot be said to be objectively present in any work of art or literature. They are only present in a latent from and in the abstract.18 The concrete raw-material of poetry

17 Cf. तमर्थमवलम्बन्ते येऽङ्गिनं ते गुणाः स्मृताः । अङ्गाश्रितास्त्वलङ्कारा मन्तव्याः कटकादिवत् ॥-Ibid. II. 7. Cf. also अस्फुटस्फुरितं काव्यतत्त्वमेतद् यथोदितं । अशक्नुवन्धिर्व्याकंतुं रीतयः संप्रवर्तिता: ॥-Ibid. III. 47. 18 Cf. चित्तवृत्तिविशेषा हि रसादयः ।-P. 291,

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consists in words and meanings. The former may please or pain the ear of the reader; the latter may instruct or amuse his intellect. But it is not for these things that man has been taking an abiding interest in the pursuit of poetry down the ages. The reason for this eternal interest and universal appeal of poetry should be sought elsewhere, should be sought in man's emotional inheritance and his emotional behavior. Thus the cause is more subjective than objective, but it is not entirely subjective either. In that case every work of literature, irrespective of the greatness of its author ought to please and satisfy the reader. It is not so. Only the works of a few master- poets (Maha-kavis) happen to delight the critics of taste. This is because Rasas are inseparably bound up with the works of literature in some way or the other.19 Now what is the nature of this relation? How do the concrete words and meanings in poetry succeed in becoming the media for the transmission of Rasa ? How does Rasa, an experience of the poet at the first instance, become the critic's at the final stage? Ãnandavardhana's reply to all these questions is em- bodied in his principle of Dhvani. Dhvani is a unique power that words and meanings acquire in the province of poetry.20 In ordinary parlance, words have only two types of meaning :- One is the conventional meaning, which is standardized by universal acceptance (Sanketitārtha or

19 Cf. यत्र तु रसादीनामविषयत्वं स काव्यप्रकारो न संभवत्येव-Loc. cit. 20 Cf. प्रतीयमानं पुमरन्यदेव वस्त्वस्ति वाणीषु महाकवीनाम् । यत्तत्प्रसिद्धावयवातिरिक्तं विभाति लावण्यमिवाङ्गनासु ॥-Ibid. I. 4. Cf. also-यत्रार्थरशब्दो वा तमर्थमुपसर्जनीकृतस्वाथौं। व्यत्ङ्क: काव्यविशेषः स ध्वनिरिति सूरिभि: कथितः ॥-Ibid. I. 13.

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Vacyartha); the other is the idiomatic sense in particular expressions, sanctioned by usage ( Laksyartha). Even this second meaning is but rarely utilized in life, since it is resorted to only when the surface-meaning fails to be coherent. There is no other import of words in our com- mon parlance, and in the language of science too, these two imports serve our purpose quite well. But in literature, they will be found to be totally inadequate since the purpose of literature is not mere intelligibility or the edu- cation of the reader. These may be there incidentally, but its main concern is to evoke certain emotions which are universally present in men. To accomplish this purpose, language in literature takes the assistance of a new power unknown to it in life and this is Dhvani or suggestion. A passage in literature is richly suggestive of the various emotions and the critic's culture and talent are evidenced in his ability to catch these subtle suggestions. A poet's greatness too lies only in the best service he can derive from this unique process of suggestion while he composes his work.21 If a poet fails to make his poetry suggestive of Rasas, he stands condemned because Rasas cannot be de- lineated in any other manner, and there is no poetry worth the name witout Rasa.22 That is why Anandavardhana affirms categorically that Dhvani is the soul of poetry.23 By admitting the truth of

21 Cf. सोडर्थ: तद्व्यक्तिसामर्थ्ययोगी शब्दशच कश्चन । यत्नतः प्रत्यभिज्ञेयौ तौ शब्दार्थों महाकवेः ॥- Ibid. I. 8. 22 Cf. यत्र तु रसादीनमविषयत्वं स काव्यप्रकारो न संभवत्येव-Ibid.p.291. Cf. also. नीरसस्तु प्रवन्धो यः सोऽपशब्दो महान् कवेः । स तेनाकविरेव स्यादन्येनास्मृतलक्षण: II-Ibid.p.211. 23 Cf. काव्यस्यात्मा स एवार्थ: (प्रतीयमानार्थः) Tbid. I. 15.

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this statement, the real nature of poetry will be grasped and the supreme importance of Rasa realised. The next ques- tion that arises is whether the principle of Dhvani is adequate enough to estimate the significance of Alankāra, Guna, and the other well-known elements of poetry. Yes; it is more than adequate. Guided by the principle of Dhvani, we can unerringly decide that Alankaras will act as ornaments only so long as they help the even flow of Rasa and the moment they hinder it, they cease to be ornaments and act as so many deadweights. When the principle of Rasa as underlying the adoption of Gunas is realised, we know precisely when the particular Gunas are merits and when they cease to be so, nay, when they become positive demerits or Dosas. That Gunas are not stable and invari- able characteristics, but only variable adjuncts, will be clearly understood. The same is true of Rītis, Sanghatana and Vrtti too. Thus all the earlier concepts get added significance by a clear grasp of the principle of Dhvani. The principle of Dhvani will be found serviceable in another direction also. No one can deny the fact that all wotks of literature are not of uniform excellence but admit of varying degrees of excellence. The earlier concepts of Alankāra, Guna, etc. do not help us in the least in detecting these degrees of excellence. With the principle of Dhvani, it is not so; for Dhvani is not a watertight thing, not admitting of varieties. The ways of suggestion are as mani- fold as they are mysterious. Its best and most delightful manifestation is in regard to Rasa, and a poem where Rasas are evoked lavishly is bound to belong to the best class of poetry (Dhvani or Uttama-kavya). But there are other ways of suggestion too. Instead of Rasas being allowed to shine out supremely, they may be over-shadowed by verbal skill

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and the poet's extravagant imagery. Here the intellectual appeal gets the better of emotional appeal and hence we may say that it does not belong to the very best class of poetry but to the next-best (Gunībhüta-vyang ya or Madhyama- kävya). And of course there is the bulk of literature which is the work not of first-rate minds but of third-rate poets who mistake the outward glitter and polish of langu- age to be the very soul and substance of poetry. The works of such writers abound in figures of speech and particularly teem with tricks of metre and style. To say the least, their appeal is only pictorial since they are totally devoid of Rasa-Dhvani; and they are to be brought under the category of Citra-kāvya.24 Nor is it all. So far we have dealt with Dhvani only in relation to Rasa. But the domain of Dhvani is so vast that it is difficult to explain all its various manifestations schematically. Yet Änandavardhana makes an attempt in that direction, knowing full well the difficulty of his task.25 Beauty is an essential quality of suggestion, and as such, even when there is no suggestion of Rasa, only suggestion of an otherwise commonplace idea, or suggestion of an otherwise commonplace figure of speech, causes delight in poetry. Vastu-Dhvani and Alankara-Dhvani too, have thus an important place in literature; such instances are more

24 Cf. काव्याध्वनि ध्वनेव्यंड्यं प्राधान्यैकनिबन्धनम् । सर्वत्र तत्र विषयो ज्ञेयः सहदयैर्जनैः ॥-Ibid. p. 294. Cf. also रसभावादिविषयविवक्षाविरहे सति। अलङ्कारनिबन्धो यः स चित्रविषयो मतः ॥-Ibid.p.292. 25 Cf. एवं ध्वनेः प्रभेदाः प्रभेदभेदाश्च केन शक्यन्ते। सड्ख्यातुं दिड्मात्रं तेषामिदमुक्तमस्मामिः ॥-Ibid.III. 45.

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beautiful than ordinary commonplace ideas and mechanical figures of speech; but at the same time they are not of course just as beautiful as instances of Rasa-Dhvani. Yet their beauty is nearer that of Rasa-Dhvani than that of commonplace ideas and Alankaras. That is why amongst the countless Alankaras, not all are equally delightful and pleasing, but only some; and these some (e.g. Samasokti, Aprastuta-Prašamsā, Paryāyokta, etc.) will be found on closer examination to contain an element of suggestion or Dhvanì. Thus the principle of Dhvani will train the judg- ment of the critic properly and guide the activity of the poet in the right direction. In the words of Anandavardhana himself, it is an eye-opener;26 and it is in strict conformity with the practice of the greatest of poets like Valmīki, Vyāsa and Kālidāsa.27 At about the beginning of the ninth century A.D., several schools of literary criticism prevailed in Kashmir. And in Anandavardhana's Dhvanyaloka, we see an attempt made for the first time to set forth a theory of poetry assimilating all the essentials found in the various schools, and at the same time presenting a new explanation of all the problems. Being a typical product of that age of polemics, the Dhvanyaloka was written in a contentious and argumentative style. Though to an extent the Dhvanyāloka accepts the conclusions of the earlier theorists, it doest not go the whole hog with any one of them. It presupposes the modns operandi of Rasa taught by Bharata and adopts his

26 Cf. इति काव्यार्थविवेको योऽयं चेतश्चमत्कृतिविधायी। सूरिभिरनुसृतसारैरस्मदुपज्ञो न विस्मार्य: ॥Ibid. p. 183. 27 वाल्मीकिव्यासमुख्याश्च ये प्रख्याता: कवीश्वराः । तदभिप्रायबाह्मोडयं नास्माभिद्शितो नयः ॥-Ibid. p.211.

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very terminology; but at the same time it considers Rasa only in relation to Guna, Alankara, Dosa, and other rhetori- cal concepts. It implicitly borrows the scheme of Alankāras as taught by Bhamaha and Udbhata, recognises that they are beautifying elements in poetry, but introduces one condition that they should be in harmony with Rasa. Similarly the concepts of Guna, Rti, Vrtti, and Sanghatana are referred to and accepted, subject to the consideration of Rasa-Dhvani. The linguistic analysis of Grammarians and Logicians is adopted only to be modified so as to suit the unique nature of poetry. Other schools of thought too come in only for review. Thus, in its very nature, the Dhvanyaloka could not satisfy completely the sentiments of any single school of thought or discipline of Rhetoric, excepting a section of literary connoisseurs.28 And instead of stopping the controversy about literary theories once and for all time, it gave a fresh impetus for further discus- sion with a greater zest. Commentators on Bharata's Nātya-āstra like Bhatta Nāyaka wrote elaborate works 29 to disprove Ānanda- vardhana's theory that Rasa is always suggested. Followers of orthodox disciplines of rhetoric like Pratīhārendurāja tried their best to defend their systems by bringing Dhvani under one or another figure of speech. Logicians like Jayantabhatta and Mahimabhatta too joined in the attack against the dhvani-theory and the latter wrote a long pole- mical treatise with the only object of demolishing the doctrine of dhvani in poetry. Independent writers like

28 Cf. तेन ब्रूमः सहदयमनःप्रीतये तत्स्वरूपं-Ibid. I. 1. also सहृदयानामानन्दो मनसि लभतां प्रतिष्ठामिति प्रकाश्यते-Vrtti thereon. 29 Cf. The Hrdayadarpana.

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Kuntaka sought to show off their greater originality than Anandavardhana's by offering new explanations of dhvani. There were text-book writers like Viśvanātha and Jagan- nätha who took objection to points of detail in the Dhvanyaloka. That even such an implicit follower of Anandavardhana as Mammata thought it better to avoid the very mention of dhvani in his definition of poetry is clear enough to show how this controversy had done consider- able damage to the theory of dhvani as formulated by Ānandavardhana and elaborated by Abhinavagupta. The effect of these criticisms on the subsequent deve- lopment of the Dhvani theory is clearly evidenced in Mammata's masterpiece Kāvya-Prakāsa and a host of later works modelled upon it. We may say that Mammata almost fixed for all time to come the course along which the Dhvani-theory had to flow by his most systematic and perfect treatment of the various topics of Alankāra-šāstra. Following Abhinavagupta, he disproved the criticisms that had been levelled against the Dhvani-theory and demons- trated that it was intrinsically sound. But at the same time he did not lose himself in any exaggerated admiration of the Dhvani-theory exclusively. Anandavardhana had already tackled the problem boldly and squarely and given Dhvani a status and a name in the realm of poetry. The battle of words that immedi- ately followed in the wake of the Dhvanyaloka was fast subsiding in tempo. And Mammata gave the final death- blow to the criticisms against Dhvani. The Kāvya-prakāša put an end to all the controversies that were raging earlier about the validity of the dhvani-theory. In what Mammata did, there is nothing much of an originality. He only paraphrases either Anandavardhana or Abhinavagupta while

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giving an exposition of the Dhvani theory. But his book was so timed that it acquired great publicity and veneration. Mammata, who was considered to be a very great authority on all branches of learning, set the seal of his authority to the Dhvani theory and was eventually able to disarm all fastidious criticisms. Mammata at the same time, was care- ful enough not to start any fresh controversies; this he could manage by giving an equal, nay, a greater importance even to the traditional concepts of rhetoric in respect of detailed treatment. In a word, Mammata produced a masterpiece of a text-book, which people were badly need- ing and it came to receive so much appreciation that it became the fashion to write similar text-books in the period that followed. The natural course for the development of the Dhvani theory was thus hampered in a way. Individual and exclusive treatises on the Dhvani-theoty like the Dhvanyaloka went out of vogue. In the whole range of Sanskrit Poetics there is not a second work which exclusively treats of the Dhvani-theory. Mammata followed the method of a text- book writer, not of an original thinker. But Mammata's admirers imitated his method slavishly in later years and entirely abandoned the noble path set by writers like Anandavardhana and Kuntaka. The dhvani-theory is in- variably considered in relation to the categories of Gunas and Alankaras in the later works on Sanskrit Poetics. Even the amount of space that Mammata gave to a consideration of the Dhvani-theory goes on gradually decreasing until the last stage is reached when Alankaras alone, with all their divisions and subdivisions, fill the pages of works on Sanskrit Poetics. Ruyyaka's Alankāra-sarvasva, Appaya Dikshita's Citramīmāmsā and Kwvalayānanda, Jagannātha's

:

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Rasagangādhara and Kesavamisra's Alankāra Kaustubha illus- trate this growing tendency to minimise the treatment of Dhvani and revel in the subtleties of Alankaras and adding more to their number. But it is significant to note that all these later writers swear to the all-important nature of Dhvani in theory though in practice they indulge only in the classification, distinction and illustration of the Alankras. Thus the mighty stream of Dhvani, which started with Anandavardhana was made to run in a narrow channel prescribed by Mammata, and the channel went on becoming narrower and narrower until at last the waters almost dried up in the sands of the formidable foray of endless Alankaras. We can now conclude this essay with an apt quotation from Anandavardhana himself :- इत्युक्तलक्षणो यो ध्वनिर्विवेच्यः प्रयत्नतस्सद्भिः । सत्काव्यं कर्तु वा ज्ञातुं वा सम्यगभियुक्तैः ।।

6

X

THE CONCEPT OF RASĀBHASA IN SANSKRIT LITERARY THEORY

In popular usage today the term rasabhasa is almost a synonym for bathos. But as a technical term in Sanskrit criticism, rasabhasa has specific implications which are missed in the popular usage. It is intimately bound up with the concept of rasa, which forms the very bedrock of Sanskrit literary theory; and serves, in a large measure, to render explicit aspects of the latter which are fundamental to Sanskrit literary criticism.

I

Bharata is indeed the Aristotle of India; and it is the principle of rasa which forms the central thread of his countless rules about plot, character and setting in drama. . His division of plays into ten kinds and his classifications of heroes and heroines derive directly from his conception of rasa. What Dixon Scott says about the 'pattern called the plot' in Rudyard Kipling's novels may be applied with equal justice to Sanskrit dramas conforming to Bharata's prescriptions :- "The characters spring to attention like soldiers on parade; they respond briskly to a certain description, they wear a fixed suit of idiosyncrasies like a uniform. A mind like this must use types and set counters; it feels dissatisfied, ineffective, unsafe, unless it can reduce the fluid waverings of character, its flitting caprices and twilit desires, to some tangible system. The characters of such a man will not only be definite;

2

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they will be definitions. His heroes will be courage incarnate, his weak men will be unwaveringly weak; and those who are mixed will be mixed mathematically, with all their traits clearly related to and explained by some neat blend of blood and race and caste behind. They are marked by a strange immobility. They strike certain attitudes-and retain them."1 If the heroes in Sanskrit drama are cast in a single mould, if they seem to obey a convention removed from the logic of life, if they appear to be stowed into the interstices of a pre-arranged design that relies upon their remaining fixed quantities, it is because Bharata fixed once for all that 'Nataka or drama par excellence should present only a 'high' theme with noble heroes, noble in love, and noble in action. Though the dramatic emotions (rasas) were counted as eight (or nine), only two-Love (śrngāra) and Heroism (vīra)-were prescribed as fit angirasas or dominant emo- tions.2 The reasons which Bharata had in mind in imposing such restrictions become clear in the observations of Anandavardhana and Abhinavagupta. Drama should be a mirror of life3 .- not only of life actually lived by men (high, low and middling), but also of the highest possibilities of life as imagined by the artist and embodied in his hero. In ancient India, literature, philosophy and ethics were all of a. piece, and the latter provided the moral ideal which literature tried to propagate in its own way through the medium of beauty and delight.4 The recognised values of

1 Dixon Scott, Men of Letters, p. 58. 2Cf. The well-known dictum: eka eva bhavedangī śrngāro vīra eva vā 3 Cf. avasthānukrtirnātyam -Bharata. 4 Cf. sadācāropadesarūpā hi nātakādigosthī vineyajanahitārthameva munibhiravatāritā-Dhvanyāloka (Chowkhamba edn.), pp. 398-399.

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life for men at large were three: Dharma (duty in the religious, social, individual and moral spheres), Artha (material gain in the personal, social and political spheres) and Kama (pleasure). Since the last is a value which people naturally take to, drama addresses itself to the task of presenting its best and most refined aspects only in the lives of the hero and the heroine. That is why śrngūra is des- cribed as pure (suci), bright (ujjvala), and beautiful (darsanīya) by Bharata, and as the sweetest and most deli- cate (sukumāratara) emotion by Ānandavardhana. The slightest touch of impropriety (anaucitya) or vulgarity (grāmyatā) will debase it, as noted even by Dandin, not to mention Anandavardhana, in whose opinion there is no blemish (dosa) graver than anaucitya5 in the delineation of a rasa. It is thus clear that a serious drama cannot admit of lower shades of love as the dominant emotion (i.e. as seen in the principal characters). It is only 'heroic' or lofty love of ideal characters, love that can serve as a model for humanity, love that can be a means to the ultimate end of dharma, that merits treatment in the hero of a nataka. Most Sanskrit dramas have a romantic theme, and obey this injunction of Bharata in their treatment of love. But there are a few, like the Mudraraksasa, which are not romantic, which have no place for women as heroines. We can expect here, according to Bharata, only heroism (vīra) as the principal emotion-heroism directed to the achieve- ment of some artha or good, temporal or spiritual, personal or social. Vīrarasa, in other words, is the sine qua non of na takas mixed, or sometimes unmixed, with high śrngāra.

5 Cf. anaucityādrte nānyad rasabhangasya kāraņam; prasiddhaucitya bandhastu rasasyopanişat parā-ibid., p. 330.

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Such a stand shuts out from the principal characters any trace of vulgarity and triviality and leaves no room for what is low and immoral. We find here the sovereignty of the moral value claiming absolute allegiance even from the poet and the dramatist. If it forbade freedom and expansion, it contributed to depth and richness in a way unknown to other literatures. Unless the moral back- ground of the rasa principle is fully realised, we shall not be in a position to follow the concept of rasābhāsa. Drama is, of course, the playground of many characters and many emotions. It has place for low people as well as high; for emotions morally pure as well as impure. What is the place of these emotions (rasa) lower down in the scale? The answer becomes simple when we grasp that only the dominant emotion of the principal characters (angirasa) is to be 'high' or noble. The emotions of the characters ranged against the hero (prati-nayakas), of those that occur in the sub-plots (patākā, prakarī, etc.) and of minor characters like the jester (vidūsaka) may be life-like, and even low or vulgar; yet their artistic value is not diminished on that account. There are, thus, two standards for judging rasas in a nataka. While the artistic standard alone is final in judging the anga-rasas or subordinate emotions, it must be supplemented by the moral standard in appreciating the angi-rasa or primary emotion. The former can be many in a play; but the latter can be only one. And in the opinion of Abhinavagupta, the one invari- able rasa throughout is the heroic (vīra). What about the many play-goers who crowd the theatre only for the sake of entertainment? Surely, they are not in the least interested in instruction. Should there be no recognition of their demands? Abhinavagupta anticipates

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this question in his classic of dramatic criticism, the Abhinavabharatī, and answers that Bharata has recognised many forms of the drama other than nataka, only as a con- cession to popular taste. The forms, viz., Prahasana, Bhāna, and Utsrstikanka, are there only for popular entertainment. Here, the principal emotion (angi-rasa) itself may be un- related to the moral standard. It is enough if they are entertaining (rañjaka).0 We have, then, rasas which may be merely entertaining, or which may be both entertaining and edifying. The former belong to plays other than nātaka, when they are dominant; but they may appear in nātakas as subordinate emotions.

6 The above exposition is based on the following text of Abhinava- gupta : सर्वरसयोग्यतायामपि नाटके प्रकरणे च धर्मार्थादिवीर एव प्रधानं परमार्थतः सर्वेषु नायकभेदेषु वीरत्वानुगमदर्शनात् । समवकारे तु यद्यपि हि शृङ्गारादि- त्वमुक्तं तथापि वीर एव प्रधानं रौद्रो वा, डिमव्यायोगयोरप्येवम्। ईहामृगेऽपि रौद्रप्राधान्यमेव, नाटिकायां तु शृङ्गार एव प्रधानम्। एवं तावद् वीररौद्रशूङ्गारा यथास्वं पुमर्थत्रयप्राणभूतत्वेन वर्तमाना एतेषु प्रयोगेषु; शान्तबीभत्सरसौ तु चरमपुमर्थप्रयोगात्तत्र च सर्वस्य नाधिकारोपि कस्यचिदपश्चिमजन्मनोऽधिकारा- न्नाटके तत्फलप्रधानतया प्राधान्यमवलम्बेयातां तथापि नासौ प्रचुरप्रयोग इति तयोः पुरुषार्थप्रवरप्राणितयोरपि वीरादिरसान्तराध्यावापेनावस्थापनम्। एवं तावत् पुमर्थविषयो रूपकरसविषय एव परमार्थतः, तथापि त्वितिवृत्तवैतत्याद्र- सान्तरप्रयोगोऽपि तदङ्गतया तत्र भवति। एवं तत्प्रधानचेष्टायोगाद् वृत्तिवै- चित्र्यमत्रोचितमेव। उत्सृष्टिकाङ्क-प्रहसन-भाणास्तु करुणहास्यविस्मयप्रधान- त्वात् रञ्जकरसप्रधानाः, तत एवात्र स्त्रीबालमूर्खादिरधिकारी। न च विततमत्रेतिवृत्तम्, इतिवृत्तवैचित्र्यमपि तत्र नासति।

-Abhinavabhāratī on Nāțyasāstra (vol. II. GOS. 1934) p. 451.

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II

In the light of the above, we might now try to under- stand the various attempts made by Sanskrit theorists to expand the concept of rasābhāsa, i.e., emotion transposed or off key. The word rasabhāsa is conspicuous by its absence in the Natyasastra of Bharata. But Abhinavagupta, in his Locana, strives to find Bharata's authority for this concept in the expression anukrti, which figures in Bharata's expla- nation of the emotion of hasya (laughter).7 The words anukrti (imitation), amukhyatā (subordinate position) and ābhāsa (appearance) are all synonyms to Abhinavagupta.8 Whenever the emotion of love (srngara) is poorly imitated or misplaced, Bharata has laid down that it will result in the comic, or hasya.9 What is meant by the playwright as srngära will turn out to be häsya through improper hand- ling. Abhinavagupta does not question this. But he recognises śrngārābhāsa as an intermediary stage between šrngāra and hāsya; and observes that Bharata too anticipates it in his theory of hasya. The following is an example cited by Abhinavagupta to make his point clear: दूराकर्षणमोहमन्त्र इव मे तन्नाम्नि याते श्रुति चेतः कालकलामपि प्रसहते नावस्थिति तां विना। एतैराकुलितस्य विक्षतरतेरङ्-गैरनङ्-गातुरै: सम्पद्येत कथं तदाप्तिसुखमित्येतन्न वेझ्नि स्फुटम् ॥ ( Quoted also in Kāvyānušāsana, p. 123 [N. S. Edn.])

7 Cf. 'śrngārānukrtirya tu hasyah' -quoted in the Locana, pp. 178-79. 8 Cf. anukrtiramukyatā ābhāsa iti hyeko' rthaḥ- Loc. cit. 9 Cf. śrngāraddhi bhaved hasyah-Bharata.

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The above presents Ravana madly in love with Sītā. From the point of view of Ravana it is śrngara all right. His emotion is deep and his longing acute. The audience too enjoy it as srngära at first, when they see it acted on the stage. But they soon realise its one-sided nature, and their moral judgement disapproves of it. Thereafter, Ravana's further overtures fail to enlist their sympathy and only excite their laughter. Their earlier enjoyment of Ravana's love is none the less true; but it cannot be pure śrngāra; nor can it be bāsya, though it serves as a cause of hāsya at a later stage. What is the rasa then? Abhinavagupta's answer is that it is not any rasa at all, but only a semblance or illusion (abhasa) of rasa. Loosely, one might call it srngara-rasa; but technically it would be incorrect. It deserves to be reckoned only as śrngāra-rasābhāsa. The circumstances where pure love can spring are not present here in their entirety. There is mad desire on the part of Rävana, who does not even pause to consider whether the woman likes him or no. True love (rati) can spring only after making sure of a favourable response from the woman. The audience thus see ratyābhāsa in Rāvana, not rati; the excitants he experiences thus appear to the audience only as vibhāvābhāsas. Hence, their delight (carvanā) cannot be anything more than carvanābhasa. Therefore, the designa- tion śrngāra-rasābhāsa will help us to distinguish it from instances of genuine śrngāra. Though anaucitya (impropriety) occurs, it does not become a blemish, because it does not affect the principal emotion, being located only in the villain and remaining but an angarasa. The same is true of- other rasas too, when impropriety enters into their treatment. Improper vīra, for instance, will only be

The Concept of Rasabhasa in Sanskrit Literary Theory 12

vīrābhāsa.10 But Abhinavagupta does not offer specific. illustrations of these. Moreover, the degree of impropriety in rasābhāsa is not so great as in the jumbling of diametri- cally opposed emotions like love and apathy. It is almost a replica of rasa, but for a slight deficiency. The deficiency is so slight that it produces the illusion of a full-fledged rasa for the moment, even like the illusion of silver pro- duced by a shining shell. It will be found that the question of impropriety, at least in the case of śrgāra, involves moral. besides literary judgment.

III Before Abhinavagupta, the only writer on poetics who. finds occasion to refer explicitly to the concept of rasābhāsa

10 Vide .... औचित्येन प्रवृत्तौ चित्तवृत्तेरास्वाद्यत्वे स्थायिन्या रसो, व्यभिचारिण्या भावः, अनौचित्येन तदाभासः, रावणस्येव सीतायां रतेः । यद्यपि तत्र हास्यरूपतैव 'शृङ्गाराद्धि भवेद् हास्यः' इति वचनात्। तथापि पाश्चात्येयं सामाजिकानां प्रतीतिः, तन्मयीभवनदशायां तु रतेरेवास्वाद्यतेति शृङ्गारतैव भाति पौर्वापर्यविवेकावधीरणेन 'दूराकर्षण ... ' इत्यादौ। तदसौ शृङ्गाराभास एव । ... अत्र न तु हास्यचर्वणावसरः । ननु नात्र रतिः स्थायिभावोऽस्ति ।' रत्याभासो हि सः। अतश्चाभासता येनास्य सीता मय्युपेक्षिका द्विष्टा वेति प्रतिपत्तिहुर्दयं न स्पृशत्येव। तत्स्पर्शे तस्याप्यनभिलाषो भवेत्। न च मयीयमनुरक्तेत्यपि निश्चयेन कृतं कामकृतान्मोहात्। अत एव तदाभासत्वं वस्तुतस्तत्र स्थाप्यते शुक्तौ रजताभासवत्। एतच्च शृङ्गारानुकृतिशब्दं प्रयुञ्जानो मुनिरपि सूचितवान्। अनुकृतिरमुख्यता आभास इतिह्येकोऽर्थः ॥ अत एवाभिलापे एकतरनिष्ठेऽपि शृङ्गारशब्देन तत्र तत्र व्यवहारस्तदाभासतया -मन्तव्यः । शृङ्गारेण वीरादीनामप्याभासतोपलक्षितैव । ... यदा तु विभावाभासाद्रत्याभासोदयस्तदा विभावानुभासाच्चर्वणाभास. इति रसाभासस्य विषयः । -Locana, pp. 78-79; and pp. 177-179 ..

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is Ānandavardhana. His predecessors, like Bhāmaha, Dandin and Vamana, do not refer to it though they include rasas and bhāvas generally under some of their alankāras (sources of charm). In Anandavardhana's new scheme, emotions in general (cittavrtti-visesas) may either form the main substance (pradhāna vākyārtha) of poetry, when they make for dhvani or first-rate poetry; or may play a sub- ordinate role, making way for other emotions, when they make rasavad-alankāra on the analogy of other alankāras. The function of all alankāras in poetry is to serve as effective instruments (angas) or channels for the suggestion of emotions which alone form the ultimate substance of first-rate poetry. When the latter are subordinate, and alankāras begin to serve as ends in themselves, poetry becomes second-rate. When the suggested emotions are entirely absent-such a possibility, however, is very remote since no expression can be entirely free from emotional association-poetry assumes the shape of pictorial acrostics : (citra) and, strictly speaking, ceases to be poetry, though classed as third-rate poetry as a concession to the taste of pedants. In such a scheme, the function of alankāras in good poetry is not underrated; only the over-rating of their importance is avoided. Alankāras remain the most effective instruments to serve the end and aim of poetry, viz. emotion. But the emphasis on the end ensures that the means should never invite exclusive attention of the poet at the cost of the end. With this consciousness actively present in the poet, all alankāras become truly alankāras of dhvani, the soul of poetry, and not just outward embellish- ments of its body. The above discrimination is fundamental to the new literaty theory formulated by Anandavardhana, who divides

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all alankāras into natural (sahaja) and artificial (dukara). Repeated rhymes (yamakas) and alliterative effects (anu- prāsas), too many puns and paradoxes, are sure signs of artificiality, and these cannot, therefore, serve as free instruments (angas) of the emotions (rasas) intended to be portrayed by the poet. It is in this connection that Ānanda- vardhana observes that this rule has an exception in the case of rasabhāsas or emotions transposed, which usually are on a par with the rasas themselves. Even the use of artificial figures is permissible in the case of rasābbāsas. While only natural figures are instruments of rasas in general, and its best variety, viz., śrngāra, in particular, both natural and artificial figures may become instruments of rasābhāsa.11 One is struck throughout by Anandavardhana's special predilection for śrngara-rasa,12 and it may not be far from the truth to guess that he perhaps had only śrngārābhāsa in mind when he talked of rasābhāsa.

IV

Mammata follows faithfully, in his Kāvyaprakāša, the tradition he inherited from the Dhvani theorists when he describes rasābhāsa as arising out of impropriety (anaucitya).18 He too contents himself with illustrating

11 रसाभासाङ््गभावस्तु यमकादेर्न वार्यते । ध्वन्यात्मभूते शृङ्गारे त्वङ्गता नोपपद्यते ।। -Dhvanyāloka, p. 222. 12 Cf. Kārikā II 7 and the expression "dhvanyātmabhūte śrngāre" --.------..----- which recurs in Karikas II, 11, 15, and 17. 13 Loc. cit. IV. 13.

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only śrngārābhāsa in just one verse.14 The poet, perhaps unintentionally, leads the reader to think that the beauty, to whom the verse is meant as a compliment, has more than one lover. This suggestion smacks of impropriety and renders the verse only an abhāsa of srngāra. Mammata does not enumerate any divisions of śrngārabhāsa, which his commentators discuss at length.15

V Bhoja, in his Śrngāra-prakāsa, brings out penetratingly the implications of Bharata and explains only śrngārābhāsa.16 He recognises three aspects of rasa :- (1) Fully developed (prakrsta) in the principal hero, and hence pervading a work as a whole. (2) Partially developed in the work, being confined to minor characters, and hence as good as bhāva (bhāvarūpa). (3) Apparent (abhāsa) in as much as it is applied to lower animals, villains, etc.17

14 स्तुम: कं वामाक्षि, क्षणमपि विना यं न रमसे विलेभे कः प्राणान्, रणमखमुखे यं मृगयसे। सुलग्ने को जातः शशिमुखि, यमालिङ्गसि बलात् तपरश्रीः कस्यैषा, मदननगरि ध्यायसि तु यम् । 15 These divisions were first noticed by Bhoja as we shall see in the next section. 16 This may be due to the fact that in his system śrngāra is the only rasa of which others are but variations. 17 .... तदुपाधिश्चायमुपजायमानो रसः प्रकृष्टः, भावरूपः, आभासश्च । तत्र यः कथाशरीरव्यापिनः उत्तमनायकस्य तथाविध एव विषये जायते स प्रकृष्टः । मध्यमस्य य उपजायते, न प्रकर्षमासादयति स भावरूपः। यश्च तिरश्चां प्रतिनायकादीनां चोपजायते स शृङ्गाराभासः । -Raghavan, Bhoja's Śrngāraprakāsa', Vol. I, Pt. II, p. 499.

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He also adds that, just as fire may be of different kinds, earthly, heavenly, gastric etc,, rasa too is of different kinds, bhāva, rasa, abhāsa etc.18 He is aware of anaucitya also.19 But most important is that he mentions here for for the first time how love in lower animals leads to rasābhasa.20 This, as we shall presently see, became the starting point for later discussions. In his other work, the Sarasvatīkanthābharana, Bhoja gives a fourfold classification of śrngārabhāsa21 with illus- trations for each: (1) Subsisting in low characters (hīnapātra), e.g., विक्किण्णइ माहमासम्मि पामरो पारंिं वइल्लेण । दिद्विं समुम्मुरे सामलीअ थणए णिअच्छन्तो ।। 22 In midwinter, the rustic is described here as buying sweet berries after selling his bullock, bewitched as he is by the shapely bosom of the black beauty who is selling them. (2) Subsisting in lower animals (tiryaksu), e.g.,

18 Op. cit. p. 530. 19 Loc. cit. 20 i.e. Śrngārābhāsa. 21 हीनपात्रेषु तिर्यक्षु नायकप्रतियोगिषु । गौणेष्वेव पदार्थेषु तमाभासं विजानते ।। (V. 30.) Op. cit. (K. M. Edn., 1925) p. 477. 22 The verse is from Gathasaptasati of Hāla, III 38. The reading adopted here is the one given by Narendraprabhasūri in his Alankāra-mahodadhi. He quotes Bhoja copiously (vide-op. cit. GOS, 1942, pp. 198-99). The chāyā is .- विक्रीणीते माघमासे पामरः प्रावरकं बलीवर्देन । दृष्टि समुर्मुरे श्यामल्याः स्तनके नियच्छन् ॥

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पाअडिअं सोहग्गं तम्बाए उअह गोट्ठमज्झम्मि । दुठ्ठवसहस्स संगे अच्छिउडं कंडुअंतीए ।। 23 A cow's singular good fortune in love is applauded here as she is seen scratching the corner of her eye happily with the horn of the naughtiest bull in the fold. (3) Subsisting in villains (nāyaka-pratiyogisu) e. g.,

(4) Rāvaņa's passionate overtures to Sītā. Subsisting in personified (insentient) objects (gaunesu), e.g., उव्वहइ नवतणंकुर- रोमंचपसाहिआइं अंगाइं। पाउसलज्ीअपओ- हरेहिं पडिवेल्लिओ विज्झो। 24 The rainy season and the Vindhya mountain are here personified as heroine and hero in love. The fresh-green grasses are metaphorically spoken of as the hairs of the hero standing on end in his joyful union with the heroine; and, by a pun, the clouds become identified with the heroine's bosom.

23 The Sanskrit chāya is :- प्रकटितं सौभाग्यं गवा पश्यत गोष्ठमध्ये । दुष्टवृषभस्य शृङ्गेऽक्षिपुटं कण्डूयमानया ।। -Sarasvatīkanthābharaņa, p. 494. 24 The Sanskrit rendering is :- उद्वहति नवतृणाङ्कुर- रोमाञ्चप्रसाधितान्यङ्गानि । प्रावृट्लक्ष्म्याः पयो- धराभ्यां प्रतिप्रेरितो विन्ध्यः ।। (Loc. cit.)

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This last variety is indeed very popular among Sanskrit poets, including Vālmīki and Kalidāsa, who generally describe nature in human terms. Though Bhatti's example of rasavad-alankāra in his epic poem is of this type,25 theorists like Bhamaha and Dandin do no appear to have included them under rasavad-alankāra, since they bring them under other alankāras like samāsokti (implied meta- phor). Anandavardhana is, therefore, at pains to establish that they are not void of a dominant rasa and deserve to be ranked on a par with rasa-dhvani and not on a par with alankāras like samāsokti.26 The beauty of poetic passages, where nature is endowed with human emotions,-as in descriptions of a river, a creeper, an elephant etc., by the mad Pururavas in the Vikramorvasīya- lies primarily in their emotional content, and not in the device of personi- fication (acetane cetanatvaropa). In the figure of samāsokti, however, the device itself strikes us as more charming. All the same, it is clear that such passages cannot merit consideration as real rasas, since real emotions are possible only in the case of human beings. They can only be regarded as pseudo-rasas or rasābhāsas. Now, this is a significant clarification by Bhoja, for the first time, of a subtle point implicit in the dhvani theory. Unfortunately, none of the later writers took note of this important con- sideration in their treatment of the concept of rasābhāsa,

25 For a fuller discussion on this point, vide- the present writer's "The Riddle of Rasa in Sanskrit Poetics". 26 For a complete account of this view vide- the present writer's English translation of the Dhvanyaloka (OBA., Poona, 1955) p. 11 ff.

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except two Jaina authors, Hemacandra and Narendra- prabhasūri. Though little known for originality, the latter gives some of the best examples of this variety of rasābhasa in his work Alankāra-mahodadhi (p. 198). They are :-

1. अङ्गुलीभिरिव केशसञ्चयं सन्निगृह्य तिमिरं मरीचिभिः । कुड् मलीकृतसरोजलोचनं चुम्बतीव रजनीमुखं शशी।। 27 Here we have the abhasa of sambhoga-srngūra between the Night and the Moon. -.

2. अनुरागवती सन्ध्या दिवसस्तपुरःसरः । अहो दैवगतिश्चित्रा तथापि न समागमः ॥ 28

We have here the abhāsa vipralambha-śrngāra between Day and Twilight. Though a stray writer's opinion, readers will see that this is a logical corollary of the axioms of the dhvani theory; and Phoja deserves the credit of being the first writer to point it out. Although, in the context in which they occur, such verses can only have primacy of vacyartha or beautiful moonrise, sunset, etc., and hence can be classed technically only as alankāras, yet when appre-

27 Kumārasambhava, VIII, 63 quoted by Vāmana in his Kāvyālań- kārasūtravrtti an an example of a compound figure-utprekşāvayava. 28 Quoted also in the Dhvanyāloka, under I, 13; but as a figure of speech. Abhinavagupta opines that it may be samāsokti (if Bhämaha's view be adopted) or ākșepa (if Vamana's view be fol- lowed); quoted also by Kuntaka, Mammata, Hemacandra, etc.

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ciated as muktakas or self-contained lyrical gems, they deserve to be reckoned only as rasābhāsas.29

VI After Bhoja, the only major writer who gives us new thought on the subject is Saradatanaya. Unlike Bhoja and others who were busy only with the varieties of śrngarabhāsa, Saradātanaya bestows attention also on ābhāsas of rasas other than frngara.30 He feels that as srngara turns out to be śrngārābhāsa by the interaction of hasya, so other rasas like vīra too become ābhāsas by their mingling with in- compatible rasas. The disproportionate mixture of hāsya with bibhatsa, of vīra with bhayanaka, of adbhuta with bībhatsa and karuna, of raudra with soka and bhaya, of karuna with hasya and śrngara, of bhayanka with raudra and vīra, results respectively in the abhāsas of the hāsya, vīra, adbhuta, raudra, karuņa and bhayānaka rasas.31 This writer points out that actions of characters involved in unreciprocated love (e.g., Surpanakhā wooing Rama) become comic and thus result in love transposed. Similarly, the intrusion of filth and blood will spoil hāsya and render it hāsyabbasa. If one were to brag heroically

29 An equally charming illustration cited by Hemacandra is the following verse of Kālidāsa (Meghadūta, I. 30) :- वेणीभूतप्रतनुसलिला तामतीतस्य सिन्धुः पाण्डुच्छाया तटरुहतरुभंशिभिर्जीर्णपणेः । सौभाग्यं ते सुंभग विरहावस्थया व्यञ्जयन्ती काश्यं येन त्यजति विधिना स त्वयैवोपपाद्यः ।। 30 Saradātanaya says that he is only summarising the view of Kalpavallī. Who the author of this work is cannot be ascertained now. 81 Bhāvaprakāsana (GOS) pp. 132-3.

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before women (like Uttara in the Mahabbarata) and take to his heels at the very sight of the battle-field, it is vīrabhasa. Bloody spectacles will spoil the emotion of adbhuta. If a terribly heroic character, sworn to revenge, suddenly begins to tremble and weep, we get raudrābhasa. If a sorrowing person were to indulge in love and laughter, it is a case of karunabhasa. A repulsive person's love for a beautiful woman is bībhatsabbasa. When a man in fear begins to talk heroic language, the result is bhayānakābbasa. Thus, in all instances, Sāradātanaya finds a mixture of incompatible emotions. They all have the ridiculous effect in common. But from the standpoint of the main emotion which is caricatured, it comes to be termed abhasa. Which rasa is the main in a particular context, can be decided by looking at its priority in appearance, or emphasis in treatment.82 This view deserves to be regarded as a signi- ficant contribution to the thought on rasabhasa. The above view of rasabhasa is quoted with approval by Singabhūpāla in his Rasārnava-sudhakara. He gives the telling analogy of an unscrupulous minister who usurps all royal powers so that the king remains no more than a figurehead; so also in a literary work an angarasa might assume disproportionate importance and overshadow the angirasa.38

VII The second variety of śrngārābhāsa noted by Bhoja in his Sarasvatikanthabbarana, viz., that subsisting in lower animals, provoked some criticism from medieval writers on

32 Op. cit. pp. 133-4. 83 Ibid, (TSS) p. 202.

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Sanskrit poetics. The best illustrations for this variety are provided by Kālidāsa in his description of the effects of spring on the animal and plant world in his Kumarasambhava III, which are quoted by more than one writer34 :- मधु द्विरेफ: कुसुमकपात्रे पपौ प्रियां स्वामनुवर्तमानः । शृङ्गेण च स्पर्शनिमीलिताक्षीं मृगीमकण्ड्यत कृष्णसार:॥ 35 This is a fine description of the bee's love. ददौ रसात्पङकजरेणुगन्धि गजाय गण्डूषजलं करेणुः । अर्धोपभुक्तेन बिसेन जायां संभावयामास रथाङ्गनामा । 36 Here we have the love-life of the elephant and the cakra- vāka bird. पर्याप्तपुष्पस्तबकस्तनाभ्यः स्फुरत्प्रवालौष्ठमनोहराभ्यः । लतावधभ्यस्तरवोऽप्यवापुर्विनम्रशाखाभुजबन्धनानि ।। 87 This portrays love between creepers and trees. On the analogy of this, the emotions of lower animals and rustics (hinapatra or mleccha), etc., recognised by Bhoja as the first variety of śrngarabhasa, were being regarded as ineligible to the status of rasa. The first writer who voices an effective protest is Vidyadhara, the author of Ekāvalī. He argues strongly in favour of their being regarded as rasas, and attempts to refute Bhoja's theory. The following is his argument:

34 E.g., by Visvanātha in his Sāhityadarpaņa, Narendraprabhasūri in his Alankāramahodadhi, and Singabhūpāla in his Rasārņava- sudhākara. 35 Kumārasambhava III. 36. 36 Ibid., III. 37. 37 Ibid., III. 39,

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Lower animals, too, can become vibhavas etc. (objects of emotion reacting to emotional stimuli) and are, therefore, entitled to the experience of rasa. It might be argued that they are not conscious of vibhava, etc., like human beings, and are hence unfit to have rasa. But not all human beings either are conscious of emotions. The emotions of such uncultured persons will also become rasabbasa; and this is not acceptable. The possibility of partaking in emotion is enough to justify rasa; and conditions like conscious participation are uncalled for.38 Some late commentators of Mammata's text, like Bhimasena Dīksita, think that Bhoja's view is opposed to that of Mammata and so attempt to refute it with similar arguments. Bhīmasena observes89 :- In the case of lower animals, etc., we have only rasà and no rasābhāsa, since no impropriety is involved. Otherwise, our author (Mammata) would not have pointed out the emotion of fear (bhayanaka) in verses like grīvabhangābhirāmam.40

38 'अपरे तु रसाभासं तिर्यक्षु प्रचक्षते। तन्न परीक्षाक्षमम्। तेष्वपि विभावादि- संभवात्। बिभावादिज्ञानशून्यास्तिर्यञ्चो न भाजनं भवितुमहत्ति रसस्येति चेन्न। मनुष्येष्वपि केषुचित् तथाभूतेषु रसविषयाभासप्रसङ्गात्। अत्र विभावादिसंभवोऽपि रसं प्रति प्रयोजकः, न विभावादिज्ञानम्। ततश्च तिरश्चामस्त्येव रस इति ।-Quoted by Singabhupala, Ibid., p. 206. 9 वस्तुतस्तु अनौचित्यमात्रमेवामीषां मनसा आभासताप्रयोजकम्। तिर्यंगादौ त्वनौचित्याभावाद्रस एव, न तदाभासः । अत एव वृत्तिकारो 'ग्रोवाभङ्गा-' इत्यादौ तिर्यग्विषयतया भयानकं ... उदाजहार। -Sudhāsāgara (Chowkhamba edn., p. 169.) 40 Abhijñāna-Sākuntala, I; quoted in Kāvyaprakāsa IV ...

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Even Jagannatha appears to agree with this criticism, since he does not illustrate this variety of rasabhasa at all in his Rasagangādhara.41

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Bhoja, however, found a very staunch adherent in Singabhūpāla who ably silences these critics, derisively designated by him as mleccharasavadins. He says :- It is wrong to hold that the lower animals can serve as vibhavas; for Bharata has laid down that, in śrngāra, only persons bright, pure and handsome, can serve as vibhavas. No one can attribute these characteristics to the lower creatures. If it be argued that, in their case, behaviour natural to them is enough for constituting their vibhavatva, this is refuted on the ground that vibhavatva consists, not in animal nature, which can be called karuna (cause) at the most, but in such love as can afford joy to cultured critics. The next argument, that love of uncultured persons too would then cease to be rasa, is in fact no criticism, but only a statement of our own position.42

41 Ibid., p. 119 ff. 42 न तावत् तिरश्चां विभावत्वमुपपद्यते, शृङ्गारे हि समुज्ज्वलस्य शुचिनो दर्शनीयस्यैव वस्तुनो मुनिना विभावत्वेनाम्नानात्। तिरश्चामुद्वर्तनमज्जनाकल्पर- चनाद्यभावाद् उज्ज्वलशुचिदर्शनीयत्वानामसंभावना प्रसिद्धैव। ... किं च जातियोग्यैर्धमॅर्वस्तुनो न विभावत्वं, अपि तु भावकचित्तोल्लासहेतुभी रतिविशि- ष्टैरेव। कि च विभावादिज्ञानं नामौचित्यविवेकः, तेन शून्यास्तिर्यञ्चो न विभावतां यान्ति। तहिं विभावादिज्ञानरहितेषु मनुष्येषु रसाभासप्रसङ्ग इति चेद्, नैष दोषः। विवेकरहितजनोपलक्षणम्लेच्छगतस्य रसस्याभासत्वे स्वेष्टावाप्तेः । -Rasārņavasudhākara, p. 206.

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Vidyānātha in his Prataparudrīya, and Abhinava Kālidāsa in his Nanjarāja-yasobhūsāna adopt this view of Singabhupala without any discussion. They state in a nutshell that the rasas, śrngara, vīra, raudra, and adbhuta, are at their best only when subsisting in extraordinary heroes; and become caricatured into abhasas when portrayed in coarse characters.43

IX

There is one stray writer who holds the extreme view that rasabhasa is a dosa, or downright blemish. It is Amrtananda-yogin, the author of alankara-sangraha. He quotes a highly erotic verse from Kālidāsa's Kumārasambhava, viz., VIII 18, as an example as rasabhasa and adds that the description smacks of obscenity, as a description of the amours of one's own parents.44 Both Anandavardhana and Mammata had noticed this kind of anaucitya (impro- priety) as a rasadosa, but they had not specifically brought it under the class of rasābbasa, because while the dosa is primarily repulsive to cultured taste, the abbasa is not, and might be quite appealing in spite of the impropriety. The impropriety of dosa is thus different in kind from the impropriety involved in abhūsa, and this discrimination is wanting in the account of Amrtānandayogin.

43 एकत्रैवानुरागश्चेत्तिर्यङ्म्लेच्छगतोऽपि वा। योषितो बहुसक्तिश्चेद्रसाभासस्त्रिधा मतः ॥ -Pratāparudra-yasobhūşaņa, (BSS), p. 227; Nañjarāja-yasobhūşaņa (GOS) p. 38. * पित्रोरिवात्र शिवयोर्नाहँ सम्भोगवर्णनम् । -Alamkārasangraha (Adyar) p. 90.

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X

Govinda, the author of Pradipa, a commentary on the Kāvyaprakāša, and Jagannātha speak of rasābhāsas other than śrngarabhasa even as arising out of the impropriety involved primarily in alambana-vibhavas, or characters, and illustrate them as follows :- When a preceptor, saint etc., is made the source of laughter, when pity is portrayed with reference to a hermit, when heroism and anger are directed against parents etc., when fear is delineated in a mighty hero, when disgust is described in instances of sacred animal sacrifice, when wonder is attributed to spectacles of magic and when tranquillity is developed in base characters- we get ābhāsas of emotions like hāsya, karuna, etc.45 Such emotions may be looked upon as transposed or misapplied emotions, which have their place in the portrayal of subordinate characters in literary works.

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Rasabhāsas, thus, lie midway between noble senti- ments and their comic degradation. They represent an intermediate stage between the sublime and the ridiculous. While such impropriety would mar the serious emotions

45 . एवं गुर्वाद्यालम्वनतया हासस्य, वीतरागाद्याश्रयतया करुणस्य, पित्राद्यालम्बनतया रौद्रवीरयो:, वीरगतत्वेन भयानकस्य, यज्ञीयपशुवसाद्यालम्ब- नतया बीभत्सस्य, ऐन्द्रजालिकाद्यालम्बनतयाद्ुतस्य, चाण्डालादिगतत्वेन शान्तस्य चाभासत्वमू्यम् । Kāvyapradīpa (KM Edn.) p. 93; cf. Rasagangādhara (KM Ėdn.) p. 123.

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when developed in the major characters,46 it nonetheless becomes a virtue in the portrayal of minor characters. The concept of rasabhasa thus provides us rare glimpses into Indian aesthetics and literary criticism. The region in which the Indian poet wins his widest, if not his hardest, triumph is one which John Morley significantly calls 'the region of the noble commonplace'. What he says of Shakespeare can be applied with equal truth to Kālidāsa: "His popularity with the many is not due to those finer glimpses that are the very essence of all poetic delight to the few, but to his thousand other magni- ficent attractions, and above all ... to the lofty or pathetic setting with which he vivifies not the subtleties or refinements, but the commonest and most elementaty traits of the commonest and most ele- mentary human moods."47 The Indian concept of rasa, with its counterpart in rasabbasa, illustrates the truth of this remark and serves as a guide-post for the appreciation of Sanskrit classics.

46 But Rūpagosvāmin, Kavi Karņapūra and other later represen- tatives of Bengal Vaișnavism raised even rasābhāsa in the eroticism of Śrikrsna and Gopis to the rank of the highest śrngāra: Cf. यद्यप्ययं रसाभासः परोढरमणीरतिः । तथापि ध्वनिवशिष्ट्यादुत्तमं काव्यमेव तत् ।। -Quoted in Alankāra-kaustubha, (V.R.S. edn.), p. 133. This was objected to by traditionalists like Jagannatha. These have been left out of consideration here since they have been fully discussed by Prof. S. P. Bhattacharya in his article on Rasābhāsa, in the Calcutta Oriental Journal, Vol. II, p. 246 f., and gloss on Alamkara-Kaustubha, pp. 127-8, and 131-36. 47 J. Morley, Critical Miscellanies, Vol. I., p. 206.

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A NOVEL VIEW OF MAHIMABHATȚA: ON THE PLACE OF METRE IN POETRY

Mahimabhatta's Vyaktiviveka has not received the attention it deserves from writers on Alankārasāstra. While mention is often made of Mahimabhatta's polemical and peremptory peregrinations in the realm of dialectics, his positive contributions to Indian literary criticism have been left either unnoticed or underestimated. Nevertheless it remains a fact that a student who boldly ventures into the wide wilderness of Mahimabhatta's headstrong and hypercritical argumentation, will be more than rewarded for all his troubles. For, some of the observations in the Vyaktiviveka are quite as significant as they are strikingly novel. In the present paper, it is proposed to invite the attention of scholars to one such original and significant view of Mahimabhatta. In passing, a reference will be made also to another illuminating observation of his in connection with the propriety of samasas in poetry. The main view discussed here, centres round the importance or otherwise of mechanical conformance to given metrical patterns in literary judgment. The view that laws of metre are inviolable in poetry and that the slightest transgression of them on the poet's part will be tantamount to a most serious dosa or blemish, is a long established credo not only with writers on Metrics but also with Sanskrit rhetoticians. And it acquires added strength from the practice of poets themselves, who are generally not open to the charge of metrical deficiency, notwithstanding their innumerable other omissions, perhaps

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more significant.1 While it is true that mechanical perfec- tion to metre is not an undesirable check on the bouncing pagassus of poetic imagination, the fact cannot be for- gotten that true genius will never allow itself to be cabined and cribbed by any external stranglehold. Of course no poet worth his name would try to ride rough- shod over all canons of Grammar and Metre simply to show off his licentia vatum; nevertheless, poetic solecisms in grammar and lapses in metre are far too common to escape notice. Do they deserve unqualified censure by literary critics? That is the point at issue. Conservative critics of the traditional school had no doubts at all regard- ing this question. As their foremost representative we may see Dandin who dogmatically declares that bhinnavrtta or a lapse in metre is one of the most execrable blemishes (esa dosassuninditab) that can taint a work of literature.2 Nor

1 Cf. Mallinätha's remarks while attempting to explain away Kāli- dāsa's usage, Viz., dūtikrtamārgadarsanah in Raghuvamsa, XIX, 23 :- atra nībantasyāpi dūtīsabdasya cchandobhangabhayāddhrasvatvam krtam, 'api māşam maşam kuryācchandobhangam tyajedgirām,' ityupadeśāt. 2 Cf. varņānām nyūnatādhikye gurulaghvayathāsthitiņ / tatra tadbhinnavrttam syādeşa doşassuninditah // - Kāvyādarša, III, 156 Cf. also Vāmana's Kāvyālankārasūtravrtti, II, ii, 1. -.-.- Equally strong are the remarks of Bhamaha on solecisms in Grammar: sarvathā padamapyekam na nigādyamavadyavat/ vilakşmaņā hi kāvyena dussuteneva nindyate // - Kāvyālankāra, I, ii and bhinnavrtta is counted by him also as a dosa.

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was this view restricted only to the ancient school of rhetoricians; for even Mammata, a writer belonging to the neo-school of criticism, shares it whole-heartedly.3 It is against this background that we have to read the remarks of Mahimabhatta to realise their refreshing origi- nality and importance. In the opinion of Mahimabhatta, all blemishes can be brought under the general head of anaucitya or Impropriety which, once again, is two-fold in- asmuch as it is either essential or intrinsic (artha or antaranga-anaucitya) or merely mechanical and extrinsic ( Jabda- or bahiranga-anaucitya). In literary judgment, Impro- priety can have reference only to the checks and hindrances upon the smooth delineation of rasa or sentiment and rasas are marred directly by antaranga anaucitya whereas indirectly by babiranga-anaucitya. As Anandavardhana had already dealt in detail with the first class of anaucitya, Mahimabhatta does not like to go over the same ground. Surprising as it might seem, he records his complete agreement with the observations of Änandavardhana on this subject4 and pro- ceeds to take up the latter only for purposes of detailed exposition. At the outset he declares that sabda-anaucitya is fivefold: Vidheyavimarsa, Kramabheda, Prakramabheda, Paunaruktya and Vacyavacana and adds in the same breath this illuminating statement :-

3 Vide the Kāvyaprakāsa, ch. VII. Instead of bhinnavrtta he em- ploys the expression hatavrtta. 4 Cf. tatra vibhāvānubhāvavyabhicārināmayathāyatham raseșu yo viniyogah tanmātralakşaņamekamantarangamādyairevoktamiti neha pratanyate. - Vyaktiviveka, p. 144 (Kashi Edn.) For a detailed account of Anandavardhana's treatment of anaucityadoșa, Vide my paper bearing the same title published in the Festschrift presented to Sri K.M. Munshi, Bharatīya Vidya, Vol. IX.

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duhšravatvamapi vrttasya šabdānaucityameva; tasyā- pyanuprāsāderiva rasānugunyena pravrtteristatvāt. Kevalam vācakatvāšrayametanna bhavatītì na tattulya- kakşyatayopāttam.5 (Even jarring metre really deserves to be classed as verbal impropriety only inasmuch as it is admitted that the purpose of Metre also happens to be the same as the other external elements of poetry, viz., serviceability towards the evoking of sentiments. It has, however, not been included in the above classification as it does not depend solely on šabdas.) What needs special attention here is the expression: vrttasya duhsravatvam. Mahimabhatta is not here toeing the line with the ancients because a dubsrava-vrtta is not the same as a bhinnavrtta or a hatavrtta. While the latter refers to any and every technical deficiency in respect of con- formance to a fixed metrical pattern, the latter has reference only to the grating or discordant notes that jar on the cultured ear. According to Mahimabhatta, then, it is not so much a metrical lapse that becomes a real blemish in poetry, but rather cacophony which may occur often in metrically correct passages also. In other words, it is the trained ear alone which can decide whether a given passage is clothed in proper metre or otherwise; not the science of Metrics. Mahimabhatta's viewpoint is brought out still more vividly in connection with his proposed emendation of Kālidāsa's verse:

5 Vyaktiviveka, p. 152.

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srastannitambādavalambamānā punab punab kesarapuspakāncīm| nyāsīkrtām sthānavidā smareņa dvitīya maurvīmiva kārmukasya//6 That samasas always involve considerations of primary and secondary importance of the constituent members is another significant doctrine of Mahimabhatta. According to him, this consideration of pradhanyetarabhava which is only of logical and technical interest in the matter of grammatical explanation of the compound words, acquires infinite significance in the realm of poetry, because it is only in poetry that the full significance of words is very deli- berately exploited and manipulated by the poets so as to serve their poetic requirements. In ordinary parlance or scientific writing, the use of compounds without any special regard to the pradhanya or otherwise of the indi- vidual membeis may be permitted so long as there is no loss to sense, though there is bound to be some loss to significance. But in poetry, such a loss becomes unpardon- able because its very essence lies in the rich significance attached to every word, nay, every member of a compound even. Thus in a tatpurusasamasa the idiom of the language demands that the first member be rendered secondary in importance and convey the pradhanya of the second member only. And if a poet seeks to emphasise the first idea as well as the second, it is his duty to avoid a samāsa at all costs. In the example from Kālidāsa cited above, the poet is trying to offer a striking parallel to the kesarapuspakāncī which Pärvatī is wearing through the expression dvitīya- maurvīmiva found in the second line; as such, the emphatic picture of the dvitiyatva of maurvi must get equal emphasis, . e Kumārasambhava, III, 55.

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which it does not get as the first member of a samasa. Hence Mahimabhatta desires that the word should be emended into maurvim dvitīyam in the text so that the em- phatic significance of the word as a parallel to kacī be preserved intact. The altered reading would violate the demands of metre according to Mahimabhatta as there would be a mixing up of Indravajra and Upendravajra metres without any system. In the first half of the verse, we have Indravajra in the first line and Upendravajra in the second line. In view of rigorous symmetry, we would expect a similar combination in the second half also, i.e. of Indra- vajra in the third line and Upendravajra in the fourth. While the reading dvitiyamaurvim would satisfy this condition, the proposed reading maurvīm dvitiyam will not. But Mahima- bhatta asserts that one need not be too touchy about mere mechanical symmetry so long as there is no offence to the ear. His own words are: na caivam vrttabhangašankā kāryā, tasya šravyatva- mātralakşaņatvāt; tadapeksayaiva V asantatilakādāviva gurvantatāniyamasya sakarņakairatrāpyanādrtatvāt. ata eva yamakānuprāsayoriva vrttasyāpi šabdālankāra- tvamupagatamasmābbib.7

7 A perusal of the available treatises on Metrics, however, shows that the verse in question is written in the Upajati-vrtta which can include according to theory all the fourteen possible interminglings of the Indravajra and Upendravajra feet. Thus understood, even the suggested reading of Mahimabhatta will not spoil the accuracy of the Upajati-vrtta. This may lead us to think that in practice the poets observed some principle, unrecorded though, in the mingling of feet of these two metres. But this conjecture also is falsified by the practice of Kalidasa himself in the II Canto of his Raghuvamsa and the III Canto of his Kumarasambhava where we find almost all - Continued Next Page.

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In fact, as we all know, the well-known metre Vasantatilaka has a final short syllable instead of the long one in the works of almost all Sanskrit poets. The rigid rule of Metrics demanding a long syllable at the end of each foot is observed more in its violation than in fulfilment.8 No one who has an ear to harmony would object to such usages of the poets. Mahimabhatta only pleads for an extension of this universally recognised freedom in matters of Metre. He regards the various metres to be just on a par with verbal figures of speech like Alliteration and- Rhyme; and allots them no higher place in the province of poetry. Mahimabhatta would be glad to allow the poet the same freedom in the choice of Metre and in their mani- pulation as the poet has always enjoyed in the employment of Yamakas and Anuprāsas.9

• Continued from Page 142. combinations of these. The only other alternatives we are left with are: Either Mahimabhatta was not a good student of Metrics or Metrics as he knew did not allow of such combinations, though they were very much in vogue among poets. The latter possibility seems to gain strength in view of the fact that later commentators gave Upajāti the widest significance by including even a combination of vrttas other than Indravajra and Upendravajra under it. (Vide Pingala's Cchandassūtra, VI, 15-17 and Vrtta-ratnākara III 4 with the com. of Srinatha thereon). 8 Even here the rule is not at all rigid if we take into considera- tion such late works on Metrics as the Srutabodha which gives the convenient rule: vijňeyamakşaram guru pādāntastham vikalpena. (I. 2) 9 Even Bhoja whose conception of sabdālankāra is the most com- prehensive known to Sanskrit Poetics, does not include vrtta under it; he speaks, however, of bhinnavrtta-sargatva as a sabdālankāra of Prabandha. But it is a point altogether different. (Cf. Dr. V. Raghvan, Śrngāraprakāsa, p. 363 and p. 413).

--

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It is indeed a commonplace to students of English Metre that the greatness of individual poets is often esti- mated on the success of new modifications introduced by them into well-known verse-patterns. In our own country, such a view has never found favour or following. All the same, Mahimabhatta deserves due credit for his bold, though forlorn, attempt at raising the issue and at indicat- ing the direction in which the truth lies. In the nature of things, Metrics can never be a positive science. Indian writers on metre have always recognised this truth as they indicate the innumerable, though un- worked, posibilities of metrical combinations alongside of defining the well-known vrttas or patterns. It is indeed a standing challenge of Metrics to the genius of poets to evolve new and evernew harmonies. As in Classical Indian Music, so in Classical Sanskrit Poetry, can we not trace the cause of decline and decadence to the refusal on the part of genins to take up the challenge?

XII

THE DOCTRINE OF DOSAS IN SANSKRIT POETICS

An attempt is made in this paper to trace the develop- ment of the concept dosas in the history of Sanskrit poetics.

Bharata

The sixteenth chapter of Bharata's Nātya-sastra gives us for the first time an outline of dosas along with other topics pertaining to Sanskrit poetics. Here we meet with a list of ten dosas-गूढार्थ, अर्थान्तर, अर्थहीन, भिन्नार्थ, एकार्थ, अभिप्लुतार्थ, न्यायादपेत, विषम, विसन्धि and शब्दहीन. Bharata's immediate con- cern was natya-sastra or dramaturgy and his treatment of gunas, doșas and alankāras, comes in only incidentally. His central theme is rasa which is the all-important element in any drama. The other elements such as guna are sub- ordinated to the principal purpose of achieving rasa in a drama. That the former elements came to be treated in his work at all was by reason of the fact that they constituted what he calls vacikabhinaya which in its turn forms an important factor, the anubhava, in awakening rasa. It is clear, then, that Bharata's conception of dosas has in view the rasas which it is his main aim to explain. One other important thing to be noted in this connection is that Bharata has expressly given the dosas a positive value besides their inherent negative capacity. Bharata says that the gunas are none other than the opposites of dosas.1 One

1 गुणा विपर्ययादेषाम्। 8

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would normally expect that gunas should be explained as positive excellences whose negations constitute dosas. But in Bhatata it is the other way about. And this is quite in keeping with the common-sense view of things. For it is. not difficult for one to seize upon a fault instinctively and realise its substance, while an excellence cannot be con- ceived unless its essence is comprehended by differentiating it from a fault which is generally more easily understood. At this stage, it may also be noted in passing that the classification of sabdadosas and arthadoșas, a commonplace of later theorists, is conspicuous by its absence in Bharata though his definition of visandbi has in its view sabdas more than arthas. Furthermore, the ten dosas are not called rasadosas though, as we have seen, they are ultimately related to rasa. On the other hand, they are merely called kāvya- doşas. This indicates the rudimentary nature of poetics in the age of Bharata; and that is why we do not meet here with a detailed treatment of anaucitya, the chief deterrent of rasa, which was highly elaborated later by the Dhvanikāra and others.

Bhāmaha Next we may pass on to Bhamaha, the author of Kavyālankāra who, unlike Bharata, treats of poetics as an independent subject. Bhämaha has enumerated two sets of dosas-one in the first chapter of his work and the other in the fourth. The first set consists of ten dosas-नेयार्थ, क्लिष्ट, अन्यार्थ, अवाचक, गूढशब्दाभिधान, अयुक्तिमत्, श्रुतिदुष्ट, अर्थदुष्ट and कल्पनादुष्ट. These are mentioned in a context where he has been dis- cussing the general characteristics of poetry. The statement which immediately precedes the enumeration of these dosas is :- वक्राभिधेयशब्दोक्तिरिष्टा वाचामालङ्कतिः। "A devious or artful

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presentation of meaning and words is desirable in virtue of their constituting figures of speech." Then he proceeds to give the list of dosas, neyartba etc. If our interpretation of the later ślokas is to be in keeping with the previous remarks of Bhämaha, we shall have to say that these eleven dosas represent faults in artful locution which in its turn has been described as the essence of ornament in poetry. Not any and every peculiarity in the turn of expression will acquire the status of ornament. Expressions too far-fetched should be avoided scrupulously. In particular, neyārtha and others are the veritable pitfalls which a poet should guard against. Thus, it will be seen, Bhamaha's first list of doşas may be more aptly described as vakroktidoşas than as kāvyadoșas. The faults discussed by Bhamaha in his second list are eleven viz., अपार्थ, व्यर्थ, एकार्थ, ससंशय, अपक्म, शब्दहीन, यतिभ्रष्ट, विसन्धि, देशकालकलालोकन्यायागमविरोधि and प्रतिज्ञाहेत्वादिहीन. These constitute the dosas par excellence in any kavya, according to Bhamaha. While the first list of dosas concerns vakrokti, the inner nature or essence of poetry, the second mentions only such defects as are more or less external. A glance at the two lists of faults, given by Bharata and Bhamaha respectively, will at once show that while some of Bhamaha's faults correspond generally to Bharata's in name or in substance (e.g. ekārtha, visandhi), Bhāmaha in bis elaborate system is certainly ahead of his predecessor. This is particularly illustrated in Bhamaha's elucidation that a fault is not always a fault. Bharata, as we have already seen, insists that dosas are positive entities which can never be permitted to creep into a good kāvya. Bhämaha, on the other hand, makes some allowances even with regard to technical defects. He does not agree with

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Bharata that they are positive entities universally marring the poetic effect. Contrariwise, he even goes to the extent of maintaining that a fault is sometimes converted into an excellence. For instance, the blemish of ekartha (redundance) will indeed heighten the poetic effect in special circums- tances instead of marring it when the word in question (e.g. ToB Tog) is repeated under the pressure of fear, sorrow and jealousy (भयशोकाभ्यसूयासु) as also of delight and wonder (हर्षविस्मययोरपि). It is interesting to note here that Bhamaha's successors found herein a broad hint regarding the imper- manence in the character of dosa, and they carried the scheme further, each in his own way, as we shall have occasion to see below. Regarding the vakrokti-dosas (as we have termed them) also, Bhamaha allows some margin though he does not go as far as assigning to them the high place of gunas. He says that even flaws look well -though they do not become positive merits- when placed in a particular context or situation even as a blue flower acquires beauty when strung in the middle of a garland. He also cites in support of this thesis the instance of collyrium (a thing without beauty in itself) acquiring charm in the eyes of a lovely damsel.2 Before we pass on to consider Dandin's treatment of dosas, it may not be out of place to point out that even Bharata has not given us any clear-cut classification of dosas into पद, वाक्य, शब्द and अर्थ as is done by later writers. And

2 Cf. सन्निवेशविशेषात्तु दुरुक्तमपि शोभते । नीलं पलाशमाबद्धमन्तराले स्रजामिव ।। किञ्चिदाश्रयसौन्दर्याद् धत्ते शोभामसाध्वपि। कान्ताविलोचनन्यस्तं मलीमसमिवाञ्जनम् । -I. 54-55, Kāvyālankāra.

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in his enumeration are included faults belonging to words as well as to sense. Bhamaha, it must also be observed, is very eloquent on the disrepute which dosas bring an author. He says, "Not even a single faulty word is to be allowed in a composition. It verily brings discredit to the author even as a degenerate son to the father. Abstention from poetizing is no crime and it does not entail any punishment or disease. But bad composition indeed is spoken of as veritable death by the learned."8 Bhamaha regards upama so important in his scheme of alankāras that he goes to the extent of defining and illus- trating the dosas that are possible in connection with it. The number of these upamadosas is seven and it appears that Medhavin was their earliest propounder. The seven dosas are-हीनता, असम्भव, लिङ्गभेद, वचोभेद, विपर्यय, उपमानाधिकत्व and असदृशता.

Dandin

Dandin is even more vehement and emphatic than Bhämaha in holding that even a slight defect is sure to mar the effect of poetry just as a single leprous spot is sufficient to render a handsome body ugly and hence it should not be endured.4 He says, "A word well used

3 सर्वथा पदमप्येकं न निगाद्यमवद्यवत्। विलक्ष्मणा हि काव्येन दुस्सुतेनेव निन्दते।। नाकवित्वमधर्माय व्याधये दण्डनाय वा। कुकवित्वं पुनः साक्षान्मृतिमाहुर्मनीषिणः ।-I. 11-12, Ibid. 4 तदल्पमपि नोपेक्ष्यं काव्ये दुष्टं कथञ्चन । स्याद्वपुः सुन्दरमपि श्वित्रेणैकेन दुर्भगम् ।।-Kavyadarsa 1.7.

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. is declared by the wise to be the wish-fulfilling cow; the same ill-used, however, declares the user's bovine nature."5 In the third chapter of the Kavyadarsa, Dandin enume- rates ten dosas which are, in name, substance and even the order of enumeration, identical with Bhamaha's second list of dosas noted above, with the only exception of the eleventh, namely, of defective logic which is recognised by Bhamaha though rejected by Dandin as a fault difficult to judge and unprofitable to discuss. The question whether errors in syllogistic conclusion probans and illustration are to be regarded as blemishes in poetry or not is, according to Dandin, out of place in a book on poetics. The problem is a purely technical one and belongs mainly to the domain of logic and a dry discussion of it in poetics would be both inappropriate and useless.6 In view of the fact that Bhamaha mentions and illustrates these dosas in this very order in great detail, some scholars have tried to conclude that the remarks of Dandin are directed against Bhamaha, his pre- decessor in the history of Sanskrit poetics. With regard to Bhamaha's first list of faults (which we have designated vakroktidosas) which concern the very essence of poetry, these correspond in general to the dosas (or rather the opposites of gunas) which Dandin mentions as absent in the Vaidarbhamarga and as characterising its opposite or Gaudamarga. For example the opposite of kanti is atyukti, and neyatva is the opposite of arthavyakti. These

5 गौगौ : कामदुघा सम्यक्प्रयुक्ता स्मर्यते बुधैः । दुष्प्रयुक्ता पुनर्गोत्वं प्रयोक्तुः सैव शंसति ।-Ibid., i. 6. 6 प्रतिज्ञाहेतुदृष्टान्तहानिर्दोषो न वेत्यसौं । विचार: कर्कशप्रायस्तेनालीढ़ेन किं फलम् ।-Ibid., iii 127.

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latter are, as we have seen, regarded by Bhamaha as faults. Thus though Dandin does not mention Bhamaha's first list of ten dosas as well as most of Bharata's original ten dosas, he could not very well avoid referring to some of those essential dosas at least in passing, notwithstanding the fact that he does not define and distinguish them. It follows from the above that Dandin wanted to adhere to the con- ventional number of ten dosas though he was aware of other dosas of which he did not altogether disapprove. Like Bhämaha, Dandin too does not enter into the question first raised by Bharata as to whether the dosas in poetics are positive entities or mere negations of gunas. Bharata holds that gunas signify nothing more than the negative condition of doșābhāva so that dosas are, in his opinion, positive entities from which the gunas are known by implication. It is clear from Dandin's treatment, how- ever, that he mentions (in chapter IV) the external faults apparently as positive entities after the manner of Bhamaha. In the case of upamadosas, Dandin has some improve- ments to suggest over Bhämaha's treatment of them. Bhamaha blindly accepted Medhavin's catalogue of upama- dosas without adding anything of his own. And to this Dandin demurs. He is of opinion that the presence of such inconsistencies as विपर्यय, असादृश्य and असम्भव in a piece of poetry entails as such the absence of upama in them. Hence it is meaningless to call them upamadosas. They are im- possible in any piece which is in accordance with the definition of upama as laid down earlier .? And even as regards the other four dosas treated by Bhamaha, namely

7 यथाकर्थञ्चत्सादृश्यं यत्रोद्भ्तं प्रतीयते। उपमा नाम सा तस्या: प्रपञ्चोऽयं प्रदर्श्यते।। Ibid., ii, 14.

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हीनता, अधिकत्व, लिङ्गभेद and वचोभेद, Dandin declares that they are not always dosas or detractors of beauty in a simile, and sup- ports his claim with apt instances. He concludes that the criterion which decides whether there are dosas or not in a particular context is none other than the taste of the refined- If they offend the taste of the cultured, then alone can they be termed as dosas, not otherwise.8 He also gives instances when they act as deterrents of poetic effect and remarks that under such circumstances they must be eschewed. The reason, he says, goes without saying.9 Thus, though Dandin has here and there tried to improve upon Bhamaha, he remains in essence a follower of his, and like him, he does not venture upon any original treatment of the subject of poetic flaws either with reference to their nature or number. Though he criticises some older views, and he views the whole thing from a different and more original standpoint, still it will be in vain if we look forward to find in his work any clear-cut classification of the dosas on scientific principles. In the main, he adheres to the traditional number of the ten dosas and does not like to deviate from it.

Vāmana Vamana's work, in comparison with Dandin's and Bhamaha's shows further progress and elaboration of the ideas discussed above. The vague and unsystematic treat- ment of dosas in the earlier writers now loses that character

8 Cf. न लिङ्गवचने भिन्ने न हीनाधिकतापि वा। उपमादूषणायालं यत्रोद्वेगो न धीमताम् ।। Ibid., ii, 51. 9 Cf. ईदृशं वर्ज्यंते सद्ध्िः कारणं तत्र चिन्त्यताम् । गुणदोषविचाराय स्वयमेव मनीषिभि।।-Ibid., ii, 56.

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fot the first time in Vamana in so far as the dosas are fully developed and carefully set forth by him. As the means of arriving at poetic beauty, in Vamana's opinion, is the avoidance of dosas and the utilization of gunas and alankāras, Vāmana, like his predecessors, lays down at the outset that poetry must be free from dosas.10 Doșahana gains precedence over that of gunadana in achiev- ing the poetic effect. The Kamadhenn finds a justification for this. It quotes the well-known maxim "इष्टानुवर्तनात्कुर्या- त्प्रागनिष्टनिवर्तनम्" in support of its position that the poet must first endeavour to banish all flaws from his compositions before setting about to add beauty to it. The removal of the undesirable is indeed the pre-requisite which paves the way for the desirable.11 Then Vamana devotes a whole chapter (the द्वितीयाधिकरण) for the consideration of the dosas and calls it by the name of dosadarsana: 'A Notice of Defects'. The very first sutra in this chapter is "गुणविपर्ययात्मानो दोषाः" 'Defects are those ! elements whose characteristics are opposite to those of the gunas.' This goes flatly against the theory of Bharata who, as we have seen, held just the opposite view. For the first. time in the history of Sanskrit poetics, Vamana has expressly set at naught the authority of Bharata and as- serted a contrary thesis. The positive elements in poetic composition are gunas and not the dosas which are merely negations of gunas.

10 Cf. काव्यं ग्राह्यमलङ्ारात्। सौन्दर्यमलङ्कारः। स दोषगुणालङ्कार- हानादानाभ्याम् Kavyalankarasutra, I, i. 1-3. 11 Cf. इष्टानुवर्तनात्कुर्यात्प्रागनिष्टनिवर्तनमिति नीत्या गुणालङ्कारादानात्पूर्वं दोषहानमेव कविना कर्तव्यमिति सूचयितुं दोषहानस्य प्रथमतो निर्देश: a :- Kāvyālankāra-kāmadbenu, under I. i. 3.

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At this stage one is apt to raise an objection that since gunas are positive elements in poetry, an exposition of them in the first instance entails as a logical consequence an ink- ling into the precise nature of defects, their negations, and therefore a chapter need not be unnecessarily wasted on doșas, and that too, to treat of the dosas before treating of gunas is highly unwarranted. Vamana anticipates such an objection on the part of the reader and answers him by say- ing that though the objection is well founded, practical considerations demand that the dosas must be given separate treatment.12 The precise nature of dosas becomes clear to students only when they are enunciated, defined and classi- fied scientifically, not otherwise.13 Hence it is evident that the main object of Vamana was to give a thorough-going and well-defined treatment of the dosas as distinguished from the rough and ready treatment of these by his predecessors. Poetry may become tainted with flaws either because the communication is defective and the vehicle inoperative or because the experience or idea communicated is worth- less though the possibility of a presence of both the dosas in a particular context is not precluded. The vehicle of communication may become defective either by virtue of the individual words comprising it or by reason of the sentence as a whole which represents it. On the whole, then, a four-fold classification of dosas is possible-viz., i. :

pada-dosas (flaws relating to words), ii. padurtha-dosas (flaws relating to meanings of words), iii. vākya-dosas (flaws charac- terising sentences) and iv. vākyartha-dosas (flaws disfiguring

12 Cf. अर्थतस्तदवगमः; किमर्थं ते पृथऋप्रपञ्चचन्त इत्यत्राह- ---------- 'सौकर्याय पप्रञ्चः' ।-op. cit. 13 Cf. उद्दिष्टा लक्षणलक्षिता हि दोषा: सुज्ञाता भवन्ति I-op. cit.

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the sense of sentences). Such is the classification which Vamana proposes. And it marks a notable improvement over that of his predecessors. Later writers like Mammata have appreciated the merits of this scientific classification and adopted the scheme as standardized by Vämana in their own treatment of the dosas. The pada-dosas according to Vāmana are five in number-viz., असाधु, कष्ट, ग्राम्य, अप्रतीत and अनर्थक. The padirtha-dosas are also five viz., अन्यार्थ, नेयार्थ, गूढार्थ, अश्लील and क्लिष्ट. भिन्नवृत्त, यतिभ्रष्ट and विसन्धि form the vakya-dosas while व्यर्थ, एकार्थ, सन्दिग्ध, अयुक्त, अपक्म, लोकविरुद्ध and विद्याविरुद्ध constitute the vakyartha-dosas. It is clear that even Vamana is as scrupulous as his forerunners in adhering to the traditional number of ten inasmuch as his pada- and padartha- dosas on the one hand and his vakya- and vakyārtha- dosas on the other are exactly ten, neither more nor less. A comparison of Vamana's catalogue of dosas with that of Bhamaha and Dandin shows us that he has not added anything new to the existing number of dosas. His originality consists in his redistribution of them on certain basic principles and that is all that can be said to his credit. Though theoretically Vamana follows his predecessors in his treatment of the dosas, he practically doubles their number. At the close of Vamana's chapter on dosas we read- "एते वाक्यवाक्यार्थदोषास्त्यागाय ज्ञातव्याः । ये त्वन्ये शब्दार्थदोषाः सूक्ष्माः, ते गुणविवेचने वक्ष्यन्ते उपमादोषाश्चोपमाविचार इति।" It is stated here that Vamana proposes to elucidate the suksma-dosas in connection with his consideration of the gunas. On the basis of this the Kamadhenu concludes that all the dosas treated so far are to be taken as sthūla-dosas.1 14Cf. अस्मिन्नधिकरणे लक्षणीया दोषाः काव्यस्यासाधुत्वापादकाः स्थूला इत्यवगन्तव्यम्- Kavyalankarakamadhenu, on II. i. 3.

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It explains the word sksma-dosas as those which are not competent enough to destroy the poetic effect. For instance the opposite of ojoguna is a suksma-dosa, a flaw which is almost imperceptible and hence negligible.15 The sthūla- dosas refer to those general defects which mar poetic beauty in general in the same way as the gunas enhance it. The sūksma-doas correspond to the opposites of the technical gunas whose presence constitutes an element of charm in poetry. Though they do not mar the poetic beauty in the same way as the sthula-dosas, they must be avoided in the best kind of poetry. Here also Vamana is indebted to Dandin who too speaks of dosas which are opposite of gunas. But (the fact of) giving them the name of sūksma- dosas indicating thereby their negligible nature is Vamana's original contribution. As regards the question of upama-dosas also, Vamana has nothing new to add. He merely enumerates and illus- trates the dosas catalogued by Bhämaha, excepting one viz. viparyaya. This indicates that he has been influenced by Dandin in his rejection of the viparyaya-dosa.

Rudrata

The next writer of note is Rudrata, the author of the Kavyalankara. A noteworthy feature of his treatment is that he follows Bharata in holding that gunas are contraries of dosas as against the view of his immediate predecessor Vamana. Hence gunas, as such, do not receive at his hands

15 सूक्ष्मा: काव्यसौन्दर्याक्षेपानतिक्षमाः। 'ओजोविपर्ययात्मा दोषः' इत्यारभ्य तदुदाहरणप्रत्युदाहरणाभ्यां वक्ष्यन्ते-op. cit.

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any analytical exposition. His so-called gunas are all nega- tions of faults.16 In the enumeration of dosas also Rudrata follows a principle, slightly different from that of Vamana. Taking Jabda and artha as the two elements of poetry he mentions doșas in two series -- (1) sabda-dosas or defects of words, (2) artha-dosas or defects of sense. The first series includes nine faults viz., (i) six pada-dosas-असमर्थ, अप्रतीत, विसन्धि, विपरीतकल्पना, ग्राम्य and देश्य and (ii) three vukya-dosas-सङ्कीर्ण, गर्भित and TaTd I The second series comprises (besides four upama- dosas) nine faults again viz., अपहेतु, अप्रतीत, निरागम, बाधयत्, असम्बद्ध, ग्राम्य, विरस, तदून and अतिमात्र। Some of these dosas like tadvan, are, it must be noted, mentioned for the first time by Rudrata. Anandavardhana After the advent of the dhvani theorists like Änanda- vardhana and Abhinavagupta the dosas (like the gunas) came to be related to the rasa, the poetic effect in a composition, and began to be defined as that which prevents or hinders the manifestation of rasa. The doctrine of dosa was taken along with the doctrine of guna, of which it formed the counterpart and was considered from the standpoint of rasa alone. They were no longer absolute entities but attributes or absence of attributes relative to the development of rasa, and must therefore be governed by the theory of Aucitya or propriety which these theorists put forward in their treatment of rasa.17 It is a triumph of the dhvani school

16 Cf. अन्यूनाधिकवाचकसुक्रमपुष्टार्थशब्दचारुपदम् । क्षोदक्षममक्षुण्णं सुमतिर्वाक्यं प्रयुञ्जीत ॥Kavyalankara, ii. 8. 17 Cf. अनौचित्यादृते नान्यद्रसभङ्गस्य कारणम् । प्रसिद्धौचित्यबन्धस्तु रसस्योपनिषत्परा ॥-Dbvanyaloka, ch. III.

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that it was able to define properly the place of the concepts of rasa, rīti, guņa, dosa and alankāra in its comprehensive theory. In the theory of Anandavardhana much importance was given to the individual taste of the sahrdaya which alone was the criterion to judge dosas in particular contexts. Hence he does not embark upon any hair-splitting distinc- tion and classification of dosas. Such a procedure is not only avoided by Anandavardhana, but he even goes to the extent of saying that it would reflect on the rudeness of the critic. Even in the works of masters, blemishes are bound to creep in; but they need not be catalogued, overshadowed as they are by the thousand and one excellences.18 This is quite a happy idea and when we see that pedantic poets blatantly disregarded the advice of the rhetoricians in the avoiding of blemishes catalogued by them, we feel that all the energy and zeal of the ancients devoted in making nice distinctions of dosas was mis-spent. There was a yawning gulf between theory and actual practice which it was futile to bridge unless good sense dawned on the poets themselves. And it is this which Anandavardhana strenuously attempts to do. He wants to steer clear of the trash that had accumulated in the course of centuries round the natural, fresh and pellucid literature of old and to revive the original beauty once again. He sheds a beacon of light on the poetic pieces

18 Cf. ननु सूक्तिसहस्त्रद्योतितात्मनां महात्मनां दोषोद्धोषणमात्मन एव दूषणं भवतीति न विभज्य दशितम् ॥-Ibid., p. 94. Cf. also Kālidāsa's- 'एको हि दोषो गुणसन्निपाते निमज्जतीन्दोः किरणेष्विवाङ्कः' । Kumārasambhava

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of earlier as well as later writers and makes the reader grasp the essence of beauty in them. All the later theorists weie completely convinced of Anandavardhana's theory in the main and adopted it in their works. But it is once again disheartening to notice that the theory did not have any considerable effect on the contemporary writers in Sanskrit. The majority of them were revelling in the intricate maze of tropes, figures and technical excellences, as fully as ever. They did not hesitate to sacrifice poetic effect at the altar of intellectual gymnastics. They wanted to startle the reader by their supreme tour de force rather than delight him with aesthetic pleasure. This tendency in the writers of the later classical Sanskrit literature, indeed, was mostly responsible for the decline and fall of the pellucid, sweet and fresh idiom of the Sanskrit langu- age. The genius of the language began to be exploited for pedantic ends rather than for aesthetic appeal. The credit of having sounded the timely warning to them undoub tedly goes to Anandavardhana although it fell on deaf ears.

Kuntaka

Next we may take up Kuntaka. His work is unique in the history of Sanskrit poetics. He brought to bear on his study a taste for delight and a gift of sharing his delight, unrivalled in the range of Sanskrit writers. His insight into literature is surprisingly sharp and he has the vary rare capacity of analysing things and after a searching examination of every element, laying his finger precisely on the points which give rise to pleasure. As a natural sequence, anything that is shoddy or misplaced at once catches his eye. It is true that in the portions of the

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Vakroktijīvita now extant, he does not treat at length of any doctrine of flaws. But his shrewd observations scattered here and there throughout his book are enough to indicate his point of view. His idea of poetry is, indeed expressed in such terms as might win universal acceptance. Kuntaka describes the nature of the best road to poetty in these words- "Tho high road of poetry along which have trod the greatest of poets is one where words and meanings acquire ever new shades as a result of the fresh genius of the poet; which is embellished but little by figures and where excellences are not strained; where the skill and effort of the poet are made invisible by the abundance of feelings and natural descriptions; which brings aesthetic delight to the minds of men of taste; where the identity of parts is lost in the enjoyment of the whole; which is comparable only to the ingenious creation of Brahma in point of variety and beauty; and where, whatever the poetic effect, everything is the result of the poet's genius."19 Kuntaka then gives the significant name of graceful (sukumara) to this kind of poetry. Then he goes on to define the various poetic elements to be found in this kind

19 Cf. अम्लानप्रतिभोद्दिन्ननवशब्दार्थबन्धुरः । अयत्नविहितस्वल्पमनोहारिविभूषणः ॥ भावस्वभावप्राधान्यन्यक्कृताहार्यकौशलः । रसादिपरमार्थज्ञमनस्संवादसुन्दरः ॥ अविभावितसंस्थानरामणीयकरञ्जकः । विधिवैदग्ध्यनिष्पन्ननिर्माणातिशयोपमः । यत्किञ्चनापि वैचित्र्यं तत्सवं प्रतिभोन्द्गवम् । सौकुमार्यपरिस्पन्दस्यन्दि यत्र विराजते ।। सुकुमाराभिधस्सोऽयं येन सत्कवयो गताः । मार्गेणोत्फुल्लकुसुमकाननेनेव षट्पदाः ।। -Vakrokti-jīvita, I. 25-29.

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of poetry as माधुर्य, लावण्य, आभिजात्य, सौभाग्य and औचित्य. When discussing the nature of this last characteristic, Kuntaka incidentally draws attention to two blemishes in the com- position of Kalidasa, which, he says, are glaring. One of them is in the Raghuvamsa (xiii. 52) पुरं निषादाधिपतेस्तदेतद्यस्मिन्मया मौलिमणि विहाय। जटासु बद्धास्वरुदत्सुमन्त्रः कैकेयि कामाः फलितास्तवेति ॥ Here Kuntaka points out how the words Kaikeyi, be content now that your desires are fulfilled' in the mouth of Räma, not an ordinary man, but a hero endowed with all the virtues going with a noble hero, are highly out of place since those words go to suggest the mean nature and narrow outlook of the person speaking.20 The other passage in which Kuntaka points out a defect of impropriety is from Kālidāsa's Kumārasambhava (iii. 7) :- कामेकपत्नीं व्रतदुःखशीलां लोलं मनश्चारुतया प्रविष्टाम् । नितम्बिनीमिच्छसि मुक्तलज्जां कण्ठे स्वयंग्राहनिषक्तवाहुम् ॥। Here the context is this. Indra has called for Man- matha to entrust him with the duty of sowing seeds of love in the heart of Siva, the ultimate end in view being the destruction of Täraka and his hordes. In the stanza in question, as soon as he makes his appearance, Manmatha is said to have boasted of changing the mind of even the most devoted of wives so as to make her fall in instantane- ous love with Indra. One will be led to gather the impression that Indra takes it as a compliment since he

20 Cf. अत्र रघुपतेरनर्घमहापुरुषसम्पदुपेतत्वेन वर्ण्यमानस्य 'कैकेयि कामा: फलितास्तव' इत्येवंविधतुच्छतरपदार्थसंस्मारणं तदभिधानं च अत्यन्त- मनौचित्यमावहति ।-Ibid. 9

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does not stop Manmatha from saying such impolite words. This certainly takes away much of Indra's prestige, the lord of the three worlds as he is, and hence is highly inappropriate.21 Kuntaka for the first time tries to answer the question whether the presence of defects, say anaucitya, in a particular place, mars the poetic effect of that single part or the whole poem as such. He is of opinion that the whole poem becomes tainted as a result of a fault attaching to a part of it. The illustration he cites is apt. A fine silk garment, when it gets burnt though at a single spot, will itself, as a whole, lose its beauty and merit. So with fine poetry also.22 It is, further, very interesting to see how Kuntaka justifies the fact of his having selected Kalidasa, of all the Sanskrit poets, to point out dosas. He says that the works of Kälidāsa, abounding as they are in high excellences of every kind, admit of a glaring vision of the defects if any. Whereas the other poets have composed poems only by dint of effort and no purpose will be served by wasting time in pointing out flaws in those compositions since there is no background of excellence in them against which faults appear striking.28

21 Cf. इत्यविनयानुष्ठाननिष्ठं त्रिविष्टपाधिपत्यप्रतिष्ठितस्यापि तथाविधाभि- प्रायानुवर्तनपरत्वेनाभिधीयमानमनौचित्यमावहति 1-Ibid.

प्रसज्यते ।-Ibid. 28 एतच्चैतस्यैव कवेः सहजसौकुमार्यमुद्रितसूक्तिपरिस्पन्दसौन्दर्यस्य पर्यालोच्यते, न पुनरन्येषामाहार्यमात्रकाव्यकरणकौशलश्लाघिनाम् ...- Ibid.

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Mabimabhatta The next writer on Sanskrit Poetics who deserves our attention is Mahimabhatta who wrote his wotk viz., the Vyaktiviveka for demolishing the theory of dhvani promulga- ted by the Dhvanyaloka. One of the severest critics of Anandavardhana as he was, still Mahimabhatta does not dispute the fact that the soul of poetry is rasa.24 He only calls into question Anandavardhana's doctrine of dhvani. He also admits unhesitatingly Anandavardhana's doctrine of anaucitya (incongruity) but proceeds to analyse the concept scientifically. It is very surprising indeed to find Mahimabhatta, a polemical writer himself, saying at the outset that good manners forbid a lengthy discussion of others' faults and the office of the true critic is to understand the merits, if any, in others rather than pick holes in them. This procedure of being alive only to others' defects, will, according to him, fall only to the lot of unfortunate persons. But he justifies his exposition of faults by remarking that he had to transgress the path of the polite in order to satisfy the request of his pupils who sought for enlighten- ment as also to remove misapprehension in the minds of men who might level against his head the unmerited charges of muddleheadedness, want of etiquette in ignoring their question, and reticence due to jealousy.25 24 Cf. काव्यस्यात्मनि संज्ञिनि रसादिरूपे न कस्यचिद्विमतिः ।

25 Cf. तानिदानीमखिलान्दोषान् खला इव व्याख्यास्याम :- -Vyaktiviveka, I. 26

मुग्धः किं किमसभ्य एष भजते मात्सर्यमौनं नु किं पृष्टो न प्रतिवक्ति यः किल जनस्तत्रेति सम्भावयेत् । छात्राभ्यर्थनया ततोऽद्य सहसैवोत्सृज्य मार्ग सतां पौरोभाग्यमभाग्यभाजनजनासेव्यं मयाङ्गीकृतम् ॥-Ibid.II.1.

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Mahimabhatta does not himself claim to be perfect and free from every fault. He says that nothing prevents a doctor who himself is addicted to unwholesome diet from prohibiting others from indulging in it.26 The whole of the second chapter of Mahimabhatta's book is devoted to an exposition of the types of anaucitya amidst several digressions. According to him, it is of two kinds-अर्थविषय and शब्दविषय. From another point of view the division is into अन्तरङ्ग and बहिरङ्. The अन्तरङ्ग अनौचित्य consists in the improper employment of विभाव, अनुभाव and व्यभिचारिभाव in the manifestation of rasa and since it has been ably explained by the Dhvanikāra, he does not enter into any discussion of it. The बहिरङ्ग अनौचित्य (external impropriety) falls under five heads-विधेयाविमर्श, प्रक्रमभेद, क्रमभेद, पौनरुक्त्य and वाच्यावचन. As far as we know this classification of dosas was for the first time enunciated by Mahimabhatta. They are as much logical as literary defects. The commentator Mankhuka (Ruyyaka?) tries hard to justify this classification on the authority of Pānini, Patañjali and Kātyāyana. This makes very interesting reading.27

26 Cf. स्वकृतिष्वयन्त्रितः कथमनुशिष्यादन्यमयमिति न वाच्यम् । वारयति भिषगपथ्यादितरान् स्वयमाचरन्नपि तत् ।-op cit. 27 Read-यदेतदिह ग्रन्थकृता विचारसरणिमाश्रित्य विधेयाविमर्शादिदोष- पञ्चकमुद्भावितं न तत्राद्यतनपुरुषमात्रबुद्धिप्रणयनासूययानादरः करणीयः । पूर्वेरेवंविधदोषोद्द्ावनरूपस्य विचारस्य प्रणीतत्वात् । तथाहि-'दास्याः पुत्र' इत्यादावाक्रोशे षष्ठया अलुकं प्रतिपादयता सूत्रकृता विघेयाविमर्शः सूचित एव । तथा 'स्वामीश्वराधि- पतिदायादा 'इत्यत्र सूत्रे "न हि भवति गवां स्वामी अश्वेषु च"इति वदता भाष्यकृता स्पष्टमेब प्रक्रमभेदः प्रतिपादितः । तथा - Continued Next Page.

The Doctrine of Dosas in Sanskrit Poetics 165 -------.-. Bhoja The next work सरस्वतीकण्ठाभरण of Bhoja is a voluminous work which deals in the very first chapter with 16 dosas of pada, 16 of vakya, and 16 of vakyartha. Thus though the number of dosas reaches its climax viz., 48 in Bhoja, the fact is worth noting that practically they are all dosas mentioned in some context or other by earlier writers but which are all given an independent status in this work. With characteristic love of detail, Bhoja has treated these defects. But the treatment did not receive any serious attention by later writers. It is just a compendium of minute details and nothing more.

Mammața The last great work which deserves our notice is the well known Kavyaprakāsa of Mammata. Here has been set the standard for dosas as for many other concepts once and for all time to come. It is significant to note that he includes in his catalogue of dosas, those mentioned for the - Continued from Page 164. 'कृञ्चानुप्रज्यते लिटि' इत्यत्रानुप्रयोगस्यानुशब्दपर्यालोचनया व्यवहित- पूर्वप्रयोगं 'तं पातयां प्रथममास' इत्यादौ निषेधता चादीनां च नहि भवति 'च वृक्षः' इत्यादिना प्रयोगनियमख्यापनेन द्योतकत्वं कथयता अस्थानप्रयोगलक्षणः क्रमभेदः कटाक्षित एव। तथा कर्मधारय- मत्वर्थीयाभ्यां बहुव्रीहिर्लघुत्वात् स्यादिति वृत्तिलाघवं चिन्तयता कात्यायनेन पौनरुक्त्यमपि प्रकाशितमेव। तथा ईषदसमाप्तौ इत्यत्र प्रतिज्ञानसमधिगम्यं सूत्रकारोक्तं रूपकलक्षणमर्थ दूषयता प्रकृत्यर्थ- सदृशे कल्पबादिविधानमिति प्रतिज्ञानसमधिगम्यार्थभूतामुपमां व्यवस्था- पयतोपमाश्रयेण वाच्यावचनमपि द्योतितमेव। एतेन रूपकाश्रयेणा- वाच्यवचनमपि द्योतितमेव। तदेवं महाविदुषां मार्गमनुसृत्य सहृदय- शिक्षादराय विचारयतोऽस्य महामतेर्न कश्चित् पर्यनुयोगलेशस्याप्यवसर इत्यलमतिप्रसङ्गेन -Vyaktiviveka, Benares edn. pp. 151-2.

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first time by Mahimabhatta. He enumerates 13 pada-dosas, II vākya-dosas, 10 artha-doșas and 14 rasa-doșas. Almost all the later writers slavishly follow Mammata in their treat- ment. The concept of nitya and anitya-dosas found in Änandavardhana was also fully developed by Mammata. The marring or otherwise of the poetic effect by the dosas is judged by him not on their own account, but in terms of the part they play in the manifestation of rasa. It is for this reason that the division of the dosas into nitya and anitya varieties arises, and some of the dosas cease to be so when they are considered to be in consonance with the delineation of particular rasas. Mammata was also responsible for the detailed distinc- tion of rasa-dosas. The Dhvanikāra dealt with only the broad aspect of the subject and designated all rasa-dosas under the general name of anaucitya. It was Mammata who for the first time pointed out the various kinds of anaucitya as relating to rasa.

XIII

THE SANSKRIT CONCEPTION OF A POET

कवीनां मानसं नौमि तरन्ति प्रतिभाम्भसि । यत्र हंसवयांसीव भुवनानि चतुर्वश ।।

The history of Sanskrit poetics has been a long and chequered one. Tradition ascribes its origin to hoary and prehistoric times. But leaving alone the question of age, the incontestable fact remains that, from the earliest beginnings, Sanskrit criticism has kept in view the educa- tion and equipment of the poet side by side with the initiation of the critic into the principles of literary judgment. In the course of centuries of development in this branch of study, the former theme, however, received particular attention at the hands of a group of writers who made it their business to instruct the poet in his profession. Notwithstanding this independent school of writers on kavi-siksā (belonging to comparatively later times) even the earlier writers on Sanskrit poetics like Bhämaha have their own speculations to offer on this question of the making of a true poet. The social position of the poet in ancient India was a very honoured one. The poet enjoyed a highly privileged and enviable status in the assemblies and concourses of the cultured classes in those days. The gift of composing poetry was considered to be the acid test of polish in speech and manners. Right at the beginning of his work Bhamaha asks-'How can one have any pretensions to elegance in speech in the absence of good poetry?'1 It is

1रहिता सत्कवित्वेन कीदृशी वाग्विदग्घता । -loc. cit.

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clear that composing poetry must have been one of the most cherished ideals of men of taste in ancient India. Bhämaha and a host of other writers who have written treatises on Sanskrit poetics thought it worth their while to guide the prospective poets in the right direction as far and as well as they could, "Poeta nascitur non fit"-'A man is born a poet, not made one'-such goes the well-known Latin saying. This, if accepted in full, would render all further discussion on the topic in question (vix., 'the making of the poet') absurd as well as futile. However, the saying should be understood to mean only that innate genius is a more essential re- quirement of the poet than any other proficiency of an acquired kind. It no doubt assigns the first and foremost place to inborn genius and power; but in so doing it does not exclude altogether from its domain the essentiality of cultivated talent. The difference between the two exists only in the degree of their importance and not in the extent of their indispensability. Innate poetic genius, when shorn of all connection with good training and general environ- ment, is sure to die in its infancy without producing anything of value. There is, of course, no denying the truth that mere training or drill, however intensive it may be, will be absolutely fruitless if the person who is subjected to it is innocent of all poetic feeling and imagination. All the same, it is as much the duty of the budding poet who is gifted with genius to exploit it to his best advantage by undergoing the right kind of discipline. Unbridled imagination may run riot and render the whole work ineffectual. But when drilled by discipline it is sure to produce remarkable results. It was this discipline that the Sanskrit theories set about regulating. Talent is that

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which is in a man's power; genius is that in whose power man is. Doing easily what others find difficult is talent; doing what is impossible for talent is genius. Bhämaha, the earliest Sanskrit rhetorician proper, lays. down at the outset that pratibha (or poetic imagination) is the sine qua non for the poet. 'Even the untalented ones are able to study the sastra with the aid of the instruction of the teacher, but not so with regard to poetry. A. kavya worth its name can be composed only by a man who possesses pratibha.2 But that is not all. An aspirant to poetic fame must set to work only after having equipped himself with all the knowledge that a poet is required to have. A list of such studies as are essential to a poet, is. prepared by Bhämaha as follows :- grammar, metre, lexico- graphy, epic stories, worldly affairs, logic and fine arts.3. Though Bhämaha has not specifically used the words. vyutpatti (culture) and abhyāsa (practice or application) in this context, a perusal of the following passage: 'śabdābhidheye vijñāya krtvā tadvidupāsanām | vilokyānyanibandhāmśca kāryaḥ kāvyakriyādaraḥ || ' ['After acquainting oneself with (the principles of). word and sense, after having devoted oneself to the teach- ing of the masters well versed in them, and finally, after having studied the composition of other poets, one should. endeavour to compose a kāvya]-will show that he re- cognised in full the significance of those words which became the stock-in-trade of later theorists.

2 काव्यं तु जायते जातु कस्यचित्प्रतिभावतः । -Kāvyālankāra, 1. 5. 3 शब्दशछन्दोऽभिधानाथा इतिहासाश्रयाः कथाः । लोको युक्ति: कलाश्चेति मन्तव्याः काव्ययोनयः ॥ -ibid., 1. 9.

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Bhamaha does not give us any elaborate analysis or treatment of the concept of pratibha, and it is but natural in view of his antiquity. But the very fact that he re- cognises pratibha on the part of the poet as the indispensa- ble condition of good poetry is enough to secure him a high place among those who sought to discover the secret of good poetry. But we should not forget that though Bhamaha believed in pratibha, he also believed, as Dr. De observes, "in making a poet into a poet." Dandin too, harps upon the same tune.4 But he is more explicit than Bhämaha in admitting that even in the absence of natural genius, one may turn out to be a poet by dint of sheer study and assiduous practice. While Bhämaha seems to insist on pratibha as the primary require- ment in a poet, Dandin appears to differ from Bhamaha in this. respect. As stated by him, 'Though there be lack of that wondrous genius, the product of preceding births, yet the goddess of speech, when worshipped by learning and application, is sure to grant the boon of poetry.5 And consequently, Dandin exhorts all poetic aspirants to ply their studies diligently and pursue their practice patiently. He says-"So away with sloth, let Sarasvati be ceaselessly worshipped by those who would win fame. Men who have earned the capacity of composing poetry with sustained effort, though their poetic endowment be slender, are sure

4 Cf. नैसगिकी च प्रतिभा श्रुतं च बहुनिर्मलम् । अमन्दश्चाभियोगोऽस्याः कारणं काव्यसम्पदः ॥ -Kāvyādarśa. 5 न विद्यते यद्यपि पूर्ववासनागुणानुबन्धिप्रतिभानमद्भुतम् । श्रुतेन यत्नेन च वागुपासिता ध्रुवं करोत्येव कमप्यनुग्रहम् । -ibid., 1. 104.

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to shine in the assemblies of the learned.6 In other words, genius may live and thrive without training, but it does not the less reward the watering-pot and pruning knife. Labour and intent study joined with the strong propensity of nature would, no doubt, produce the best results. The matter is treated much more exhaustively by Vamana. His views are not without originality. General reflections about the 'kavi' open the second adhyaya of the first adhikarana in his kavyalankarasūtravrtti. Vāmana knows two sorts of poets-captious and non-discriminating (Arocakins and Satrnābhyavahārins).7 As explained in the Vrtti, these terms have been used in a metaphorical sense. The first group of poets is very difficult to please in all that appertains to poetics. In composing a kāvya they proceed with the greatest diligence. They discriminate accurately between what is fit and what is not fit. The second group, on the other hand, does not differentiate good from bad. In other words-the one is by nature vivekin (discriminating) and the other avivekin or non-discriminat- ing. Only poets of the former class are worth being instructed on account of their being endowed with the ability of discrimination8, while those of the latter should not be instructed, because they cannot discriminate.9 The

6तदस्ततन्द्रैरनिशं सरस्वती श्रमादुपास्या खलु कीर्तिमीप्सुभिः । कृशे कवित्वेऽपि जना: कृतश्रमाः विदग्धगोष्ठीषु विहर्तुमीशते।। -ibid., 1. 105. 7 Cf. अरोचकिनः सतृणाभ्यवहारिणश्चेति कवयः । -op. cit. 8 Cf. पूर्वे शिष्याः विवेकित्वात् । -op. cit. 9 Cf. नेतरे तद्विपर्ययात्। -op. cit.

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science of poetics is not meant for people of this latter class. It will serve no purpose for them.10 Indeed the kataka nut cannot clarify mire though it is used to clarify muddy water.11 · Next Vämana goes on to give a long list of the several branches of study that are essential for the proper equip- ment of the arocaki-kavis in the third chapter of his book. They are designated by him as kavyungas or 'ancillaries of poetry'. In this connection one is reminded of Bharata's remark that the world of poetry is concurrent with the whole world of science and art, logic and rhetoric. The sphere of poetry is indeed all-pervasive and all-embracing.12 Everything is grist for the poet's mill. The entire human experience, observation of nature, scraps of scientific lore, impressions from other, often hostile, phases of activity - he absorbs all as the bee assimilates nectar; and he gives it back sometime, somewhere, metamorphosed, according to the gift that is in him, the true honey of the mind. Vamana, in the first instance, broadly divides kuvyanga into three sections-loka (the world), vidya (the sciences) and prakirnam (miscellaneous). Subsequently he devotes much space for an examination of futther classifications of these. We need not enter into these details. It is, however, interesting to note that Vämana brings pratibha (which he calls pratibhäna) under the last head of prakīrna in the association of such other requisites as laksyajnatva, abhiyoga

10 Cf. न शास्त्रमद्रव्येष्वर्थवत्। -op. cit. 11 Cf. न कतकं पङ्कप्रसादनाय प्रभवति । -op. cit. 12 Cf. न स शब्दो न तद्वाच्यं न स न्यायो न सा कला। जायते यन्न काव्यङ्गमहो भारो महान्कवेः ॥

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and vrddhaseva.13 The mention of pratibha in the same breath as that of perception of aim, application, attendance upon elders, etc. leads us at first sight to imagine that like Dandin, Vamana too is assigning a secondary place to creative genius. But strangely enough, the sūtra which amplifies the nature of pratibha runs thus-"Kavitva- bijam pratibhanam" (In genius lies the very seed of poetry.') This, of course, is more in consonance with the position of Bhamaha than that of Dandin. What is more, Vämana has gone a step further than Bhamaha in attempt- ing to determine the nature of pratibha. The vrtti on the above quoted sutra makes it clear that pratibha is an inborn talent, a mental impression, the cause of which is to be sought in previous births. It is this that verily forms the germ out of which poetry sprouts forth and without which no literary composition is possible. If, nevertheless, a man endeavours to produce poetry even in the absence of pratibha, the effect will be nothing but ridiculous.14 Vamana here seems to have hit at the truth about poetry for the first time in the history of Sanskrit poetics. His description of pratibha came to be accepted verbatim in later times at the hands of such standard writers as Mammata and Hema- candra.15 A poem without poetic flash contains no life;

13 लक्ष्यज्ञत्वमभियोगो वृद्धसेवावेक्षणं प्रतिभानमवधानं च प्रकीर्णम्-ibid., I. iii. 11. 14कवित्वस्य बीजं कवित्वबीजं जन्मान्तरागतसंस्कारविशेषः कश्चित् । यं बीज़ं विना काव्यं न निष्पद्यते। निष्पन्नं वावहासायतनं स्यात् ।-loc, cit. 15 Cf. शक्तिः कवित्वबीजरूपः संस्कारविशेषः कश्चित् यां विना काव्यं न प्रसरेत् प्रसृतं वा उपहसनीयं स्यात् -Vrtti on Kāvyāprakāśa, 1. 3.

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it is a flower without fragrance. The credit for having first sounded the warning 'fee nibil invita dices faciesve Minerva', (Beware of attempting anything in literary composition for which nature has not gifted you, i.e., against the grain) in Sanskrit poetics goes to Vamana. Attention may also be drawn to the fact that Vamana's teaching does not merely end in the enumeration of the various branches of learning necessary fot the poet, but it also takes into account practical details of instruction such as the time and place suitable for the production of poetry. Vämana says that the poet must bring to bear upon his. composition a perfect concentration of mind. It is only then that he will be in a position to see through "the life of things". To achieve such a state of mind, the poet must first gain access to an atmosphere congenial to his. aim. The suitable atmosphere can be procured only at certain times of the day in specific places. The place must be secluded and the time preferably the fourth watch of the night.18 This gives us an insight into the practice of Sanskrit poets in ancient India. Their attitude towards. poetry was that of a worshipper towards his deity. The act of composing poetry was more or less sacred in itself and had to be performed with a pure and concentrated mind only at appointed hours. Thus approached, the goddess of poetry would crown the aspiring poet with success and not otherwise. Sanskrit poets like Kālidāsa and Magha too have corroborated this view. Kālidāsa says in Raghuvamsa (XVIII)-

16 चित्तकाग्यमवधानम्। तद्देशकालाभ्याम्। विविक्तो देशः । रात्रियामस्तुरीय: कालः । . -Kāvyālankārasūtravrtti, I. iii. 17-20.

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'Paścimādyāminīyāmād prasādamiva cetanā' indicating that the mind becomes tranquil only towards the last watch of the night. Mägha is more explicit when he says that poets begin to visualise the entire world of poesy after their mind has achieved tranquillity as a result of deep sleep during night.17 Thus, the cool hours of the early morning seem to have been the time when the poets com- posed their immortal poems. Vamana is the first writer who gives us these interesting details. Rudrata, the next writer of note on Sanskrit poetics, also accepts in the main the threefold requirement of the poet laid down by earlier writers. His originality consists in the fact that he gives each of them a convenient name: which came to be standardised later. He says: 'tasya (kāvyasya) karane/tritayam vyāpriyate saktirvyutpattirabhyāsah'-(I. 14). Jakti and pratibhā are synonyms. Words and meanings flash on the mind of the poet as a result of genius. Vyutpatti or learning assists. him in adopting the essential and avoiding the non- essential. Practice will lend excellence to genius.18 Sakti is defined by Rudrata as follows- "The springing forth in many ways of the ideas to be expressed and lucid diction in a well-concentrated mind is indeed akti."

17 Cf. गहनमपररात्रप्राप्तबुद्धिप्रसादाः कवय इव महीपाश्चिन्तयन्त्यर्थजातम्॥ -loc. cit .. 18 Cf. तत्र शक्त्या शब्दार्थो मनसि संनिधीयेते। तयोः सारासारग्रहणनिरासौ व्युत्पत्त्या करियेते अभ्यासेन शक्तेरुत्कर्ष आधीयते इति शक्त्यादिव्यापारः । -Commentary on Rudrata's Kāvyālankāra, N. S. Edn.

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This Jakti, also called by the name of pratibha by others, is two-fold according to Rudrata-innate and acquired. Of these two, the innate is the better one on account of its spontaneity. It needs but a little practice to give rise to poetry; whereas the second kind has got to be first produced by virtue of vyutpatti and then adapted to practice before it can help poetry. Thus, since it entails much endeavour, this latter kind of pratibha is inferior to that of the first. In other words, we may say that there are two classes of poets-the poets by education and practice, these we respect; and poets by nature, these we love. To borrow the words of E. R. B. Lytton. "Talk not of genius baffled, genius is master of man, Genius does what it must, and talent does what we can." Rudrata we have seen, has merely repeated in other words the ideas of his predecessors about the triple requisites of a poet. But as regards the distinction of pratibha into two varieties, sahajā and utpādya, he is com- pletely original. Dandin held that all pratibha is of one kind only and that it is naisargiki, which means nothing but sabaja. Rudrata holds that in addition to this innate genius, there is another kind of genius which is produced by virtue of learning. Whereas in the opinion of Dandin, all genius can be only innate and can never be produced by extraneous factors, Rudrata asserts that genius can be produced in the poet by strenuous endeavour on his part. However, Rudrata too admits that there is a difference in degree though not in kind between the two varieties of

-.

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pratibha.19 So much for the earlier writers. In their disquisitions, sometimes pedantic, the truth is brought home to the reader that ""Tis long disputed, whether poets claim From art or nature their best right to fame. But art, if not enriched by nature's vein, And a rude genius of uncultured strain, Aro useless both; but when in friendship joined, A mutual succour in each other find." (Horace). Genius may shine without the help of art; cultivated by art, it will produce more agreeable fruit. At the same time it must also be borne in mind that study, precept and observation will nought avail without the assistance of nature. Yet even though nature has done her part, by implanting the seeds of taste, great pains must be taken, and great skill exerted, in raising them to proper pitch of vegetation. 'The judicious tutor must gradually and tenderly unfold the mental faculties of the youth committed to his charge. He must cherish his delicate perception; store his mind with proper ideas; point out the different channels of observation; teach him to compare objects; to establish the limits of right and wrong, of truth and falsehood; to distinguish beauty from tinsel, and grace from affectation; in a word, to strengthen and improve by culture, experience and instruction those natural powers of

19 Cf. मनसि सदा सुसमाधिनि विस्फुरणमनेकधाभिधेयस्य । अफ्लिष्टानि पदानि विभान्ति यस्यामसौ शक्ति: ।। प्रतिभेत्यपरैरुदिता सहजोत्पाद्या च सा द्विधा भवति। पुंसा सह जातत्वादनयोस्तु ज्यायसी सहजा ॥ स्वस्यासौ संस्कारे परमपरं मृगयते यतो हेतुम् । उत्पाद्या तु कथञ्चिद् व्युत्पत्त्या जन्यते परया ।। -loc. cit. 10

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feeling and sagacity which constitute the faculty called taste, and enable the professor to enjoy the delights of the Belles Lettres'. Such elaborate instruction in the art of taste and poesy indeed assumes that Nature has not been equally favourable to all men in conferring upon them a grain of genius which may be improved without much ado. At first sight one might be tempted to wonder if all these theories have not missed in their discussion, some- thing fundamental about the subject they are concerned with. One would like to know more about the mainspr- ings of true poetry and the characteristics of a good poet rather than threadbare discussions about meticulous details. of his education. The science of poetics can never attain completeness in itself without an attempt at answering this most important problem of the nature of genius and the various ways in which it finds expression. Poetry is not merely an intellectual pursuit. Its value lies more in the aesthetic pleasure it brings in the mind of the reader. This naturally implies that the poet's genius is concerned with the emotional and imaginative aspects of things. Poetry is the vehicle in which genius expresses its most sublime conceptions. This problem of the sources of poetty received adequate consideration at the hands of later theorists such as Anandavardhana, Abhinavagupta, Mahimabhatta and Kuntaka. The primaty object of these writers was, it should be remembered, the promulgation of an acceptable theory of poetry in all its aspects. Hence we need not wonder if the topic of the working of genius in a poet comes to be treated of only incidentally. But all the same, their remarks are very valuable inasmuch as they shed a flood of light on the problem in question.

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A precise and comprehensive definition of pratibha or poetic imagination was laid down by Bhatta Tauta, the author of a work on poetics called Kavyakautuka (which is not extant now). This definition was reverentially accepted by Abhinavagupta in his Dhvanyalokalocana and his authority influenced all the succeeding writers such as Mammata. The definition itself reads thus- "Poetic imagination is that gift of mind by whose aid one can visualise myriad things anew.20 It is by virtue of this gift alone that one deserves the title of 'Poet'." Hence it goes without saying that poetry abounds for the most part in imaginative description. There are some more verses of Bhatta Tauta which have come down to us as quotations in the works of later writers such as Hema- candra. These indeed go to the very heart of the question of poesy and bear quotation.21 It has been remarked that no non-sage can be deservingly called poet; and a sage will be worth his name only by virtue of his vision. By vision we mean that insight into Truth about all the manifold materials in the world and their various as- pects. One can win the distinction of 'poet' in the sciences if he possesses this vision of Truth. But in everyday speech the

20 Cf. प्रज्ञा नवनवोन्मेषशालिनी प्रतिभा मता। तदनुप्राणनाजीवद्वर्णनानिपुणः कविः ॥ तस्य कर्म स्मृतं काव्यम् -loc. cit. 21 नानृषिः कविरित्युक्तं ऋषिश्च किल दर्शनात् । विचित्रभावधमांशतत्त्वप्रख्या च दर्शनम् ॥ स तत्त्वदर्शनादेव शास्त्रेषु पठितः कविः । दर्शनाद्वर्णनाच्चाथ रूढा लोके कविश्रुतिः । तथा हि दर्शने स्वच्छे नित्येऽप्यादिकवेर्मुनेः । नोदिता कविता लोके यावज्जाता न वर्णना ।। -loc. cit.

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world accords that title to him alone who possesses both vision and imaginative description. Thus though Vālmīki was highly gifted with enduring and clear vision, he was not hailed as a poet by people until he embodied it in a descriptive work." Here Bhatta Tauta has very ingeniously correlated the ancient sayings "Nanrsih kurute kavyam" and "Rsayah krantadarsinah" with his conception of the poet. A poet is first and foremost a seer. His alert genius penetrates all directions and he sees through the nature of every object. But mere vision is not enough. It must be co-ordinated by the creative faculty which enables the poet to translate into words the numberless things that his imagination pictures before his mind. Highest poetry, which is the product of such genius, "lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar" (Shelley). Genius is ... the mirror In whom as in the splendour of the sun, All shapes look glorious ... (Shelley). The rare lovely essence in which we delight, the fragrant, delicate breath of noble magnificent sublimity, must be something which rises above 'pretty little tricks of style'. Poetry is not a mere mechanical art but something over and above it. It is the outcome of real genius, and, as the result of it, one can see- "All the charm of all the Muses Flowering in a lonely word." S. T. Coleridge, one of the greatest English critics, des- cribes it in these words-"Good sense is the body of poetic genius, fancy its drapery, motion its life, and imagination the soul."22

22 Biographia Literaria, Ch. I.

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There is no work of such a genius which has not been the delight of mankind; no word of genius to which the human heart and soul have not sooner or later responded. It was this confidence in the abiding worth of genius that led Bhavabhuti to make the daring remark- Whoever there be that thinks of slighting me, (it is not my concern here to call their competency into question) let them remain snug in their pride. My composition is not calculated to cater to their tastes. Some one may be born, or might have already been born, who is akin to me in temperament. It is indeed for such a person that I address my work. Time, for- sooth, is endless and extensive is the earth!'28 The correlation between the 'poet' and the 'seer' that Bhatta Tauta has instituted appears to be doubly significant. We have seen above at some length how genius demarcates the poet from the scientist. On the other hand, we are also reminded of the early compositions of the ancient Aryans when we come across the word rsi or seer. The origin of Vedic literature is no doubt shrouded in mystery. There is also no gainsaying the fact that many works belonging to that hoary antiquity are more voluminous though by no means luminous. Granting all this, it will have to be admitted that early Vedic poetry as preserved to us in the Rgveda Samhita, sprang from inspiration and enthusiasm. The Vedic bards must have been struck with sublime conceptions, with admiration and awe, by those great phenomena which, though repeated daily, can never be

23 ये नाम केचिदिह नः प्रथयन्त्यवज्ञां जानन्तु ते किमपि तान्प्रति नैष यत्नः । उत्पत्स्यतेऽ्रस्ति मम कोऽपि समानधर्मा कालो ह्ययं निरवधिर्विपुला च पृथ्वी ।। -Prologue to Mālatīmādhava.

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viewed without intense emotion. These would break forth in exclamations expressive of the feeling produced, whether surprise or gratitude, terror or exultation. The rising, the apparent course, the setting and seeming renovation of the sun; the revolution of light and darkness; the splendour, change, and circuit of the moon, and the canopy of heaven bespangled with stars, must have pro- duced expressions of wonder and adoration. In other words, the muse would be consecrated to the purposes of adoration.24 Thus the most famous stanza of the Rgveda which has been a daily prayer in India for more than three thousand years is- 'May we attain that excellent Glory of Savitr the God, That he may stimulate our thoughts.'25 Thus, with a little stretch of imagination, we may pictute to our minds the significance attaching to the word rsi and in its train the word kavi. So much for Bhatta Tauta's contribution to the subject of pratibba. We have to regret that his Kāvyakautuka has not come down to us. As indicated eatlier, his pupil Abhinavagupta, who too was an authority on Sans- krit poetics, accepts this view of his guru as final. His originality consists in the fact that he introduces the idea of aesthetic emotion in explaining Bhatta Tauta's position. According to Abhinavagupta, "The gift of finding out newer and newer ideas and things is itself pratibha. But

24 For a fuller account of this topic vide my article on the 'Re- ligion of the Veda', Quarterly Journal of the Mythic Society, Vol. XXXIV, No. 1. 25 Rgveda, iii, 62, 10.

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what makes for poetry is an aspect of pratibha that is conducive to the composition of poetry suffused with thrilling emotion and aesthetic beauty."26 An attempt to distinguish between the terms pratibhā, prajna, buddhi, mati and smrti is made in an oft-quoted verse-"Mind, when it becomes capable of understanding all facts without any temporal limit, comes to be called by the name of prajnā; and this itself acquires the name of pratibha with an addi- tional qualification, namely invention of newer and newer images.27 It is such pratibba that is directed to the produc- tion of aesthetic pleasure through the medium of poetry. Anandavardhana devotes an entire chapter (viz., IV) in his Dhvanyaloka for the consideration of pratibha or imagination. Even earlier, he has eloquently praised the poet's creative power. He says-"In the vast domain of poetry, the poet alone is the sole creator. According to his whims and fancies the whole world of ours undergoes transfiguration ... If the poet be inspired by love, lo! the whole world becomes transfused with emotion; but if he be devoid of all sentiment, everything becomes dry and insipid. The creative magic of the poet is unparalleled. He is free to fill inanimate objects with life and take away life even from animate ones according to his sweet

26 Cf. प्रतिभा अपूर्ववस्तुनिर्माणक्षमा प्रज्ञा। तस्या विशेषः रसावेश- वैशद्यसौन्दर्यकाव्यनिर्माणक्षमत्वम् । -Dhvanyālokalocana. 27 स्मृतिर्व्यतीतविषया मतिरागामिगोचरा । बुद्धिस्त्रकालिकी प्रोक्ता प्रज्ञा त्रैकालिकी मता ।। प्रज्ञां नवनवोन्मेषशालिनीं प्रतिभां विदुः ।

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pleasure"28 Mammata goes a step further and raises the poet to a height even greater than that of the creator. The poetic world is said to be devoid of the shackles of destiny, to be of the nature of ecstasy, and depending on nothing extrinsic to itself and delightful by reason of the nine sentiments which are depicted therein unlike the real world of the creator, which is destitute of all these.29 Abhinava- gupta goes even to greater lengths when he declares that in poetry, there is not the operation of any causal pheno- menon. By the poet's deft touch, the hardest stone-like substances in the world are made to lose their hardness and become soft and soothing and full of brimming sentiment. The process of literature, which hinges around the poet as much as the sympathetic critic flashes before us in the order of poetic insight and creative self-expression, and it is beautiful to a degree.80

28 अपारे काव्यसंसारे कविरेव प्रजापतिः । यथास्मै रोचते विश्वं तथेदं परिवर्तते।। श्रृङ्गारी चेत्कविः काव्ये जातं रसमयं जगत्। स एव वीतरागश्चेन्नीरसं सर्वमेव तत्।। भावानचेतनानपि चेतनवच्चेतनानचेतनवत् । व्यवहारयति यथेष्टं काव्ये सुकविः स्वतन्त्रतया ।। Cf. also-नामरूपात्मकं विश्वं द्दश्यते यदिदं द्विधा। तत्राद्यस्य कविर्वेधा द्वितीयस्य प्रजापतिः ॥ elg -Sabhāranjanaśataka, 26. 29 Cf. नियतिकृतनियमरहितां ह्वादैकमयीमनन्यपरतन्त्राम् । नवरसरुचिरां निर्मितिमादधती भारती कवेर्जयति ॥।

30 अपूर्व यद्वस्तु प्रथयति विना कारणकलां -Kāvyāprakāśa, I, i, 1.

जगद्ग्रावप्रख्यं निजरसभरात्सारयति च । कमात्प्रख्योपाख्याप्रसरसुभगं भासयति त- त्सरस्वत्यास्तत्त्वं कविसहृदयाख्यं विजयते।। -Dhvanyalokalocana.

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It is such pratibha or creative imagination that receives. special treatment in the fourth uddyota (lit. flash) of the Dhvanyaloka. The several varieties of dhvani or suggestion which have been described at length in the foregoing- chapters are rendered effective only by reason of the poet's. imagination. If monotony is to be avoided and variety to be achieved, the poet must have recourse to his imagi- nation.31 Even old themes come to acquire new beauty when they come out of the crucible of the poet's pratibha. It is like the fire which gives new shining to the faded colour of pure gold. The phenomenon can also be com- pared to that of the trees which put on new glory with the advent of spring.32 This fact is profusely illustrated by Anandavardhana with the help of old stanzas dealing with one idea and new stanzas dealing with the same idea, yet appearing more beautiful as a result of the poet's. imaginative touch. It is this which accounts for the fact that a single theme will never become threadbare or worn out even when it is worked upon by hundreds of poets provided they are endowed with genius.33 The same idea is made dearer in a Prakrt stanza quoted in this. context84 by Anandavardhana from his own composition Vișamabanalīla, which, unfortunately, has not come down

31 ध्वनेर्य: सगुणीभूतव्यङ््यस्याध्वा प्रकाशितः । अनेनानन्त्यमायाति कवीनां प्रतिभागुणः ।। -Dhvanyāloka, IV, 1. 32 दृष्टपूर्वा अपि ह्यर्थाः काव्ये रसपरिग्रहात् । सर्वे नवा इवाभान्ति मधुमास इव द्रुमाः ॥ -ibid., IV, 4. 33 न काव्यार्थविरामोऽस्ति यदि स्यात्प्रतिभागुणः । -ibid., IV, 6. 34 ण अ ताण घडइ ओही ण अ ते दीसन्ति कह वि पुनरुत्ता। जे विब्भमा पिआणं अत्थावा सुकविवाणीणम् ।। -loc. cit.

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to us. It says-"No bounds can be fixed for them; never are they seen to be repeated-the graces of lovely women and the meanings of great poetic expressions." Great poetry in the last resort eludes logical analysis even as the loving graces of a beloved. It transcends reason and has a world of its own. The final effect, no doubt, may not be amenable to reason. But the first material on which the poets have to work must have firm foundation in the world of reality. As Nilakantha Diksita has strikingly put it .- "The poets charm the readers and hold them spell- bound by their skill and dexterity in the handling of the self-same material, which one and all are wont to use in their day-to-day existence. The words employed by poets are none other than the ones current in everyday life. The meanings attaching to them also are the same as in ordinary parlance; only the magic is different.35

35 यानेव शब्दान्वयमालपामो यानेव चार्थान्वयमुल्लिखामः । तैरेव विन्यासविशेषभव्यैः संमोह्यन्ते कवयो जगन्ति ॥

XIV

OBSERVATIONS OF SANSKRIT LITERARY CRITICS ON POETIC IMAGINATION

In this article we propose to consider in some detail the remarks made by the later writers on the nature and province of Pratibha and to draw the reader's attention to some strikingly similar statements in English literary criticism. It is not without significance that nandavardhana speaks of Pratibha or Imagination in connection with Dhvani or suggestion, the chief variety of which is Rasa- Dhvani or suggestion of the emotions. In common life and art alike, it is the emotions which set the imagination in motion, and vice versa, the language of the imagination which stirs the emotions. The processes which we call imaginative are opposed to the processes of reason, just as the appeal to the emotions is in contrast with the appeal to reason. In particular, the imaginative processes treat facts, the data of experience, in a way totally different from the processes of which the reason avails itself, discarding experiences which the reason values, utilizing experiences which the reason discards, and meaning by Truth "some- thing quite different from the truth of science". The poet may, on the one hand, discard history for that "feigned history" as Bacon called it, depicting "a more ample great- ness, a more exact goodness, and a more absolute variety than can be found in the nature of things", or on the other, he may take familiar realities, and seek to show forth different meanings, which he has seen within them by qualities of his own. Either process is included in what we call Imagination. We may quote a parallel passage from

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Wordsworth- "If thou partake the animating faith That poets, even as prophets, each with each Connected in a mighty scheme of truth, Have each his own peculiar faculty, Heaven's gift, a sense that fits him to perceive Objects unseen before, thou wilt not blame The humblest of this band who dares to hope That unto him hath also been vouchsafed An insight that in some sort he possesses A principle whereby a work of his Proceeding from a source of untaught things, Creative and enduring, may become A power like one of Nature's". (Prelude, Book xiii) This interpretation of poetry as appealing to the emotions by means of the imagination is so fundamental a matter that, for many critics, it is the substance of the definition of poetry even among English writers. Thus+ Theodore Watts Dunton says "No literary expression can, ---------- properly speaking, be called poetry that is not in a certain deep sense emotional".1 P. B. Shelley says-"poetry in a general sense, may be defined to be the expression of the Imagination" (A Defence of Poetry). Ruskin observes- "Poetry is the suggestion, by the Imagination, of noble grounds for the noble emotions. I mean by the noble emotions those four principal sacred passions-Love, Veneration, Admiration and Joy,-and their opposites- Hatred, Indignation (or Scorn), Horror and Grief.2

1 Article on 'Poetry' in the Encyclopaedia Britannica. 2 Modern Painters, Part IV.

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The word Imagination suggests the making of images,-images in the mind's eye which more or less resemble the images which are there when an object is seen; and in the simplest use of the term nothing more is implied. From this standpoint the imagination is a peculi- atly vivid form of memory. But this is not all; for the imagination is more than memory. It not only recalls past sensations, but adds to them and subtracts from them, making, from the materials thus furnished, new images which have no precise counterpart in nature. The poetic imagination is creative. It not only reproduces the remem- bered images of the senses, but compares them by a new method suggested by the emotions, combines them into new vivid wholes and leaps to conclusions which remind us of the laborious conclusions of the reason, yet are quite different both in method and results. It is this faculty that makes the great poets akin to the prophets and teachers of the race: for they not only recover for us our forever fleet- ing pleasures of the senses, but interpret those in a way that reveals the hidden significance of life. A question arises whether there is one class of themes with which poetry characteristically deals, and other classes which are excluded from its territory. At fitst thought one is likely to try to define some limitations of this sort because of a general impression that poetry treats as a rule only of lofty or dignified themes, more particularly such as love, beauty and faith, and avoids the low and the common- place. Yet further reflection will perhaps suggest that what we have in mind is not so much the subject-matter of the poet, as it is what he makes of that subject-matter; and the weight of the testimony of the critics is against limiting him at all in the choice of material. Thus Leigh

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Hunt says of poety, after defining it as "the utterance of a passion for truth, beauty and power", that "its means are whatever the universe contains". And Emerson says of the poet: "There is no subject that does not belong to him,- politics, economy, manufactures, and stock brokerage, as much as sunsets and souls; only these things, placed in their true order, are poetry; displaced or put in kitchen order, they are unpoetic."1 Shakespeare in his characteristic way exclaims- "Our poesy is a gum which oozes From whence 'tis nourished .... our gentle flame Provokes itself, and like the current, flies Each bound it chafes." That is why the great German poet Goethe declared : "Frei will ich sein im Denken und im Dichten Im Handeln schrankt die Welt genung."2 The creative magic of the Imagination is well brought out in the following lines of Sir John Davies as quoted by S.T. Coleridge.3 "Doubtless this could not be, but that she turns Bodies to spirit by sublimation strange, As fire converts to fire the things it burns, As we our food into our nature change. From their gross matter she abstracts their forms, And draws a kind of quintessence from things; Which to her proper nature she transforms To bear them light on her celestial wings.

1 Poetry and the Imagination. 2 Free will I be in thought and my poetry: In conduct the world trammels us enough." 3 Biographia Literaria, Ch. XIV.

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Thus does she, when from individual states She doth abstract the universal kinds; Which then reclothed in divers names and fates Steal access through our senses to our minds." or as another poet would have it, the poet's spirit "Shoots its being through earth, sea and air." These considerations about poetic Imagination are reflected in the writings of later writers on Sanskrit Poetics who accept the view of the Dhvani theorists as final and authoritative. But among the host of such writers two names stand out with great prominence. We mean Mahimabhatta, the author of the Vyaktiviveka and Kuntaka, the author of the Vakroktijīvita. Mahimabhatta's work occupies a unique place in the history of Sanskrit Poetics. Avowedly it is a polemical work directed to tefute the doctrines of the Dhvanikara. His own thesis is that all the manifold varieties of Dhvani and other important elements of poetry can be brought under the more comprehensive province of Anumana or Inference. In a thorough-going fashion he sets about his business and points out no less than ten defects in the very definition laid down by Änanda- vardhana, in the first chapter of his book Vyaktiviveka. In the second chapter, he proceeds to consider scientifically the nature of Defects in the course of which he quotes hundreds of illustrations from the masterpieces of Sanskrit literature and successfully challenges the idea of Kuntaka, Udbhata, and others.1 His observations are always strictly logical, thought-provoking and illuminating. Mahima- bhatta's position is that Alankaras or figures of speech

1 For a detailed consideration of this topic, vide my article on "the Doctrine of Doșas in Sanskrit poetics," Supra.

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acquire worth in poetry only when they possess a special charm. This naturally raises the problem whether Nature- poetry or svabhavokti can be called a figure of speech at all worth the name. He answers the question in the affirma- tive and supports his position by advancing the following arguments-"Things in the world of nature have indeed a two-fold aspect-the universal and the special. The former admits of varieties in contradistinction to the latter which is unique in its own way. It is this special aspect which is capable of being perceived by the senses and which also forms the subject of Imaginative poetry. Now what is this Imagination in the poet? It is the intuition which arises, out of the acquaintance for the nonce with the real nature of things, in the mind of the poet in concentration as a result of the contemplation of word and sense in keeping with the sentiment to be depicted. It is indeed extolled as the third eye of the great god Siva who is known to perceive things, past, present and future, by its aid. So even common-place things, when they come out of the poet's imaginative mind, attain the high status of poetry. So Svabhavokti can rank as a valid figure of speech when the thing described is so picturesquely presented to the mind of the reader that he feels he is actually beholding it in every detail.1 Mahimabhatta is also of opinion that

1 विशिष्टमस्य यद्रूपं तत्प्रत्यक्षस्य गोचरः । स एव सत्कविगिरां गोचरः प्रतिभाभुवाम् ॥ रसानुगुणशब्दार्थचिन्तास्तिमितचेतसः । क्षणं स्वरूपस्पर्शोत्था प्रज्ञैव प्रतिभा कवेः ॥ सा हि चक्षुर्भगवतस्तृतीयमिति गीयते। - Continued Next Page.

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things in nature do not give the same pleasure to the observer as they do when they are made the subjects of poetry. The reason he gives is that the poet is endowed with a special gift of communion with nature.1 He also quotes with approval an ancient stanza which emphatically declares that the truth about the art of poetry can never be attained by one who has not pleased the elders by his . humble services to them. This could be compared to the lot of a king who could never aspire to heaven unless he performed the Rajasuya sacrifice which was ordained for him.2 All this reminds us of the commonplace of Greek literary criticism that poetry, in common with all art, is "imitation of nature." That phrase is interpreted by some critics to mean not the outside world of created things, but "the creative force, the productive principle of the universe." In the useful arts men catch whispers of Nature's secrets and turn the knowledge thus gained to good account.

• Continued from Page 192 येन साक्षात्करोत्येष भावास्त्रकाल्यवर्तिनः ।। अर्थस्वभावस्योक्तिर्या सालङ्कारतया मता। यतः साक्षादिवाभान्ति तत्रार्थांः प्रतिभापिताः ।। -Vyaktiviveka, II. 116-120. 1प्रत्यक्षोऽपि ह्यर्थः साक्षात्संवेद्यमानः सचेतसां न तथा चमत्कारमातनोति यथा स एव सत्कविना वचनगोचरतां गमितः । तदुक्तम्- कविशत्त्यर्पिता भावास्तन्मयीभावयुक्तितः । तथा स्फुरन्त्यमी काव्यान्न तथाध्यक्षतः किल॥ -Ibid., Ch. I, p. 73. Benares Edn. 2 काव्यार्थतत्वावगमो न वृद्धाराधनं विना। अनिष्टवान् राजसूयं कः स्वग्यं सुखमश्नुते ।। -Ibid., p. 157, Benares Edn. 11

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Coming to what the Greeks called the imitative or liberal, and we the fine, arts, we discover underlying them, as. understood by Aristotle, the idea that man divines the inten- tion of Nature and gives expression to it. In a statue the artist endeavours not so much to reproduce every detail, as to make his conception in its integrity stand forth and speak. He will concentrate on the significant features as he understands them and his success will depend on the happi- ness of his choice and the execution of his purpose. The imitation of Nature which art thus achieves is often, we will not say an improving on Nature, but a mote lucid and articulate presentment of her design in some given part of it. And in poetry, whose proper matter, in the Greek view, was the character, experiences and actions of men, success- ful work is a presentation of these in their inwardness and ideal compactness; not a meticulous labour on outsides, but a recreating and an exhibition from within. Like all fine art, poetry is ideal, not when it slights or contradicts reality, but when it gives to reality a clarified and intensified expression. The higher truth and seriousness in the poet's imita- tion of Nature implies a peculiar ductility in him to the impress of the life of things and an exceptional capacity for recording it. The poet integrates and transfigures what the world presents in a flux of jostling and changing elements. He captures the permanent substance, sifts the perennial from the moment as it flies. Having the intuitive power to penetrate Nature's purposes and divine her message, he becomes her spokesman. Nature is humanized in poetry: the poet is the mind and tongue she enlists in her service. Bhatta Nayaka very well brings out this idea when he says that poets are the beloved calves of the cow called Speech.

Observations of Sanskrit Literary Critics on Poetic Imagination 195

The milk which she affectionately gives forth to these is. unparalleled even by that supreme bliss which Yogins claim to enjoy. It is laboured on the part of ascetics but spont- aneous as far as poets are concerned.1 Schelling is said to have remarked-"Genius is to aesthetics what the ego is to philosophy, the only supreme and absolute reality." Our ancient theorists went even a step further and they not only compared aesthetic bliss to Yogic bliss but also extolled the former as being more easily attained in preference to the latter. Thus Visvanatha in his Sahityadarpana points out that Rasa which is the essence of poetry is Brahmāsvāda- sahodara. In dispelling the darkness of Ignorance, Śastras or technical treatises act only as bitter medicines whereas poetry is like delightful nectar. They please the palate and at the same time cure the diseases also.2 In the words of Keats- "A drainless shower Of light is poesy; 'Tis the supreme power 'Tis might slumbering on its own right arm, The very arching of her eyelids charm A thousand willing agents to obey And still she governs with the mildest sway." Now we may pass on to Kuntaka who is the reputed author of the Vakroktijivita. We may go so far as to say that his whole work is a continuous discourse having as its sole aim the exemplification of the several ways in which a poet's genius finds expression in literature. In Kuntaka's

1 वाग्धनुर्दुग्ध एकं हि रसं यद्वालतृष्णया । तेन नास्य समः स स्याद्योगिभिर्दुह्यते हि यः ॥ 2 कटुकौषधवच्छास्रमविद्याव्याधिनाशनम् । आह्लाद्यामृतवत्काव्यमविवेकगदापहम् ॥ -Vakroktijivita, p. 6.

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work we come across not only information and argument, masterly comparison and sustained intellectual effort, but more than that-a wealth of imagination and a breadth of outlook, a beautiful exuberance of fancy and language un- paralleled in works on Sanskrit Poetics. We are provided with something which by some subtle means brings us closer to the Sanskrit classics than we could hope to get unaided; something that creates in our mind the right receptive mood. It is a unique type of criticism which transports the reader and at the same time informs him. It is artistic and at the same time intellectual. In a word it is creative. Kuntaka so loses himself in the literary piece he studies that his criticism gives us an artistic expression of what are his own emotions. His work, itself a work of art, illumines the working of the poetic process and of the aesthetic sense. In Kuntaka, the old poets speak again as it were, as though their spirits were but taking up a new instrument and breathing through it. According to Kuntaka Pratibha ot Imagination is the keystone of the poetic arch.1 Whatever charm there be in poetry, all that is attributable only to Pratibha.2 The various elements of poetry such as Rasa, Bhava and Alankāra have the poet's imagination for their soul and particulary in the case of Alankaras, this is very well pronounced.8 Kuntaka's idea of Vakrokti (Lit. 'tilted locution') must not be mistaken to mean an advocacy of an artificial 'poetic diction' as different from that used by men in ordinary

1 कविप्रतिभाप्रौढिरेव प्राधान्येनावतिष्ठते। -Vakroktijivita, p. 13. 2 यत्किञ्चनापि सौन्दर्य तत्सवं प्रतिभोन्द्वम्। Ibid, p. 48. 3यद्यपि रसभावालङ्काराणां सर्वेषां कविकौशलमेव जीवितं, तथाप्यलङ्कारस्य विशेषतस्तदनुग्रहं विना ... मनाङ्मात्रमपि न वैचित्र्यमुत्प्रेक्षामहे। Ibid, p. 146.

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parlance. His theory corresponds more with that of Wordsworth who holds that "While describing things in language really used by men the poets throw over them a certain colouring of imagination, whereby things shall be presented to the mind in an unusual aspect." The poet gives a significance to things around him to which others are insensible. As we saw earlier, the poet is by nature a seer-to his mind things are surrounded by a halo of plentiful suggestion, "a gleam, a light that never was on sea or land,"-and he can see into "the life of things." Being endowed with the power of imagination, the poet can easily embody what he sees in concrete images or pictures in which others can see what the poet sees and thereby feel what he feels. Thus he can make common things interesting by making people see them in the light of new and unsuspected meanings, making the commonest thing to be a spring and centre of thought and feeling.1 It is by virtue of this fact that poets come to deserve the title of Creators. About the relative importance of Sakti and Vyutpatti in poetry, Anandavardhana laid down that "the poet's Imagination could work such magic that shortcomings in taste and want of learning might remain unnoticed in particular contexts while the poverty of his imagination

1Cf. तदेवं सत्तामात्रेणैव परिस्फुरतः पदार्थस्य कोऽप्यलौकिक: शोभाति- शयविधायी विच्छित्तिविशेषोऽभिधीयते येन नूतनच्छायामनोहारिणा वास्तवस्थिति- तिरोधानप्रवणेन निजावभासोन्द्ासिततत्स्वरूपेण तत्कालोल्लिखित इव वर्णनीयपदार्थ- परिस्पन्दमहिमा प्रतिभासते येन विधातृव्यपदेश्यतां प्रतिपद्यन्ते कवयः । -Ibid, p. 140.

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.would at once and invariably catch the attention of the readers."1 Anandavardhana substantiates his contention by citing an instance from Kalidasa's Kumarasambhava, where the poet describes the amours of Parvati and Isvara. The critic seems to think, that this description is obscene and a result of the poet's want of vyutpatti. Yet the poet's pratibha has been able to elevate it to the level of literature. The impropriety ceases to be glaring because it is shrouded in the overwhelming flood of poetic Imagination. Now the last critic that claims our attention is Raja- sekhara, the author of the famous work, Kāvyamīmāmsā. Rājasekhara's attitude towards poets and poetry is very interesting and original. He develops the conception of the Kavyapurusa, the spirit of poetry, son of Sarasvatī who marries Sāhityavidya or Science of Poetics. He distinguishes minutely between S'astra and Kavya and divides and sub- divides them. Then the relation of Poetic Imagination, Culture and Practice in the making of a poet is elaborately discussed and poets are classified on this score. Rājasekhara distinguishes imagination as creative and discriminative, the former having reference to the ability to create and the latter to the faculty of appreciation.

1 अव्युत्पत्तिकृतो दोषः शक्त्या संब्रियते कवेः । यस्त्वशक्तिकृतो दोषः स झटित्यवभासते ।। Dhvanyāloka, Ch. III.

!

XV

THE OFFICE OF THE SANSKRIT POET IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

In our two previous essays, we have considered at some length the reflections of Sanskrit literary critics on the qualifications and, equipment of a first-rate poet. An attempt is made in this paper to deal briefly with the end of poetry as envisaged by writers on Sanskrit Poetics and the success actually achieved in practice by poets. Almost all the works on Sanskrit Poetics start with the formulation of the aim or goal of their study in accordance with the dictum 'Prayojanarn anuddisya na mando' pi pravartate' which was universally accepted by all writers in the various branches of Indian Philosophy. It would appear that in the initial stages poetry did not find support in orthodox circles and they looked at it with grave suspicion. This is eviden- ced by the charge levelled by them at Poetry: 'Kavyalapamsca varjayet'. Writers on poetics are at pains to refute this charge before they enter into discussions about details. The main point in the charge is that poetry is erotic mostly and ministers to realisation of worldly passions and not spiritual values. It is pointed out in reply that the argument does not hold water inasmuch as all the ends of life accepted by the various schools of thought can be realised by having recourse to poetry. Poetry sublimes the passions and paves the way for spiritual bliss. The four ends of life that were universally accepted in India were Dharma, Artha, Kāma and Moksa. Bhamaha and a host of other writers declare with one voice that all these ends of existence may be

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realised by the aid of Poetry.2 Moksa or Release is the summum bonum, and the other three purusarthas lead up to it. These latter are worldy ends in contradistinction to Moksa which is mostly otherworldly. One would wish to know more about the fruits of poetry here and now rather than hereafter. Writers on poetics are quite eloquent on the worldly benefits also that they claim for poetry. Thus Bharata observes - 'The nature of Dharma is brought home to the righteous; those who revel in pleasures of the flesh find their tastes catered to; the disobedient are tamed and the humble are taught self-control. The timid are trained in manliness and energy is endowed to those who consider themselves powerful. The ignorant are enlightened and the wise become learned. Drama will provide rest for those afflicted with misery, fatigue and sorrow.'3 Mammata enumerates in his Kāvyaprakasa the several results of poetry which are more or less repeated by all later writers. They are-"Fame, Wealth, Training in social conduct, Prevention of the untoward, Instantaneous bliss, and Pleasing Instruction in the manner of a loving wife".4

2 Cf. धर्मार्थकाममोक्षाणां गैचक्षण्यं कलासु च। प्रीति करोति कीति च साधुकाव्यनिबन्धनम् ॥

3 धर्मो धर्मप्रवृत्तानां काम: कामोपसेविनाम् । -Kāvyālankāra, I. 2.

निग्रहो दुर्विनीतानां विनीतानाम् दमक्रिया।। क्लीबानां धाष्टर्यजननमुत्साहः शूरमानिनाम् । अबुधानां विबोधश्च वैदुष्यं विदुषामपि । . दुःखार्तानां श्रमार्तानां शोकार्तानां तपस्विनाम् । विश्रान्तिजननं लोके नाटयमेतद्द्रविष्यति।।

*काव्यं यशसेऽर्थकृते व्यवहारविदे शिवेतरक्षतये। -Nāțyaśāstra, 109-113.

सद्यः परनिर्वृतये कान्तासम्मिततयोपदेशयुजे ॥ -Kāvyaprakāśa, I. 2.

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Mammata illustrates each of the above items by quoting. instances of poets such as Kalidasa. Thus it will be seen that poetry was held to minister to the needs of the body as well as the mind, to secure utilitarian as well as spiritual ends. Poetry was not valued merely for the sake of delight that it brought but also for the instruction it combined. The words of W.F.H. King- "All votes he gains who can unite Profit with pleasure, and delight His reader's fancy, all the time He gives instruction couched." very well summarise the view of those ancient writers. However, we have got to take stock of the actual achievement of Sanskrit poetry before we come to a close. In the early beginnings of Sanskrit literature we are faced with fresh primeval imagination of great poets like Vālmīki, Bhasa, Asvaghosa and Kalidāsa, flooding the reader with feeling and fervour. What Theseus says to Hippolyta in A Midsummer Night's Dream can be very aptly applied with reference to those poets. "The Poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, And as Imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them into shapes, and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name." They did not strain after poetic effect. Sanskrit Muse in their hands took a natural and at the same time limpid course. It could be aptly said of them in the words of Nīlakaņtha Dīkşita- 'Even the omniscience of God Siva who adorns his crest with the moon is limited by his cognition of reality; the imagination of poets, however, surpasses even that by virtue of its boundless extension which pervades spaces that even Siva is not aware of.

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Poetry enraptures us in various ways and turns us away from other pursuits. A long stretch of time is spent as if it were a moment. In all this, poetry, indeed, stands comparison with a clever wife. Poets verily play upon language as musicians do on instru- ments to produce effects which are appealing to the ear by the melody of sound.'5 This praise of poets or satkaviprasamsa as it is famili- arly known, forms an important subject of treatment in many Sanskrit literary compositions. As representative of these, we may select a writer viz., Mankhuka, the author of Śrikantha-carita. His observations are embodied in the ornate language of poetry. We shall content ourselves with translating some relevant verses- 'That profound secret of poetic compositions which a scholar who diligently labours at the feet of a teacher may rarely grasp is traceable only to the efficacy of innate genius. Those that have a desire to enter the field of literature without knowing the secrets of sound learning are like those out to swallow the deadliest poison with- out first acquainting themselves with the hymns of Garuda. That well developed power of composing verses, full of sentiments and ripe with several meanings, unfolds itself to only a few.6 One can

5 सदर्थमात्रग्रहणात्प्रतीता सर्वज्ञता सापि शशाङ्कमौंलेः । प्राप्ता विकासं प्रतिभा कवीनां व्याप्नोति यद्वेत्ति न तच्छिवोऽपि ।। व्यामोह्यन्ती विविधैर्वचोभिर्व्यावर्तयन्त्यन्यकलासु दृष्टिम् । कालं महान्तं क्षणवन्नयन्ती कान्तेव दक्षा कविता षिनोति।। वाचं विपञ्चीमिव वादयन्ति कर्णामृतेन ध्वनिना कवीन्द्राः ।

"8 कस्यापि शक्तिप्रभवात्प्रभावादुदेति तत्काव्यमहारहस्यम् । -Śivalīlārņava.

क्लिष्टो गुरूणां सदनेषु नित्यं कश्चिद्वुधश्चेतयते न वा यत् ।। अज्ञातपाण्डिन्यरहस्यमुद्रा ये काव्यमार्गे दधतेऽ्रभिमानम् । ते गारुडीयाननधीत्य मन्त्रान्हालाहलास्वादनमारभन्ते ।। वह्वर्थसिद्धा परिपाकभूमिः कस्यापि वाणी रसवत्युदेति । -Śrīkanthacarita, II, 4-5; 8.

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find out the scholarly accomplishment of a poet from the energetic way in which the poem is narrated. Only that emperor of poets is deserving of praise who possesses the white umbrella of fame shin- ing as far as the skies and at whose desire the array of soldiers in the form of meanings and words issue forth at once.7 But the latter stages of the Sanskrit literary epoch saw a rapid decline in the taste of the poets as well as the critics. More emphasis began to be laid on outward embellishments and consequently they missed the essence. They began to revel in artificial fancies and conceits and were very fond of wordplay and obscure elaboration. The use of unwieldy compounds, incessant puns, alliterations and assonances, recondite allusions and other literary devices became their favourite forte. Thus all the works written in this age of decadent taste may be said to be coins from the same mould, since we find everywhere the same literary flourishes and consummate conceits. The difference can be discerned only in the theme which serves no better purpose than a peg on which to hang their artificial display. These writers handle their materials as with a gloved hand; they shrink from a plain word without a decorating epithet as from something coarse or undignified. There is veneer and glittering gilt over everything. They speak through a muffler of artifice. They look at things through gauze and turn away their face from the simple truths. Thoughts trip through their verses with the mincing step

7अभ्रंकषोन्मिषितकीतिसितातपत्रः स्तुत्यः स एव कविमण्डलचक्र्वर्ती। यस्येच्छयेव पुरतः स्वयमुज्जिहीते द्राग्वाक्यवाचकमयः पृतनानिवेशः- । Ibid., II. 39.

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of a minuet. They were the victims of a convention (Kavisamaya) that sought in language a gaudy substitute for the thing instead of its close fitting garment; and in the realm of pure poetry, where we look for lofty thought and vivid imagination, they were denied open vision and free soaring flights. They sang in a cage and not upon a branch. Though they wield language with such astonish- ing skill, they seldom work the miracles with it that proclaim the divine poet. The most brilliant electric light is not sunshine. Even Banabhatta who himself, in a sense, was partly responsible for this love of artificiality in Indian taste, is constrained to observe in his Harsacarita: santi śvāna ivāsankhyāh jātibhājo grhe grhe | utpādakā na bahavah kavayah šarabhā iva | in connection with the low ebb to which spontaneity had descended. This fact indeed provoked many good writers to condemn the poetasters in unequivocal terms and it is technically known as Kukavininda. Here again Mankhuka may be quoted at length in so far as he is the foremost of such writers- "How can one who has not suckled sufficiently long the breasts-composition and learning-of mother Sarasvati, cat day after day the hard food of melodious composition, undeveloped as he is in all the parts? What can those poets who have no know- ledge of the terminations of words, who never had any acquaintance with the meanings of words and who have very little of the poetic faculty in them, produce, when they attempt at writing verses worthy of praise? If there be proper thoughts, the expressions are not correct; if the expressions are also correct, there is no style; if there is a style, whence is the proper position of words to come? If the words also are properly joined, there is nothing novel and peculiar in the method; and even when one has all these there is no appropriate depiction of sentiments. Alas! the art of writing verses

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is very difficult of comprehension. A poem is not eititled to be ranked with the best of poems if it is not brimming with the flow of charming sentiments though it may be adorned with hundreds of figures, and full of resounding words and excellently composed. Those that have not studied the nature and qualities of poems may have recourse to monkey-tricks every now and then through a desire of getting distinction as poots. But they will fall down perplexed at every step like the young birds which, with un- fledged wings, make numerous attempts to fly up per force.8 Will the Muse of poetry live in the ruined house of that poem, loose in style, not elear in meaning and which cannot stand any criticism- in a house which is set up by being fitted up with the pillars of complementary verses composed by others who are competent and who know the art of building?"9 Mankhuka himself, it must not be forgotten, subs- cribed to the view that

8 सरस्वतीमातुरभूच्चिरं न यः कवित्वपाण्डित्यघनस्तनन्धयः । कथं स सर्वाङ्गमनाप्तसौष्ठवो दिनाददिनं प्रौढ़िविशेश्नुषमश्रुते ।। ये नो पदस्थितिजुषः कवयः कथञ्चिन्नार्थप्रथाप्रणयिनः प्रतिभादरिद्राः । काव्यग्रहेण किमरोचकिनोऽपि तेऽन्यदल्पीयसो मितरसाच्च बताप्नुवन्ति।। अर्थोऽस्ति चेन्न पदशुद्धिरथास्ति सापि नो रीतिरस्ति यदि सा घटना कुतस्त्या । साप्यस्ति चेन्न नववक्रगतिस्तदेतद् व्यर्थं विना रसमहो गहनं कवित्वम् ।। तैस्तौरलंकृतिशतैरवतंसितोऽपि रूढ़ो महत्यपि पदे धृतसौष्ठवोडपि। नूनं विना घनरसप्रसराभिषेकं काव्याधिराजपदमर्हति न प्रबन्धः ॥ कुर्युस्त्वनुक्षणमशिक्षितलक्षणा ये कापेयमाः कविपदाधिगमस्पृहाया । तेऽनुद्गतच्छदपुटा इव पक्षिशाबा व्यग्रा हठोड्डयनभूम्न्यसकृत्पतन्ति ॥।

9शैथित्यस्पृशि संशयावहपदे क्षोदासहिष्णौ कवे: -Op. cit.

स्वैरं तत्र सरस्वती निविशते कि काव्यजीर्णोकसि ।

परेर्न्यस्ताभिः कथमप्युपस्कृतिवचः स्थूणाभिरुत्तश्यते । -Op. cit.

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"Mere grace is not enough; a play should thrill The hearer's soul, and move it at its will" as is clear from the following stanza of his- "The equivocation employed in the composition of poets of great merit due to their erudition, obtained by a careful study of the sciences, shines indeed brilliantly. For where has not the digit of the moon obtained a pleasant and faultless state, though he be waning, since he is in contact with the head of Śiva who is the lord of the moveable and the static?"10 Nilakantha Dīksita, however, is not prepared to go to this length. His remarks on the decadent taste that took possession of Classical Sanskrit poetry in its later stages is very striking and significant. "Though figures of speech become beautiful by the peculiar blend of imagery, they often are to be regretted when employed in poetic composition devoid of suggested sense. It is this latter that is the essence of poetry and in its absence, figures of speech will be as absurd as ornaments put on a corpse whence life has departed. By the unfortunate influence of the kali age, people are showing more and more fondness in ostentatious play on words and mean- ings instead of the Suggestive Pathway (of poetry) which is appreciated by the learned. This can, of course, be compared to their enthusiasm in colloquial speech in place of Vedic lore. Fools are setting about to compose poetry imagining that it consists in mere arrangement of words. They will certainly meet with no better fate than that of children who drown themselves in water thinking that swimming consists in mere movement of hands and feet. Not only do such poetasters suffer a hell of strain themselves, but they make the others also suffer as much and sometimes even

10 वाचां वत्रिमपद्धतिः मुविहितव्युत्पत्तिपारायण- प्रावीण्याप्तगुणस्य हन्त कवितु: सोल्लासमुन्मीलति । क्षीणापीन्दुकला चराचरगुरोर्देवस्य चण्डीपते- श्चूडासङ्गमवाप्य कुत्र न गता हृद्यानवद्यां स्थितिम्।। -Op. cit.

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more. Only the pangs of labour which the mother of an iniquitous. child suffers from the moment of its conception up to the last minute of its parturition, can stand comparison with this."11 We may borrow the words of an English poet to. describe the fate of at least some works in later Sanskrit literature. "Here is a barrenness of inspiration, Here is a species of sterility of the mind, An impotence and a glatulence combined with conspiration of the brain. When every cerebral contortion's vain."

11. अन्योन्यसंसर्गविशेषरम्याप्यलंकृतिः प्रत्युत शोचनीया । निर्व्यङ्यसारे कविसूक्तिबन्धे निष्कान्तजीवे वपुषीव दत्ता ।। विद्वत्प्रियं व्यड्यपथं व्यतीत्य शब्दार्थचित्रेषु कवेविलासात्। प्राप्तोऽनुरागो निगमानुपेक्ष्य भाषाप्रबन्धेष्विव पामराणाम् ।। मत्वा पदग्रन्थनमेव काव्यं मन्दाः स्वयं तावति चेष्टमानाः । मज्जन्ति बाला इव पाणिपादप्रस्पन्दमात्रं प्लवनं विदन्तः ।। श्राम्यन्ति यावत्कवयः परेऽपि श्राम्यन्ति तावच्च ततोऽधिकं च । गर्भोद्भवादि: प्रसवावसान: क्लेशो हि दुष्पुत्रसुवां च तुत्यः । Śivalīlarņava.

XVI

INDIAN DEFINITIONS OF POETRY

Tbe abiding value of poetry is attested by the persis- tence with which generation after generation of critics- Indian as well as Western-have studied, discussed and defended it. By poetry the average man means writings in verse. But in Sanskrit Alankara works the word Kāvya is used in a wider sense to denote all varieties of literature which claim primarily to be works of art and not contri- butions to knowledge or science (Sästra). Every piece of writing which seeks first of all to afford pleasure to its readers-whether it is written in prose like Bāna's Kādam- barī or in verse in Kalidasa's Raghuvamsa or in the form of drama as Bhavabhuti's Uttararamacarita-would be called Kavya. "The antithesis of poetry is not prose. but science" said Coleridge and the truth of this statement has been realised by more than one writer of Alankarasastra. The question therefore, to which they attempt an answer is the differentiation of the poetical from the prosaic. A close study of the earlier writers on Sanskrit poetics like Bhamaha, Dandin and Vamana will reveal that litera- ture was not considered, cultivated and studied in ancient India as an end in itself. It was more often than not con- sidered just a means to serve higher ends such as Dharma (Righteousness) or Artha (Wealth), Kīrti (Fame) or Prīti (Popularity). It is Mammata belonging to the 12th century A.D. that gives due credit to the aspect of pleasure that literature affords. He has expressly mentioned in his vrtti (gloss) on the second Kārikā of his Kāvyaprakāša that

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aesthetic delight overtops all the other uses of poetry.1 Dhanañjaya, the author of the Dasarupaka has even gone to the extent of making fun of ancient writers on the subject2 who did not recognise the importance of aesthetic pleasure (Rasa). But even these writers appear to have thought that the primary purpose of poetry is the edification of kings. As Kuntaka puts it, 'the avowed object of poetry is the guidance of rulers and princes along channels con- ducive to the welfare of the state. For, otherwise,-if left to themselves-they may misuse their power'.3 And in this atmosphere, it is no wonder that we miss in Alankāra works subjective criticism of literary works. But great poets are not of one age, but of all time. Sanskrit theorists concerned themselves with the study of literature and arrived at their own solution of essential or intrinsic characteristics. The qualities of matter as well as of manner were recognised and codified.

1 Cf. 'sakalaprayojanamaulibhūtam samanantarameva samudbhūtam vigalitavedyāntaram ānandam. -Kāvyaprakāśa, p. 8, Jhalkikar's Edn. 2 See ānandanisyandişu rūpakeșu vyutpattimātram phalamalpabuddhih 1 yopītihāsādivadāha sādhustasmai namaḥ svāduparānmukhāya Il -Daśarūpaka, p. 2, N. S. Edn. 3 Rājaputrāḥ khalu samāsāditasvavibhavāḥ samastajagatīvyavasthā- kāritām pratipadyamānāḥ šlāghyopadēsasūnyatayā svatantrāh santaḥ samucitasakalavyavahārocchedam pravartayitum prabhavantītyetadar- thametadvyutpattaye vyatītasaccaritarājacaritam tannidarsanāya niba- dhnanti kavayaḥ. -Vakroktijīvita, p. 4, Calcutta Edn. See also for the same idea Visvanatha's Sāhityadarpana, p. 19, N. S. Edn. 12

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But what is poetry? Answers to this question are legion and most of the definitions of Poetry which are the commonplaces of Western literary criticism such as "poetry is a criticism of life," "poetry is woven in the iridescent tissue of immortal dreams," "poetry is distilled from the blood of a man's heart", leave the reader none the wiser. No doubt they may satisfy the high-brow but they leave the plain man still with his difficulty. On the other hand, the definitions evolved by Sanskrit theorists have always kept the plain man in view and they are singularly devoid of this defect. If we analyse the raw material of poetry into its constituent elements we find that it consists of nothing more than words which have some meaning. This analysis served as the basis for many definitions of poetry at the hands of Sanskrit theorists. Many of them are descriptions of poetry rather than definitions. Some give prominence to form, others to meaning intended such as Rasa. In the histoty of Alankära literature, almost every author of note has made his own contribution to the problem of the essence of poetry, at the same time trying to pour ridicule on the definitions of others and to justify his own position. In this short paper only a very brief sketch of the chief divergent views and their worth in the light of Western criticism is attempted. For the sake of convenience, the chronological order of the works will be followed. Bharata's Natyasastra is the earliest work preserved which treats, though incidentally, of the problem of poetry. Bharata is famous in the history of Sanskrit poetics as the exponent of the theoty of Rasa. His oft-quoted Satra relating to Rasa is-"Tatra vibhavānubhāvavyabhicāri-samyogād- rasanispattib". It should be noted in this connection that

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the Rasa theory of Bharata has in view such various sub- jects as music, histrionics, and dramaturgy. It was left to later commentators like Abhinavagupta to evolve a full- fledged doctrine of Rasa particularly applicable to poetry as such. It is interesting to observe that at the beginning of the 21st chapter of the Nalya-sastra, Bharata says "Itivrttam tu kāvyasya šarīram parikīrtitam". The plot may be des- cribed as the body of poetry,' and there can be no doubt that Bharata meant Rasa to be its atman or 'Soul' though he has not mentioned it in so many words. Thus the controversies raging on the body and soul of poetry in Sanskrit Alankära works seem to have taken their start with Bharata. And when we find Coleridge saying 'The essence of poetry consists in the excitement of emotion for the immediate. purpose of pleasure through the medium of beauty', we cannot but think that this was anticipated by sage Bharata hundreds of years ago. We step into poetics proper in the Kāvyālankāra of Bhūmaha. His statement Sabdārthau sahitau kavyam' (Word and meaning together constitute poetry) sounds more like a layman's opinion of poetry. It appears so only at first sight. Closer examination reveals to us that the definition of Bhämaha is not so childish as it looks. Bhamaha never means that any and every word expressive of some mean- ing or other makes poetry. It is only the right word expressive of the right meaning that is suitable in the con- text; and the beauty of such compositions is achieved with the help of (a set. of) figures of speech and qualities of style. Avoidance of patent defects which are also cata- logued, goes a long way in raising a piece of writing to the level of literature. As W. Basil Worsfold says, "The three

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distinct and characteristic elements of excellence, the pre- sence of which can be discerned in varying degrees in works of literature, are-matter, manner and the capacity to please",1 and Bhämaha seems to have taken into account all these in framing his definition of poetry. The implication and significance of the word sahitan in Bhamaha's defini- tion quoted above may very well be summarised in the words of Prof. A.C. Bradley thus :- "If substance and form mean anything in the poem, then each is involved in the other, and the question in which of them the value lies has no sense."2 Poetry essentially consists of form and sub- stance and just as there is no substance apart from form, so there is no form apart from substances. It follows, there- fore, that in poetry, form and substance must have a mutual and innate relation. Now the question arises whether Bhamaha was thoroughly ignorant of the theory of Rasa so ably pro- pounded by Bharata. A perusal of the Kāvyālankāra will reveal that he was aware of it but he did not assign the highest place to it. As Ruyyaka says in his Alankāra- sarvasva, Bhamaha and his followers gave that paramount position to figures of speech.3 Rasa was included under one of them, Viz. Rasavat. But Bhämaha does not at all go against the views of Bharata when he speaks of figures of speech, for Bharata had also recognised and classified them. It is not certain whether they part company even as

I Judgment in Literature, p. 18. 2 Oxford Lectures on Poetry, p. 16. 3 Cf. tadevamalankārā eva kāvye pradhānam iti prācyānām matam. -Alankarasarvasva, p. 7, Trivandrum Edn.

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regards Rasa, since Bharata nowhere treats of Rasa only in respect of Kavya to the exclusion of all other arts. Figures of speech surely charm the reader and beautify the design; but if they are overdone, they elicit at best mere admiration and as a matter of fact, they most often create disgust. Even as in the English Literature of the 17th century, in the history of classical Sanskrit Literature also, the employ- ment of the various figures of speech, both of sound (Sabdālankāru) and of sense (Arthālankāra), became the avowed object of the poets-more often of poetasters- after the period of Aśvaghosa and Kālidāsa. 'Such pleasure as they give is purely intellectual and is intellectually frivolous'. But this was the pleasure sought and found by the intelligentsia (Sabrdayas) of the period of decline and fall of Sanskrit Literature. Simile and metaphor and a host of other things quite inessential to poetry were their great engrossing pre-occupation and were prized the more in proportion as they were far-fetched. The poets' ideal was to startle by novelty and amuse by ingenuity. This school of Bhamaha which has come to be called the Alankāra school by modern writers on Sanskrit Poetics had, in later times, many followers such as Udbhata and Rudrata. These later writers-Dandin included among them (?)-either add new figures to the list of existing ones or classify them according to some other principle. In essence they do not differ from Bhamaha in holding that Alankāras are all in all in poetry. The next important writer after Bhamaha is Dandin. His definition of Kavya is-'Sarīram tāvadistārthavyavacchinnā padāvalī.' (With respect to the body it consists of a series of words, qualified by the sense which the poet wishes to express.) One might be tempted at first sight to correlate

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it with Jagannätha's definition of poetry in his Rasa- gangādhara, viz. 'ramanīyarthapratipādakab sabdab kāvyam' and say that he gives more emphasis to the word or the form than to its substance which is given the subordinate place of a visesana (adjective) in the latter definition. This is what Sovani and Kane have actually done. But istartha does not mean ramanīyārtha. It means vivaksitūrtha as Taruna Vacaspati has pointed out and should be translated as 'sought to be expressed'. Dandin gives a very wide significance to the term Alankara which indicates some progress from Bhamaha. He says-'Kāvyašobhākārān dharmānalankāran pracaksate'. (All attributes adding beauty to poetry go by the name of Alankara). Thus the Guna, and Rīti or Marga are also included under it. So to differentiate him from the Alankara school of Bhamaha who assigns the first place to figures of speech, he has often been accredited as the propagator of the Rīti school, though the word Rīti itself never occurs in his Kāvyādarsa. He accepts the Vaidarbhi and Gaudiya styles whose essence consist of Gunas which were later on well defined by Vamana. Thus though Dandin is in the main a follower of Bhämaha, he differs from him in more than one detail. As we have already seen, although the word Jarīra has been used both by Bharata and Dandin in their defini- tions of poetry and though this implies that they must have had something else in mind as the soul residing in that body, they have not expressly mentioned it anywhere in their works and the credit of having first tackled the pro- blem of Atman or soul of Kavya undoubtedly goes to Vämana. When he declares in one of the Sutras of the Kāvyālankārasutravrtti that style or diction is the soul of poetry (Rītiratma Kavyasya), it is nothing but Dandin's

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position pushed to its logical conclusion. In minor matters of detail as, for example, the Rītis being Gunas, he gene- rally follows his predecessors. Vamana's doctrine of Rīti seems to correspond to that of the English school of literary criticism which held that 'Style is the man'. The concrete features of a good style of writing enumerated by Schopenhauer in his essay on "Authorship and Style" can be brought under one or the other of Vamana's Gunas and as such under one of the Rītis. According to Schopen- hauer, thoughts must get their clearest, finest and most powerful expression. Clarity, beauty and power are the three qualities emphasised by him. By clarity he means the expression of thoughts "as purely, clearly, definitely and concisely as ever possible". This is secured by the use of words which are precise and apt.1 The truth under- lying the sharp distinction between Vaidarbhi and Gaudīya Rītis which is recognised by Dandin and Vamana seems to be borne out by a passage found in Winchester.2-"There are, in general, two opposite tendencies in personal expres- sion: on the one hand to clearness and precision; on the other to largeness and profusion. The difference between the two may be seen by comparing such poetry as that of Matthew Arnold with that of Tennyson or such prose as that of Newman with that of Jeremy Taylor. Minds of one class insist on sharply divided ideas, on clearness of image, on temperance and precision of epithet. Their style we characterise as chaste or classic. The other class have ... more abundant and vivid imagery, more wealth of colour,

1 Quoted by V. Raghavan in his article on Rīti, Kuppuswami Sastri Commemoration Volume, p. 107. 2 Some principles of Literary criticism, Chapter 4th.

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but less sharpness of definition. Their thoughts seem to move through a lush growth of imagery. They tend to be ornate and profuse in manner, eager in temper." But after all is said and done, Vämana's view of style as the life of poetry, empties, to borrow the words of Prof. A.C. Bradley, 'poetry of its meaning. It is really a doctrine of form for form's sake. It is of no consequence what a poet says, so long as he says the things well. The 'what' is poetically indifferent; it is the 'how' that counts. Matter is nothing; the form, the treatment is everything'.1 In poetic experience we never apprehend expression without reference to mean- ing. It is a unified experience where both are cognised and appreciated simultaneously. One cannot be abstracted from the other. But in theory it is interesting to note that it has found support in the greatest poet-critic of Germany, Göethe, when he regards poetry as primarily an art and insists upon form, and power of artistic expression in all poetry worth the name. Next comes Anandavardhana whose Dbvanyaloka is an epoch-making work in the history of Sanskrit Poetics. His unique contribution to the Alankarasāstra is the doctrine of Dhvani or suggestion though he himself claims for it previous currency among Indian critics.2 Dhvanikāvya is defined as follows-"That kind of poetry in which the directly expressed word and sense become subordinate to suggested sense is called Dhvani by scholars."8 Suggestive poetry is

1 Oxford Lectures on Poetry, p. 7. 2Cf. kāvyasyātmā dhvaniriti budhairyah samāmnātapūrvah ... (Dhvanyāloka, 1. 1). 3 yatrārthah śabdo vā tamarthamupasarjanīkrta-svārthau ! vyanktah kāvyavisesah sa dhvaniriti sūribhih kathitaḥ ! -Ibid, 1. 13.

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poetry par excellence. But poetry devoid of suggestion is also given a place under the class of Kavya. It is Citrakāvya. If Dhvani were the soul of poetry, then, nothing bereft of it could be poetry. Then again, suggestion or Dhvani is not uniform. It is triple in character. The suggestion may be of (1) Vastu (matter) or (2) Alankara (embellishment) or (3) Rasa. The highest place is given only to Rasa-Dhvani and not to the other two. But poetry where the plot or figures of speech are suggested is not excluded from the domain of poetry but are given a subordinate position. This also involves a difficulty as Visvanatha has pointed out.1 Riddles and conundrums, where also there is some suggested sense other than the expressed one, will have to be brought under the class of Vastudhvani. Further, when Ananda- vardhana says- yo'rthassahrdayaslaghyab kavyatmeti vyavasthitaķ1 vācyapratīyamānākhyau tasya bhedhāvubhau smrtau! -Op. Cit, p. 12., N.S. Edn. there seems to be contradiction of what he himself said earlier. Here the author declares that 'Artha' is the soul of poetry and that Vacya (expressed) and Pratīyamāna (sug- gested) are two varieties of Artha. It logically follows that Vacyartha is as much the soul of poetry as the Pratīyamana- or Vyangyārtha. Mahimabhatta in his Vyaktiviveka has not forgotten to point out this inconsistency, among many others, in the Dhvanyāloka. Despite all these contradictions (which are remedied by later writers like Visvanatha), the fact remains that the docrine of Dhvani marked a great advance in the history of Sanskrit poetics. The centre of gravity shifted gradually

1Cf. Sāhityadarpaņa, p. 4, P. V. Kane's Edn.

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from Śabdārtha, Alankāra, Guna and Rīti to Dhvani and indeed the doctrine is sound in its essentials. It is not merely the presence of some excellence or of figures that accounts for a piece being called great literature. Words may be said to lie dead in a dictionary, skeletons without flesh and blood. "But as soon as they escape into a living sentence, they gain individuality and catch subtle shades of meaning which no dictionary can define, a meaning not purely intellectual, and capable of infinite variation accord- ing to the genius of him that uses them. We say that such language suggests more than it expresses.1 One great merit of Anandavardhana is that he fixed once and for all the relative positions of Rasa, Guna, Dosa and Alankara which were tacitly adopted by later writers. If we consider figuratively poetry to be a person, word and meaning would consitute his body and Rasa his life; excellences of style would be like the qualities of valour and wisdom. Defects in style would be similar to the ailments like lameness and blindness. Rītis would be comparable to the harmonious disposition of the limbs and poetic figures to the ornaments to be worn on the body. We may note in this connection that Dr. J. Nobel appears to have made a mistake in thinking that "sahrdaya- hrdayāhlādi-sabdārthamayatvameva kāvyalaksanam," is the definition of the Dhvanikara.2 The above quoted statement which occurs in the Vrtti on the first Karika forms part of the doctrines of the objector. The paragraph starts with the words Anye bruyub. It is the view held by critics who did not admit of Dhvani and not by the Dhvanikara. .

1 De Selinconrt 'Oxford Lectures on Poetry', p. 10. 2 Foundations of Indian Poetry, p. 81.

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Another noteworthy definition of Kavya is that of Mammata, a great authority on Sanskrit Alankārasustra. It is-"tadadoşau šabdārthau saguņāvanalankrtī punab kvāpi." It has been almost verbatim accepted by Hemacandra. Poetry consists, according to these writers, of word and sense, both combined, free from faults, full of excellences and sometimes even without figures of speech. This definition, it will be seen, does not in essence, differ from that of Bhamaha and Dandin. A noteworthy feature of Mammata is the subordinate place he assigns to Alankāras or figures of speech. In this he has been influenced by the Dhvani-school. But it is a compliment to his conservatism that he did not brush aside the theories of the ancients though he was convinced of the truth of the later Dhvani doctrine. Visvanātha, though generally a follower of Mammata has mercilessly criticised each and every word of the latter's definition. These criticisms, it must be noted, are well-pointed and, for the most part, justified. The logical conclusion of the theory of Dhvani meant giving the highest place to Rasa in all poetry. Mammata and to some extent even nandavardhana felt shy of saying it in so many words and evaded the issue. The credit of having boldly come forward with his definition "vakyam rasatmakam kāvyam" goes to Visvanatha. What his predecessors had been tacitly taking for granted without acknowledging it was given expression to in his definition which is theoretically precise. But from the practical point of view, descriptions like those of a flowing river or a blooming flower, where the chrrm consists in the expressed sense or the figures of speech present, do not come under the pur- view of poetry according to this definition. The definition

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serves little or no purpose from the student's point of view because unless he knows the doctrine of Rasa in all its details, he cannot understand the full import of the definition. It is but poor consolation to be told that in all poetry where there is no Rasa, there is at least Rasabhāsa, a semblance of Rasa, which indeed helps us in calling it poetry though not poctry of the highest kind. For all practical purposes, Mammata's definition is very serviceable. Thus though Visvanatha's definition is not immune from defects it goes a long way in assigning the proper place to Rasa which was faintly envisaged by Bharata and more vividly elucidated by Anandavardhana. As against the Rīti school, it opens their eyes to the fact that 'there is a con- ception of poetry which is not fulfilled by pure language and liquid versification, with the simple and, so to speak, colourless pleasure which they afford; but involves the presence in them of something which moves and touches in a special and recognisable way'.1 The most serious objection to the definition of Visvanätha is that a ban shall have to be placed on a bulk of poetical literature which has distinctly a charm in it but has not necessarily in it any predominant sentiment. Such things have been generally accepted as coming under the head of poetry by a majority of literary critics of all ages and climes. Jagannätha, the author of the Rasagangadhara is the last great writer on Sanskrit Poetics. According to him a Kavya is a word which conveys a charming sense (Ramanī- yārthapratipādakab sabdab). Thus the essence of Kāvya, according to this definition consists in charmingness or Ramanīyata. This charmingness belongs to an idea whose

1A.E. Housman-'The Name and Nature of Poetry', p. 11.

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knowledge produces an extraordinary delight. And the extraordinariness or lokottaratva is something which can be known only by experience and which may be styled as camatkaratva or strikingness. This camatkaratva is the essence of poetry which it is impossible to define or des- cribe in so many words, but which can be only felt by a person who is a sahrdaya, who has the faculty which springs from culture and ripe judgment.1 Against this definition, however, it may be said that it does not help a student to recognise or distinguish what composition deserves to be called Kavya. To say simply that what is charming or striking is a Kāvya does not take us any further. Besides Jagannätha is of opinion that the word and meaning (Sabda and Artha) do not together constitute poetry. According to him the words alone are referred to by the name Kavya as is corroborated by everyday-experience. People speak of poetry being read loudly, of its meaning being understood and sometimes of its meaning being not understood though poetry was heard, all the while having in their minds the idea of words.2 It has already been pointed out when considering Bhāmaha's definition that questions of this kind pertaining to the relative importance of word or meaning in poetry are futile.

1 ramaņīyatā ca lokottarāhlādajanakajñānagocaratā. Lokottaratvam cāhlādagataścamatkāratvāparaparyāyo' nubhavasākşiko jātiviseșah. Karaņam ca tadavacchinne bhāvanāvisesah punaḥpunaranusandhā- nātmā. -The Rasagangādhara, p. 4, N. S. Edn. 2Cf. "Śabdārthayugalam na kāvyaśabdavācyam. Mānābhāvāt; kāvyamuccaih pathyate, kāvyādartho'vagamyate, kāvyam śrutamartho na jñātah, ityādi viśvajanīnavyavahāratah; pratyuta višēsasabdasyaiva kāvyapadārthatvapratipatteśca". Op. Cit., p. 5.

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Before concluding, two other theories of poetry advanced by Kuntaka and Ksemendra respectively may be noticed. These have been reserved to the last instead of being treated earlier in so far as they represent not so much new theories of Kavya but attempts at bringing all the specific conceptions of Rīti, Rasa, Guna, Alankara and Dhvani under a more general principle. Kuntaka took the cue from Bhämaha and highly elaborated the doctrine of Vakrokti in his work Vakroktijīvita. According to him Vakrokti is the essence of poetry and by Vakrokti he understands the peculiarity capable of producing extra- ordinary charm (Lokottaracamatkārakārivaicitrya). Kuntaka distinguishes six varieties of Vakrata undef the one or the other of which he brings in all figures of speech, Rasa, Dhvani, Guna and Rīti. Kşemendra in his Aucityavicāracarcā maintains that Aucitya or appropriateness is the essence of Rasa which in its turn constitutes the most important thing in Kāvya. He defines Aucitya as the character of that which is suitable or appropriate in its relation to another.1 In the doctrine of Aucitya, Ksemendra appears simply to develop what had already been hinted at in the Dhvanyaloka where we find- anaucityādrte nanyad rasabhangasya kāranam! prasiddhaucityabandhastu rasasyopanişat parā ! "There is no other thing which mars Rasa than impropriety. The supreme secret of Rasa consists in observ- ing the established rules of propriety." Many varieties of Aucitya are enumerated and illustrated in Ksemendra's

1ucitam prāhurācāryāh sadršam kila yasya yat | ucitasya ca yo bhāvah tadaucityam pracakșate ll -Ibid. -Kārikā, 7, N. S. Edn.

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work. Rasa, Guna, Rīti, Alankaras, etc., can be useful only when there is Aucitya in them. It is worthy of notice that Ksemendra has the sense of humour to quote his own verses often to illustrate Anaucitya. To conclude: in Sanskrit Poetics the definition of poetry forms a veritable battle-ground. With the utmost subtlety and hair-splitting distinctions, every rhetorician has come forward to justify his own definition of Poetry and to reject the definitions of others. Even this rapid survey of the different schools of Sanskrit Poetics has revealed to us that there has been a steady growth in the conception of the nature of poetry. From the beginnings. in Bhämaha, where the exterior of poetry receives considera- tion at length, we come to attempts at solving the inner core of it in Vamana and see their successful solution in Ānandavardhana. Later writers like Viśvanātha and Mammata made explicit the suggestions embodied in the Dhvanyaloka. Sanskrit theories of poetry do not in any way suffer by comparison with the recognised theories of Western criticism.

XVII

THE ESSENCE OF POETRY

I

We all know that poets have been honoured in all cultured communities since the dawn of civilization, and the abiding value of poetry has never been contested either by apostles of religion in the past or by the votaries of science in our own times. But the question, What is poetry?' recurs again and again in the history of literary criticism and there is no end to the answers that have been given. In general terms if we say that poetry gives us delight which is unique or sui generis, it is perhaps begging the question; but it is nonetheless very true. Poets and critics have all freely expressed their views about poetry; their very diversity even with regard to the 'essence' of poetry indicates that it must be something very elusive, if not mysterious. Everyone can enjoy poetry; but even masterminds may fumble when it comes ..-- to defining its essence. The few words that I might say now can have no pretensions, then, to finality; they -: can represent at the most an individual approach though I would endeavour to base my remarks on the findings of ancient Indian theorists.

II It is easier, I believe, to indicate what poetry is not than to explain what poetry is. Poetry is not common talk on the one hand (aTaf) and organised science on the other (RTTETT). 'The sun has set; the birds are returning to their nests' is just talk, not poetry, though couched

The Essence of Poetry 225

in metre. (गतोऽस्तमर्कः भातीन्दुः यान्ति वासाय पक्षिणः । इत्येवमादि कि r). Such is the opinion of Bhamaha, our earliest critic. He goes on to add that by persistent study and application one might master science; but poetry comes only to the gifted (गुरूपदेशादध्येतुं शास्त्रं जडधियोऽप्यलम् । काव्यं तु जायते जातु कस्यचित्प्रतिभावतः) That unique gift of the poet, which cannot be acquired, is imagination or pratibhā. But readers too possess it in some degree, though their imagination is not creative like that of the poet. They are sahrdayas; that is why they respond to poetry.

III

There are different kinds of poetry depending on differences of temperament and culture, of tradition and purpose, in the poets. There are simple ballads treating of 'old, unhappy, far-off things and battles long ago'. For their enjoyment all that is required in the reader is a simple taste for poetry. There are heroic epics which are narrative in theme and these also have a universal appeal. The secret of their appeal is to be sought in the fundamental passions of man which find a ready echo in every heart, and which have found imaginative and noble expression. Music and rhythm, metaphors and similes, will be there no doubt; but these will not attract special attention. On the other hand we may have satires where human failings are caricatured. We have, of course, lyrics where music and mood mingle harmo- niously. Whatever the genre, if the poet is a highly educated one, all his learning and wisdom will be distilled in his lines and a corresponding degree of cultivated sensibility is demanded of the reader. If we agree that in all these the 'essence' of poetry does exist, our 13

....

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definition of it must be as inclusive as possible, and not exclusive.

IV

Let us take an example: हारो नारोपित: कण्ठे मया विश्लेषभीरुणा । इदानीमावयोमंध्ये सरित्सागरपर्वताः ।। [Mahanataka] Even a wreath I wouldn't place on thy neck Lest it should come between us; But now between us stand, alas, Rivers, oceans and hills. Rama is addressing his lost Sita in these words which find a ready echo in our hearts. We share his poignant suffering and we feel the beauty of the language simul- taneously. The language of the poet is somewhat con- ventional and figurative because the theme demands it; and is not just decorative. We recognise the beauty of poetic language by the out-of-the-way grace acquired by words and meanings (शब्दार्थालद्दार). And the haunting sweet- ness of diction is unmistakable (i.e. HreaTur), the hallmark of ehe Graceful style (वैदर्भीरीति). Such would be the rough analysis of the literary theorist. But the very starting point of his analysis is his enjoyment of the sentiment, which is Rasa, Love-in-separation (faanTsTT) here. The poet has invested his expression with beauty by his original use of figures and sung of a theme which cannot fail to stir the sensitive reader to his very depths. In India Vak or Speech has always been described as कामधेनु, the Celestial Cow that milks whatever you ask for. The poet is indeed her pet calf since the best part of her milk is got by him :-

The Essence of Poetry 227

वाग्धेनुर्दुग्ध एकं हि रसं यद्वालतृष्णया । तेन नास्य समः स स्याद्योगिभिर्दुह्यते हि यः ॥ The essence of poetry, then, is the enjoyment (rasa) of the cultivated reader (sahrdaya) rich in poetic sensibility, an enjoyment which is valued for its own sake and which on analysis involves the appreciation of distinct qualities (gunas) in style (rīti)-qualities inhering in form (sabda) as well as content (artha), and which more often than not reveal turns of speech or imagery (alankāra) deliberately made remote from the common ways of daily talk or of science. But how do words in poetry serve to evoke aesthetic delight, the same words which we use for other purposes in our lives? That is indeed a question which takes us to the depths of the poetic process on the one hand and realms of psychology on the other. The answer ably indicated by Anandavardhana is Dhvani or suggestion. The dictionary use of words and the emotive use of the same words in poetry are to be carefully distinguished and such a unique power is the very secret of elusive poetry. That is the very test by which we recognise the true from false in poetry. If figures of speech and high styles do not subserve the central function (vyapāra) of poetry which is Dhvani, they ring artificial on our ears and there is no aesthetic enjoyment which is of the very essence of true poetry. All that glitters is not gold though we all know that gold does glitter. This comprehensive principle of poetry has been called Aucitya or Propriety and im- propriety of any kind is another name for bad taste :- अनौचित्यादृते नान्यद्रसभङ्गस्य कारणम्। प्रसिद्धौचित्यबन्धस्तु रसस्योपनिषत्परा ।।

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We could now sum up our position in some such way as this: The essence of poetry is rooted in the capacity of man to find unequalled delight when what is significant in life, i.e., the inmost experiences of the human personality in relation to fellow-men, external Nature or God, is presented in an organised way through the Imagination. A true poct is gifted with this magic power of insight and his work, when true to his inspiration («eraRT), will embody insights as valid as, and perhaps complimentary to, those which are the object of the discursive and conceptual langu- age. But poetry is an art, first and foremost. That is to say, it embodies skill in the use of language; and the recognition of this skill involves perception of qualities of style and figures of speech. They are, like so many labels, tenta- tive, not final. They should not lead one to a false dicho- tomy between matter and manner which are interfused inseparably (वागर्थाविव संपृक्तौ .. ). It is this skill of the poet which is responsible for rending the film of familiarity from even the most commonplace things he may be describing (दृष्टपूर्वा अपि ह्यर्थाः काव्ये रसपरिग्रहात्। सर्वे नवा इवाभान्ति मधुमास इव द्रुमा:) and the measure of his success can only be judged when the marriage between manner and matter is complete, when art does not outrun the demands made by emotion. Poetry thus partakes something of the divine mystery and truly the poet has been bracketed with the Seer (नानृषि: कविरित्युत्तं). His genius brings a freshness of vision and create an ideal world of beauty and joy even out of the most unwholesome material* and add 'the gleam,

*Cf. रम्यं जुगुप्सितमुदारमथापि नीचं ग्राम्यं प्रसादि गहनं विकृतं च वस्तु । Continued Next Page.

The Essence of Poetry 229

The light that never was on sea or land, The consecration, and the poet's dream.' Such is the essence of poetry, an amalgam of the imaginative, emotional, intellectual and artistic elements.

• Continued from Page 228. यद्वाप्यवस्तु कविभावकभाव्यमानं नास्त्येव यन्न रसतां समुपैति लोके ।। Whether beautiful or ugly, exalted or lowly, furious or tender, profound or perverse, or even some airy abstraction, there is no subject which does not become aesthetic, once it is transformed by the imagination of the poet.

XVIII

RUYYAKA'S VIEWS ON THE NATURE OF POETIC CONTENT

I

Early Indian rhetoricians like Bhämaha were concerned more with definitions and divisions of particular figures of speech or excellences in poetry than with an investigation of the general principle of beauty underlying the alankāras or gunas. Their scattered hints, however, served as a starting point for philosophical enquiry in the succeeding period (9th-1Ith century) which saw the birth of great classics of Sanskrit literary criticism like the Dhvanyaloka and the Vakroktijivita. The sheet-anchor of the New Criticism was the recognition of the primary importance of Rasa as the life-infusing principle of poetry; and even great critics of the Dhvani school-Bhatta Nayaka and Mahima- bhatta, for instance,-were agreed on this crucial fact. They differed only in their methods of logically explaining rasa or aesthetic experience.

II

It would appear that these philosophical critics them- selves regarded their activity as supplementing the analyti- cal work of the Old School. Though they point out that the ancients were lacking in a philosophical approach, they at the same time recognise the utility of alankaras and gunas. Due regard is paid to the rules of the older theorists in all these matters, and their definitions of particular figures or excellences accepted without hesitation by the new critics.

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The credit of having first attempted a synthesis of all the material in Sanskrit poetics goes to Mammata; and his work Kāvyaprakāśa has long been accepted as an authori- tative text-book. But we miss even in this book a real fusion of the two approaches, the practical and the philo- sophical. Some of the chapters in the Kavyaprakasa appear to hang loose, without any strong connecting link. And this is true also of the Sahityadarpana, a later text-book by Viśvanatha. But Ruyyaka, the immediate successor of Mammata in the field of Sanskrit poetics, is free from the above charge and deserves to be studied for the sake of his approach, which does not mix up the Old and the New Schools, and treats both separately acknowledging his debt to both. He keeps the two attitudes apart and distinct in his work, the Alankarasarvasva, and is faithful to the spirit of both the schools in his treatment of figures. He could achieve a measure of precision and clarity, rare in Sanskrit poetics, by deliberately limiting his field to the treatment of figures exclusively.

III

Ruyyaka starts his work by surveying the various schools of Sanskrit poetics, and unmistakably shows how the authorities on the subject of Figures of Speech are the Old Critics (Cirantanas) and how the ideas of the Dhvani school provide the best logical explanation of the 'essence' or 'soul' of poetry, the soul which is the veritable alankārya. He next addresses himself to the task of expounding the alankaras systematically, and groups the arthālankāras under the following heads :-

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(i) bhedäbhedatulya-where both difference and iden- tity are manifest between the things compared; e.g., simile. (ii) abhedapradhana-where identity between the two is super-imposed, e.g., metaphor. (iii) (a) adhyavasāyamula-(sadhya ) where poetic fancy is prominent (though the thing described is also mentioned) e.g., ütpreksā. (b) adhyavasūyamula-(siddba) where poetic fancy involves exclusive mention of the imagined object, e.g. atisayokti. (iv) gamyamana-aupamya-where likeness is just sug- gested (a) through words, e.g., dīpaka, or (b) through the sentence as a whole, e. g., prativastūpamā. (v) bhedapradhana-where difference is prominent e.g., vyatireka. (vi) vyang yamula-where beauty is due to the sugges- tive element of epithets, as in samāsokti and of puns, as in slesa. (vii) virodhamula-where contrast is the principle of beauty, e.g., virodba, asangati. (viii). śrnkhalabandha-where serial arrangement is strik- ing, e.g., sāra, ekāvalī. (ix) tarkanyayamula-where the logical mode of reason- ing is poetically utilised, e.g., kāvyalinga. (x) vakyanyayamula-where the rules of syntax are poetically utilised, e.g., yathāsamkhya. (xi) lokanyayamula-where common experience is poetically utilised, e.g., vakrokti, etc.

Ruyyaka's Views on the Nature of Poetic Content 233

IV

Here, for the first time, the total number of sixty and odd figures of speech is brought under an intelligible scheme. It emerges from Ruyyaka's treatment that the sources of poetic beauty are mostly imagery, based on likeness or contrast, explicit or implicit, and through ex- pressions which are themselves ordered or patterned either after the manner of the laws of rhythm, logic and syntax,. or by conscious addition of the graces of speech in daily usage, such as wit and humour, irony and paradox. The element of oddity in worldly experience is also utilised to advantage by the poet in figures like pratyanīka. ,It is clear throughout that the very measure of poetic genius. lies in the artful use of alankaras (whose general name is, by the way, vakrokti), and that the poetic process is nothing but a deliberate departure from the usual mode of gossip (varta) and systematized thought (Jastra). In other words, alankaras are virtually made to appear as the 'natural' language of poetry, and not just outward 'ornaments' to be added or discarded. This position is at variance with the philosophical analysis of the Dhvani school, according to which the very name alankāra loses. all significance unless the literary critic can point to some 'suggested' (vyang ya) alankārya or soul, viz., Rasa, Alankāra or Vastu, the three kinds of Dhvani. It is a credo of that school that poetic beauty is felt only in proportion to the beauty of the suggested emotion or mood, figure of speech or idea; and the first kind (viz., rasadi-dhvani) is the most beautiful.

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V We are thus faced with the crucial question of literary criticism-can alankaras contribute to poetic beauty directly, or can they do so only by being instrumental and paving the way for the suggested meaning? An acceptance of the Dhvani theory will lead us inevitably to the conclusion that all instances of alankaras without appreciable suggestion are 'inferior' and third-rate poetry.1 Conser- vative critical thought in Sanskrit is not prepared to concede this. The practice of our Mahākāvya writers and the opinion of orthodox commentators cannot be left out of account in this connection. They point unmistakably to the fact that alankaras were deemed to be direct agents of poetic beauty and not just external appendages. While the Dhvani theory might highlight the critic's appreciation and refine his judgement by making him alive to the significant contribution, to the total tone, of even the minutest elements of language like particles and pronouns, affixes, and suffixes, it does not throw much light on the workings of the poetic mind, because of its over-emphasis on Rasa. Aesthetic psychology, founded on the experience of the critic alone, is bound to be as partial as that grounded on the creative experience exclusively. All the same, the latter is at least as much, if not more, important to a sound literary theory. But Indian poetics before Ruyyaka appears to have omitted a detailed analysis of it. Kuntaka, whose endeavour was to explain the workings of the poetic imagination, more or less followed the example of the masters of Dhvani and could

1 M. Hiriyanna, 'Art Experience-2', Art Experience (Kavyalaya) ...-.-. p. 29 ff.

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not contribute much to this aspect of the matter. To the philosopher-cum-critic Abhinavagupta we owe the exposi- tion of the Rasa theory in a way which comprehends both the poet's creative moment and the critic's aesthetic experience, in one sweep of metaphysical or mystic theory; but it almost ignores the fundamental difference between the two.2 Although the poet and the critic may be the twin faces of poetry, both entitled to similar delight, no one can gainsay that the poet is a creative artist primarily, while the critic is a passive contemplator of the given artistic beauty. The secret of the poet's art or technique cannot be laid bare until beauty due to form is also considered, and related to the beauty of content. How the impersonal emotion of the poet objectifies itself in adequate form is the essential question of literary criticism,3 and Ruyyaka appears to be the only Sanskrit theorist who offers an answer to this puzzling question. His answer, naturally, takes him deep into . the nature of creative vision, with its parallels in the borderland of mystic vision, accepted by almost all schools of Indian philosophy (expect Pūrvamīmamsā) and systems of theology (Agamas).

2Cf. The present writer's monograph Rasollasa in Kannada (Mysore University). 3 Cf. (i) "The only way of expressing emotion in the form of art is by finding an 'objective correlative'." -T. S. Eliot, Selected Essays, p. 145. (ii) "Great poetry may by made without the direct use of any emotion whatever; composed out of feelings solely." -Ibid., p. 18. (iii) "The poet has, not a 'personality' to express, but a particular medium ... in which impressions and experiences combine in peculiar and unexpected ways."-Ibid., p. 20.

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VI While all the armoury of alankaras noted and classified by Ruyyaka relate to poetic 'form', there are three which relate primarily to the poetic 'content' and, therefore, refuse to be included under any of the broad heads of the former group. They are: - (i) Svabhavokti, (ii) Bhavika, and (iii) Rasavadādi. The beauty of these does not derive from the struc- ture of imagery etc., but inheres in the very texture of poetry. These represent the very stuff of poetry, and their analysis would amount to an account of the poet's vision to be embodied in the artistic form. Everything is grist to the poet's mill, and non-human objects, both animate and inanimate, of 'nature', like bird, insect and beast, wind and cloud, plant and fruit-may become quite poetic when their quintessence ( sūksma-svabhāva) is distilled by the poet's penetrating vision.4 The poetic beauty hidden in such objects is not within the reach of the insen- sitive-the non-poets or bad poets.5 The extremely refined sensitivity of the poet is evidenced by svabhavokti, which may be regarded as one of the three levels of poetic vision. Here, the poet's vision is turned outside himself, to the

4 Sūkşmavastusvabhāvasya yathāvadvarņanam svabhāvoktiḥ- Alankārasarvasva, TSS., p. 199. 5 Vide-Jayaratha's Vimarsini on the above :- kavitvamātrasya gamyaḥ kuśāgrīyadhișaņatvāt. Evam sthūlamatīnām kavīnām kukavīnām tasyāvagame'pi tathā vikalpāroho na bhavediti bhāvah. -Op. cit. NSP., p. 223.

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world of Nature; and he alone has the unique sensitivity to see into "the life of things". In its own right, such poetry is as good as any other. The second noticeable strain in the poet's vision is bhavana. It is an intensely vivid perception of things, both past and future. The poet's insight is confined to the pre- sent, but transcends the limits of Time and Space. Its validity is not vouchsafed by its present intuitive intensity, and hence it is not a case of error or delusion or idle fancy. It is not even symbolic or hyperbolic fancy (atisayokti), since the past and the present are not felt by the poet as different entities. On the other hand, he is aware of a single, undivided entity. So, poetic truth is, if anything, a higher truth, a closer approximation to Reality. Ruyyaka takes us deeper into the nature of this bhavana or poetic vision, and compares it with ordinary perception on the one hand, and Yogic perception on the other. Even ordinary perception, in his opinion, depends as much on the subject's sense organs as on the nature of the object outside. In Yogic perception, however, the subjective vision itself is capable of vivid experience even without the presence of the object.7 'Similar is the nature of poetic vision', says Ruyyaka.8 In what, then, do they differ? Only in the occasion that starts the activity of vision itself. In the case of a Yogin, it is the assiduous practice of Yogic discipline which culminates in bhāvanā, and it has no ulterior aim of communication. But a poet's

6 Na hi pratyakşatvam kevalam vastudharmah; pratipattya- pekşayaiva vastuni tathābhāvāt .- Alankārasarvasva,

7 Yogināmatīndriyārthadarsane bhāvanārūpā. -Loc. cit. p. 224-5. (NSP).

8 Kāvyārthavidām ca bhāvanāsvabhāvaiva -Loc. cit.

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bhavana is due to his sensitive and intense experience of the Sublime (atyadbhuta).9 Though personal in one sense, it is also an impersonal intuition in as much as the poet is not conscious of it, and that is why it is distinct from poetic fancy where the poet is conscious of his personality.10 In other words, the poet becomes but a spontaneous medium for the expression of his intuition. The third is indeed the highest moment of poetic vision, where the poet's personality is totally annihilated by his becoming one with his artistic emotions.11 The poet's activity here is guided throughout by the emotional aspect of his personality, an aspect which veritably lives all the emotions it expresses. While the second element of bhavana is mainly intellectual, this element of Rasa is mainly emotional. Bhavana has its analogue in the mystic vision of the bhinna-sarvajna, the would-be Siddha, one who vividly intuits both his own seeing self and the things intuited.12 But Rasa is like the state of the perfected Yogin

Sā ca bhāvanā vastugatyātyadbhutatvaprayuktā -Loc. cit. 10 Nāpi vastugatā ivārthā utprekşāprayojakāh; tasyā abhimāna- rūpāyāh pratipattrdharmatvāt. -Loc. cit. 11 Nāpyayam puraḥsphuradrūpatayā sacamatkāram pratīteh rasavadalankāraḥ. Ratyādicittavrttīnāņ tadanușaktatayā vibņā- vādīnāmapi sādhāraņyena hrdayasavāditayā paramādvaitajñāna- vatpratītau tasya bhāvāt. -Op. cit. p. 266. 12 Jayaratha observes :- 'ata eva vidyesvaraditulyatvam'-Vimar- šinī, p. 226. The concept appears to be taken from the Pratyabhijña school of philosophy, where the state of śuddhavidya is described as follows .- Cf. also- Tatrādyaḥ paramādvaita-nirvibhāgarasātmakaḥ ! Antyastu grāhyatādātmyāt na prthak pravibhāvyate i Upāntyastatsvarūpasya grāhakah paribhāvyate l -Continued Next Page.

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who is aware of the One, the Absolute, without any duality whatever; and has the relish or ananda of the All in the One. While the first kind of creative vision, viz., svabhavokti, is limited to the world of present objects in the world, the other kinds are unlimited in extension. What is common to all the three, however, is 'samvūda'13 or intense feeling or sensitivity. When it is of the objects in Time and Space, there is laukika-vastu-samnvāda as in svabhävokti; when it is of objects transcending the limits of Time and Space, we have lokottara-vastu-samvāda as in bhavika; when it is of emotions in all their infinite shades, we have cittavrtti-samvada, as in Rasavad etc. Of course, Ruyyaka is aware that the boundaries of these are very thin, and, more often than not, they run into one another.14

VII

Ruyyaka's treatment of these three 'alankāras' opens

-Continued from Page 238 -Abhinavagupta, Mālinīvijayavārttika, p. 90 (Srinagar Edn.) These two states of Yogic samadhi are designated asamprajñāta ............. and samprajñātā in the Yoga system, and nirvikalpa and savikalpa in works like the Vedantasara. We find other names given to these in the Prasastapādabhāsya and Nyāya-mañjarī. Cf. also the 'sub specie aeternitatis' of Christian theology. 18 The word 'samvada' is deliberately used, to cover the critic's state of mind as well as the poet's. The poet and the critic are alike in the moment of aesthetic delight. This is an important doctrinc of the Dhvani school. Ruyyaka is adding, however, that there may be aesthetic delight even from vastu-samvāda-laukika or lokottara-and that it is not confined to cittavrtti-samvada which alone, properly speaking, is the province of Rasa. 14 Of. Ubhayasamvāda-darsane'pi samāveśo'pi ghatate-Alankāra- sarvasva, p. 227.

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out a vista of liteeary criticism which is both original and penetrating. These are not just 'figures' of speech like the other ones, confined to individual parts of a poem, but are the very life-principles of poems as wholes. That is why they are treated separately and exclusively at the end of his discussion of the other 'alankaras.' In Ruyyaka's analysis we have hints and echoes of the dynamic critical theories of the Old School, in the light of the New School. If one were to think that the Old School in Indian Poetics was static and stopped developing after Rudrata, Ruyyaka's observations, like those of Kuntaka, would prove the unsoundness of such a view and would supply the necessary corrective. Ruyyaka's conservatism (cirantana-matānusrti )15 was not blind, but based on 'transvaluation of values'. Poetry now becomes, in the words of an English poet, a moment's monument, Memorial from the soul's eternity To one dead, deathless hour. Ruyyaka's standpoint will serve to reinstate the claims of Nature Poetry and Epic Poetry to be regarded on a par with Lyric Poetry. An exclusive adherence to the Dhvani school will perhaps lead to an undervaluation of the first two and to an overestimation of the last, or at least to a laboured stretching of the first two to meet the procrustean demands of Dhvani. The only criticism that we might bring against Ruyyaka is his use of old, outworn names even while ex- pounding new thoughts. But this charge of new wine in old bottles is true of him as of many others in the history of Indian aesthetics.

15 This is the concluding expression in Ruyyaka's work.

XIX

THE GOLDEN AGE OF SANSKRIT DRAMA

Presumably, the Sanskrit drama is older than even Greek drama. By the beginning of the Christian era we find it already in full flower as a major form of literature and a popular medium of public entertainment in India. We know from the Nutyasastra that it included ten kinds of plays and was very rich in theory and possibly richer in practice. When we read the detailed rules of Bharata about plot and character, with divisions and subdivisions of each, about dramatic sentiments and moods, style and performance, dance and music, stage and costume, we realize how vast must have been the range of plays that formed the subjects of these rules. But unfortu- nately all that vast body of literature is extinct; and in their stead we have now nothing more than a few surmises of scholars engaged in laborious research. The earliest plays appear to have been staged during sacrificial sessions and public fairs in the then spoken language of the élite, namely, Sanskrit, with due margin allowed to low characters to speak the different dialects of Prakrit. Besides the palpable priestly and popular influences which were quite indigenous, a third was perhaps the influence of Greece at a later stage. The comic vidūsaka typifies the ridiculous priest and survives in later drama; the courtly atmosphere is evident in the entourage of princes and princesses; while the popular love of sensation is instanced in the villain of the heroic play. The unique characteristics of early Sanskrit drama have to be deduced from theory alone. To provide entertainment, along with instruction, was the declared 16

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object of the playwright. To achieve the former he utilized themes of love and laughter; to ensure the latter he indulged in social satire or brought heroes, inspired by ethical ideals, in sharp contrast to rivals lacking in moral sense. A dramatic theme was hence either romantic or heroic (as in the nītakas and bhanas), or satirical or farcical (as in prakaranas and prahasanas). Since unity of emotional appeal (Rasa) was understood to be secured best only in the midst of variety, a large number of emotional moods had their contributory place in every play. Songs and verses in different metres formed an essential feature Sanskrit drama. Most of the significant dialogues were in verse; and verse was used with advan- tage to depict emotion as well as the different shades of Nature's setting. Ancient references to the earliest plays like Kamsa- vadha, Balibandha, Amrtamanthana and Laksmīsvayamvara indicate that the old plays mainly treated of the loves and lives of gods and legendary heroes. The canon of poetic justice was scrupulously observed and a wonderful turn of events resulting in a happy conclusion was an invariable feature of every play. A tragic close was unthinkable because the ideal divine or semi-divine hero could never fail. Any miracle was normal in such plays. While common life abounded in tragedy, drama reminded men that, in the divine order, good always prevailed over evil. It was this dramatic principle which was responsible for the absence of tragedies in Sanskrit drama. In Indian mythology, unlike that of Greece, gods never take sides with humans or fight with each other. The conflict in the early Sanskrit plays is usually between representatives of unmixed good and undiluted evil.

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Such were the beginnings of Sanskrit drama, which reached its zenith in the golden age of Indian history that followed. In the hands of masters like Bhasa and Sudraka, Kālidāsa and Bhavabhūti, the drama gained in variety as well as intensity. The gaping gulf between the human world and the world of gods was bridged; the typical characters were more and more humanized and indi- vidualized; and poetry became an instrument more effective than ever before. All these dramatists of the golden age (c. 300-650 A.D.) were poets of the first order and were deeply influenced by Vālmīki's sweet epic style. There is in fact a conspicuous consensus of opinion among all the literary theorists-Bhamaha and Dandin (7th century), Vamana (8th century), Anandavardhana (9th century) and Abhinavagupta (11th century)-that drama is the best form of literature. The best in Sanskrit drama is due to the genius of these master playwrights, and they inspired the original inventive power of Visakha- datta and Bhatta Narayana too. But, after the 9th century, decadence set in with imitation taking the place of invention and pedantry that of poetry. A powerful cause for the decline of interest in Sanskrit drama was also the rise of a popular theatre with sensational shows in the different spoken languages of India. The achievement of Sanskrit drama in its heyday deserves further consideration. Like the Renaissance in Europe, the Gupta age in India was an age in which "men lived intensely, thought intensely, and wrote intensely." Passions were strong, speculation rife; and there was scope for men of genius to reach to their full stature. With broadened outlook and widening horizons of knowledge, there came an outburst of creative activity unparalleled in

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the history of India. The dramatists imbibed the spirit of this age and brought the drama from divine heights to the level plains of humanity. They showed in their works a new sense of beauty and a new love of everything that made for the enrichment of life. They showed a greater spiritual nature and a deeper moral earnestness. Their characters are not just divine abstractions; they are intensely human figures. They are ancient kings and queens who lived and moved in this world; whose passions are of the world, worldly; who are softened by suffering and made to learn the lesson that Fate is stronger than man. This senti- ment of pathos as the ruling sentiment in drama is the greatest contribution of our best Sanskrit dramatists. Though the framework remains the same as ever, the dramatic purpose changes outstandingly. Dusyanta, Purūravas and Rama, Bharata and Carudatta, Duryodhana and Amātya Rāksasa-all these rise to sublime statures unknown in their epic counterparts because of the dominating tragic motif. The happy conclusion is sometimes more than a mere sop for the consumption of soft-livered spectators; it is an affirmation of the traditional faith in the ultimate victory of good and love over evil and hate. This tragic relief is the secret of the appeal of Bhasa's Svapnavasavadatta and Pratimā, Kālidāsa's Sakuntala and Vikramorvasīya, Sūdraka's Mrcchakatika and Bhavabhuti's Uttararāmacarita, Harșa's Nagananda and Visākhadatta's Mudrārūksasa. The tragic view of life, the power of Fate over man and the chastening glow of love-in-separation mingle freely in these plays and the human interest outshines that of blood and thunder. The appeal is more to the softer sentiments than to fire and fury. Even typical romance comes only as the background

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f or the ordeal of separation. The preference for pathetic themes is found already in Bhasa, but it becomes wider and deeper in Kälidasa and reaches its climax of intensity in Bhavabhuti. Nature in these plays is agog with life and serves almost as a character participating in the joys and woes of the heroes. Bhavabhuti's Vasantī and Kalidasa's Kawvasrama are but two familiar examples. The theme could thus provide rich scope for the display of poetic imagery and lyric genius. Dialogues were racy and digni- fied; and descriptive poetry did not overstep the bounds of propriety. Alongside the above serious play, there was the natika or light romantic comedy where the easy-going life of kings in their large harems was generally the subject. The erotic etiquette of a very refined class, treated in conven- tional fashion, and the comic relief of the jesters, magicians, etc., combined to make these plays popular at court, and we find King Harsa himself writing two of them after the manner of Kālidāsa's Mālavikagnimitra. Social plays like the Mrcchakatika and Mālatīmādhava draw their characters from common life and treat of the love-triangle with characteristic skill of dramatic construc- tion. Here the interest in plot increases and there is ample room for realistic characterization with a genial touch of humour or harmless satire. Skill in plot-construction has reached its highest point in the historical drama- Mudrāraksasa, whose appeal even today is irresistible. We might conclude that Sansktit drama at its best was both serious and light, imbued with the tragic spirit no less, than the comic, and for the most part partaking of epic grandeur. It was intensely poetic and richly coloured; psychological conflict had come to replace the old physical

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conflict of contending heroes. It had gained in width and depth at the same time. In the period of decline that fol- lowed, poetry became pedantry, drama was emptied of the breath of real life in the midst of a hundred conventions, and plays began to be written on set themes without novelty of subject or treatment. A sensitive appreciation of the splendour of Sanskrit drama may yet inspire modern writers to produce plays of permanent appeal since these classics have won encomiums from even Western critics like Goethe and Wilson. The wide appeal of Puranic plays to Indian audiences is a well-known fact even today. There are yet thousands of untapped legendary themes which may provide wings to the imagination of a creative playwright.

Xx

MODERN SANSKRIT DRAMA

"Every Nation" in the words of Sir Francis Young- husband, "has a different soul which, like a violin, conserves its peculiar temper through all changes." The remark is particularly applicable to Sanskrit drama, which is still surviving as an expression of our national genius and which, with its history of 2,000 years, is a unique phenomenon in the literary history of the world. From the earliest times Sanskrit genius successfully steered clear of the Scylla of popular taste and Charybdis of individual idiosyncrasy. While the textbook of Bharata on Dramaturgy provides detailed instructions to actors and stage-managers, it offers only suggestive hints to the playwrights. It does not lay down any rules like the Aristotelian Unities which can cabin and crib the genius of the playwright. It analyses searchingly the factors involved in all dramas in general, viz., plot, characters and emotion, and brings out how everything must conduce to the last, namely Rasa, because the actor's art lies only in giving relief to emotions with the aid of music, dance, gesture, etc. To Bharata, then, the playwright was only a script-writer for the stage and the script was nothing more than a bare skeleton to which flesh and blood were contributed by the actors on the stage. Bharata's analysis throughout is one of simple enumeration of all logical possibilities; and it cannot cripple the imagination of the artist and limit his choice. It only enables him to be aware of the stage conventions and educates the spectators as to what they should expect from a drama.

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Bharata could therefore recognize as many as twenty forms. and sub-forms of drama in theory; and the variations were in point of plot or characters or Rasa. The plot could be legendary or invented, idealistic or realistic. Characters could be divine or semi-divine or human; high, low or middling; Rasas could be one of the eight or nine primary emotions of man standing out in the midst of numberless shifting moods. This is not the place for me to enter into more detail; but it should be clear that Bharata's broad theory cannot preclude any stage-production full of emotion from the province of drama. The theme may be idealistic or realistic, the vein may be light or heavy, the characters may be heroic or unheroic. Bharata held that the impression left on the mind of the spectator of a play should be one of peace and not of vexation. He also felt that poetic justice where good always triumphed against evil would implant a message of hope and optimism in the spectator and make his faith in ethics deeper. This is the very essence of Indian philosophy and Bharata is only according it a high place in his scheme of drama. by banning tragedy. The theme of tragic suffering is not excluded but only a tragic close. In the develop- ment of the plot, whose very soul is a conflict of interests, the dramatist was enjoined to stick to the rule of inevitability of incidents and the element of surprise was to be reserved to the last. The conclusion of every Sanskrit play will embody a most unexpected turn in the story and even the device of deus ex machina is freely utilized at this stage. Since the dominant emotion was the pivot of the drama, the playwright was expected to be lyrical in his treatment of the characters and their feelings in relation to each other and Nature. Sanskrit

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drama in its long and chequered history has throughout conformed to these classical rules of Bharata. The origins of Sanskrit drama might have been religious. But we know it only after it had reached its. zenith, when it had become courtly and secular. The existence of the Vidüsaka or the court-fool in the carliest dramas we know indicates that drama was meant mainly for princely entertainment and a select audience of critics. trained in the rules of Bharata. The Sanskrit stage was. never popular and we are unaware of any commercial theatre which ever put a Sanskrit drama on the boards. During religious congregations or yatras, they were some- times staged by temple-theatres for the benefit of the Jearned few, and sometimes by courtesans in their esta- blishments for the benefit of cultured beaus. If the performance of Sanskrit plays has survived professionally up to the present time, it is only in Kerala, where also the demands of the popular audience have so much. affected the Sanskrit original that a single act of it forms the tail of a four-day entertainment in Malayalam. Under the patronage of the court and the aristocracy, Sanskrit drama flourished in its glory till the 12th century, when the Mohammedan intrusion stifled the Sanskrit stage. The golden age could give equal impetus to social comedies like the Mrcchakatika and melodramas like the Mālatīmadhava, romantic tragi-comedies like Sakuntala and heroic plays like Venīsamhara, historical plays like the Mudrārāksasa and romantic plays like Ratnāvalī, allegorical plays liks Prabodhacandrodaya and satirical farces like the Mattavilasaprahasana. But all that variety became a thing of the past in the period of decline or decadence of Sanskrit drama when it was divorced gradually from

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the stage. Instead of poets, pandits took to play-writing and produced works on stock epic themes in a highly conventional way. In the absence of the chastening influence of the stage, plays were intended for the learned reader only and lengthy descriptions in the set pattern abound. This decadent drama is more distant from life in setting; in character it is stercotyped and artificial, in language less close to the true workings of the human heart. The Prataparudrakalyana of Vidyanatha provides a patent example of this decadent taste. Yet it lingered on under princely patronage, and even in the period after the 15th century, isolated plays by pandits in courts were being written. This final phase of Sanskrit drama represents its decay when diamatic activity itself was at its lowest ebb and when the influence of the folk-theatre made Sanskrit playwrights turn to sentimental pieces like the Rāsa-krīda of Krishna on the one hand, and the corrupt taste of the reading public encouraged on the other hand bhanas or librettos on the adventures of amorists, and prahasanas or farces of a very obscene or indelicate nature. The close of this period of decay marks the birth of the modern age in Sanskrit drama. From the last quarter of the 19th century, the influence of modern ideas can be felt in Sanskrit drama to an appreciable extent, alongside of the imitations of older plays. It is an age of imitation, adaptation and experimenting in drama mostly by the class of pandits whose importance was waning and whose scholarship does not always keep step with a keen literary sense There is indeed a vast bulk of dramatic writing which appeared in various Sanskrit periodicals and an attempt has been made recently to

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give an idea of these by Dr. V. Raghavan in his article on Sanskrit literature in the volume, Contemporary Indian Literature, published by the Sahitya Akademi. Rummaging into the files of these old periodicals, one may hit upon a work of merit here and there; but it is like the search for a needle in a haystack. Even among the plays which have appeared in book form, the number of those that rise above mediocrity is but small and their stage-value is again open to question. It is therefore proposed here only to refer to the broad trends in modern Sanskrit drama and to confine our attention to one or two outstanding and representative works. I. DIDAOTIC MYTHOLOGICAL DRAMA Mandikal Rama Shastrin of Mysore wrote perhaps the hundredth Sanskrit play on the popular story of Nala and Damayanti under the title Bhaimiparinaya (1914). In his English Introduction to this play, Karpur Shrinivasrao makes out a good case for such imitative works: "The aim of all good literatute is to serve as a silent, and yet very effective teacher of mankind. Such teaching can only be possible through the delineation of well-known characters, who can be taken as so many types of humanity. Our great popular heroes easily lend themselves to serve as models to mankind for all ages and times." This reflects the traditional taste of the time, and we have on the same theme full-length plays like Anarghanala- caritra (Bombay, 1908) by Sudarshanacharya Panjabi and Naladamayantīyam (Calcutta, 1926) by Kalipada Tarkacharya in the other parts of India. On the theme of Rama's banishment of Sita, Chhubi Lal Soori wrote his Kusalavodaya (Bombay, 1897) "under orders of H. E. Bheemshumshere Jung R. B., Commanding General of Nepal Army." The

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only feature worth noticing about these plays is their increasing avoidance of Prakrit varieties and Shri Panjabi has used Hindi itself for all the speeches of the lower characters. These plays do not gain in comparison with the classics of old. 2. IMITATIONS OF BHANAS AND PRAHASANAS Under this class come works like Iitarajavijaya (Trichur) by Koccunni Raja and Rasarnavatarangabhaņa (Chittur, 1925) by K. Krishnamacharya of Tirupati. These one-act librettos are hardly appealing to modern taste and Krishna- macharya's fears stated in his preface are only confirmed by the passage of time. He says :-- "However ugly or feeble one's child, onc does not generally wish it dead, before it can try its own chances in the world. If, however, it should die, in spite of facilities offered to this end, it shall at least have the consolation of a decent burial". In point of morbid indecency wearing the mask of poetry, perhaps there can be nothing equal to Holāmahotsava by one Krishnarama Vyas of Banaras in the history of world literature. The farce Hasyarnava by Jagadisha Tarkalankara (Amarbharati, 1944), betrays again a bad taste. Y. Mahalinga Sastri's Kaundinya Prabasana shows a better taste but is too trivial. Under this class, we cannot boast of any degree of achievement. 3. COURT-COMEDIES OR IMAGINATIVE PLAYS We find a new genius and a new dramatic art in the plays of Mahakavi Ambikadatta Vyas of Mithila. His play Samavatam (2nd ed. 1947, Banaras) combines the merit of Bana's manner and romantic theme with Srīharsa's skill and scholasticism. Its theme is an extravaganza where an ascetic youth turns into a maid owing to Durvasa's curse

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and is married to his classmate. The scholar's experiences in the city during Holi revelries and his comic test at court, his romantic approaches as maid and Durga's appearance at the close, only to confirm his changed sex, are all improbable no doubt; but this very improbability adds to the literary quality of the piece and makes it an original contribution to Sanskrit drama. There is not a word of dialogue or a line of poetry without the poetic touch and the author's skill, in turning out quips and quibbles and in packing words with musical assonances almost artlessly, is bound to appeal to the most fastidious classical taste. Such original works reveal the live force of Sanskrit drama as a pure literary form and give us hope for the future. Creative writing in Sanskrit is still possible provided such genius is recognized and rewarded. The number of such plays is very small in the modern age in view of the absence of court patronage. Prasannakasyapīya (Mysore, 1951) by Jaggu Venkatacharya, which treats of the later history of Sakuntalā, deserves mention in this connection. Prema- vijaya (Madras, 1939) by Sundaresha Sharma is an interest- ing play in seven acts. It treats of the love of princess Candralekha for the court-poet's son Kaladhara, the difficulties in the way of their marriage and a happy close thanks to the military exploits of the hero. The influence of Kalidasa's Malavikīgnimitra on the author is evident throughout. 4. HISTORICAL PLAYS Sanskrit drama has broken new ground in this held by focusing attention on Indian patriotism and valour whose inveterate enemies have been disunity and treachery in Indian history. MM. Haridas Siddhantavagisha's Vangīya- pratupa (Calcutta) is a powetful play which makes us

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re-live the troubled times of Muslim oppression, and the successful attempt, though short-lived, of King Pratapa Roy to bring peace to Bengal by overthrowing the yoke of the Nawab and the Moghuls. In its appeal to the spirit of Indian patriotism it reminds us of Shakespeare's Henry V. The same author has also given us an equally stirring and arresting play on Mevārapratapar (Calcutta, 1950), which deals with the heroic stand of the Rajputs against the onslaught of the Moghuls. On the same theme we have another drama, Vīrapratapanūtaka (Lahore, 1937) by Mathura Prasad Dikshit. Mention must also be made of two plays on historical themes written by Shri Mula Sankar Yajnik. His Samyogitasvayamvara (Baroda, 1929) relates to the chivalrous story of Prithviraj marrying the daughter of Jayacandra of Kanauj. The heroic career of Shivaji is the subject of his second play, Chhatrapatisām- rājyam (Baroda, 1929). 5. SOCIAL COMEDIES It is under this head that most of the modern experiments in Sanskrit diama deserve to be placed. Not only learned pandits, but lawyers, doctors and other public men have tried their hand at this dramatic form and as a consequence it is less pedantic than any of the other varieties noticed above. Aryadesasudharanam (Bombay, 1889) by a teacher, Vinayaka Bhat, is called a mahanāțaka but is in the narrative manner of the epics; and even divisions into scenes and acts are absent. There is neither action nor dialogue which is conspicuous. What we have is an allegory. India is supposed to be married to a lady called Reform; and they give birth to eight children-three sons and five daughters. The sons are named Patriotism, Perseverance and Treasure. The daughters are Righteousness, Loyalty, Academy of

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Knowledge, Academy of Work and Academy of Arts. The mother has a brother, Divine Favour, who preaches the need for education and for the eradication of social evils. The thing appears today a complete failure, neither fish nor flesh. Sankaravivāhanā taka (Bombay, 1934) by Dr. V. M. Kulkarni is also written mostly in anustubh slokas with occasional mixtures of prose. As stated in the Introduction, "its main object is to condemn the drink habit and the custom of excommunicating the bride and the bridegroom of mixed marriages." The whole drama moves in a modern setting. The dispensary of Dr. Bhagirathi is the scene of most of the action. She has divorced her first husband and remarried outside her caste. Pleader Godbole supports her forward views; and her daughter's falling in love with a classmate not of her caste presents a problem to the mother who is educating her for a medical career and who has fixed her marriage with a prince. There are thus two variations of the same theme deftly handled and we have rollicking comedy in one Khan Bahadur who bites the lady doctor's cheek in a drunken fit and is made to pay Rs. 10,000 as damages by the cunning pleader. The bridegroom's parents refuse to recognize the love-marriage, which leads to an attempt at suicide on the part of the loving couple. The tragedy is averted at the close by the wise priest who con- sents to convert the girl into the caste of the bridegroom. This five-act play is modern in technique and ideas, racy in style and lively in atmosphere. It shows how Sanskrit can be handled to suit modern conditions and to secure a wide appeal. Parivartanam (Banaras, 1956) is a fine five-act play by Shri Kapiladeva Dvivedi, Retired from Government Service.

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It deals with the social evil of the dowry system and the inadequacy of law courts to mete out justice. The hero of the play, who is forced to sell and pledge away his parental property to get his daughter married, suffers untold misery first at the hands of the unscrupulous creditor and next at the hands of the helpless judge. His miseries are at an end thanks to the decree of the State after Independence that all local cases must be tried by the village panchayats. The directness and simplicity of the author's Sanskrit makes it eminently readable. 6. POLITICAL PLAYS The political struggle of the modern age has also left an indelible impress on the Sanskrit drama and at least one pandit's imagination was fired to produce a very spirited Sanskrit play which echoes the spirit of the time. The Bhārata-vijaya-nātaka (3rd Edition, 1952, Banaras) by Mathuraprasad Dikshit presents the pageant of Indian his- tory from the days of Clive up to modern times in striking colours. The Britisher is the villain of the piece and all the evil done by him is movingly, if exaggeratedly, brought out in symbolic fashion. Mother India is presented as an old lady bound in fetters. Each fighter for freedom loosens her fetters while each representative of British rule tightens their hold on her. The drama ends with the change of heart of the Britisher, who quits India, placing the power in the hands of Gandhiji. The play was written in 1937 by the Pandit at the court of the Baghat Prince and the Ms. was confiscated by the State private secretary as seditious. It could be published only when the playwright's prophecy had come true. In patriotic fervour the drama remains unequalled and it deserves a high rank as literatute by the irresistible power of its poetry. It is

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throughout one-sided in its presentation, but this may not be mentioned as a defect in an admittedly propagandist piece. Vanīvilasam (Banaras) by Vindhyeshwari Prasad Shastri is another short one-act play which mirrors the woes of India in bondage and closes with a plea for the revival of ancient Indian culture. The Satyagraba movement is beautifully mirrored in Pandita Kshama Rao's Katuvipāka and other playlets. Kashmīra-sandhāna-samudyama (Banga- lore, 1954) attempts to sketch the Kashmir problem in dramatic form. Leaders like Dr. Khare, S. P. Mukherjee, Jawaharlal Nehru, Liaqat Ali Khan and Sheikh Abdulla come as characters here and they are made to talk the highly impassioned language of epic heroes. Their argu- ments too are incredibly simple and the play only serves to illustrate that the conventional graces of Sanskrit drama are misplaced in sketching the contemporary political scene. 7. RELIGIOUS AND PHILOSOPHICAL PLAYS Under this category come numerous productions written by religious heads of Maths and their protégés. Their literary value is not always commensurate with their religious importance. Mathura Prasad Dikshit's Sankara vijayanātaka (Banaras, 1953) is a play of pure intellectual ideas. The great teacher's successful debates with materia- lists, Buddhists and so fotth are re-enacted before us. By treating the incidents of human interest in Sankara's career, the play could have been made more appealing. The conflict of modern ideas with religious practices is humorously and finely sketched in Samanjasasanātanam (Srirangam, 1940) by Rajagopalacharya. 8. TRANSLATIONS As Dr. Raghavan has noted, Shakespeare's plays like A Comedy of Errors, A Midsummer Night's Dream and 17

258 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

As you Like It have been rendered into Sanskrit by writers like Rajaraja Varma and R. Krishnamacharya. A perusal of these will show that they are all more or less adapta- tions and Sanskrit has not yet forged an effective equivalent to English blank verse. The poetic force of Shakespeare has not flowed into the translations. Dr. R. Shama Shastri of Mysore realized these difficulties of translating Shakespeare and turned his talents to the task of translating the prose tragedy of Emilia Gallotte by Lessing, the German playwright. He has achieved a measure of success in his translation though the foreign atmosphere may leave the Indian reader cold. Shri S. N. Tadpatrikar's Visvamohanam (Poona, 1949) is only a free Sanskrit adoption of the first part of Goethe's Faust. It conforms to the conventions of Sanskrit drama and reads like an original. But there is not even a glimmer of Goethe's genius in the Sanskrit piece. In conclusion, it might be stated that though the modern age has produced no masterpiece in Sanskrit drama, its achievement is neither negligible nor disheartening. Sanskrit drama has certainly gained in length and breadth, thanks to the various experiments, and the Sanskrit language has been made to come out of the old palace and walk the streets of common humanity without losing its essential majesty and dignity. What we lack is depth, depth of psychological insight. Characterization is not the strong point of modern Sanskrit drama and, in the hands of imaginative playwrights, Sanskrit poetic drama may yet reach heights unequalled before. There is room for hope because Sanskrit is again attracting today the

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best minds of the country as in its golden period and. its study is open to one and all instead of being confined to a small coterie. Sentimentality and sophistication are fast disappearing and giving place to a balanced outlook on life, and a fuller understanding of reality. The words. of T. E. Hulme describing the sunset are somewhat applicable to the Sanskrit Muse, who is like A coryphée covetous of applause Loth to leave the stage With final diablerie, poises high her toe Displays scarlet lingerie of carmin'd clouds Amid the hostile murmur of the stalls. But the stall-eyed view is only one view. As a pure literary form, Sanskrit drama has greater claims for re- cognition than many of the commercial successes on the Indian stage today.

--

XXI

A NEW PLAY BY ASVAGHOA?

I

It is well-known that many a Buddhist classic in Sanskrit has been irrevocably lost in the land of its origin, and that some of the texts are being reconstructed by patient Indologists of the present century from old Tibetan and Chinese translations. Outstanding works like Dharmakīrti's Pramanavarttika are seeing the light of day only in recent times. What is true of Buddhist texts is true, in a larger measure, of Jaina classics in Sanskrit. Jaina philosophical and literary classics have not attracted the attention of Oriental scholars abroad to the same extent as Buddhist texts; and it is only in the last two decades that some Jain Institutes like the Bharatīya Jñana Pitha (Kāsī) have been bringing out some valuable works like the commen- tary of Vadirajasuri on Akalanka's Nyīya-viniscaya.1 As Dr. Satkari Mookerjee observes in his learned Foreword to the second volume of this work (viz. Nyāya-viniścaya- vivarana) :- "Bhatta Akalanka is an author of stupendous scholarship and superordinary insight .... The commentary of Vadirajasuri on the Nyaya-viniscaya seems to me the most elaborate, exhaustive and comprehensive of all .... The value of this work is particularly augmented by the elaborate criticism of Dharmakīrti's Pramāņavārttika and the exposition of Prajñākaragupta."

1 Published in two volumes; Vol. I-1949; Vol. II-1954. Edited by Prof. Mahendrakumar Jain. Bhāratīya Jñānapītha, Kāśī, Nos. 3 and 12.

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II

The present writer had occasion to consult this work of Vādirājasūri, a Digambara Jaina guru, in connec- tion with his introduction to the critical edition of the Yasodharacarita, a poem in four cantos by the same author (published by the Karnatak University, 1963) who held the significant titles of 'Syadvadavidyapati' ("Master of Jaina Thought"), 'Sat-tarka-sanmukha' (The Six-faced God of Six Philosophical Systems") and 'Jagadekamalla-vādi" ("Master Dialectician in the court of the Later Calukya king Jayasimha alias Jagadekamalla (1015-1042 A.D.). Eulogies of this Vādiraja appear in a number of inscriptions in Karņātaka,2 including the famous Mallisena's Epitaph at Sravanabeļagola;8 and one of his poems, viz., the Parsva- nathacarita is dated 1025 A.D.4 Vadirāja is always glorified as a formidable dialectician and a master-poet, a veritable terror to disputants of rival schools.

III

It is not the purpose of this note to give an idea of the polemical acumen of Vādirāja's locus classicus, or an exposition of his pointed critique of Dharmakirti's

2Cf. Epigraphia Carnatica, Vol. VIII, Nagar 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 44; Belur 117; Shimoga, Pt. I, No : 126; Vol. XI, No : 90; Mysore Archaeological Report, 1926, p. 49, etc. 3 Cf. verse 40 (loc. cit.) of this epitaph (translated by Hultzsch in the Ep. Indica, Vol. III. p. 184ff.) :- "A speech which illumined the three worlds has issued only from two persons on this earth; one was the king of Jinas (Jinarāja), the other Vādirāja." 4 Published in the M. D. J. Granthamala, Bombay. 1917.

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system of thought. All that is intended is to draw the attention of scholars to a stray reference in extenso which appears in this work to a lost play of Aśvaghosa, viz., "Rastrapāla"; perhaps an only reference which has been preserved in literary tradition, and most valuable in so far as the reference is contained in the actual words of Dharmakirti himself in the course of his exposition of 'the rules of philosophical debate' in the treatise "Vada- nyāya".5 Akalanka, the author of the text of the Nyāya- viniscaya, is himself criticising the views of Dharmakīrti; and the two authors are not later than the eighth century A.D. Perhaps Dharmakirti was at least a century earlier. Thus the tradition recotded by Dharmakīrti, himself a great Buddhist thinker, about Asvaghosa's authorship of a play, becomes reliable and deserves the attention of scholars.

IV A word about the context in which the passage appears may not be out of place here. Akalanka, and after him, Vadiraja are discussing the nature of nigrahasthanas or vulnerable points in argumentation

5 The editor of Nyayaviniscayavivarana has noted some parallel passages in Dharmakīrti's Vādanyāya, p. 65ff. (published by the Mahabodhi Society, Sarnath). The present writer could not get a copy of this edition to check up whether the passage in question is substantially found therein. But judging on the basis of other passages from Vādanyāya quoted in extenso by the editor in this context, it can be concluded that the exact wording of Dharmakirti's atrernate explanations of nigrahasthānas (vulnerable points in argu- mentation) is preserved here and not in the published work.

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which will decide the victory or defeat of the contestants in a philosophical debate (katha).6 Dharmakirti appears to have severely criticised the Jaina anekantavada; and the Jaina logicians like Akalańka are naturaly joining issues with him on the very fundamentals of procedure.7 According to the Jaina logicians, what really clinches the issue in a philosophical debate is the establishment of the one or the other of the theses. The defective or irrelevant arguments advanced by either party cannot be deemed decisive. Though they may serve to break up a particular debate (katha-viccheda), they cannot conclusivly prove the strength of one view as against the other (katha- siddhi); and are, therefore, indecisive. A true nigrahasthāna should establish the soundness of either the one or the other of the rival positions of the two disputants. In this context, Vadiraja quotes in his commentary parallel passages from Akalanka's Siddhivinišcaya and proceeds to review some of the alternate explanations

6 According to the Nyäya system, which first makes use of this technical term, the judges will pronounce their verdict regarding the victory of one of the debators when they come across 'the vulnerable points' in debates occasioning the undesirable and taking either of these two forms :- (i) Silencing the opponent and prevent- ing him from holding forth any further; (ii) Making the opponent accept a position contrary to the one he holds. The Nyāya has classified 22 nigrahasthanas. 7 Dharmakirti tries to explain them all under the two broad heads of asadhanangavacana on the part of the proponent (vadin) and of adosodbhavana on the part of the opponent (prativadin). While no one can dispute this broad division, Dharmakirti also appears to have tried to bring in other forms of irrelevant or weak arguments under these. This is objected to by the Jain logicians.

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proposed by Dharmakirti on his own view of nigraha- sthānas.8 V

The following is the citation :- परमप्यत्र व्याख्यानम्-"संशयादिरहितत्वेन प्रतिपत्तव्यं साधनं कर्मस्थे भावे प्रत्ययविधानात्, तदङ्गं स्वरूपं यस्य तत्साधनाङ्गं विवादापन्नं साध्यमेव, तस्मा- दन्यदसाधनाङ्ग, तस्य वचनम्। तद्यथा- 'आत्मनि विवादे नास्त्यात्मेति वयं बौद्धाः ।' 'के बौद्धा :? ' 'ये बुद्धशासनमुपगताः ।' 'को बुद्धः?' 'यस्स शासने भदन्ताश्वघोषः प्रव्रजितः ।' 'कः पुनर्भदन्ताश्वघोषः ?' 'यस्य राष्ट्रपालं नाम नाटकम् ।' 'कीदृशं च तन्नाटकम् ?' इति प्रसङ्गमारचय्य 'नान्दन्ते ततः प्रविशति सूत्रधार इत्यारभ्य पठति नृत्यति गायति च, अपरस्य व्यामोहमनुवादे शक्तिव्याघातं च कर्तुमिति, तदपि वादिनो निग्रहस्थानमप्रस्तुताभिधानात् ।' "A valid reason is only that which is free from doubt, etc .; for the grammatical termination here (in the word sadbana) indicates its adequacy to prove the thesis. (Taking it as Bahuvrīhi) that which is of the nature of sādhana comes to be called sadhananga viz, the disputed thesis itself. And whatever is other than that is asadhananga (or irrelevant). And a mention of the irrelevant is a vulnerable point of the proponent as in the following: example :-

8 Nyāya-viniścaya-vivaraņa, Vol. II, p. 239. Vādirāja has not- --- explicitly stated here that the words are Dharmakirti's' but the con- text, as indicated by the learned editor, leaves little room for doubt.

A New Play by Aśvaghoșa 265

'When the existence of the soul (atman) is under dispute, we, Buddhists, hold the thesis that there is no- soul.' 'Who are the Buddhists?' Those who accept the teachings of the Buddha.' 'Who, then, is the Buddha?' 'The Buddha is he as a result of whose teaching, the Bhadanta Asvaghosa renounced the world.' 'Who is Bhadanta Asvagosa?' 'He is the author of the play "Rastrapala."'9 'What is the nature of that play?' Building up a context like this, one might start reading, dancing, and singing the whole play, right from the first sentence: 'Enter the Stage-manager after the close of Invocation (nandi)'10 and cause utter confusion to the rival and make it imposslble for him to quote anything exactly. But since it is all an irrelevant digression, it should. be deemed as a vulnerable point in the arguing proponent. (indicating his defeat)."11

Variant readings noted by the editor are 'svarastrapalanam' and' 'surāştrapālanam'. 10 It is interesting to observe that this same opening sentence is. deemed by Bhasa scholars to be a peculiarity of Bhasa's dramatic technique. 11 Vadiraja comments on this that the view is not acceptable because such an irrelevant series of digressions (prasanga-parampara). might lead only to a break up of the debate (katha-viccheda) but. not to the defeat of the Buddhist proponent (na parājayasya). Real. defeat of the one is consequent upon the other's establishing a counter-thesis; and in this case no such thing has happened.

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VI

A few things clearly follow from the above quotation, which are of scholarly interest :- (i) Aśvaghosa, the Buddhist monk, was a famous playwright and the name of one of his plays was "Rastrapala." (ii) Aśvagosa's dramas were being recited, sung, and danced (i.e., staged) by Buddhists, (possibly because these were religious and philosophical plays). (iii) At least one play "Rastrapala" began with the words: nandyante tatab pravisati sūtradhārab, like the plays ascribed to Bhasa. It was the German savant Lüders that published fragments of Asvagosa's plays from the 'Turfan Manu- scripts."12 The title of one of them was read as Sariputraprakarana but those of others could not be decided. Frôm the published fragments, it is not clear whether any of them ate parts of "Rastrapala," the play mentioned by Dharmakīrti, as quoted by Vādirāja. In the present state of our knowledge, it is difficult to say anything more about the lost play. One may, at the most, hazard the guess that it was perhaps a religious or morality play like the fragments recovered in part. Possibly, scholars in Tibetan and Chinese may be able to throw some light on this work of Asvaghosa if they come across references to Rāstrapāla."

12 Luders, Bruchstucke Buddhistischer Dramen, Berlin, 1911; Das Sariputraprakarana, ein Drama des Asvaghoșa, SBAW, 1911 and 1912.

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Addendum Since writing the above, the present writer has come across some earlier studies bearing on this question, which deserve to be recorded here :- I. Sylvain Levi has collected all references to the story of Rästrapāla in the Chinese version of the Tripitaka in his article, 'Encore Asvaghoșa in the Journal Asiatique, 1928 (p. 193f). It emerges that Rastrapāla is the name of the hero of the play since the story may reasonably be taken as identical with the story in the Ratthapala-sutta of the Majjhima-nikāya. 2. Vidhusekhara Bhattacharya has succeeded in tracing the quotation from Dharmakirti (referring to (Ratsapāla-nātaka) to the source, viz., Vāda- nyaya in an article, 'A new drama of Asvaghosa published in the Journal of the Greater India Society, Vol. V (p. 15f). 3. Dr. Bagchi has drawn the attention of scholars to this very passage quoted also in Cakradhara's Nyāya-manjarī-granthi-bhanga, a work on Buddhist logic, noticed in the Jessalmere Catalogue (Gaekwad Oriental Series, No. XXI, p. 40) with the reading Rājyapāla in the place of Rāstrapāla. He has also added a reference to it in the Chinese translation (472 A.D.) of Dharmapitaka-nidana in his article, 'The Rāstrapālanātaka of Aśvaghosa' in the Sardesai Commemoration Volume (pp. 261-263) 4. A reference to the play in Jain canonical sources is indicated by Prof. Sekhar in his recent book on Sanskrit Drama.

XXII

THE MESSAGE OF THE SANSKRIT EPICS -An Early Estimate by Anandavardhana

If we try to understand the true national genius of India in the past and the rich legacy of culture and tradi- tions handed down to us through the centuries, we naturally turn to the two outstanding epics-Ramayana and Mahabharata-for inspiration and edification. But at the very outset we will find that the two epics are unlike each other. While the Ramayana transports us into a region of pure poetry, the Mahābhārata stuns us with its encyclo- paedic proportions and variety of themes. It defies, as it were, all attempts at determining the essential undercurrent of thought that permeates the entire work. But even as early as the 9th century A.D., Ānanda- vardhana, a literary critic of Kashmir, tried to discover the central thread running in the works of Vālmīki and Vyāsa. His main conclusions embodied in his celebrated work, the Dhvanyaloka, are original and brilliant and of more than a passing interest even to a modern student of the epics. In what follows, an attempt is made to summarise Ananda- vardhana's observations on the two national epics of India. Valmīki and Vyasa may be characterised as the two greatest poet-sages India produced. Of these, as regards Valmīki, there are no two opinions that he is first and fore- most a poet, that in fact, he is the adi-kavi, the father of the poetic tradition in India. His epic is a mahākāvya as also the ādikāvya. Therefore the Rāmayana deserves to be estimated only by literary standards. But Vyasa is not on the same footing as Välmīki. His work is more than a uni- form epic (kāvyā); it is a systematic exposition of scriptural

The Message of the Sanskrit Epics 269

truths (Jastra). Not only is tradition quite emphatic on this point, but he who runs may read. Hence the criteria of literary estimate that would serve to explain the greatness of the Ramayana cannot adequately explain the greatness of the Mahabharata, when taken in themselves. They must be supplemented by other criteria but in such a way that they will not conflict with the conclusions artived at on the basis of literary criteria. It is in drawing this happy synthesis between the two conclusions that Ananda- vardhana's greatness lies. Now what are the substantial literary criteria that one would resort to in evaluating any poem (kāvya) par excellence? According to Anandavardhana, considerations of metre and music and even imagery (alankāra) are purely extrinsic. The intrinsic factors are Rasa and Dhvani. The former is the name given to poetic content while the latter indicates the suggestive manner in which feelings and emotions are aroused in the reader. In other words, the aesthetic emotions in a poem are far more pivotal than tricks of style and glitter of ornament. The secret of the appeal of a poem of magnitude (mahakavya) consists in the clever infusion of the various rasas by the poet in a suggestive way; but lest the funda- mental unity of the poem be impaired, it is necessary that a single rasa or sentiment should be made dominant through- out. Now nebulous and hazy, now outshone by another rasa, yet standing out pre-eminently at all significant points .in the poem-such is the nature of the dominant sentiment (angi-rasa). A clever critic should be able to trace its existence from the outset right up to the close of a mahū- kavya. This then is the key to the secret of a successful poem according to Ānandavardhana.

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Applying this formula to the Ramayana we find that pathos (karuna-rasa) is the ruling sentiment. From the moment of Välmiki's sorrow at the sight of the shrieking curlew (kraunca) when its mate is killed by the hunter's arrow, we can discover this karuna-rasa constantly in the Ramayana; now in the pathetic lamentations of the blind parents whose only son and support has been shot dead by Dasaratha, now in the old King's grief at the unavoidable exile of his fond son, now in the sobs of the queens at his sad demise, now in the pitiful cries of Sīta as she is help- lessly carried away by Rävana, now in the dying groans of Jatayu, now in the pangs of Rama torn by separation, and finally in the untold suffering of Sita discarded by her hus- band to the mercies of the wild. Such is the steady and even flow of pathos or karuna-rasa in Valmīki's great epic. What about the Mahabharata? The critic cannot as easily pronounce his literary judgment. His task is more difficult here than in the case of the Ramayana because of the gigantic dimensions of the epic. But even so, Ananda- vardhana tackles the problem boldly and his remarks are very illuminating. At the outset he draws our attention to the fact that the Mahabharata embodies heterogeneous elements, that it is both a sustra and a kavya rolled into one. Nevertheless he seeks to apply the canons of literary criticism explained above and his conclusion is that in the Mahäbhärata also the closing note might serve as an indi- cator of the sentiment intended by the poet as dominant throughout the work. The Mahabharata, as we all know, ends in a note of despair, all the victors too meeting their end as victims of fate ultimately. The great Pandava and Vrsni heroes of the cataclysmal war themselves die in ignoble circumstances.

The Message of the Sanskrit Epics 271

Not even Krishna can escape his doom. Bhima's gigantic strength and Arjuna's unmatched valour, Yudhisthira's righteous conduct and Krishna's divine diplomacy -- all turn out to be as much a waste as Duryodhana's determined resistance with such redoubtable warriors as Bhīsma and Drona, Karna and Aśvatthāman, fighting on his side. It is of course easy to dismiss the whole thing with the remark that in a conflict between right and wrong, between good and evil, the side of the right and the good does emerge triumphant according to Indian ideas. But a little more reflection will show that neither of the parties who take part in the fight is wholly wrong. If Arjuna is a great hero, does not Karna at least on the other side lay claims to an equal, if not greater, greatness? Karna in his own way reaches to towering heights of self- sacrifice and grandeur, and there is hardly a foible in his majestic and imposing personality. Is not Bhīsma, the old lion-like warrior, also a saint, an embodiment of truth and wisdom? Does not Drona, the teacher, elicit profound respect from Pandavas and Kauravas alike in respect of his learning and age? Were the means adopted by the Pandavas in killing these saintly heroes wholly just? If we say that Abhimanyu was unjustly killed, did the Pandavas also not pay it back in the same coin a thousandfold? In the material plane, again, how far do Krishna's actions merit the term just, whatever their mysterious implications may be in the spiritual altitudes? Even if we suppose that the beastly insult to Drau- padī at the hands of the Kauravas and their persistent refusal to share the kingdom with their brethren accounts adequately for all the retribution that followed, how are we to account for a similar fate that overtook even the

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Pandavas? Did not Draupadī herself lose all her children? Such, in short, are some of the insoluble problems that confront us as we complete a reading of the Mahabharata. The problem of fate and freewill, the problem of good and evil, the problem of justice and injustice, and a host of other perplexing dichotomies are posed prominently throughout the Mahabharata. Now the question is whether Vyasa is contented with posing these problems without bothering about their solution. It is Anandavardhana's firm conviction that Vyāsa has also indicated unmistakable solutions to these problems, and our estimate of Vyāsa is bound to be defective so long as we do not take pains to discover the solutions proposed. These solutions are sometimes indicated after the manner of sastra but most often they are brought out poetically. It should be our endeavour to take note of both and to see their essential identity. Anandavardhana thinks that the final note of the Mahābhārata is an unmistakable pointer as to the intention of Vyäsa, which is to emphasise the need for cultivating a sense of detachment towards worldly pleasures. How- ever promising they may look in the beginning, they are bound to land one in an abyss of despair in the long :- run. When the greatest heroes could not escape their inevitable doom, how much more true this must be in the case of ordinary men! To get over the inevitable doom, there is only one succour, and that is in following the path of moksa or supreme Beatitude. Such is the impression one gets finally by reading the concluding episode of the Mahabharata. When we look upon the epic as a sastra, we say that its central teaching is moksa as parama-purusartha or ultimate value.

The Message of the Sanskrit Epics 273

This has the support of all traditional commentaries on the great epic. But when we look upon it as a kāvya, we would state the same truth differently, and say that the dominant sentiment of the Mahabharata is Santa or tranquillity. Ānandavardhana says: 'Vyāsa deserves every- one's esteem as the foremost sage who attempted to rescue his fellowmen from the mire of ignorance by the light of his sound and steady knowledge. He has stressed this idea of the desirability of detachment in several places of his epic. To quote only one such passage: Just in the same proportion as worldly pursuits turn out to be unavailing, one's sense of aversion to them is engendered; there is no doubt about it. (Śāntiparva, CLXXIV, 4) It might be urged by some that Vyasa expressly claims in the Introduction or the Anukramani that the work throws light equally on all the purusarthas and contains all the rasas. But this position does not go against the view held here since the other rasas and purusarthas only setve to set off at greater relief the importance of Santarasa and moksa as parama-purusartha. It is interesting to note that even in the anukramanī, Vyasa suggestively refers to the pre-eminence of Väsudeva, the Supreme Reality. By implication, all other descriptions, the rise and fall in the fortunes of heroes, etc., are intended only to emphasise the desirability of renouncing material pleasures in favour of devotion to the Lord. The addition of the Harivamsa at the end of the epic also points to the same conclusion. By showing in detail the merits of devotion to the Lord, Vyasa contrasts the solemnity and serenity of such a life with the struggle and stress of mundane life beset with foibles, failures and frustrations. 18

XXIII

INDIAN POETICS AND T. S. ELIOT'S THREE VOICES OF POETRY

I

Poetry has always been something of a mystery. Its: appeal is as real as its nature is elusive. Why does a poet write at all? For whom does he write? What are the things that make for poetry? What are the outstanding qualities that distinguish the various literary forms? Such questions have been raised by literary critics from time immemorial and the result is a bewildering bulk of literary theory in the East as well as in the West. Occasionally, a poet steps out of his ivory tower of creation and turns the search-light of critical introspection over the creative process to make new pronouncements in the wold of literary theory. The flair for novelty is universal; and it is not rare to find men of letters making claims of cent per cent originality for their views and critics holding them high on that very score. T.S. Eliot, for instance, states in one of his recent lectures entitled THE THREE VOICES OF POETRY (National Book League, 1953) that he has two aims in choosing his subject: 'One is, to avoid saying anything that I have said before; the other is, to avoid saying anything that somebody else has said before.' He is aware more than anyone else that 'these aims together are almost impossible of realisation'; but he justifies himself on the plea :- 'if there is no truth that has not been discovered by our ancestors, there is also no possible error by which . they have not been deceived'. The following is an attempt . to show that at least a school of critics in ancient India.

Indian Poetics and T.S. Eliot's Three Voices of Poetry 275 were not so deceived and that T.S. Eliot's ideas, whatever their originality in the history of English critical thought, have their echoes in an ancient Sanskrit text of literary criticism dating back to the ninth century A.D., viz., the Dhvanyaloka of Anandavardhana.

II

Let me explain the three 'voices' of T. S. Eliot in his own words as far as possible :- 'The first is the voice of the poet talking to himself or nobody. The second is the voice of the poet addressing an audience, whether.large or small. The third is the voice of the poet when he attempts: to create a dramatic character speaking in verse; when he is. saying, not what he would say in his own person, but only what he can say within the limits of one imaginary character addressing another imaginary character.' Poetry of the first voice according to him is verse which does not attempt communication with anyone. It is concerned only with self-expression of the poet. All lyrics are examples of it if we attach the widest possible significance to the word 'lyric'. The second voice is dominantly found in the epic and in all poetry that has a conscious social purpose- poetry intended to amuse or to instruct, poetry that tells a stofy, poetry that preaches or points a moral, or satire which is a form of preaching. The third voice is unique to poetic drama. Here the author not only imparts some- thing of himself to his characters but is influenced by the characters he creates. Of these three voices, while only the first or the second are heard dominantly in other forms of literature, it is the unique glory of poetic drama that all the three voices are heard and heard harmoniously therein. It

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demands of the dramatist that the creator be everywhere present and everywhere hidden. The implications of T.S. Eliot's position sketched above are profound and far-reaching. He not only indicates why poetic drama is the best and most enduring form of literature, but also provides the means whereby the critic can distinguish between the diffetent levels of literature. If the concern of the critic is to reach the core of the poet's experience, he will have to keep himself alive in different ways to lyric, epic and drama. The new approach of T.S. Eliot is calculated to assist the critic in his literary appre- ciation by imparting to him the very secret of the poetic process.

III

Now the New Sanskrit literary theory of Ananda- vardhana known as Dhvani not only says much the same in -essence, but was propounded by its author to remove the very prejudices sought to be cleared by T.S. Eliot. In the -Old School of Sanskrit Poetics, the social and didactic purpose of poetry was so much emphasized that only epics were regarded as poems par excellence. Lyrics were given recognition only to the extent they served the above purpose. They did not distinguish at all between fiction and poetic drama though all drama in Sanskrit practice had a strong poetic element. Instead of recognising that the question of communication was no part of the poet's primary concern and that his self-expression might succeed most when it defied normal ways of usage, they attempted the impossible task of reducing such poetic usages (Vakrokti) into so many set patterns of alankaras or figures of speech. Thus we might say in the words of Eliot that the second

Indian Poetics and T.S. Eliot's Three Voices of Poetry 277

voice had come to receive greater attention, setting limits. even to the first voice. They nevet paused to reflect on the third voice in poetic drama since in their opinion it was not on a par with poetry, being primarily intended for the stage. Anandavardhana found these conventional principles unsound on almost every count since the primacy of Pratibha (= creative imagination) or the first voice becomes. the very bedrock of his new theory known as Dhvani. He devotes one whole chapter (viz., the IV) for a full exposi -. tion of the principle of Pratibha. In the course of this. exposition is proved the hollowness of the second voice: when emptied of the first because it leans far too much on external figures for its effect. It is shown how the first voice obeys no laws except the genius of the poet and how there can be no poetry when it is unheard. A new analysis. of the Sanskrit epics is made and the original conclusion. drawn that the epics are great poetry only in so far as the: first voice is heard in them no less distinctly than the second. Finally the artificial barrier that existed between. drama and poetry is demolished and the principle is. demonstrated that poetic drama is the best form of literature since the poet commands there a third voice in addition to. the first two. Anandavardhana's Sanskrit equivalent for 'voice' is the significant term Dhvani which literally means. 'tone'. Just as T. S. Eliot speaks of 'the first voice', 'the second voice' and 'the third voice', Anandavardhana also. speaks of three kinds of Dhvani. He even goes a step further and gives the three Dhvanis three distinct desig- nations. Like Eliot, Anandavardhana too holds that there will be no poetry when all the 'voices' or Dhvanis are.

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absent. Since Eliot's 'first voice' is the common condition of all literature, it comes very close to Anandavardhana's Rasadhvani. Rasa is a poet's mental state which is neither personal nor purely impersonal, but wholly partaking of Pratibha or creativity, dictating matter as well as form simultaneously and is instanced in Valmīki whose soka or sensitivity led to the sloka or poem, viz., the Ramayana. We have only this first voice or poet's self-expression in pure lyrics or Muktakas while the second comes to the fore in epics which aim at communication. In these very epics, when an episode is dramatically treated, when the poet is speaking not directly, but through a character, we may look for the third voice. But we will miss it so long as the poet's purpose is to present narrative or event as it happened (itihasa) historically. It is only in the world of drama that the poet's creation becomes supreme since he identifies himself imaginatively not with any single character, but with all characters whose natures may be mutually opposed. It is only then that the author's best expression of his inmost personality is achieved. To use Anandavardhana's words, in lyrics, etc .- in Sanskrit theory lyric does not relate to the personal emotion of the poet but only to universalised experience-there is Dhvani of a single Bhäva or Rasa; in epics, etc., there is Dhvani of more than one Rasa and Bhava, not necessarily falling into a unity. But in poetic drama there is Dhvani of several Rasas and Bhavas which necessarily fall into a unity. From the poet's angle, this will be like saying that his speech is intimate in lyric, communicative and rhetorical in the epic but most significant and expressive in poetic drama. Since the essential core of the 'first voice' or Pratibha can be .recognised only by a trained man of taste, Anandavardhana

Indian Poetics and T.S. Eliot's Three Voices of Poetry 279

says that only a Sahrdaya is a literary critic. Since aliveness to the creative heart of the poet is the sine qua non of the critic, his intellectual judgments extend beyond the realm of the first voice though strongly grounded on it. So in Indian theory, Dhvani is not only related to Rasādi, but extends fatther to Vastu and Alankara, i.e. matter com- municated and manner of communication. While the first, i.e. Rasadi-Dhvani, is most rapid in its appeal and does not admit of graded study ( Asamlaksyakrama) the other types of Dhvani relating to sense ( Arthasakti) can be separately studied (Samlaksyakrama). And Ānandavardhana gives three significant names for these varieties :- . I. Svatab-sambhavi: lit. naturally possible. 2. Kavi-praudhokti-siddha: lit. imaginatively possible when the poet speaks in the first person. 3. Kavi-nibaddha-praudhokti-siddha: lit. imaginatively possible only in a character invented by the poet. If the first relates to the objective and conventional manner of the epic poet, the second refers to the subjective and unrestrained nature of lyric inspiration while the third has reference to dramatic invention wherein the poet lives in all his characters. Anandavardhana points out how the proper harmony between freedom and convention is reached only in Rasa-aucitya or the higher canon of unity of sentiment which is invariably illustrated in poetic drama. Another point noted by him is that the poet's imaginative sympathy or Rasa-bhava-samahitatva is more often than not accompanied by a swell of striking imagery and great poetry will be great because of all the Dhvanis acting in consort. Though the Dhvanis may be inter-mixed, yet their shades can be recognised as dominant or recessive in each passage. While Rasadi is the constant undercurrent, Vastu

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and Alankara take all possible hues and colours in a given instance, the logical possibilities noted being: Vastu- Vastu, Vastu-Alankāra, Alankāra-Alankāra and Alankāra- Vastu. The poet speaks like a possessed man in lyric, etc., like a friendly counsellor in the epic, etc., while he is a true creator only in poetic drama. In Sanskrit poetics, the poet was honoured solely because of this last virtue of his, he being regarded as even superior to god Brahma. From the above account, one might see that the essential secret of the poetic process so ably expounded by T. Ş. Eliot today was not unknown to ancient Indian literary critics. Though there are differences in detail, one cannot mistake the identity of approach.

XXIV

SOME THOUGHTS ON SANSKRIT LITERATURE

Today we owe much of our knowledge about Sanskrit literature to Western scholarship. At a time when Sanskrit was practically unknown beyond the borders of India, the value and importance of Sanskrit fot all students of literature and culture in the world were singularly brought out by the tireless efforts of European scholars. Their critical method has indeed been successful in giving a connected and systematic account of the various phases of achievement in the history of Sanskrit literature. But at the same time their literary judgments, more often than not, betray a woeful ignorance of the spirit and genius of Indian culture. Thus in their opinion the vast collections of Vedic hymns are just curios in the realm of primitive religion, with an occasional gleam of poetry or a flash of intelligence; the Upanishads preach no consistent philosophy teeming as they do with widely divergent doctrines, and their interest lies only in so far as they may be characterised as the starting-points for future philosophical systems; the Gita is a revolutionary work which challenges the sacerdotal tyranny over a caste-ridden society and which introduces the idea of Bhakti, a cult of the Bhagavata sect, into the old Upanishadic conception; the Rāmayana and the Mahabharata are epics of the Heroic Age in India without any striking unity either of authorship or arrangement. They are vast in range and varied in situation; but the cul- ture depicted is poor and primitive. The Classical tradition of Sanskrit Kavya-Literature is too artificial and mechanical to merit any praise and even the occasional flickers of simplicity and originality are tainted by a didactic

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and religious outlook which is extraneous to true poetry. And even the history of Fine Arts like Music and Painting, Sculpture and Architecture, shows the same normative tendency at work of blindly conforming to external stan- dards, and realism is conspicuous by its absence, thus holding out for a modern student nothing but an anti- quarian interest. As regards Indian Aesthetics, there is no such thing at all and a study of Alankara-sastra is like studying the index of a book and not the book itself. Such are some of the commonplaces of Western judgment regarding Indian culture and they are often slavishly echoed even by Indians who have been educated along Western lines.

II

If for a moment we try to forget with a determined will these pieces of critical judgment so conveniently served out to us, and undertake an impartial survey of Sanskrit Literature which is representative of all great achievements truly Indian, we should turn towards our own traditional standards for light and guidance. There is nothing surprising in a Western branding Sanskrit as a dead language, in dismissing the fine flowers of Indian thought as so many lifeless dogmas or in passing a derisive estimate over Art and Literature, as his nature and nurture cannot be changed. But it behoves us Indians, the present custodians of all this rich legacy bequeathed by our ancients, not to toe the line blindly with the Westerners but to address ourselves to the task of reinterpretation and revaluation, which will serve to remove the many un- deserved censures that have been heaped upon our culture. The task is a noble one but it is beset with several

Some Thoughts on Sanskrit Lilerature 283

difficulties. Before we teach, we must learn. The duty of discovering for ourselves the secret of our culture, the very life-informing spirit which gave birth to such varied mani- festations of the Indian mind, devolves upon us and, it appears to the present writer that this golden key which we are now seeking lies in mysticism taken in its broadest sense, and a proper grasp of it as the undercurrent of all our cultural achievements will provide the right perspective for study and will enable us to correct the prejudiced and erroneous judgments that have been pronounced so often.

III

While the intrinsic relationship between mystic experi- ence and religion is obvious and readily admitted, no such relationship is recognised by the moderners between Literature or Art and Mysticism. Nonetheless, it was a cardinal article of faith amongst our ancients. It was an established practice of all writers in Sanskrit, whether literary or scientific, religious or secular, to begin their compositions with a mangala or prayer to God. Even when no initial mangalacarana was available in a given work, the usual explanation was that it had certainly been performed by the author at the commencement in his own way though not left on record. This procedure is very signi- ficant indeed inasmuch as it embodies a thoroughly Indian attitude towards all Literature and Art. This religious attitude may be recognised not only in the procedure of the poets, scholars and artists, but in that of the laymen also in their day-to-day affairs. Prayers to God were addressed by farmers before they ploughed or sowed or reaped; by traders and labourers when they began their day's work.

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No one who neglects or underestimates this essential religiousness of the Indians can do justice to their achieve- ments. While it is true that this land of millions harboured countless religions, creeds and sects, it is also true that there was an essential core of beliefs common to all these and a core which had become the very warp and woof of every individual that lived in India. While the externa differences have been strongly underlined, the intrinsic factors of unity and agreement have been neglected by foreigners.

IV

Our chief concern here is to examine this religious attitude at some length and show how it has helped the Indians in the past to rise to their full stature of personality in all cultural fields, but with particular reference to Literature. Man's life on this planet has been one long quest for enduring happiness and peace of mind. By merely leading an animal existence, neither his intellectual curiosity is satisfied, nor his spiritual craving stilled. Man is essentially driven to action by his innate instincts, emotions and desires, and he forges a society where he tries to attain the fullest measure of individual happiness with- out conflicting with the happiness of other individuals. Man's life thus becomes one long story of social adjust- ments but the discovery is made by some individuals at least whose spiritual sensibilities are strong, that this mundane, materialist way of life is not enough to ensure them lasting happiness and they yearn for finding out a solution of the problem. They stop not till the goal is reached and when they attain spiritual contentment, they preach what they know to be Truth from personal experi-

:

Some Thoughts on Sanskrit Literature 285

ence for the benefit of common men. The gospel may be one which is addressed to the intellect or one which appeals to the emotions. Thus the ultimate goal of human life is admitted by one and all to attain spiritual bliss or Moksa, though the paths may vary according to the nature and training of different individuals. This is how we may reconstruct the mental horizon of ancient India. Even before the dawn of History, as early as the undated Vedas, this was the belief in India held by one and all. The Vedas were looked upon as sacred revelation containing all that there was to be known regarding ulti- mate Reality. The hoary sages were all persons of great spiritual eminence and the business of the individual was to exercise all his parts on these texts of undisputed authority in such wise as to find his self-fulfilment. The individual's greatness could be measured only in proportion to the degree of his spiritual advancement. This held good in all walks of life, in all castes and in all the profes- sions. But can we at this stage of human advancement in Science and Industry, justify such an outlook? Does it not stand more to reason to say that any such outlook stifles and stultifies real growth of the arts and the sciences? Indeed this has been the chief charge levelled against Indian culture from various quarters. The problem must be faced squarely before any explanation can be attempted. Art and Literature at any rate, not to speak of the sciences, are activities of the human mind involving in their creation certain significant ideals and attitudes towards human life and calculated to awaken similar attitudes and ideals in the responsive connoisseurs. Indeed it will appear at first sight that the

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genius of the poet or the artist proceeds ordinarily in a natural and spontaneous manner, and any conformity to external rules can only be taken as an obstruction to its smooth and even progress. This is the idea which lies at the bottom of the charge against Indian culture noted above; and it has become almost a commonplace of criti- cism. Hence this idea deserves to be subjected to a searching scrutiny and, if possible, the converging spheres of poetic experience and mystic experience noted.

V

The precise relationship between Man's experiences at different levels-Life, Art and Literature, Religion-should be examined at the outset. Life is indeed so complex and so varied that it provides innumerable possibilities of experience with varying degrees of pleasure and pain. But in the broadest analysis, we can only note the categories of pleasure and pain and there need be no fear that the other subtler shades omitted will mar the force of our argument; for we are concerned here with degrees of self-satisfaction attained at various levels of experience. At the lowest level, we may distinguish such types of pleasure as are instinctive or animal; we characterise such experiences of pleasure as higher that transcend the lower states not only in degree, but also in kind. Man is not a mere animal; he is a rational animal and he is also an imaginative and spiritual animal. . It is the burning zeal for understanding his own true nature and the world around him that account for the sciences and systems of philosophy. These bring him a type of satisfaction which may be termed intellectual. But when he becomes acutely conscious of the limitations of Science and Logic, his pleasure ceases to be abiding and

Some Thoughts on Sanskrit Literature 287

he turns his efforts in the field of Religion which vouch- safes to him spiritual pleasure and brings in its train everlasting peace and a sense of self-fulfilment. When he becomes keenly aware of the imperfections of instinctive pleasures, the short-comings of the things around him, the disorder and chaos in the scheme of things in the universe, he tries to manipulate them imaginatively and weave an ideal pattern of perfection through Art and Literature. Nor is this the only possibility. Art and Literature derive their inspiration from things of beauty in this work-a-day world too, but subject to one condition; and that is: the dry and limited associations of these must be completely removed and only the infinite aspects allowed to shine out supremely. What is very rare and but dimly felt in the ordinary world becomes the very stuff out of which poetry is woven. In either case, whether it is an imaginative construction or a re-construction of Reality the common element in both is unmistakable and it is the ideal transfiguration or mani- pulation of common values. Our ancients recognised this truth when they said that atisaya or poetic exaggeration is. the very soul of Literature. If Art and Literature derive their inspiration from Life, it must be admitted that in a sense they are mirrors of Life at the ordinary level. But it does not mean a photo- graphic representation; for these things do suffer a sea- change in the creative imagination of the artist which is fundamentally idealistic as we already saw. In the realm of Art and Literature the laws that prevail are not identical with the laws we are familiar with in ordinary life. They are more systematic and more universal. Aesthetic joy, too, is not on a par with instinctive pleasure. It is im- personal, idealised and more abiding than the personal and

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limited joy in actual life. As such, it has been valued higher in Man's estimate throughout the centuries. We saw above how Art and Literature enable Man to catch a wider glimpse of men and the universe, and the joy they bring is consequentially greater than that of life lived at the ordinary plane. If literature helps a man to rise above his selfish interests and broadens his mind and spirit thus bringing him higher joy, this function is achieved to its fullest only in spiritual pursuit of religion, where joy of the highest kind is vouchsafed. The mind of Man, which is almost a bundle of instincts, emotions and impulses at the animal level, is generally at war within itself and also torn asunder by conflicting interests from the outside. The conflicts are resolved and a sort of harmony is reached in enjoying a work of Art or Literature. This is the Indian view of Rasa wherein sattvodreka or spiritual purity pre- dominates over the other Gunas which are the sources of stress and strain, viz., Rajas and Tamas. Thus understood, there will be no antagonism between the sphere of Art and Literature on the one hand and the sphere of religious experience or mysticism on the other. In fact spiritual Bliss (Brahmananda) and aesthetic joy are the same in kind though they differ in degree. The degree of happiness is greatest in the beatific vision when all the -contradictions in the world of experience are resolved and the true nature of Ultimate Reality is experienced; a vision where the spirit shines out supreme and the mind is broadened to its highest dimensions which are divine. It is indeed a foretaste of this divine bliss, supernal and sempiternal, that can be had in æsthetic experience, in how- ever small a degree.

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This truth was subscribed to by all sections of thought in ancient India and they held that a man's work gains in intensity and breadth only in proportion to the steady and sustained advancement of the spirit alongside of intellect. Thus the greatest Sanskrit poets, Vyāsa and Valmīki were also Rsis or sages, whose vision was perfect. Even secular poets considered it a proud privilege to train their imagi- nations in the way of the sages before they started writing. It was in a mood of devotion, of consecration, of concen- trated mind, that they took to composing. This explains their procedure of Mangalacarana. As for composition, so for appreciation. Nothing profane could have any place in the realm of culture as in the realm of religion. Having thus indicated the spirit that has been permeat- ing Sanskrit Literature throughout the centuries, we may now notice the art instanced therein. In religion, our ancients perfected several paths of discipline for the control and conquest of the mind. In Literature, too, which they fundamentally viewed as an Art, they propounded and followed several minute laws that are especially directed towards securing universal appeal. The art of the poet consists, according to our Alankārikas, in devising such ways and means as bring novelty and charm to the style without forgetting the primary object of awakening sym- pathetic aesthetic response from connoisseurs. In other words, Alankaras in conformity with Rasas was their dictum. Over-elaboration of the formal aspects of poetry is not rare amongst some poets like Māgha and Srī-Harsa, but it is only from our point of view whose minds are underdeveloped, relatively speaking. The poets in those days demanded of the critics a taste and education of the highest order and in the world of Art or Literature, no 19

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amount of skill is really too much in absolute terms. When the skill or art becomes so universal and so subtle as to elude every ordinary mind, it might almost be taken as approximating to divine perfection. The work of the expert is always considered a waste by a layman and even the expert might fail to adjudge properly if the culture and mental advancement of the poet he is reviewing far out- shines his own. Indeed it appears more decent to adopt a humbler attitude towards the stalwarts of yore in the field of literature and not to commit the fallacy of underestimat- ing them with the unsaid pride of flattering ourselves as knowing much better. In Science and Industry we have certainly taken very rapid strides; but in cultural fields and religion, we need not overestimate ourselves. If our theorists tried to exhaust the various turns and twists that might be given to expressions to make them appear charm- ing provided that the idea was poetic in itself, we need not call it a waste. It shows their power of keen analysis and a mind which knows no halting before achieving complete- ness and perfection.

VI

It might be said that the mystic element in Sanskrit Literature has not been properly appreciated by our critics. All our greatest poets have been uniformly regarded as the favourite children and chosen mouthpieces of Sarasvati, the Goddess of Learning, in Indian tradition, even when they have been authors only of secular writings. Poets like Kalidāsa prayed: "May the tribe of poets increase whose greatness is built on the shining light of the sacred scriptures" (Cf. Pravartatam prakrtihitāya pūrthivah, Sarasvatī Šrutimahasām mabīyatām-the Bharata-vākya of Abhijñāna-

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Sakuntala). It was this shining light of scriptures that shaped the personal life of the artists and that was also. responsible for endowing their poetry with an immortal charm. This faith in God and spiritual values determined the procedure of the poet in everything-in the choice of theme, in the depiction of character and incident, in the delineation of emotions and sentiments, in the use of imagery and in the employment of diction. Another factor which influenced the literary art was their didactic or educational purpose; but it is also closely bound up with the former. All human pursuits were valued only in so far as they served as means to the acquisition of one or more: of the four-fold fundamental end-values (purusarthas) of existence, viz., Dharma, Artha, Kama and Moksa, and Literature was no exception. The last was the chief con -. cern of Moksa-sastras, no doubt; but no human activity could be justified when there was no harmony of the other three values (trivarga) with that of Moksa, and it was pre -. cisely this harmony that Literature and Art endeavoured to bring home to everyone in an appealing fashion. Hence a. judicious presentation of the concepts of Jñana, Karma and Bhakti is also common in Sanskrit Literature alongside of literary sentiments and information of educative value .. But the mainspring of literary creation was always spiritual advancement, alongside of cultivation of the intellect and. refinement in taste. Judged in this light, some of the objections raised' regarding the open procedure adopted by Sanskrit poets in describing Woman, Wine and so forth, will appear wide of the mark. In Literature they considered it no sin to dwell at length on all aspects of the ideal creations and if the grosser aspects are openly and even sensuously brought:

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out, it is just an admission of an important truth that these things affect our lives most in the lower level of life. Frankness and candidness cannot be called a vice in the same sense as morbidness, and morbidness is something foreign to Sanskrit Literature. But ordinarily these are never treated as ends in themselves, but only as a back- ground against which other equally or perhaps more important values like heroism are stressed. In the works of our masters, passion sheds all its earthly repulsiveness and offensiveness and partakes of a divine universality and purity. Sentimentality and impurity have no place in Sans- krit masterpieces and those writings of small men in which they abound stand self-condemned for that very reason.

VII One word more regarding the art of Sanskrit Poesy. The verbal Figures of Speech like Slesa and Anuprāsa have ·come in for much criticism. The truth of the matter seems to be that the Aryans perfected a language with an ear for music unprecedented in the histories of other peoples. And in the realm of Literature this genius of the language was richly exploited and new and newer shades of beauty achieved by them by persistent practice. One ought to be proud of this singular achievement which is the unique glory of Sanskrit literature. Similarly, wit, epigram, and antithesis contribute in their own way to intellectual alert- ness and strikingness. Our disciplines of rhetoric spoke of the several possible elements of grace only in relation to individual units that go to form the composite work and the place of Figures of Speech in judging a work as a whole was never over-emphasised though it is so made out by the critics.

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VIII We have often digressed in the course of the above discussion; but in spite of the digressions, it is believed that the central truth will stand out, that the atmosphere and achievement of Sanskrit Literature can be adequately appre- ciated only by a careful grasp of the Indian genius as essentially embodying spiritual advancement, not in opposi- tion to worldly values as is often alleged, but in harmony with it. A deep study of Indian Art will reveal that the principles evolved are not merely futile exercises of cold reason unrelated to Life, but represent the heights of artistic perfection that have ever been reached by the human mind formulated in terms of the understanding. The fact that during the truly long period of a thousand years and more Sanskrit Literature exercised a living influence over all the provincial literatures is enough to combat the charge that it was a dead language long, long ago. Amidst the apparent diversities we have to discover its essential unity and the life-informing spirit which was able to nourish and sustain several literatures for long. It is only such a discovery on our part that can do justice to the deserving claims of Sanskrit among the great literatures of the world.

XXV

THE CONTRIBUTION OF KARNATAKA TO SANSKRIT LITERATURE

Thanks to the researches of scholars in ancient Indian history and archaeology, we are now in a position to state that the datable history of Karnataka goes as far back as the ·Christian era, and the achievements of the Karnataka rulers form one of the most glorious chapters in Indian history. Not only the famous kings among the Satavahanas, Gangas Rāshtrakūțas, Chālukyas, Yādavas, Hoysaļas and the Vijaya- nagara rulers, but even feudatories like the Nāyaks of Ikkeri were great promoters of learning and very often great contributors to literature themselves. Whatever the religious persuasion of the rulers, the orthodox Vedic religion, Jainism and Saivism, all received equal encourage- ment at their hands; and as one might naturally expect, Karnataka did throw up great writers in Sanskrit, Prakrit and Kannada in the long period of its recorded history. For a few centuries (Ist to 4th) in remote antiquity, Prakrit was the language preferred by the Satavahana kings who ruled over the present Maharashtra and North Karnataka (known as Kuntala eatlier), and we have the rich anthology of 700 Prakrit lyrics known as Sattasai ascribed to Hala Satavahana. It was during this period that Gunadhya wrote his great romantic tale, Brhatkatha, in a dialect of ancient Prakrit known as Paisācī, a work which won unstinted praise from great Sanskrit poets like Kali- dāsa, Bāna and Dandin, and proved a veritable source-book to Sanskrit poets and dramatists in later times. Though the work in the original is lost, three of its late (c. 12th century) Sanskrit renderings-the Kathāsaritsāgara of

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Somadeva, the Brhatkathaslokasamgraha of Budhasvamin and the Brhatkathaslokamanjari of Ksemendra are available today. Hala's anthology found an able translator in Govardhana of Bengal (12th century) whose work was in its turn further translated into other languages like Hindi. Even in those early days, Sanskrit remained the undis- puted all-India language of the learned, and the Satavahana court arranged for the first simplified grammar of Sanskrit, known as the Katantravyākarana. This work by Sarva- varman was indeed such a boon to beginners, who are easily deterred from the complexities of the Paninian system, that it became the basis for similar attempts in Bengal and Kashmir as late as the 14th century. Under the rule of the Gangas, we have inscriptional records-whose genuineness however is not beyond ques- tion-which credit Durvinita (6th century) with the authorship of a Sanskrit rendering of Brhatkatha, a commen- tary on the difficult Fifteenth Canto of Bharavi's great poem, Kirātarjunīya, and a grammar known as Sabdāvatāra. None of these are available now. But the extant Jainendra Vyākarana by Pūjyapāda, alias Devanandi, was perhaps written under the patronage of Durvinita. Two works published in fragment-Avantisundarīkatha (ascribed to Dandin) and Avantisundarīkathasara-corroborate the fact of Bharavi's contemporaneity with Durvinita; but the genuineness of even these works has been called into ques- tion by scholars. Yet the fact stands out that Bharavi was a southerner, and he is expressly praised along with Kāli- dasa in the famous Aihole inscription of Ravikirti (A.D. 634). One is in the dark about the province from which Kālidāsa hailed; but we have clear proofs (cf. Kuntesvara- dautya) that he did visit the Kuntala court as a messenger of

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his king, Chandragupta Vikramaditya. Bana, in his review of the chief characteristics of different Sanskrit styles, lays his finger on poetic fancy as the hallmark of the southern style (utpreksa daksinatyesu) and Bhāravi's poetry, abound- ing as it does in happy flights of fancy, amply bears out the remark of Bana. The Kiraturjunīya indeed may be regarded as the first ornate epic which provided the model for the definitions of mabakavya framed by Bhamaha and Dandin at a later date. Descriptions of set poctic themes-these are said to be 18 in number-like moonrise and sunset, ocean and mountain, seasons and sports, battle and city-at great length in a style bristling with conceits, both verbal and figurative, are seen in Bhäravi alongside of precepts on polity; and the meagre story serves as no more than a peg to hold all these in position. This is the new ornate tradi- tion in Sanskrit poetry which Bharavi initiated from the South, and it has remained the all-India poetic tradition in Sanskrit ever since. In the field of drama, the renowned Mrcchakatika by Südraka has been ascribed to the Ganga court (A.D. 670-750) by scholars like Dr. Saletore. The popularity of that play even on the modern stage has been demonstrated by its recent performances in the U.S.S.R. Again, one is not sure of the province of the earlier dramatist Bhasa, admired even by Kalidasa. One scholar from Madras- Prof. U. Venkatakrishna Rao-recently suggested that Bhāsa must be from Karnataka on the basis of a Sanskrit in- vocatory verse of his containing dvitīyaksaraprasa (rhyming second syllable in each line of verse) and some Kannada idioms in the dialogues of the plays. Among Jaina contributions in ancient Karnātaka to their sacred literature in Sanskrit, Samantabhadra's Mahābhāsya

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on the Tattvarthasūtras of Umāsvāti and Aptamīmāmsā, a polemical work, deserve particular mention. This divine (c. 4th century) is credited with the authorship of secular works also on medicine and grammar. The oft praised work of Sri Vardhadeva, known as Cudāmaņi, (Vardhadeva is said to have elicited praise from Dandin bimself!) is however lost. On the strength of references in the bhasyas, Dr. S. Srikantha Sastri concludes that the great Samkarāchārya "wrote his commentaries in the dominion of the Chalukyas- Balavarma and Jayasimha" (Sources of Karnataka History, pp. xxi-xxii). Early Chälukyan history is shrouded in mystery, and this is yet to be corroborated by other evidence. If it be true, this will go down in history as the greatest contribution of Karnataka to Indian philosophical literature in Sanskrit; for Samkara was the first thorough-going exponent of Upanisadic Vedanta, by writing bhasyas on the prasthanatrayī. Samkara's philosophy has found admirers not only in India but also in the West. According to the same scholar, the Samksepasarīraka of Sarvajñātman, which is a reputed treatise in post-Samkara Vedānta, was also written in the realm of the Chalukya King Ādityavarman, son of Pulakeśin II (Ibid., p. 56). Perhaps the guess may be extended with equal force to the equally authoritative work Paňcapādikā by Padmapāda, said to be a direct disciple of Samkara. The quality of poetry instanced in Ravikirti's Aihole inscription makes us conclude that Pulakesin must have, like Harsa in the North, patronised a number of literary luminaries, though their works have not come down to us. Coming to Rāshtrakūta times, we are more fortunate inasmuch as important works are extant. We know reliably

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that Amoghavarsa (9th century) was himself a great poet and patron of letters. Jinasena, his teacher, brought into being what was almost a new genre in Sanskrit literature by writing his magnum opus, the Mahapurana, which is at once a charming epic and a religious work. (He left it in- complete, but it was completed by Gunabhadra, his pupil, who was, however, less gifted than the teacher.) The Sanskrit orthodox Puranas used to be devoid of poetic finish, and it is to the credit of Jinasena that he could infuse the charm of poetry into an otherwise arid narrative of religious myth. He became the forerunner of a new literary tradition for both Sanskrit and Kannada. We have also from his pen the Parsvabhyudaya, which is a poetic feat of adding three more lines to each line of Kalidasa's Meghadūta giving, in the result, a poem about the Jaina saint Parsvanātha. This Jinasena is to be distinguished from an eatlier Jinasena who is the author of an equally voluminous work in Sanskrit-the Harivamsa. A new system of Sanskrit gram- mar known as Śākatāyana-vyakarana (this author being different from his namesake mentioned by Panini) was also initiated in this king's court. Sakatayana has himself written the gloss thereon known as Amoghavrtti, after his patron. Another protégé of the king was Mahavira who wrote Ganitasärasangraha, an interesting mathematical work. Amoghavarsa himself is sometimes regarded as the author of a Prasnottararatnamalika, a collection of pretty didactic lyrics in the form of question and answer. A work on medicine known as Kalyāņakāraka by Ugrāditya also be- longs to this period. A very significant contribution to Sanskrit literature in the Rashtrakuta period was in the Campu form. The first Campu-kāvya in Sanskrit we have is the Nalacampū by

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Trivikramabhatta in the reign of King Indra III. In this form we see the happy blend of Bana's brilliant prose with majestic measures found earlier only in lyrics and plays. In fact Karnataka writers had a special fascination for this genre and it is even supposed by some scholars that the word Campu itself may be of Kannada origin. The second great Campü in Sanskrit is also from Karnataka, the Yadastilaka to wit. Its author, Somadeva (c. 960 A.D.) is not merely a great poet but also encyclopaedic in the range of the subjects in which he took an interest. Haläyudha's Kavirahasya is an interesting work illus- trating Sanskrit roots in graceful verses, and it was written in the reign of King Krishna III. The powerful play Candakausika by Ksemīśvara was again a work of this period as is evident from its prologue. So too is Asaga's Vardhamanacarita. Asaga is a great name among the pioneers of Kannada literature. Under the Western Chalukyas also we see great works in Sanskrit being produced. It was in the court of King Jayasimha III (A.D. 1018-1042) that the far-famed Vādirāja flourished. On him every superlative has been heaped in Jaina inscriptions as a poet and debater. His Yasodharacarita and Parsvanathacarita are very good poems after Kalidasa's manner. A contemporary of Vādirāja was Vādībhasimha, alias Odeyadeva, the author of two readable prose romances in Sanskrit-Gadyacintamani and Ksatracūdāmani, the latter containing some historical matter also. To this period again belongs the Chandonusasana of Jayakirti, edited recently by Prof. H.D. Velankar. This is an important work on Sanskrit prosody standing midway between Kedarabhatta's Vrttaratnakara and Hemacandra's Chandonusāsana. The Konkan ruler Mummuniraja (c. 1060 A. D.) patronised

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Sodhala, the author of Udayasundarīkatha, a Campu work of note in view of its references to earlier writers. In his Rashtrakutas and their Times, Dr. A.S. Altekar writes: "It was during our period that the literature on poetics flourished luxuriantly in the valley of Kashmir. The rugged Deccan had, however, hardly any contribution to make to that department." A stray exception is provided by the short but interesting Alankaracintamani of Ajitasena, dated 980 A. D. by Dr. S. Srikantha Sastri, but actually as late as. the 14th century. The Chalukya ruler Vikramāditya VI (1076-1126 A.D.). was a patron of the Kashmirian poet Bilhana who wrote in his court the semi-historical poem Vikramankadevacarita. It was in this king's court that the renowned Mitaksara was. written by Vijñaneśvara. As Dr. Kane observes, "the Mitaksarā occupies a unique place in the Dharmasāstra literature. Its position is analogous to that of the Maha- bhasya of Patañjali in grammar or to that of the Kavyaprakāsa of Mammata in poetics. It represents the essence of Dharmasāstra speculation that preceded it for about two thousand years and it became the fountainhead from which flowed forth streams of exegesis and development." (History of Dharmasāstra, Vol. I, p. 287). It is not merely a com- mentary on Yajnavalkyasmrti. It is a digest of smrtis explaining contradictions among them by following the rules of interpretation laid down in the Pūrvamīmāmsa system. It has continued to be held in high esteem, and indeed is still accepted as an authoritative source of Hindu law. In the field of Puranas too, some scholars opine that the far-famed Bhagavata, though ascribed to Vyasa, is really the work of a Southerner (of about the 1oth century) as

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there are clear passages in the XI Book in praise of the River Kāverī. The Chalukya emperor Somesvara IV got up what is perhaps the first encyclopaedia in Sanskrit-the Abhilasi- tarthacintamani or Rajamanasollasa. It is a work in 100 cantos and "throws valuable light on almost all aspects of Karnātaka culture, from cooking to kingship. It deals with all the arts, sciences and amusements of kings." Aparārka, another significant commentator on Yajnavalkyasmrti, was a protégé of this ruler, Someśvara. The disappearance of the Chalukya power was followed by the rise of the Yadavas of Devagiri and the Hoysalas of Dorasamudra. Under the Yadavas we find reputed writers like Hemädri who wrote smrti digests like the Caturvargacintamani and Vratakhanda. The Sūktimuktāvali of Jalhana, which is an anthology of subhasitas, and the Sangitaratnakara which is an authoritative work on music by Sarngadeva, were inspired by the Yādavas. Tradition has it that the great Srivaishnava teacher, Ramanuja, was given asylum by Hoysala Vishnuvardhana and that his great philosophical works were written in the Hoysaļa State. Confirmatory evidence, however, for the tradition is not yet available. A great Sanskrit poet who adorned the Hoysala court (13th century) of King Vira- ballaļa was Vidyacakravartin. He held such titles as Samskrta-srvabbauma and Sahajasarvajña. His works in- clude: Sanjīvinī-a commentary on the Alankarasarvasva, Sampradayaprakāsini-a commentary on the Kāvyaprakāša, Virūpāksapancāšikā-a poem, and Rukmiņīkalyāna-a play. His son, Sakalavidyācakravartin, wrote Gadyakarņāmrta, a prose panegyric of his patron. A sample of the Sanskrit poetry cultivated by the Hoysala court, in Dr. J. D.

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Derrett's English rendering, is given below: A forest-dwelling maiden shy Roams in the city of thy foe- Ballala, who art lord of all !- A noble city left to die. Her eye is caught by flashing fire From gems dropped heedless on the ground- She fancies charcoal embers spread, And quickly, lest they first expire, Blows on them tiny sandal-chips, Her eyes half-closed against the ash: No incense rises, but a swarm Of bees seeks fragrance from her lips. They hover close: she thinks them smoke. (Strange errors thy just wars provoke!) Among Virasaiva writers too there was great literary activity during the 12th century, and in case some late author has not fathered the work on Srīpatipandita, his Srīkarabhasya will rank as the earliest contribution of the Vīrasaivas to Sanskrit philosophical literature. But the genuineness of the authorship has often been impugned by modern scholars. We find Kavirāja, a poet from Banavasi (c. 1200) popularising the tradition of dvisandhānakāvya, or poetry which can yield two stories in one work, by writing Rāghavapāndavīya. If Karnātaka provided an asylum for the Vedāntic teachers, Sankara and Ramanuja, it was the very birthplace and home of activity of the celebrated champion of Dvaita, Madhväcarya, whose date has been worked out to be between A. D. 1239 and 1317 by Dr. Saletore (Ancient Karnataka, Vol. I, p. 432). Some 37 works are ascribed to Madhväcarya, the chief among them being Gītabhāsyd,

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Gītātātparya, Sūtrabhāsya, Aņubhasya, Mahābhāratatātparya- nirņaya, Pramāņalaksaņa, Tattvasankhyāna, Māyāvā dakhandana, Tattvodyota, Visnutattvanirnaya, the others forming glosses. on Upanisads mostly. But it was with the establishment of the Vijayanagara empire in 1336 that the heyday of Karnatak history was. reached in every department of life and culture. Naturally, the Karnataka contribution to Sanskrit reached its zenith under the unstinted patronage of these rulers up to the end of the 16th century. The most notable literary figures in this golden age of revival of old learning were the brothers Madhava and Sāyana. Both held ministerial posts in the reign of Bukka, and under their guidance available knowledge in all. branches of Sanskrit study, secular and sacred, was syste_ matised and written down in the form of manuals and textbooks. The following standard works are from the pen of Madhava on Brahmanic religion: Parāšarasmṛtivyākhyā, Kālamādhavīya, and Jaiminīyanyā- yamālavistara. He is traditionally identified with Vidyāranya> the great Advaita philosopher-statesman, while some scholars are chary of accepting the identification as genuine. If the tradition be true, then the classical works of the Advaita system, viz., Vivaranaprameyasangraha, Jīvanmukti- viveka and Panchadasī will all be from Madhava's pen after he assumed samnyasa and took the name of Vidyāranya. The popular biography of Samkara called Samkaravijaya is also ascribed to Mädhava; but internal evidence shows it: to be the work of a much later author known as Abhinava- kālidāsa in the Vijayanagara court. The work of Sayana is more than amazing. For the first time in the history of India, all the Vedic scriptures-

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the truly extensive Sambitas and the major Brahmanas of the four Vedas-were fully explained and annotated word by word in classical Sanskrit. For Vedic exegesis, Sayana's Bhasya is an invaluable key embodying ancient tradition, and even modern scholars who differ from him in details of interpretation have recognised the indispensable help of Sayanabhasya. This in itself is more than a life-work; but we have also from Sayana's pen the following standard works, each a compendium of merit and really astounding in size: Subha şitasudhūnidhi (anthology), Karmavipāka (smțti) Yujnatantrasudhānidhi (ritual), Alankārasudhānidhi (poetics), Puruşārthasudbānidhi (Purāņa), and Mādhavīyā Dhātuvrtti (on roots). Some scholars have suggested that Sayana must have utilized the services of a number of pandits who wrote works in his name. One cannot easily decide this issue one way or the other. Sayana's son, whose name is again Mädhava, wrote the most popular history of Sanskrit philosophy, the Sarvadarsanasangraha. At the same time we have another Madhava (mantrin), a disciple of the Saiva . teacher Kriyāśakti, who wrote a commentary on the Sutasambitā. Nanartharatnamala, a lexicon, was written by Irugappa, minister of Harihara II. We find a woman writer too in this period, Ganga- devī. She was the queen of Kampana, son of Bukka, who conquered the Cola territory for Vijayanagar, and in her charming poem, Madhuravijaya, she eulogises the conquest of Madura by her husband. Its poetic merits are of a very high order. Praudhadevarāya II (1422-48 A.D.) wrote Ratiratna- pradīpikā, a text-book on erotics. Under Devarāya, we find the court-poet Dindima writing the ornate epics Saluvābhyudaya and Rāmabhyudaya, and in the reign of

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Achyutaraya was composed the Achyutarayabhyudaya. All these are semi-historical poems. A poetess, Tirumalāmbā, wrote the Varadāmbikaparinayacampu in praise of her patron Achyutarāya. Krishnadevaraya himself is reputed to have been the author of poems like Madālasācarita and plays like Jāmbavatīkalyāņa. His court-poet Lolla Laksmīdhara wrote the Daivajnavilasa, which is an encyclopaedic .work, besides a commentary on Samkara's Saundaryalaharī. Great names in the history of Sanskrit literature like Vedānta Désika (Srivaişnava), Appayya Dīkșita (Saiva and Advaita champion), and Vādirāja (Dvaitin) were all patronised by the Vijayanagar Court, now at the height of its glory. A number of commentaries and scholia were written during this period by the adherents of different religious sects, which cannot be mentioned here. We may note in passing that the age of creative writing was over and had given place to an age of manuals, tracts and compendiums in every branch of study. That the cultivation of Sanskrit learning continued even in the courts of feudatories is evidenced by the vogue of encyclopaedic works like Basavappa Nāyaka's (A.D. 1696-1714) Sivatattvaratnakara. The work consists of 108 chapters and is the essence of all sciences of knowledge coming within the purview of the Vedas and the Agamas. There is material of interest to historians also, as it gives accounts of the biography of Basavesvara and the founding of the Vijayanagara empire. It deals, like Manasollāsa noticed already, with varied topics like the geography of India, town-planning, architecture, iconography, music, army manoeuvres, theatres, painting, dancing, astrology, the training of horses, cows, elephants etc., besides matters of religious interest culled from various Saiva Āgamas and 20

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Puranas. The book deserves a critical edition. Another work of the same author is Subhasitasuradruma, an anthology of poetic gems. The well-known Kannada poet Sadak- saradeva wrote the poem Kavikarnarasayana, which is published but in part. In the eighteenth century too we find Sarvadhikāri Kalale Nanjaraja of Mysore under Krishnaraja II (1734-60) patronising poets like Nrisimhakavi who wrote the Naja- rājayasobhūsana (poetics) after the manner of Vidyānātha's Prataparudrayasobbūsana. Nañjarāja himself is the author of a highly praised work on music, the Sangītagangādhara. Even this rapid survey is enough to indicate the nature and extent of the contribution of Karnataka to Sanskrit literature. The contribution has been in all fields and has extended uniformly over the centuries. It has been --- solid and conspicuous in the case of religion and philo- sophy, and signal and unique in certain forms of literature like the campu and encyclopaedic works. It has been remarkable in the field of dharmasastra, historical poems and music. It has been of no mean order in the matter of the other sciences and the arts. In point of commentaries too, Karnatak may well be proud of its contribution.

XXVI

THE DATE OF AJITASENA'S ALAMKĀRACINTĀMAŅI*

I

While surveying 'Karnataka's contribution to Sanskrit Literature', I was drawn to the Alamkāracintāmani of Ajita- sena as a singular contribution of Karnataka scholarship to the field of Sanskrit Poetics. From the earlier notices of scholars which I had occasion to consult in this connection, the work appeared to hail from the reputed poet-scholar- pontiff Ajitasena (of the 1oth century A.D.), the guru of illus- trious Ganga kings like Mārasimha II, glorious ministers like Cāmundaraya and well-known Kannada poets like Ranna- all unforgettable names in Karnātaka history. When I found that an old palmleaf manuscript of this very work was available here in the Library of the Kannada Research Institute (No. 797), I took up the task of studying the same1 alongside of the printed copy received from Dr. Upadhye. I find that the earlier views regarding the author and his date need revision and I proceed to show how the work cannot be earlier than the 14th century A.D. in the light of internal evidence furnished by the work itself.

*I am highly indebted to Dr. A. N. Upadhye for several valuable suggestions and also for sparing for my use his personal copy of the now rare edition of this work printed at Kolhapur in 1907 as a work of Jinasena. 1I am thankful to Dr. B.A. Saletore, the Director of the Institute, for giving me facilities to study the Manuscript.

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II The first scholarly account of the Alamkaracintāmani :appears in Dr. S. K. De's Studies in the History of Sanskrit Poetics2 :- "Alamkāracintā maņi Edited by Padmarāja Pandita in the Kavyambudhi, 1893-94'.8 The author was the Jaina priest of Camundaraya, minister of the Ganga king Rāca- malla, and flourished in the latter part of the roth century. He was the teacher of Nagavarman, a Kanarese poet, who lived under the protection of Rakkasa Ganga, younger brother of Racamalla. Ajitasena also wrote Cintāmani- prakasikā on Yaksavarman's Cintamani which is itself a commentary on Sākatāyana's Śabdānušāsana."4 These two works were first noticed by Rice5 and -----

.it was Hultzsch who first ascribed them both to the

2 Vol. I, p. 283., 3 Dr. A.N. Upadhye informs me that Kāvyambudhi is the name of an old (now defunet) Kannada journal published from Mysore or Bangalore. My attempts to secure this edition proved unsuccessful. 4 Dr. De also notices another work of Ajitasena, viz., the Śrngēra- mañjarī, written at the instance of a Jaina prince of the lunar race named Rāya or Kāmiraya for his instruction. It consists of 3 chapters and 128 stanzas dealing with Dosas (I), Gunas and only ten .alankaras-उपमा, रूपक, जाति, भ्रान्तिमान्, हेतु, संशय, प्रतिवस्तूपमा, आक्षेप, दृष्टान्त and तुल्ययोगिता-(op. cit. p. 284). Even this is not the work of the great Ajtasena of the 10th century, as some times supposed. In this connection, Vide- Seshagiri Shastri, Report on Search for Sanskrit and Tamil Mss. for 1893-94, Madras, p. 83; & Krishnam- achari, History of Sanskrit Literature, p. 752. 5 Sanskrit Manuscripts in Mysore and Coorg, p. 304, No. 2795; p. 308, No. 2818.

The Date of Ajitasena's Alamkāracintāmaņi 309'

far-famed Ajitasena, eulogised in the Mallisenaprasasti of Sravanabelagola.6 Hultzsch says :- He may be identified with Ajitasenacarya, the author of the Alamkāracintamani and Maniprakasika.7 That the full title of this latter work-which we shall not discuss here -was Cintamani- prakāsika is corroborated by Hiralal8 and that this was a gloss on Yaksavarman's commentary called Cintāmaņi on the Amoghavrtti of Sākatāyana-vakarana is noted by Belvalkar.9 Prof. H. D. Velankar10 and Dr. P. V. Kane11 notice the Alamkaracintamani but do not add any further details. about its author. Dr. V. Raghavan, however, notes the following infor -. mation in his New Catalogus Catalogorum about the work. under consideration :- "Alamkūracintamani-by Ajitasena, a Jain guru of the Santisvara temple at Bangavādi. Arrah, I.A. p .. 22-author given as Jinasena probably wrong .... commentary Mysore I. p. 295 mentions that Ajitasena. wrote the work in the Santīsvara temple at Bangavādi -- pura".

In this eulogy we find that Ajitasena held the title Vādībha -. simha; cf.

मदवदखिलवादीभेन्द्रकुम्भप्रभेदी गणभृदजितसेनो भाति वादीभसिंहः । -verse 57 (Ibid) .. 7 Epigraphia Indica, Vol. III, p. 184 ff. 8 Catalogue of Sanskrit & Prakrit Mss. in C.P. and Berar, p. xxv. 9 Systems of Sanskrit Grammar. 10 Jinaratnakośa. 11 History of Alamkara Literature, Index.

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The edition of the work printed at Kolhapur also ascribes the work to Jinasena instead of Ajitasena, and the same is the conclusion of L.B. Gandhi.12 Dr. S. Srikantha Sastri too thinks that "this Ajitasena was also called Jinasena",18 adding that 'this work may be dated c. 980 A.D.' on the basis of an inscription from Muļagunda. The above survey shows that no scholar has seriously doubted the ascription of Alamkaracintamani to the famous Jaina pontiff of the roth century in Karnataka history.

III

In spite of the consensus of opinion seen above, the internal evidence, to be set out presently, will leave little doubt about the Alamkaracintamani as coming from an Ajitasena of a much later period. Much of the earlier error in ascription is due perhaps to the prefatory remarks made by Santarja, the very late author (1808 A. D.)14 of what is just a fragment of a commentary-running to just four pages-on this work. This commentary is found in the Manuscript (in Kannada characters) No. A. 67 belonging to the Oriental Research Institute, Mysore. The remarks are :-

.. 12 Introduction to Narendraprabhasuri's Alamkaramahodadhi' --.-.... Gaekwar Oriental Series. 13 Sources of Karņataka History, pp. 168 & 171. 14 Cf. शाकेऽब्दे नगसूपभाजि .... (colophon of commentary). न=0 (or 5), T=3, =7 q=1 (SS 1730+78=1808 A.D.(?) I owe this explanation to Pandit Narayanaswami Sastri of the Mysore Orien- tal Research Institute.

The Date of Ajitasena's Alamkāracintāmaņi 311

स्वस्ति श्रीमदनवरतविनमदमरेश्वरप्रभृतिशतेन्द्रमणिमस्तकमणिकिरणसमूह- कृतपुष्पाञ्जलिपदकमलयुगलार्हत्पर मेश्वरमुखकमलविनिर्गतानेकान्तात्मक -परमा-

प्राभाकर काणादा दिस मस्तवादिकल्पित कुमतकुध रकुलिशायमान-समस्यापूरणादखिल

युगल : अजितसेनमुनीश्वरः बङ्गवाडिपुरस्थशान्तीश्वरचैत्यालयेऽलङ्कारशास्त्रं चिकीर्षुस्तत्र मङ्गलमाचरति-श्रीमतेत्यादि । This late commentator wants us to believe that the author Ajitasena is none other than the guru who was wor- shipped by great emperors of yore and was reputed for his learning in all the systems of Indian Philosophy, and that he composed his work in the famous temple of Santīsvara in Bangavadipura. While it is true that towns of the latter name are mentioned in some inscriptions,15 we are not so sure that there was any shrine of Santinatha in any of these out-of-the-way towns. On the other hand, we are pretty certain that the scene of activity of the famous Ajitasena- chärya of the 1oth century was the celebrated city of Bankapura16 where the shrine of Santinatha was situated. This late commentator thus appears to be confused in his tradition, mistaking as he does Bankapura with Bangavādi- pura, and cannot therefore be taken very seriously in his other statement about the identity of the author.

IV The Kolhapur edition of the Alamkaracintamani, mentioned already, contains the following statement by the scribe :-

15 e. g., one in Kolar taluk and another in Mulabagal taluk; vide: Epigraphia Carnatica, Vol. X. Bangavādi, however, is known tradi- tionally to form a division of the Tulu country on the West Coast. 16 Vide: Epigraphica Indica, Vol. XIII, No. 14, p. 168 ff.

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"जगत्पूज्यविन्ध्याग्रे इक्ष्वाकुवरवंशजम् । सुरासुरादिवन्द्यांघ्रि दोर्बलीशं नमाम्यहम् । राजाधिराजचामुण्डराज्ञा निर्मितपत्तनम् । तत्पुरे स्थितवतां चारुकीर्तिपण्डितयोगिनाम् ॥ प्लवसंवत्सरे मासे शुक्ले च सुशरद्दतौ। आश्विजे च चतुर्दश्यां युक्तायां गुरुवासरे ॥ एतद्दिनेष्वलङ्कारचिन्तामणिसमाह्वयम् । सम्यक् पठित्वा श्रुत्वाहं सम्पूर्ण शुभमस्तु नः । काश्यपे नाम्नि गोत्रे च सूत्रे चाह्वाननाम्नि च । प्रथमानुयोगशाखायां वृषभवरेऽपि च । एतद्वंशेषु जातोऽहं .. This date, according to the Indian Calendar, appears to correspond with the date 10-10-1412 of the English calendar.17 And that supplies us the terminus ad quem of the work.18

Bhujabali Sastri is of the opinion that Vadibhasimha, alias Odeyadeva, the author of two interesting prose romances-Gadyacintamaņi and Kșatracūdāmaņi-is identical with the famous Ajitasena eulogised by Mallisena.19 But Nāthu Ram Premi is chary of accepting this identification.20.

17I am indebted to Pandit Sri Narayanaswami Sastri for this calculation. But there is room for verification of the suggested correspondence. 18 The edition seems to be based on a single Ms. running up to the end since the editor, Sakharam Nemicandra Dosi remarks at the end-एतावत्पर्यन्तमेव प्राचीनपुस्तके लभ्यते। There is only one variant reading suggested in the whole book (on p. 70) which is ostensibly based on another incomplete Ms. 19 जैन-सिद्धान्त-भास्कर, Vol. VI, No. 2 and Vol. VII,No.1. 20 जैन-सिद्धान्त और इतिहास, (1956), p. 314f.

The Date of Ajitasena's Alamkāracintāmaņi 313

There is also one Ajitasena in the Pattāvalī of the Senagana published by Dr. Upadhye.21 But these are not of much help in determining the authorship of the Alankaracintā- maņi.

VI

In the absence of decisive external evidence, we shall turn to internal evidence. After salutations to Santinātha, Sarasvatī and 'Samantabhadradi-Kavikunjaras', the author plunges into the subject direct with the observation that his illustrative verses, being mostly culled out from works like 'Pūrvapurāna' and in praise of merited souls, would, in a way, endow his own work with something of the worth of a stotra.22 The work alluded to seems to be Jinasena's. Clearer is the reference in the verse :- श्रीमत्समन्तभद्रार्यजिनसेनादिभाषितम्। लक्ष्यमात्रं लिखामि स्वनामसूचितलक्षणम् ।। (AC II, 28) where both Jinasena and Samantabhadra are mentioned. Twenty verses set out as illustrations of riddle (prahelikās) in this context are from Jinasena's Purvapurāna.23 The

21 Jaina Antiquary, Vol. XIII, No. 2, p. 6. 22 अत्रोदाहरणं पूर्वपुराणादिसुभाषितम् । पुण्यपूरुषसंस्तोत्रपरं स्तोत्रमिदं ततः ॥ -(15) References are to the printed edn. 23 One example may be noted : वटवृक्ष : पुरोऽयं ते घनच्छाय: स्थितो महान्। इत्युक्तोऽपि न तं धर्मे श्रित: कोऽपि वदाद्भुतम् ॥- -AC (Alamkāracintāmaņi), II 29 & Pūrvapurāņa, XII, 226.

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latter's invocation24 too is quoted in the chapter on figures of speech (IV). Samantabhadra's verse: - अवटुतटमटति झटिति स्फुटचटुवाचाटधूर्जटेजिंह्वा। वादिनि समन्तभद्रे स्थितवति का कथान्येषाम् ।। is given as an instance of arthapatti alankara; 25 and at the close of the section on Cakrabandha or diagram-poetry,26 we have a reference to Samantabhadra's Jinašataka. Amoghavrtti is referred to once.27 A sly but deliberate reference to Vidyananda, the author of Aştasahasrī, is unmistakable in the puzzle: चकाराष्टसहस्त्रीं को मुनिवृन्दारको भुवि । मध्यवर्णद्वयं त्यक्त्वा का जायन्ते वदागमात् ।। 'विद्यानन्दः' ॥ But all these authors are earlier than the 1oth century, and these allusions do not militate against the ascription of the work to Ajitasena of the tenth century. But there is at least one other equally unmistakable author referred to; and that is Vagbhata, who is mentioned twice. The two passages are :-- 1. उदात्तत्वमौदार्येऽन्तर्भवति वाग्भटाद्यपेक्षया ।28 2. पदानामर्थंचारुत्वप्रत्यायकपदान्तरैः । मिलितानां यदादानं तदौदार्यं स्मृतं यथा।। 29

24श्रीमते सकलज्ञानसाम्राज्यपदमीयुषे । धर्मचत्रभुते भर्त्रे नमस्संसारभीमुषे ॥।। The figure is declared to be Rupaka here. 25 AC IV, 83. 26 AC II, 64 f. 27 भवते प्राप्नुते भवे प्राप्ताविणिरिति। अमोघवृत्तावुक्तत्वादात्मनेपदम् ॥- -AC III, 14 f. 28 AC V, 8f, 29 AC V, 95 f. and Vāgbhatālamkāra, III. 4.

The Date of Ajitasena's Alamkāracintāmaņi 315

Though there are two Vägbhatas in the history of Sanskrit Poetics, the one alluded to here is clearly the first, the author of Vagtbhatalamkara, who is positively known to have lived in the 12th century A.D., as he was a con- temporary of King Jayasimha (1093-1143). These passages go to prove that our Ajitasena was not earlier than the 12th century. An idea of how much later he might have been is furnished by the following considerations.

VII That the author's name was only Ajitasena, and not at all Jinasena, is proved by another verse in Cakrabandha30 in which the author has cleverly, but clearly, mentioned his name as also an alternate name of the work as a whole. The author has supplied the key also in the words: "अत्र एकाद्यङ्ककमेण पठिते सति अजितसेनकृतचिन्तामणिः भरतयशसीति गम्यते।" It emerges that the name of the composition was 'Bharata- yasas' and that the author's name was Ajitasena. The name 'Bharata-yasas' suggested as an alternative title of the work makes us suspect some model for his pro- cedure; and one need not be surprised that the model is furnished by the Prataparudra-yasobhūana of Vidyānātha, who lived in the 13th century. In fact, it is the only work where both the author's name and the name of the work

30 अत्याकृत्यमलो वरो भवयमः कुर्वन्मति तापसे तत्त्वाचिन्त्यमतिश्रिता तव सितः स्तुत्योरुवाणिः पुनः । जिष्णूतस्फुटकीर्तिवारवशम: श्रेयोऽभिदे मण्डने धीर स्थापय मां पुरो गुरुवर त्वं वर्धमानोरुधीः ॥ AC, III. 179.

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are found imbedded in an identically same Cakrabandha with an identical formula for reading the letters in the required order so that the concealed names may be got at. There the form of the message is:31 "अत्र चक्रबन्धे वैजनाथकृति-वीररुद्रयश इति सम्भाव्यते ।" Of course, one might argue that Ajitasena might himself have provided the model for Vidyanatha to follow. But such a view is silenced by a perusal of the innumerable examples of similarities that extend to definitions of con- cepts like sayya, paka and sanghatanā on the one hand and, on the other, exposition, division, classification and illus- tration of practically every alamkura and guna. An unbiased scholar can easily see which way the borrowing lies, and that in this case it is Ajitasena's and not vice versa. A few typical examples are set out below in opposite columns :- Prataparudrīya Alamkaracintāmaņi I. on Figures: रसवत्प्रेयऊर्जस्विसमा- प्रेयोरसवदूर्जखिसमाहितभाविकेषु रस- हितभावोदयभावसन्धिभावशबलतासु रस भावादि: प्रतीयते। उपमाविनोक्तिविरो- भावादिर्व्यज्यते। उपमाविनोक्त्यर्थान्तर- धार्थान्तरन्यासविभावनोक्तनिमित्त न्यासविरोधविभावनोक्तगुणनिमित्त विशेषोक्तिविषमसमचित्राघिकान्योन्य - 1 विशेषोक्तिविषमसमचित्राधिकान्योन्य कारणमालैकावलीदीपकव्याघातमाला - कारणमालैकावलीव्याघातमालादीपक काव्यलिङ्गानुमानयथासंख्यार्थापत्तिसार - काव्यलिङ्गानुमानसारयथासंख्यार्थापत्ति - पर्यायपरिवृत्तिसमुच्चयपरिसंख्याविकल्प - पर्यायपुरिवृत्तिपरिसंख्याविकल्पसमुच्च समाधिप्रत्यनीकविशेषमीलनसामान्या - यसमाधिप्रत्यनीकप्रतीपविशेषनिमीलन - सङ्गतितद्गुणातद्रुणव्याजोक्तिप्रतीप - सामान्यासङ्गतितद्गुणातद्रुणव्याजोक्ति - वक्रोक्तिस्वभावोक्तिभाविकोदात्तेषु विप- वक्ोक्तिस्वभावोक्तिभाविकोदात्तेषु स- श्चिच्चेतोरञ्जनं स्फुटं प्रतीयमानं न हृदयहृदयाह्लादि स्फुटं प्रतीयमानं विद्यते। नास्ति । ... -p. 52 -p. 245

• 31 Cf. Pratāparudra-yasobhūșaņa (Bālamanoramā Edition), p. 252.

The Date of Ajitasena's Alamkāracintāmaņi 317

2. definition of Upama. स्वत : सिद्धेन भिन्नेन संमतेन च धर्मतः। वर्ण्यस्य साम्यमन्येन स्वतः सिद्धेन धर्मतः। साम्यमन्येन वर्ण्यस्य वाच्यं चेदेकदोपमा। भिन्नेन सूर्यभीष्टेन वाच्यं यत्रोपमैकदा ।। -- p. 254. -p. 54 3. example of absence of nyuno- pamā: उदन्वानिव गम्भीर: सुवर्णाद्रिरिवोन्नतः । समुद्र इव गम्मीर : सुमेरुरिव सून्नतः । दिङ्महेभ इव क्षोणीधौरेयः काकतीश्वरः॥। दिग्दन्तीव च षट्खण्डधौरेयो भरतेश्वरः॥

3. definition of šayyā: -p.55

या पदानां परान्योन्यमैत्री शय्येति कथ्यते पदानुगुण्यरूपा या मैत्री शय्येति कथ्यते। -p. 49 -p. 116 5. definition of drāksāpāka: द्राक्षापाक: स कथितो बहिरन्तः स्फुरद्रसः । द्राक्षापाक: स भण्येत बाह्याभ्यन्तः -p. 49 स्फुरद्रस :: -p. 117 6. example of ajahallaksanā: पत्युः काकतिनाथस्य पादपीठीमनारतम्। पुरोः समवसृत्यन्तराश्रितं सिंहविष्टरम् । स्फुरद्रत्नप्रभाजालैरलङ्गर्वन्ति मौलयः ॥ अलंचक्रु: किरीटानि नानारत्नमरी- -p. 36 चिभिः ॥ ॥ -pp. 119-120 What is still more clinching is the fact that at least one verse is quoted by Ajitasena-and that no less than three times 32-from Arhaddāsa's Munisuvratakāvya, also known as Kāvyaratna. The verse in question : चन्द्रप्रभं नौमि यदङ्गकान्ति ज्योत्स्नेति मत्वा द्रवतीन्दुकान्तः । चकोरयुथं पिबति स्फुटन्ति कृष्णोऽपि पक्षे किल कैरवाणि ।। is the second benedictory verse of Arhaddäsa in his wotk already mentioned. Arhaddasa has mentioned with respect the prolific writer Asadhara Pandita of the 13th century.

+. 32 AC, pp. 56, 69 and 89.

318 Essays in Sanskrit Literary Criticism

Since one of the latter's works is said to have been Bharatesvarabbyudaya, and since most of the illustrative verses in Ajitasena's work are in glorification of Bharatesa- cakrin, we may not be far from the truth in concluding that many quotations in the Alamkaracinta mani may be traceable to that work, now unfortunately lost. The following is a citation from an unnamed lexicon which we find in the Alamkaracintā mani :- अकारो ब्रह्मविष्ण्वीशकमठेष्वगणे रणे। गौरवेऽन्तःपुरे हेतौ भूषणेऽङ्ध्रावुमेज्ययोः ॥38 It is traceable as the first verse in the ekaksara-kānda of Irugapa Dandanatha's Nanartharatnamala.34 This Irugapa was a protege of the Vijayanagar ruler Harihara, who ruled between 1379 and 1406. We are thus forced to conclude that the present Ajitasena could not have composed his work much earlier than 1421 A.D., the date perhaps of one of the Mss. of Alamkaracintamani. It would appear that if the said date of the Ms. is correct, it should have been copied in the author's own lifetime.

VIII There is no doubt, however, regarding the mother- tongue of our author Ajitasena. It was definitely Kannada, since he gives an interesting line of verse which is pure Kannada, while illustrating Samskrta-Karnāta-jāti, or pass- age which can yield meanings in both the languages, Sanskrit and Kannada. The passage is: जहाति कीदृशी कान्तं वधू:, सम्बुध्यतां रिपुः । एनेंदु करेवं नाथं कान्तेयं संबुभुक्षेयि ॥35

33 AC, p. 50. 34 Deccan College Publication, Ed. B. R. Sharma. 35 In the Kannada line vowels in , ₹, a, ar are pronounced short.

The Date of Ajitasena's Alamkāracintāmaņi 319

There are three questions in this verse, the first two in Sanskrit and the third in Kannada. The answer to all the questions is furnished in niratare which makes sense in Sanskrit (nīrata+are) as well as in Kannada (nīra tare= 'fetch me water').

Conclusions I. Ajitasena, not Jinasena, was the author of the Alamkāra- cintāmaņi. 2. This Ajitasena cannot be identical with the famous. pontiff of the tenth century A.D. 3. He should be distinguished also from the author of Cintamaniprakasa, and might have been the author of śrgāra-mañjarī also. 4. He hailed from Karnātaka. The work Alamkāracintamani belongs to the class of Yasobhūşanas in Alamkārasāstra which became popular in South India after Vidyādhara's Ekāvalī and Vidyā- nātha's Pratūparudrayašobhūsana. 6. It is perhaps as late as 1420 A.D. The large number of Alamkaras treated-about 70 in all-also confirms this conclusion.

INDEX

A B Abhinavagupta, Ch. X; 8, 48, 50, Bacon, 187 62-3, 75, 90n, 91-2, 111, 178f, Basavappa Nāyaka, 305 182-3, 235 Bāņa, 3, 56, 92, 204, 294, 296, Abhinava-Kālidāsa, 134 beauty, 11f, 32f, See Alankāra Aesthetic experience, See Rasa Bhagavadgītā, 67, 281 Aesthetics, 6 Bhāgavata, 300 Ajitasena, his Alamkāracintāmaņi, Bhāmaha, 22f, 31, 39, 47, 58, Ch. XXVI Alankāra, Ch. II; 7, 20f, 27-9, 32, 60-62, 65, 76, 81-4, 86, 96, 122,

38f, 58-60, 62, 73, 83f, 85f, 88, 146f, 199, 208, 211f, 225, 296

103f, 122-3, 232, 280 ;- śāstra, Bharata, 14f, 23n, 30, 34, 42, 62-3,

9,20 65-6, 73, 75f, 80f, 90-1, 93n, 98,

Altekar, A.S., 300 110, 133, 144f, 167f, 200, 210f,

Amarasimha, 92 243, 247

Amaru, 72, 91 Bhāravi, 1-2, 46, 54-6, 295-6

Amoghavarşa, 298 Bhartrhari (the poet), 31, 12; (the

Amṛtānandayogin, 134 grammarian), 36n, 4lf Ānandavardhana, Ch. IX, XXII; Bhāsa, 201, 243-4, 296 7-8, 18, 35, 37f, 43f, 52, 61-4, Bhattacharya, S.P., 136n 66f, 69f, 75, 84-5, 115, 122, 139, Bhattacharya, Vidhusekhara, 267 157f, 163, 183f, 187, 197f, 216, Bhatta Gopāla, 21 227, 273, 275f Bhatta Nārāyaņa, 243 Aparārka, 301 Bhatta Nāyaka, 110 Appayya Dīkşita, 112, 305 Bhatta Tauta, 46f, 179f Arhaddāsa, 317 Bhatți, 55, 127 Aristotle, 66n, 79n, 194 Bhattikāvya, 86 Artha, 37f, 58f Bhavabhūti, 64, 67-8, 92, 181, 208, Āśādhara, 317 243-5 Asaga, 299 Bhīmasena Dīkșita, 132 Aśvaghoşa, Ch. XXI; 46, 207, 213 Bhoja, 124-8, 130f, 143n, 165 aucitya, 6, 101f, 227 Bhujabali Sastri, 312

322

0 Rudrata, 83n, 156f, 175f Odeyadeva, 299 Růpagosvāmin, 136n Ruskiń, 188 P Ruyyaka, on poetic content, Ch. Padmapāda, 297 XVIII; on ālańkārikas, 75; on Pāņini, 24, 53, 164 rasavad, 85-6, 94; his Alankāra- Patañjali, 30, 164 sarvasva, 112, 212 Pińgala, 143n Poet, conception of, Ch. XIII S

Poetry, defence of, Ch. IV; defini- Śabda, 58f tions of, Ch. XVI; essence of, Şadakşaradeva, 306 Ch. XVII; its goal, Ch. XV; Sādhāraņīkaraņa, 7 meaning in, Ch. III; the world Sāhitya, 9, 26, 37 ;- śāstra, 9, 20 of, 10, 16; tradition and experi- Sahrdaya, 8, 21 ;- tva, 99 ment in, Ch. V; values of, 274f Śākațāyana (Jaina), 298, 308 Pratibhā, 7, 31, 36, 48f, 277 Samantabhadra, 296, 313-4 Pratīhārendurāja, 95n, 110 Śamkarācārya, 57, 297, 302-3 Praudhadevarāya, 304 Sanghatanā, 107, 110 Pūjyapāda, 295 Sanskrit literature, thoughts on, Purușarthas, 46-7, 291 281f Śāradātanaya, 129 R Sarvajñātman, 297 Śarvavarman, 295 ... Raghavan, V, 84n, 90n, 124n, 143n, 251, 257, 309 Sastri, S. Srikantha, 297, 300, Rājasekhara, 34n, 2, 93n, 198, 310 301-2 Sāyaņa, 303-4 Rāmāyaņa, See 'Vālmīki' Rasa as a literary canon, Ch. VII; Schelling, 195 Scott, Dixon, 114 riddle of, Ch. VIII; communica- Shakespeare, 190, 201 tion of, Ch. IX; in general, 6-8, Shelley, 72, 180, 188 12, 15-9, 27, 62, 64f, 70f, 74f, Bilhaņa, 56, 300 246f, 273, 278, 288 Budhasvāmin, 295 Rasābhāsa, Ch. X Rasavad-alankāra, 236 C Ravikīrti, 295 Campū, 298 Rice, 308 Rīti, 59-60, 107, 110 Coleridge, S.T., 180, 190, 208 Criticism, Ch. VI

323

D Guņādhya, 294 Dandin, 31, 39, 59, 65, 76, 82-4, Guņa, 26-8, 62, 73, 107, 110 88n, 94, 98n, 116, 122, 138, 149f, 170f, 208, 213f, 243, 294-6 H

De, S.K., 308 Halāyudha, 299 Dhanañjaya, 209 Hāla, 30, 125n, 294

Dharma, 24 Harşa, 244

Dharmakīrti, 260f Hemacandra, 128, 129n, 299 Dhvani, 18, 76, 277, 279 Hemādri, 301 See 'Dhvanyaloka', 'Sugges- Hıriyanna, M, 75, 94, 234 tion', & 'Anandavardhana'. Hulme, T.E., 259 Dhvanyāloka, 87, 97f, 109f Hultzsch, 308, 309

See 'Anandavardhana'. Diņdima, 304 I

Doșa, 11, 26, Ch. XII Irugapa Daņdanātha, 318 Drama, golden age of, Ch. XIX; Modern, Ch. XX J

Durvinīta, 295 Jagannātha, 74, 111-2, 133, 135, . 136n, 214, 220f E Jalhaņa, 301 Eliot, T.S., 235n, 274f Jayadeva, 56, 72 Emerson, 190 Jayamangalā, 87 Empson, William, 63 Jayakīrti, 299 Epic poetry 5; See 'genres' Jayantabhatța, 110 Epics, 52, 66f; See 'Rāmāyana' & Jayaratha, 236n, 238n 'Mahābhāratā' Jinasena 20n, 89n, 298, 313 Jones, Sir William, 54 F Flecker, James Elroy, 50n K

Kālidāsa, 1-3, 13, 15-6, 46, 54-56, G 63-4, 69, 72, 77-79, 87, 92, 127, Gangādevi, 304 134, 136, 162, 174-5, 201, 208, Genres, 22f, 54, 90f, 96-8, 225 213, 243-5, 290, 294-6; his Ghosh, Manmohan, 78n, 79n Meghadūta, 13, 47, 54, 72, 298; Goethe, 190 his Raghuvamsa, 2, 142n, 161; Govinda, 135 his Kumarasambhava, 134, 141n, Grierson, Sir Herbert, 29n, 32n 158n, 161, 198; his Vikramor-

324

vašīya, 87, 127; his Śākuntala Mankhuka, 164; his Śrīkantha- 93n, 132n carita, 202f Kane, P.V., 309 Manu, 4, 52 > Kavi-karņapūra, 136n Milton, 50n Kavirāja, 302 Mīmāmsā, 39-41 Kavi-samaya, 33, 55 Mookerjee, Satkari, 260 Kāvyamīmāmsā, 2; See Rāja- Morley, John, 136 śekhara Muktaka, 5; See 'genre' Keats, 72, 195 Kedārabhațța, 299 N Keśavamiśra, 113 King, W.F.H., 201 Nañjarāja, 306

Krishnadevarāya, 305 Narendraprabhasuri, 125n, 128,

Kșemendra, 222f, 295, 299 131n, 310n

Kşirasvāmin, 92n Nāțaka, 5; See 'genre'

Kuntaka, 111-2, 159f, 191, 195, Nsimhakavi, 306 Nīlakaņțhadīkșita, 186, 201, 206 209, 222, 234 Nobel, J. 218 Śingabhūpāla, 130, 131n, 133f L Soddhala, 300 Laghu-kāvya, 5; See 'genre' Somadeva, 295, 299 Lakşmīdhara, Lolla, 303 Someśvara, IV, 301 Levi, Sylvain, 267 Sri Aurobindo, 57 Lollata, 93n Śrīdhara, 49 Lyric, 7; See 'genre' Śrī Harșa, 55, 289 Śrīpati Paņdita, 302 M Śrīvardhadeva, 297 Mādhava, 303-4 Sthāyibhavas, 65; See 'rasa' Madhvācārya, 302-3 Šūdraka, 243, 296 Māgha, 55, 92, 174-5, 289 Suggestion, concept of, Ch. IX; Mahābhārata; See Vyāsa See 'dhvani' · mahākāvya, 5, 46, 54, 65, 76; Tagore, 57 See 'genre' Tirumalāmbā, 305 Mahimabhatta, Ch. XI; 110, 163f, Trivikramabhațța, 299 191f Mallinātha, 138n U

Mammața, 62, 85, 111-3, 123-4, 132, 139, 165, 184f, 200, 219 Udbhata, 75, 77n, 191 Umāsvāti, 297

325

Upadhye, A.N., 307n, 308n, 313 Vedānta, 16f Upanișads, 91, 281 Vedānta Deśika, 305

V Velankar, H.D., 309

Vādībhasimha, 312 Vidyācakravartin, 301

Vādirāja, 260f, 299; dvaitin, 305 Vidyādhara, 131 -- Vāgbhața, 314-5 Vidyānātha, 134, 250, 315f

Vālmīki, 1, 5, 30, 46, 63, 69f, 100, Vijñāneśvara, 300

127, 243, 268f, 278, 281, 289 Viśākhadatta, 243-4

Values, 5; See purușārthas Viśvanātha, 62, 111, 131n, 195,

Vāmana, 34-5, 59-60, 62, 76, 82, 209n, 219f

84, 91, 122, 138n; on doșas, 152f; Vrtti, 107, 110

on qualifications of poets, 171f; Vyāsa, 30, 46, 273, 268f, 273, 281,

208, 214f, 243 289

Vedas, 4, 29, 40, 51, 181-2, 281, W

285 Wordsworth, 188, 197

ERRATA

PAGE LINE FOR READ

I 25 achievemeet achievement 28 20 eonnotation connotation 42 30 dininterestedly disinterestedly 55 I5 the the the 55 I8 aud and 70 22 sthāyibhāvs sthāyibhāvas 72 hearld herald

77 4 tanmayībhāvana- tanmayībhavana- 97 I implicity implicitly I02 6 if the if he I08 2 (foot note) सहदयै सहृदयै IO8 6 (foot note) -मस्मामि: -मस्माभि: I28 I2 तपुरःसरः तत्पुर:सर: I45 5 concept concept of I72 4 (foot note) काव्यङ्ग- काव्याङ्ग- I73 I (foot note) वद्धसेवा वद्धसेवा 200 6 (foot note) धाष्टय धाष्ट य 200 Io (foot note) नाटय नाट्य 202 8 (foot note) पाण्डिन्य पाण्डित्य 208 I3 in verse in in verse as in 242 I2 feature feature of

253 28 held field

3II 5 राजाधिरा- राजाधिराज- 315 3 Vāgtbhata- Vagbhata-

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