1. Methodology and Analysis of Sanskrit Drama Christopher Byrski M. Chowkambha

योऽयं स्वभावो लोकस्य सुखदुःख समन्वितः।

सोऽङ्गानिाभिनयोपेतो नाट्यमित्यभिधीयते॥

METHODOLOGY

OF THE

ANALYSIS OF

SANSKRIT

DRAMA

M. CHRISTOPHER BYRSKI

METHODOLOGY

OF

THE

ANALYSIS

OF

SANSKRIT

DRAMA

By

M.

Christopher

Byrski

BHARATIYA

VIDYA

PRAKASHAN

Oriental

Publisher

&

Book-Sellers

DELHI

(INDIA)

VARANASI

Publisher :

Bharatiya Vidya Prakashan

1. : 1-U.B. Jawahar Nagar, Bungalow Road, Delhi- 110007

2. : Post Box 1108, Kachhauri Gali, Varanasi- 221001

First Edition : 1997

Price : 300.00

ISBN : 81-217-0119-8

Type Setting by :

Geeta Computers

C-446, Gali No.10, Majlis park Delhi- 110033

Printed by

Jain Amar Printing Press

Jawahar Nagar, Bungalow Road, Delhi-110007

To,

Barbara, Lukasz and

Mateusz

without whom nothing

would have been possible

Author

Preface

The book that is being placed now before the Readers, in its main portion, was written some time back and circulated in the seventies in a limited number of cyclostyled copies by the Publication Division of the University of Warsaw. It has remained practically unknown in India. Thus it was suggested that it may be brought out in a regular book form so as to become more easily available to those interested in this country and elsewhere outside Poland.

The Author is well aware that during the past twenty years much has been done in the field of Sanskrit literary studies both in India and in many other countries. All this should have normally been taken into consideration before the publication. Yet since other responsibilities connected with the duty to represent Poland in India precluded the Author from doing justice to this task, it has nevertheless been decided to go ahead with the publication on the assumption that basically the main purport of this study may still be valid.

Yet the Author availed himself of this occassion to add to the original text four new chapters and to include here and there some later observations that he found relevant. The first among the added chapters presents the analysis of the Sakuntalā of Kālidāsa done on the same lines as the other two plays of Bhāsa. Chapter VII presents the results of studies in the course of which it has been attempted to situate the classical Indian art of theatre within the perimeter of its contemporary value-system. The results of this enquiry were first published few years ago in Rtvik Ritualia by Uma Marina Vesci. Chapter VIII tackles the same problem in its sociohistorical dimensions drawing a parallel between theatre and modern Indian cinema. It was originally published sometime in the eighties in Bombay by Moti Bhuvania in his ephemeralalas !-Pushpanjali Annual. Here it is presented in somewhat altered form to make the historical parallel even more striking. The last Chapter IX was inspired by the late Professor Sontheimer from Heidelberg who invited the Author to present the paper on the hero in Sanskrit drama at the seminar organised by him there. By now it might have also been published by the University of Heidelberg. This study relies heavily on the results of the enquiry presented in Concept of Ancient Indian Theatre while adding to it material drawn from Sanskrit dramas.

The Author trusts that the present book may be found of interest to those who consider Sanskrit drama and classical Indian theatre as valuable source of inspiration for modern artistic endeavour. It has basically been meant for a non-Indian Reader for the Author is well aware of his limitations and holds deep belief in what best maybe termed Samskāra. But thanks to this very fact the book stands a chance to excite some curiosity also in India. The Author, conscious of its obvious shortcomings, counts on the indulgence of Readers of the present book.

Finally, the timely help of Dr. Chandra Bhushan Jha, a lecturer in the department of Sanskrit of St. Stephen's College, Delhi, who has helped with proof readings and who has prepared the index has to be gratefully acknowledged.

Last but not least, a lot of credit has to go to my very dear friend Mr. Kishore Chandra Jain of the Bharatiya Vidya Prakashan without whose persistence and patience this book would have never come to be in its second avatara.

Delhi

27.7.1996

Author

A C K N O W L E D G E M E N T S

I would like to extend my hearty thanks to Professor Constantin Regamey of Lausanne (Switzerland), Professor Eugeniusz Suszkiewicz of Toruń (Poland) and to Professor Ludwik Sternbach of Paris (France). Their critical yet friendly appreciation of this text while still in typescript, helped me to get rid of many an unwanted shortcoming which would otherwise contribute adversely towards the readability of this book.

CONTENTS

Page

Preface .......................................................................................

Acknowledgements ...............................................................

Introduction ........................................................................i-xiii

Chapter I. THE TYPOLOGY OF SANSKRIT DRAMA (DAŚARŪPAKA) .......................................................1-8

II. THE FOUR DEMEANOURS (VṚTTI)....................9-20

III. THE STRUCTURE (SAMDHI)...................................21-32

IV. THE THREEFOLD SPHERE OF ETHICS (TRIVARGAŚṚṆGĀRA) ...............................................................33-52

V. THE ANALYSIS OF THE PRATIJÑĀYAUGANDHARĀYAṆA AND THE SVAPNAVĀSAVADATTĀ.....................................53-75

VI. THE ANALYSIS OF THE ŚAKUNTALĀ ....................76-81

VII. “KĀNTAH KRATUH CAKUṢĀM”-THEATRE : THE YAJÑA OF THE KĀMAPURUṢĀRTHA .......................................82-87

VIII. NĀṇYOTPATTI : MYTH OR SOCIO-HISTORY ............88-93

IX. THE HERO IN SANSKRIT DRAMA............................94-101

Bibliography .......................................................................102-104

Index of Technical Terms................................................105-106

Introduction

More than half a century ago Andrzej Gawroński wrote the following words :

'Indian poetry has to be judged according to Indian standards of taste. It can reveal

its surpassing beauty only when it ceases to appear exotic. In my opinion, it is unfair

to pass judgment upon the civilisation of a foreign people before we have made every

effort to identify ourselves with it1). The meaning of this phrase and its message is

aboundantly clear and one cannot but enthusiastically endorse this point of view. Yet,

there is one moment here at which we need to pose further question; namely—how

to understand this identification postulated by the greatest Polish Indologist ? My own

long stay in India convinced me that this identification should never happen at the

cost of our own identity. People who stop to be what they have been born into—Europeans,

Americans or Chinese—loose all chances to understand and appreciate genuine Indianness.

Thus for me identification would mean intellectual openness accompanied by empathy

in the sphere of emotion. Now, the question arises how to execute this openness ?

In other words, what precisely should we do when confronted with an exotic culture?

To my mind, one who investigates such culture should try to understand basic tenets

of it in its different aspects and try to reformulate them in such a way that they stop

to be hermetic to his own intellectual compeers who cannot study this culture so closely

as he does. This constitutes the basic premise of the present study.

It seems that the proof of success in such a venture would be a more or less

lasting presence of some elements of the investigated culture in our own cultural milieu.

Yet, our palate is in this respect more demanding than our intellect. Mediaeval Europe

was so unhappy without Indian spices that very soon after the Ottoman Empire cut

the route to India, the other route was discovered. I guess similar thing would happen

if today Europe were deprived of her everyday tea. Unhappily or happily, culture is

less attractive commodity, though by no means less important. Had Europe been consuming

as much Indian culture as it is consuming Indian tea, our cultural life might have had

richer and certainly more variegated and interesting flavour. Exactly like tea in our

shops testifies to our food habits, Indian literature in our libraries, Indian music in our

philharmonies, and Indian drama in the repertoire of our theatres, give testimony to

our broadmindedness and our sophistication in the best sense of the word. Since I have

ii

Methodology of The Analysis of Sanskrit Drama

never lost my European identity, it is, therefore, difficult, nay—impossible for me, to

attribute the present rather discouraging state of affairs to some inborn disabilities of

my culture. Thus, the only culprit I can point out is the wretched Indologist who must

have betrayed the trust placed in him.

So far Indian literature fared best. This may be partly attributed to the philological

bias of European Indology and partly to the fact that one can buy a book and never

read it. While once a ticket is bought one has to listen to music or has to watch a

performance. Historically speaking, as far as theatre is concerned this is somewhat unexpected

because European theatre seems to have been taking lively interest in Indian themes

for quite some time.

Most probably all over Europe the first theatres to lend their stage to exotic themes

were those of the Jesuit Colleges. In Poland in such places like Lublin and Lwów plays

dealing with spectacular exploits of missionaries were staged by the end of the XVIIth

and the beginning of the XVIIIth century. We can safely assume similar occurrences

all over Europe2). The more so that already by the middle of the XVIIIth century and

especially in the latter half of it similar "exotic" plays, though no more concerned with

religious missionaries and already outside the Jesuit Colleges, appear all over Europe.

The best example of it might be the notorious "Indian Widow", which under different

titles and in different versions was played in theatres of Europe: everywhere, it seems,

it was well received by the public3). Inspite of the fact that those plays did present

a highly adulterated picture of India or rather because of that very shortcoming of them,

the European public should have been well prepared to welcome the genuine Indian

drama. Consequently it comes rather as a surprise that when in 1789 William Jones

for the first time translated the "Sacontala" of Kālidāsa and two years later his translation

was rendered into German by Georg Förster, it was not followed by an outburst of

interest on the part of the European public. Staging of the "Śakuntalā" and other Sanskrit

dramas remains rare to this day. And when attempted often it dissolves into meaningless

candy-pageantry or evolves into a completely un-Indian novel theatrical performance

like Grotowski's for instance4).

The reason of that is not very difficult to find. In what might be called here

exoticism on the European stages we used to mould our rather modest knowledge of

India into something which we Europeans could understand and with which we could

easily identify ourselves. Consequently such plays like that "Indian Widow" mentioned

above presented a picture which apart from few exotic and often wrongly applied names

and faces of the chief protagonists covered with brownish make-up, did not contain

any other apparent Indian features. Indian heroes and heroines of those plays, as well

as villains, behaved in European manner and if among the audience of theatre there

would have been an Indian, probably he would have wondered why Europeans need

Introduction

this pseudo-Indianness in order to show themselves to themselves. It seems that it is

a deeply ingrained narcissism of man which bars him from a meaningful contact with

another man.

Most often we have been more interested in ourselves in India than in India herself.

Out of personal experience I can say that to break that shell is not easy. Yet it is

an absolute condition of any real encounter. Otherwise we shall endlessly gaze at our

own image simply dressed up in an Indian costume—not quite faithfully copied at that.

This danger does not threaten only while writing and producing the so called exotic

plays entirely of Western make. It also applies to the productions of the original Indian

plays. Our critical apparatus is not geared to appreciate and judge those aspects of the

ancient Indian theatrical tradition which determine its peculiar Indian character. Con-

sequently we try to see in them just the same values (or their absence) which we used

to appreciate in the "Indian Widow" of ill fame. Resulting product only testifies to

a sad fact of basic misunderstanding. For original Sanskrit dramas (even in translation)

do neither yield themselves to an operetta-type of interpretation or to any other known

to us. The unattractive outcome of such ventures confirms this presupposition. Thus

precisely here we have to look for the reasons why these dramas did not appeal to

general public in the way comparable to our own pseudo-Indian plays. It may not be

out of place to add here that a perfect innocence of Westerners with regard to classical

Indian theatrical convention of staging plays contributed to an overall failure on our

part to understand and appreciate those plays.

Therefore our most immediate task is to pinpoint the weakness inherent in the

way Sanskrit drama is usually expounded. This pattern has been so forcefully established

by such scholars as M. Winternitz, A.B. Keith, S.K. De and others, that it is by no

means easy to challenge it. Yet it seems that a completely new set of criteria—or at

least substantially modified ones—should be applied to the evaluation of the dramatic

text. The principal objection to those hitherto applied is that they are haphazard and

for the most part subjective. In what follows we shall try to substantiate this view and

offer some positive suggestions. Since Sanskrit literary criticism as a whole developed

out of the study of theatrical arts, these suggestions may be relevant to the entire field

of Sanskrit literature.

A well-known Polish scholar, J. Krzyżanowski, writes in his Nauka o literaturze

(Science of literature), "Literary criticism which is unable to be so fresh and sensitive

as to view literary works through the eyes of their first critics is not worth much"5).

Scholars like Wilson, Winternitz, Keith and De have made detailed studies of the history

of aesthetics but have failed to apply its criteria when evaluating the dramas themselves.

For example, Winternitz stresses that, in order to approach an Indian literary work

properly, it is necessary "to let oneself plunge in the spirit of India for a moment and

believe all that Indians believe." Yet he can find in the Nāṭyaśāstra only"a pretty fruitless

iv

Methodology of The Analysis of Sanskrit Drama

science, that is devoted more to classification and systematisation than to exploration

of facts and formulations of rules"6). When it is no longer a question of paying mere

lip-service to Indian literature but making a radical change in the entire manner of reasoning,

this is how Winternitz understands his "plunging in the spirit of India". Nevertheless,

it would be unjust to discredit all existing criticism only because it is defective. Let

us therefore try, before restating our reservations, to analyse what has been achieved

in this field.

As a starting point let us turn again to Krzyżanowski. In chapter VIII of the "Science

of literature" he says that the criticism of a literary work in its entirety must apply

sociological, historical, aesthetic (or formal) and ethical criteria. By sociological criteria

Krzyżanowski understands "the duration in time and territorial range of the appreciation",

and by historical, "the problem of originality, and the problem of setting a given writer

against the background of his literary tradition as well as defining his attitude towards

it." These criteria have to be taken in conjunction, for, "it is necessary to consider

the fundamental attitude of the epoch towards literary tradition and the way it understands

the problem of originality". The aesthetic criteria are, of course, "the peculiarities of

formal nature" and "the factors which shape the outer form of the literary work in

relation to its inner structure". Finally, by ethical criteria Krzyżanowski understands

"the appreciation of a literary work based on the assumption that it always is an expression

of some reactions to life. The more they are general, universal, and unconnected with

the exigencies of a particular moment which has given birth to the work in question,

the broader, deeper and more universal will be the response they evoke."

Modern traditional criticism of Sanskrit drama operates mainly with sociological

and, above all, with historical criteria, quite often ignoring—because of its western

provenance—the indigenous literary tradition and its peculiar, not very stringent attitude

towards originality. The remaining two criteria tend to be applied haphazardly or not

at all. Moreover, in the case of European scholars, they are applied from the modern,

western point of view; while in the case of Indian scholars, they are applied either

according to western standards or, by disputing those standards, still concentrate attention

upon the same points. It can be safely said that western scholars either ignore the achievements

of Sanskrit literary criticism or dismiss them after totally inadequate consideration. If

Indian scholars turn to Sanskrit aesthetics, they apply it in fragmentary and disorderly

fashion.

Evidently, then, both Indian and western scholars show the same bias towards

sociological and historical treatment of the subject while neglecting aesthetic and ethical

critieria. This bias had led to considerable achievement in the spheres of criticism neglected

by traditional Indian scholarship; there have been careful and painstaking investigations

of Krzyżanowski's "duration in time and territorial range of appreciation", as well as

Introduction

of chronology and of the degree of originality of individual authors. It is thanks to

the historical and sociological bias of modern criticism that we can today attempt the

chronological presentation of Sanskrit drama. But if we still cannot—especially in the

West—reconcile ourselves to peculiarities of style, diction, ethics and behavioural patterns

in Sanskrit dramas, it is because we are still, it seems, unable to look at them through

the eyes of their first critics. We constantly admit that such an attitude is necessary

and yet we ignore "the eyes" which they have left to us in the form of their ancient

aesthetics.

In order to substantiate the above criticism let me review some books, chosen

at random, offering opinions about the three dramas which have been selected for the

analysis, i.e., about the Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa, the Svapnavāsavadattā and the Śakuntalā.

To begin with let us take M. Winternitz’s monumental work on the Indian literature.

Yet before we begin this review one methodological reservation has to be made specially

in connection with the two dramas of Bhāsa : we shall comment only upon those remarks

which concern the analysis and the estimation of the dramas proper. The entire problem

of the discovery of thirteen dramas, their authorship7), dating and linguistic peculiarities

find themselves, of course, outside the pale of interest, since they exactly represent

those sociological and historical aspects of criticism the merits of which go unquestioned.

Thus Winternitz begins with a summary of each play. Then, in the case of the Svapna,

he dwells upon the comparison of the story with what we know about it from the

kathā literature. In the course of this comparison he praises Bhāsa for well grounded

scenes. Further on, he says that the play can be appreciated by the Westerners for different

qualities than by the Indians, since two women love one husband in it. Nevertheless,

Bhāsa is acknowledged as an outstanding poet on account of the poetic beauties of

the play. The remark that the play can hardly be of interest for the European theatre,

since a western monogamy—minded audience can scarcely appreciate the Indian sentiment

winds up his review of the Svapna. The Pratijñā does not fare much better. Winternitz

first contrasts it with the Svapna saying rightly, although somewhat superficially, that

the love that in the Svapna stands at the centre, goes wholly into background in this

work. Some obvious information concerning the hero follows and it ends with the conclusion

that the contest of the two ministers constitutes the moving motif in the dramatic development.

In the course of the summary Yaugandharāyaṇa earns some praise and the review ends

with the conclusion that the end of the play is seemingly abrupt and unmotivated and

that the interlude of Act IV is not devoid of humour8).

A.B. Keith begins with a remark that the Pratijñā, styled in the prologue a prakaraṇa,

has four acts and resembles in part that form of drama as recognized by the theory.

Then follows the usual summary and a brief polemic with some points levelled by

traditional criticism against this drama. The discussion of the Svapna begins with the

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Methodology of The Analysis of Sanskrit Drama

summary of its contents. The conclusion drawn by the critic is that the drama in question is undoubtedly the poet's masterpiece and the most mature of his dramas. In the next paragraph on Bhāsa's art and technique we find an assurance that Bhāsa excels in suggesting heroism; this characteristic is admirably depicted in Yaugandharāyaṇa. There are also there some more or less standard remarks on the character of the vidūṣaka and praises of the genuine humor of the interludium of Act IV. Then comes a rather highhanded opinion that of deeper sentiments we need expect nothing from Bhāsa; in this respect he sets the model for his successors. Some general technical remarks of little consequence follow; finally Keith writes that in both cases the working out of the plot is open to criticism. But already the first detailed point about the superfluous second entrance of Vāsavadattā in Act VI of the Svapna proves groundless, for Padmāvatī does not enter at the beginning of this act accompanied by Āvantikā. She comes in the company of the pratīhārī. Next Keith positively evaluates the way Act I and Act V were composed. As if contradicting his earlier opinion, in the paragraph dealing with Bhāsa's style, Keith praises him for the power of expressing strong emotions adequately and forcibly. It appears somewhat unusual that the same poet can do justice to strong emotions, but cannot do it to deep sentiments. Bhāsa's fondness for expressing typical feelings in simple language is approvingly noted in the context of the Pratijñā as also his power of depicting irony in the Svapna. Keith closes his criticism with the following statement;

The harmony and melody of Bhāsa's style, added to its purity and perspicuity, have no better proof that the imitations of his verses which are unquestionably to be traced in Kālidāsa, who attests thus his practical appreciation of the merits of the dramatists with whose established fame his nascent genius had to contend9).

S.K. De dispenses with the detailed summary. After a series of remarks not relevant to our problem he says that in the Pratijñā some episodes are skillfully drawn; the characterisation, especially of Yaugandharāyaṇa, is vivid and effective; and the sustained erotic sub–plot, despite non–appearance of the principal characters, enhances its main interest of political strategy. The Svapna on the other hand has more effectively devised plot and there is a unity of purpose and inevitableness of effect. the dream is finely conceived, the characters of the two heroines are skillfully discriminated and the hero is figured as serious, faithful, if somewhat lovesick and imaginative. The main feature of the play, continues De, is the dramatic skill and delicacy with which are depicted the feelings of Vāsavadattā, to whose noble and steadfast love no sacrifice is too great; while her willing martyrdom is set off by the equally true but helpless love of Udayana as a victim of divided affections and motives of statecraft. It is a drama of fine sentiments; the movement is smooth, measured and dignified, and the treatment is free from the intrusion of melodrama, or of rant and rhetoric, to which such sentimental plays are often liable. If it is roughhewn and unpolished, it also reveals the sureness of touch

Introduction

of a great dramatist; and to stint the word masterpiece to it is absurd and ungenerous.

Further on, De adds, that what appeals most in these dramas is their rapidity of action,

directness of characterisation and simplicity of diction. In this vein, De continues for

one and a half page till the close of this chapter10).

C. Kunhan Raja after a summary of the play says that the Svapna is a very beautiful

drama, that it is not complete and that the described events give an occasion to create

situations that are full of pathos and display of very tender feelings. The characterisation

is superb and the plot development is very natural and charming. Kunhan Raja continues

by saying that language is simple and elegant, that it is esentially a drama of the study

of human feelings, that there is little supernatural in it, plenty of arresting situation,

hero has many explots to his credit etc., etc. In the case of the Pratijñā, Kunhan Raja

yields to a temptation to give a summary of the play and then writes that this is a

drama full of action and the characters are full of life and energy, with plenty of resources

and Yaugandharāyaṇa is real moving spirit in the whole drama11).

K.Chaitanya calls the Svapna a moving romantic comedy, while the Pratijñā, according

to him, is a powerful play of political intrigue. Then comes a general remark that Bhāsa

is always on his guard against the merely poetic which serves no dramatic function.

Continuing in this vein Chaitanya says that in structuring the plot and working out

the dialogues, Bhāsa always visualised how effective they would be on the stage. A

remark follows that humour, lusty or gentle, enlivens these plays. Superb characterization,

profound insight into human nature duly exemplified follow and Chaitanya finally ends

almost summarising the Svapna12).

The situation within the field of Hindī language writings is not much different.

Although one thing has to be noted, namely, natural in such circumstances, willingness

to employ traditional terminology. Unhappily either superimposing upon them western

semantic values or, as in the case of rasa, using them rather as more or less colloquial

words without bothering about their strictly technical connotations. Sūryakānta's the Saṁskrta

vāṅmaya kā vivecanātmaka itihāsa may be quoted here as a good example. After giving

a very brief summary of the plays, the author tenders usual general praises in connection

with Bhāsa's reworking of the kathā motives. Then he describes briefly the nature of

the subject-matter in these dramas and concludes that Bhāsa has a marked predilection

for the invented or mixed plots, i.e., partly invented. This, even in the case of the

Pratijñā and the Svapna, holds well, since Bhāsa considerably altered the story, so

far as we can judge on the basis of existing versions of that literature which, most

probably, are later than the two dramas. Following the traditional order (vastu, nētā,

rasa) Sūryakānta discusses now the hero of Bhāsa's dramas. Udayana, according to

his opinion, is in the literary tradition in India a paragon of a lover. Next comes rasa.

Here Sūryakānta assures us that Bhāsa is a master of evoking rasa and then lists which

viii

Methodology of The Analysis of Sanskrit Drama

rasas are to be met with in which dramas13). The remark follows that Bhāsa does not

attach importance to the rules of the Nāṭyaśāstra. Then Bhāsa earns some praise as

the creator of dramatic situation—in such form entirely western notion. This is followed

by an assurance that these dramas are suitable for three types of acting traditionally

called the sāttvika, the vācika and the āṅgika. Surprisingly Sūryakānta does not mention

the āhārya (costume). Warm acknowledgement is then extended to the language of our

plays which is simple and steers clear of the poetic exteravagancies. Sūryakānta ends

by saying that even today Bhāsa's plays may be successfully staged and that this exactly

decides about the superiority of the art of Bhāsa.

Now moving on to the Śakuntalā of Kālidāsa we should again see first what

the acknowledged authorities have to say about this play.

In H.H. Wilson's The Theatre of the Hindus, the Śakuntalā is not separately discussed.

But in the course of considering other plays he says that the Śakuntalā cannot give

a proper idea of Indian theatre. According to him, it is a mythical and pastoral play

which he praises for frank descriptions, tenderness of feelings, delicate beauty of thought,

the highest elegance of style, and an interesting heroine.14) A. Macdonell showers even

more generous epithets upon the drama. praising it for "the richness of creative fancy

. . . skill in the expression of tender feelings . . . undisturbed harmony of the poetic

sentiment . . ." He concludes that in the drama "every passion is softened without being

enfeebled. The ardour of love never goes beyond aesthetic bounds, it never maddens

to wild jealousy or hate. The torments of sorrow are toned down to profound and touching

melancholy. It is here at last that the Indian genius found the law of moderation in

poetry . . . . Kālidāsa stands highest in poetical refinement, in tenderness and depth

of feeling.15)

Winternitz tackles the play with great precision. He first discusses the reception

of the play in Germany and then remarks that Kālidāsa is the greatest Sanskrit poet

and the Śakuntalā the finest work of art that man can imagine.16) He quotes Goethe's

opinion of the play, which is the best example of what we could call "critical impressionism."

It is to Goethe that we owe such resounding epithets as unfathomable depth, summit

of talent, presentation of natural order, the best way of life, the purest moral endeavour,

the most sober divine meditation, etc., etc. Analysis of the playwright's sources and

remarks on the popularity of the Śakuntalā in India are followed by his own opinion

that in Kālidāsa's poetry there is no dramatic element, such as it is understood in the

West, but rather that the Śakuntalā is narrative in form. Though he adds that "whoever

would try to measure the depths of this consciously attempted fable-like drama with

the yard-stick of Greek tragedy, would be unable to recognize its unequalled beauty."

Winternitz does not apply any yardstick other than that of Greek theatre but mainly

confines himself to imploring the reader to an admiration for this magnificent work.

Introduction

Finally, he gets on to safer ground; he returns to the reception of the play in Europe and lists its Indian versions.

The Indian scholar S. K. De begins his remarks about the Śakuntalā by writing that it reveals "a rare balance of mind, which harmonises the artistic sense with the poetic, and results in the practice of singular moderation."17 According to him, the Śakuntalā is the full-blown flower of Kālidāsa's genius and in it we have a unique alliance of his poetic and dramatic gifts. "As a dramatist Kālidāsa succeeds mainly by his poetic power in two respects : he is master of poetic emotion which he can skillfully harmonise with character and action, and he has the poetic sense of balance and restraint which a dramatist must show if he would win success." De then takes refuge in a catalogue of images and sonorous adjectives, which begins as follows: "we see to best effect Kālidāsa's method of unfolding a character, as a flower unfolds its petals in rain and sunshine. . . . There is temperance in the depth of passion, and perspicuity and inevitableness in action and expression, but above all this drama surpasses by its essential poetic quality of style and treatment."

A. B. Keith, too, begins by saying that the Sakuntalā "certainly represents the perfection of Kālidāsa's art."18 He summarizes the play and discusses different Indian versions of it. By way of critical appreciation he offers us :

Śakuntalā's dawning love is depicted with perfect skill. . . . his love for his son is charmingly depicted. . . . [Śakuntalā] has suffered tribulation of spirit and gained in depth and beauty of nature.

The other characters are models of skilful presentation. . . . Kanva is a delightful figure. . . . The companions of the heroine are painted with delicate taste; both are devoted body and soul to their mistress, but Anasūyā is serious and sensible; Priyamvadā talkative and gay...

Kālidāsa excels in depicting the emotions of love; . . . he is hardly less expert in pathos; the fourth Act of the Śakuntalā is a model of tender sorrow. . . . The humour of the vidūṣaka is never coarse;

Despite so much praise, however, he goes on to say that. . . . admirable as is Kālidāsa's work, it would be unjust to ignore the fact that in his dramas as in his epics he shows no interest in the great problems of life and destiny. . . . He was incapable of viewing the world as a tragic scene, of feeling any sympathy for the hard lot of the majority of men, or appreciating the reign of injustice in the world. It was impossible to him to go beyond his narrow range;

Keith does give an expert analysis (from the European point of view) of the style and language of the Śakuntalā, and where he is forced to do so by the very nature of the Sanskrit language, he accepts certain elements of Indian rhetoric. Yet a strong feeling persists that the critic has missed the point.

x

Methodology of The Analysis of Sanskrit Drama

Where scholars are content with images and impressions, popular surveys can

hardly be expected to do better. One of the most recent popular studies of Sanskrit

literature offers: "The play opens with the picture of exultant manhood. . . . Her beauty

is tender, fresh and unspoilt like the woodland creepers she affectionately tends every

day. . . . Kālidāsa's poetic powers are at their best in this play, . . . they are conserved

and blended with profoundly moral perception."19 And a Hindi survey, very popular

with college students, adopts the same approach. Its author, B. Upadhyaya, offers a

different date for Kālidāsa than do those writings in English. More important, he follows

the categories of traditional aesthetics and, to a certain extent, traditional ethics (although

current ethics seem to exert a strong pull—for instance—on his view of gāndharva

vivāha).20 Yet the advantage of arranging the discussion under partly traditional captions

like plot, characters, beauty (saundarya-bhāvanā), sentiment, and message is nullified

by the subjectivity of his opinion.

Although this review is rather selective yet we can conclude with considerable

certainty that if a stage-manager belonging to a different tradition from the Indian one

would wish to stage these plays is left only with the above quoted opinions, he would

surely find himself as helpless as if these opinions would have never been formulated.

In spite of its brevity, this review of the more commonly known, comprehensive

works in the field of Sanskrit drama or Sanskrit literature in general should have made

clear how derivative criticism of Sanskrit drama has been. What has been done in the

historical and sociological sphere goes unchallenged; one might even say that there can

be further progress here only if new source material comes to light. But aesthetic and

ethical appreciation is still dominated by generalisation, affected 'impressionism', sen-

timental effusion and, occasionally, tedious journalism.

The reviewed opinions being easily accessible stand the greatest chance of sub-

stantially influencing—nay, even moulding the popular opinion regarding Sanskrit drama.

Therefore, methodologically speaking, this review constitutes sufficient basis for un-

dertaking an effort directed towards formulating such criteria, especially aesthetic and

ethical which would permit drawing somewhat more tangible conclusions regarding the

aesthetic and the ethical content of Sanskrit drama. Otherwise making it part of the

western cultural 'baggage' will be impossible. Without deciphering its deeper aesthetic

and ethical values 'a western monogamy—minded audience' cannot and will not appreciate

it. Happily enough the task of formulating such criteria is not as difficult as one would

expect. For, as I have already mentioned, Indian antiquity has left behind such an elaborate

and precise theoretical science regarding both aesthetics and ethics that the only thing

which we have to do is to try to understand it and reformulate it in such a way that

it may become a handy tool or a sort of easily accessible scales for weighing the real

merits and equally real demerits of any drama.

Introduction

The Nāṭyaśāstra is the text selected as the basic source of information and as supplying the much needed guidance in the intricacies of the science of theatre. It is the most ancient text and practically speaking the only one with undisputed primary allegiance to theatre. All later texts betray an obvious literary bias and less obvious, though fairly discernible ignorance of practical theatre. The first problem that arose was what to select out of a large mass of different principles, definitions, formulae and theories. In other words which criteria are absolutely substantial for the recognition of the true perspective of the ancient Indian theatre, since popularising the entire science of theatre would have been impractical, if at all possible. Looking for the first clue attention was concentrated upon the concept of plot (itivrtta). The Nāṭyaśāstra calls it the body of theatre. On closer investigation it appeared that action constitutes the conceptual basis of the notion. This agrees well with the commonsense notion that we have about the theatre. Undoubtedly this is the art that communicates through action. If, then, action stands in the centre of our attention, the task we face is not very difficult. For in order to appreciate any action we have to know three things about it. Primo—what is its structure, i.e., which constant elements of human behaviour constitute an action ? Secundo—what is its manner ? In other words through which agents and in what spheres action is perceivable ? Tertio—what are the circumstances and the motives of action in the light of which it may be evaluated ? By knowing the structure of action we shall be in a position to use such descriptions as for instance the easy flow of action or the artificial turn in the development of action, etc. responsibly. In addition, we shall know where to look for specially tense moments and where action should enter its subsequent phase. These are not trifling informations when we are confronted with human behaviour which takes place totally outside our cultural points of reference. By knowing how the Indians visualised and systematised the process of exteriorisation of action depending on the kind of information which an action is supposed to convey, we shall be in a position to judge whether the means used are adequate or not. Last but not least, knowing the circumstances and the motivation of action we shall be able to recognise its moral value and discover the proper message of the play. All this will give us a considerable advantage not only vis á vis theatre but above all vis á vis Indian man in action as he conceived himself to behave. Can theatre give us more?

Consequently which concepts of the science of theatre answer our needs and how to find them ? The easiest way seems to analyse and compare typological descriptions of all genres of plays in order to find out which are the elements that repeat themselves in all the definitions. Thus the notion of Daśarūpaka found itself first under the investigation. The results have been more than rewarding. First of all it appeared that the main differentiating factor of the ten types of drama is formulated as the concept of four demeanours (vrtti), i.e., four different ways or manners of exteriorising an action. In more colloquial terms

they may be called the four fold means of communication. As anticipated, the plot

with its elaborate structure fulfils our second demand. The third query concerning motives

and circumstances of action has found an answer in the concept of triple predicament

(vidrava), triple intrigue (kapata) and triple fascination (śṛṅgāra). All these concepts

will be elaborated on the subsequent pages with one notable exception of the concept

of rasa which is practically absent from our deliberations. Methodologically speaking

we are concerned in this book with action and not with reaction which the rasa concept

signifies. Abhivanagupta in his commentary on the Nāṭyaśāstra (vol. III, p. 1) calls

rasa the soul of theatre in this manner giving another convenient occasion to explain

the disregard of rasa, for this book may be considered a handbook of dramatic surgery.

Surgeons are concerned with the anatomy, with the manner of its functioning and with

causes which are responsible for this or that change in functioning of anatomy. They

are not concerned with the soul of their patients. Although sometimes, being religiously

minded for instance, they may believe that in final count the entire anatomy is subservient

to soul and certainly in protracted treatment a physician has to take into consideration

what we could generally call the spiritual side of his patient. Thus, rasa will provide

us with some interesting insights, may be especially interesting for actors, who are directly

responsible for evoking emotional reaction of the audience. Yet technically speaking

it undoubtedly matters less for the analysis of the dramatic texts which come into our

hands.

Finally I owe the reader an information regarding the genesis of the present study.

Already when the concept of ancient Indian theatre was in the centre of my attention,

I realised how deficient our understanding of Sanskrit dramas is. That was the occasion

on which I have tried to analyse the concept of itivrtta which, substantially broadened,

found its place in this study as well. Apart from that I have utilised for this book

my different papers published some years ago. Some of them I have included almost

verbatim here. The paper entitled : Appreciation of Sanskrit drama in Kaliyuga, was

delivered at the First world Sanskrit Conference in Delhi in 1972 and later on published

in the Journal of the Sangeet Natak Akademi, No. 27 (Jan.–March 1973). This paper

revised and under the changed title : Can Sanskrit drama tell us anything more ?, was

republished in the Educational Theatre Journal, vol. 27, no. 4, December 1975. A paper

entitled : Sanskrit drama as an aggregate of model situations, was delivered at the seminar

on Sanskrit drama in performance in March 1974 at the University of Hawaii and later

on published by that University. Another paper entitled : Purusārthas and Sanskrit literary

criticism, was delivered at the Sanskrit conference at the Humboldt University of Berlin

in March 1975 and was also subsequently published. The paper entitled : Daśarūpaka

as the basic notion of Sanskrit dramatic criticism, was delivered at the Soviet Conference

of Indologists in Moscow in January 1976. It has been incorporated here in a revised

version. The paper entitled : Trivarga (The threefold sphere of Indian ethics), was published

in Dialectics and Humanism No. 3–4/1976. Finally the paper entitled : The structure

of Bhāsa's Pratijñā, was delivered at the third International Sanskrit Conference in Paris

in June 1977.

Last but not least, I should beg the indulgence of the readers as regards the language

of this book. English is not my native tongue. Still I hope that it is comprehensible.

Footnotes :

1. A. Gawroński, Review of the book by J. Schmidt Az ó-ind epika, Budapest 1921. Rocznik

orientalistyczny II, 1925, p. 283–4.

2. S. Windakiewicz, Teatr kolegiów jezuickich w dawnej Polsce. (The theatre of Jesuits colleges

in early Poland) Kraków 1922. G. Artola, The earliest plays about India, Saṃskṛta Raṅga.

Annual IV, Madras 1965, p. 1–19.

3. W. Bogusławski, Dzieia (Collected Works) vol. X, Warszawa 1830 writes about this in

the introduction to his Polish version of the Indian Widow.

4. M.C. Byrski, Grotowski and the Indian tradition, Journal of Sangeet Natak Akademi, 1970.

5. Wrociaw, 1969, p. 272.

6. A History of Sanskrit Literature, Delhi 1963 pp.11, 241.

7. For the sake of convenience we shall speak about these dramas as written by Bhāsa, although

we are well aware of the tentative character of this ascription.

8. Op. cit., pp. 214–221.

9. A.B. Keith, The Sanskrit Drama, Oxford 1924, pp. 91–126.

10. S.K. De, A History of Sanskrit Literature, Calcutta 1962 (Second Ed.), pp. 101–117.

11. C. Kunhan Raja, Survey of Sanskrit Literature, Bombay 1962, pp. 157–162.

12. K. Chaitanya, A New History of Sanskrit Literature, Bombay 1962, pp. 289–307.

13. Sūryakānta, Saṃskṛta vāṅmaya kā vivecanātmaka itihāsa, Nai Dillī 1972, pp. 207–214.

14. /Calcutta, 1955/, pp, 2, 58.

15. A History of Sanskrit Literature /1929:rpt Delhi, 1962/, pp. 298–305

16. Winternitz, pp. 237 ff.

17. S.N. Dasgupta and S.K. De, A History of Sanskrit Literature, Calcutta, 1962, pp. 134–149

18. The Sanskrit Drama, Oxford, 1924, pp. 152ff.

19. K. Chaitanya, A New History of Sanskrit Literature, Bombay, 1962, pp. 157ff, 316.

20. Saṃskṛta Sāhitya kā itihāsa (Kāśī, 1961), pp. 173ff. the gāndharva vivāha was in ancient

India one of many admissible forms of contracting marriage. It was done by mutual consent

of the parties involved and without the permission of elders. Among the warrior class

this was a perfectly legitimate, if not advisable, form of marriage. But in present-day Indian

morality it is considered by the average person to be one of the grossest abuses. See an

excellent paper by K. P. Jog. "A Fresh Revaluation of the Inner Meaning of the Śakuntalā,

"Velankar Commemoration Volume (Poona, 1965), pp. 206ff.

I. THE TYPOLOGY OF SANSKRIT DRAMA (DAŚARŪPAKA)

Typological terminology used in the field of dramaturgy answers very practical requirements of communication among people involved in theatrical practice. Any theatre-manager, even before he actually reads a play, will want to know whether it is a tragedy, comedy, melodrama, farce or vaudeville. Beyond that he will invariably enquire how many actors and actresses are required, how many acts and changes of decoration are involved and the like. All this information, usually to be found on the frontispiece of a printed text of a play, fulfils the role of a label which helps us to recognize salient features of the play in question.

Recently, of course, exactly as all other conventions this one too has been challenged or simply disregarded. Yet according to A. Nicoll, for instance, it does persist. Says he : "Tragedy and comedy were technical words belonging to the ancient Greeks; the modern playwrights tend towards the use of the indeterminate word "play", yet the extraordinary fact is that both within the theatre itself and within the field of criticism, tragedy and comedy continue to bear as strong a force as they ever did. The terms are among the commonest in ordinary use; anxiously we seek to determine the exact nature of tragedy and to inquire whether the tragic spirit can find expression in the modern theatre; we debate whether a particular play can properly be placed within comedy's realm or whether it belongs to the sphere of farce"1).

The above stresses that what we propose to discuss, although couched in an oriental idiom, is, as a matter of fact, one of the basic problems of communication in theatre and in theatrical criticism. The purpose of classification of plays by kinds or genres, about which Ronald Peacock says that "these persistent forms of drama are natural and organic because they pertain to its profoundly communal character, and are based on salient general features of experience"2), is not—as Northrop Frye wants—"so much to classify as to clarify traditions to which a given work belongs and its affinities, there by bringing out a large number of literary relationships that would not be noticed as long as there were no context established for them"3).

Consequently it seems obvious that the problem of the generic classification of Sanskrit drama is not just an idiosyncrasy of Indian culture, but is shared by our own culture as well. And by the way it even may occur that Indians have evolved equally

precise formulae. Here it may be added that as these genres also function, in a way,

as standard models of plays, they allow us to judge not only academic correctness of

a given play, but above all its originality, inventiveness and the daring of its author

as well as his command over the technicalities of the convention.

The notion of Daśarūpaka has been much talked about ever since Dhananjaya

(Xth cent. A.D.) had chosen it for the title of his standard work on dramatic theory.

Yet the oldest exposition of it is to be found in the Nātyaśāstra. Nowadays it is one

of the topics of dramatic theory which is most frequently dealt with. Each author dealing

with Sanskrit drama considers it his bounden duty to retell this theory4). It is there-

fore a very risky undertaking to discuss it yet once more. Still it is a just attempt,

for all those who wrote about it, with one notable exception of D.R. Mankad5), limited

themselves to a simple exposition of the theory, while we would like to investigate

the utility of this notion for practical analysis and for a critical appreciation of Sanskrit

drama. We suspect that it is a carefully thought out scheme facilitating, as we already

mentioned, once upon a time communication among those who were practically involved

in classical Sanskrit theatre.

Now, since these ten generic classes of dramas were supposed to furnish necessary

information needed in order to judge a play from the angle of the demands of stage,

let us review what kind of information it is and how useful it may be to us now.

The Nātyaśāstra is the only text undisputably theatrical, while the most of later

texts, if not all, are treating drama as literary work more or less independent of theatre,

the so called poetry to be seen, with the stress put on the word poetry (drśyakāvya).

It is for this reason that in the present study we have chosen this treatise as the only

source of information. Later texts had often misinterpreted the dicta of Bharata by detaching

drama from theatre6).

The text in question, i.e., Adhyāya XVIII of the Nātyaśāstra7), entitled Daśarūpa-

lakṣaṇam, betrays the compilatory characters so characteristic of the entire treatise8).

So far as the Kāvyamālā edition of 1943 is concerned the inserted part from verse

38 up to 86 dealing with śabdaprayoga has to be mentioned first. Next, the extremely

unsystematic treatment of all ten rūpakas must be mentioned as well. For instance an

act is defined while discussing the nāṭaka. Most obviously it applies to all multiact

rūpakas9). Further lāsya and its aṅgas, though discussed at the end, apply also to the

nāṭaka10). Another good example is the discussion of the "endroit" or locale of the play.

Here remarks are made in the course of discussing utsṛṣṭikāṅka, but they hardly can

belong exclusively to its definition11). Still one more case is that of an interlude (viṣkambhaka),

discussed twice : once on the occasion of defining the nāṭaka and again on that of

defining the prakaraṇa12). Although the Gaekwad Oriental Series edition seems to be

more orderly, yet, with the exception of the śabdaprayoga almost all other remarks

The Typology of Sanskrit Drama (Daśarūpaka)

hold good in its case too. The above situation justifies in our opinion a less rigid approach

to the text in question, allowing or even demanding certain rearrangements of its contents.

Especially since it seems obvious that various problems dealt with, while describing

this or that rūpaka do not have to be limited in their import to the particular genre

in the context of which they are discussed. In addition to that, the structural aspect

of the entire notion of ten rūpakas is not even properly indicated in Chapter XVIII,

but is left entirely to the subsequent one, dealing with the tivṛtta, when we are told

that it is one of the important aspects of the tenfold typological division of plays.

This lack of consistency in the exposition of the generic classification of plays

makes it necessary to decide which aspects are indispensable constituent parts of these

ten definitions. The Nāṭyaśāstra assures us that it is first and foremost the vṛttis, i.e.,

demeanours, commonly known as styles, which determine what is what in the rūpaka-wise

classification13). Unhappily whatever it has to say on the subject is far from being very

precise. For it says that only the nāṭaka and the prakaraṇa have all the demeanours

(XVIII.7.). All the rest are devoid of the delicate demeanour (XVIII.8-9). Further on

it superfluously repeats that the prakaraṇa has the same demeanours as the nāṭaka (XVIII.47).

But in connection with the dima it says that it should have two demeanours : the conscious

and the violent (XVIII.88) which should eliminate the verbal demeanour. To the contrary,

the utsrṣṭikāṅka should be devoid of all with the exception of the verbal demeanour

(XVIII.96).

The number of acts is the next common distinction, also not devoid of shortcomings.

It gives the exact number of acts only for eight rūpakas14). The case of the utsrṣṭikāṅka

is obvious, since the very name indicates that it is a single act play. But the prahasana

remains undefined15). Further on comes the number of dramatis personae. It is fairly

precisely stated only in seven cases. The nāṭaka and the prakaraṇa should have from

four to five (XVIII.41). The samavakāra should have twelve (XVIII.64). The īhāmṛga

should have the same number as the vyāyoga (XVIII.81), although it has not yet been

listed and comes only later. Further on the dima is said to have sixteen (XVIII.88)

and the vyāyoga when it comes at last is said to have many of them (bahavah) (XVIII.91).

In all the above cases the word puruṣa is used which would rather indicate male actors,

while in the case of the vīthī the word hārya is employed meaning: "to be played."

The vīthī is said to have either one or two such players. (XVIII.112). To this the bhāṇa,

being a monologue, may be added for evident reasons. This leaves us with the utsrṣṭikāṅka

and the prahasana, where this aspect remains undefined16). Characteristic of heroes is

the next constituent part of the definitions of rūpakas. Apart from the four vṛttis it

is the only aspect consistently discussed. Yet also here we do not have in all cases

equally precise information. The nāṭaka has a well known and exalted hero who can

be a king of celestial connections. The prakaraṇa has for its hero a brahmin a merchant,

a minister, a priest. He should be neither exalted, nor have any celestial connection

and should not be a king. The hero of the samavakāra should be like in the nāṭaka

well known and exalted but he should not be so much human as divine or demoniac.

The īhāmṛga should have for its hero celestial being of vehément disposition and also

goddesses. The dima in turn is said to have a famous and exalted hero exactly like

in the nāṭaka but without further distinctions of the later. The vyāyoga has also a well

known figure for its hero which is explicitly said to be a king and not a god. The

hero of the utsr̥ṣṭikānka is only described as human and not divine. The prahasana

concerns bhagavats, brahmins, cortezans, servants, eunuchs, vitas and the like. The

hero of the bhāṇa is just the vīṭa. The heroes of the vīthī finally can be superior, middling

on inferior and that is all what the Nāṭyaśāstra has to say on the subject17)

The following chapter, while dealing with the intricate structure of drama, makes

the most important statement regarding the samdhi content of each rūpaka. As we can

see this content varies and therefore it becomes a handy means with which to determine

the generic character of different plays. According to Bharata's treatise the nāṭaka and

the prakaraṇa should have all samdhis. The samavakāra and the dima should have

no vimarśasamdhi. The ihāmṛga and the vyāyoga should have no vimarśa- and garbha-

samdhis while the rest of rūpakas should consist only of the mukha- and the nirvahana-

samdhis18). The fact that apart from few allusions to the structure, for example to the

bindu and the nirvahana (nāṭaka), the sarvasamdhi (prakaraṇa) and the bīja (samavakāra),

there is no coherent exposition of the samdhi content of each rūpaka in Chapter XVIII,

but only in the subsequent one, is yet another proof of the defective compilatory character

of our text. To our mind the statement regarding the samdhi content of each rūpaka

should have been made while discussing the Daśarūpaka.

Now, if we review all the elements discussed above we shall certainly discover

that neither the vrttis nor the samdhi or for that matter the number of acts or of the

dramatis personae or even the rasa content give any definite information regarding

the inner ideological import of each type of rūpaka. To some extent the characteristics

of a hero can be of help here, as well as the general remarks concerning the nature

of the subject-matter to be presented. As for instance an indication that the nāṭaka should

present good fortunes and famous pastimes (rādhivilāsa) of the royal sages. On the

other hand the prakaraṇa should deal with the exploits of brahmins and merchants,

etc., the īhāmṛga-with fight and women's anger. Similarly fight should be depicted in

the dima and the vyāyoga. The utsr̥ṣṭikānka should tell a story of lamentation of women

after the battle. The prahasana should abound in comic disputations, jocular remarks

and incidents of hypocrisy (dambhasaṃyoga). The definitions of the bhāṇa and the

vīthī give even less precise information, maybe because of their altogether different

nature : one being a monologue and the other a variety of sketches of which the Nāṭyaśāstra

The Typology of Sanskrit Drama (Daśarūpaka)

lists thirteen kinds (XVIII. 116-127). To describe exactly the nature of each one of

them would require a separate study. In the absence of living tradition not in all cases

the definite solution may be arrived at. Yet one things is certain that these are monologues

or dialogues of absolutely verbal character and that this genre may either constitute

independent short sketches or may be incorporated into a larger dramatic type, as for

instance the nāṭaka or the prakaraṇa. The same remark concerns the prahasana, which

may also appear in the double role of an independent type and of a fragment of a

larger composition.

All this does not give anything comparable with the remark on the tragedy to

be found in the Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics : "The hero's predicament can arise

primarily through elements in his own make-up, through the plotting of another or others,

through the very nature of his environment, through the will of heaven, or, more probably,

through a combination of these"19). Yet if we scrutinize our text more minutely we

shall discover as if hidden within the definition of the samavakāra the threefold concept

of the vidrava, which I would render here precisely "predicament", the threefold concept

of the kāpaṭa-"intrigue" and the threefold concept of the śṛṅgāra-"fascination"20). Despite

un unconvincing attempt to connect this concept with the samavakāra only21), the possibility

of its broader application strikes one forcibly. The last one of the tree triple concepts

listed does not need special argumentation. Fascination with the three puruṣārthas-the

trivarga of the Indian ethics-is one of the presuppositions of the ancient Indian weltanschauung

and as we shall see later, has been repeatedly acknowledged in the context of art as

well. The kāpaṭa is another notion the broader character of which is most apparent.

Its definition says that an intrigue may be either determined by the deportment of the

protagonist himself22), by fate (daivavaśāt) or by antagonists (paraprayukta) and that

it is related to the rise of happiness and despair.

Somewhat more complicated is the problem of the vidrava, i.e., of the predicament.

The term itself appears among others in the description of the aṅka, i.e., an act23) and

the definition of the īhāmṛga24). Apart from that it is one of the samdhyangas of the

garbha-saṃdhi25) and also according to some manuscripts one of the samdhyangas of

the vimarśa-saṃdhi26). This additionally proves that it should not be a concept strictly

limited to the samavakāra only. Still the very definition of the vidrava is puzzling:

yuddhajalasambhavo vā vāyvagnigajendrasambhramakrto vāpi

nagaroparodhajo vā vijñeyo vidravas tridhāḥ (XVIII.70)

There is certain unexpectedness in the very definite character of these causes.

One is inclined to suspect that these may be only concrete exemplifications of more

general notions and that haphazard enumeration of them would suggest negligent original

editorship. Apparently this must have been the feeling of Abhinavagupta also, for he

says that causes of the vidrava may be non-sentient (acetana), different or another (anya) and double (dvaya). From his further words it follows that anya possibly stands for sentient causes, the example of which he sees in gajendra, while siege of the city (nagaroparoddha) is according to him an example of predicament caused by both these categories, i.e., the fight (cetana) and the fire (acetana)27. The strength of this proposition lies in its being a generalization. Most obviously the hero's attitudes and reactions depend on whether his predicament is for instance man made or is natural. Its weakness on the other hand is that it puts all sentient beings into one bag exemplifying them by the elephant and by the fight (yuddha). Thus the basic text appears somewhat inadequate, unable to put ideas into correct order and logical sequence. The fight (cetana) is combined with the water (acetana). The wind and the fire (acetana) are combined with gajendra (cetana) ! Strong feeling persists that certain emendations of the text are unavoidable.

Since there is a variant reading for gajendra-jalendra we would accept, against Abhinavagupta, the variant jalendra, for it makes the triad of wind, fire and water complete and through the word indra indicates also the general divine power above the three elements, which also may be counted among the non-sentient-in the terrestrial sense of the word-causes of the predicament. But in order to avoid needless repetition of the word jala and at the same time salvage Abhinavagupta's interpretation we would suggest replacing this word when it first occurs with the word gaja. This would bring two types of cetana causes together, i.e., yuddha signifying human opponent and gaja the most powerful among beasts that man has to face.

Now these three triple concepts understood as above clearly facilitate attempts at the analysis and the critical appreciation of a Sanskrit drama. For-as it has already been stated-we can judge the behaviour of a particular hero only after determining whether his predicament is due to man's action, due to beasts, due to the elements or else due to both sentient and non-sentient causes. Further on, it has to be seen whether the intrigue is of his own making, or is caused by fate, or else is engineered by his antagonists. Our judgement also will depend on the way the play resolves natural conflict among the fascinations for the three puruṣārthas.

Here it may be added that possibly the particular configuration patterns of these nine notions could not be a priori settled for the different rūpakas. It is therefore not surprising that being not so much the differentiating factor as the general description of the modalities of the existential situation in a play, in a way similar to the description of the endroit of action, it has been put forth only once, but as a criterium of analysis it should be applied to all28 rūpakas whenever we try to analyse their concrete specimens. It is apparently the compilatory character of the Nāṭyaśāstra which is responsible for placing this concept where exclusively it hardly belongs.

The following conclusion emerges out of what has been discussed above, i.e.,

The Typology of Sanskrit Drama (Daśarūpaka)

that no judgement may be passed upon a Sanskrit play without first ascertaining its

rūpaka character, which consists above all of :

a) the vṛttis,

b) the number of dramatis personae

c) and their general characteristic

d) and the samdhi structure.

Apart from that the ideological analysis of a rūpaka has to be conducted along

the lines of :

a) the tridrava concept,

b) the trikapata concept

c) and the concept of triśṛṅgāra.

The number of acts and the number and general characteristic of dramatis personae

are simple criteria, which do not demand any special analysis. They are fairly precisely,

as we have already mentioned, stated in the Nāṭyaśāstra and consequently we feel free

to abandon them at this point. On the other hand the notions of the tridrava and

of the trikapata have been already sufficiently commented upon. This leaves us with

the necessity to investigate in their capacity of the analytical criteria the concept of

vṛttis, the samdhi structure and the notion of the triśṛṅgāra.

Footnotes :

1. A. Nicoll, The Theatre and Dramatic Theory, London 1962 p. 88.

2. Op. cit., p. 89. (R. Peacock, The Art of Drama, 1957, pp. 190-2.

3. N. Frye, Anatomy of Criticism, New York 1969, pp. 247-8.

4. Among others H. H. Wilson, s. Levi, S. Konow, S. N. Shastri, ‘D. R. Mankad.

5. D. R. Mankad, Types of Sanskrit Drama, Karachi 1936. This book presents an interpretation

of the Daśarūpaka as a document of historical development of Sanskrit drama from simpler

and more primitive forms (bhāṇa) to the more elaborate ones (nāṭaka).

6. The best example of this is the interpretation of the niyatāpti-avasthā; frustration in Bharata

and certainty of success with later theoreticians.

7. This is according to the GOS and Kāvyamālā editions. In M. M. Ghosh’s English translation

it is Chapter XX.

8. I wrote about it in Pamietnik Teatralny, XXIV, 2 (94), 1975, pp. 179-185. To Professor Ludo

Rocher of the University of Pennsylvania we owe an excellent philological assessment of the

textual tradition of the Bhāratīyanāṭyaśāstra presented at the Sanskrit Drama in Performance

Seminar at the University of Hawaii in 1974.

9. NŚ XVIII. 13ff. All references to the Nāṭyaśāstra (NŚ) when not specified otherwise should

be referred to the Gaekwad Oriental Series edition.

10. NŚ (KM) XVIII. 182.

11. This is also the opinion of M. M. Ghosh in The Nāṭyaśāstra, transl. by, Calcutta 1950, vol.I,

p. 371 f.

12. NŚ (KM) XVIII. 87-91 and 106-108.

13. NŚ (KM) XVIII. 4.

14. The nāṭaka and the prakaraṇa from five to ten. The samavakāra-three. The īhāmṛga and the dima-four. The vyāyoga, bhāṇa and vīthī-one.

15. The later practice seems to indicate one (the Mattavilāsa and the Bhagavadajjukīya, VII AD) and two (The Laṭakamela XII AD)

16. For instance the Ūrubhaṅga has eight plus three soldiers and the Bhagavadajjukīya has eleven. In M. M. Ghosh's translation we find as interesting couplet, which I could not trace elsewhere, saying that the vyāyoga, the īhāmṛga, the samavakāra and the dima have from ten to twelve dramatis personae (XX. 40, p. 361).

17. Of course the bhāṇa does not require special characteristics, for vīṭa is a well defined figure known from elsewhere, for instance from the Kāmasūtra. Now the turn of the taste (rasa) should come, for it is the last important aspect of the definition of the ten rūpakas discussed in Chapter XVIII of the Nāṭyaśāstra. Yet, because it constitutes, in a way, the arrival point of all analysis, we cannot consider it an instrument of the analysis and therefore it will be excluded from the mainstream of our further argument. Nevertheless, before we continue it is better to know that a statement of extraordinary importance is made in the course of defining the nāṭaka. It is said there that the adbhuta rasa should invariably characterise the nirvahana-saṃdhi (NŚ/KM/ XVIII. 94) which in turn is present, as we shall see, in each type of rūpaka. Positive statements concerning the rasa content of the ten rūpakas we find in connection with the nāṭaka and the prakaraṇa (nānā), the utsrṣṭikānka (karuṇa) and the vīthī (sarvarasa). Negative statement we have regarding the dima, which should be devoid of the śṛṅgāra and the hāsya. The īhāmṛga in its turn is said to have the same rasas as the vyāyoga has. But regarding the later one we have only the enigmatic dīptakāvyaraśāśraya. (M. M. Ghosh translates it as "having exciting sentiments as its basis.") p. 370). For the prahasana and the bhāṇa no indication is available, although the hāsya and the śṛṅgāra are fair guess for both of them.

18. NŚ (KM) XIX. 44-49.

19. Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics, ed. by A. Preminger, Princeton 1965, p. 860, col. 2.

20. We choose this rendering in order to underline, in this case, the technical character of the whole notion. But as a matter of fact the word love does express the meaning well.

21. It is also the opinion of M. M. Ghosh, op. cit., p. 366 f.

22. Here I accept the reading of GOS edition, preferred also by Abhinavagupta, who takes vastugata for phala sādhaka or kartā. Vol. II, p. 439.

23. NŚ (KM) XVIII. 20. It is said there according to M. M. Ghosh (XX. 20) that it should not be shown during an act. What might be implied here is that the very event lying at the bottom of the hero's predicament should not be shown. Yet both the Kāvyamālā and the GOS editions as well as Abhinavagupta do not support this reading.

24. NŚ (KM) XVIII. 131.

25. NŚ (KM) XIX. 60.

26. NŚ (KM) XIX. 62.

27. NŚ (GOS), vol. II, p. 439.

28. Dramaturgical practice furnishes many an instance of almost literal application of these principles. War, siege of the city, fire and an infuriated elephant very often appear in different plays. Although the notion of the triśṛṅgāra I shall discuss in detail in Chapter V, it nevertheless can be mentioned here that my thesis regarding the universality of this notion finds a very strong support in the Amarakośaṭīkāsarvasva of Vandyaghatīya Sarvānanda (1159 A. D.) who says in commenting on the śloka "śṛṅgāravirakaruṇa" that "sarvadiśam ātmasātkarṭum Udayanasya Padmāvatīpariṇayorthaśṛṅgārah svapnavāsavadatte, tṛtīyastasyaiVa Vāsavadattāpariṇayaḥ kāmaśṛṅgārah." T. Gaṇapatiśāstri, The Svapnavāsavadattā of Bhāsa, Trivandrum 1915, p. XXII.

II. THE FOUR DEMEANOURS (VRTTI)

The Daśarūpalakṣaṇa chapter of the Nāṭyaśāstra seems to make much of the

concept of the vṛttis, for one of the first statements it makes calls the vṛttis the matrixes

of all poems out of which in the actual theatrical practice the tenfold typological division

of all plays originates29). This enunciation makes it clear that the vṛttis are more fundamental

categories than the rūpakas and by the same poses two basic questions : one about

the exact nature of this fourfold concept and another one about its practical utility as

the criterium of the analysis of Sanskrit drama. As it is the rule with the Nāṭyaśāstra,

in the present case too mythology comes to our aid. And, since the account of the

origin of the vṛttis has been couched in mythological idiom, we are entitled to suspect

that this concept has some philosophical bearings or an existential import, which myths

usually express30).

The very mythological moment and scenery, in which the vṛttis originated, i.e.,

between the eons, when the discursive reality merged into one ocean of being, indicate

that we face here some rudimental notions of existence. Especially so, since the direct

cause of the appearance of the vṛttis-the attack of two demons upon Viṣṇu recalls to

mind the everlasting daivāsuram conflict, one of the elemental notions of existence

perceived as the sacrifice, i.e., as yajña. Devas and asuras, the children of Prajāpati

stand for the basic duality inherent to the discursive reality. It is because of the interaction

of these two poles of discursiveness that the world functions. The sequences of day

and night, heat and cold, happiness and despair, etc., are just few of the many forms

in which the daivāsuram manifests itself in creation.

Now our query can take the shape of a concrete question : what particular aspect

of existence has been set in motion due to the daivāsuram confrontation, which took

place at the beginning of our eon between Viṣṇu and Madhu and Kaiṭabha ? Like the

mediaeval fights this one too started with the verbal taunting and abuse. The mute aspects

of still latent existence heated up in conflict found Speech to express what they thought

and felt. We may have here a later recast of the Śatapathabrāhmaṇa myth about a

contest between gods and demons for the possession of Speech31). This contest never

ends, it is ever enacted, when Speech manifests itself both in the everyday life and

on the stage. To my mind, the present mythological account marks a moment in the

evolution of discursive reality at which the means of communication were established. Speech constitutes one such means. As Viṣṇu declares : "It will be the bhāratī vṛtti of the speaker, in which words will preponderate"32).

Yet this was not the only means of communication brought into existence at that fateful mythological moment. For, in a sense, the kicks and fist-blows showered by the demons upon Viṣṇu, as well as his response in taking up the bow, after he had tied up his dishevelled hair, also have the value of communication media-partly violent that they were. The means of communication thus indicated is the gesture and because of its character it has been considered to be threefold. Let us then review what the Nāṭyaśāstra has to say about these three types of bodily demeanour.

The sāttvatī vṛtti or the conscious demeanour owes its origin, according to this treatise, to the gestures arising from wielding a bow and thanks to that, intense (īvra), most splendid or clear (dīptatara), conscious (sattvādhika) and not confused (asambhrānta)33). The factor which decides the peculiar character of this demeanour is wielding a bow. We are given to think, that stringing a bow has been singled out as a par excellence human action, i.e. an action propelled and controlled mentally (sattvādhika). This account seems to be a much more poetical and imaginative version of the western evolution theory, which says that the ape, which for the first time took a stick as an implement, became the forefather of humans. For most certainly stringing a bow requires the type of gestures which are the sole preserve of humans, having nothing in themselves of the animal physiological spontaneity. Such gestures result from or accompany mental activity, which precedes and determines them. This account also indicates that highly technical and precise gestures are meant, which should be well ordered too. Apparently some such reasoning must have prompted Abhinavagupta, when he interpreted the sāttvatī vṛtti as the preserve of the manas34). It is for this very reason that we propose to render the word sāttvatī as conscious and that we shall employ this term throughout the present study.

The kaiśikī vṛtti or the delicate demeanour has been created by Viṣṇu with the various aṅgahāras in sportive mood, while tying his hair35). The most important difference in comparison with the previous demeanour lies in the fact that the delicate demeanour originated while tying hair, i.e. as an action or gesture which does not require any premeditated intention, which is spontaneous like brushing off unruly hair from the forehead but shows grace and aims at beautification. It may also be provoked by sportiveness (līlā) and thus serves as an expression ot emotions, being subservient to them in a way similar to the conscious demeanour being subservient to reason-to consciousness.

The ārabhaṭī vṛtti or the violent demeanour requires as preconditions anger (samrambha) and agitation (āvega). Then it arises from the many steps (cārī) and from the different postures (karaṇa)36). In practiece, this description agrees well-so far as its substance

The Four Demeanours (Vṛtti)

goes-with the description of the delicate demeanour, for both here, as well as there,

the bodily behaviour is thought of as in the first place subservient to emotion. There

it was that sportiveness (līlā) and all whatever it implies in the sphere of emotion.

Here it is anger and agitation which found its bodily expression in those blows and

kicks of the demons which in the theatre take the form of highly conventionalised steps

and postures.

"Vṛtti is man's activity in the direction of achieving the four puruṣārthas. which

is the theme of all literature"—writes V. Raghavan37). We can add that what should be

meant here is the communication aspect of man's activity. An activity which is not

witnessed and which communicates nothing to anybody cannot be called vṛtti. We should

all the time remember that the fight of Viṣṇu with the demons was witnessed by Brahmā

and this mythological pattern is in a way reenacted in each performance, to which in

the classical tradition the main spectator is God.

There is one more interesting problem worth noting. The order in which the four

demeanours are discussed is reminiscent of the sāṃkhyan type of thinking exemplified

for instance in the cosmological account of the Manusmrti. There also consciousness

is listed first and emotion next. On this occasion we would suggest a somewhat altered

interpretation of the opinion expressed by V. Raghavan that the vṛttis are only two

: the kaiśikī and the ārabhaṭī38). To my mind there are indeed two types of the vṛttis

: one-controlled by consciousness and another one- controlled by emotion. To the first

type belongs the verbal demeanour, an ex definitione human and mentally guided way

of communication. The conscious demeanour belongs also here because it includes all

gestures which- in the way similar to words- exteriorise human thoughts. To the second

type belong two remaining demeanours, to some extent at least, common with the rest

of animal world. They are even, in case of men, comparatively less subservient to consciousness,

more spontaneous and more directly exteriorising emotions of basically two types :

the delicate and the violent or- to call them by their proper names-of love and hatred.

Having alluded above to the sāṃkhyan type of thinking let us bring in yet another

concept which may be directly related to it, the concept of traigunya. This concept

will help us to define still more precisely the exact character of the vṛttis. If we take

sattvaguṇa for the ontic substratum of consciousness, rajoguṇa for that of emotion and

tamoguṇa for that of physicality, we shall find it only natural and true to the Indian

tradition to relate them to the trivarga-the three puruṣārthas. Consequently we shall

obtain following equations : sattvaguṇa=dharmā=consciousness, rajoguṇa=kāma=emotion

and tamoguṇa= artha=physicality. We may add that in our view the three puruṣārthas

are the axiological consequences of the three guṇas in the sphere of action. Dharma

perceived as action could be termed cetanavyāpāra. Kāma in the same capactity could

be termed bhāvavyāpāra and artha vastuvyāpāra. In the sphere of dharma one functions

12

Methodology of The Analysis of Sanskrit Drama

prompted by reason. In the sphere of kāma-by emotion and in the sphere of artha-

by material concerns. Of course these spheres are not tightly separated from each other

as indeed rationality, emotionality and physicality are not separated as well. This can

be best seen when we communicate.

Communication in the domain of reason has to be precise. Speech is the most

precise means of communication known to men. Thus the verbal demeanour reigns supreme

in the sphere of dharma. Yet even the most dispassionate speech will never be totally

devoid of emotion. While the ratio of emotion grows words become inadequate executors

of communication. Gestures have to come to their succour. Thus communication enters

the sphere of kāma yet without abandoning the sphere of dharma. It becomes then

the conscious demeanour. In as much as the conscious demeanour conveys with the

help of mudrās precise, rational meaning in so much it remains in the sphere of dharma.

But with the growing emotional charge it activates the sphere of kāma as well. When

this process goes further on and the emotional content of the communication process

becomes more intense then the delicate demeanour occupies the centerstage bringing

this process almost completely within the sphere of kāma. The verbal and the conscious

demeanours recede further less and less important and give way to song and spontaneous

bodily movements in dance and dalliance.

Thus bhāvavyāpāra reigns supreme. It signifies less and less reliance on either

verbal code or the code of gestures in communication and more and more on the direct

expression of the body, costume and song. So the role of pure physicality in communication

grows. Consequently the elements of vastuvyāpāra appear. Their importance increases

with the increasing intensity of emotions. The last violent demeanour with its anger

and passion finds the previous modes of communication decisively inadequate. Speech

is replaced by roar of wrath and gestures are intensified by means of material props

such as swords, bows, arrows and maces. Vastuvyāpāra of the artha sphere becomes

dominant. The former three demeanours albeit present recede in to the background.

Consequently communication enters the sphere of artha.

The coupling of these two concepts together is not only a scholastic exercise it

has a practical utility. For as we shall see later the triśṅgāra concept is pivotal for

Sanskrit theatre and drama. So the mode of communication with the audience will depend

in quite substantial degree upon whether the play is dharma, kāma or artha pradhāna.

We believe that the above remarks answer our first question regarding the exact

nature of the four vrttis. So, we can try now to answer the second question about their

practical utility for the analysis of drama.

The definition proper of the verbal demeanour underlines first what we already

know from the mythological account, namely, that speech is its first and foremost medium

(vākpradhānā). Afterwards information is given that this is the demeanour proper to

The Four Demeanours (Vṛtti)

men (puruṣaprayojyā), that women should not be employed in it (strīvarjitā) and that

the text in this demeanour should be couched in high literary language (saṃskṛtapāṭhyayuktā)39)

The most important general practical conclusion, which can be legitimately drawn from

the above, is that in this demeanour word goes all alone without the help of the conventionalised

gesture, otherwise the next demeanour would not have been explicitly defined as characterised

by both words and gestures. Therefore, to determine whether the text or its portion

is to be enacted in the verbal demeanour is of capital importance for the production

of any play and may also contribute towards the better understanding of its literary

composition.

The definition proper of the conscious demeanour states that it should be furnished

with the characteristic feature of consciousness (sāttvatā guṇa), with the conventional

mode of behaviour (nyāyavṛttā)40), with great joy (harṣotkatā) and restrained feeling

of sorrow (saṃhṛtaśokabhāvā)41). Our contention is that the conscious demeanour stands

above all for a conventionalised or highly technical manner of gesticulation, as V. Raghavan’s

interpretation of the term nyāya indicates. It should be a manner, which so far as its

precision is concerned, is comparable to a series of gestures required in wielding a

bow. Now the following remark of the Nāṭyaśāstra makes it clear what type of gesture

is implied and what it accompanies. "The demeanour in words and actions stemming

from consciousness, consisting of verbal and bodily acting (abhinaya) governed by

consciousness is called conscious"42). So we see here a certain escalation of the range

of actor’s expression. With the verbal demeanour it was just speech, with the conscious

demeanour it becomes speech accompanied by bodily acting in the form of the āṅgika

abhinaya i.e., conventionalised gestures and postures. This is how Abhinavagupta understood

this problem when he stated abhinayapradhānā sāttvati43).

The definition proper of the delicate demeanour mentions in the first place that

it is wonderful (citrā) due to fine costume and make-up of special type (viśeṣa).

Next it should be in connection with women (strīsaṃyutā), should abound in dance

and song and on the whole it should serve the creation of the enjoyment of love

(kāmopabhogaprabhavopacārā)44). In what appears to be an alternate definition put in

between brackets in the GOS edition of the Nāṭyaśāstra, we additionally find an information

that this demeanour should be embellished with verbal compositions full of graceful

words (citrapadavākyabandhairalamkṛtā) and should abound in laughter, tears and (feminine?)

anger45). To put it differently, we can say, that this demeanour does not totally give

up the verbal communication but that here it is subservient and serves rather ornamental

ends46). Convenient analogy may be found in the sphere of the so called light music.

In the popular songs words count less then tune, but they still have to be there. Thus,

it is not accidental that song and dance play such an important part in this demeanour.

With the presence of dance here a certain problem is connected. As we know the āṅgika

abhinaya does also characterise dance or at least some of its kinds. To define exactly the role of the abhinaya in dance we have to draw an analogy between a word and meaningful gesture. Like words in a popular tune similarly meaningful gestures in dance are indispensable but clearly subservient to the movement of human body as a direct expression of emotions. Nevertheless, if this does not suffice as a differentiating factor between the abhinaya of the conscious demeanour and of the delicate one, we can add that the Nāṭyaśāstra makes a distinction between abhinayasamjñakāḥ karāḥ and nrttasamāśrayāḥ karāḥ47). Huge audiences sitting in rapture at the bharatanāṭyam recitals, while more than ninety per cent of them does not follow the "language" of the abhinaya, are an ample proof for the above thesis.

The definition proper of the violent demeanour tells us that in it there are long jumps with wielding of stage props like swords, shields and the like48), (pustāvapātaplutalaṅghitāni), blows, feats of magic and manifold fights49). The preceding couplet adds to this picture some interesting information. Thus this demeanour should be full of intrigues and cunning and it should abound in bragging and false words (bahukapatavañcanopetā, dambhānṛtavacanavati)50). Similarly the subsequent couplet connects this demeanour in a very interesting way with politics (śādgunyasamārabdhā) and with gain or loss in the sphere of artha (lābhālabhārthakṛtā)51). Obviously this is the twin demeanour to the delicate one, for-as we remember-it is also prompted by emotion. In additon, it follows from the fact that in this demeanour the actor utilises stage props, that the meaningful gesture (abhinaya) here will have to be curtailed and made subservient to an overall emotional picture which it tends to create with all those violent movements, jumps, shouts, threats and impressive stage props. Consequently its verbal aspect may also be here limited mainly to abuse, bragging and lie. The Nāṭyaśāstra in a very interesting way juxtaposes this demeanour with respect to the delicate one.

For it connects the second with the sphere of kāma and the first with the sphere of artha. Yet the most important practical aspect of it, as well as of the delicate demeanour, is that plays or their fragments written with a view to be performed in one of these demeanours can resemble at times rough scenarios and most certainly used to be substantially elaborated in actual theatrical practice.

In order to make these demeanours still handier and their practical application easier, the Nāṭyaśāstra introduces the fourfold division of each one of them. The careful scrutiny of these sixteen categories yields interesting results, for they seem to indicate the particular moments of the theatrical action, which should preferably be couched in the given demeanour.

Thus the verbal demeanour should be employed in the laudation (prarocanā), which constitutes a part of the preliminaries (XX.28) and which-obviously, because of its laudatory and prayer-like nature, may best be expressed exclusively in terms of speech. The introduction

The Four Demeanours (Vṛtti)

(āmukha) has similar requirements, since it is a dialogue which is supposed to introduce

partly the main topic of the play. Additionally it is said in the Nāṭyaśāstra that any

subdivision of the vīthī may be employed here (XX.30-31). Actually two out of the

five subdivisions of the introduction are the aṅgas of the vīthī (XX.33) The remaining

three have on the whole the same character, the only difference being their peculiar

function of beginning the proper story by some sort of a wordplay. Let us see then

what they are like. The elevating (udghāṭyaka) is the first. If men, out of respect, connect

the utterances devoid of definite object with other utterances, it is called the elevating

(XVIII.115-6). This, rather puzzling, formula appears to denote, in the light of Abhinavagupta's

exemplification, a series of rhetorical questions put in such a way that they imply concrete

problems or persons. The opening of the story (kathodghāta) is the second type of

the introduction. It takes place when the protagonist enters the stage repeating what

has been just said by the sūtradhāra (XX,35). The extra performance (prayogātiśaya)

is, when the sūtradhāra arranges a play-within-play and only thereafter the protagonist

enters* (XX.36). The advance (pravṛttaka) is the entrance of the protagonist following

and in connection with a description based on a suitable moment (XX.37). Finally the

transference (āvalgita) is there where an action directed elsewhere achieves yet a different

purpose (XVIII.116-7). In most of these categories word-play seems to be essential and

in the remaining ones it certainly plays a very considerable part. As indeed it does

in the remaining subdivisions of the verbal demeanour, which are the vīthī and the

prahasana, NB. identical with the rūpakas of the same name. To my mind it is implied

here that the prahasana and the vīthī, both in their capacity of an independent farce

and sketch, as well as the farcical or sketchy scenes of larger plays should always be

the domain of the verbal demeanour. For it is obvious that the witty conversation or

monologue is the essence of both genres. The Nāṭyaśāstra itself acknowledges this

interpretation, when it says in Chapter XIX.47 that the demeanour proper of the prahasana,

the vīthī and the bhāṇa is the verbal one52).

The four subdivisions of the conscious demeanour seem to indicate that this demeanour

should be resorted to in much tenser moments of the play than the moments when

the verbal demanour is used. The first such moment is called the arousal (utthāpaka).

It is the direct confrontation of the opponents, when they challenge themselves to show

their prowess (XX.45). The second is the change of action (parivartaka), which occurs

when one-due to some exigency-abandons the ends aimed at in the arousal and pursues

another end (XX.46). I guess, this should be understood as stressing that all important

moments of changing the decision as to the further action should also be couched in

the conscious demeanour53).

The next subdivision of this demanour called the discourse (sam̧lāpaka) consists

of abuses and words full of passion. They might stem from aggresievness, but not exclusively

(XX.48). Apparently all those emotionally highly charged moments are meant, when

one speaks out one's mind and the words alone do not suffice. Their range has to be

augmented by gesture but the situation does not yet reach the boiling point, when the

words would actually lag behing the outburst of strong emotions and the violent demanour

would be then required. The inserted couplet in the GOS edition of the Nātyaśāstra

(XX.49) brings in one more interesting and meaningful element of the situation by saying

that it is also characterised by words arising from tension between dharma and adharma.

Thus, all moments of profoundly ethical conflict would demand the conscious demeanour.

The last subdivision of it is called the breach (saṃghātyaka / XX.50), for it is

that moment which brings in breach or separation either due to the force ingrained

in a Vedic spell54 and in a command, or due to fate or else due to one's own fault55.

This subdivision practically means that the reflection span will predominantly be given

expression to by means of the conscious demeanour. It is exactly at this moment that

a breach, a separation and a dissension manifest themselves with full force. Such situations

demand a verbalised expression, but as in the previous cases, it has to be intensified

by means of the meaningful gesture, without which it would not have the sufficient

emotional range.

The delicate demeanour is also subdivided into four categories. The first one is

called the dalliance (narmaṇ). It should have three aspects : should be based on love,

should be characterised by pure and virtuous behaviour averse to heroism (as the aesthetic

taste-rasa) and marked by a lot of amusing utterances. Such dalliance is underpinned

with jealousy and bad temper, full of acts of taunting, of self-reproach, while its characteristic

feature is the separation (of lovers?) (XX.57-58). Structurally, this subdivision of the

delicate demeanour would be mostly called for in the forehead-span (see p. 73) and

also in the womb-span, which precisely furnish necessary circumstances for its application.

The next subdivision of this demeanour is called the outburst of dalliance (narma-

sphañja). It is simply the first meeting and union of lovers. There are there the costumes

and words exciting love, but it ends in apprehension (XX.59). As the example of the

Śākuntalā of Kālidāsa indicates, this is the situation peculiar to both the forehead and

the womb-span. The subsequent category of the delicate demanour is called the eruption

of dalliance (narma-sphoṭa). It has a rather obscure definition, which says, that it is

characterised by multifarious fractions of different states (bhāva) and by the insertion

of the incomplete taste (rasa) (XX.60). What one may gather from this definition is,

that the delicate demeanour should also be resorted to in all situations which are emotionally

speaking nondescript. Such an interpretation could explain the fact that this definition

uses altogether different categories in disharmony with the remaining three.

The covert dalliance (narma-garbha) is the last subdivision of the delicate demeanour.

In it the hero characterised by intelligence, beauty, splendour and opulence, because

The Four Demeanours (Vṛtti)

of some exigency acts incongnito (XX.61)56. It is surprising that Abhinavagupta does

not quote at this instance the example of the Śākuntalā. One would also be tempted

to mention here the Avimāraka of Bhāsa where the covert dalliance has been given

a very interesting shape.

The last is the violent demeanour and it has, of course, also four subdivisions57.

The first one of them is called the compression (saṁkṣiptaka). It should have the adequate

décor, should introduce many stage properties, variegated costumes and make-up, but

its topic should be very brief or compressed (XX.68). This is, as a matter of fact, almost

the definition of the violent demeanour proper and its most interesting point is the remark

concerning the brevity of the topic (saṁkṣiptavastuviṣaya). We would understand it as

referring to the brevity ot the text actually elaborated through means of violent demeanour.

The description of the next subdivision of this demeanour sounds more definite.

It says that the commotion (avapāta) is characterised by rising of fear or joy and consists

of the behaviour peculiar to a predicament, to a calamity and to a confusion. Further,

that it abounds in quick entrances and exits (XX.69).

The theme-raising (vastūthāpana) subdivision is somewhat more cryptic. Its defi-

nition says that it is made of the composition of all aesthetic tastes, that it may be

based on a predicament or not based on it and that it makes the theatre (nāṭyam) possible

(XX.70). If the editorial preference of the GOS edition of the Nāṭyaśāstra could go

unchallenged58, we would have here indeed a very important element of theatre. One

is tempted to say at this instance that according to the statement in question theatrical

performance should begin with a bang not so much of a gong or a conch-shell, as

in the Indian traditional theatre, but with the bang of the violent demeanour59.

The last subdivision gives the description of all such situations, which resolve

themselves into an open conflict and fight. This subdivision is called precisely the conflict

(sampheta). It is supposed to give vent to anger and it is made of many fights, duels,

intrigues and splits. Showering blows of weapons is the way in which it is exteriorised

(XX.71).

When Manu lists those deserving honour and highest respect, he closes his list

with the mother, saying that she deserves thousand times as much respect as the father

(II.145). In the tradition, which accords to mother such an elevated station, the idea

of motherhood cannot be used lightly. To say in India that something is like a mother

to something else, means that it owes its very existence to the thing or the idea, which

has been so called.

sarveṣāmeva kāvyānāṁ mātr̥kā vṛttayaḥ smṛtāḥ (NŚ.GOS. XVIII.5)

It is now obvious how justified is this enunciation. The very existential possibility

of communicating through action lies at the root of all poetry. It is indeed the communication

incarnate. And this is so especially with reference to the so called poetry to be seen,

i.e., the drama. The shape of this poetry depends on the particular means of communication

that have been employed. Yet the fullest form of communication will be ensured, when

all the means are yoked to a common cause, i.e., when a man speaks and behaves

consciously and yet in accordance with the emotions felt, for the integrated man communicates

best when he does this on the stage; it is then called a nāṭaka or a prakaraṇa.

The vṛttis are par excellence theatrical criteria. As we have tried to show, they

are the fourfold way of communication through action and this is why they have been

rendered by the word demeanour, contrary to the accepted practice of calling them the

styles. From the point of view of their essence, they can be divided into two categories:

rational and emotional. To the first category the verbal and the conscious demeanour

will belong. To the second-the delicate and the violent. The two aspects of human presence

in action which make up these four demeanours are word and gesture. The first is

basically an expression of reason, the second-of emotion. Yet due to changing mutual

proportions, they form between these two poles a chiaroscuro pattern of the four demeanours.

Altering the order accepted previously after the Nāṭyaśāstra, we submit that on the

one hand the conscious demeanour represents this type of human action in which both

the word and the gesture are prompted and controlled, above all, by reason. On the

other hand, the delicate demeanour represents this type of human action in which both

the word and the gesture are mainly controlled by emotion. The remaining two demeanours

represent a less balanced state of things. In the verbal demeanour it is above all the

word, that carries on the message of reason, the gesture being at the best spontaneous

and hardly controlled consciously accompaniment of the word60. To the contrary, in

the violent demeanour the gesture, as if intensified additionally by stage-properties, costume

and decor is the most important transmission of emotion. The word (vākya) may even

be-as Bhāsa puts it succinctly-roṣāt pramattākṣara, i.e., incoherent through anger (Pratijñā,

IV.13). It will be then a gesture which-made more expressive with the help of weapon-

will become the most adequate exteriorisation of emotions. Most obviously both in actual

life and on the stage this pattern looses its sharp contours. The mutual ratio of reason

and emotion fluctuates, but the absolute bearings are always there and one has to be

conscious of them, when dealing with Sanskrit drama.

The fourfold subdivision of each one of the four demeanours describes in a rather

practical way the main occasions for their application; occasions created by the development

of action in its theatrical incarnation of the five spans. Much broader coordinates for

their application emerge from corelating them with the three puruṣārthas. Thus

vṛttis amply prove their pragmatic utility when a drama is analysed in order to

be staged.

The Four Demeanours (Vṛtti)

Footnotes :

29. The Nāṭyaśāstra, Kāvyamālā No. 42, Bombay 1943, p. 287 (XVIII.4). The word prayogatah of the text we render here "in actual theatrical practice". V. Raghavan in his article entitled The Vṛttis (JOR, Madras, vol N.VI, part IV, 1932, p. 354) discusses the import of the word also as interpreted by Abhinavagupta. He concludes that "prayoga is a comprehensive and fècund principle denoting the infinite passibility of creations of eternally varying types of dramas..." Here we feel that the application of this word, common in the NŚ, is to indicate theatrical practice of actual performance. This interpretation seems of fit well the present context.

30. Chapter I of the NŚ proves this well. We discussed this at length in our Concept of Ancient Indian Theatre, New Delhi 1974.

31. Śatapathabrāhmaṇa, 3.2.1.18-23.

32. M.M. Ghosh, The Nāṭyaśāstra, transl., XXI.8-10, p.402 (NŚ. GOS. III, p. 86, XX. 9).

33. NŚ. GOS. III. p. 86 (XX.12).

34. Ibid. Also G.K. Bhatt in The origin of Nāṭya : Role of Śiva, Annals, BOR. Institute, vol. LVI, Poona 1975, p. 204 writes about this vṛtti-'that concentrated element of abhinaya where body and mind act in harmony'.

35. Op. cit., p. 87 (XX.13).

36. Op. cit., p. 87 (XX.14).

37. Raghavan, op. cit., vol. VII, part II, 1933, p. 96.

38. Op. cit., part I, p. 48.

39. NŚ. GOS. III. p. 91 (XX.26).

40. V. Raghavan (op. cit.) in his lucid study of the vṛttis discussed exhaustively the nyāya problem and concludes that this word must be taken "as the technical paribhāṣā (definition) of the dramatic world meaning the wielding of arms (śastramokṣah). (part I, p. 41) Further on he says : "Thus fight with and without arms but more especially with arms was being called nyāya" (p.42). We believe that this is exactly what the term meant originally. Yet, in the present context, it acquires the more generalised meaning of conventional gesticulation.

41. NŚ. GOS., op. cit., p. 96 (XX.41).

42. Op. cit., p. 97 (XX.42).

43. Op. cit., p. 70.

44. Op. cit., p. 100 (XX.53).

45. Op. cit., (XX.54-55).

46. The main message is communicated through extraverbal means and this is possible because this message concerns emotions.

47. NŚ. KM., op. cit., p. 168 (IX.175).

48. According to Abhinavagupta khadgacarmavarmādi. (NŚ. GOS, op. cit., p. 104).

49. NŚ. GOS., op. cit., p. 103 (XX.65).

50. Op. cit., (XX.64).

51. Op. cit., (XX.66). Ṣadguṇa according to Monier-Williams means the six measures to be practised by a king in warfare (viz. peace, war, marching, sitting encamped, dividing his forces and seeking the protection of a more powerful king).

52. The Kāvyamālā edition of the NŚ choses this reading. The GOS edition puts it in the footnote as a variant reading.

53. The inserted verse in the GOS edition of the Nāṭyaśāstra (XX.47) adds that it is of three kinds: one which has definite topic (nirdiṣṭavaṣtuviṣaya), one which is put in the form of a ludicrous

dialogue (prapañcabandha?) and is furnished with three types of mirth (laughter ? trihāsyamayukta) and finally one, which is made of some special rivalry (saṁgharṣaviśeṣakrta).

54. The emendation of the mantrārtha into mitrārtha suggested by M.M. Ghosh seems to be uncalled for (The Nāṭyaśāstra, translated by, p. 406 (45, f.l.).

55. The inserted verse introduces the additional concept of the kūṭasamghātya, which contributes nothing substantial to what has been stated above (XX.51).

56. The inserted couplet (XX.62) in different words and in less clear manner seems to repeat the same thought.

57. It is interesting, why M.M. Ghosh persistently emends aṣṭārtha into aṣṭārtha and translates it as the eight meanings ?

58. Another possibility, actually chosen by M.M. Ghosh (XXII. 60, p. 409), is kāryam (NŚ. GOS., v. III, p. 104).

59. The Mudrārākṣasa seems to be a good example here. Also the Śakuntalā with its first scene of the hunting chase may perhaps be quoted here.

60. The normal European practice exemplifies this well. The gesture on the European stage is not really much more than in everyday life. The traditional Indian theatre of Kerala interprets the verbal demeanour in a similar way. Mr. L.S. Rajagopalan from Trichur who has been taking very keen interest in the Kūṭiyāṭṭam wrote in a letter dated 9th of April 77 that : "The vidūṣaka in Mantrāṅka (Act III of the Pratijñā of Bhāsa)... does not use mudrās when reciting Prakrit passages or making any speech. I have confirmed this with Pandit Narayana Pisharoti also, but the Pandit wanted to make clear that the vidūṣaka-or for that matter any one using bhārati vrtti-used laukika mudrā (lay gestures), they do not use śāstrīya mudrā (scientific gestures as mentioned in the Nāṭyaśāstra)".

III. THE STRUCTURE (SAMDHI)

The theatrical conception of action described in the form of the span (samdhi) theory is the result of a philosophical reflection upon action as one of the aspects of reality. Presenting here the relevant arguments necessarily couched in what may appear as a rather abstruse language, let me suggest a procedure of simultaneously reflecting upon any action, chosen at random, from our every day experience. Let it be for instance our going to the theatre to see the performance of the Śakuntalā.

Most obviously in order to embark upon the action, which will have as its purpose seeing the performance of the Śakuntalā, we need to be conscious of the fact that such a performance is actually taking place. Yet, simple registering of the relevant information does not belong to the process called 'an action', for even after having received the said information we may not feel sufficiently motivated to do anything about it, i.e., to act. Thus precisely feeling sufficiently motivated constitutes another element of the situation, which being the second precondition of action signifies at the same time its actual oncoming. Feeling is already an action, while knowing is not. Consequently we arrive at the point when we can say that it is consciousness (knowledge) activated by volition (feeling), which has the necessary potential to initiate an action. Starting from what appeared to be altogether different premises we have restated the main conclusion of our previous enquiry concerning the four demeanours, which as we did say it in so many words, function between reason ergo consciousness and emotion perceived in India as identical with volition61), We may repeat here that the four demeanours are as a matter of fact the four possible manners in which an action may express itself depending which of the two elements spoken above is dominant. Now, returning to our main topic we can say that the first phase of action lies in the sphere of feeling or volition. No action is possible without desire-one's own or somebody else's. This desire as we tried to demonstrate springs from consciousness. If an action ends at this phase it will deserve to be called a mere wishful thinking. What brings an action out of such an impasse is an effort on the part of the one who wishes. So an action enters its second phase of practical realisation thanks to an effort, which determines the character of this phase. If we wish to see the performance of the Śakuntalā, we have to go about securing tickets, transportation, etc. In a word we have to undertake concrete efforts

towards fulfilling our desire. Now, adequate efforts being undertaken, we can entertain

a reasonable hope that our desire to see the said performance will bear fruit. Such a

hope precisely makes the third phase of action, the dominating feature of which it becomes.

We' have got our tickets, we have ensured the baby-sitter for our children, we' have

told our friends that we shall be out tomorrow evening and we made sure that transportation

will be provided for taking us from our home to the theatre. The situation is such

that we may feel almost like already seeing the performance. But hope is only hope

and when we reflect for a moment upon the nature of this notion and upon what makes

it differ from the notion of certainty, we have to conclude that it is precisely uncertainty,

danger and threat of nonachievement that are absolutely and invariably concommitant

to hope. Hope and apprehension or frustration are the twin sisters, one cannot go without

the other. The tickets bought and everything settled, the doubt persists whether tomorrow

everything will be all right to permit us to go to the performance. This apprehension

may remain in the mental sphere alone but it may also take a concrete shape of difficulties

or hurdles, which will demand special efforts to overcome them. This is the fourth

phase of action-the frustration phase at which our hopes may come to naught. The

last phase coming after the difficulties are overcome is the phase of achievement at

which the fruit of action is actually gained. This would be then the structure of action

comprehended as a psycho-physical process. As we shall see, it is exactly in this manner

that it was visualised by the ancient Indian theoreticians of theatre.

If we consider man as the central point of reference of reality-as indeed the Indian

speculative thought always did62)-then his experience of action as outlined above has

to be considered the very essence of human existence-the nature of man's world, outside

of which in the sphere of transcendence there is nothing but inaction of the absolute

plenitude.

In Chapter I of the Nāṭyaśāstra a verse is to be found which should be undoubtedly

treated as the definition of the art of theatre. It says that the art of theatre is no more

and no less than the nature of the world with its happiness and despair represented

through acting (I.119). It should not come as a surprise then that the action becomes

a pivotal notion of the dramatic theory, the more so as our discussion of the four demeanours

has already anticipated this conclusion63).

The structure of action is considered in Chapter XIX of the GOS. edition of the

Nāṭyaśāstra64). The term used in this connection is the itivrtta. Suggesting an interpretation

of this word on the same lines with the well-known interpretation of the word “itihāsa”

(history), we would render it in English as meaning "so it happened". Here it will not

so much denote any particular event of the past as the essence of each happening-

its inner structure or sequence65).

The elaborate structure of the plot, as from now on we shall call the "itivrtta",

The Structure (Samdhi)

is built of two categories of elements. The first category is an idea of pure action called kārya. It constitutes the basis of a plot and it is divided into the five phases (avasthā).

First comes the beginning (ārambha) with its most important feature of desire to act (autsukya) XIX.9). Next comes effort (yatna); as its very name indicates this is a phase characterised by a concrete effort undertaken as a result of the desire to act (XIX.11).

It is now that due to earlier effort a hope of attainment of fruit is born. The final, fifth phase of fruition (phalāgama) XIX.13) is divided from that of hope with the fourth phase of frustration (niyatāpti) XIX.12)66). Concluding the description of the phase-scheme of action the Nāṭyaśāstra underlines that it is a universal concept aplicable to each and every action (XIX.14). Certainly there can be no action born of desire and aiming at its fulfilment which does not pass through these phases. The universality of this concept can be acknowledged, although to a Westerner its optimism might be somewhat presumptuous.

The idea elaborated above constitutes, as has been already said, a backbone of the plot, the flesh of which, if we may be permitted to continue this comparison, is described as the fivefold nature of the subject-matter (arthaprakṛti). The phase scheme describes action in its duration and the nature of the subject-matter scheme describes its texture of "thickness". In other words, the phase scheme underlines a purely linear aspect of action, which it acquires when seen in the perspective of time and space as a sequence of the five stages. On the other hand the concept of the nature of subject-matter takes note of the fact that the time factor, important as it is, should not falsify the true character of each and every action. For it would be naive to conceive of an action which lasts, for instance, five hours. The first hour would be dominated by desire, the second by an effort, the third by hope, etc. It is obvious that all these elements function simultaneously. Only at different stages different ones come to the forefront. It is precisely the elements of the nature of subject-matter that express this idea. Strictly speaking the three out of the five of them, i.e., the germ (bīja), the drop (bindu) and the action (kārya). These are the correlative notions to the five phases. Naturally a question arises; how does it happen that the five phases found only three correlatives in the sphere of the nature of subject-matter ? Further, why the two other elements have been clumped together with the three ? Before we try to answer this query let us review briefly what the Nātyaśāstra has to say about each one of the arthaprakṛtis, as they are called in Sanskrit. The most important element of this scheme is called the germ (bīja). It is the germinal main matter of a plot, its clew, which at the beginning is as small as a seed and which grows or thickens until fruition while an action progresses (XIX.22). This is the most important aspect of the nature of subject-matter. The remaining four just describe it more minutely. A drop (bindu) is the second aspect of the nature of subject-matter which stands for the continuity of action or for its interrupted flow

(XIX.23). The next two categories to be described are, as has already been indicated, external to the germ in as much as they do not belong to it, but only help in its progression and development from outside. The first is the subsidiary plot (patākā) XIX.24) and the second is the episode (prakarī) or, maybe better, the chain of episodes, which may be inserted whenever necessary (XIX.25). The important stipulation of the Nātyaśāstra regarding the first one (subsidiary plot) is that if cannot last beyond the fourth phase of action (XIX.29). Finally there comes the last aspect of the nature of subject-matter with which we have already become familiar in its capacity of fivefold-phased action.

The action (kārya) as the element of the nature of subject-matter stands for the continuous spirit of enterprise, an urge necessary to complete an action (XIX.26).

Scrutinizing closer the first two and the last one of them, we discover that the germ carries in itself, quite literally speaking, a very pregnant idea. A seed, in a way is an epitome of the whole plant including its fruit, which it contains in statu nascendi67. The germ thus appears as the integrating factor of the whole action and since it is present, as we shall see, at each span of it, we can say that in a way it is an action outside time and space, an action which is at once the intention, the execution and the achievement. The germ, therefore, being the epitome of the whole action may be conveniently considered as a special correlative to its beginning and its end, i.e., to the first phase and the last one.

The action (the last element of the nature of the subject-matter) in turn consisting of the spirit of enterprise (samāram bha) obviously is the correlative of the second effort phase. It would be rather an ungrateful task to show the exact moment during an action when desire ends and effort begins. It would be still more difficult-nay, imposible to show the moment when it ends, the very end of the play itself apart. The spirit of enterprise, of activity, the growth tendency ingrained in the seed is present right through the entire duration of action.

The third and the fourth phase find their correlative in the drop. As we saw, the Nātyaśāstra says that it is something which ensures continuity there where a breach comes in. This is quite clearly the situation when hope and frustration are alternately coming to the forefront. Evidently the greater an effort is, the stronger hope becomes and the mòre painful frustration proves to be. Yet both hope and frustration are already inherent in the very desire out of which the action springs. They are present there in the form of a drop of life-supporting fluid the necessary particle of humidity made of hope, which makes the sprouting of the seed possible inspite of all risks and hazards to which it is exposed.

The two remaining elements, i.e., the patākā and the prakarī have been added in recognition of the fact that there is no action which takes place in an absolutely sterile environment where it would not involve some parallel action (the patākā) or

The Structure (Samdhi)

would not criss-cross at different moments other actions, thus giving as the result the prakarī (or a series of them). The fact that the sum total of all these elements is five was certainly an additional reason of pooling them together and thus making good the sheer mathematical aspect of the whole theory so characteristic of the traditional Indian thinking68. Thus while the vertical division of the plot results in the phase-scheme, its horizontal division or rather its texture results in the fivefold nature of the subject-matter. The phase scheme projected unto the entire manifold nature of the subject-matter gives in effect a new category of five spans (samdhi) of the plot. The first span characterised by the variety of elements witnesses the origin of germinal subject-matter and is called the head span (mukha-samdhi) XIX.39) The second-a forehead span (pratimukha-samdhi) consists of the forceful manifestation of germinal subject-matter but with the reservation that it sometimes is visible and sometimes goes out of sight (XIX.40). The third span is called the womb span (garbha-samdhi) and its main characteristic feature is the flowering of the germinal matter and partial or rather transitory attainment of the fruit of action and repeated search for it (XIX.41). The reflection span (vimarśa-samdhi) follows. There is temptation, anger and disaster connected with the germinal matter inherent to it (XIX.42). In the last accomplishment span (nirvahana-samdhi) all the elements of action including the germinal matter are brought together. The emotional integration inherent to a state of fulfilled desires duly ensues and the action ends (XIX.43). Even now, after the basic phase-scheme of action has been elaborated into the concept of the five spans, We-can repeat out earlier conviction that it may be treated as an universal concept. At this stage its only explicitly Indian feature remains hidden in its total optimism a challengeable concept from the Westerner's point of view. Yet, once seen on a broader background of ideas current in the Indian world at that time it becomes an extremely interesting idea. Let me then at this turn risk a very short indeed exposition of these ideas. The Rgveda calls desire the first seed of mind (X.129). Simultaneous coming into existence of desire and multiplicity, between which there exists a sort of feedback relationship, is the basic presupposition of this mode of thinking. Prajāpati desired the second and so the second came into being. The very occurrence of Prajāpati's desire brought into being the second and consequently-multiplicity. That original eruption of energy plays in the universe of its own creation a very ambivalent role. For it is both raison d'etre of multiplicity and also the most powerful agent, which reintegrates it. Desire brought about the existence of multiplicity and desire brings about its merger. In the mechanistic vision of reality, which resulted, movement stemming from desire mysteriously (through the tapas) stirred itself up in the womb of Absolute. The centrifugal tendency started to operate keeping all innumerable particles of reality apart. At the same time that prime desire of Absolute to have Its counterpart, which lies at the bottom of the multiplicity of reality, found its own counterpart in the desire of all manifestations of reality to

marge with the Absolute. It is important to remember here that it is not conceived

as any extra feeling, for instance, religious. All our desires represent it and the just

fulfilment of them69) releases us from the whirlpool of existence and brings back to

wherefrom we emerged at the beginning of Time. There is no other way possible. Consequently

an ultimate unity with the Absolute is our physically and otherwise determined destiny.

This being so, still our experience teaches us that in actual life there may come about

a situation so blatantly tragic that we cannot but be very suspicious about the palpability

and logical coherence of the above proposition. This our reaction is inherent to those

who represent a culture in which death is interpreted as a unique, irrevocable and final

occurrence. In the Indian tradition death is repeatable. It simply separates different births,

which constitute ever so many links in the chain of our existence. This existence will

finally resolve itself in the fulfilment of all desires and in the perfect stasis achieved

within the Absolute.

Now, the theatre is supposed to be the nature of the world-whole of it, complete

and not circumscribed by one human birth. A spectator has to be shown on the stage

in humanly perceivable form, the true shape of his complete existence including his

innumerable reincarnations. He has to be shown what may be called a model action

in its complete form. There is no way but to admit that with such a justification we

hardly can call the integral optimism of the span structure presumptuous70).

By now, let us hope, the particular Indian character of what we propose to call

here action model has become abundantly clear. Yet, it is not all that the Nāṭyaśāstra

has to say on the subject. After formulating the theory of spans it introduces still another

category of span-elements (saṃdhyanga) (XIX.57-104), which in ever more precise and

peculiar Indian way further defines Sanskrit drama as model action.

Sixty-four span-elements reflect faithfully the basic division of the five phases.

Their character confirms whatever has been already said about the phases, including

the controversial problem of the frustration phase. Broadly speaking, the entire sixty-

four span elements can be divided in two categories. To the first all those will belong

which do not directly define the psychological implications of existential situations but

broadly indicate in technical terms the development of the plot. A poet is free to charge

them with whatever emotional content he will. The remaining ones can be directly referred

to existential situations and usually their emotional colouring is determined by their

definitions. As it will be shown while analysing element-wise the Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa,

the Svapnavāsavadattā of Bhāsa and the Śakuntalā of Kālidāsa they have not been

understood by Sanskrit poets as single happenings following each other in the same

order as they are discussed in the Nāṭyaśāstra, but rather as motifs which may repeatedly

reappear within one span or even occasionally outside it.

According to the span-element scheme the first element of the head span is the

The Structure (Samdhi)

suggestion (upakṣepa); it can also be rendered : the mention, allusion or hint. Invariably

in the first span there has to be an allusion to the central problem, i.e., to the germinal

matter of a plot and mostly it is to be found right at the beginning of the play. But

it may also be repeated later on. Now, since action is a complex and diversified process,

two further elements help a poet to remind us of it. These are the help (parikara) and

the extension (parinyāsa). The first stresses the multiplicity and intricacy of coming

events and the second the origin of this complexity. An element of the allurement (vilobhana)

through a description of virtues of the subject-matter in hand makes action additionally

attractive, forcefully enticing attention. During the course of the first span all elements

of action should be sorted out and it should be decided how it is to proceed. This

element of action is called the decision (yukti). The accession (prāpti) is another element

of the plot-structure, which has to be taken care of during the head span. For it is

precisely at this time that a suitable matter is determined, which should also be charged

with optimism. This element is closely related to the following one, i.e., the settling

(samādhāna) which marks the oncoming of the germinal matter of action. At this point

the span-elements become less evidently connected with the technicalities of the plot-

structure, instead they define more explicitly situations in terms of their psychological

charge. For the arrangement (vidhāna) is supposed to infuse into an action an aspect

of conflict consisting of happiness and despair. From the point of view of the definition

of theatre quoted above this seems to be one of the most important elements of the

plot. Natural in such condition is the element of contemplation or reflection upon the

complexity of life called the contemplation (paribhāvanā), the effect of which should

be-according to the Nāṭyaśāstra excitement followed by curiosity. Thus the said dual

aspect of the matter of action obviously provokes an active attitude which makes the

germinal matter grow or ascend and this constitutes an element of disclosure (udbhēda).

Now, an active attitude resulting from the element of contemplation fructifies in a concrete

enterprise with regard to the matter of action, which there by makes up another span-

element called the activity (karana). Further fragmentation of action and deepening of

divisions among its participants makes the element of dissension (bheda), which apparently

is considered a natural concomitant of the span-element called the activity at early stages

of action. Thus ends the head span. All the while we should remember that the main

tendency of it is an ardent desire, eagerness and zeal (autsukya), but not without moments

of anxiety and uneasiness.

The second span in accordance with its basic tendency which is the effort lists

as the first element the manifestation (vilāsa) which means striving after love or any

other satisfaction71). Consequently the twin span-element is introduced, that of pursuit

(parisarpa) after an object of action, which at this stage most obviously cannot be in

full view and alternately appears and disappears. Each pursuit tends to provoke the

resistance (vidhūta)-the next span-element mentioned in the Nātyaśāstra, which underlines that it is only an initial resistance. Yet, it is enough to cause perplexity (tāpana)-a span-element stemming from separation. This span-element with its aspect of separation ushers into the plot structure the delicate demeanour, which often characterises such situations. Therefore, the two following span-elements represent exactly this demeanour.

The first is the dalliance (narman) introducing mirth or laughter for the sake of amorous pastime and the second is the splendid dalliance (narma-dyuti), which brings in the same as above, but in order to hide some mistake obviously in connection with love72.

Another motif which the Nātyaśāstra considers characteristic of the span of the plot is conceived in the form of a span-element called the argument (pragayana), which is construed as reply upon reply. Although at this stage no serious setback should take place, some hindrance (nirodha) may occur when some sort of mishap comes in the way. A following span-element called the pacification (paryupāsana) introduces into the plot a motif of conciliation of the angry and it anticipates quite clearly the womb span.

The politeness (puṣpa) particularly of a verbal type should also characterise the second span of the plot. But by no means it should be the only note of this chord, which includes also a contrasting tune of obviously angry retort in the form of a span-element called the thunderbolt (vajra). The announcement (upanyāsa) being the result of a deductive process should also find its place within this span. The last element of the forehead span-the interconnection of characters (varṇasamihāra)-is of capital importance.

As Abhinavagupta insists we should understand the term figuratively meaning, that all the protagonists and antagonists, i.e., the four varṇas of the play meet (XIX.32 commentary).

The analysis of Bhāsa's Svapnavāsavadattā seems to point out to the fact, that what is meant here is not an actual scene in which all of them come together but rather a general tendency of this span to interconnect all the dramatiś personae involved. Thus presents itself the forehead span of the plot built up on the phase of effort.

The middle, womb span should contain as its first (but by no means most important) element the fabrication (abhūtāharaṇa) consisting of deceitful words well balanced with a statement of truth in an element called the right way (mārga). Now, as if connected with these conflicting elements is an element known as the symptom (rūpa) which denotes a conjecture with regard to a collection of various matters. The exaggeration (udāharaṇa) is an element of rather ornamental value for it consists of exaggerated statements, but it does well express the high emotional charge of the middle span. Undoubtedly the apogee of the womb span as well as in a way of the entire plot is marked by a span-element called the clance (krama), for this element represents a motif of the attainment of what Abhinavagupta calls 'paramārtha', i.e., the most coveted object of action, but in a sort of partial, illusory or mental way only. Such an optimistic note is most naturally accompanied by a motif of conciliation and generosity conceived as the element of

The Structure (Sandhi)

propitiation (samgraha). The atmosphere of this span is so charged with hope that desired

shapes are readily inferred from surrounding shapes in a span-element called the inference

(anumāna). The element of supplication (prārthana) denoting a demand of love. joy

and festive mood furnishes an excellent background for the happenings indicated in

previous elements. The element of revelation (ākṣipti) of what has been so far hidden

in the hearts of those participating in the action also characterises the present situation.

Hope of attainment appears in its full swing. But, after all, this is not yet the end

of action-only its middle stage which is marked by a tinge of disappointment along

with hope. Consequently the optimistic upward trend of action has to be marred with

outbursts of heart-rending words in an element named the angry speech (toṭaka). This

element marks the downward trend of the womb span expressed by the three remaining

elements. The outwitting (adhibala) consists of overreaching through fraudulent moves

and results in some dangerous situations, which in their turn cause fear of a king, an

enemy or a robber in the form of the element of agitation (udvega). The last element

of the womb span, the so called predicament (vidrava), links it with the subsequent

span of reflection. For an apprehension caused by fear or terror makes it anticipate

the events of the reflection span, the character of which is determined by the frustration

phase.

Not unexpectedly the very first element of the reflection span is the reproach

(apavāda), which is nothing else but proclaiming a crime or offence. Such an element

is in harmony with the one that follows on the list. It is the confrontation (sampheta),

where angry words are exchanged73). Next element in the same vein is that of an insolence

(drava) shown even to those who normally would command high respect. Conflicting

emotions seem to pervade this entire span. Thus the tense flow of action marked by

the above elements is accompanied with conciliatory efforts aiming at the placation

of opponents which make up the exertion (śakti). This in turn should be coupled with

the perseverance or determination (vyavasāya) stemming from a vow. The conciliatory

spirit, which might appear here and there in this rather tense span, is also expressed

in an element called the reverence (prasaṅga), when those deserving praise are shown

due respect. Yet elements of contention are by no means overshadowed by these peaceful

efforts. The element of dazzlement (dyuti) full of words of contempt is closely connected

with the element of distress (kheda), a natural concomitant of mental strain. This unrelenting

pessimistic trend does not show signs of abating and the lowest ebb of action at the

reflection span is marked with the forceful denial (pratiṣedha) of all that has been desired.

It is accompanied by the effective blockade (virodhana) of action almost beyond recovery.

Almost-for a concurrent stream of events so characteristic of this span makes action

emerge from its tragic impasse by means of the effective grasping (ādāna) of the germ-

oriented action. The rumblings of a just averted storm can still be heard in words of

30

Methodology of The Analysis of Sanskrit Drama

contempt, but apparently they are used rather for the sake of the concealment (chādana) required by the exigencies of action. The last element listed anticipates with its optimism (prarocanā) the last span of action by representing an integration process of the so far rather diffused subject-matter.

The Nāṭyaśāstra has an injunction saying that of the five, three inner spans can be dropped because of some special reasons (XIX.18) Now the very first element of the accomplishment span seems to give substance to such a view being just a reappearance of the germinal matter in the same form as it had in the head span. It is for this very reason that this element receives the name of the span (samdhi). As we can see, the reflection span brings an obvious disruption of action. Therefore, one of the characteristics of the subsequent span must be to pick it up again and this is precisely formulated as the element called the awakening (vibodha). The element of assembling (grathana) to a degree runs concurrent to the former one, for it denotes setting about different tasks still ahead. This tendency of bracing oneself up for action which now emerges again from the low ebb of the fourth span is also connected with a certain retrospective tendency, which is expressed among other things in the narration (nirṇaya) in which past experiences are retold. Such an element, of course, furnishes an ample opportunity for the reprimand (paribhāṣaṇa) or censure apparently of those who have been responsible for what happened during the reflection span. At the same time this element marks an end to any tension which might have yet persisted. Now, everything calms and the matter achieved settles down in what may be understood as the element of final confirmation (dhr̥ti). A collection of such matters makes up another element called the joy (ānanda). A final passing of misery is indicated by the element called deliverance (samaya). The element of delight (prīti) which follows the Nāṭyaśāstra explains as manifesting itself in the form of kindness consisting of reverence. The apogee of this span from the point of view of emotional content has been conceived of as the element of mystery (upagūhana), which consists of an attainment of something wonderful (adbhuta). It we remember the stipulation of the Nāṭyaśāstra that the taste of wonder (adbhuta rasa) should always emanate from the accomplishment span (XVIII.43) then no more comments are required74). For this is undoubtedly the moment of a play when the audience should experience catharsis at its highest pitch. Whatever is left in the way of an action consists simply of winding up devices. As a matter of fact a proper action is exhausted with the element of mystery. The remaining sequence of action begins with the oration (bhāṣaṇa) having as its main theme conciliation, generosity etc. It is accompanied by the element of retrospect (pūrvavākya) reviewing in short the matter already dealt with. The bestowal of a boon makes up what is called an element of a termination (kāvyasamihāra) of the play75).

The above analysis of man's functioning revealed what, at least from the Indian

The Structure (Samdhi)

perspective, seems to be unchallengeably universal in it, i.e., the concept of five-phased

action, which became the very fundament of the plot division into the five spans. Since

the spans appeared to be too general a notion, the Nātyaśāstra came out with a more

detailed concept of the span-elements describing the regularities of the plot structure

treated already as a homogeneous entity. This system is especially priceless as the criterium

of the analysis of Sanskrit drama, for it betrays its specifically Indian provenience even

more than the span structure itself does. Consequently it may well guide us in our

attempt to draw the sinusoid of the hero's predicament and to pin-point exactly all ups

and downs of the conflict, which involves him. It suggests where and for what we

should look in a drama under analysis. As we can see, it may serve as a science of

peculiar geometry or as a topographic chart of man's endeavour, or still better as the

science of anatomy of action. Exactly as the anatomy says nothing about man as the

creature subject to moral judgement, in the same way the span theory leaves out the

entire moral or, more broadly speaking, ideological aspect of action which we-modern

and alien recipients of it-are prone to judge from the stand-point of our own ethical

principles (or their absence!), which more often than not are totally unsuitable for the

task they are put to.

This is the reason for which we require a set of equally handy notions permitting

us to analyse human action as presented in Sanskrit drama without imposing our own

norms upon the behaviour of those who could have never been, as much as aware of

them; to say nothing about being motivated by them. The trivarga concept seems to

supply this much needed key thanks to which we can have much deeper insight into

the motivations of human behaviour represented in Sanskrit drama.

Footnotes :

61. This is apparent from the analysis of the semantic purview of the verb "kam". The phrase Prajāpatir

akāmāyata means both Prajāpati desired and felt, as indeed one can not desire without feeling.

62. We see the proof of it in the idea of the ātman and in that of Puruṣa-Prajāpati. In fact, in

the exegetic literature we find countless references to man being a pivotal creature in the universe.

63. Here we owe a methodological explanation. Since the concept of action is so obviously central

to the classical Indian theatre, we should have begun my enquiry by considering the action

first and only then the demeanours. The reversed order in this case is an autcome of accepting

as the starting-point the typology of Sanskrit drama, i.e., the Daśarūpaka, for which-according

to the Nātyaśāstra-the demeanours constitute the matrix.

64. We have analysed this problem for the first time in Concept of Ancient Indian Theatre, Delhi

65. Here we shall limit ourselves to a brief recapitulation of that analysis highlighting only

some aspects of it, which we now see in somewhat different light (the arthaprakrtis) and elaborating

the span-element theory, which was barely touched in that book. The basic difference is that

there it was a part of the general theory of the theatre and here it is supposed to serve as

one of the criteria of the analysis of Sanskrit drama.

65. Op. cit., p. 102.

66. Op. cit., p. 104-112, where we have given reasons for this rendering of the term.

67. The meaningful phrase of the ascetics in the Śakuntalā : "sarvathā cakravartinām putram āpnuhi" is, maybe, the finest instance, in the whole of the Sanskrit dramatic literature, of the germ. These words repeated twice by the hermits are indeed like a seed sown to bear fruit, which will become the true and the final fulfilment of Duṣyanta's desires.

68. A. Daniélou. Les quatres sens de la vie, Paris 1976, pp. 69-72.

69. The just fulfilment signifies the fulfilment in all three spheres of ethics simultaneously. See next chapter.

70. The Sakuntalā once again emerges as the most subtle and the clearest example of such an understanding of existence.

71. Not only in the case of the vilāsa, but also in some other cases we differ in our rendering into English of the terms in question from what M.M. Ghosh suggests in his translation of the Nātyaśāstra. The vilāsa for instance rendered "amorousness"-would unnecessarily be limited to erotic plays only.

72. These two span-elements rendered in English by M.M. Ghosh as the joke and the splendid joke are puzzling because of substantial terminological coincidence with the subdivisions of the delicate demeanour. In the case of narman demeanour and narman span-element their definitions differ. In the case of narma-dyuti there is certain similarity with the definition of narma-garbha, but the different epithets added to both cannot be superfluous. In order to make the picture complete we must say that Abhinavagupta does not comment upon this coincidence; apparently he does not see here any connection. To our mind the Nātyaśāstra would have invented absolutely different terms if it did not intend some connection here. In both the categories laughter or mirth (hāsya) is obviously playing a considerable part. But while in the case of delicate demeanour, the love aspect is underlined, in the case of two span-elements-at least as seen by Abhinavagupta-this aspect is absent. We would use then a following argument in order to come out of the impasse. First of all it seems that one of the variant readings (krīdāvilobhanārtham) suggests that krīdā'should be taken here in its particular meaning of ratikrīdā. In the case of the second span-element we have also a complementary variant reading ratinarmkrta.... Thus both these variants introduce an erotic aspect present also in the delicate demeanour. It seems, therefore, obvious that the two spanelements signify the presence of the delicate demeanour in the head span and that they should, therefore, be rendered by the expressions "dalliance" and "splendid dalliance". This interpretation is an improvement in the light of the concept of the vrttis-of the one offered in the paper entitled: Sanskrit drama as an aggregate of model situations and presented at the Sanskrit Play-in-Performance Seminar at the University of Hawaii in 1974.

73. This element signifies the presence of the violent demeanour here, for one of the subdivisions of this demeanour is called the sampheṭa.

74. May-be only one, viz. that the Nāṭyaśāstra by assigning the taste of wonder to Brahmā, its highest deity and by placing it at the end of the list seems to attach rather exeptional importance to this taste.

75. To our mind the praśasti should not be considered a samiddhyaṅga. The GOS. edition gives to it the same number as to the kāvyasamihāra (vol. III, p. 31 (XIX.104). See also V.M. Kulkarni, The conception of samdhis in the Sanskrit drama., Journal of the Oriental Institute, University of Baroda, vol. V, June 1956, No. 4, pp. 389-402.

IV. THE THREEFOLD SPHERE OF ETHICS (TRIVARGAŚṚṆGĀRA)

Practically speaking, after what has been already said, it is not necessary to argue specially that drama, or broader-the art of the theatre (nāṭya), is human behaviour reenacted on the stage. Nevertheless, let us, just in any case, adduce some other relevant arguments.

The Nāṭyaśāstra says that the art of the theatre was created as a mimicry of action of men, good, bad and indifferent (I. 112-113). Earlier, among various aspects embraced by the art of theatre there are listed the three puruṣārthas interspersed with play (krīḍā), peace (śama), mirth (hāsya), fight (yuddha) and slaughter (vadha) (I.108), Although Abhinavagupta in his commentary on this passage does not explicitly identify these three with the puruṣārthas, yet, exemplifying it, he says that a nāṭaka is as a rule dharmapradhāna and a prakaraṇa-arthapradhāna76). Abhinavagupta has already said it is so many words that nāṭya directs the minds of men towards the fulfilment of the four puruṣārthas77). In Chapter XVIII he also employs this term profusély. Very interesting is, among other things, his comment in connection with the definition of a nāṭaka. He takes the vibhūtis of the hero of this type of rūpaka as denoting the four puruṣārthas. He also takes the ṛddhi of the same śloka for the equivalent of artha, while the vilāsa for the equivalent of kāma (XVIII.11). The next instance worth quoting in this connection is his comment on the concept of the triśṛṅgāra belonging to the definition of the samavakāra and already alluded to in Chapter I of the present study.

There are four ślokas (XVIII.72-75) that interest us here. The first one is general and says that fascination (śṛṅgāra78), the purpose of which is determined through the application of different actions, should be made of three kinds, i.e., the fascination with Virtue, the fascination with Welfare and the fascination with Love. Then the Nāṭyaśāstra defines the fascination where there is a lot of practices leading to Virtue and for the good of the self, full of vows, discipline and mortifications, is known as the fascination with Virtue. The fascination with welfare in turn is the desire of attaining welfare in all its numerous forms79) or it is love for the sense-objects connected with the union with women which takes place for the sake of Welfare. Finally the fascination (the subject) of which is the passionate consummation either gentle or violent-of a man and a woman in union, involving seduction of a virgin is called the fascination with Love80).

There is one observation which has to be made in connection with the above formulae. Although they are not the definitions of the three puruṣārthas, but only the descriptions of the ways in which the three puruṣārthas should be treated in a particular type of rūpaka called a samavakāra, yet, as we shall see later, they are fairly close to what can be considered their definitions proper. It is precisely the fact that they have been considered in such a comprehensive way only on the occasion of describing a samavakāra that has provoked our objections. In the light of what Abhinavagupta has to say on the subject these objections seem to be rather justified. For he writes : anyarūpakānāṁ tu trivargopāyatvaṁ nāsty ekāṅkatvāt, thus indirectly acknowledging that this criterium should also be applied to other rūpakas, the only difference lying in the fact that a samavakāra has each of its three acts dealing with one of the puruṣārthas.

Last but not least, there is one more statement of this illustrious commentator of the Nāṭyaśāstra which deserves to be adduced here. It is the very last sentence of his commentary of the Daśarūpalakṣaṇa chapter of the Nāṭyaśāstra. Tatraṣāṁ pumarthopayogo nijanijalakṣaṇāvasare darśita eveti... . Tatra refers to the chapter in question and eṣāṁ refers to the ten rūpakas. Thus we can see that the utility of the ten rūpakas for the puruṣārthas is in the centre of Abhinavagupta's attention. Concluding, we can say that for Abhinavagupta the relation of nāṭya and the puruṣārthas was as good as granted in a way similar to that shared by S.N. Shastri.

Commenting on one of Bharata's lines defining a nāṭaka he says that the several vibhūtis mean and include piety (dharma), wealth (artha), pleasure (kāma) and absolution (mokṣa)81 thus obviously sharing the opinion of Abhinavagupta without acknowledging it though. He also quotes the Mandaramarandacampū, which states that a nāṭaka should have for its main sentiment the erotic actuated by motives of dharma, kāma and artha82). But undoubtedly the Bhāvaprakāśa makes the most of the connection between the puruṣārthas and drama.

It sees a direct relationship between the rasas and the puruṣārthas. It insists that śṛṅgāra and adbhuta are useful for kāma, vīra and raudra for artha and karuṇa for dharma, while bhayānaka, bībhatsa and hāsya depending on the state of mind of the hero, pertain also to one of the three puruṣārthas. It concludes that the usefulness of the rasas for the trivarga determine their appearance in a play83). Somanchi Ramulu, whose opinion we are quoting, adds elsewhere a very interesting definition of poetry (unfortunately he does not quote the source of it).

According to this definition poetry is a word which in terms of rasa propounds the puruṣārtha84). Apart from this it is perhaps needless to go thus far in apportioning more or less technical aspects of art to different puruṣārthas. But the attempt in itself is interesting. It proves beyond doubt the close relationship of the concept with literature in general and drama in particular. The whole problem is most pointedly summed up by K. Krishnamoorthy when he says that no human activity could be justified when there was no harmony of the other three values (trivarga) with that of mokṣa,

The Threefold Sphere of Ethics (Trivargaśṛṅgāra)

35

and it was precisely this harmony that literature and art endeavoured to bring home

to every one in an appealing fashion85).

Whatever has been said above justifies us in drawing a following conclusion :

that as in actual life similarly on the stage, or in a literary work in general, human

action can be judged in India exclusively in terms of its positive or negative relevance

to one of the three puruṣārthas and in terms of its attunement with the theoretically

postulated harmony of the three. Thus any attempt to evaluate ideological or better

ethical import of a Sanskrit play without taking into consideration the trivarga and

without pondering over conflicts among the demands of Virtue, Love and Welfare as

Medhātithi teaches would lead us astray and would make us impute to these plays values

or blemishes which they do not possess86).

At this moment one can say that it is easier said than done, for the concept of

puruṣārthas by no means belongs to those aspects of Indian tradition which have been

properly and universally understood outside India and clearly defined within its boundaries.

For in fact there possibly was no separate work giving a theoretical exposition of the

concept of the threefold sphere of human existence, the so called trivarga or puruṣārtha87).

It becomes even more puzzling, since this concept has been very often employed both

in the ancient theoretical literature and in belles-letters, while compiling anthologies

of poetry for instance88). Perhaps this has come about because the entire concept was

so obviously natural to the Hindus that in their eyes it did not require theoretical justification.

Yet, it might be more prudent to suppose that such work existed and later sank into

oblivion. That it might have been so is supported by the undisputed fact of the Hindus

being exceptionally keen on precise investigation and description of problems belonging

to this category. Moreover, we find various remarks concerning the threefold sphere-

or even longer deliberations on the subject in many a treatise89). It is exactly in one

such treatise, the famous Kāmasūtra, that Chapter II, Part I and Chapter VI, Part VI

give an exposition of the theory of the threefold sphere, i.e., Virtue (dharma), Love

(kāma) and Welfare (artha)90). Despite it all, certain vagueness of this theory in India

even in the most recent work on the subject by P.V. Tripāṭhī91) is quite obvious. This

situation has improved considerably since the publication of a very imaginative and

profound study of Allan Daniélou. This book entitled Les quatre sens de la vie92) is

undoubtedly one of the best and the most comprehensive treatments of the subject93).

We managed to secure a copy of it only after the present detailed view of the subject

had already been formulated. It appeared that the basic contours of the problem have

been drawn in both cases in a very similar fashion. This certainly proves the objective

value of the concept of puruṣārthas as a criterium of analysing human behaviour. Yet,

there is one considerable exception, i.e., the treatment of mokṣa. In this connection

the criticism levelled against Daniélou's treatment by Philippe Lavastine in his lucid

36

Methodology of The Analysis of Sanskrit Drama

paper on the trivarga may be quoted94). He writes : "... this idea that there are four

"meanings of life" like four castes, four seasons, etc... although it has become "traditional",

it is not an idea or a primary vision (Veda). This is not the Vedic notion." (p. 69).

The idea of mokṣa has been omitted in this study because its altogether different character

places it on the summit of the three puruṣārthas and never in one line with them.

This somehow has been acknowledged by Daniélou, when he says that mokṣa may

be reached via three ways corresponding to the three puruṣārthas (pp. 159-161). What

is really meant here is reaching this goal through these three ways simultaneously and

in concert. This, as well as some other differences,95) would simply point to the fact

that Daniélou is concerned with the modern Indian understanding of the entire notion,

while it has been influenced and in a way "perverted"- as Lavastine would have it-

by the ascetic tradition of nivṛtti, which is responsible for advocating mokṣa as the

one and preferably the best of the four puruṣārthas. It is this puruṣārtha, according

to this way of thinking, that should above all command our attention and energy to

the obvious detriment of the other three. Now, since our concern is to find out a key

to the analysis and evaluation of human action as presented in the classical Sanskrit

drama, we have to concentrate on the earlier phase of the development of this idea

as presented in the Manusmṛti, in the Kāmasūtra etc. We feel therefore justified in

presenting below our own understanding of the trivarga.

Let us then begin by referring to Karl Potter, who suggests the word "attitude"

as that which most adequately expresses the common connotation of what we call above

the three spheres. Thus the attitude in the sphere of Welfare Potter defines as that of

minimal concern usually adopted towards all these objects or persons, or even ourselves,

which are manipulated in making a living96). The attitude in the sphere of Love, in

turn, Potter describes as that of passionate concern toward anything in the world. According

to him the most characteristic feature of this attitude is an element of possessiveness

that one has for the object of one's attentions and dependance upon the object that

is loved97). Finally, the same scholar defines the attitude in the sphere of Virtue as

that of maximal concern and as that of treating things commonly thought of as other

than oneself-as oneself and in a spirit of respect. In other words it is an attitude of

concern for others as a fundamental extention of oneself98). The American scholar has

made substantial and difficult step forward towards the interpretation of these extremely

interesting concepts for the contemporary world. The way he propounds his theory makes

the three attitudes fall into one coherent whole. Nevertheless, both the necessity of altering,

without sufficient explanation, their traditional hierarchy (Love is the least important

sphere, usually mentioned at the end) and his complete disregard in this connection

of the Indian viewpoint which, contrary to Potter's assumption, is to be found in Indian

texts99), make that even accepting the basic premisses of his interpretation, one feels

The Threefold Sphere of Ethics (Trivargaśṛṅgāra)

justified to adopt different approach, which, it may be, will more precisely show the

meaning of the threefold sphere concept.

The first lesson of the "Treatise on Virtue" (Mānavadharmaśāstra) contains a very

interesting cosmogonic account. Unmanifest Absolute creates thought (manas), which

related to the subject of creation, i.e., the Person (īśvara) is defined as self-awareness

or self-consciousness (ahamkāra). This consciousness directed outwardly becomes the

great self (mahantamatmanam) or, according to Medhātithi, perception (samjñā) of all

that, which consists of the three aspects (guṇa) and constitutes reality subject to sensory

perception. After that, the five senses are created-the receptors of external objects. Finally

an aggregate of perception, of five senses and particles proper of the Creator himself

infused with life become flesh (śarīra)100. Consciousness in this image is an element

which makes perception possible. We would even say that perception is simply active

consciousness. It further follows from the cosmogonic portion of the "Treatise on Virtue"

that consciousness already belongs to the immanent aspect of Absolute. It, is therefore,

a category of discursive reality. Senses make contact between consciousness and reality

possible. Life is the substratum of senses. Now, three aspects should be pinpointed

in this sequence of creation : first-an aspect of consciousness, second-an aspect of emotion

(senses) and third-an aspect of material existence (life). For these are the aspects which

express human existence in its totality. But exactly because of being human they have

to be characterised by incompleteness. In other words as categories of discursive reality

they are characterised by a sort of positive or negative charge which awaits its neutralisation.

This neutralisation is nothing else but rediscovery of fullness of the Absolute. Thus

a question arises : how does this come about in the shpere of consciousness, how in

the sphere of emotion and how in the sphere of material existence ?

Feeling somehow authorised by the cosmogonic vision of Manu, where the image

of golden egg is introduced, let us imagine the Absolute reality as a circle. Its self-

breaking into two is the basic and primary act of creation. It is the first phase of a

process of further multiplication. As the result of it our circle changes into a sort of

jigsaw puzzle. Scattering of this puzzle about is "the death" of the Absolute and is

an archetype of each and every death. On the other hand, it is precisely the source

of discursive reality. Yet, at the same time, the Absolute continues unchanged.

Man is one of the scattered pieces of this "puzzle". Consciousness deposited in

him is yet another one. Perception of incompleteness of all pieces of this puzzle-reality

brings home to consciousness its own incompleteness. Arranging this puzzle into one

harmonious whole, through action determined by the vision of this whole, brings about

fulfilment of consciousness, which manifests itself as its satisfaction. We feel satisfied,

for we have discharged our duty, consequently we can say that we belong to reality

for which we have consciously opted. Both we ourselves and all other pieces of puzzle-

reality mutually fit well, including our own consciousness.

As we have mentioned earlier, our consciousness comes in contact with discursive

reality through the agency of senses. Consequently, under normal conditions, satisfaction

of consciousness has to be accompanied by the satisfaction of senses. This satisfaction

manifests itself as the feeling of delight (prīti). In this case too our action has to be

in harmony with the vision of the whole reality. For true delight, i.e., such which delights

in harmony with the vision of the whole reality. For true delight, i.e., such which delights

consciousness as well, can come about as a result of satisfying senses in harmony with

the true vision of reality.

Life is "the soil" on which senses grow. Thus the satisfaction in the sphere of

material existence constitutes the last aspect of human existence. The pieces of puzzle-

reality propelled by the centrifugal creative energy made active in the first act of division

tend towards further multiplication and towards creating new beings at the cost of the

former ones. Consciousness which in this chain of multiplication is present in sufficient

measure only in man101), has to defend itself at the level of physical existence. Therefore,

it tries to keep together these elements which constitute man. This precisely is the urge

to live which also in man manifests itself as search for proper life conditions and, before

all, in answering the challenge of hunger and thirst. The sphere of satisfaction of consciousness

the Hindus call Virtue: that of satisfaction of emotions-Love and the one of satisfaction

of material existence-Welfare.

Śankarācārya in his commentary on the Bhagavadgītā calls Virtue "a perceptible

reason of the development and liberation of living beings"102) underlining by the same

the role of this sphere in attaining ultimate human goal, which, above all, consists of

the satisfaction of consciousness (mokṣa is just final and complete satisfaction of consciousness).

Since from the point of view of chronology the Vedic concept of ṛta is antecedent

to the concept of Virtue103), it will not be out of place here to begin the closer characteristic

of the Indian conception of Virtue with the description of this earlier concept. According

to Radhakrishnan the exact meaning of ṛta is "the course of things". "It stands for

law in general and the immanence of justice. This conception must have been originally

suggested by the regularity of the movements of sun, moon and stars, the alternations

of day and of night, and of the seasons. Ṛta denotes the order of the world. Everything

that is ordered in the universe has Ṛta for its principle"104). One may remember here

that from the etymological point of view speaking this word is connected with the Latin

"ars, artem" which also implies harmony. We can safely conclude, therefore, that ṛta

is harmonious modus operandi of reality. And further, since ṛta establishes moral norms,

naturally enough it becomes morality itself. Good man tread the path of ṛta. Varuṇa,

a perfect example of a follower of ṛta, is dhṛtavrata-one of fixed resolve105). It is here

that in connection with ṛta the verbal root dhr appears, which means to support, to

preserve and from which the word dharma is derived106). Dhārayate lokam iti dharmah-

The Threefold Sphere of Ethics (Trivargaśṛṅgāra)

39

supports the world, therefore (it is called) dharma107. Dharma, i.e., Virtue, not unlike ṛta is "the fundament of the entire world. All people repair to the man of Virtue. One removes sins through Virtue. All is fixed in Virtue. Therefore Virtue is declared as the highest". These words are taken from the Taittirīyā-āraṇyaka108. Equally interesting is the definition of Virtue to be found in the Kāmasūtra according to which Virtue means following the precepts of science (śāstra)109. Here we touch upon the most important problem. For this definition describes Virtue as an attitude in action. If we add that in India, like in European culture, an equation mark was put between science and truth, we can safely say that Virtue means to live according to, and in harmony with, what is considered scientific, ergo true image of reality. It is exactly on this that the satisfaction of consciousness depends. Since I know that reality is such and such, I shall, therefore, consider myself just, rightful and virtuous, if I act accordingly. It is no lesser an authority than Manu himself who says that among men-brahmins are the best, among brahmins-learned men, among learned ones-those who hold strong convictions and among the last-those who act according to their convictions110.

Here we could consider the issue to be finally clarified, had we not mentioned earlier the etymology of the word dharma. It ascribes to this concept a sort of independent existence and a function of supporting universe111. First of all it has to be stated that both dharma and earlier ṛta do not mean acting according to the universal order alone but, at the same time, define this order, or still better-are this order. If we add that, right from the Vedic period, there has been inherited and elaborated a conviction that fulfilling or failing to fulfil one’s individual virtue has a direct bearing on the universal order, then we shall have a complete picture of this concept. Most obviously it has, for many of us today, a certain mystic taint. Although we would insist that nowadays it is already easier for us to approve of this. After all, the behaviour of an individual who finds himself in a sufficiently nevralgic point of our civilisation (proverbial button of nuclear missiles), undoubtedly will have an influence upon what from human perspective is already universe. Similarly it is now easy to accept a proposition that the sum total of individual behaviours will exert positive or negative influence upon the surrounding world. Our recent ecological problems supply many an eloquent proof of this. The mixing of castes (varṇasaṃkara) was in the Indian context understood exactly in this way. For Hindus in ancient India believed that mixed marriages and resulting mixture of castes would lead their society to a total ruin112.

Summing up what has been hitherto written, we can say that satisfaction of consciousness within the framework of involved Virtue113 means being "all right" in relationship to reality and its laws described in science (śāstra). The next query concerns characteristic features of this description and consequently a more precise analysis of Virtue itself.

The basis of the description of reality in ancient India and the source of the entire

science is Revelation (śruti) or Veda114. The basic category of Revelation is Sacrifice (yajña). According to the exegesis it is a perfectly adequate equivalent of reality; it is its archetype and it is reality itself. Various ritualistic forms of sacrifice signify conscious acceptance of such a vision of reality on the part of man. Therefore, the central problem of Virtue will be participation or cooperation in the harmony of reality through ritual. For ritual supplies consciousness with a chance to arrange properly its relationship with true reality. Now, since areas of conscious existence, so to speak, demarcate our humanness, therefore, the more areas of existence are ritualised. the more human we become. Thus, if our life is to be really human it has to be ritualised "from conception untill cremation"115. And of course it has to be virtuous, i.e., lived in agreement with the true vision of reality.

It is not easy to determine the hierarchy of various norms of Virtue. Nevertheless, it seems that the idea of man being born with three debts, i.e., the debt towards sages, the debt towards gods and the debt towards ancestors116 can be made a point of departure. Manu says that man should not think about liberation unless and until he discharges these debts117. The debt towards sages is repaid by studies, the debt towards gods- by offering sacrifices and the one towards ancestors-by begetting progeny. All this is being done by an individual in a definite social and individual context, which in India was defined as varṇāśramadharma. Virtue is a differentiated concept depending on social order (varṇa) and on age (āśrama)-literally phase of life118. As a matter of fact the entire life is subordinated to these two basic criteria. Out of six categories of Virtue that are usually enumerated119 only the universal Virtue, which consists in avoiding backbiting, jealousy, pride, egoism, unbelief, crookedness, self-praise, abuse of others, deceit, covetousness, delusion, anger and envy concerns all and always. To the contrary all what makes up the five remaining categories can be arranged according to these two criteria. For instance the individual sacraments120, methods of study (adhyayana), purity (śauca)121, purification (śuddhi)122, charity (dāna), dietetical regulations (bhakṣyābhakṣya), Virtue of women (strīdharma), conjugal Virtue (strīpumdharma), legislation and courts (vyavahāra), Virtue in times of distress (āpaddharma), expiation for sins (prāyaścitta) etc.

Now, generally speaking ritualisation of life as an expression of human consciousness does not provoke special resentment among Europeans. Yet, it looses some of its persuasiveness while confronted with concrete Indian examples. as for instance, cleanliness and purity (śauca). Still, we would insist that submitting personal toilet to ritualistic discipline has its profound justification. The description of the bath (snāna), which we can find in treatises on Virtue, shows that each aspect of it is either accompanied, followed or preceded by recitation of the appropriate text from the Vedic Revelation. Thus, for instance, rinsing the mouth, touching water with a finger, taking water into cupped palms, rubbing the body with earth (instead of unknown

The Threefold Sphere of Ethics (Trivargaśṛṅgāra)

41

soap), plunging in water, emerging from it and so on, take place to the accompaniment of recitations, even if nonvocalised only123). This type of procedure excludes unconscious functioning, spontaneous and uncontrolled reactions so characteristic of the world of animals. Consequently living our lives according to the norms of Virtue, i.e., as ritual, results in satisfaction of consciousness similar to the one which in our culture characterises the state of consciousness following well fulfilled duty. Most obviously one can challenge the vision of reality, which in India expressed itself in such-for us often incomprehensible-ritual. Here one can also, with much justification, point to a danger of pharisaical attitudes. Nevertheless, the proposition itself seems sufficiently viable and rather interesting. We want to be all right with respect to the true reality. We want to behave according to norms which express the true mechanism of reality, for then we feel that the jigsaw puzzle-as we have called it-falls into one whole, that its different pieces fit each other and that we ourselves have a share in the harmony of the universe.

It has already been mentioned that consciousness fulfils itself in harmony. Virtue is both the method and the expression of the fulfilment. The contact of consciousness with reality comes about through the agency of senses. Consequently in the sphere of sensorial contact with it there also has to come about a sort of fulfilment or satisfaction. Satisfaction in the sphere of senses, i.e., in the emotional sphere can simply be called pleasure or delight (prīti). Hindus call the sphere of this satisfaction-Love (kāma). The Mahābhārata says that delight, which five senses together with mind and heart find in the surrounding world of objects, is called Love and it is the highest fruit of action124). Very similar to this one is the definition to be found in the famous treatise of Vātsyāyana : "Love is a just inclination of the senses of sight, hearing, smell, taste and touch accompanied by mind and prompted by heart, towards respective objects. Sexual pleasure results from a particular contact with the object of senses. It is full of joy stemming from love relationship and it fructifies in seed. Since it is the very first among other delights, therefore, this entire sphere of life has come to be known as Love"125). It hardly can be doubted that as much as we want to be "all right" towards reality, so much so-or even worse-much more so, we desire to sense this harmony as delight. Often-due to our ignorance-even against its norms formulated as Virtue. What in the sphere of Virtue, i.e., of consciousness is simply harmony, in the sphere of Love is beauty. It is not without reason that the etymological relationship between the word ṛta and the word ars, artem has been mentioned earlier. The first is the category of Virtue, the second-that of Love. Both are different "incarnations" of the same harmony.

The Kāmasūtra definition of Love convincingly justifies the erotic bias of this sphere. Yet, we should not forget that, practically speaking, this sphere is unlimited. Manu, for instance, stresses that although it is not praiseworthy to live prompted by desire, yet in this world nothing comes about that is not prompted by desire. Subsequently

he adds, as if invoking the formulae from the Rgveda about desire being the first seed

of mind, that desire with its roots reaches imagination and it truly is the Sacrifice that

is born of imagination126). It is necessary to explain here that in both cases the same

word is involved (kāma = Love = desire). As a matter of fact it is the same idea and

only because of its very broad semantic range this word has to be translated in different

ways.

Concluding, it has to be said that from such point of view Love acquires on par with Virtue, importance and meaning. Later on, dominated by erotics, this concept

was degraded to a role of the third and the least important sphere of human existence.

For out of the three only the sphere of delight, i.e., that of Love-at least superficially

judging-can be eliminated. It is, of course, possible only when we take it in its capacity

of erotic delight and not of the function about which Manu speaks.

In the cosmogonic chain of elements, the element of material existence comes

as subsequent to senses. It is, in our case, the last sphere, in which consciousness finds

its satisfaction. "That is called Welfare (artha) what makes anything undertaken end

in success"127). This is the broadest definition of the third-if we accept the cosmogonic

order-sphere of human existence. A different definition-though only apparently-is given

by the Kāmasūtra. "Acquiring and multiplying different skills, land, gold, cattle, riches,

everyday utensils and friends is called Welfare"128). It is beyond doubt that success in

an enterprise is the very condition of Welfare. Welfare in its turn is-as Kauṭilya (I.7)

would have it-a root of both, Virtue and Love129). It is impossible to negate that in

order to practice both, it is necessary to live decently, i.e., to fare well-not only exist

in a way similar to that of animals but lead human life. Thus the need and will to

live is the propelling factor of this sphere and its foremost characteristic feature is life

in its very physiological aspect. Sustaining life, satisfying hunger and thirst, finding

shelter from cold and heat-these are basic concerns in this sphere of existence. Not

unexpectedly, therefore, land finds itself at the head of Kāmasūtra list and in the center

of interest of this sphere130). For it is exclusively thanks to land that we can satisfy

both hunger and thirst and that we can provide ourselves with shelter. The person among

men ex definitione required to protect land is the king131). So, naturally enough, both

the Arthaśāstra and the Kāmasūtra underline a connection between royal power and

Welfare132). It does not come as a surprise as well that problems of kingdom, politics,

administration, government, war and peace have dominated this sphere in a way similar

to ritual dominating the sphere of Virtue and erotics-the sphere of Love.

Man achieves his plenitude in the three spheres : that of consciousness-Virtue,

that of emotion-Love and that of material existence-Welfare. Because of the position

of consciousness in the creation, it draws boundaries for action in the two remaining

spheres. Therefore, one can almost endlessly multiply such dicta like one which we

The Threefold Sphere of Ethics (Trivargaśṛṅgāra)

find in the Manusmṛti " Let him beware of such Welfare and Love as would be forbidden

by Virtue"133). The gītā also puts it in the mouth of Kṛṣṇa :"I am Love which goes

not against virtue,134) the kāmasūtra too stresses the same but with regard to all three

spheres: "Let man undertake such action which brings about all three aims (in the three

spheres) of life or two or even one. But never such action which for the sake of one

will go against the two !"135). The Arthaśāstra strikes the same note when it says that

each of these aims, if cultivated in excess, brings harm not only to the two others

but also to itself136). Mutual conflict of these three spheres which stems from their very

nature constitutes the basic ethical problem of a Hindū. This is underlined by Manu

and his commentator Medhātithi. While describing the daily routine of a king Manu

says that at midday or midnight, fresh and relaxed he should consider questions connected

with Virtue, Love and Welfare and possibilities of fulfilment in these mutually conflicting

spheres137). Elsewhere the Mānavadharmaśāstra divides all acts of men into three categories

but unexpectedly takes as the differentiating agent the three guṇas and only subsequently

ascribes to them the three puruṣārthas. It says that all these acts of which men feel

ashamed are characterised by the quality of tamas. Further all those acts by which men

desire greater fame not being deterred in them by failures partake of the quality of

rajas. And finally acts which men wish to understand in all details and by doing which

they do not feel ashamed, but to the contrary their hearts feel satisfied-are characterised

by the quality of sattva. Now follows an equation drawn between these three kinds

of human behaviour pervaded by the three guṇas and the three puruṣārthas. The Manusmrti

puts it in this way : 'Pleasure (kāma) is the distinguishing feature of tamas. Wealth

(artha) is described by that of rajas and spiritual merit (dharma) is the distinguishing

feature of sattva-each succeeding one of those being superior to the preceding'138). Medhātithi's

commentary upon this verse makes it clear that the equation of kāma and tamas is

of 'very particular nature and it concerns only 'an excessive craving for Pleasure'139).

We might venture to add here that the three puruṣārthas when considered separate

are ascribed to the three guṇas and consequently in this configuration kāma may acquire

certain negative hue which seems inherent in tamas. Yet, as much as the three guṇas

are conceived of as indispensable aspects of reality so much so the three puruṣārthas

which are their counterparts in the realm of human behaviour clearly emerge as equally

indispensable spheres of human activity.

The comprehensive study of the puruṣārthas mentioned above offered by Premvallabha.

Tripāṭhī shows this very clearly. From profuse quotations with which he has supported

his argumentation it follows that as there are many instances when each puruṣārtha

is separately considered the most important, similarly there are repeated assurances that

only all three of them together are conducive to the final goal of human existence.

Mahābhārata for instance insists that among dharma, artha and kāma, dharma is the

best140). On the other hand Kauṭilya holds that Welfare and Welfare alone is important

inasmuch as charity (dharma) and desire (kāma) depend upon Welfare (artha)141). Kāma

also has its partisans who can call to their support no lesser an authority then Rgveda

itself (X.129). Tripāṭhī quotes an anonymous unhappily opinion that 'kāma indeed is

the one puruṣārtha'142). As we have already mentioned, at the same time there is a

paralell current of thinking which insists on harmonious coexistence of the three and

which makes a point that striving for just fulfilment of the three ensures man's success.

The Kāmasūtra apparently repeats this argumentation basing itself on the Mahābhārata

(quoted by Tripāṭhī) : 'Let the knower of the household undertake effort in attaining

the trivarga, for in this success there is the success of the householder both here and

yonder'143). This attitude is summarised very forcefully, indeed, in the English introduction

to the Krtyakalpataru, where the doctrine of the puruṣārthas is called the central theme

of Hindu ethics and where it is stated that only through the experience of the trivarga

comes real capacity to focus one's thoughts on the Supreme144). With this opinion there

concurs successfully that of M. Hiriyanna who, in his essay on Kālidāsa, says that 'wisdom

consists in following all above aims with equal devotion, and making life a harmonious

whole'145). Let the last word here belong to Manu, who says that it is held that Virtue

and Welfare are the best or that Love and Welfare are the best or else that Virtue

alone is the best or Welfare alone is the best. But the situation is that the three of

them together are the best (II.224).

It is exactly here that we should look for the sources of the tensest moral problems

of man in India. After all, all the three spheres are integral and positive aspects of

reality. Though none should be forsaken, yet often satisfaction in one seems to ruin

it in another one. These are exactly problems to which a king is supposed to attend

during the best hours of day and night.

Lack of balance and conflict among these spheres results in formulation of their

antitheses. Extremely interesting from this point of view is Chapter VI, Part VI of the

Kāmasūtra. According to this text the three antitheses of the three spheres of human

existence are : Ignominy (adharma), Repugnance (dveṣa) and 'Misery (anartha). What

strikes one in this exposition is its bookkeeper's precision. There converge in these choices,

options and possibilites the elements which from our angle are ethical with the elements

of non-ethical calculation. This underlines the fact that the concept of threefold sphere

transcends pure ethics, the way we understand it. Over and above, we have to remember,

that this text concerns a special group of persons, i.e., public women for whom-according

to the very same treatise-the sphere of Welfare is the foremost. May be this most clearly

betrays one of the basic features of the Indian traditional ethics, namely the relativity

of its norms which are subordinate, first of all, to social position and secondly, to the

period of life of each individual-of course with notable exception of the universal Virtue.

The Threefold Sphere of Ethics (Trivargaśṛṅgāra)

"The aims of numan existence are accompanied by various miseries, concomitants and doubts. All these stem from stupidity, from excessive passion, excessive self-respect, excessive hypocrisy, excessive sincerity, excessive confidence, excessive anger, excessive contempt, excessive bravado, excessive reliance on fate. They result in useless expenditure, loss of future perspectives, withholding of approaching Welfare, loss of the one already gained, exposition to rudeness, loss of comeliness, hurting the body, shaving of tresses, downfall and branding by cutting off limbs. Therefore, right from the beginning, they should be eliminated and those which bring the aims of life closer should be attended to. Welfare, Virtue and Love-these are the three aims of human existence. Misery, Ignominy and Repugnance-these are the three miseries of human existence. If while serving them, there appears something else it is called a concomitant. On the other hand a simple doubt is when there appears a question : "Will it happen or not ?"-at a time when there is doubt regarding the obtainment of fruit. Further a complex doubt is when there appears a question : "Will this or that happen ?"-If striving for one thing two things appear-it is double consequence. If they appear from all sides-it is multiple consequence. We shall exemplify these. Thus the triad of aims of human existence has been characterised. Their reverse is the triad of miseries of human existence.

If from a liaison with some wonderful man very tangible Welfare follows, if comeliness augments, future becomes certain, property is acquired and if others begin to desire her, then this is the obtainment of Welfare with its concomitants. A liaison with somebody, exclusively for the sake of profit-is the obtainment of Welfare without its concomitants. If an acceptance of Welfare, caused by somebody else, will result in future separation with the permanent lover or in loss of Welfare or else in connection with a base and hateful man-it is the obtainment of Welfare with concomitants of Misery. A liaison with an influential and lascivious gentleman or a minister, although fruitless, may help in liquidating some trouble or mitigating some great peril to Welfare or else may bring some good prospects for future. In such case this is Misery accompanied by concomitants of Welfare. Exerting herself to win favours of a miser, of one who believes that he brings good luck, of an ungrateful and of an extremely lustful, does not bring any fruit at all it is Misery without concomitants. Similarly exerting herself to win favours of exactly the same type of men as above who, in addition, are exceptionally cruel and influential royal favourites, also does bring no fruit, while spurning them later on has many unpleasant consequences. This is therefore Misery accompanied by its own concomitants. Concomitants of Virtue and Love should be treated in the same way. Therefore, one should connect them according to this method. Here end the deliberations concerning concomitants.

Will he offer gifts or no, should I please him ?-such is the doubt concerning Welfare. Will it be Virtue, should I spurn him having squeezed him like a fruit and

expecting no more profit from him ?-such is the doubt concerning Virtue. Will it be Love, should I go to a menial or a niggard having attained what I coveted ?-such is the doubt concerning Love. Will this influential niggard bring misery over me, should I spurn him ?-such is the doubt concerning Misery. Will it be Ignominy or not, if the permanent lover who no more brings profit, spurned, goes to the abode of forefathers?-such is the doubt concerning Ignominy. Will it be frigidity, should I not get what I desire even upon declaring passions ?-such is the doubt concerning Repugnance. Here simple doubts end. Now complex doubts. Will it serve Welfare or bring Misery, should I adore an influential newcomer connected with my lover, about whom I-know nothing and only because he happened to be around ?-such is one doubt. Will it serve Virtue or Ignominy, should I, prompted oy a friend or because of my own good nature, have a liaison with a Vedic priest, a brahmin student, a sacrificer, an ascetic or a monk who, having seen me, conceived such passion for me that they desire death for themselves?-such is another doubt. Will it serve Love or cause Repugnance should I have liaison with somebody, disregarding whether people consider him worthy or unworthy ?—such is yet another doubt. Mutually combining these doubts we obtain complex doubts. Where the permanent lover is also made to act for the same, there we have a case of two-sided Welfare. Where a fruitless liaison comes about at her own expense and at the same time a permanent lover mad with jealousy disowns her, there we have a case of two-sided Misery. Where doubt appears as to whether a new liaison contributes to Welfare or not and whether the permanent lover can be made to contribute as well, there we have two-sided doubt concerning Welfare. Where for the sake of a liaison she has to bear expenses herself and also where the doubt appears as to whether her former lover opposing this, in anger, does not harm her, as well as to whether her permanent lover, mad with jealousy, disowns her, there we have the two-sided doubt concerning Misery. These are then two-sided consequences according to Śvetaketu the son of Uddalaka................ By combining these consequences, we got six mixed consequences: from one side Welfare-from another Misery, form one side Welfare-from another doubt concerning Welfare, from one side Welfare-from another doubt concerning Misery, etc. Accompanied by advisors, one has to ponder over these matters and choose those in which one perceives multiplication of Welfare or at least doubt concerning Welfare or else those which alleviate great Misery. The same method should be followed in case of Virtue and Love. Similarly one should combine and connect them"146).

The ethical realism of this proposition is very pointedly summed up in the Hitopadeśa, which says that "one who knows the essence of Virtue, Welfare and Love will not exaggerate in charity. For such a charitable one will never eat, even what he has already got in his hand"147). This point of view is most evidently connected with the importance of sustaining life-a very practical accent, indeed—which according to the same source

The Threefold Sphere of Ethics (Trivargaśṛṅgāra)

is the basis of success in all three spheres of human existence and "there is no such

thing which one would not protect while protecting life"148. This does not mean that

the Indian ethics did not create an absolute ethical ideal not tainted by the present pragmatism.

Such an ideal is present but rightly so elsewhere, i.e., within the framework of the

uninvolved Virtue (nivṛttilakṣaṇa), where conflicting elements of human existence are

reduced to minimum by ascetic discipline149). On the other hand, functioning within

the framework of the involved Virtue (pravṛttilakṣaṇa) is-as we could see-unbreakably

connected with conflict. The ethics of threefold sphere is not a panacea against this

conflict. Far from that, it is rather an attempt at mastering it, at taming it. It is most

probably from a conviction about unavoidable imperfection of human existence expressed

in the conception outlined above that an attitude of reconciliation to reality, as it is,

springs-an attitude, which still is valid in India today.

The threefold sphere of Hindu ethics emerges thus as the most coherent principle

permitting us to see against itself human behaviour. In case any doubt persists, let us

quote the following words of Kauṭilya (I.10) which have been noticed already after

formulating this view of the trivarga as the criterium of evaluating human action in

India.

"Teachers have decided that, in accordance with ascertained purity the king shall

employ in corresponding works those ministers whose character has been tested under

the three pursuits of life (trivarga), religion (Virtue), wealth (Welfare) and love (Love),

and under fear150)."

We may read these words with profound satisfaction finding in them the most

important and valid acknowledgment of our point of view. For it transpires from them

that already then this triple notion had been used in similar capacity to that which

is postulated on these pages. Consequently by applying it in the field of Sanskrit drama

as the criterium of ethico-literary criticism we tread a perfectly certain ground indeed,

for the puruṣārthas in this capacity have an advantage of not being subjective and not

belonging to any alien culture. Therefore, anybody after familiarising himself with their

nature, as it was formulated by tradition, can check and recheck any ideological appreciation

of Sanskrit drama or any Sanskrit literary work for that matter ! In this manner the

discussion will stop to be an exchange of subjective opinions, but will move forward

our understanding of Sanskrit dramatic literature and of classical Indian theatre !

48

Methodology of The Analysis of Sanskrit Drama

Footnotes :

76. The Nāṭyaśāstra, GOS., vol. L, p, 39.

77. Op. cit., p. 7. dharmādicatuskopāyopadeyadhīyam..

78. We have decided to render this word here into the English fascination. We think that the word fascination more adequately expresses the particular notion which is meant here. Apart from that in this way we avoid confusion in terms with the word kāma translated as Love. This is why we have chosen to differ in this respect from M.M. Ghosh.

79. We have selected here the variant reading of the GOS. edition. The one chosen by the editors appears to be inferior. So instead of arthasyecchāyogād bahudhā caivārthato 'rthaśṛṅgārah We accepted arthasyāptir yasminn-aikadhā bhavati so' rthaśṛṅgārah.

80. The ramya of the text being an adjective creates certain problem in comprehending the sentence. We, therefore, preferred the variant reading given both in the GOS and the Kāvyamālā editions-rahaḥ.

81. Shastri, S.N., The Laws and Practice of Sanskrit Drama, Varanasi 1961, p. 12.

82. Op. cit., p. 13. It is interesting to note that this text mentions the puruṣārthas in the same order as Potter does.

83. Bhāvaprakāśa quoted by Kumārasvāmin in his commentary to Pratāparudrīya (ed. by V. Raghavan, Madras 1970, p. 71) 'yathā kāmapyogya-atra śṛṅgāro dṛśyate rasaḥ / arthopayogī virah syād raudro' pi syāt kvacit kvacit / raksārūpeṇa dharmopayogī karuṇo bhavet / adbhuto' pi manahprītippradatvāt kāmasāhyakṛt / te bhayānakabīhatsahasāśyaḥ kāvyeṣu yojitāḥ / tattannetrmanovṛttivaiśaśat prāyaś trivargagāḥ / ity anena śṛṅgārādinām trivargopayogitvam aṅgīkacāra/

84. Somanchi Ramulu, A critical study of the theories of Sanskrit Poetics, Unpublished thesis, Punjab University 1955, p. 146, rasamayatve sati puruṣārthapratipādakaś śabdaḥ kāvyam.

85. K. Krishnamoorthy, Essays in Sanskrit Criticism, Dharwar 1964, p. 291.

86. This is exactly the conclusion reached independently by S.D. Serebryanyi when dealing with the Padāvali of Vidyāpati, for he writes that the European type of judging in terms of worldly and religious or carnal and spiritual are not of much use with regard to the Padāvali. "A more complex system of coordinates is necessary which would take into account peculiarities of Indian culture." The above mentioned pairs of notions "...have to be translated into the language of the Indian tradition totally different from the European. The nearest Indian analogy to the dichotomy of the worldly versus the religious is the tetrad of puruṣārthas (caturvarga)—four aims (or purposes) of man, of human life. Here Serebryanyi enumerates (Serebryanyi, Tvorchestvo Vidyāpati….Maskva 1937, p. 14-15).

87. Varga means category. Puruṣārtha means : aim (artha) of man (puruṣasya). Sphere seems to be the best description of the behavioral territory implicated in striving for each of these aims. Later on, to the triad mentioned above mokṣa, i.e., Liberation, was added. This concept is intrinsically superior over three remaining ones. It constitutes the final aim or result of proper conduct within the spheres. Mokṣa is the form of final arrangement of our relationship with reality, i.e., with the Absolute. In the history of different cultures we can see a tendency towards ascending from threefold to fourfold divisions. In India this tendency is well illustrated and explained in Manu's Treatise on Virtue (Mānavadharmaśāstra), I. 81-82 and in cor-responding passages of Medhātithi's commentary. Other arguments which make that mokṣa should not be treated as one among the spheres of human existence have been adduced

The Threefold Sphere of Ethics (Trivargaśṛṅgāra)

in an essay by V.A. Sarma entitled "Is Mokṣa a puruṣārtha", Vishveshvaranand Indological

Journal, vol. VII, pts I-II, 1969, p. 95-99. Much has been written about mokṣa. The review

of Indian traditional view-points has been well done in (The concept of mukti in Indian

Philosophy) by R. Shamasastri, Jha Commemoration Volume, Potter's book (see below)

may be mentioned.

88. Many works dealing with dharma in general have titles related to the said concept. For

instance : Puruṣārthaprabodha of Brahmānandabhārati (Kane, HD, vol. I, p. I, p. 562),

Caturvargacintāmaṇi of Hemādri (op. cit., p. 357), Puruṣarthacintāmaṇi of Viśvabhatta,

Nirṇayasāgar Press, Bombay 1927. Furthermore, there were compiled special anthologies

comprising instances from epic and puranic literature of proper or improper behaviours

in four spheres of human existence and indicating penalties and penances as well as rewards

in these cases. The best known work of this type is Puruṣārthasudhanidhi of Sāyaṇa, Madras

1955. Also in the field of belles-letters these criteria were applied in the arrangement of

anthologies. For instance Sūktiratnahāra of Kaliṅgarāja (probably XV A.D.) and Sāyana's

Subhāṣitasudhanidhi have an inner order according to four spheres (mokṣa included). In

1969 there was published at Hoshiarpur in the Vishveshvaranand Ideological Series, No.

44 (as a supplement to VIJ, vol. VI, 1968) the Puruṣārthopadeśa of Bhartrhari, which is

the famous Ṣatakatraya, only in different arrangement. According to its editor, K.V. Sarma

"...the object of the compilation in the present case being the grouping together of the verses

which are related to the prime Puruṣārtha (Objective in life), viz., Mokṣa (Emancipation)

and its accessories like virtue, renunciation and penance." (p. XII). As one can see, it is

not a clear-cut application of the criterium of the three or fourfold sphere. Yet, undoubtedly

this concept furnishes an obvious background here. As indeed is the case with the arrangement

of the original Ṣatakas of Bhartrhari. Besides the puruṣārtha concept determinens the content

and its arrangements of various other poems and antologies as for instance the Ṣatakas

of Dhana(da)rāja Janārdana and Narahari. Also Jagannātha Paṇditarāja owes allegiance to

this concept. 'The aim of (reading) the book is to attain (dharma, artha, kāma and mokṣa.'

(sūtra 10). Even as late as in 1882 A.D. Rādhāmaṅgalam Nārāyaṇaśāstri wrote Caturvargasāra.

89. The Mahābhārata (Śāntiparvan) LIX. 80-85) says that Brahmā had written a treatise in

one thousand chapters dealing with Virtue, Welfare and Love which later on was abbreviated

(Kane, HD, vol. I, p. I, p. 308). Here also MBh. stresses that mokṣa is an altogether different

idea. In addition it is MBh. (Ādiparvan II. 383) that speaks about itself as Dharmaśāstra,

Arthaśāstra and Kāmaśāstra. (Kane, HD, op. cit., p. 301).

90. We hope that in the course of these deliberations it will become obvious why we do consequently

use English equivalents of these terms. Yet, in any case, we would like to add that to

our mind European culture will be able to absorb this concept only when it stops to sound

exotic, which it will never do as dharma, artha, kāma and mokṣa. Our choice of the equivalents

in this case follows more or less generally accepted Indological English language practice.

91. P.V. Tripāṭhī, Puruṣārthacatuṣṭaya, Varanasi 1970. This hook, in Hindi, cites abundantly

Vedic, epic and puranic literature, as well as classical and even mediaeval one, not always

with precise references though. The book by Bhagavāndās entitled Puruṣārtha and published

by the Hindī Pracārak Samsthan, Varanasi 1972, may also be mentioned here.

92. A. Daniélou, Les quatres sens de la vie, Editions Buchet / Chastel, Paris 1976.

93. Here the contribution to the puruṣārtha studies of two Russian scholars : S.D. Serebryanyi

and A.J. Syrkin should be mentioned. The first devoted to this problem few pages (14ff)

of his excellent dissertation concerning Vidyāpati (Tvorchestvo Vidyāpati Thakura ibengalskaya

viṣṇuitskaya poezziya, Maskva 1973, typescript). The second, A.J. Syrkin wrote about the puruṣārthas in his “K systematizacyi nekatorih ponyati v sanskrite” (Towards systematization of certain notions in Sanskrit) in a volume entitled “Semiotika i vostochnuye yaziki (Semiotics and estern languages) Maskva 1967, pp. 147ff. The conclusions of the present study reached independently corroborate the views of both scholars. Especially all what S.D. Serebryanyi writes could have been almost verbatim repeated here.

94. P. Lavastine, Trivarga, (Les Trois Valeurs), in René Guénon at l’actualité de la pensée traditionnelle, Actes du Colloque International, Éditions du Baucens, Braine-le-Comte 1977 (Belgique), pp. 69-78.

95. For instance Daniélou's ascription of each puruṣārtha to the respective guṇas (p.85) does not quite agree with the opinion of Manu regarding this problem (XII.38); he does not comment upon this divergence of opinions.

96. K.H. Potter. Presuppositions of India's Philosophies, Prentice-Hall, Englewood Cliffs, N.J. 1963, p. 6-7.

97. Op. cit.; p. 7.

98. Op. cit., P. 8. It might not be out of place to add here that according to Potter the attitude of mokṣa is an attitude of universal concern which stems from the total identification with the world, possible because of nonattachment to its particular aspects either in manipulative way of artha, or posessiveness of kāma or even partial identification and respect of dharma. (p.10).

99. Op. cit., p. 6, footnote a.

100. Manusmṛti with the Manubhāṣya of Medhātithi, Calcutta 1932, I. 12-17, p. 14-15, vol. I.

101. Manu says that among creatures with the faculty of thinking, man is the best (I.96). What he probably means here is that only man can free himself from the circle of rebirths. Being born in other forms makes this perspective rather distant.

102. Prāṇināṁ sākṣāt abhuydayanihśreyasahetuh. Tripāṭhī, p.30.

103. A.B. Keith in The Religion and Philosophy of the Veda and Upanishads, H.O.S. 1925, vol. I, p. 249 writes : “Law is denoted by Dharman which denotes that which supports and that which is supported; it applies like Ṛta to all aspects of the world, to the sequence of events in nature, to the sacrifice and to man's life;”. Yet J. Gonda in Change and continuity in Indian Religion, The Hague 1965, p. 198 underlines that these are not synonyms.

104. S. Radhakrishnan, Indian Philosophy London 1941, vol. I, p. 78-9.

105. Op. cit., p. 77. The word ṛta can be traced back to the indo-european root denoting “joining” or “fitting together” from which also the Latin word ars, artem is derived and although literally it means knowledge, skill and art yet, in general, all those products of men which come to be regarded as art objects are being apprehended as achievements in perfection and harmony. All their components fit well together. We could say they are joined together perfectly to make one harmonious whole and thus the etymological roots of the word art which denotes the skill of making them are recalled. (Cf Klein, A Comprehensive Etymological Dictionary of the English Language, 1966, pp. 108-9; Mayrhoffer, A Concise Etymological Sanskrit Dictionary, vol. I, 122/123)

106. H. Willman-Grabowska wrote quite extensively about the etymology and meaning of this word in Évolution sémantique du mot “dharma”, Rocznik Orientalistyczny, vol. X, Lwów 1934, pp. 38-50.

The Threetold Sphere of Ethics (Trivargaśṛṅgāra)

107. Tripāṭhī, p. 42.

108. Dharmo viśvasya jagataḥ pratiṣṭhā. loke dharmiṣṭham prajā upasarpanti. dharmeṇa pāpam upanudati. dharme sarvam pratiṣṭhitam. tasmād dharmam paramam vadanti. op. cit., p.38. Kāmasūtra, I. 2.7. Literally this definition runs as follows : "Vedic sacrifices which have supernatural character and the effects of which are beyond perception, are being offered because of the injunctions of science (śāstra). Science also forbids eating meat, although it is a natural phenomenon and has altogether perceivable effects. This is what we call Virtue." Also the Mahābhārata says : 'dharmārthāv ādruyav tasya yo na śāstraparo bhavet.(Śāntiparvan, 71-3). Tripāṭhī, p. 194.

110. Manu, I. 96-97.

111. Tripāṭhī, p. 38ff quotes MBh. (Karnaparvan, 59-69?) : dhāraṇād dharmam sa dharma iti niścayah.

112. The gītā, I. 40-42. It sees the source of a total catastrophe of the society and culture in promiscuity of women, which leads to mixed marriages between representatives of different varṇas. It is by the way the view of egalitarianism completely different from our own, for it sees in it the greatest danger to continuation of culture.

113. The involved Virtue (pravṛttilakṣaṇadharma) as different from the uninvolved Virtue (nivṛttilakṣaṇadharma). This is a kind of opposition corresponding to monastic and lay life. Renunciation and ascetic discipline is the foundation of the uninvolved Virtue. See also M. Yamunacarya, The Ethics of Pravṛtti and Nivṛtti, Siddha-Bharati, (Feliciation Volume of Dr. Siddheshwar Varma), part II, Hoshiarpur 1950, pp. 129-131.

114. Manu, II. 9-12.

115. Manu, II. 16.

116. Kane, HD, vol. II, part I, Poona 1941, p. 560ff.

117. Manu, VI. 35.

118. I. Lazari-Pawowska writes about this problem in "Patterns of Indian Perfectionism" (in Polish), Etyka, Nr 12, 1973, p. 38ff.

119. These six categories are : varṇadharma-social Virtue, āśramadharma-age Virtue, varṇāśramadharma-social and age Virtue, guṇadharma-position Virtue, naimittikadharma-circumstantial Virtue and sādhāraṇadharma-universal Virtue. Kane, op. cit., p. 2-3.

120. Here are more important individual sacraments : garbhādhāna-conception, puṃsavana-causing male offspring, sīmantonnayana-parting of hair of the mother, jātakarman-delivery, nāmakaraṇa-naming ceremony, niṣkramana-first steps outside, annaprāśana-first feeding of rice, cuḍākaraṇa-tonsure, karnavedha-piercing the earlobes, vidyāram bha-beginning of study, upanayana-initiation, vedāram bha-beginning to study Veda, keśānta-first shave, samāvartana (snāna)-completion of studies, vivāha-marriage and antyeṣṭi-cremation. R.B. Pandey, Hindu Saṃskāras, Delhi 1969.

121. Śauca means both ritual and hygienic cleanliness.

122. Śuddhi denotes both ritualistic and hygienic purification of objects.

123. Kane, HD, vol. I, part I, p. 662.

124. MBh. (Vanaparvan) : Indriyāṇāṃ ca pañcānāṃ manaso hṛdayasya ca viṣaye vartamānānāṃ yā prītir upajāyate. sa kāma iti me buddhīḥ karmaṇāṃ phalam uttamam. Tripāṭhī, p. 290.

125. The Kāmasūtra, I. 2. 13.

126. Manu, II. 2-3. Ṛgveda X. 129, 4.

127. Nītivākyāmṛta (Arthasamuddeśa) : yataḥ sarvaprayojanasiddhiḥ sa arthah. Tripāṭhī, p. 221.

128. The Kāmasutra, I. 2. 11.

52

Methodology of The Analysis of Sanskrit Drama

129. Arthamūlau dharmakāmāmau. Tripāṭhi, p. 221.

130. Op. cit., p. 223.

131. The following are some very common epithets of a king in Sanskrit : bhūmipāla, mahīpāla, prthvīpāla, bhūmipati, bhūpa. They all mean : one who protects the land (earth).

132. The Kāmasūtra, I. 2.11. "Welfare is the most important for a king for it is the basis of human existence."

133. Manu, IV. 176.

Some other instances of expressing similar opinion may be found in the Viṣṇusmṛti 91.84, the Āpastambīyadharmasūtra 2,8,20.22-23, the Yājñvalkyasmṛti 2.21, and the Nāradasmṛti 1.39.

134. The gītā, VII. 11. dharmāviruddho bhūteṣu kāmosmi.

135. The Kāmasūtra, I. 2.51.

136. Kauṭilya's Arthaśāstra, transl. by R. Shamasastry, Mysore 1956, p. 12 (VII. 12).

137. Manu, VII. 151-151 : madhyam'dinerdhārātre vā viśrānto vigataklamah. cintayed dharmakāmārthān sā̄rtham taireka eva vā. parasparavirodadhānām teṣām ca samupārjanam. Medhātithi adds : dharmādīnām parasparavirodham cintayet.

138. Manu smṛti, the Laws of Manu with the bhāṣya of Medhātithi, transl. by Ganganatha Jhā, Calcutta University 1926, vol. V, discourse XII. 35-38.

139. Op. cit., p. 588.

140. P.V. Tripāṭhi, op. cit., p. 196, MBh. Śantiparvan 91/52. 'dharme cārthe ca kāme ca dharma evottaro bhavet'.

141. Kauṭilya's Arthaśāstra, transl. by Shamasastry, R. Mysore 1956, p. 12 (I.).

142. P.V.Tripāṭhi, op. cit., p. 312, 'kāma evaikah puruṣārthah'.

143. Op. cit., p. 17, 'trivargasādhane yatnaḥ kartavyo grhamedhinā tatsiddhau gṛhasthasya siddhirātra paratra ca.

144. Lakṣmīdhara Bhaṭṭa, Krtyakalpataru, GOS CVI, Baroda 1948, p. 20.

145. M. Hiriyanna, Sanskrit Studies, Mysore 1954, p. 23.

146. The Kāmasūtra, VI. 6.1-35 and 41-43. We are quoting in extenso this fragment, for it is, so far as we know, the only comparatively detailed text known today which presents options in conflicting situations within the framework of the threefold sphere. Analogical exposition can be found in the Arthaśāstra (IX.7) but it concentrates on options concerning Welfare-Misery even in more pronounced way than the Kāmasūtra does.

147. The Hitopadeśa, Suhṛdbhedah, 179.

148. Op. cit., Mitralābhaḥ, 43.

149. See. I. Lazari-Pawowska, op. cit., p. 25.

150. Kauṭilya's Arthaśāstra, op. cit., p. 17. trivargabhayasamśuddhān amātyān sveṣu karmasu adhikuryād yathāśaucam ity ācāryā vyavasthitāḥ.

V. THE ANALYSIS OF THE PRATINJÑĀYAUGANDHARĀYAṆA AND THE SVAPNAVĀSAVADATTĀ

The crucial moment of putting the above described criteria to actual use and testing their utility and efficacy has finally arrived. The acceptance of the daśarūpaka notion as the starting and in a way, central point of reference has two important consequences for the critical part of this study. The first lies in the postulated necessity to review examples of all ten types of dramas in order to show a complete palette of possibilities. Initially such was our intention which we had to discard soon for a very simple reason that all types of dramas cannot be exemplified with texts of acknowledged literary and artistic value. The other argument against such proposition, even in case suitable examples could be found, is that the detailed analysis of them could result in unnecessary, at this stage, prolixity obscuring the main argument. Consequently it was decided to abandon this idea in favour of analysing only the two most representative types of nāṭaka and the prakaraṇa (XVIII.5-7). For this analysis Bhāsa's Svapnavāsavadattā and his Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa have been chosen because of the following reasons :

1. These dramas are most probably contemporary or almost contemporary to the Nāṭyaśāstra. We can assume then that the principles discussed in the preceding four chapters of this book express the living practice of the Indian theatre of those days. Our hope is that they had not yet become a dead set of rules which resulted in stereotyped productions.

2. Since both dramas written by one playwright have a common subject drawn from one source, they can be studied conjointly and such a study may reveal reasons why one was conceived a nāṭaka and another one a prakaraṇa.

3. One of them styled in the prologue a prakaraṇa does not fulfil the requirements of its definition so far as the number of acts goes, thus offering an additional chance to show the utility of our criteria in explaining this fact.

4. Last but not least, both of them, at least in part, are still in the repertoire of the traditional Sanskrit theatre of Kerala called the kūṭiyāṭṭam and their fragments occasionally can be witnessed there performed by the cākyārs, the hereditary actor-custodians of this art.

Besides these two plays in the chapter that follows the analysis of the Śakuntalā of Kālidāsa has been attempted for the simple reason that this nāṭaka is considered the best in the whole range of Sanskrit literature.

The second consequence of accepting the daśarūpaka notion as our basic premise results in the way the typological point of reference brackets the entire analysis. We make it here both the point of departure as well as the point of arrival. In this manner it will encase the analysis, the back-bone of which will be the span structure supplemented with remarks concerning the demeanours and the three triple concepts of predicament, intrigue and fascination.

The succession of events in the original story of king Udayana makes it convenient to discuss first the Pratijñā, for the happenings described there help to understand better the Svapna which, being a nāṭaka, should normally have been discussed first, it we accept the order in which these two types are defined in the Nāṭyaśāstra.

Bhāsa's Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa termed by the author himself in the prologue a prakaraṇa, in the colophons of some manuscripts, followed most obviously by he first editor of the text Paṇḍit Gaṇapatiśāstrī, is called a nāṭikā. This is an interesting problem. If we take Bhāsa's opinion for the right one, we shall find that it is an irregular type of prakaraṇa, lacking at least one act. If in turn we consider nāṭikā as the proper designation of this play, we shall have to resort to a very strained interpretation of the text in order to show that it may fit the definition of nāṭikā as it is to be found in the Nāṭyaśāstra (XVIII,58-60). For most obviously this play does not have a king for its hero (although some insist that it is really Udayana who is absent from the stage), it does not relate to music or affairs of the harem and it does not contain an abundance of female characters, many dances, songs and love's enjoyment, as the Nāṭyaśāstra would postulate.

Thus we are left with the riddle which - judging from the sources accessible to me in Poland - has not been solved 151). The problem would not deserve attention, had there not been a suspicion that it bears considerable weight with regard to the interpretation and understanding of the play. This, so long as the play is theoretically described in the histories of Sanskrit literature, may be treated in partial or brushing way, as for instance by A.B. Keith in his "The Sanskrit Drama". The situation diametrically changes, if the play is considered for actual production and analysed by a director well aware of the traditional structural aspects of drama in Sanskrit. Let us therefore see what the Pratijñā looks like when analysed along the lines of the criteria discussed above.

The structural analysis of a Sanskrit drama has to begin with the determination of the germinal matter (bīja) of the play. In the Pratijñā it undoubtedly is the solemn vow of Yaugandharāyaṇa to release the treacherously abducted Udayana. The next step to be made is to form a rough idea about the perimeter of the first span. Here the

The Analysis of The Pratinjñāyaugandharāyaṇa and The Svapnavāsavadattā

idea of the phases of action is of help. In our case it seems that the first act corresponds

to the head span, for the desire to act towards the attainment of the fruit of action

(release of Udayana) culminating in Yaugandharāyaṇa's vow with the end of Act I goes,

as it were, underground permitting an opposite tendency to come to the forefront in

Act II. Having thus mapped the main contours of the head span we can try to pursue

our analysis in a more direct fashion, trying to point out various span-elements (samdhyanga)

used in its actual construction and while doing so trying also to keep in mind the triple

concepts of intrigue, predicament and fascination concerning the circumstances and motives

of action as well as the concept of the four demeanours.

The most characteristic span-element of the opening scene is contemplation

(paribhavana), especially visible in the reaction of Yaugandharāyaṇa to the story of

Harṣaka, when he says for instance that fate is stronger than vigilance. The span-elements

of help (parikara), extension (parinyāsa) and allurement (vilobhana) can also be traced

in the different moments of the story, which anticipates the multiplicity and intricacy

of coming events as well as points to the sources of the complexity of the present

situation and also makes the subject-matter additionally attractive. Verse 3 together with

an information that it is Yaugandharāyaṇa who should be approached directly by Harṣaka

on the implicit order from Udayana constitute the span-element of suggestion (upakṣepa)

by making it clear that it will be the minister himself who is going to bring about

the release of Udayana. The reaction of the womenfolk of the palace (verse 15) headed

by the queenmother, deepening and dramatising the conflict, constitutes the span-element

of dissension (bheda). In the stanzas 14, 17 and 18 we find both the span-element

of activity (karana) and that of accession (prāpti). The said stanzas are full of optimism

being at the same time declarations of concrete enterprise so far as liberating of Udayana

goes. The span-element of decision (yukti) can be traced both in the words of the queen-

mother suggesting a stern action against Mahāsena and in verse 17 in which Yaugandharāyaṇa

seems to give his proposal as to the steps to be taken in the future. The fateful vow-

taking of the minister is most obviously the span-element of settling (samādhāna) for

at this moment the germinal matter of action is in full view. The episode of Dvaipāyana,

to my mind, constitutes the span-element of disclosure (udbheda), for by pushing substantially

forward the whole business it makes the germinal matter ascend and thus constitutes

a sort of an epilogue to the element of settling. Although it may be difficult and may

be even unnecessary 152) to point any concrete text place as the element of arrangement

(vidhāna) - one has to agree that the conflict is well outlined and provides ample scope

for both happiness and despair. The abduction of the king created for his minister a

predicament which Abhinavagupta would certainly call cetana, i.e., man-made and con-

sequently conscious. But at the same time Yaugandharāyaṇa is convinced that the intrigue

itself is due to fate. Such attitude can be traced in verse 3, but it is clearly manifested

when the minister repeats the already quoted words: jāgrato pi balavattarah kṛtāntah.

This attitude does not have a paralysing effect normally expected in such circumstances.

On the contrary, the minister demonstrates his will to exert himself to the utmost.

His vow amply testifies to it, as well as verses 14 and 18.

In this conflict Yaugandharāyaṇa represents the fascination with Welfare.

This is implied in the very office he occupies.

By discharging his duties while serving his king and the Welfare of his kingdom he also fulfils his duties pertaining to Virtue.

The minister preoccupied with the Welfare of the state is contrasted with his master Udayana and his fascination with Love.

Bhāsa must have been well aware of broader implications of the sphere of Love, so right from the beginning he creates an image of Udayana as given body and soul to his passion of hunting and taming wild elephant, listed as one of the aspects of Love by the Kāmasūtra (II.1.40).

The play thus opens with an ethical problem of confrontation between those acting mainly because of Love motivation and those acting because of Welfare motivation.

Act II presents the germinal matter of the release of Udayana in a way characteristic of the forehead span of plot.

On the whole it disappears from our view, but the very considerate treatment of Udayana by Mahāsena, as well as the obvious hint at a prospective betrothal of Vāsavadattā to Udayana, result in creating a feeling that though the release may be complicated, yet it should be possible.

Bhāsa has in a very interesting way conducted the action of his play in the second phase of effort to which Act II corresponds.

for the effort is shown as being actually undertaken by the antagonists.

Mahāsena makes a series of decisions regarding his prisoner, which certainly represent an effort of securing the goodwill of the last and clearly indicate that he is not averse to the positive solution of the whole problem.

At the same time he expresses three times a strong conviction (verse 6 and 9 and a phrase that if Yaugandharāyaṇa is not dead the king of Vatsa cannot be considered imprisoned), thus indicating that the mainstream of effort takes place off the stage.

Now already the interlude of Act II, mentioning the arrival of envoys being sent by different suitors to the court of the father of princess Vāsavadattā, marks a span-element of manifestation (vilāsa), for undoubtedly the whole situation represents a tendency to strive after satisfaction, although at this particular moment it is not yet a direct expression of this tendency.

It is only in verse 3 that it is expressed more explicitly showing the true perspective of Mahāsena's endeavours, which is the subjugation of the king of Vatsa.

The twin element of pursuit (parisarpa) finds expression in the dialogue of Mahāsena and the queen, as well as in the words of the kañcukin relating to Vāsavadattā's marriage, for here the problem of Vāsavadattā's betrothal appears in the most pronouced way.

Its second characteristic feature is the difficulty to choose the best course of action

The Analysis of The Pratinjñāyaugandharāyaṇa and The Svapnavāsavadattā

and this clearly constitutes the element of perplexity (tāpana). Pursuit, perplexity and

resistance (vidhūta) are related concepts: In the case in hand the very fatherly attachment

of Mahāsena seems to offer such resistance. Verse 5 with its declaration of the duties

of fatherhood seems to mark the span-element of announcement (upanyāsa). It is a

sort of deduction from general practice which allows Mahāsena to state that it is usually

the father who tries to find a suitable groom for his daughter. We can also consider

the subsequent remark about Śālankāyana's return from his mission as belonging to

the same element, because it also results from deduction. The dialogue between Mahāsena

and the kañcukin regarding the identity of Udayana seems to be the span-element of

argument (pragayaṇa), if this is the way that the cryptic reply upon reply of its definition

should be understood. The span-element of announcement appears once again in the

words of Mahāsena (verse 9), in which having recourse to deduction, he disbelieves

the news about the capture of Udayana. The reaction of the queen to the news of Udayana's

arrival at the court of Mahāsena, in the form of an outright suggestion that Vāsavadattā

might be given as wife to him, evidently mollifies the attitude of Mahāsena towards

his prisoner and thereby constitutes the span-element of pacification (paryupāsana). Although

one, not knowing the story from elsewhere, is slightly surprised by the rapidity of the

change in Mahāsena. This is even so despite the initial impatient retort of his which

makes up the span-element of thunderbolt (vajra). The span-element of politeness (puṣpa)

seems to have been given expression in the words of the queen about the capture of

Udayana being so utmosty pleasing to Mahāsena. Further on, her question as to the

reason of Udayana not sending his envoys is a recurrence of pursuit and Mahāsena's

answer makes up the span-element of resistance which in verse 11 and in preceding

words turns into the span-element of thunderbolt when Mahāsena says with temper that

his power ended at the frontiers of Vatsa kingdom. The last element of this span is

very ingeniously executed in the form of the lute episode. The appearance of the beloved

musical instrument of Udayana and its handing over to Vāsavadattā interconnects two

main characters of the play - despite their absence from the stage. This bond bounds

irrevocably all other participants of action and thus the span-element of interconnection

(varṇasamdhra) is introduced. The following polite words of Mahāsena,

as well as the very last stanza (14) that he recites, make a span-element of pacification

reappear.

Since Bhāsa conceived this span as reflecting only indirectly the germinal matter

of the play, therefore, both the predicament and the intrigue are not very pronounced

here and we see them from the opponent's point of view. He, of course, does not hide

his joy. Having subjugated Udayana he has achieved his aim in the sphere of Welfare

and now a perspective opens for him to fulfil the aspirations of his family in the sphere

of Love, harmonising it so well with the earlier political achievements.

The germinal matter in Act III once again comes to the forefront. During the conversation of the two ministers and the vidūṣaka the hope of the final release of the king of Vatsa is built up first in the form of a very precise masterplan prepared by Yaugandharāyaṇa, then it suffers a great setback when the vidūṣaka informs his interlocutors about newly conceived passion of Udayana for Vāsavadattā. It is regained in the second vow of Yaugandharāyaṇa, who promises to carry off from Ujjayini both the king and his beloved. Thus the conclusion that Act III corresponds to the womb span is perfectly legitimate. Let us see, therefore, its structure from a shorter distance

The entire scene of the quarrel over a bowl of sweets is the span-element of fabrication (abhūtāhāraṇa) consisting of words with double meaning and contributing to the build-up of the intrigue. This is well proved by the Kūṭiyāṭṭam theatrical tradition of Kerala which preserved a double interpretation of the text in a special commentary printed by Pandit Ganapatiśāstri in his first edition of Bhāsa's plays. Yet this part of the wombspan (garbha-samdhi) also bears features of other span-elements such as the exaggeration (udāharaṇa) and the outwitting (adhibala). The second half of the womb span contrasted with the first one consists of the span-element called right way (mārga), though it is of course enriched with different other span-elements. We can take this entire portion for the element of right way because the truth shrouded so far in the obscurity of fabrication is now, during the conversation in the Fire temple revealed.

Verse 2 recited by Yaugandharāyaṇa is a sort of conjecture regarding the difficulties and tensions which the coming days are bound to bring and therefore may be taken for the span-element of symptom (rūpa). Words of Rumanvant (verse 3), in their turn, bring in the span-element of agitation (udvega). Verse 4 recited by Yaugandharāyaṇa, because of the sarcastic remark which precedes it, can be taken for the span-element of exaggeration, to which Rumanvant answers with the element of symptom expressing a conjecture that the efforts of Yaugandharāyaṇa will bring positive results. The longer monologue of Yaugandharāyaṇa addressed to the vidūṣaka, being the span-element of right way, is here intensified into the span-element of revelation (ākṣipti). - He reveals, so far secret, his master-plan of Udayana's escape. The vidūṣaka, in his turn, infuses the span-element of right way with the characteristics of the span-element called angry speech (toṭaka), for his are truly heart-rending words to both ministers, who having learnt about the new passion which Udayana conceived for Vāsavadattā see their plans of his liberation thwarted. The vidūṣaka's story ends in what could be considered the span-element of supplication (prārthanā), when he indicates the demand of love and joy on the part of Udayana. The same span-element reverberates in the words of Yaugandharāyaṇa as well (verse 6). Earlier in his enunciation about the probability of their changed identity lasting for a long time, the minister introduces the span-element

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59

of deduction (anumāna). The words of Udayana repeated by the vidūṣaka are both revelation and angry speech. The span-element of propitiation (saṁgraha) is ushered in with the words of Yaugandharāyaṇa addressed to the vidūṣaka (verse 7) in which he implores the jester not to abandon his master while in trouble and to show his magnanimity towards him. The vidūṣaka reacts in the form of the element of deduction suggesting that Vāsavadattā too has to be kidnapped from Ujjayinī. This sequence of events resolves itself in the span-element of chance (krama), when Yaugandharāyana takes his second vow and thus causes the final fruit of action to look quite obtainable. All difficulties and complications have been taken into consideration. The determination and reliability of Yaugandharāyaṇa, as well as the fact that all of his party are already in enemy’s capital, where Udayana is imprisoned, permits hope to spread its wings. The scene ends in the span-element of agitation (udvega), though resolves again into the span-element of fabrication which in this way brackets this structural portion of the play.

Here it should be added that both the element of fabrication and the element of outwitting constitute, as a matter of fact, a sort of ground-work for the entire span. Since their definitions connect them with the idea of kāpaṭa - the term given a special meaning in the concept of the trikāpaṭa discussed in Chapter I of this book - consequently the third span emerges as the one which normally should contain the building up of the intrigue proper of the action actually represented on the stage. The Pratiñjā seems to be a classical example of such notion. It may be interesting to note that Yaugandharāyaṇa now does not betray the attitude of being only a tool in the hands of fate, while with respect to the intrigue which resulted in Udayana’s capture he was not, as we have shown, averse to a thought that it were workings of destiny. In this span Bhāsa seems to dispense with the notion of predicament and as a consequence with the span-element of the same name. But if we remember the way an effort was presented in the second span, we can legitimately assume that the antagonist would not remain inactive and that expecting and anticipating Yaugandharāyaṇa’s move he will try to counter it by some stratagem which actually involved the vīṇā of Udayana - as we are told in verse 17 of Act IV. Nevertheless, it seems that the span-element of predicament, although placed in the womb span, will mainly affect the subsequent span of reflection.

The germinal matter, i.e., the release of Udayana in Act IV does become on no account a subject of reflection. Udayana is already free. This information we get right at the end of the interlude. So something is amiss here. Let us then submit this situation again to a test using this time the concept of the frustration phase. Obviously there is no place for frustration either. Thus we are bound to conclude that the fourth span of reflection and consequently at least one act, is missing from the play. To my mind an attempt to analyse the present Act IV from the view-point of span-elements corroborates the above conclusion. Let us thus see whether these elements can be fitted in the extant

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Methodology of The Analysis of Sanskrit Drama

Act IV of the play. We could trace the span element of reproach (apavāda) in the mutual recriminations of the two opponent ministers. The same concerns the confrontation element (sampheta). With insolence (drava) we tread upon much less sure ground. For even amidst recriminations both ministers show to one another some respect. The placation of opponents could be seen in the gesture of Mahāsena towards Yaugandharāyaṇa at the very end of the play and this could be considered the span-element of exertion (śakti). The determination (vyavasāya) stemming from a vow could be pointed out in the attitude of Yaugandharāyana being ready even to face death. The reverence may be traced in the attitude of the captive minister towards Mahāsena, had it not been for the fact that it comes in a standard phrase at the very end which usually terminates each play. The element of dazzlement (dyuti) we could find in contemptuous words exchanged by the ministers, already as the third element to be attributed to this conversation. Here apparently ends the possibility of fitting the elements of this span upon the act in question. Neither the distress (kheda), nor the denial (pratiṣedha) nor the blockade (virodhana) can be convincingly traced in it, for as we know the accomplishment of main action has already taken place in the form of successful escape of Udayana and Vāsavadattā. Moreover, if we remember that, considering the nature of this span determined by the frustration phase (niyatāpti-avasthā), these three elements are absolutely indis-pensable to it, then it is immaterial whether the preceding six, or following three (the grasping (ādāna), the concealment (chādana), the optimism (prarocanā)) can be traced somehow in this act. So we have to uphold our former conclusion and repeat that the reflection span is missing or else Bhāsa is a very poor and negligent playwright.

The germinal matter of the play obviously resolves itself in Act IV into a fruit of Udayana's liberation. Apart from that, the second concern of the play (or indeed the very first one - as will be shown later), i.e., the fulfillment of Udayana's and Vāsavadattā's love also, is positively resolved in this act. Last but not least, the chief protagonist, though imprisoned and in danger of death, is evidently triumphant - having done his duty. The situation is unmistakably that of the accomplishment span. This is well exemplified and proved by the span-element analysis of this act.

Both the jocular interlude of the conversation with the drunken elephant-keeper, as well as the voice from space declaring that Udayana has run together with Vāsavadattā bring back the germinal subject matter and constitute the span-element called the span (saṃdhi). The following enunciations of the elephant-keeper (verses 2,3), by describing the fight that ensued upon Udayana's flight, draw our attention to the resumed main action and thus make up the next span-element of awakening (vibodha) which, in the very last sentences of the introductory scene, evolves into the span-element of assembling (grathana). For both participants of this scene set to their tasks still ahead. Act IV proper begins with the element of narration (nirṇaya), when one of the soldiers describes

The Analysis of The Pratinjñāyaugandharāyaṇa and The Svapnavāsavadattā

heroic deeds of Yaugandharāyaṇa. The minister continues in the idiom of this span-

element adding to it a clear note of satisfaction, thus enriching it with the span-element

of joy (ānanda) (Verse 5). This element grafted, as it were, upon the element of narration

(verse 6) is continued further on. Yugandharāyaṇa's monologue (verse 7), in which he

speaks about the advantages and the shortcomings of his ministerial office, could be

considered the span-element of oration (bhāṣana). Verse 8 partly continues the element

of narration and partly the element of confirmation (dhṛti), when Yaugandharayaṇa asserts

that now his deeds can be seen. At this turn Bhāsa transposes from the womb span

the element of outwitting making the soldier tell Yaugandharāyaṇa that the king has

been once again captured. This transposition apparently was required in order to introduce

once again the element of confirmation but even in a more forceful way. Besides, this

time it is grafted upon the span-element of narration of past events. This comes about

in the shape of a conclusion that someone who has effected such an escape could not

possibly let himself be caught again. In verse 11 Yaugandhārayaṇa censures the ministers

of Mahāsena for their negligence thus introducing the element of reprimand (paribhāṣaṇa);

it is intensified in the subsequent verse when Bharatarohaka is said to have lost his

political authority. The span-element of joy, may be even of delight (prīti), because

of achieved victory, runs in this stanza concurrently. The words of Bharatarohaka in

verse 12 are an obvious oration, for they unmistakably show his generosity towards

his captive enemy Yaugandharāyaṇa. The last one's attitude in turn is expressed in terms

of the span-element of confirmation and also of joy when he compares himself to Aśvatthāman

who stands calm after fulfilling his duty. This statement of Yagandharāyaṇa provokes

Bharatarohaka's reprimand and the counter-reprimand of Yaugandharāyaṇa follows; it

makes up at the same time the element of retrospect (pūrvavākya), when he recounts

what happened to Udayana thanks to the machinations of the ministers of Mahāsena.

These elements tend to repeat themselves until verse 20, In verse 21, when the kañcukin

repeats the message of Mahāsena, out of which it transpires that this king is favourably

inclined towards the captive minister and in the comment full of surprise made by

Yaugandharāyaṇa there meet four span-elements, viz. the element of delight and last

but not least that of mystery (upagūhana), for surely this is a wonderful turn in

Yaugandharāyaṇa's life. It is interesting to note that at this moment Bhāsa brings in

a slight touch of the element of distress, characteristic otherwise of the reflection span.

This he does supposedly in order to make the impact of the element of mystery more

intensely felt. For after the sound of lamentation of women is heard, news comes that

Mahāsena has consoled the lamenting queen saying that he considers the marriage of

Vāsavadattā and Udayana a lawful affair and that the proper ceremony should be performed

with the painted replicas of the bride and the groom. Now Yaugandharāyaṇa knows

that his life will be spared and he accepts the golden cup offered to him as token

of respect by Mahāsena. Thus the element of mystery is transformed into the element

of termination, which duly ends the play.

The last act brings to a close the intrigue and marks the final disentanglement

from the predicament, showing clearly the chief protagonists staunch adherence to the

cause of Welfare of the kingdom, where he occupies the elevated office of the chief

minister. But the very last sentence of Yaugandharāyaṇa when he exclaims : 'so Mahāsena

has recognised their union!' - gives testimony to the fact that all the efforts finally

served the fulfilment of love and thus endeavours in the sphere of Welfare brought

the fruit in the sphere of Love. The passionate attitude represented by Udayana (despite

his protestations that he should not be considered kāmapradhāna (Act III) gets an upper

hand putting in subservient position Welfare-oriented action of Yaugandharāyaṇa.

There can be little doubt left as to which span with its elements fits better Act

IV of the play, which undoubtedly represents the accomplishment span. Now the question

arises whether, by any chance, this might have been intended by Bhāsa in accordance

with the tendency, formulated much later, to interpret niyatāpti-avasthā (the base of

the reflection span) as the phase of certainty of success and not as the frustration phase.

In such case the tense import of the reflection span would have been obliterated. The

careful textual analysis of the play bespeaks against such a possibility. First of all there

seems to be a certain symmetrical pattern intended in the particular content and arrangement

of acts. Act I is - so to speak - Yaugandharāyaṇa's, i.e., belongs to the protagonist.

Act II belongs to the antagonist, i.e., Mahāsena. Act III once again is the preserve

of the protagonist, so one would expect that before the final act, where the conflict

will be resolved and where the antagonist meets the protagonist, there should be one

more act belonging to the antagonist153). If this does not suffice let us direct our attention

towards the end of Act III. We find there a remark of Mahāsena about Bharatarohaka's

unkind attitude towards abruptly softened behaviour of Mahāsena in his treatment of

Udayana. Mahāsena says there that he will have to convince the minister of the propriety

of such behaviour, which he never does! Another interesting evidence is found in verse

9 of Act III. There according to some interpreters Yaugandharāyaṇa speaks about liberating

Udayana, kidnapping Vāsavadattā and taking back the lute Ghoṣavatī, which he never

does. This lute does not reappear in the text until verse 16 of Act IV, when Yaugandharāyaṇa

says that the betrayal of Udayana had two shapes : one was the artificial blue elephant

and another one was the lute. While the first reference is obvious, the second one hangs

in mid air. For we do not know of any stratagem involving the lute. Equally incomprehensibly

sounds the remark concerning the teaching of lute playing by Udayana to Vāsavadattā.

Still more mysteriously sounds verse 19 from which it transpires that Udayana had

Mahāsena at his mercy and spared him!

Thus it seems quite clear that the present Act IV is in reality Act V and the

The Analysis of The Pratinjñāyaugandharāyaṇa and The Svapnavāsavadattā

true Act IV is missing, in the way similar to the missing portion of the Daridracārudatta

and to the missing fragments of the Svapnavāsavadattā.

The criterium of the four demeanours is not specially revealing as regards the

Pratijñā, although here and there one can have interesting insights thanks to it. According

to the rules, the introductory scene of this play should be performed in the verbal demeanour.

Technically speaking it will be the transference (āvalgita) subdivision of the introduction

(āmukha). The rest of Act I represents a case of the conscious demeanour and taking

the particular situation of Yaugandhārayaṇa who braces himself up for further action

by taking a vow, we may justifiably suppose that the whole of this act represents the

first category of the conscious demeanour - namely, the so-called challenge (utthāpaka).

Act II is, in a way, a repetition of Act I. It presents the opponent's view of the situation

and continues in the same demeanour as hitherto. The delicate demeanour is conspicuous

by its absence, though, as we know, it is structurally postulated here. The simplest

answer, of course, is that considering the particular character of the play it has been

purposefully omitted. Still, it is not impossible that taking clue from the conversation

of Mahāsena and queen Aṅgāravatī about musical lessons being taken by Vāsavadattā

some music and signing might have been introduced in actual performance. The womb

span from the point of view of the demeanour seems, at least in its Prakrit part, to

represent one of the thirteen types of the vīthī called the trigata (we would have in

it an example of the tenth rīpaka also!) and therefore the verbal demeanour will be

proper here, as indeed is the practice of the cākyārs of Kerala who to this day stage

this act of the Pratijñā under the name of the Mantrāṅka. The Sanskrit portion of this

act (at least so far as Yaugandharāyaṇa and Rumaṇvant are concerned) should be staged

in the conscious demeanour. The particular situation seems to correspond roughly to

the change of action (parivartaka) subdivision of this demeanour. The introductory scene

of the last act again seems to be the vīthī (probably the deception (chāla)) and as such

represents the verbal demeanour. Although the Sanskrit portion of it might have been

partly performed in the violent demeanour. The conscious demeanour makes certainly

the proper idiom of scenic action for the rest of Act IV and roughly corresponds to

the discourse subdivision of this demeanour (sallāpaka). The play seems to be singularly

deficient in both emotional demeanours, i.e., the delicate and the violent failing to fulfil

in this respect the stipulation of its definition. The Pratijñā emerges from its structural

analysis as an exemplary composition : Practically speaking only four span-elements

are missing in it - if we do not count the missing Act IV. These elements are the

two dalliances, the hindrance of the forehead span and the predicament of the womb

span. Some arguments have already been adduced which should explain the absence

of all of them with the exception of hindrance, of which is also justified, since the

second span concerns the antagonist for whom this is a moment of triumph and introducing

hindrance here would have been an obvious tour de force. Of course, this description

of the structure of the Pratijñā may be challenged in details. But even then it will

hold good as a very well done play with its smooth flow of both action and narration

and with its events captivating attention. One can say it now, with much more conviction,

that had the play been complete it would have to be considered as belonging to the

best specimens of Sanskrit dramaturgy.

The Svapnavāsavadattā of Bhāsa is called in the colophon of its manuscript a

nāṭaka154). Since it has six acts, a famous king as its hero and since his amorous pastimes

constitute its subject-matter, we can accept the colophon description of it as the point

of departure for a more detailed analysis. Let us then first try to determine the germinal

matter of this play. It is hinted at in verse 4 when Yaugandharāyaṇa assures Vāsavadattā

that through the victory of her husband she will regain her former position. This victory

is to be ensured by the alliance with the king of Magadha, whose sister Udayana

should marry. This aspect of the germinal matter is recalled to the minds of all spectators

(who must have obviously known well the story from elsewhere) in the brief exclamation

of Yaugandharāyaṇa following verse 6, when on hearing the words of Padmāvatī’s chamberlain

he says that this is then the daughter of the king of Magadha about whom the astrologers

predicted that she would become the wife of the king of Vatsa! So the germinal matter

has two interlinked aspects : one is victory associated with the person of Padmāvatī

and another is a return of Vāsavadattā to her former position of the most beloved wife

of Udayana. It is, therefore, a case of utilising passionate attitudes of the sphere of

Love in furthering political ambitions and gains belonging to the sphere of Welfare.

Act I undoubtedly shows the sprouting of this germinal matter and the moment

Vāsavadattā disguised as Āvantikā becomes entrusted to Padmāvatī’s care, it is well

planted indeed with many implications for subsequent events. Let us see then whether

the detailed description of span-elements of this act will confirm this contention.

The introductory scene sounds a certain note of apprehension when the sūtradhāra

informs the audience of a rather high-handed treatment bestowed on the inhabitants

of a hermitage. This seems to somehow anticipate the dominant conflict of the play

which appears to be the unavoidable clash between two traditional aims of life : namely

Welfare and Love to the detriment of the third one, i.e., Virtue. The first scene ends

with the entrance of the chamberlain of the king of Magadha. The main protagonists

of it are two : Yaugandharāyaṇa and Vāsavadattā. The last one in her dejected frame

of mind brings up to the surface very crucial problems which elucidated upon by

Yaugandharāyaṇa become a veiled yet quite apparent suggestion (upakṣepa) as to the

germinal matter of the play. Vāsavadattā asks her companion on hearing the crude order

of the two guards : - who is it that turns us away in this manner? It is someone who

turns himself away from Virtue answers Yaugandharāyaṇa. Now, we should remember

that the summum bonum of the Indian idea of human life is an attainment of the three

ends of life (trivarga). Yaugandharāyaṇa perhaps is aware of the conflict which his

actions have provoked. The conflagration of Lāvāṇaka and faked widow hood for Udayana

had only one aim of reinstating the paramount power of Kauśāmbī and thus Love sphere

in the form of Vāsavadattā had to yield to the Welfare of Kauśāmbī. A conclusion

might follow that this infringement upon Love sphere puts the action in question also

in conflict with Virtue, since we know that the three should be harmoniously striven

for. But if we remember that the love of Udayana and Vāsavadattā has not been legalised

so far, as well as the dictum of the Kāmasūtra (1.2.15) that Welfare is the main aim

of the king, then we cannot unreservedly condemn Yaugandharāyaṇa's and Rumaṇvant's

machinations. The next scene in which we come to know princess Padmāvatī and the

vedic student is of help (parikara) in delineating the composite texture of the whole

happening. Here we learn about the prohecy regarding Padmāvatī's and Udayana's matrimony,

we witness the growth of her love for him and we come to know the details of the

conflagration at Lāvāṇaka. Here also in verse 13 there is once again the suggestion

to be found that Vāsavadattā might not be really dead. The same portion of the story

makes a sort of extension (parinyāsa) into the past, for from what happens on the stage

we can infer that the present uneasy situation is due to Yaugandharāyaṇa's efforts to

rebuild the Kauśāmbian empire. There can be no doubt that by the same token the

plot becomes alluring (vilobhana), for by now its virtues are obvious. Bhāsa takes, may-

be even too much, care to develop in the first span his plot in such a way that there

can be no misgivings as to how it is going to proceed on. The decision (yukti) is taken

by Yaugandharāyaṇa the very moment he entrusts Vāsavadattā to the care of Padmāvatī.

From this, as well as from the prophecy which he mentioned, we know that Udayana

and Padmāvatī have to become man and wife and we can infer that this will also bring

the amelioration of Vāsavadattā's fate. From our point of view this may appear a singularly

non-thrilling technique of story-telling. Yet in India what is attractive about a well-

known story is not what will happen, but how it will happen? All these elements quite

obviously determine the subject-matter of the play infused with an optimism stemming

from the fact that all protagonists through a series of initial moves might hope for

an accession (prāpti) of their aims Thus main features of the entire action are settled

(samādhāna) and the germinal subject-matter presented, for out of the predicament of

the conflagration of Lāvāṇaka, out of the disguise of Vāsavadattā and out of her sojourn

with Padmāvatī the subsequent action will sprout. It is certainly very exciting to see

how Bhāsa takes care of one of the most important elements of the head span, i.e.,

the arrangement (vidhāna). How does he present it as a conflict of happiness and despair?

Padmāvatī - the repository of Virtue, of whom it is twice said 'dear to Virtue' and

'dear to those who are agreeable to Virtue' - represents harmony and happiness.

Yaugandharāyaṇa in his turn seems indirectly to acknowledge that what he has done might appear as not quite in tune with Virtue, for removing, more or less forcibly, someone from his or her place in a society, even if there is certain irregularity about the right to this place, and assuming incognito means 'to turn oneself away from Virtue'. The fruit of such a deed has to be insult added to injury, which Vāsavadattā so clearly experiences as a more or less willing or consenting party to the plot. Inspite of what has been said above, the division of happiness and despair is not only external. It does also colour the frame of mind of both Vāsavadattā and Padmāvatī. Padmāvatī's happiness is tarnished by apprehension regarding Udayana himself and also his feelings, while Vāsavadattā's misery is brightened by proofs of Udayana's great love for her. The contemplation (paribhāvanā) of the complexity of life which naturally excites curiosity reverberates in the stanzas recited by Yaugandharāyaṇa (3, 4, 15), by the chamberlain (10) and by the student (13). The disclosure (udbhēda) should be considered a general tendency of the first span. Bhāsa skilfully unveils the most important elements of the plot beginning with a rather symbolical disguise of Yaugandharāyaṇa and Vāsavadattā, through the appearance on the stage of Padmāvatī up to the revelations of the vedic student. The activity (karaṇa), of course full of enterprise and endeavour, throbs right through the first span but its most pronounced moment is when Yaugandharāyaṇa requests Padmāvatī to accept Āvantikā-Vāsavadattā's guardian-ship. The head span should, like on a chess-board after initial moves, leave the situation fairly well outlined, the particular interests of all the protagonists and antagonists determined and the degree of dissension (bheda) defined. Partly the ingenuity of Yaugandharāyaṇa and partly fate create such a situation in which conflicting interests of the two heroines are bound together. Yet, this seems to be a problem of secondary importance, for ploygamy was a more ar less normal thing. The political undercurrent also runs concurently and it is rather harmony then dissension which finally emerges from the situation. Unless we take the account of the past events, i.e., the conflagration of Lāvāṇaka and the disappearance of Vāsavadattā to be a part of this span, we shall have to admit that the last span-element is not much pronunced conflict-wise.

No doubt the wedding of Udayana and Padmāvatī uncovers substantially the germinal matter and constitutes the most important effort in bringing about the achievement of the ultimate fruit. Yet, it is good to remember that it is only mentioned in the second and third acts and not actually shown on the stage. Bhāsa's conception of the forehead span, therefore, appears to be rather unorthodox. This is a little surprising for it could be seen that the first span has been conceived in what can be considered an orthodox way. Yet, all the unusual deviations in the structure of this drama will become more justified, if we acknowledge that un undercurrent of a political intrigue engineered by Yaugandharāyaṇa is of major importance in this play. We would say that in a way

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the four inner acts representing the three inner spans of the plot show only certain outer manifestations of a process which has been initiated by Yaugandharāyaṇa, while the first span lasted. The vehemence and ruthlessness of the political intrigue has uprooted Vāsavadattā, in whose fate it is reflected. Bhāsa seems to show how Love deprived of the clear sanction of Virtue fares when it has to yield to the exigencies of the sphere of Welfare. Vāsavadattā's love for Udayana first of all was not legalised with the formal nuptial ceremony, but even had it been so, anyway she would have had to agree to sacrifice it for the sake of forging an alliance with the kingdom of Magadha and thus reestablish Kauśāmbian paramouncy. But while such reason may explain her behaviour it cannot absolve her from its ill effects. This is what Yaugandharāyaṇa indicates when he tells her that even gods when not recognised suffer privations.

But let us return now to the span-element analysis of the two acts of the forehead span. Aiming at love's fulfilment is the abvious manifestation (vilāsa) of this part of the plot. The actual effort has been probably done behind the scene possibly by minister Rumaṇvant who must have made Udayana visit Magadha. What we see on the stage is just an aftermath of those happenings. While Padmāvatī is carried towards the fulfilment of her dreams, Vāsavadattā's grief augments but at the same time she too finds herself quite close to her husband, although still bound by her tragic incognito. Thus the pursuit of an object of action is in this case rather an element of resistance (vidhūta). Undoubtedly, one of the major motifs of this span is the perplexity (tāpana) stemming from separation, which appears by the end of Act II and is developed in Act III, The opening scene of Act II might be considered the argument (pragayaṇa), provided we do not expect too much of it. The element of hindrance (nirodha) followed up by the pacification (paryupāsana) ends Act II when Vāsavadattā learns about Udayana's decision to marry Padmāvatī and derives comfort from the knowledge that it was not at his initiative. The verbal politeness (puspa) is an elusive element. We can, of course, insist that there are traces of it in the dialogue of Act II, though neither the Nātyaśāstra nor Abhinavagupta sufficiently define this element to draw any firm conclusion. Considering the easy flow of action in this span it would be an obvious 'tour de force' to indicate here the thunderbolt (vajra) element. There is no place for a realy angry retort and Padmāvatī's 'apehi' at the beginning of Act II does not suffice. The only moment of this span where we could point an announcement (upanyāsa) are the words of Padmāvatī right before the entrance of the nurse - for here a deduction concerning the possibility of Udayana being seen by the inhabitants of Ujjayini is concluded with an announcement that it is good luck to be agreeable to all. While the first span usually ends with a presentation of all participating in the plot, the second gives a chance to fasten the ties that bound them together in an element of interconnection of characters (varṇasaṃhāra). Thus the wedding of Udayana and Padmāvatī both literally and figuratively brings together main

protagonists although the hero himself is absent from the stage and his minister is even a more distant figure. As a matter of fact whatever happens in the subsequent portions of the play happens strictly as a consequence of what has taken place in the forehead span.

The wedding of Udayana with Padmāvatī created a situation in which the germinal matter of Udayana's victory and of Vāsavadattā's restoration to her original position seems to be in sight and thus a very strong hope is generated of the imminent and not very distant fulfilment of action. Of course, for those who remember the political undercurrent, the final fulfilment may only come after the actual victory of the thus forged coalition over Āruṇi. This happens after Act V ends. Nevertheless, Act IV certainly represents the womb span and this is born out well by the following detailed analysis of this act.

The praveśaka or the introductory scene in Act IV is a humorous 'alter ego' of the womb span. The jester finds himself in a similar situation to that of Udayana. Having united in happy 'marriage' with comfort he is missing his first and foremost beloved, i.e., good digestion. Act IV proper begins with apparently meaningless conversation regarding flowers in the garden, which in its course brings the confession of love of both ladies taking part in it. This revelation (ākṣipti) of their feelings constitutes a harmonious accord with a similar scene, which takes place between the king and his jester. Put before it, comes the entrance of Udayana and Vasantaka abruptly interrupts the conversation of the ladies with a note of exaggeration which is rather characteristic of this span of action when the hopes are high but danger still in view. 'The sixth arrow of Kāma words furnished by Vasantaka's description of the locale still enhances further this note of longing. The sequence of events which follow appears to consist of two similar waves, one built of an element of inference (anumāna) and outwitting (adhibala) and the other of inference and fabrication (abhūtāharaṇa). Both times the king infers the proximity of Padmāvatī from various traces. But while the first time the ladies acting upon the advice of the maid-servant give a slip to the king and his jester, thus outwitting them, the second time it is Vāsavadattā who outwits through the element of fabrication the inquisitive maid when she asks for the reason of Vāsavadattā's tears. As it has been already indicated, there, once again during the conversation of the king and the jester, comes about the revelation of what both of them really feel about the ladies. Both moments of revelation are crucial to this span of the plot, for it is then that Udayana and Vāsavadattā alike declare their satisfaction blurred by the continuing separation. A humorous confession of the jester which terminates this element provokes not so much angry speech (toṭaka) as a heart-rending one when Vasantaka once again drives home the sad truth of Vāsavadattā's death. His words also terminate a situation which

The Analysis of The Pratinjñāyaugandharāyaṇa and The Svapnavāsavadattā

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lasted right from the entrance of the king. It was precisely the first chance (krama)

of the meeting of Vāsavadattā and Udayana. Although Udayana does not participate

consciously in it - like Vāsavadattā - yet somehow subconsciously he yields to the

atomosphere and his spontanous reaction to Vasantaka's confession with the words :

'All this I shall tell the queen Vāsavadattā!' brings the highest pitch of this span. It

finally ends in what seems to be a delicate attempt at outwitting Padmāvatī who witnessed

unobserved the entire conversation and now can well appreciate the courteous behaviour

of both the jester and his master.

The reader may remember that it is exactly in this span that the intrigue should

appear in the span-element of fabrication and of outwitting and the predicament should

be present in the span-element of the same name. Now, while the first two of them

have been pointed out it seems they have rather ornamental value of no consequence

for the subsequent development of action. On the other hand the element of predicament

is entirely missing. This is so because whatever happens in this play is an aftermath

of the intrigue engineered by the ministers earlier and resulting in the make-believe

predicament of the conflagration of the village of Lāvāṇaka. Bhāsa's treatment of this

span - if this analysis is accepted - proves that in his time the theory of structure was

by no means exerting a stiffling influence upon the creative imagination of playwrights

and in no way limited their freedom.

Act V presents a situation which is dominated by Udayana's sad reflection concerning

his erstwhile wife Vāsavadattā. By bringing them dangerously close together it also

threatens the execution of Yaugandharāyaṇa's political plan. Of this Vāsavadattā is well

aware. Probably the entourage of the king was afraid that if Udayana discovers Vāsavadattā

before subjugating Āruṇī with the help of his brother-in-law-, he may well send back

Padmāvatī and the coalition will break. Or else the news will reach king Darśaka, the

brother of Padmāvatī and he himself may back out from such an unwanted alliance.

As we see, the germinal matter is in grave danger and therefore Act V constitutes a

reflection span. Structurally speaking this span is an obvious repetition of the womb

span, though the elements used for the actual construction of this span might be different.

Both the hero and the heroine are brought hear each other even in a more striking

way than previously. So much so that they rest upon the same couch. The king dreams

and dreaming talks to Vāsavadattā. Then comes awakening and once more the jester

with his cruel words. It is the degree of intensity which makes out of what could have

been a phase of hope - a phase of frustration. The same degree of intensity is responsible

for the choice of the distress (kheda) element as a leit-motif of the reflection span.

It is once again anticipated in an introductory scene. The headache of Padmāvatī is

symbolical of the deficient happiness which has become Udayana's share. The distress

which has overcome him already is expressed in the very first stanza that he recites.

It rises to the highest pitch in the first stanzā and lasts till Udayana's awakening when it changes into an element of denial (pratiṣedha). the executor of which - as mentioned before - is the jester. Gaining in intensity this element by the end becomes the element of blockade (virodhana) when Vasantaka calls the whole mental preoccupation of the king with what he believes was a dream - a vanity (anartha). With the entrance of the chamberlain of the king the germ oriented action is effectively grasped (ādāna) again when he announces readiness of the entire army for the final battle with Āruṇi.

The optimistic (prarocanā) note transpiring from the spirited words of the king bracing himself up for the fight ends the fourth span of the plot and at the same time Act V of the play. One of the most interesting aspects of this span is the element of grasping which brings to the surface - if only for a while - the political undercurrent of the play to which the fate of Vāsavadattā is linked very closely. A success in politics means after all her reunion with the husband. The element of distress lasting rather long is interspersed, as if in continuation of the previous span, with some of its elements. This is the agitation (udvega) at the sight of an imaginary serpent and the inference regarding Padmāvatī's supposed presence in the lake-bower (V.4). Apart from that the king twice adresses to the jester the words of contempt, although it hardly can be considered the dazzling (dyuti) contempt and in stanzas 5 and 6 narrates (nirṇaya) his past experiences, thus introducing an element of the subsequent span.

In the last Act VI the germinal matter undoubtedly resolves itself in the attainment of the fruit of action. The kingdom has been regained and Vāsavadattā recognised and reinstated as the queen, but only after the news had arrived that the nuptial ceremony was duly performed, though only by proxy of painted images. Thus certainly Act VI constitutes the accomplishment span. The subsequent analysis of it from the point of view of its elements strengthens further this conviction.

The supporting scene (viṣkambhaka) of this act recalls the spirit of distress so characteristic of the preceding span. The entrance of the envoys of the queen Aṅgāravatī, the mother of Vāsavadattā anticipates the most important aspect of the last span, i.e., the element of mystery (upagūhana). The entrance of Udayana opens Act VI with a reprimand (paribhāṣaṇa) addressed to the ungrateful lute of Vāsavadattā. This reproachful spirit in the next stanza evolves in to the narration (nirṇaya) of past experiences. Now, this element will be coming up again many times untie stanza 13. It can be heard in stanzas 4, 5, 8 and it is picked up also in the prose passage in which the nurse of Vāsavadattā relates the message of her mother. Finally it transpires from the sad words of the hero when watching the picture of his dead wife. Major as the narration element is, it is not the sole master on the stage. The entrance of the envoys spans (samdhi) the events of the last span with those of the first and it also constitutes an awakening (vibodha) with regard to those aspects of action which after the lapse of

The Analysis of The Pratinjñāyaugandharāyaṇa and The Svapnavāsavadattā

71

the first span have been more or less dropped. An admixture of the reprimand element reverberates in the words of the king, when he wonders what might be the reaction of her father Mahāsena (VI.4) to the news of Vāsavadattā's demise and it also can be felt in the extremely interesting pronouncement of the chamberlain of Mahāsena which is a tirade against fate. For it is the only instance at which somebody in the play voices a doubt which most obviously is at the back of everybody's mind. Namely: is it correct to play so ruthlessly with human beings and their feelings just for political ends? The chamberlain does not blame wicked politicians and he even does not revolt against fate. But the doubt is there, though the chamberlain in a true Indian way tends to consider the entire problem unavoidable, betraying his attitude in the optative mood he employs.

The next element which is as it were - superimposed upon the narration element is that of a delight (prīti), which is expressed in the words of the king enquiring with great reverence about the well-being of his "erstwhile" in-laws (VI.6 and 9) and also in those of the chamberlain adressed to the king (VI.7, 10). When the king acknowledges the message of queen Aṅgāravatī, the element of delight changes into one of oration (bhāṣaṇa), bringing in the spirit of conciliation and generosity. Now, the main motif of the last span sets in, i.e., the element of mystery. It begins when Vāsavadattā's portrait brought by the envoys from Ujjayini is unveiled and lasts till the revelation concerning the identity of an ascetic who appears to be Yaugandharāyaṇa himself. It can be called the element of mystery, for along the true identity of the so-called Āvantikā it reveals the fact that she has never been formally betrothed to Udayana, so their love has never been brought into the sphere of Virtue. In what impresses us as a very meaningful way, the fact of the performance of required nuptial rites on the painted substitutes of the bride and the bridegroom is - through these very Substitutes (i.e.,portrats)- conected with the final act of amelioration in Vāsavadattā's fate. For only when the sacramental ceremony had been performed around the nuptial fire-altar it was possible to recognise the heroine as the wife par excellence of the king. Otherwise she was just Āvantikā. It also sheds additional light on the attitudes of all concerned, which at first glance seems to us today so unaceptable, for purely love relationship when deprived of the ritualistic sanctity proper to the sphere of Virtue has to give way to the demands of Welfare of the empire. Further on while this element lasts there again appears an element called the span when the germinal matter of the head span is picked up by the announcement of the arrival of Yaugandharāyaṇa in the garb of ascetic. In the retrospect (pūrvavākya) which follows he wonders what will possibly be the reaction of the king (VI. 15) and it is exactly this reaction which makes Yaugandharāyaṇa answer in the form of the oration (VI. 16). Now with great joy (ānanda) the king discovers the true identity of the ascetic and of Vāsavadattā. The final deliverance (samaya) from all miseries comes,

Vāsavadattā’s oration addressed to Padmāvatī follows and then comes a reprimand with which the king speaks about minister Rumaṇvant. An element of termination (kāvyasaṃhāra) is apparently missing from the play and the final laudation (praśasti) follow directly.

While in the case of the Pratijñā the demeanours helped us to discover little of extraordinary importance (may-be with the exception of the vithī) here the situation changes diametrically. Act I opens up as usual with the introductory scene representing the verbal demeanour and in particular its opening of the story (kathodghāta) subdivision.

The rest of this act seems to have been meant for performance in the conscious demeanour, for it represents the changes of action subdivision of this demeanour. Acts II and III yield the most interesting results when considered in the light of demeanours.

The two span-elements representing the delicate demeanour in the second span are conspicuous by their absence from our analysis of this span. This has been done on purpose, for if we consider these elements as marking only the presence of an outright humour in the play, as M.M. Ghosh would suggest, then we shall have to admit that it is either completely absent or slightly pronounced.

It seems that these two acts of the Svapna are instances of the element of splendid dalliance understood also as representing the delicate demeanour. Act II corresponds to the element of spendid dalliance, for there is a bit of hide-and-seek in it.

From the point of view of the delicate demeanour it could be taken for the eruption of dalliance, since it does suggest many feelings which do not resolve themselves into a fulfiledged rasa. Act III, structurally speaking, is also the element of splendid dalliance representing with its characteristic self-reproach in separation the first subdivision of the delicate demeanour called dalliance.

Now the practical consequence of this conclusion - if it is accepted as valid - is important, for as we already know, the delicate demeanour is characterised by plenty of music, song and dance.

The two acts in question are from the literary point of view evidently less elaborate than the other acts. The absence of stanzas stands out prominently. Brevity of these acts constitutes another similar element. Besides, the dialogues and soliloquies seem to be rather skeletal and sketchy.

The only possibility to explain the lack of balance is that they were substantially elaborated in actual theatrical production with music, song and dance.

The delicate demeanour in the same.configuration is repeated in Acts IV. and V. Act IV is an obvious amplification of Act II. In Act II it were the ladies alone. In Act IV they are joined by Udayana and the jester.

Further, in Act V, once again, is a similar amplification of Act III. As in the Pratijñā, Bhāsa betrays here also his musical feeling for rhythm in the arrangement of acts.

The last accord of the reflection span (Act V) is the conscious demeanour of the chamberlain and the violeut demeanour of Udayana himself, who in the last verse that he recites pictures, as it were, the entire fight with the hated Āruṇi.

The cākyārs of Kerala perform this stanza in a manner

The Analysis of The Pratinjñāyauugandharāyaṇa and The Svapnavāsavadattā

which corresponds exactly to the violent demeanour, as it has been described in the

Nāṭyaśāstra. Finally the last act after the verbal demeanour of the viṣkambhaka introduces

the delicate demeanour in the scene with the viṇā which later on changes into the cousscious

demeanour that duly ends the play. The viṣkambhaka presents most probably the advance

subdivision (pravṛttaka) of the introduction. The viṇā scene is without doubt the dalliance

and the conscious demeanour is represented here probably in its change of action subdivision.

The span theory presents an ideal image of action as conceived by Indian thought.

The way it has been considered by playwrights will betray either their creativity or

their mere slavishness. Here we shall risk a general opinion that Bhāsa does not treat

the span theory, especially in its detail of the sixty four span-elements, very rigidly.

The smooth flow of his language and the miniaturesque quality of the scenes rather

well knit together make of this drama quite attractive material for performnce. Yet,

his disregard of some of the span-elements cannot always be counted to his advantage.

The omission of such elements as the resistance, the argument, the thunderbolt, etc.

deprives the play of quite a lot of dramatic tension. Also the fact that some of them

have a more or less formal character and are related to the germinal matter in a very

insignificant way, as for instance the dissension of the head span, the announcement

of the forehead span and the dazzlement of the reflection span, does not contribute

positively to the play. An omission of the termination element of the last span at least

in its full fledged form is responsible for the rather abrupt way in which the play ends.

In this respect it has to be noted that Bhāsa does not skilfully resolve the element

of mystery. The trivial - Go inside, queen, together with Padmāvatī - is not sufficiently

balanced by the following orations. Consequently the play makes an impression that

somebody has tampered with it - the only way to absolve Bhāsa of its shortcomings.

The absence of the termination element, the problem of missing verse found only in

the Nāṭyadarpana155) and certain abruptness with which some of the motifs of the play

end, indicates this possibility quite strongly. Especially, since we positively know that

the cākyārs who have preserved this play do not perform the dramas they have in their

repertoire following strictly the text.

Summing up we have to say that while eliminating totally the political undercurrent

from the three inner spans of the play - it is brought back in what strikes us as a

sudden and artificial way by the end of the reflection span - Bhāsa has shorn it of

a great deal of its dramatic appeal. What we mean can be well exemplified by a comparison

with the Mṛcchakaṭika where the political motif lends to the story of Vasantasenā's

and Cārudatta's love quite a lot of excitement. All this granted we still should remember

that the elimination of political undercurrent was most probably quite consciously intended

by Bhāsa.

Now the Pratijñā being a prakaraṇa has a minister for the hero. The Svapna

being a nāṭaka has a king for its hero. The puruṣārtha of the first is Welfare and

this would also be in harmony with it being a prakaraṇa. Similarly Love is the puruṣārtha

of the second play, as it indeed befits a nāṭaka. All this granted, a moment of further

and deeper reflection will reveal that Bhāsa intended here a kind of comedy of pretences.

Indeed the true hero of the Pratijñā is - as some suspect rightly, though on different

grounds - Udayana and the proper puruṣārtha of this play is Love and its fulfilment,

although as reflected in the mirror of politics. The Svapna on the other hand seems

to be a reversed proposal. The true engineer of the plot and its real hero is Yaugandharāyaṇa

(practically absent from the stage in the way Udayana is absent in the Pratijñā) and

its proper puruṣārtha is the Welfare of the paramount lordship over the kingdom of

Kauśāmbī and over the world, but as reflected in the mirror of Love of the two women

towards Udayana. This is why these twin plays have to be a prakaraṇa and a nāṭaka

and nothing else.

The basic question connected with this analysis should be answered now. Do the

results of the critical examination of the two plays of Bhāsa conducted with the help

of the criteria reformulated on these pages following the Nātyaśāstra justify the amount

of time and labour invested in their reformulation? To this question the answer is in

guarded affirmative. Guarded - because so for the tools have been applied comprehensively

to these two dramas. So it would be preposterous to assume equally optimistic results

in all other cases. Nevertheless, present results are highly encouraging. Let me repeat

the most striking of them in order of their relative importance :

a) the description of the ethical content in the terms of Love -Welfare (kāma-

artha) correlation,

b) pointing out of the missing act of the Pratijñā and determination of its being

a prakaraṇa and not a nāṭikā,

c) pointing out of the inner harmony in the distribution of acts of these two

plays,

d) the indication that the vīthī is to be looked for within the dramas of larger

types156) and finally

e) the conclusion that the missing of important span-elements which cannot be

explained by some internal considerations may indicate that the text has been

tampered with.

Promising results of the analysis of the two plays of Bhasa encourage us to take

up for similar analysis the magnum opus of the sanskrit dramatic literature - the Śakuntalā

of Kālidāsa.

The Analysis of The Pratinjñāyaugandharāyaṇa and The Svapnavāsavadattā

Footnotes :

Among other important sources we consulted Pusalker’s Bhāsa, knowing from the footnote

in the English translation of the Nāṭyaśāstra by M.M. Ghosh (p. 365, vol. 1) that he touched

upon this subject. By the way M.M. Ghosh himself is sure of the Pratijñā being a prakaraṇa

(p. 363), but he does not say why it has only four acts. Pusalker says nothing that would

contradict our opinion.

It should be stressed at this place that samdhyangas, i.e., span-elements represent aspects

or trends in the development of plot. They may be at places visible as concrete situations,

but this may not always be so.

It is tempting to try to reconstruct the missing act. Unhappily contrary to the expectations

the Kathāsaritsāgara does not succour us here, for this moment of action is not delved

upon there too. This may be interpreted as an argument against our thesis. Yet, one should

not forget that Bhāsa on the whole quite freely improved upon the source of his inspiration,

which after all was not the Kathāsaritsāgara in its present form.

That it is not proposition of the editor is clear from the fact that the first edition of the

Svapna notes some variant readings of the colophon.

Nāṭyadarpana of Rāmacandra and Guṇacandra GOS XLVIII, Baroda 1959, p. 74 :

Pādākrāntāni puspāṇi soṣam cedam śilātalam,

nūnam kācid ihāsinā mām drṣṭvā sahasā gatā.

This result constitutes a practical confirmation of V. Raghavan’s point of view expressed

in a paper entitled :

A Note on the Name “Daśarūpaka”, Journal of Oriental Research, vol. VII, pp. 277-290.

Madras 1933.

VI. THE ANALYSIS OF THE ŚAKUNTALĀ

The Śakuntalā of Kālidāsa reveals unexpected layers of meaning when it is analysed according to the principles of traditional criticism.

Let us then see what we can gain by analysing the Śakuntalā while taking recourse to the traditional analytical instrumentarium. The task in the case of this play is somewhat complicated for we have to identify five spans in a play of seven acts. Yet, it may be a fair guess that the head span corresponds to Act I. It is in this act that the germ of the subject-matter is sown in the span-element of suggestion /upakṣepa/. It is there in the form of the blessing of the vaikhānasa hermits who say that the king may become the father of a son. The Śakuntalā is not only a love play. Before all it is a drama of /un/fulfilled fatherhood. Love here is instrumental in bringing about the fruition of the germ. The span-element of allurement /vilobhana/ opens the play with the hunting scene - a mrgatr̥ṣṇa par excellence. Stopped in his hunting spree by the hermits Duṣyanta decides to stay at the hermitage /the span-element of decision/yukti/. The span-element of accession /prāpti/ follows when the king meets Śakuntalā and learns that she belongs to kṣatriya varṇa in the span-element of disclosure /udbheda/. It seems that the head span and consequently Act I end with the span-element of arrangement /vidhāna/ in which the hero describes his state of mind as comparable to a silk banner which while moving forward as if tries to fly back with the wind. True to the definition of this span-element happiness and sorrow vie with each other for the better here.

Since the leading note of the forehead span is an effort, Act II seems to betray features which make it correspond to this span. The king does not spare an effort to remain at the hermitage. Striving after love's fulfilment which constitutes the content of the span-element of manifestation /vilāsa/ is quite prominent here. Similarly the span-element of pursuit /parisarpa/ of the main aim of efforts of the hero stands out clearly. The span-element of perplexity /tāpana/ is discernible in the first couplet of this act, as well as in king's reaction to the news about the queen mother wishing to see him /verse 17/. Of course, his efforts of extending his sejourn at the hermitage meet with resistance / the span-element of vidhūta/ precisely when the orders of the queen mother to return to the palace reach him. This event may also be taken for the span-element of hindrance/nirodhana/. Vidūṣaka - the jester not only salvages Duṣyanta from this predicament

The Analysis of The Śakuntalā

but also introduces the span-element of dalliance /narman/ and of splendid dalliance /narmadyuti/. The way in which by the end of this span the main protagonists of the

play are posed in relation to each other indicates the oncoming of the span-element

of interconnection of characters /varṇasaṃhāra/. All what is going to happen further

on is determined here by the particular - also emotional - interconnection of main dramatis

personae.

The womb span which follows, being central to the entire plot, plays most obviously

from an emotional point of view an ascending part and a descending one. The upward

trend of this span is marked at the beginning of Act III when Śakuntalā confesses to

her friends her love for the king, who overhears their conversation in the span-element

called revelation /ākṣipti/. Now the very apex of this span is marked by the span-element

called chance /krama/ for at this stage the paramārtha of the play is attained albeit

true to the definition of this span in a momentary or partial way. Such moment comes

at the end of Act III in verse 21 where Duṣyanta insists that the gāndharva vivāha

is perfectly legitimate and in the next verse 22 he says that he will not let Śakuntalā

go untill he does not drink the essence of her lips. It is actually after these words

and before the entrance of Gautamī, the nun, that their very physical union takes place.

Their love is duly consumated and Śakuntalā conceives thus bestowing upon Duṣyanta

the much desired fatherhood, very true to the blessings of the hermits. Act IV constitutes

the other half of the womb span characterised by a descending trend ushered in by

the span-element of angry speech /toṭaka/ which actually consists of the irate pronounce-

ments of Durvāsas. The span-element of supplication /prārthana/ duly follows and as

a result of the entrieties of the two friends of Śakuntalā Durvāsas mitigates his curse.

It is interesting to note that one of them shares her name with the mother of Durvāsas!

Yet for the time being this does not prevent the situation from deteriorating further

and Anasūya in what appears to be the span-element of agitation /udvega/ voices her

apprehension because the king has not even sent a letter after abandoning Śakuntalā

at the hermitage. The downward trend of this span is somewhat mitigated by the

span-element of inference /anumāna/ in which Kaśyapa learns from the god of fire

himself that Śakuntalā married Duṣyanta and conceived. In what seems to be the span-

element of propitiation /samgraha/ he generously accepts the news, blesses Śakuntalā

and sends her off as a lawfully wedded wife to the court of Duṣyanta. There are yet

two span-elements of consequence here. One is predicament /vidrava/ when anticipating

the events of the next span the two friends of Śakuntalā remind her that in case Duṣyanta

will not recognise her, she should show him the fatal ring. Śakuntalā reacts to this

with great apprehension and fear. But inspite of this sombre tone, the womb span leaves

us with an optimistic note when in what might be the span-element of right way

/marga/ Kaśyapa answering the question of Śakuntalā when is she going to return to

the hernitage says that she will come back together with her husband after her son is annointed as the king. Thus he makes a solemn statement of truth. In this way it becomes also a conjecture as to the course of future events/the span-element of symptom, i.e., rūpa/.

As if to augment the shattering impact of future events the span of reflection begins with conciliatory efforts aiming at placation of the king in the span-element of exertion /śakti/. In the same run of action of this span the perseverance of the party of Śakuntalā is clearly evident in the form of the span-element of determination /vyavasāya/ which stems not so much from a vow as from the injunction of Kaśyapa supported by the authority of the god of fire himself. Further on the span-element of reverence /prasaṅga/ is also clearly discernible in the course of the opening scenes of Act V.

Yet this somewhat placid flow of action ends abruptly with the words of Gautamī /V. 16/ which announces the oncoming of the span-element of reproach apavāda/. This will gain in intensity to assume a character of confrontation in the span-element of the same name /sampheta/ in the form of an angry dialogue which takes place and heralds the span-element of insolence /drava/ obviously shown here to those like the king himself who commonly commands highest respect. These words of contempt usher in the span-element of dazzlement /dyuti/ and the span-element of distress /kheda/ which will underpin the entire span of reflection until the end of act VI when the king departs to the realm of gods. Indeed this span is punctuated by all those span-elements which characterise deep crisis.

Thus forceful denial of Śakuntalā's wifehood by the king in the span-element of the same name /pratiṣedha/ evolves into an effective blocade (virodhana) when Śakuntalā is whisked away from this earth by her nymph-mother. The span-element of distress /kheda/ appears in full view again when, after the ring had been recovered from the fishermen the king remembers Śakuntalā and realising what he had done sinks into the abyss of despair which grows upon him until he exclaims in verse 10 /Act VI/ that what is happening to him must be either a dream, an illusion or the fruit of this past misdeeds and that his yearnings crumble like washed away banks of a river!

The king continues to bewail his fate in the very true spirit of distress /kheda/. Yet the loss of Śakuntalā is not the only reason of his sorrow. Even more acutely he is pained by the loss of his progeny whom Śakuntalā carried in her womb. The case of a merchant called Dhanamitra who perished at sea childless, brings to his tormented mind the whole tragedy of his own childlessness and the anguish which it causes makes him to faint /Act VI.25/.

It is only the arrival of Mātali, the chariteer of Indra who like in a dream brings the invitation of gods to abandon the earth and join them in their world to wage the eternal war upon demons. Thus ends the reflection span.

The last span of accomplishment /nirvahaṇa/ is not controversial. It corresponds to Act VII of the play and the climax of it in the form of the span-element of mystery

The Analysis of The Śakuntalā

/upagūhana/ comes about when Duṣyanta touches the amulet-string of young Sarvadamana

which does not turn into a serpent and in such miraculous /adbhuta/ way the king

is recognised as the father of the child and consequently Śakuntalā, the mother of the

child is restored to him as his wife. Thus true to the injunction of the Nāṭyaśāstra

the play ends with the taste of wonder - adbhuta rasa!

In this case too one could carry on a very meticulous span-elementwise analysis.

But by now - we trust - the utility of the scheme has been amply proved. Since the

accomplishment span as we see does not hide special secrets, we have therefore refrained

from equally precise as above procedure so that reader's patience may not be overtaxed.

Instead let us now try to interpret the results thus obtained.

The fact that the germ of the play is the blessing of the hermits regarding the

birth of a son to Duṣyanta changes diametrically our perception of the entire drama.

Wrathful Durvāsas, the Naked-one the son of Atri and Anasūyā identical with

Śiva himself curses Śakuntalā. His curse represents the continuation of the same feud

between gods and men which made Indra to sent Menaka in order to thwart Viśvamitra's

bid for paramouncy. Now the story repeats itself. Śiva - Durvāsas standing at the gate

o the hermitage is spurned by Śakuntalā like Viṣṇu by Urvaśī for the sake of mere

mortal. Was it in the case of Śakuntalā only lack normal hospitality as we understand

it today? Durvāsas must have known the state of her mind. This is implied by the

content of his curse. In love with Duṣyanta she was not able to surrender herself soul

and body to the god who stood at the treshold of Kaṇva's hermitage. He might have

not accepted talpadāna157) but he certainly expected comparable spiritual surrender of

which Śakuntalā was incapable. Such an interpretation gives an unexpectedly sharp edge

to the conflict and the deeply hurt pride and ambition of the god explains well the

unusual severity of his curse. It required the namesake of the mother of Durvāsas to

mitigate the devastating force of the curse.

The next important event of the play comes with the verse 22 Act III which

denotes consumation of Śakuntalā's and Duṣyanta's love and marks the highest peak

of the span of hope. Śakuntalā legally married a kṣatriya according to gāndharva

rite and received her husband's ring as the token of recognition. She also conceived

giving Duṣyanta his much coveted son and heir. Of course all along we are aware

of the tragic curse of Durvāsas and actually we anticipate the moment when Śakuntalā

facing the doubting king touches her finger looking for the ring in vain. Now the mood

deteriorates rapidly and as Act V ends Śakuntalā parts with this earth. Today having

been firmly held in the grip of kaliyuga we could have said that Śakuntalā dies. She

returns to her mother's abode radically changing the mode of her existence - she parts

company with mortals! But it all takes place within the context of reincarnation, so

there is no finality about what happens to her. Of yore the treshold of life and death

was crossed easily and both ways, since both life and death are categories of perceptible reality. After all within the circle of saṃsāra death is but an interim svargavāsa /sojourn in heaven/158). And not only for Śakuntalā: the despairing king is also invited to heaven by the gods and the symbol of final departure that we know so well from elsewhere159). a chariot of the gods - is despatched to fetch him. Mātali, the charioteer of Indra whom the king greets as a dear friend - a deliverer from his tragic predicament, for Vidūṣaka is an invisible deadly menace who is about to break his bones and kill him! Ordinary mortal cannot see him. But the king who in his deep swoon, like in a coma, has already put one foot over the threshold of death, not only can see him but also welcomes him with great enthusiasm. Thus boarding the chariot of gods, like so many heroes before him, the king leaves behind the world of mortals and follows his beloved. It will be only there that Śakuntalā and Duṣyanta together will enjoy the fruit of their union. It is from there that they will return to the world of mortals as if reborn to complete their cycle of existence.

The germ of the play is putralābha /getting male progeny/ and thus discharging one of the three fundamental debts with which each man is born into this world160), i.e., the debt one owes to the forefathers, is its main objective. It is therefore obvious that the play is an expression of the fascination with Virtue / dharma śṛṅgāra/ as such may be termed as having virtue as its first objective/dharmpradhāna/. Consequently verbal and conscious demeanours will predominate in it. But it is equally evident that the fascination with love /kāmaśṛṅgāra/ is of no much lesser an import in the drama. After all the basic objective of Duṣyanta's endeavour can be fulfilled only through love, so we can also term the Śakuntalā as based or rooted in love /kāmāśrita/ play with a liberal application of the delicate demeanour.

In the light of what has been written above can we endorse the opinions quoted at the outset of this study? Can we repeat after A.B. Keith that Kālidāsa shows no interest in the great problems of life and destiny? Or can we reduce this drama to an edifying victorian story about a maiden who only too willingly and without permission of elders offered herself to a wandering aristocrat and had to undergo chastisement through suffering in order to be recognised as a wife lawfully wedded ? In both cases the answer is an emphatic - "no!"

In the European sense of the word the Śakuntalā would have been a tragedy, was it not because of the notion of reincarnation. But it would be a grevious error to believe that reincarnation makes human predicament less painful or acute. Yet, it certainly infuses men with some sort of overall optimism which might be difficult to trace in Europe. To my mind the Śakuntalā bears superbly well a comparison with Shakespear's Romeo and Juliet. The only shortcoming of this masterpiece of European drama is that it is bereft of the accomplishmment span! Therefore from the traditional Indian point of view it is obviously an incomplete picture of human existence because

The Analysis of The Śakuntalā

existence in its entirely transcends births and deaths. However long would the sojourn

of human soul within the shackles of perceptive reality last it will finally resolve itself

in complete integration with the Absolute and consequently in perfect fulfilment of all

desires. The fate responsible for the intrigue /kapata/ of the play like in a Greek tragedy

here is personified by Durvāsas-Śiva incarnate. Consequently the predicament /vidrava/

belongs to the nonsentient category. The king obviously is a victim of gods jealousy

exactly the way Pururavas was. Should we then surmise that Kālidāsa might have had

his own score to settle with the gods? Was there anything in his personal life that

might have prompted him to give vent to his feelings and to take so obviously the

side of mortals in his two dramas? Was he one of those who were wronged by the

jealous gods?

Now, time has come to draw a general conclusion. Thus it has to be said that

in order to judge responsibly a Sanskrit drama a critic, taking as the starting point

its typological description, has to find out first whether the text he is investigating has

all the five spans or less depending on the particular type of the play. Then by analysing

it from the point of view of span-elements he has to determine more precisely the span

structure of the play, as also the particular demeanours which should be employed,

i.e., whether acting should be purely verbal or verbal accompanied by meaningful gesture

or limited verbal but full of songs, dance and music occasionally also with the meaningful

gesture or else also limited verbal but full of violent pantomimic dance and gestures

as above involving also the use of stage props (weapons etc.). Further on he has to

see what consequences for the drama in question has the type of predicament, which

may be either due to man or beast, due to the forces of nature or else due to both.

He should also find out whether the intrigue is the result of protagonist's own doings,

of fate or of his enemies doings and see in this light the behaviour of the hero. Finally

he has to determine which sphere of human endeavour is in the centre of attention

and how is solved the postulated harmony of the three sphere of Virtue, Love and

Welfare. Only then our own criteria may be employed and the final conclusion drawn.

Footnotes :

157. Talpadāna was a token of highest hospitality extended sometimes in the days of Mahābhārata

to the most revered guest in which one of the ladies of the house would offer herself

to him.

158. Heaven in the Indian tradition is part of created world in the same way as the gods are.

It is not the final destination of human existence. This is liberation /mokṣal/.

159. E.g., the dying Duryodhana of the Ūrubhaṅga has a vision of a heavenly chariot coming

to fetch him to heaven, and Daśaratha of the Pratimānātaka, having heard rumblings of

a chariot, takes it for the chariot of death.

160. The other two are : the debt that one owes to gods and the debt owed to the sages.

VII. "KĀNTAH KRATUH CAKṢUṢĀM"-THEATRE :

THE YAJÑA OF THE KĀMAPURUṢĀRTHA

The homogeneity of the ancient Indian world-view is a fascinating phenomenon

and there can be little doubt that the pivotal idea of this world outlook is the Vedic

sacrifice. This is evident for each and every one who undertakes a systematic study

of the Vedic exegetic literature, i.e., the Brāhmaṇas. But this is not the only argument

• obvious enough if the nature of this literature is considered. The Vedic sacrifice remains

the keynote also of later speculations. The notion of the interiorised sacrifice dhyānayajña

is the backbone of the Upniṣads. The brāhmaṇic formulas such as sarvam etad yajñah

or eka eva yajnah, reverberate through the entire realm of the ancient Indian intellectual

enquiry in its multi-faceted aspects. The pursuit of art and art perception was not an

exception to this rule.

But before we consider one such case : namely the theatre, let us for a moment

ponder over the idea that is also intimately connected with the sacrifice and which

constitutes natural background for any aspect of ancient Indian civilisation. Here we

keep in mind the threefold nature of human existence - or its threefold context. Kāma

is termed in the Rgveda the seed of mind (manaso retaḥ). Almost all accounts of the

manyfold activities of Being that are found in the Brāhmaṇas begin with the key word

akāmayata. Prajāpati desired and he entered upon the sacrifice, (ayajata). The one without

the second desired to become many. It entered the golden egg where it spent one whole

year and then with the might of his thought (manas), whose seed is desire it divided

that egg. The upper half became heaven and the lower, the earth. The space in between

the two was filled up with kāma which, in the form of rajas, keeps them apart : heaven

is sattva and earth is tamas, and, as the Bṛhadāraṇyakopaniṣad would have it, heaven-

Dyaus becomes the Father-Pitṛ and earth-Pṛthivi becomes the Mother-Maṭṛ while kāma

once again assumes its ambivalent role of binding the two for the sake of creation

and yet at the same time keeping them apart if only for the sake of securing the space

in which the bodyless, the anaṅga, can operate.

This threefoldness of reality once translated into the categories of the human value

system becomes the trivarga. Sattvaguṇa as the category of value becomes dharma. Rajas which indeed is kāma, the first seed of mind incarnate, in the form of a guṇa

becomes the kāmapuruṣārtha and tamoguṇa becomes artha. Here we have to add that

none of the three is totally separated from the other two. They permeate each other

as indeed the guṇas do and as heaven, space and earth do. So it is easy and legitimate

to see all three in one and one in all three. This explains the divergences of interpretation

that we come across in different texts such as the Gītā and the Manusmṛti. The first

associates rajas with kāma while the second associates it with artha.

Now the sacrifice originally transcendent to the existence becomes immanent, i.e.,

enters existence in order to bestow upon it the semblance of order and sense. Gods

offered the sacrifice and, as they did of yore, they indeed, viz the brahmins do it now

by making their sacrifices into the exact likeness of the sacrifices of the gods. The

primeval sacrifice in which the gods offered Puruṣa-Prajāpati became the raison d'etre

and the modus operandi of existence – the World and life that fills it. Dhārayate lokaḥ

iti dharmah – isn't this definition of the sacrifice that is also ṛta the order that emerges

from chaos or the anṛta? Thus to us dharma becomes the embodiment of sacrifice

as value. It is the sacrifice translated into the language of norms that regulate the entire

existence of sentient beings. Innumerable forms of ritualistic sacrifices built up the rich

texture of dharma. Initially the sūtras and later on the śāstras embody all-that men

could deduce from this original truth, and this precisely explains the wealth of the smṛti

tradition. Thus the sacrifice and its ritual is the central point of reference for the sphere

of dharma notwithstanding the present day mūṛti-pūja and the fact that in the Lakṣmīnārāyaṇa

temple of Delhi the shrine that encases the mūṛti dominates over an unassuming modest

structure called yajña-śālā found behind it, in the garden.

For reasons that will become obvious later, we now bypass what normally should

be treated as the second puruṣārtha: kāma, though usually nowadays it is not treated

as such, and consider very briefly, and rather tentatively artha, the puruṣārtha which

we have seen already associated with earth, tamas, i.e., with the gross material aspect

of existence. This aspect may be termed bhūta and consequently beings that are determined

by their material shape are called bhūtāni. The Gītā (II. 14) says annād bhavanti bhūtāni.

Food and feeding seem to be compelling facts of existence on the material plane. Now

we find very often in the Brāhmaṇas the equation of food with Soma and the eater

of food with Agni. Since offering Soma to Agni is the yajña par excellence we cannot

escape conclusion that the act of eating must be considered the yajña in which food,

the fuel, is offered in the Vaiśvānara Agni that burns within man. This noble truth

reverberates in the lines of a medieaval Marathi prayer sometimes ascribed to Eknātha:

"Vādāni kavala ghetāṃ nāma ghya śrīharīce sahaja havana hote nāma ghetā fukāce jīvana kari jīvitvā anna he pūrṇa Brahma udarabharana nohe jāṇije yajña karma"

84

Methodology of The Analysis of Sanskrit Drama

This is a prayer often recited before meals. Thus we may conclude that as the central notion of dharma is the vaidika jñānayajña or dhyānayajña, the yajña in course of which our consciousness finds fulfilment and plenitude, put at rest with the awareness of having discharged one's duty by repaying the three principal debts that man is born with: the debt towards the gods, towards the sages and towards the forefathers. The last aspect belongs also to the sphere of artha. For begetting progeny is alongside with eating the central notion for this sphere. Both these forms of sacrifice are dravyamaya sacrifices, where food and semen the dravya par excellence, are offered and they do not have any symbolic connotation but are used as such and from both beings arise.

Now, we return to the kāmapuruṣārtha. Let us begin by quoting the the Gītā. It calls kāma, rajogunasamudbhava (III.37). The frustrated kāma becomes krodha, anger (II.62) on the other hand, when satisfied is joy and thus we enter the sphere of emotions. For whatever belongs to the world of feelings or emotions, the seat of which is manas, the feeling mind and or the discerning heart, all this constitutes the sphere of kāma. The sphere of kāma is as it were the space between the poles of a magnet or between heaven and earth, continully illumed with the lightenings of fulfilled desires (joy) and the thunders of frustrated ones (despair).

If, taking the lead from the Brhadāraṇyakopaniṣad, we put an equation mark between heaven and man and earth and woman and if we remember that their union was conceived by the same Upaniṣad as a yajña, then we can easily conclude that such union should be considered the yajña proper of kāma. Yet, there is doubt of a very serious kind. The sexual act indeed does belong to the category of dravyamaya-yajña where the dravya of vīrya or semen is offered into the heat of the womb - again the same Vaiśvānara Agni that keeps the human body warm. As such, the sexual act, in a similar way as eating, belongs to the sphere of artha and is also responsible, as we have remarked earlier, for generating beings just indeed as anna, food is. On top of this comes an emotional involvement of a very definite, very individual and personal character. In the sexual act the viṣaya rati is at its highest. Here of course we keep in mind the ordinary human practice and not the tantric ways where it may become free from āsakti. This very definite emotional involvement precludes experiencing it, on a broader plane, as an enlarged or amplified awareness of the basic oneness, unity and homogeneity of reality.

The question thus arises which of the human pursuits that unmistakably belong to the sphere of kāma puruṣārtha can be singled out and pointed as the sacrifice par excellence of the second of the three vargas?

The specific character of the sphere of artha standing for the gross aspect of existence as we have shown above cannot help us here, for the components of the sacrifice are basically determined by the Vaiśvānara Agni on one side and by the dravya of anna or of vīrya on the other.

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85

Let us therefore look for the needed hints at the first puruṣārtha, that of dharma.

It was the Aitareya and the Gopatha Brāhmaṇa, quoted by Ananda Coomaraswamy in one of his essays on art found in a volume entitled The Transformation of Nature in Art (p. 8) that introduce the very meanigful idea of śilpa.

To cut the matter short, we shall say that śilpa means an imitation of the angelic works that seem to denote nature itself.

But as the Śatapatha Brāhmaṇa indicates [SB 3.2.1.5] it may also denote an object which is considered a symbol of something, be it ṛc and sāman or "these three worlds".

For instance the black and white antelope skin on which the yajamāna is consecrated is precisely considered a replica, an image or an icon of the three worlds and is their symbol.

The conclusion of this enquiry will probably have to be worked out in detail further on but we hope that even at this stage it can already be formulated.

Namely that the ritualistic yajña is just a śilpa of etad sarvam - of the entire universe, reality, cosmos and existence put together.

How often do we encounter in the Vedic exegetic literature formulas that this or that the priests do for this or that was done alike by the gods.

Isn't it a perfect example of anukaraṇa, the imitation, or śilpa itself?

To this we have to add one more element : ya evam veda, "he who knows thus", yet another formula of the exegetic literature which indicates that the entire process of this peculiar Śilpikaraṇa of Being in the form of the innumerable ritualistic yajñas happens on the plane of consciousness or pure knowledge.

The precondition for successful entering upon the sacrifice and attaining its fruits is to know, to be aware and to be conscious of the fact that by imitating the universal sacrifice of Puruṣa-Prajāpati we acquire sway over it, we control it like the Cro-Magnon man when he painted buffaloes on the wall of the cave and pierced them with painted spears.

So if we want to find a kāma counterpart of such a notion we would have to shear the act of human love of its individual immediacy and its dravya element, so that only pure feeling remains - the refined emotional sensation that would have only a very distant relationship to the psycho-physical act of love - its material cause.

The ritualistic sacrifice of dharmapuruṣārtha is then the delight of consciousness-if the word delight can at all be coupled with consciousness.

Is there any such form of sacrifice that can be called a delight of psyche - the other equally indispensable component of manas?

Enough has already been said to draw the final and inescapable conclusion : it is the sphere of art towards which we have to look for this type of sacrifice.

"With the exception of taste (rasa) the objects of senses turn away from the embodied one that does not eat.

And even taste turns away from him upon seeing the Supreme. (Gītā II.59)

Taking clue from the Gītā, while insisting that the notion of rasa used there is identical with the aesthetic concept of the some name, we want to submit that aesthetics

tantamount to art maps this territory of existence which is covered by the sensation

of "the non-eater from whom the objects of senses have turned away with the exception

of taste" and which extends up to where the awareness of the one that sees the Supreme

(param draṣṭr) begins. It is the territory over which rasa reigns supreme.

"Trailokyasya asya sarvvasya nāṭyam bhāvānukīrtanam" (N.S.I. 107)

Theatre is the imitation of the three worlds in the sphere of feelings (bhāva) i.e.,

of psyche. It is thus a perfect śilpa but pertaining to the domain of emotion (psyche)

and not reason (ratio). Therefore theatre, the queen of arts, should be analysed precisely

from this point of view. In this context it is not difficult to draw a conclusion that

since all that is, i.e., the nature of the world, its proper being (svabhāvo lokasya) and

the entire three worlds, is nothing but a sacrifice (sarvam etad yajñaḥ), then its imitation

(anukaraṇa, anukīrtana) will also reflect the very same truth, but which will be perceived

emotionally exactly in the same way as in the sphere of dharma the ritualistic yajña

is perceived by reason. This condition is met by the theatre on two planes. Firstly as

a happening (itivrtta) and secondly as an act of aesthetic perception. If we were to describe

as briefly as possible what the sacrifice is about we would say that it is the dismemberment

of the Lord of Creatures for the sake of multiplicity of creation and His reconstruction

or resurrection, so that He may again and again, as it were, forgo His plenitude and

bring diversity into existence. For us men immersed in diversity, the centripetal tendency

aiming at the restauration of plenitude is of paramount importance for it promises the

final liberation (mokṣa). The white horse in the aśvamedha sacrifice is an eye of Prajāpati,

by offering horse in the sacrifice they restore his eye to Prajāpati and thereby make

Him complete. (SB XIII. 3.1.1.). Now, the question may be asked how this plenitude

is achieved in theatre?

The first sandhi, or span of the play, stands for multiplicity. In its definition the

meanigful word "nānā" (manifold) is actually used. Now this multiplicity, that is reflected

in many characters, problems, emotions etc., is step by step brought to integration through

five stages (avasthās) of action : eager anticipation, effort, hope, frustration and attainment

of fruit where the initial multiplicity is integrated (samāmayana). Since the first and

the last span, are obligatory for each and every play, we can safely conclude that this

aspect of integration of the multiple constitutes the backbone of the theatrical performance.

This theatrical reality is characterised by one more feature which may be described

as departicularisation for this is the meaning of the well known term sādhāraṇīkaraṇa.

This concept was elucidated by Abhinavagupta but must have been there even earlier.

It means that whatever happens on the stage, in spite of it being a very tangible happening

indeed, belongs neither to the real life of an actor "xyz" nor to that of the hero of

the play, neither more to the real life of a spectator. Thus what happens on the stage

of theatre is reality departicularised. It cannot feed our senses with objects of perception

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87

that have the nature of dravya - the nature of everyday hard reality. The spectator is the nirāhāra of the Gītā, and yet he can taste ! The sacrifice of performance, prayogayajña, lies precisely in between the exercise of pure consciousness, dharmayajña, and the gross experience of matter arthayajña. The kāmayajña, or as Kālidāsa would have it, the kāntaḥ kratuḥ is a sacrifice where an eye and other faculties of perception are fire and the sādhāraṇikṛta viṣaya, the departicularised objects of senses, are fuel. This is exactly the meaning of the Gītā.

"śabdādīn viṣayān anya indriyāgniṣu juhvati" (IV. 26b)

The sense perception of a nirāhāra is precisely a sacrificial act and is the essence of aesthetics. All this oprates in human beings regardless of their state of consciousness but is evident only to the one that knows thus (ya evam veda). It is for him that the senses become fires of a sacrifice only when they are kindled by knowledge (jñānadīpita).

In the context of what has been said above such enunciations as one quoted above form Kālidāsa, and the other that Abhinavagupta made while discussing a minor problem of the way an actress adresses a sūtradhāra saying Ārye!, become very meaningful. Abhinva explains that an actor deserves such an appellation since he is "nātyavedamahā-sattradikṣita" - purified and sanctified for the great sacrificial session of the Veda of theatre. It is also in this context that the last line of the example of nāndī quoted in Adhyāya V of NS should be understood :

"ijyayā cānayā nityam priyantām devatā iti" (V. 111)

The exhortation that the gods may be gladdened by this sacrifice should not be taken as merely alluding to the rites of the consecration of the stage alone, although these do include homa. Over and above that, these rites stand in a direct relationship to the performance, the sacrificial character of which they anticipate and determine. This is why the stage is called vedikā and Agni is made its presiding deity. This is why the gathering of performers and spectators is called sadas - a term normally used to denote a sacrificial assembly. And, last but not least, this is why Bharatmuni speaks of nāṭyaveda which he considers the fifth one and why the Nāṭyaśāstra promises the same goal to those that listen to the Veda of theatre, those that stage a play and those that watch if attentively as is promised to those that are learned in the Vedas proper, those that offer sacrifices and those that are generous.

"ya idam śṛṇuyāt proktam nāṭyavedam svayambhuvā

prayogam yae ca kurvīta prekṣate cā-vadhānāt

yā gatir vedaviduṣām yā gatir yajñakāriṇām

yā gatir dānaśīlānām tāṃ gatim prāpnuyādhi saḥ." (NS. XXXVII. 27-8)

VIII. NĀṬYOTPATTI : MYTH OR SOCIO-HISTORY

The Nāṭyotpatti adhyāya similarly to other such mythological accounts to be found oft and on in the corpora of Sanskrit literature is a multifaceted text. There can be little doubt about the philosophical import of it. This we did elaborate elsewhere161). Apart from it this text has also a socio-historical layer that so far has not attracted attention. Some of these views have been published already but rather in an unorthodox way and without much of a discussion which neither preceded the publication nor followed it.162) It therefore seems justified to present the problem again in an enlarged form.

In our opinion the kernel of the Nāṭyotpatti adhyāya was formulated around the middle of the first millenium B.C.163) This is a very important presupposition of the present argument.

Out of the whole sequence of events constituting the nāṭyotpatti account we would like to pinpoint the following :

1. The time of the nāṭyotpatti.

When Jambūdvīpa was overrun by gods (sic.), demons, gāndharvas, rākṣasas and huge serpents, when people were lost in jealousy, anger etc., and given to desire and greed, then precisely arose need for a special type of entertainment.

2. The formulation of the need of such entertainment.

The gods headed by Indra asked Brahmā the Grandfather : we need an entertainment which would be both visible and audible. For the śūdra-like castes cannot listen to the Vedas so do create the fifth Veda which would be good for all strata of society and that would help to convey to the masses an awareness that otherwise was difficult to imbibe.

3. The nature of reaction of Brahmā.

Having heard that, Brahmā sent away the king of gods and remembered all the four Vedas taking recourse to yoga. Finally he said : I create the art of theatre in the form of the fifth Veda that relates to dharma and artha and fame. It is comprehensive, contains (good) instruction and shows all doings of future generations. It is also endowed with the import of all Śāstras, utilises all crafts and is derived from the four Vedas.

4. Search for the practitioners of theatre.

Nāṭyotpatti : Myth or Socio-history

89

After thus creating theatre Brahmā said to the Lord of gods I have created the

itihāsa, let the gods practice it. Do instruct in it those that are skilled, wise, brave

and tireless. Having heard this Lord Śakra, bowing with folded hands, answered the

Grandfather : the gods are powerless in understanding, remebering knowing and practising

it. But those sages that know that what is secret they can do it. Consequently it was

Bharata himself that was commissioned to study the science and to impart it to his

hundred sons.

5. The first performance.

After Bharata trained his sons he turned again to Grandfather asking what should

be done next. He answered that the performance of the Veda called nāṭya should be

given on the occasion of the flag festival of Indra. Thus on the occasion when the

asuras and dānavas were conquered and joyful immortals assembled, after celebrating

benediction with the vedic mantras the play on the victory of gods over demons was

enacted. Gods were overjoyed but demons objected. Gods gave actors many gifts among

which due to its symbolic meaning Kubera’s gift of crown may be mentioned. Subsequently

there was a conflict between demons and actors. It was averted by Brahmā who lectured

on the universal aspect of the art and the objective character of its depiction of reality.

Subsequently Brahmā ordered a theatre hall to be built and invested it with the defenses

by posting gods in its different parts.

Here ends the sequence of events that is necessary for our argument. But we

shall have to depart now from the self-imposed limitation of the Adhyāya I to invoke

one more mythical event that, structuraly speaking, is indispensable for our argument.

6. The curse of the ṛṣis.

The sons of Bharata being prompted by vulgarity ridiculed the ṛṣis themselves

in the theatrical gathering. Having heard about that munis trembled in horrible anger

and looking like flames cursed the actors : you are not deserving the status of twice-

born having mocked us. Consequently you and your offspring will be Śūdras.

With this event our survey comes to an end. What remains to be done is to show

that such sequence of events and such treatment of the matter resulted from a comprehensive

knowledge of the socio-historical processes that were taking place and from the right

assessment of the degree of development of society that was required in order that

the sophisticated art of theatre could develop.

Before we take recourse to the history of Indian cinema with the help of which

we shall try to prove how valid this ancient analysis is, we shall consider briefly the

time of origin of the kernel of the nāṭyotpatti myth. As it has been said our conviction

is that it is contemporary with Lord Buddha. Trevor Ling, the British historian of Buddhism

suggestes quite convincingly indeed that Buddhism appeared as a confession of a new

category of people the city dwellers. He insists that around the middle of the first millenium

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B.C. the rural cattle tending and field cultivating society thanks to the growing accumulation

of wealth and brisk trade started creating comparatively modern type of market economy.

Where market appears township follows. Nomads and cultivators emerge from the countryside

and settle in towns. Kings remake their tents or their timber country houses or clay

ones into fortified strongholds close to the very same market which they want to protect

and of course to control. Large numbers of people uprooted from their villages lose

moorings. In addition wealth corrupts them. Thus they need new set of easily discernible

criteria that would be better suited to the changed circumstances. Previously the ritualistic

life centered mainly around the vedic sacrifice in its grhya aspect required particular

village surroundings and the rythm of rural existence. All this was lost in the hubbub

of towns. This void was rapidlly being filled up by the teachings of the greatest rebel

that human history ever has known - Prince Siddhārtha. His teachings of what we could

call well balanced renunciation, proved to be very attractive in the given circumstances.

So much so that even music inspired by them was enough to make scores of people

mainly nobility - abandon lay life and turn to sangha to look there for their nirvāna.

The very foundations of the vaidika dharma were threatened. But not for long. Brāhmaṇas

well trained in scholarly dispute and logic struck back. The gist of the teaching of

the Vedas was condensed and put in such an idiom as to appeal easily to the nobility

of the times-which proved to be most vulnerable to the message of the Buddha. It

was given the form of the Bhagavadgitā and adressed to Arjuna - the paragon of virtue

for the nobility. Thus the vaidika dharma began to recover slowly the lost grounds.

Meanwhile the teaming population of the cities looked for amusement and entertainment.

It is from the Nāṭyaśāstra that we know it - this entertainment must have often been

of a rather cheap kind - striptease included. The early Buddhism outrightly condemned

such shows sharing the same attitude with some of the hyper orthodox brāhmanas responsible

for calling music, dance and singing mrtyoh senāh. Yet dead-set orthodoxy could not

do much against urbanisation and the onslaught of Buddhism. It required more open

attitude to counter it. It required considerable openness, enlightement and insight to

notice, describe and analyse the main challenges of the epoch. The Gītā most certainly

at that time was not a work of narrow orthodoxy. So it is not surprising that it is

precisely this text that calls aesthetic experience - āhuti (IV. 26b). The reformers of

vaidika dharma had thus to pay attention to other means of countering the growing

influence of Buddhism. Popular samājas at which most probably slapstick comedies

reigned supreme with beautiful actresses available probably not only for striptease but

may be also for live sex shows came into the purview of reformers.

Lower classes of people summarily called in the Nātyaśāstra śūdrajāyah were excluded from direct

contact with the vedic lore and therefore even more than the upper social strata they

must have been exposed to the persuasive proselytism of the baudddhas. The Gītā, also

Nāṭyotpatti : Myth or Socio-history

termed upaniṣad ex definitione, was not meant for them. Thus reformers decided to

utilise the most popular vehicle for propagating the vaidika dharma at the there! They

had analyse its nature and as the result of their enquiry they propounded the theory

which later on enabled Kālidāsa to call theatre kāntah kratuh. Nāṭya prayoga was for

them a yajña and as such it required precise science of the Śāstra type which it duly

received in the form of the Nāṭyaśāstra. Thus the nāṭyotpatti vyākhyā analyses the conditions

which were necessary for the sophisticated art of theatre to come to being. As it

is evident the interpretation offered above is based more on intuition then on the tangible

historical proofs. Yet, at the moment, it seems that further study will reveal nothing

that could definitely invalidate this view point. But at the same time we may not be

in position to add soon many more convincing arguments in support of this theory.

Thus the temptation to suggest more detailed interpretation of the sequence of events

of the nāṭyotpatti enumerated above-say with reference to Rājagrha or Pāṭaliputra may

be at the moment rather risky. Let us therefore propose to use the vehicle of time

to whisk us to Bombay at the turn of last century.

Overrun by the British firmly, indeed established by the turn of century, India

began to experience all the curses of modern development. People populating great Indian

cities became “addicted more openly to sensual pleasures : they were under the sway

of desire and greed (capitalism?) became infatuated with jealousy and anger (class struggle?)

and thus found their happiness tarnished with sorrow”. By then a sophisticated city

theatre was long since dead. If one were to verbalise the aesthetic demand of the city

people of that time, one could probably say that they “wanted an object of diversion

which should be visible as well as audible”. It is fairly certain that if one scanned

carefully Calcutta and Bombay press of the epoch, one could surely find remarks to

the point that both these cities welcomed the new art of “cinematography.” The phenomenon

of the Parsi theatre constitutes an ample proof of the need of entertainment which was

being experienced by the city populace. But apparently that was not the complete answer

of Providence. Theatre by its very nature has to remain an elitarian means of artistic

communication at least when numbers are concerned. Theatre simply was not enough

for what already by then appeared to be teaming millions of India’s great cities. These

millions needed something more appealing. Then Brahmā, the Providence, scanned the

entire world’s wisdom with its chemistry and physics and found in the distant France

brothers Lumiere experimenting with what soon appeared to be what Paul Weiss in

his “Cinematics” (1975) calls both visual and audible art (p. 4). Thus this gift of Providence

has fulfilled the demand of the people and has come to India. “Its experience is that

which the Taoist, the Yogī, the mystic seek; the wonder is felt by those religiously

inclined; the learning grips the sensitive young; the enquiry is the concern of speculative

men” (p. 19). At first the whole thing was entirely European. But Europeans hardly

could run the show. They like the gods of the mythological accounts of the Nāṭyaśāstra

(unintended and unjustified flattery), were not in a position to reach the broader audience

with their films. They did not stand firmly on the Indian soil and hidden in their cool

bungalows, they did not cast the same sharp shadow on the parched soil of India in

summer, they did not perspire together with Indians and their eyes rarely winked in

those moments when Indian eyes winked. What initially would seem to the Indian audience

amusing, interesting and exotic, at the longer run, was simply foreign, strange and unearthly.

If at that moment European film would have had its spokesman in India he would

have undoubtedly said to Providence; O Lord, Europeans are not capable at these filmi

tasks. And then he would have certainly suggested to Providence to look for an Indian

rṣi who would grasp the secrets of this new art and who could put it successfully to

practice in India. The eye of Providence at that time must have fallen upon Dadasaheb

Phalke. He then after grasping the art from its original source and after teaching it

to his family (unhappily he did not have hundred sons) must have approached Providence

and declared his readiness to put this newly acquired art to test. The voice of Providence

could have been easily recognised by Phalkemuni in the expectation of India's millions:

yathā daityāḥ suraiḥ jitāḥ-as demons were defeated by the gods. So the first film was

a mythological about Rājā Hariścandra. Later on, this slight departure from the Nāṭyotpatti

myth was rectified and the first film produced in Prabhāt Studios at Poona some time

in the thirties was the Amrta manthan-a closer parallel to the Nāṭyaśāstra, Now the

role of demons was assumed by the English. There is no inconsistency in treating them

once as gods and later as demons. After all demons are fallen gods! So when Indian

film came to grips with current and contemporary daivāsuram, i.e., the Indo-British

confrontation and the struggle for independence the British staunchly objected like Vīrūpākṣa

of yore and called to life the Board of Censors to ensure that the whole affair is not

anti-British. Of course, a question whether today it should also be suspected of representing

demonic interests is of purely internal Indian character and its consideration would

be misplaced with an outsider. Yet, despite this conflict some modus vivendi was struck

out and for the same glory be to Pitāmaha whom we have been calling Providence

for the sake camouflage.

Everything would have worked all right had it not been because of some unruly

sons of Phalkemuni who decided to make fun of not so much the ṛsis as in the last

chapter of the Natyasastra but the brahmins and the sanctified cast order. The main

culprit was K.Subramanyam, a brahmin from Madras who in his films permitted himself

such liberties. Some time in the thirties a gathering of learned brahmins-some of them

University professors-met in the holy town of Kumbakonam and outcasted the poor

fellow, happily without much practical consequences And thus the word of the Nāṭyaśāstra

became flesh. For, there too the sons of Bharata muni were reduced to the lowliness

Nātyotpatti : Myth or Socio-history

of śūdras as penalty for their anti-rishism.

These striking parallels between myth and the film history in India are not only

a matter of funny coincidence. To my mind they verify, on the one hand the sound

scholarship of the ancients and the validity of their observations and on the other, they

prove that this is not a development particular to the twentieth century but in reality

it is reaction to the cultural challenge that the Indian society faced then and is facing

now.

The mode of this reaction is determined supposedly by the very same parameters

that must have been at work in Rājagṛha, Pātaliputra, Puṣapura, Takṣasilā and in

Bombay, Calcutta, Delhi, Madras. Aesthetic experience is a matter of taste. Plantain

leaves may be changed into plates, new vegetables may be added like potatoes, tomatoes

or brocules but the way Indian food tastes remains unchanged.

The same applies to art. If one is to relish rasa that emanates from dṛśyaśravya

prayoga here in India one has to keep always the same set of at least basic parameters

be it Pātaliputra or Bombay.

Footnotes :

161. See Concept of Ancient Indian Theatre, New Delhi 1974

162. See Bombayya phium the Kaliyugi avatara of Sanskrit Drama in Pushpanjali

163. Concept.......p. 19

164. Op. cit. p.171 footnote G.

165. N.S. (Kāvyamālā No 42) Adhyāya 22, Sloka 284-288; GOS. XXII, 289

& 295-299

166. ibidem.

IX. THE HERO IN SANSKRIT DRAMA

The root "nī" in Sanskrit means to lead, guide, conduct, direct, govern. Its nomen agentis "nāyaka" as also "nāyaka" are commonly used to denote a hero in Sanskrit drama.

The question that should be asked now is whether this term applies exclusively to the theatre, and means simply the leading role in a performance, or whether it should be associated with the broader cultural context that moulded theatre and determined its intellectual framework.

For, whenever we think about a hero we invariably ask : A hero of what ? Naturally, our attitude depends on whether we deal with a hero in soccer, in war, or a hero with regard to renunciation and altruism. Thus, in the course of the present study we shall have to try to answer not only questions that directly concern his looks and behaviour, but also those that pertain to the nature of the involvement that creates a hero. In order to do justice to the needs outlined above we shall first turn our attention to what the dramatists themselves have to say about their heroes. After that, we shall review briefly the opinions of theoreticians and, finally, we shall try to answer the seemingly simple question : What is Sanskrit drama ? Or, more precisely, what is the nature of performance in classical Indian theatre, and in what way does it determine the character of the hero?

There can be little doubt about the idealistic treatment of the hero by Sanskrit dramatists. He has to be both an ideal lover and an ideal warrior; he must be both tender to his lady-love and tough with his enemies. Generally speaking, he must be the embodiment of all virtues, and a perfect example of manliness and valour. In addition, he must be exceedingly handsome and strong, yet delicate, gifted both for the fine arts and for warfare.

Bhavabhūti makes Sītā in his "Rāma's later history" exclaim when she sees Rāma's picture : "Lo! Like a newly expanding lotus, dark and soft, tender and fully developed in the charms of his person - (my) father gazing in rapt amazement on his mild and lovely form - the bow of (god) Sañkar broken (in twain) with careless ease - the (waving) tufts of hair gracefully adorning (his face) - thus is my noble Lord painted here !"167 Kālidāsa in turn makes the general in the Śakuntalā describe in the following words Duṣyanta naturally underlining his martial features :

"Like a mountain-roving elephant, (he) possesses a body the fore part of which is hardened by the incessant friction of the bow-string, which can stand the rays of the sun and is not affected by the slightest fatigue, which, though reduced in bulk,

The Hero in Sanskrit Drama

95

is not noticeable (as such) owing to its muscular development and which is the very essence of strength.108

Further on it is said that in the eyes of hermit youths he is resplendant (dīptimatah) and his arms are long like the city gates (literally : the bars of the city gates, nagaraparigha prāṃśubāhuḥ),169) and one of the pupils in Kāṇva's hermitage says that there is no need to talk of Duṣyanta aiming his arrows. It is by the mere twang of his bow string from afar, as if by the roar of the bow, that he dispels obstacles:170)

Similarly, Śāriṅgarava calls him the foremost of the worthy (arhatām prāgrasaraḥ).171) Bhāsa, too, does not stint with regard to superlatives for his hero. For instance, in the Avimāraka he puts the following words concerning the prince Avimaraka in the mouth of one of his minister : "He was a handsome youth, but not conceited; young but modest, brave but courteous, delicate but strong."172) Still another minister adds : "This form divine, his speech saintly with the brilliance of a warrior, with tenderness and strength."

Speaking about the hero's father as well, the minister, a hero himself says :

I saw the gentleman, a worthy father of a virtuous son. His shoulders were broad and lofty, huge and firm with exercise; his powerful wrist bears the familiar mark of rubbing on a bowstring. Though in concealment, his appearance proclaims his royal birth He is like the sun - hidden behind a cloud, but revealed by its radiance.173)

If we add that the beauty of Avimarka is considered by vidyādhara to be equal to his own,174) then the picture of the hero as painted by Sanskrit dramatists will almost be complete, though, of course, one can endlessly add epithets, similes, and eulogies. Now, there is one absolutely obvious feature of the description of a hero in Sanskrit drama which must be discussed : departicularisation, or, if one prefers, generalisation. It would be singularly unproductive to search for elements of the hero's picture that would allow the creation of a truly individualised image. At best, what would emerge from such an attempt would be a sort of 'Bombay oil-print'. There is nothing surprising or unusual about this if we remember that the principle of such generalisation was worked out theoretically by the ancient Indian aestheticians and, later, most pointedly formulated by Abhinavagupta (10-11th century A.D.).

The lack of individual characteristics of the hero is a direct consequence of the fact that whatever happens on the stage must happen in general. Thus, the hero of a given event must represent in himself the pure, refined, not to say distilled essence of valour and charm, which in the course of its dramatic development sheds all characteristics that would link it to a particular person, time, or place. The characterisation of the hero of a Sanskrit drama clearly reflects the musical quality of ancient Indian theatre. The aesthetic impulses, vibhāvas, anubhāvas, and vyabhicāribhāvas, that come from the stage must evoke in the audience a purely emotional response that differs form an emotional response in everyday life by virtue of its being shorn of any particular associations, or any direct connection to the experiences of everyday life. Such an experience is called the taste or rasa.

Thus, every dramatic role and situation on the stage has an obvious pattern of musical notes

and chords that evoke emotional responses, though we can hardly associate them with

anything that we know from our everyday audial experiences.

Whatever can be found on the hero in ancient theoretical treatises clearly supports this

contention. The earliest among these texts, the Nātyaśāstra, deals with the topic in chapter

XXXIV, verses 17–21 and 23f.175) To a certain extent, the remarks concerning the king (84–

88. and the leader of the army (89f.) also apply to the here; so also the instructions about the

distributions of roles that can be found in chapter XXXV, verses 5f., the role of the gods (9ff.),

the role of kings (12f.), and the role of army leaders and secretaries. Thus, the Nātyaśāstra

introduces a double category according to which it classifies the hero. Consequently, it

discusses four classes : the self-controlled but vehement (dhīroddata), the self-controlled but lighthearted (dhīralalita), the self-controlled and exalted (dhīrodātta) and the self-

controlled and calm (dhīraprasānta). These four classes may be either superior (uttama) or

middling (madhyama). Gods belong to the first class, kings to the second, ministers to the

third, and brahmins and merchants to the last. Here too, the Nātyaśāstra gives a definition of

a hero :

If there are several male characters in a play, then the one who, though in distress,

ultimately attains elevation, is considered the hero. And if there are more than

one who (fit such this description), then the one whose misfortune and (subsequent)

elevation are prominent should be (deemed) the hero.176)

The hero is clearly classified from the point of view of his role in generating emotional

responses. Though different categories of this principal character of the play are defined,

no scope is given to any further individualisation of the hero. Applying a musical analogy,

it can be said that this definition determines the key in which the dramatic role should

be played or acted. It simply connects the state of being a hero to the specific predicament

that most obviously creates a hero. A more detailed definition of one of the four classes,

i.e. the dhīralalita one, does not adduce anything that would cause us to modify essentially

the opinion we have formed so far. Here is what the Nātyaśāstra has to say on the subject:

The king should be : intelligent, truthful, master of his senses, clever, and of good

character, he should posess a good memory, be powerful, high-minded, and pure,

be farsighted, possess great energy, be grateful, be skilled in using sweet words,

he should take a vow to protect the people, be an expert in the methods of various

works, he should be alert, without carelessness, he should associate with old people,

be well versed in the Arthaśāstra and in the practice of various policies, he should

be a promoter of the various arts and crafts, be an expert in the science of polity,

and should have a liking for (all) this. (In addition), he should know his real

situation, prosperity and decline, the weaknesses of the enemies, the principles

of dharma, and he should be free of evil habits.177)

Similar descriptions can be found in the Arthaśāstra and the Manusmṛti. An

exhaustive review of what other ancient theoreticians have to say on the subject has been

The Hero in Sanskrit Drama

undertaken by S.N. Shastri.178)

Following the Daśarūpaka of Dhananjaya (10th century A.D.),179) Shastri adds three

classes of the dhīralalita-hero : gallant (dakṣiṇa), deceitful (śaṭha), and bold (dhrṣṭa) and

lists the eight personal merits of the hero : beauty of character (śobhā), vivacity of character

(vilāsa), sweetness (mādhurya), mental equilibrium (gāmbhīrya), steadfastness (dhairya

or sthairya), brilliance (tejas), affability (lālitya), and magnanimity (audārya).180) This

appears to exhaust all that the theoreticians have to say about their hero. When we add

that the roles of heroes should be played by "actors of the best kind who have beautiful

eyes, eyebrows, forehead, nose, lips, cheeks, face, neck, and other beautiful limbs, who

are tall, possessed of pleasant appearance, dignified gait, and are neither fat nor lean, are

well-behaved, wise, and steady by nature..."181) the picture becomes almost complete. We

must say : almost, because in actual theatrical practice - known to us from the surviving

classical theatre of Kerala, the Kūḍiyāṭṭam - the costume and make-up of a hero is strictly

conventionalized and unchangeable. Thus, it obliterates all individualistic traits that may

have persisted, making the analogy to a musical score fully pertinent.

At this point we may ask ourselves if the description of the hero in Sanskrit drama

that has been offered above, and which boils down to underlining his basic function as

an appropriate impulse to evoke a suitable emotional response called the taste (rasa) is

all that can be said about him. Technically speaking this may be so. But, on the other

hand, it would leave outside the purview of our investigation the nature of theatre and

its interpretation according to the basic notions of the traditional Indian Weltanschauung.

Since the hero in Sanskrit drama is our main consideration here we shall limit ourselves

to a very brief presentation of conclusions that have been worked out in detail elsewhere.

"Theatre is the nature of the world with its happiness and despair, endowed with

the actor's fourfold means of expression."182) This nature of the world is nothing more and

nothing less than the sacrifice (yajña). What is yajña? The one-without-second (ekameva

advitīyam) becomes many for the sake of creation and, in turn, the many of creation strive

for merger into the one, i.e. for liberation (mokṣa). One of the innumerable participants

in this eternal sacrifice is the desiring subject and the desired object-the hero and the object

of his desire, i.e. the heroine. And as the yajña of yore was accomplished in the teeth of

opposition from the asura-rākṣasas with whom the gods waged incessant war (daivāsuram),

so this nāṭyavedamahāsatra - as Abhinavagupta would have it, or this kāntaḥ kratur

cakṣuṣām of Kālidāsa is also carried to its fruition in the contest and strife inherent in

the predicament that creates a hero. Before we carry the argument further let us return

for a moment to the dramatist and hear how Kālidāsa makes the heroine and her companion

speak about king Purūravas, the hero of the Vikramorvaśīyam. When she regains her senses

and opens her eyes she says : "was it great Indra who saved me having seen the supernatural

power?" Her friend Citralekhā answers : "Not great Indra but the royal sage Purūravas,

who is like Indra in his prowess." Later on Citraratha will say to Purūravas about Urvaśī

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that she was previously created by Nārāyaṇa for Indra and that now she has been rescued

from the hands of the demon by you (Purūravas), his friend :183)

We have quoted this passage because it seems to indicate unmistakeably the daivāsuram

conflict as the prime source of inspiration. And justifiably so, because chapter I of the

Nāṭyaśāstra mentions daivāsuram as the subject of the first, or 'premiere' performance

(yathā daityah suraih jitāh) Further on it makes Indra the patron deity of a hero and Sarasvati

the patron deity of a heroine. Indra is indeed the uncontestable hero of the daivāsuram

conflict. Nothing, therefore, prevents us from believing that Indra was also the chief hero

of the first performance which, as we remember, was a representation of the victory of

the gods over the asuras. Thus, the association of Indra and nāyaka in each subsequent

performance, which, in a way, is always a representation of some other manifestation of

the universal conflict between the gods and the asuras, needs no comment for the time

being. It is Sarasvatī, who in this particular association seems to be something of a mystery.

Yet, the moment we consider her presence in Nāṭya in the light of her brahmanical association

with Indra, it stops to be mysterious.

If the dating of the antiquity of the kernel of the first adhyāya of the Nāṭyaśāstra

is accepted as the middle of the first millennium B.C., then there can be little doubt about

the identity of Sarasvatī of the Nāṭyaśāstra with the brahmanical goddess of the same name.

The association of our Sarasvatī with India makes the possibility of her being directly

ideutical with the river Sarasvati remote, since it is difficult to detect any meaningful

relationship between Indra and this river goddess. This fact makes the idea of the existence

of any rgvedic source of this association also very improbable since, as Macdonell puts

it "there is nothing to show distinctly that Sarasvatī is ever anything more in the Rgveda

than a river goddess, and even then her only association comes through vāc".184) The

post-brāhmaṇa association of Indra and Sarasvatī is also negligible and overshowed by

the unusual relationship of that goddess with her father, Brahmā.185) Thus, the goddess

Sarasvatī of the Brāhmaṇas, who is usually identified with Vāc186) appears to be identical

with the goddess Sarasvatī of the Nāṭyaśāstra.

The Śatapathabrāhmaṇa has the following passages :

Now the gods and the Asuras, both the them sprung form Prajāpati, entered upon

their father Prajāpati's inheritance : the gods came in for Mind and the Asuras

for Speech. Thereby, the gods came in for the sacrifice and the Asuras for Speech;

the gods for yonder (heaven) and the Asuras for this (earth). The gods said to

the Yajña (m. the sacrifice) : "That Vāk (f. speech) is a woman; beckon her, and

she will certainly call thee to her... Say to her: 'Come hither to me where I stand'

and report to us her having come saying: 'She has indeed come'." the gods then

cut her off from the Asuras; and having gained possession of her and enveloped

her completely in fire, they offered her up as a holocaust, it being an offering

of the gods. And in that they offered her with an anuṣṭubh verse, thereby they

made her their own; and the Asuras being deprived of Speech were undone crying

The Hero in Sanskrit Drama

99

"He lavah, he lavah"

"They (Ādityas?) brought Vāc (speech) to them (Aṅgirasas) for their sacrificial fee. They accepted her not, saying : 'We shall be losers if we accept her'... Now Vāc was angry with them : 'In what respect, forsooth, is that one (Sūrya) better than I? Wherefore is it that they should have accepted him and not me?' So, she went away from them. Having become a lioness she went on seizing upon (everything) between those two contending parties, the gods and the Asuras... Being willing to go over to the side of the gods, she said : 'What would be mine if I were to come over to you?' The offering will reach thee even before (if reaches) Agni.' She then said to the gods : 'Whatsoever blessing you will invoke through me, all that shall be accomplished unto you.' So, she went over to the gods.187"

Probably, on the strength of these and similar passages, Keith concluded that speech forms a ground of contest between the gods and the asuras. But the gods finally win her.188 Thus, the daivāsuram wars are fought among others also for the possession of Speech. The question now arises : What has made Speech so important that the gods deemed it worthwhile to fight the asuras for her sake?

The Śatapathabrāhmaṇa quotes the following mantra of the Vājasaneyī (V. 14) and Rgveda (V.18.1) saṃhitās: "They harness the mind and they harness the thought." The Śatapathabrāhmaṇa offers the following gloss on this passage : "With the mind and with speech they truly perform the sacrifice. When he says 'They harness the mind'. he harnesses the mind; and when he says and they harness the thoughts', dhī, either by reciting the Veda, or by readiness of speech, or by songs, - with those two thus harnessed - they perform the sacrifice."189

Still elsewhere the Śatapathabrāhmaṇa will say : "That same fire, then, they have kindled (thinking): 'In it, when kindled we will sacrifice to the gods'. In it, indeed, he makes these first two oblations 'to Mind and Speech (or Voice)'. For, Mind and Speech when yoked together convey the sacrifice to the gods. Now what is performed (with formulas pronounced) in a low voice, by that the mind conveys the sacrifice to the gods; and what is performed (with formulas) distinctly uttered by speech, by that the speech conveys the sacrifice to the gods. And thus takes place here a twofold performance whereby he gratifies these two thinking: 'gratified and pleased these two shall convey the sacrifice to the gods."190

But finally, who are these two and what is their connection with our subject? As an answer to this query we shall once more quote a passage from the Śatapathabrāhmaṇa: "Indra, assuredly, is the mind, and Sarasvatī is speech... "191 Thus, the sacrifice cannot be accomplished without Indra and Sarasvatī. Because as Mind and Speech they are interdependent, for with Mind one sets Speech in motion, with Speech set in motion by Mind he provides the oblation for the gods.192 The communion between Indra (Mind) and Sarasvatī (Speech) is so close that the Kauṣītaki Brāhmaṇa actually identifies Indra with Speech.193

100

Methodology of The Analysis of Sanskrit Drama

The meaning of the association of Indra and Sarasvatī with the hero and heroine of Nāṭya now becomes abundantly clear. Every performance is a daivāsuram conflict in its course and a sacrifice in its meaning. In every performance, therefore, the union of a nāyaka with a nāyikā is as substantial as the union of Indra with Vāc-Sarasvatī, which, being brought about through the victory over the demons in the daivāsuram struggle, is an integral part of every sacrifice.194

Nāṭya was created in the likeness of the sacrifice, its heroes and heroines in the likeness of Indra and Sarasvatī. What it has to convey to men is the truth, the entire and exact truth, about the nature of the world.

We may, therefore, conclude now and try to answer to questions that have been formulated at the outset of this enquiry. A hero of Sanskrit drama is actually called a leader (drśyam, śravyam) that every nāṭyaprayoga is. In his other incarnation as the Mind-Indra yoked together with Speech-Sarasvatī - conducts this delightful sacrifice for the eyes through its course of the five samdhis to its fulfilment when the desiring subject and the desired object become one-without-the-second, bestowing upon the saṃdayita the taste of wonder (adbhuta rasa).

Footnotes :

167. Rama's Later History, or Uttararāmacaritam, vol. 4, translated by S.K. Belvalkar, Harvard University Press, 1915, pp. 191f.

anavaratadhanurjyāsphālanakrūrvam ravikiraṇasahiṣṇu kleśaleśaih abhinnam apacitam api gātram vyāyatataād alakṣyam giricara iva nāgah prānasāram bibharti

168. The Abhijñāna-Śakuntalā of Kālidāsa, edited with the commentary of Vidyāvācaspati (the Bālabodhinī) by S. D. Gajendragadkar and translated into English by A. B. Gajendragadkar, Bombay, 1920, p.36. (11.4)

169. Gajendragadkar : p.44f.

170. Gajendragadkar : p.50. (111.7)

kā kathā bāṇasamdhāne jyāśabdenaiva dūratạh

humkārenaiva dhanuṣah sa hi vighnān apohāti

171. Gajendragadkar : 111, verse 15.

172. Thirteen Plays of Bhāsa, translated into English by A. C. Woolner and L. Sarup, Punjab University Oriental Publications, 1930; reprinted in New Delhi, p. 66.

173. Woolner : 68, 1.8.

vyāyāmasthiravipulocchrityātāmso

jyāghātapracitakinolbanaprakoṣṭhah

praccanno py anukutilakṣyarājabhāvo

meghāntargataravivat prabhānumeyah

174. Woolner : 89.

175. See Manmohana Ghośh's edition of the Nāṭyaśāstra, Calcutta, 1956.

The Hero in Sanskrit Drama

176. The Nāṭyaśāstra, Vol. II, translated by Manmohan Ghosh, Calcutta, 1961, p. 203.

vyasanī prāptaduhkha vā ujjayate bhyudayena yaḥ

tathā puruṣabāhulye pradhāno nāyakaḥ smṛtaḥ

(XXXV. 23)

yatra anekasya bhavato vyasanābhyudayau punah

prakṛṣṭau yasya tau syātām sa bhavet tatra nāyakaḥ

(XXXV. 24)

177. Ghosh : 1961 : 211.

178. The Laws and Practice of Sanskrit Drama, Varanasi, 1961, pp. 203-210.

179. Shastri : 207.

180. Shastri : 209

181. Ghosh : 215.

182. M.C. Byrski, Concept of Ancient Indian Theatre, Delhi 1974

183. puru Nārāyanena iyam Kālidāsa, Vikramorvaśī, 1.16 atiṣṛṭā Marutwate

daityahastād apācchidya suhrda samprati tvayā.

184. Macdonell, Arthur Anthony, Vedic Mythology. Grundriß der Indo-Arischen Philologie und

Altertumskunde 3:1, Straßburg, 1897, p. 87.

185. Hopkins, Edward Washburn, Epic Mythology, Straßburg, 1915, reprinted in Delhi 1974, S.53.

186. Śatapathabrāhmaṇa (hereafter in the footnotes : ŚB), 4.5.8.10, 5.2.2.13 f., 5.3.4.25, 5.3.8.,

7.5.1.31, 11.2.4.9, 2.6.3, 13.1.8.5, 14.2.1.15; See also Keith, Arthur Berriedale, The Rgveda-brāhmaṇas and Kauṣītaki Brāhmaṇas of the Rigveda, Har vard Oriental Series,

25. Cambridge, Mass., 1920, pp. XLV, 153, 264, 371, 405, 417, 426

26. ŚB, 3.5.1.18-22

27. Keith, Arthur Berriedale, The Religion and Philosophy of the Vedas and the Upanishads,

Harvard Oriental Series, 31-32, Cambridge, Mass., 1925.

189. ŚB, 3.5.3.11

190. ŚB, 1.4.4.1-2.

191. ŚB, 13.9.1.13

192. Keith : 1920 : 138.

193. Keith : 1920 : 354.

194. The intimate relationship between Indra and Vāc-Sarasvatī allows us to take her as being identical

with Indrāṇī. Both Sarasvatī and Indrāṇi are identified with Vāc (Macdonell, Arthur Anthony,

Brhad-devatā Attributed to Śaunaka, Harvard Oriental Series, 5, Part I, Cambridge, Mass.,

1904, pp. 51ff. {II. 72ff. }) Both are associated with the Maruts (Macdonell : 1897 : 78). Besides,

Indrāṇi seems to have had a rather meagre independent existence. Her name appears to be

a simple epithet of the wife of Indra (ibid.). If we admit such possibility in spite of the lack

of any specific identification of the two, then a Ṛgvedic hymn about Indra, Indrāṇī, and Vṛṣakapi

(RV 10.72, Macdonell : 1897 : 153 ff.) can acquire some meaning for Nāṭya. Consequently,

it may not be altogether unjustified to suppose that there is some kind of relationship between

Vṛṣakapi and Vidūṣaka. Both are the hero's (or Indra's) beloved friends. Both incur the anger

of the hero's partner (Indrāṇi, the heroine). Finally, both are compared to the monkey. This

would give a new strength to the hypothesis made almost half a century ago by A. Gawroński

(Poczatki· Dramatu Indyjskeigo a Sprawa Wplywow Greckich, pp. 30ff.) that Vṛṣakapi is a

prototype of the Vidūṣaka.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

The original Sanskrit texts referred to in this book

1. Arthaśāstra of Kauṭilya

2. Avimāraka of Bhāsa

3. Bhagavadajjukiya of Bodhāyana

4. Bhagavadgītā

5. Bhāvaprakāśa of Sāgaranandin

6. Caturvargacintāmaṇi of Hemādri

7. Daśarūpaka of Dhananjaya

8. Hitopadeśa of Nārāyana

9. Kāmasūtra of Vātsyāyana

10. Kathāsaritsāgara of Somadeva

11. Krtyakalpataru of Lakṣmidhara Bhaṭṭa

12. Laṭakamelaka of Śaṅkhadhara

13. Mahābhārata

14. Manavadharmasastra

15. Mandarāmarandacampū of Śrīkṛṣṇakavi

16. Mattavilāsa of Mahendravikramavarman

17. Mudrārākṣasa of Viśakhadatta

18. Nāṭyadarpana of Rāmacandra and Guṇacandra

19. Nāṭyaśāstra of Bharatamuni

20. Nītivākyāmrta of Somadevasūri

21. Pratāparudrīya with the commentary of Kumāraswāmin

22. Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa of Bhāsa

23. Puruṣārthacintāmaṇi of Viṣṇubhaṭṭa

24. Puruṣārthaprabodha of Brahmānandabhāratī

25. Puruṣārthasudhānidhi of Sāyaṇa

26. Puruṣārthopadeśa of Bhartrhari

27. Ṛgveda

28. Śakuntalā of Kālidāsa

29. Śatapathabrāhmaṇa

30. Sūktiratnahāra of Kalingarāja

31. Svapnavāsavadattā of Bhāsa

32. Ūrubhaṅga of Bhāsa

Addenda :

33. Amarakośṭikāsarvasva of Vandyaghaṭīya Sarvānanda

34. Āpastambīyadharmasūtra

35. Caturvargasāra of Rādhāmangalam Nārāyaṇaśāstri

(102)

Bibliography

36. Nāradasmṛti

37. Śatakas of Dhanarāja

38. Śatakas of Janārdana

39. Śatakas cf Narahari

40. Viṣṇusmṛti

41. Yājñavalkyasmṛti

42. Naṇṇūl

43. Padāvali of Vidyāpati

The other sources referred to in this book

1. Artola, G. The Earliest Plays about India, Saṁskṛta Raṅga Annual IV, Madras 1965, p. 1-19

2. Biar, G.K. The Origin of Nāṭya : Role of Śiva. Annals, B.O.R., Institute, vol. LVI Poona 1975

3. Boguslawski, W. Dzieta, vol. X, Warszawa 1830

4. Byrski, M.C. Can Sanskrit Drama tell us anything more? Educational Theatre Journal, vol. 27, no. 4 December 1975, pp. 445–452

5. Byrski, M.C. Concept of Ancient Indian Theatre, New Delhi 1974

6. Byrski, M.C. Wyobrażenie ról w starożytnym teatrze indyjskim. "The distribution of roles in the ancient Indian theatre" (in Polish), Pamietnik Teatralny, XXIV, 2(94), pp. 179-85, 1975

7. Byrski, M.C. Grotowski and The Indian Tradition, Journal of Sangeet Natak Akademi, New Delhi 1970

8. Daniélou, A. Les Quatre Sens de la Vie, Paris 1976

9. De, S.K. A History of Sanskrit Literature, Calcutta 1962 (Second Ed.)

10. Frye, N. Anatomy of Criticism, New York 1969.

11. Gawroński, A. Review of the book by J. Schmidt, Az ó-ind epila, Budapest 1921, Rocznik Orientalistyczny II 1925, p. 283-4

12. Ghosh, M.M. The Nāṭyaśāstra: A Treatise of Hindu Dramaturgy and Historionics Ascribed to Bharata-Muni, vol. I, transI. by Calcutta 1950

13. Gonda, J. Change and Continuity in Indian Religion, Hague 1965.

14. Hiriyanna, M. Sanskrit Studies, Mysore 1954

15. Jha, Ganganatha, Manusmṛti – The Laws of Manu with The Bhāṣya of Medhātithi vol. I, Calcutta 1920

16. Kane, P.V. History of Dharmaśāstra, vol. II part I, Poona 1941

17. Keith, A.B., The Religion and Philosophy of The Veda and Upaniṣads (H.O.S.), Harvard 1925

18. Keith, A.B., The Sanskrit Drama, Oxford 1924

19. Konow, S., The Indian Drama transI. by S.N. Ghoshal from German original Das indische Drama Berlin 1920, Calcutta 1960

20. Krishnamoorthy, K., Essays in Sanskrit Criticism, Dharwar 1964.

21. Krzyżanowski, J. Nauka o literaturze, Wroclaw 1969.

22. Kulkarni, V.M. The Conception of Sandhis in The Sanskrit Drama, Journal of The Oriental Institute, University of Baroda, vol. V., June 1956, No 4, pp. 389–402

23. Kunhan Raja, C. Survey of Sanskrit Literature, Bombay 1962

24. Lavastine, P., Trivarga, (Les Trois Valeurs), in Rene Guenon et l ’actualite de la pensee traditionelle, Actes du Colloque International, Editions Baucens Braine-Le-Comte 1977

25. Lazari-Pawlowska, I. Wzorce indyjskiego perfekcjonizmu. Patterns of Indian Perfectionism (In Polish) Etyka, 12/1973

26. Lévi, S. Le Théâtre Indien, Paris 1890

27. Mainkar, T.G., The Theory of the Saṃdhis and the Saṃdhyāṅgas, Poona 1960

28. Mankad, D.R., Types of Sanskrit Drama, Karachi 1936

29. Monier-Williams, M., Sanskrit-English Dictionary, Oxford 1956

30. Nicoll, A. The Theatre and Dramatic Theory, London 1962

31. Pandey, R.B., Hindū Saṃskāras, Delhi 1969

32. Peacock, R. The Art of Drama, 1957

33. Potter, K.H., Presuppositions of India's Philosophies, New York 1963

34. Preminger, A. Editor, Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics, Princeton 1965

35. Radhakrishnan, S. Indian Philosophy (In Polish Translation), Warszawa 1958

36. Raghavan, V. A note on the name "Dāśārūpaka", Journal of Oriental Research vol. VII, part III, pp. 277-290, Madras 1933

37. Raghavan, V. The Vṛttis, Journal of Oriental Research, vol. VI, part IV, pp. 346-370, vol. VII, part I, pp. 33-52. vol. VII, part II, pp. 91-112, Madras 1932

38. Ramulu, Somanchi, A. Critical Study of the Theories of Sanskrit Poetics. Unpublished Thesis of Punjab University 1955

39. Rocher, L. the Textual Tradition of the Bhāratīyanātyaśāstra : A Philological Assessment, Typescript of a paper delivered at The University of Hawaii, 1974

40. Sarma, V.A. Is Mokṣa A Purūṣārtha?, Vishveshvaranand Indological Journal, vol. VII, pts I-II, 1969, pp. 95-99

41. Shamashastri, R., The Concept of Mukti in Indian Philosophy, Jha Commemoration Volume, Poona 1937, pp. 349-358

42. Shamasastri, R., Kautilya's Arthashastra transl. by, Mysore 1956

43. Shastri, S.N. The Laws and Practice of Sanskrit Drama, Varanasi 1961

44. Sūryakānta, Saṃskṛta vānmaya kā vivecanātmaka itihāsa, Nai Delhi 1972

45. Tripathi, P.V., Puruṣārthacatuṣṭaya, Vārāṇasī 1970

46. Willman-Grabowska, H., Évolution semantique du mot "dharma", Rocznik Orientalistyczny vol. X, Lwów 1934, pp. 38-50

47. Wilson, H.H. Select Specimens of the Theatre of the Hindus, 2 vols., 3rd ed., London 1871

48. Windakiewicz, S. Teatr kollegjów jezuickich w dawnej Polsce, Kraków 1922

49. Winternitz, M. A History of Indian Literature, v. III, Delhi 1963

50. Yamunācārya, M., The Ethics of Pravṛtti and Nivṛtti, Siddha-Bhāratī (Felicitation volume of Dr. Siddheshwar Varma) part II Hoshiarpur 1950, pp. 129-131

Addenda :

51. Serrebranyiy, S.D., Tvorchestvo Vidyāpati Ṭhākura i bengalskaya viṣnuitskaya poezziya (The works of Vidyāpati Thākur ana . : Bengali Viṣṇuite poetry), Maskva 1973

52. Syrkin, S.Y., K sistematizacyi nekatorih ponyati v sanskrite (Towards systematization of certain notions in Sanskrit) in volume entitled Semiotika i vostochnuye yaziki (Semiotics and the eastern languages) Maskva 1967, pp. 147 ff.

53. Klein, E., A Comprehensive Etymological Dictionary of the English Language, Amsterdam 1967

54. Mayrhoffer, M. A Concise Etymological Sanskrit Dictionary, Heidelberg 1963.

Index of Technical Terms

Adhibala 29, 58, 68

Aṅgahāras 10

Anubhāvas 95

Anumāna 29, 59 68, 77

Apvāda 29, 60, 78

Artha 11, 12, 13, 33, 34, 35, 42, 43, 44, 48, 49, 50, 83, 84, 88

Arthaprakṛti 23, 31

Asaṃbhrāmta Bhāva 10

Avapāta 17

Ākṣipti 29, 58, 68, 77

Āmukha 15, 63

Āṅgika abhinaya 13, 14

Ārabhaṭī vṛtti 10, 11

Ārambha 23

Āvalgita 15, 63

Āvega 10

Bhāṇa 3, 4, 15

Bhāratī vṛtti 10

Bhāṣaṇa 30, 61, 71

Bhāvavyāpāra 11, 12

Bindu 4, 23

Bīja 4, 23, 54

Cārī 10

Cetanavyāpāra 11

Dakṣiṇa Nāyaka 97

Dharma 11, 12, 16, 34, 35, 38, 39, 43, 44, 48, 49, 50, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 88, 88, 96

Dhīralalita 96, 97

Dhīraprasānta 96

Dhīrodātta 96

Dhīrodddhata 96

Dhṛṣṭa Nāyak 97

Dima 3, 4

Diptatara Bhāva 10

Drava 29, 60, 78

Dyuti 29, 60, 70, 78

Garbhasaṃdhi 4, 5, 25, 58

Grathana 30, 60

Hārya 3

Īhāmṛga 3, 4, 5

Itivrtta 3, 22, 86

Itihāsa 22, 89

Kapata 5, 59, 81

Karaṇa 10, 27, 55, 66

Kathodghāta 15, 72

Krama 28, 59, 69, 77

Kāma 11, 12, 14, 33, 34, 35, 41, 43, 44, 48, 49, 50, 68, 74, 82, 83, 84, 85

Kāryavasthā 86

Kaiśikī vṛtti 10, 11

Līlā 10

Mokṣa 34, 35, 36, 38, 48, 49, 50, 81, 86, 9-

Mukhasaṃdhi 4, 25

Narmadyuti 28, 32, 77

Narmagarbha 16, 32

Narman 16, 28, 32, 77

Narmasphañja 16

Narmasphoṭa 16

Nāndī 87

Nāṭaka 2, 3, 4, 5, 18, 33, 34, 53, 54, 64, 74

Nāṭikā 54, 74

Nāṭyam 17, 33, 89, 98, 100

Nāṭyaveda 87

Nāyaka 94, 98, 100, 101

Netr 94

Nirvahaṇasaṃdhi 4, 25, 78

Niyatāpti 23, 60, 61

Paribhāṣaṇa 30, 61, 70

Paribhāvanā 27, 55, 66

Parikara 27, 55, 65

Parinyāsa 27, 55, 65

Parivartaka 15, 63

Paryupāsana 28, 57, 67

Patākā 24

Phalāgama 23

Pragayaṇa 28, 57, 67

Prahasaṇa 3, 4, 5, 15

Prakaraṇa 2, 3, 4, 5, 18, 53, 54, 73, 74, 75

Prakarī 24, 25

Prarocanā 15, 30, 60, 70

Prasaṅga 29, 78

Pratimukha saṃdhi 25

Pratiṣedha 29, 60, 70, 78

Pravṛttaka 15, 73

Prārthana 29, 58, 77

Prāpti 27, 55, 65, 76

Puruṣārthas 5, 6, 11, 18, 33, 34, 35, 36, 43, 44, 47, 48, 49, 50, 74, 83, 85

106

Pūrvavākya 30, 61, 71

Rajoguṇa 11, 43, 82

Rasa 16, 34, 72, 85, 86, 93, 95, 97

Rūpaka 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 9, 15, 33, 34, 63

Śabdaprayoga 2

Śakti 29, 60, 78

Śaṭha 97

Śṛṅgāra 5, 33, 34

Sallāpaka 63

Samavakāra 3, 4, 5, 34

Samādhāna 27, 55, 65

Samdhi 4, 7, 21, 25, 30, 32, 60, 70, 86, 100

Samdhyāṅga 5, 26, 32, 55, 75

Samghātyaka 16

Sampsiptaka 17

Sam̧lāpaka 15

Sampheṭa 17, 29, 32, 60, 78

Samrambha 10

Sattvaguṇa 11, 43, 82

Sādhāraṇīkaraṇa 86

Sāttvatī Vṛtti 10

Sūtradhāra 15, 64, 87

Tamoguṇa 11, 43, 83

Tāpana 28, 57, 67, 76

Toṭaka 29, 58, 68, 77

Trikapaṭa 7, 59

Triśṛṅgāra 7, 12

Trivarga 11, 31, 34, 35, 36, 44, 47, 65, 82

Trividrava 7

Traiguṇya 11

udbheda 27, 55, 66, 76

Udghaṭyaka 15

Udvega 29, 58, 59, 70, 77

Upakṣepa 27, 55, 64

Upanyāsa 28, 57, 67

Utsṛṣṭikāṅka 2, 3, 4

Utthāpaka 15, 63, 76

Varṇasam̧hāra 28, 57, 67, 77

Vastūtthāpana 17

Vākya 18

Vibhāvas 95

Vibodha 30, 60, 70

Vidhāna 27, 55, 65, 76

Vidhūta 28, 57, 67, 76

Vidrava 5, 6, 29, 77, 81

Vidūṣaka 58, 59, 76, 80, 101

Vilobhana 27, 55, 65, 76

Vimarśasamdhi 4, 5, 25

Virodhana 29, 60, 70, 78

Viṣkambhaka 2, 70, 73

Viṭa 4

Vīthī 3, 4, 15, 63, 72, 74

Vṛtti 3, 4, 7, 9, 11, 12, 18, 32

Vyabhicāribhāvas 95

Vyavasāya 29, 60, 78

Vyāyoga 3, 4

Yatna 23

Yukti 27, 55, 65, 76

ABOUT THE BOOK

How to read and understand Sanskrita drama ? The Author in quest of indigenous methodology investigates the Natyasastra and specially focuses his attienation upon the typology of Sanskrit drama, the four demenours, the span-structure and the three fold scheme of the traditional Indian value system. The criteria thus formulated are put to test while analysing two plays of Bhasa-the Svapnavasvadatta and the Pratijnayaugandhnrayana, as well as the Sakuntala of Kalidas. The reader is invited to try this analytical system and to discover for himself the expected layers of Ancient Indian drama.

1997 300.00

BHARATIYA VIDYA PRAKASHAN

I-UB, JAWAHAR NAGAR, P.B. NO. 1108,

BUNGALOW ROAD, KACHAURI GALI

DELHI-110007 VARANASI-22 10001 (U.P)

(INDIA)