X

[Contents]XMURĀRI, RĀJAÇEKHARA, THEIR PREDECESSORS AND SUCCESSORS[Contents]1.The Predecessors of MurāriWe know definitely of very few dramatists of the eighth and ninth centuries. Kalhaṇa1mentions expressly Yaçovarman of Kanyakubja as a patron of literature, who, as we have seen, patronized Bhavabhūti and Vākpati, and we learn of his dramaRāmābhyudaya, which is mentioned by Ānandavardhana in theDhvanyāloka, by Dhanika and Viçvanātha, but has not yet been found. To Kalhaṇa2also we are indebted for knowledge of the period of Çivasvāmin, who lived under Avantivarman of Kashmir (A.D.855–83) and was a contemporary of the poet Ratnākara. He wrote many Nāṭakas and Nāṭikās, and also Prakaraṇas, but save an occasional verse in the anthologies his fame is lost.Anan̄gaharṣa Mātrarāja,3on the other hand, is known to Ānandavardhana and Abhinavagupta, and his playTāpasavatsarājacaritais a variation on the theme of the ruse of Yaugandharāyaṇa to secure the marriage of Vatsa and Padmāvatī, in face of the deep love of the king for Vāsavadattā. Vatsa in this drama, which is of little poetic or dramatic value, becomes an ascetic on learning of his queen’s supposed fate, whence the title of the play. Padmāvatī, who had become enamoured of the king from a portrait sent by the minister, follows suit. Eventually Vāsavadattā and Vatsa are united in Prayāga when each is about to commit suicide in sorrow at separation, and the usual victory is reported by Rumaṇvant to give a happy ending.[221]There seems little doubt that the author used theRatnāvalī, which gives the upper limit of his date. His father’s name is givenasNarendravardhana.Māyurājā4has been less fortunate in that hisUdāttarāghavais known only by reference. Rājaçekhara represents him as a Karaculi or Kulicuri, which suggests the possibility that he was a king of the Kalacuri dynasty, of which unhappily we know little during the period in which he is probably to be set. He seems to have known Bhavabhūti. Like him he eliminated treachery from the slaying of Vālin by Rāma, and he represents Lakṣmaṇa as first to follow the magic gazelle, and Rāma as going later in pursuit. He is cited more than once in Dhanika’s commentary on theDaçarūpa.No other dramatist of this period is known with any certainty; thePārvatīpariṇayaonce ascribed to Bāṇa is now allotted to Vāmana Bhaṭṭa Bāṇa (c.A.D.1400), and theMallikāmāruta, wrongly thought to be Daṇḍin’s, is the work of one Uddaṇḍin of the seventeenth century.Of these dramatists Yaçovarman has had the honour of being considered worthy of quotation by the writers on theory who have preserved for us some interesting verses:5ākrandāḥ stanitair vilocanajalāny açrāntadhārāmbhubhistvadvicchedabhuvaç ca çokaçikhinas tulyās taḍidvibhramaiḥantar me dayitāmukhaṁ tava çaçī vṛttiḥ samāpy āvayoḥtat kim mām aniçaṁ sakhe jaladhara dagdhum evodyataḥ.‘My moans are like thy thunder, the floods of my tears thy ever-streaming showers, the flame of my sorrow at severance from my beloved thy flickering lightning, in my mind is her face reflected, in thee the moon; like is our condition; why then, O friend, O cloud, dost thou ever seek to consume me with the burning pangs of love?’This is decidedly pretty, and there is elegance and beauty in another verse:6yat tvannetrasamānakānti salile magnaṁ tad indīvarammeghair antaritaḥ priye tava mukhacchāyānukāraḥ çaçīye ’pi tvadgamanānukāragatayas te rājahaṅsā gatāstvatsādṛçyavinodamātram api me daivena na kṣamyate.[222]‘The blue lotus which rivalled thine eyes in beauty is now sunk in the lake; the moon which imitated the fairness of thy face, beloved, is hidden by the clouds; the royal swans which aped thy lovely gait are departed; cruel fate will not grant me even the consolation of thy similitude.’This verse is appropriated by theMahānāṭaka, and so is the following,7which deals elegantly enough with the commonplace contrast between the sad lover and the Açoka tree, whose name is interpreted as ‘sorrowless’, and which flowers, as the poets never weary in telling us, when touched by the foot of a fair lady,especially one young:raktas tvaṁ navapallavair aham api çlāghyaiḥ priyāyā guṇaistvām āyānti çilīmukhāḥ smaradhanurmuktāḥ sakhe mām apikāntapādatalāhatis tava mude tad api mamāvayoḥsarvaṁ tulyam açoka kevalam ahaṁ dhātrā saçokaḥ kṛtaḥ.‘Thou are proud in thy new shoots, I in the glorious excellences of my beloved; the bees resort to thee, to me the arrows shot from love’s bow; like me thou dost delight in the touch of thy dear one’s foot; all is alike for us both save only that, O tree Sorrowless, the creator hath made me a man of sorrows.’kāmavyādhaçarāhatir na gaṇitā saṁjīvanī tvaṁ smṛtāno dagdho virahānalena jhaṭiti tvatsaṁgamāçāmṛtaiḥnīto ’yaṁ divaso vicitralikhitaiḥ saṁkalparūpair mayākiṁ vānyad dhṛdaye sthitāsi nanu me tatra svayaṁ sākṣiṇī.8‘I have not recked of the wound given by love, the hunter, for the memory of thee hath been my elixir; the fire of separation hath not consumed me straightway because of the nectar of the hope of union with thee; all this day hath been spent by me in limning thy fancied form; nought else have I done, as thou thyself art witness, for dost thou not live in my heart?’ We may regret the loss of a work which contained verses as pretty as these, even on the outworn topic of Rāma and Sītā.It might be interesting to know whether Yaçovarman was successful in introducing any new element into the established plot. The play is cited in the commentary on theDaçarūpa9to illustrate the device called deception or humiliation (chalana) and the parallel cited is that of the treatment of Vāsavadattā in the[223]Ratnāvalī. The definitions of the theory leave this idea far from clear; Viçvanātha seems to treat it as the bearing of insult for the sake of the end to be reached, and the allusion in the case of Sītā may be to her abandonment by Rāma as an act of duty.A much less favourable impression is left by the few fragments of theUdāttarāghavawhich are preserved. The poet seems to have affected the horrible, as two of his few stanzas deal with it; the better is:10jīyante jayino ’pi sāndratimiravrātair viyadvyāpibhirbhāsvantaḥ sakalā raver api rucaḥ kasmād akasmād amīetāç cograkabandharandhrarudhirair ādhmāyamānodarāmuñcanty ānanakandarānalamucas tīvrā ravāḥ pheravāḥ.‘The victors are vanquished; thick darkness invades the sky and triumphs over the brilliant rays of the sun; why this inexplicable event? Why do these jackals, whose bellies are swollen with the blood sucked from the wounds of bleeding corpses, and whose gaping jaws belch flame, utter these piercing cries?’A somewhat flat passage illustrates the conflict of thought in Rāma’s mind when appealed to by Citramāya on the score that Lakṣmaṇa is in danger from a Rākṣasa:11vatsasyābhayavāridheḥ pratibhayam manye kathaṁ rākṣasāttrastaç caiṣa munir virauti manasaç cāsty eva me sambhramaḥmā hāsīr Janakātmajām iti muhuḥ snehād gurur yācatena sthātuṁ na ca gantum ākulamater mūḍhasya me niçcayaḥ.‘The boy is an ocean of valour; how can I fear danger for him from a Rākṣasa? Yet the sage here is terrified and calls for aid, and my own mind is confused; my master too in his affection ever begs me not to leave Janaka’s daughter alone; my heart is troubled, and in my confusion I cannot resolve either to go or to stay.’Another Rāma drama, theChalitarāma, is also referred to by Dhanika in his comment on theDaçarūpa; it may belong to this period, or fall somewhat later; we have from it a picture of the leading captive of Lava:12yenāvṛtya mukhāni sāma paṭhatām atyantam āyāsitambālye yena hṛtākṣasūtravalayapratyarpaṇaiḥ krīḍitamyuṣmākaṁ hṛdayaṁ sa eṣa viçikhair āpūritāṅsasthalomūrchāghoratamaspraveçavivaço baddhvā Lavo nīyate.[224]‘He who caused such trouble to the Sāman reciters turning to look at him in his childish play, who amused himself by stealing and giving back strings of beads and bracelets, he, your heart’s joy, his shoulder pierced by arrows, powerless through entry into the dread darkness of fainting, is being led away bound, even Lava.’Another stanza refers to Bharata; Rāma returning to Ayodhyā in the celestial chariot declines thus to enter the town, since it is not his, but under the rule of Bharata; scarcely has he descended when he sees before him his brother:13ko ’pi siṅhāsanasyādhaḥ sthitaḥ pādukayoḥ puraḥjaṭāvān akṣamālī ca cāmarī ca virājate.‘There stands some one, below the lion throne, before a pair of sandals, wearing his hair long, bearing a rosary, resplendent beneath the chowrie.’The same play14contains an amusing slip by Sītā where she bids her boys go to Ayodhyā and tender their respects to the king. Lava naturally replies by asking why they should become members of the king’s entourage, and Sītā answers because the king is their father, a slip which she explains away as well as she can by saying that the king is father of the whole earth.Yet another drama of which we know nothing else is revealed to us by Dhanika, thePāṇḍavānanda, from which is cited a stanza interesting in its series of questions and answers, a literary form of which the dramatists are fond:15kā çlāghyā guṇināṁ kṣamā paribhavaḥ ko yaḥ svakulyaiḥ kṛtaḥkiṁ duḥkhaṁ parasaṁçrayo jagati kaḥ çlāghyo ya āçrīyateko mṛtyur vyasanaṁ çucaṁ jahati ke yair nirjitāḥ çatravaḥkair vijñātam idaṁ Virāṭanagare channasthitaiḥ Pāṇḍavaiḥ.‘For the good what is there praiseworthy? Patience. What is disgrace? That which is wrought by those of one’s own blood. What is misery? Recourse to another’s protection. Who in the world is enviable? He to whom one resorts for aid. What is death? Misfortune. Who escape sorrow? Those who conquer their foes. Who learned this lesson? The Pāṇḍavas when they dwelt in concealment in the city of Virāṭa.’We learn also from Dhanika of two further dramas, of unknown[225]authorship and date; they are mentioned16as illustrating the two kinds of Prakaraṇa as a dramatic form, the basis of distinction being whether the heroine is the wife of the hero and therefore a lady of good family or whether she is a courtesan. Of the latter class we have an example in theTaran̄gadatta, and of the former in thePuṣpadūṣitaka; the latter name occurs in the slightly altered form of Puṣpabhūṣita in theSāhityadarpaṇa. As an example of the Samavakāra theDaçarūpa17mentions theSamudramanthana, a title doubtless as well as the description of the drama in question.[Contents]2.MurāriMurāri tells us that he was the son of Çrīvardhamānaka of the Maudgalya Gotra and of Tantumatī; he claims to be a Mahākavi, and arrogates the style of Bāla-Vālmīki. His date is uncertain; he is certainly later than Bhavabhūti since he cites from theUttararāmacarita,18while we have evidence from the anthologies that he was reckoned by some as superior to Bhavabhūti, apparently his predecessor. A further suggestion as to date may be derived from the Kashmirian poet Ratnākara,19who in hisHaravijayamakes a clear reference to Murāri as a dramatist, for the effort of Bhattanatha Svamin to disprove the reference must be deemed completely unsuccessful. As Ratnākara belongs to the middle of the ninth centuryA.D., this gives us that period as the latest date for Murāri. Curiously enough, Professor Konow,20who accepts the disproof of the reference to Murāri in Ratnākara, admits that the reference to Murāri in Man̄kha’sÇrīkaṇṭhacarita21(c.A.D.1135) suggests that he was regarded by that author as earlier than Rājaçekhara, a fact which accords excellently with his priority to Ratnākara, and is far more important than the fact that he is not cited by the authors on theory of the eleventh centuryA.D.A further effort to place him late is that of Dr. Hultzsch,22who infers from verse 3 of theKaumudīmitrāṇandaof Rāmacandra, pupil of Hemacandra, that that[226]dramatist was a contemporary of Murāri. But the evidence is clearly inadequate; the words used are perfectly compatible with the fact that Murāri was dead, and there are grave chronological difficulties in the way of the theory. It is practically impossible that a contemporary of Rāmacandra could have been cited by Man̄kha at the date of theÇrīkaṇṭhacarita. Moreover Murāri seems to have been imitated by Jayadeva in thePrasannarāghava.23Of his place of activity we know nothing definite. He mentions, however, Māhiṣmatī as the seat of the Kalacuris, and it has been suggested that this indicates that he lived under the patronage of a prince of that dynasty at Māhiṣmatī, now Māndhātā on the Narmadā.[Contents]3.The AnargharāghavaMurāri declares in the prologue to the solitary drama, theAnargharāghava24which has come down to us, though quotations show that he wrote other works, that his aim is to please a public tired of terror, horror, violence, and marvels, by a composition elevated, heroic, and marvellous throughout, not merely at the close. He defends his choice of the banal subject of Rāma; his character adds elevation and charm to the poet’s work, and it would be folly to lay aside so splendid a theme. TheAnargharāghava, however, does little to justify the poet’s confidence in his choice of topic. The theme, treated already at length by Bhavabhūti, offered no chance of success save for a great poet, and Murāri was not such a poet save in the estimate of occasional later writers who extol his depth (gambhīratā) without any shadow of justification.Act I shows us Daçaratha in conversation with Vāmadeva. The arrival of the sage Viçvāmitra is announced; he exchanges with the king hyperbolic compliments of the most tedious type, but proceeds to business by demanding the aid of Rāma against the Rākṣasas which are troubling his hermitage. The king hesitates to send one so young and dear into danger. The sage insists on his obeying the call of duty, and he hands over Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa to the care of the ascetic. The herald announces[227]midday, and the king mourns the loss of his son. In Act II we have first a long-drawn-out conversation between Çunaḥçepha and Paçumeḍhra, two pupils of Viçvāmitra, which serves to enlighten us on the history of Vālin, Rāvaṇa, the Rākṣasas, Jāmbavant, Hanumant, and Tāḍakā. The entr’acte is followed by the appearance of Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa who describe the hermitage and the doings of its occupants, and then the heat of midday. Time, however, does not trouble the dramatist; though there is no further action and no interruption in the dialogue, we find ourselves transported to the evening; Viçvāmitra enters and describes in converse with the boys the sunset. A cry behind the scene announces the approach of the demoness Tāḍakā; Rāma hesitates to slay a female, but finally departs for the necessary duty; on his return he has to describe the rising of the moon. Viçvāmitra then suggests a visit to Janaka of Mithilā, affording an opportunity for a description of the city and its ruler.In Act II only do we reach the motif which Bhavabhūti with far greater skill made the leading idea of the drama, thus giving it effective unity, so far as the story permits. The chamberlain of Janaka in conversation with Kalahaṅsikā, one of Sītā’s suite, lets us know that the princess is now ripe for marriage, and Rāvaṇa seeks her hand. In the scene that follows the king accompanied by Çatānanda receives Rāma, but hesitates to put him to the severe test involved in bending Çiva’s bow. Çauṣkala, Rāvaṇa’s envoy, arrives to demand the maiden’s hand, but indignantly declines the request that his master should bend the bow. He eulogizes Rāvaṇa whom Rāma depreciates. Rāma is at last allowed to make the trial; those who remain on the stage describe his wonderful deed in breaking the bow. He is promised Sītā’s hand, while the other sons of Daçaratha are also awarded consorts. Çauṣkala departs, menacing revenge. Act IV shows us Rāvaṇa’s minister Mālyavant lamenting the failure of his scheme to win Sītā. Çūrpaṇakhā arrives from Videha and tells of the union of Rāma and Sītā. Mālyavant recognizes that Rāvaṇa will insist on seeking to separate the pair, and he counsels Çūrpaṇakhā to assume the disguise of Mantharā, the maid of Kaikeyī, with the view of securing the banishment of Rāma to the forest, where he will be more vulnerable to attack.[228]He is also cheered by the news given by Çūrpaṇakhā of the approach of Paraçurāma to Mithilā, whence some gain may accrue to his cause. The following scene shows us Rāma and Paraçurāma in verbal contest; Rāma is even more polite than in theMahāvīracaritawhich is obviously imitated, while the friends of Rāma carry on a vituperative dialogue behind the scene without actually appearing. Finally they resolve to fight, for Rāma has annoyed his rival by reminding him that the flag of his fame won by his destruction of the Kṣatriyas is worn out and challenging him to mount a new one. The fight itself takes place off the stage; Sītā, we learn from a voice behind the scenes, is apprehensive lest Rāma be drawing again his bow to win another maiden. The rivals then appear on excellent terms; Paraçurāma exchanges farewells with his former interlocutors and disappears. Then enter Janaka and Daçaratha. The latter is determined to resign his kingdom to Rāma, but Lakṣmaṇa enters introducing Mantharā who bears a fatal missive from Kaikeyī, bidding the king grant the two boons of the banishment of Rāma and the coronation of Bharata. The kings faint; Rāma sends Lakṣmaṇa to tell Sītā, and commends his father to Janaka.In Act V a conversation between Jāmbavant and an ascetic lady, Çravaṇā, tells of the doings of Rāma until his advent in the forest. Çravaṇā goes to Sugrīva to bespeak a kindly welcome for the wayfarers, while Jāmbavant overhears a dialogue between Rāvaṇa, disguised as a juggler, and Lakṣmaṇa. The vulture Jaṭāyu then appears with the grave news that he has seen Rāvaṇa and Mārīca in the forest; Jāmbavant goes to warn Sugrīva of the danger, while Jaṭāyu sees the rape of Sītā and pursues the ravisher. After this entr’acte Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa enter, wandering in grief in vain search. They are interrupted by a cry and see the friendly forest chief, Guha, assailed by the headless Kabandha. Lakṣmaṇa rescues him, but, in doing so, knocks off the tree, on which it was suspended, the skeleton of Dundubhi, to the annoyance of Vālin, who appears, and after a lengthy conversation challenges Rāma to battle. The fight is described from the stage by Lakṣmaṇa and Guha; the enemy is slain. Voices from behind the scenes report the coronation of Sugrīva and his determination to aid Rāma in the recovery of[229]Sītā, and Lakṣmaṇa and his friend leave the stage to rejoin their party. In Act VI Sāraṇa and Çuka, two spies of Rāvaṇa’s describe to Mālyavant the building of the bridge over the ocean and the advent of Rāma’s army. Voices from behind announce the departure of Kumbhakarṇa and Meghanāda for battle; in the same way we learn of their fall and the last exit of Rāvaṇa, whom Mālyavant decides to follow to the field. The final struggle is described with tedious and tasteless prolixity by two Vidyādharas, Ratnacūḍa and Hemān̄gada, and with this the Act closes.In Act VII we have a determined effort to vie with the close of theMahāvīracarita. Rāma, Sītā, Lakṣmaṇa, Vibhīṣaṇa, and Sugrīva proceed in Kubera’s celestial car to Ayodhyā. But the route is diversified from the simplicity of the model, for the travellers are taken to the celestial regions to view in all its aspects the mythical mountain Sumeru and the world of the moon; only then do they commence their journey in its terrestrial aspect by a description of Siṅhala, distinguished as usual from Lan̄kā; the route then passes over the Malaya mountains, the forest, the mountain Prasravaṇa, the Godāvarī, mount Mālyavant, Kuṇḍinīpura in the Mahārāṣṭra country, Kāñcī, Ujjayinī, Māhiṣmatī, the Yamunā, the Ganges, Vārāṇasī, Mithilā and Campā; the car goes then west to Prayāga, and later turns east to Ayodhyā, where the priest Vasiṣṭha waits with Rāma’s brothers to crown him king.The demerits of the poem are obvious; there is no attempt to improve on the traditional narrative, though Vālin is honourably killed; the characters are as stereotyped as ever. The author, however, delights to overload and elaborate the theme; hyperbole marks every idea; his mythological knowledge is adequate to enable him to abound in conceits and plays on words, when he does not sink, as largely in Act III, to mere commonplace. The taste which invents the visit to the world of the moon and Sumeru is as deplorable as that which substitutes the dull dialogue between Jāmbavant and Jaṭāyu for the vigorous conversation of Jaṭāyu and Sampāti in theMahāvīracarita. For dialogue in general Murāri has no taste at all, and what merit his work has lies entirely in the ability which he shows to handle the Sanskrit language and to frame sentences of harmonious[230]sound in effective metrical forms. His knowledge of the lexica is obvious, while his love of the recondite in grammar has won him the fame of being used to illustrate rare forms by the author of theSiddhāntakaumudī. These linguistic merits have secured him the preference shown for him by modern taste. Nor indeed can his power of expression be justly denied:25dṛçyante madhumattakokilavadhūnirdhūtacūtān̄kura—prāgbhāraprasaratparāgasikatādurgās taṭībhūmayaḥyāḥ kṛcchrād atilan̄ghya lubdhakabhayāt tair eva reṇūtkarairdhārāvāhibhir asti luptapadavīniḥçan̄kam eṇīkulam.‘There are seen the towering slopes as of sand where the pollen tilts off from the mango shoots, shaken by the female cuckoos, maddened by the intoxication of spring; scarce can the antelopes in their fear of the hunter leap over them, but the dust which they raise in showers accords them security by concealing the path of their flight.’ The idea is certainly trivial enough, but the expression, which defies reproduction in English, is in its own way a masterpiece of effect.A pretty erotic verse is found in Act VII:26anena rambhoru bhavanmukhena: tuṣārabhānos tulayā dhṛtasyaūnasya nūnam pratipūraṇāya: tārā sphuranti pratimānakhaṇḍāh.‘When the moon is placed in the scales, fair-limbed one, against thy face, assuredly it is found wanting, and to make good the deficit the stars must shine as make-weights.’Not a bad example of more elaborate, yet graceful, eulogy is found in the following stanza:27gotre sākṣād ajani bhagavān eṣa yat padmayoniḥçayyotthāyaṁ yad akhilam ahaḥ prīṇayanti dvirephānekāgrāṁ yad dadhati bhagavaty uṣṇabhānau ca bhaktimtat prāpus te sutanu vadanaupamyam ambhoruhāṇi.‘Since manifestly in their family has been born the blessed one, sprung from the lotus; since all day long they delight the bees as they rise from their bed; since their whole faith they devote to the blessed lord of the sharp rays, thus, O lovely one, the flowers that spring from the water attain the likeness of thy face.’[231]Happy also is another erotic stanza:28abhimukhapatayālubhir lalāṭa—: çramasalilair avadhūtapattralekhaḥkathayati puruṣāyitaṁ vadhūnām: mṛditahimadyutidurmanāḥ kapolaḥ.‘Its painted mark obliterated by the moisture which streams from the wearied brow over the face, the cheek reveals the longing of women, melancholy as the wan moon.’udeṣyatpīyūṣadyutirucikaṇārdrāḥ çaçimaṇi—sthalīnām panthāno ghanacaraṇalākṣālipibhṛtaḥcakorair uḍḍīnair jhaṭiti kṛtaçan̄kāḥ pratipadamparācaḥ saṁcārān avinayavatīnāṁ vivṛṇate.‘Footprints on pavements of moonstone, marked with the lac that dyes deep the feet, wet with drops that have the radiance of rising cream, made with anxiety at every step as the Cakoras fly up disturbed, mark the departure of ladies who violate decorum.’29A further stanza in some manuscripts of the poem occurs in the drama, while elsewhere it seems to be treated as a verse about Murāri:30devīṁ vācam upāsate hi bahavaḥ sāraṁ tu sārasvatamjānīte nitarām asau gurukulakliṣṭo Murāriḥ kaviḥabdhir lan̄ghita eva vānarabhaṭaiḥ kiṁ tv asyā gambhīratāmāpātālanimagnapīvaratanur jānāti manthācalaḥ.‘Many serve the goddess speech, but the essence of eloquence Murāri alone knows to the full, that poet who long toiled in the house of his teacher; even so the monkey host leapt over the ocean, but its depth the Mount of Churning alone knows, for its mighty mass penetrated down even to the realms below.’[Contents]4.The Date of RājaçekharaRājaçekhara, with the usual prolixity of bad poets, is voluble on his personality; he was of a Mahārāṣṭra Kṣatriya family of the Yāyāvaras, who claimed descent from Rāma; son of the minister Durduka or Duhika, and of Çīlavatī; grandson of Akālajalada, and descendant of Surānanda, Tarala, and Kavirāja, all[232]poets of name. He married Avantisundarī of the Cāhamāna family, and was a moderate Çaiva.31In theKarpūramañjarī, probably his first play since it was produced at the request of his wife, and not a king, he refers to himself as the teacher of Nirbhaya or Nirbhara, who was clearly the Pratihāra king, Mahendrapāla of Mahodaya or Kanyakubja, of whom we have records inA.D.893 and 907. TheBālarāmāyaṇawas produced at his request. But he seems then to have visited another court, for theViddhaçālabhañjikāwas produced for the Kalacuri king, Yuvarāja Keyūravarṣa of Tripurī. But, as the unfinishedBālabhāratawas written for Mahīpāla, successor ofMahendrapāla, whose records begin inA.D.914, we may assume that he returned to the court of the Pratihāras and died there. In theBālarāmāyaṇahe speaks of six of his works, not apparently including theViddhaçālabhañjikāand theBālabhārata, and in fact we have many stanzas from him regarding famous authors, though of course the proof of derivation from this Rājaçekara is not always complete.TheBālarāmāyaṇashows to perfection Rājaçekhara’s own estimate of himself. He traces his poetic descent from Vālmīki, through Bhartṛmeṇṭha and Bhavabhūti, but it is not clear that Bhartṛmeṇṭha must be assumed to have dramatized the work, and the little we know of this obscure person merely shows that he wrote an epic, theHayagrīvavadha, while his date is involved in the problems of Vikramāditya and Mātṛgupta.32[Contents]5.The Dramas of RājaçekharaTheBālarāmāyaṇa33is a Mahānāṭaka, that is one in ten acts, and the author, to add to the horror of the length, has expanded the prologue to almost the dimensions of an act, celebrating his non-existent merits, and has expanded each act to almost the dimensions of a Nāṭikā. The whole has 741 stanzas, and of these no less than 203 are in the 19-syllableÇārdūlavikrīḍitaand 89 in the Sragdharā, which has two more syllables in each pada or 84 in a stanza. The play has a certain novelty, because[233]the author has made the love of Rāvaṇa the dominating feature. He appears in person in the first act, but declines to test himself by drawing Çiva’s bow, and departs, menacing evil to any husband of Sītā. In Act II he seeks the aid of Paraçurāma, but is insulted instead, and a battle barely prevented by intervention of friends. In Act III the marriage of Sītā is enacted before him to distract his amorous sorrow, but the attempt is as little a success as it deserved to be; he interrupts, and finally the scene has to be broken off. In Act IV the duel of Rāma and Paraçurāma is disposed of, but in Act V we find another ludicrous effort to amuse Rāvaṇa; dolls with parrots in their mouths are presented to him as Sītā and his foster sister; he is deceived until he finds that his grasp is on wood; distracted, he demands his beloved from nature, the seasons, the streams, and the birds, as does Purūravas in theVikramorvaçī. The arrival of Çūrpaṇakhā, his sister, who has suffered severely from her attack on Rāma, brings him to a condition of more manly rage. A tedious Act then carries matters down to the death of the sorrowing Daçaratha. In Act VII the problem of inducing the ocean to accept the burden of the bridge is solved; Dadhittha and Kapittha, two monkeys, describe at length its construction to Rāma. A momentary terror is caused by a stratagem of Mālyavant; the severed head of Sītā seems to be flung on the shore, but it speaks and reveals the fraud; it is the head of the speaking doll. In Act VIII we have Rāvaṇa’s impressions as disaster after disaster is announced; he sends out Kumbhakarṇa, but sees even him helpless, despite his magic weapons, before Rāma. In Act IX Indra himself describes the last desperate duel of Rāma and Rāvaṇa. In Act X the party of Rāma makes the usual aerial tour of India, including the world of the moon, and ending with the inevitable consecration.TheBālabhārata34is mercifully unfinished; it covers the marriage of Draupadī, and the gambling scene with the ill usage of Draupadī. The other two plays are really Nāṭikās, but the first, theKarpūramañjarī35is classed by the theory as a Saṭṭaka, simply because it is in Prākrit, none of the characters[234]speaking Sanskrit. It is the old story; here the king is Caṇḍapāla, possibly a compliment to Mahendrapāla, and his beloved the Kuntala princess, Karpūramañjarī, who is really a cousin of the queen. In Act I a magician, Bhairavānanda, displays the damsel to the king and queen; the apparition tells her tale, and the queen decides to add her to the number of her attendants. The king and the maiden fall at once in love. In Act II a letter from the maiden avows her passion, and the Vidūṣaka and her friend Vicakṣaṇā arrange to let the king see her swinging and also producing by her touch the blossoming of the Açoka. Between the Acts we must assume that the queen has found out the love, and has confined the maiden, while the king has secured the making of a subterranean passage giving access to her prison. In Act III by this means the princess and the king enjoy a flirtation in the garden, when the queen discovers them. In Act IV we find that the end of the passage giving on the garden has been blocked, but another passage has been made to the sanctuary of Cāmuṇḍā, the entrance concealed behind the statue. Thus the prisoner can play a game of hide-and-seek with the queen, and this enables her to carry out a clever ruse invented by the magician to secure the queen’s blessing for the wedding. The queen is induced to demand that the king shall marry a princess of Lāṭa who will secure him imperial rank. She is still at her home, but the magician will fetch her to the place. The wedding goes on merrily, but the princess is no other than Karpūramañjarī, and the queen has unwittingly accomplished the lovers’ desires.The same motif is repeated in theViddhaçālabhañjikā,36which is a regular Nāṭikā. Act I tells us that Candravarman of Lāṭa, vassal of Vidyādharamalla, has sent to the court of his overlord his daughter Mṛgān̄kāvalī in the guise of his son and heir. The king, Vidyādharamalla, recounts a dream in the truthful hours of the morning, in which a beautiful maid had cast a collar of pearls round his neck; he is haunted by her, and next finds her in sculptured form (çālabhañjikā) in the picture gallery. He has a further glimpse of her in the flesh but no more, before the heralds announce midday. In Act II we learn that the queen proposes to marry Kuvalayamālā of Kuntala to the pretended[235]boy, while the Vidūṣaka has been promised by her foster-sister, Mekhalā, marriage with a lady of the seductive name of Ambaramālā, Air Garland. Imagine his disgust when she turns out to be a mere slave; the king has to calm him, and together they watch in hiding Mṛgān̄kāvalī playing in the garden, and hear her reading a letter of love. The heralds proclaim the evening hour. In Act III we are told that the dream of the king was reality, devised by Bhāgurāyaṇa, his minister, who knew that the husband of the heroine would attain imperial rule. The Vidūṣaka punishes Mekhalā’s ruse by another; he bids a woman hide herself and call out a warning to Mekhalā of evil to befall her unless she crawl between a Brahmin’s limbs. The queen begs the Vidūṣaka to permit this ceremony, and, it over, he avows the plot to the great indignation of the queen. The Vidūṣaka and the king then have an interview with the heroine. In Act IV we learn of a plot of the queen to punish the king. She induces him to agree to marry the sister of the pretended boy, meaning that he should find that he has married a boy. The king agrees; the marriage is completed; news comes from Candravarman that a son is born, begging the queen to dispose in marriage of his daughter, who may resume her sex. The queen, tricked and deceived, makes the best of her situation; with dignity and hauteur she bestows on her husband both Mṛgān̄kāvalī and Kuvalayamālā, while news is brought that the last rebels are subdued and the king’s suzerainty is recognized everywhere.There can be no doubt of the demerits of Rājaçekhara’s works; he is devoid of the power to create a character: Vidyādharamalla is stiff and uninteresting beside his model, the gay and gallant Vatsa; the queen is without the love or the majesty of Vāsavadattā; Bhāgurāyaṇa is a feeble Yaugandharāyaṇa, whose magician is borrowed in theKarpūramañjarīand spoiled in the borrowing. The heroines are without merit; the Vidūṣaka in theKarpūramañjarīis tedious, but Cārāyaṇa in theViddhaçālabhañjikāhas merits; he has plenty of sound common sense, though he is simple and capable of being taken in by others. The intrigue in both Nāṭikās is poorly managed; the confusion of exits and entrances in theKarpūramañjarīis difficult to follow and probably more difficult to act, while in theViddhaçālabhañjikāthe queen is induced to arrange a marriage out of a[236]puerile incident affecting the Vidūṣaka only. The taste of giving two brides to the king at once is deplorable, as is the failure to explain why the king accepts the suggested marriage when ignorant of its true import.In all his dramas, however, Rājaçekhara is merely concerned with exercises in style. The themes he frankly tells us in the prologue to theKarpūramañjarīare the same; the question is the expression, and the language is indifferent; therefore Prākrit being smooth, while Sanskrit is harsh, the language of women as opposed to men, can be used as a medium of style by one who boasts himself an expert in every kind of language. We have, therefore, elaborate descriptions in equally elaborate verses, of the dawn, midday, sunset, the pleasures of the harem, the game of ball, the swing, a favourite enjoyment of the Indian maidens, and in the Nāṭakas picturesad nauseamof battles with magic weapons, and appalling mythical geography and topography. His allusions to local practices and customs may be interesting to the antiquarian, but are not poetical. More praiseworthy is his real accomplishment in metres, especially the Çārdūlavikrīḍita, his facility in which Kṣemendra justly praises, the Vasantatilaka, Çloka, and Sragdharā. His ability to handle elaborate Prākrit metres is undeniable; in 144 stanzas in theKarpūramañjarīhe has 17 varieties. If poetry consisted merely of harmonious sound, he must be ranked high as a poet. He is fond of proverbs:varaṁ takkālovaṇadā tittirī ṇa uṇa diahantaridā morī, which gives our ‘A bird in hand is worth two in the bush’; he introduces freely words from vernaculars, including Marāthī. But, despite his parade of learning, he cannot distinguish accurately Çaurasenī and Māhārāṣṭrī in his drama; in the former we find such forms aslaṭṭhiforyaṣṭi,ammiin the locative andhiṁtoin the ablative singular ofa-stems, andesafor the pronoun. Important as he is lexicographically for both Sanskrit and Prākrit, it is undeniable that both were utterly dead languages for him, which he had laboriously learned. Forms likeḍhillaequivalent toçithilain theKarpūramañjarīshow how far the vernaculars had advanced beyond the Prākrits of the drama.It would, however, be quite unjust to deny to Rājaçekhara the power of effective expression; like all the later dramatists he is capable of producing elegant and attractive verses, which are[237]largely spoiled in their context by their being embedded in masses of tasteless matter. Thus the benediction of theViddhaçālabhañjikāis decidedly graceful:kulagurur abalānāṁ kelidīkṣāpradāneparamasuhṛd anan̄go rohiṇīvallabhasyaapi kusumapṛṣatkair devadevasya jetājayati suratalīlānāṭikāsūtradhāraḥ.‘Family preceptor of young maidens for the bestowal of the sacrament of love, the bodyless one, dearest friend of Rohiṇī’s lover, he that with his flower arrows overthrew the god of gods, he is victorious ever, the director of the comedy of the play of love’s mysteries.’The description of summer is also pretty if banal:rajaniviramayāmeṣv ādiçantī ratecchāmkim api kaṭhinayantī nārikelīphalāmbhaḥapi pariṇamayitrī rājarambhāphalānāmdinapariṇatiramyā vartate grīṣmalakṣmīḥ.‘This is the glorious season of summer, delightful in the length of the days, when the royal plantain fruits are ripened, and the milk in the coco-nut is hardened, and the season bids us enjoy the delight of love in the closing watches of the night.’The signs of a maiden distracted by unfulfilled affection are quaintly described:candraṁ candanakardamena likhitaṁ sā mārṣṭi daṣṭādharābandhyaṁ nindati yac ca manmatham asau bhan̄ktvāgrahastān̄gurīḥkāmaḥ puṣpaçaraḥ kileti sumanovargaṁ lunīte ca yattat kāmyā subhaga tvayā varatanur vātūlatāṁ lambhitā.‘Biting her lip, she wipes out the figure of the moon sketched in sandal paste; snapping her finger-tips she mocks at love as barren; to flout his darts, the flowers she gathers she tears in shreds; assuredly the fair one whom thou shouldst love hath been brought by thee to madness.’antastāraṁ taralitatalāḥ stokam utpīḍabhājaḥpakṣmāgreṣu grathitapṛṣataḥ kīrṇadhārāḥ krameṇacittātan̄kaṁ nijagarimataḥ samyag āsūtrayantoniryānty asyāḥ kuvalayadṛço bāṣpavārām pravāhāḥ.‘Rippled on the surface of the pupil, slightly foaming, forming drops on the tips of the lashes, then slowly issuing in streams,[238]betokening by their weight her heart’s sorrow, there pour forth from the lotus-eyed one the floods of her tears.’Of all the plays theKarpūramañjarīis undoubtedly that which contains the most substantial evidence that Rājaçekhara had some real poetic talent, despite the banality and stupidity of his conception of love in Act III. The swing scene contains really effective lines of word-painting, in harmonious metre:37vicchaanto ṇaararamaṇīmaṇḍalassāṇaṇāiṁviccholanto gaaṇakuharaṁ kantijoṇhājaleṇapecchantīṇaṁ hiaaṇihiaṁ ṇiddalanto a dappaṁdolālīlāsaralataralo dīsae se muhendū.‘Paling the face of every beauty here, making the sky’s vault to ripple with the liquid moonlight of her loveliness, and breaking the haughty pride in the hearts of maids that regard her, appeareth the moon-like orb of her face as she moveth straight to and fro in her sport on the swing.’ The effective alliteration and paronomasia of this stanza are surpassed by the metrical perfection of the next but one, where the Pṛthvī metre, with ‘its jingling tribrachs and bell-like, chiming cretics’, is employed in a stanza which admirably conveys by its sound the sense at which it aims:raṇantamaṇiṇeuraṁ jhaṇajhaṇantahāracchaḍaṁkaṇakkaṇiakin̄kiṇīmuhalamehalāḍambaraṁvilolavalaāvalījaṇiamañjusiñjāravaṁṇa kassa maṇomohaṇaṁ sasimuhīa hindolaṇaṁ.‘With the tinkling jewelled anklets,       With the sound of lovely jinglesWith the flashing jewelled necklace,       From the rows of rolling bangles,With the show of girdles garrulous       Pray whose heart is not bewilderedFrom their ringing, ringing bells       While the moon-faced maiden swings?’Excellent also is the king’s address38to the Açoka when made to blossom by the touch of the foot of his young beloved, but more characteristic in his comment,39inspired by the Vidūṣaka’s[239]ungallant comparison of the fresh beauty of the maiden with thepasséecomeliness of his queen:bālāu honti kuūhaleṇa emeya cavalacittāodaralasiathaṇīsu puṇo ṇivasai maaraddhaarahassaṁ.‘Though maidens in their young zest for life are fickle of faith, yet it is with them—their breasts just budding—that the mystery of the dolphin-bannered doth abide.’For technique Rājaçekhara is of interest, because he uses in theKarpūramañjarīthe old form of prologue quite openly, with the Nāndī recited doubtless by the Sūtradhāra, followed by the advent of the Sthāpaka who recites two verses. It is noteworthy that the manuscripts often alter the Sthāpaka to the Sūtradhāra despite the clear sense of the text. The latePārvatīpariṇayalikewise has a Nāndī before the Sūtradhāra speaks a verse. It is probable that the older technique long persisted in the south.Rājaçekhara’s indebtedness to his predecessors is wholesale; the influence of Kālidāsa, Harṣa, and Bhavabhūti is obvious, and it is probably an indication of his contemporaneity with, or slight posteriority to, Murāri that he does not seem to have known his writings. Influence of the vernacular or of Prākrit is to be seen in his occasional use of rhyme, such as is found in the laterGītagovindaor theMohamudgara.[Contents]6.Bhīmaṭa and KṣemīçvaraA verse attributed to Rājaçekhara mentions the five dramas of Bhīmaṭa, of which theSvapnadaçānanawon him chief fame. He is described as a Kaliñjarapati, whence the suggestion has been made that he was a connection of the Candella king Harṣa of Jejākabhukti, who, we know, was a contemporary of Mahīpāla of Kanyakubja, patron of Rājaçekhara, but we have no ground for positive assertion.40The case is different with Kṣemīçvara, who in hisCaṇḍakauçikawrote for Mahīpāla, doubtless the king of Kanyakubja, patron of Rājaçekhara. Kṣemīçvara asserts his patron’s victory over the Karṇāṭas, which was doubtless the view taken in royal circles of the contest against the Rāṣṭrakūṭa Indra III, who for his part claims victory over Mahodaya, or Kanyakubja.40A[240]variant of the name is Kṣemendra, but he is not to be identified with the Kashmirian poet of that name. His great-grandfather was called Vijayakoṣṭha or Vijayaprakoṣṭha, who is designated as both Ārya and Ācārya, and was, therefore, a learned man of some sort.Kṣemīçvara has left two dramas. TheNaiṣadhānanda41in seven acts deals with the legend of Nala, famous in the epic and later. TheCaṇḍakauçika42reveals the stupid story of Hariçcandra, who, seeing as he thought the sacrifice of a damsel on the fire rebukes the Kauçika Viçvāmitra, and in return for his gallant action is cursed by the irascible sage, who was merely bringing the sciences under his control. He secures pardon by the surrender of the earth and a thousand gold pieces; to secure the latter he sells wife and child to a Brahmin, and himself to a Caṇḍāla as a cemetery keeper. One day his wife brings the dead body of their child, but it turns out merely to be a trial of his character; his son is alive and is crowned king. The plot is as poor as the execution of the piece. He shows in metre a special fondness for the Çikhariṇī, which occurs 20 times, nearly as often as the Çārdūlavikrīḍita (23), while the Vasantatilaka appears 27 times and the Çloka 36. His Prākrits, Çaurasenī and a fewMāhārāṣṭrīstanzas, are artificial.The compilers of anthologies make little of Kṣemīçvara, with sufficient reason, for his verses do not rise above mediocrity. The second stanza of the three-verse benediction in theNaiṣadhānandais on a common theme, but not unhappily expressed; it follows a verse in honour of Puruṣottama and Çrī, with the usual impartiality of this period:asthi hy asthi phaṇī phaṇī kim aparam bhasma bhasmaiva taccarmaiva carma kiṁ tava jitaṁ yenaivam uttāmyasinaitāṁ dhūrta paṇīkaroṣi satatam mūrdhni sthitāṁ Jāhnavīmity evaṁ Çivayā sanarmagadito dyūte Haraḥ pātu vaḥ.‘A skull is but a skull, a serpent a serpent; what more? The ashes and the skin also which thou dost wear are but ashes and skin. What of thine hast thou lost that thus thou art outworn? Ah, rogue, it is that thou wilt not stake Jahnu’s daughter that[241]rests ever on thy crest. May Hara guard you, Hara to whom Çivā once spake playfully when they diced.’This amusing play on the unwillingness of Çiva to prolong the dicing after he has unsuccessfully staked his necklace of skulls and serpents, and his clothing of ashes and hide, is followed by a wearisome eulogy of the glances of the god in the Tāṇḍava dance, alluding to the great moments in his history. Similar bad taste is shown in the curious and unusual form of the last verse of the drama:yenādiçya prayogaṁ ghanapulakabhṛtā nāṭakasyāsya harṣādvastrālaṁkārahemnām pratidinam akṛçā rāçayaḥ sampradattāḥtasya kṣattraprasūter bhramatu jagad idaṁ Kārttikeyasya kīrtiḥpāre kṣīrāmbhusindho ravikaviyaçasā sārdham agresarena.‘Through all the universe beyond the ocean of milk, heralded by the fame of his bard, the sun, may the fame wander of that scion of heroism, that god of war, who bade this drama be performed and who in keen delight at the pleasure he found in it gave daily to the poet abundant store of raiment, jewels and gold.’ Such a mode of immortalizing himself, and his patron can hardly be regarded as precisely dignified, and it certainly is not in harmony with the traditions of the drama.[242]1See Aufrecht, ZDMG. xxxvi. 521.↑2v. 36; Lévi, TI. ii. 87. The citations are mainly from hisKapphiṇābhyudaya; Thomas,Kavīndravacanasamuccaya, p. 111.↑3Pischel, ZDMG. xxxix. 315; Hultzsch, GN. 1886, pp. 224 ff.↑4Bhattanatha Svamin, IA. xli. 139 f.; Bhandarkar,Report(1897), pp. xi, xviii; Peterson,Report, ii. 59. The name is variously given as Māyūrāja.↑5Subhāṣitāvali, 1766.↑6Ibid., 1366.↑7Ibid., 1364.↑8Ibid., 1634.↑9i. 42; SD. 390; N. xix. 94; Lévi, TI. ii. 9.↑10DR. ii. 54 comm.↑11DR. iv. 26 comm.↑12DR. i. 41 comm.↑13DR. iii. 13 comm.↑14DR. iii. 17 comm.↑15DR. iii. 12 comm.↑16DR. iii. 38 comm.; SD. 512.↑17DR. iii. 56 f. comm.; SD. 516.↑18vi. 30/31 is cited in i. 6/7.↑19xxxviii. 68. For his date cf. Bühler,Kashmir Report, p. 42. See Bhattanatha Svamin, IA. xli. 141; Lévi, TI. i. 277.↑20ID. p. 83. Dhanika (DR. ii. 1) cites, anonymously as usual, iii. 21.↑21xxv. 74.↑22ZDMG. lxxv. 63.↑23ii. 34, as compared with vii. 83.↑24Ed. KM. 1894; cf. Baumgartner,Das Râmâyaṇa, pp. 125 ff.↑25v. 6.↑26vii. 87.↑27vii. 82.↑28vii. 107.↑29vii. 90.↑30Ed. p. 1, note.↑31Konow,Karpūramañjarī, pp. 177 ff.; Hultzsch, IA. xxxiv. 177 ff.; V. S. Apte,Rājaçekhara, Poona, 1886. Of special virtue is hisKāvyamīmāṅsāon rhetoric, which is better than his dramas.↑32Winternitz, GIL. iii. 47; Lévi, TI. i. 183 f.↑33Ed. Calcutta, 1884.↑34Ed. C. Cappeller, Strassburg, 1885; Weber, IS. xviii. 481 ff.↑35Ed. S. Konow, trs. C. R. Lanman, HOS. iv. 1901; J. Charpentier,Monde oriental, ii. 226 ff.↑36Ed. Poona, 1886; trs. L. H. Gray, JAOS. xxvii. 1 ff.↑37ii. 30. The translation of this and the next verse is taken from Lanman’s version.↑38ii. 47.↑39ii. 49.↑40Konow, ID. p. 87; Peterson,Reports, ii. 63; Bhandarkar,Report(1897), p. xi.↑ab41Peterson,Reports, iii. 340 f.↑42Ed. Calcutta, 1884; trs. L. Fritze, Leipzig, 1883. On the same theme is Rāmacandra’sSatyahariçcandra(twelfth cent.); see Keith, JRAS. 1914, pp. 1104 f.↑

[Contents]XMURĀRI, RĀJAÇEKHARA, THEIR PREDECESSORS AND SUCCESSORS[Contents]1.The Predecessors of MurāriWe know definitely of very few dramatists of the eighth and ninth centuries. Kalhaṇa1mentions expressly Yaçovarman of Kanyakubja as a patron of literature, who, as we have seen, patronized Bhavabhūti and Vākpati, and we learn of his dramaRāmābhyudaya, which is mentioned by Ānandavardhana in theDhvanyāloka, by Dhanika and Viçvanātha, but has not yet been found. To Kalhaṇa2also we are indebted for knowledge of the period of Çivasvāmin, who lived under Avantivarman of Kashmir (A.D.855–83) and was a contemporary of the poet Ratnākara. He wrote many Nāṭakas and Nāṭikās, and also Prakaraṇas, but save an occasional verse in the anthologies his fame is lost.Anan̄gaharṣa Mātrarāja,3on the other hand, is known to Ānandavardhana and Abhinavagupta, and his playTāpasavatsarājacaritais a variation on the theme of the ruse of Yaugandharāyaṇa to secure the marriage of Vatsa and Padmāvatī, in face of the deep love of the king for Vāsavadattā. Vatsa in this drama, which is of little poetic or dramatic value, becomes an ascetic on learning of his queen’s supposed fate, whence the title of the play. Padmāvatī, who had become enamoured of the king from a portrait sent by the minister, follows suit. Eventually Vāsavadattā and Vatsa are united in Prayāga when each is about to commit suicide in sorrow at separation, and the usual victory is reported by Rumaṇvant to give a happy ending.[221]There seems little doubt that the author used theRatnāvalī, which gives the upper limit of his date. His father’s name is givenasNarendravardhana.Māyurājā4has been less fortunate in that hisUdāttarāghavais known only by reference. Rājaçekhara represents him as a Karaculi or Kulicuri, which suggests the possibility that he was a king of the Kalacuri dynasty, of which unhappily we know little during the period in which he is probably to be set. He seems to have known Bhavabhūti. Like him he eliminated treachery from the slaying of Vālin by Rāma, and he represents Lakṣmaṇa as first to follow the magic gazelle, and Rāma as going later in pursuit. He is cited more than once in Dhanika’s commentary on theDaçarūpa.No other dramatist of this period is known with any certainty; thePārvatīpariṇayaonce ascribed to Bāṇa is now allotted to Vāmana Bhaṭṭa Bāṇa (c.A.D.1400), and theMallikāmāruta, wrongly thought to be Daṇḍin’s, is the work of one Uddaṇḍin of the seventeenth century.Of these dramatists Yaçovarman has had the honour of being considered worthy of quotation by the writers on theory who have preserved for us some interesting verses:5ākrandāḥ stanitair vilocanajalāny açrāntadhārāmbhubhistvadvicchedabhuvaç ca çokaçikhinas tulyās taḍidvibhramaiḥantar me dayitāmukhaṁ tava çaçī vṛttiḥ samāpy āvayoḥtat kim mām aniçaṁ sakhe jaladhara dagdhum evodyataḥ.‘My moans are like thy thunder, the floods of my tears thy ever-streaming showers, the flame of my sorrow at severance from my beloved thy flickering lightning, in my mind is her face reflected, in thee the moon; like is our condition; why then, O friend, O cloud, dost thou ever seek to consume me with the burning pangs of love?’This is decidedly pretty, and there is elegance and beauty in another verse:6yat tvannetrasamānakānti salile magnaṁ tad indīvarammeghair antaritaḥ priye tava mukhacchāyānukāraḥ çaçīye ’pi tvadgamanānukāragatayas te rājahaṅsā gatāstvatsādṛçyavinodamātram api me daivena na kṣamyate.[222]‘The blue lotus which rivalled thine eyes in beauty is now sunk in the lake; the moon which imitated the fairness of thy face, beloved, is hidden by the clouds; the royal swans which aped thy lovely gait are departed; cruel fate will not grant me even the consolation of thy similitude.’This verse is appropriated by theMahānāṭaka, and so is the following,7which deals elegantly enough with the commonplace contrast between the sad lover and the Açoka tree, whose name is interpreted as ‘sorrowless’, and which flowers, as the poets never weary in telling us, when touched by the foot of a fair lady,especially one young:raktas tvaṁ navapallavair aham api çlāghyaiḥ priyāyā guṇaistvām āyānti çilīmukhāḥ smaradhanurmuktāḥ sakhe mām apikāntapādatalāhatis tava mude tad api mamāvayoḥsarvaṁ tulyam açoka kevalam ahaṁ dhātrā saçokaḥ kṛtaḥ.‘Thou are proud in thy new shoots, I in the glorious excellences of my beloved; the bees resort to thee, to me the arrows shot from love’s bow; like me thou dost delight in the touch of thy dear one’s foot; all is alike for us both save only that, O tree Sorrowless, the creator hath made me a man of sorrows.’kāmavyādhaçarāhatir na gaṇitā saṁjīvanī tvaṁ smṛtāno dagdho virahānalena jhaṭiti tvatsaṁgamāçāmṛtaiḥnīto ’yaṁ divaso vicitralikhitaiḥ saṁkalparūpair mayākiṁ vānyad dhṛdaye sthitāsi nanu me tatra svayaṁ sākṣiṇī.8‘I have not recked of the wound given by love, the hunter, for the memory of thee hath been my elixir; the fire of separation hath not consumed me straightway because of the nectar of the hope of union with thee; all this day hath been spent by me in limning thy fancied form; nought else have I done, as thou thyself art witness, for dost thou not live in my heart?’ We may regret the loss of a work which contained verses as pretty as these, even on the outworn topic of Rāma and Sītā.It might be interesting to know whether Yaçovarman was successful in introducing any new element into the established plot. The play is cited in the commentary on theDaçarūpa9to illustrate the device called deception or humiliation (chalana) and the parallel cited is that of the treatment of Vāsavadattā in the[223]Ratnāvalī. The definitions of the theory leave this idea far from clear; Viçvanātha seems to treat it as the bearing of insult for the sake of the end to be reached, and the allusion in the case of Sītā may be to her abandonment by Rāma as an act of duty.A much less favourable impression is left by the few fragments of theUdāttarāghavawhich are preserved. The poet seems to have affected the horrible, as two of his few stanzas deal with it; the better is:10jīyante jayino ’pi sāndratimiravrātair viyadvyāpibhirbhāsvantaḥ sakalā raver api rucaḥ kasmād akasmād amīetāç cograkabandharandhrarudhirair ādhmāyamānodarāmuñcanty ānanakandarānalamucas tīvrā ravāḥ pheravāḥ.‘The victors are vanquished; thick darkness invades the sky and triumphs over the brilliant rays of the sun; why this inexplicable event? Why do these jackals, whose bellies are swollen with the blood sucked from the wounds of bleeding corpses, and whose gaping jaws belch flame, utter these piercing cries?’A somewhat flat passage illustrates the conflict of thought in Rāma’s mind when appealed to by Citramāya on the score that Lakṣmaṇa is in danger from a Rākṣasa:11vatsasyābhayavāridheḥ pratibhayam manye kathaṁ rākṣasāttrastaç caiṣa munir virauti manasaç cāsty eva me sambhramaḥmā hāsīr Janakātmajām iti muhuḥ snehād gurur yācatena sthātuṁ na ca gantum ākulamater mūḍhasya me niçcayaḥ.‘The boy is an ocean of valour; how can I fear danger for him from a Rākṣasa? Yet the sage here is terrified and calls for aid, and my own mind is confused; my master too in his affection ever begs me not to leave Janaka’s daughter alone; my heart is troubled, and in my confusion I cannot resolve either to go or to stay.’Another Rāma drama, theChalitarāma, is also referred to by Dhanika in his comment on theDaçarūpa; it may belong to this period, or fall somewhat later; we have from it a picture of the leading captive of Lava:12yenāvṛtya mukhāni sāma paṭhatām atyantam āyāsitambālye yena hṛtākṣasūtravalayapratyarpaṇaiḥ krīḍitamyuṣmākaṁ hṛdayaṁ sa eṣa viçikhair āpūritāṅsasthalomūrchāghoratamaspraveçavivaço baddhvā Lavo nīyate.[224]‘He who caused such trouble to the Sāman reciters turning to look at him in his childish play, who amused himself by stealing and giving back strings of beads and bracelets, he, your heart’s joy, his shoulder pierced by arrows, powerless through entry into the dread darkness of fainting, is being led away bound, even Lava.’Another stanza refers to Bharata; Rāma returning to Ayodhyā in the celestial chariot declines thus to enter the town, since it is not his, but under the rule of Bharata; scarcely has he descended when he sees before him his brother:13ko ’pi siṅhāsanasyādhaḥ sthitaḥ pādukayoḥ puraḥjaṭāvān akṣamālī ca cāmarī ca virājate.‘There stands some one, below the lion throne, before a pair of sandals, wearing his hair long, bearing a rosary, resplendent beneath the chowrie.’The same play14contains an amusing slip by Sītā where she bids her boys go to Ayodhyā and tender their respects to the king. Lava naturally replies by asking why they should become members of the king’s entourage, and Sītā answers because the king is their father, a slip which she explains away as well as she can by saying that the king is father of the whole earth.Yet another drama of which we know nothing else is revealed to us by Dhanika, thePāṇḍavānanda, from which is cited a stanza interesting in its series of questions and answers, a literary form of which the dramatists are fond:15kā çlāghyā guṇināṁ kṣamā paribhavaḥ ko yaḥ svakulyaiḥ kṛtaḥkiṁ duḥkhaṁ parasaṁçrayo jagati kaḥ çlāghyo ya āçrīyateko mṛtyur vyasanaṁ çucaṁ jahati ke yair nirjitāḥ çatravaḥkair vijñātam idaṁ Virāṭanagare channasthitaiḥ Pāṇḍavaiḥ.‘For the good what is there praiseworthy? Patience. What is disgrace? That which is wrought by those of one’s own blood. What is misery? Recourse to another’s protection. Who in the world is enviable? He to whom one resorts for aid. What is death? Misfortune. Who escape sorrow? Those who conquer their foes. Who learned this lesson? The Pāṇḍavas when they dwelt in concealment in the city of Virāṭa.’We learn also from Dhanika of two further dramas, of unknown[225]authorship and date; they are mentioned16as illustrating the two kinds of Prakaraṇa as a dramatic form, the basis of distinction being whether the heroine is the wife of the hero and therefore a lady of good family or whether she is a courtesan. Of the latter class we have an example in theTaran̄gadatta, and of the former in thePuṣpadūṣitaka; the latter name occurs in the slightly altered form of Puṣpabhūṣita in theSāhityadarpaṇa. As an example of the Samavakāra theDaçarūpa17mentions theSamudramanthana, a title doubtless as well as the description of the drama in question.[Contents]2.MurāriMurāri tells us that he was the son of Çrīvardhamānaka of the Maudgalya Gotra and of Tantumatī; he claims to be a Mahākavi, and arrogates the style of Bāla-Vālmīki. His date is uncertain; he is certainly later than Bhavabhūti since he cites from theUttararāmacarita,18while we have evidence from the anthologies that he was reckoned by some as superior to Bhavabhūti, apparently his predecessor. A further suggestion as to date may be derived from the Kashmirian poet Ratnākara,19who in hisHaravijayamakes a clear reference to Murāri as a dramatist, for the effort of Bhattanatha Svamin to disprove the reference must be deemed completely unsuccessful. As Ratnākara belongs to the middle of the ninth centuryA.D., this gives us that period as the latest date for Murāri. Curiously enough, Professor Konow,20who accepts the disproof of the reference to Murāri in Ratnākara, admits that the reference to Murāri in Man̄kha’sÇrīkaṇṭhacarita21(c.A.D.1135) suggests that he was regarded by that author as earlier than Rājaçekhara, a fact which accords excellently with his priority to Ratnākara, and is far more important than the fact that he is not cited by the authors on theory of the eleventh centuryA.D.A further effort to place him late is that of Dr. Hultzsch,22who infers from verse 3 of theKaumudīmitrāṇandaof Rāmacandra, pupil of Hemacandra, that that[226]dramatist was a contemporary of Murāri. But the evidence is clearly inadequate; the words used are perfectly compatible with the fact that Murāri was dead, and there are grave chronological difficulties in the way of the theory. It is practically impossible that a contemporary of Rāmacandra could have been cited by Man̄kha at the date of theÇrīkaṇṭhacarita. Moreover Murāri seems to have been imitated by Jayadeva in thePrasannarāghava.23Of his place of activity we know nothing definite. He mentions, however, Māhiṣmatī as the seat of the Kalacuris, and it has been suggested that this indicates that he lived under the patronage of a prince of that dynasty at Māhiṣmatī, now Māndhātā on the Narmadā.[Contents]3.The AnargharāghavaMurāri declares in the prologue to the solitary drama, theAnargharāghava24which has come down to us, though quotations show that he wrote other works, that his aim is to please a public tired of terror, horror, violence, and marvels, by a composition elevated, heroic, and marvellous throughout, not merely at the close. He defends his choice of the banal subject of Rāma; his character adds elevation and charm to the poet’s work, and it would be folly to lay aside so splendid a theme. TheAnargharāghava, however, does little to justify the poet’s confidence in his choice of topic. The theme, treated already at length by Bhavabhūti, offered no chance of success save for a great poet, and Murāri was not such a poet save in the estimate of occasional later writers who extol his depth (gambhīratā) without any shadow of justification.Act I shows us Daçaratha in conversation with Vāmadeva. The arrival of the sage Viçvāmitra is announced; he exchanges with the king hyperbolic compliments of the most tedious type, but proceeds to business by demanding the aid of Rāma against the Rākṣasas which are troubling his hermitage. The king hesitates to send one so young and dear into danger. The sage insists on his obeying the call of duty, and he hands over Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa to the care of the ascetic. The herald announces[227]midday, and the king mourns the loss of his son. In Act II we have first a long-drawn-out conversation between Çunaḥçepha and Paçumeḍhra, two pupils of Viçvāmitra, which serves to enlighten us on the history of Vālin, Rāvaṇa, the Rākṣasas, Jāmbavant, Hanumant, and Tāḍakā. The entr’acte is followed by the appearance of Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa who describe the hermitage and the doings of its occupants, and then the heat of midday. Time, however, does not trouble the dramatist; though there is no further action and no interruption in the dialogue, we find ourselves transported to the evening; Viçvāmitra enters and describes in converse with the boys the sunset. A cry behind the scene announces the approach of the demoness Tāḍakā; Rāma hesitates to slay a female, but finally departs for the necessary duty; on his return he has to describe the rising of the moon. Viçvāmitra then suggests a visit to Janaka of Mithilā, affording an opportunity for a description of the city and its ruler.In Act II only do we reach the motif which Bhavabhūti with far greater skill made the leading idea of the drama, thus giving it effective unity, so far as the story permits. The chamberlain of Janaka in conversation with Kalahaṅsikā, one of Sītā’s suite, lets us know that the princess is now ripe for marriage, and Rāvaṇa seeks her hand. In the scene that follows the king accompanied by Çatānanda receives Rāma, but hesitates to put him to the severe test involved in bending Çiva’s bow. Çauṣkala, Rāvaṇa’s envoy, arrives to demand the maiden’s hand, but indignantly declines the request that his master should bend the bow. He eulogizes Rāvaṇa whom Rāma depreciates. Rāma is at last allowed to make the trial; those who remain on the stage describe his wonderful deed in breaking the bow. He is promised Sītā’s hand, while the other sons of Daçaratha are also awarded consorts. Çauṣkala departs, menacing revenge. Act IV shows us Rāvaṇa’s minister Mālyavant lamenting the failure of his scheme to win Sītā. Çūrpaṇakhā arrives from Videha and tells of the union of Rāma and Sītā. Mālyavant recognizes that Rāvaṇa will insist on seeking to separate the pair, and he counsels Çūrpaṇakhā to assume the disguise of Mantharā, the maid of Kaikeyī, with the view of securing the banishment of Rāma to the forest, where he will be more vulnerable to attack.[228]He is also cheered by the news given by Çūrpaṇakhā of the approach of Paraçurāma to Mithilā, whence some gain may accrue to his cause. The following scene shows us Rāma and Paraçurāma in verbal contest; Rāma is even more polite than in theMahāvīracaritawhich is obviously imitated, while the friends of Rāma carry on a vituperative dialogue behind the scene without actually appearing. Finally they resolve to fight, for Rāma has annoyed his rival by reminding him that the flag of his fame won by his destruction of the Kṣatriyas is worn out and challenging him to mount a new one. The fight itself takes place off the stage; Sītā, we learn from a voice behind the scenes, is apprehensive lest Rāma be drawing again his bow to win another maiden. The rivals then appear on excellent terms; Paraçurāma exchanges farewells with his former interlocutors and disappears. Then enter Janaka and Daçaratha. The latter is determined to resign his kingdom to Rāma, but Lakṣmaṇa enters introducing Mantharā who bears a fatal missive from Kaikeyī, bidding the king grant the two boons of the banishment of Rāma and the coronation of Bharata. The kings faint; Rāma sends Lakṣmaṇa to tell Sītā, and commends his father to Janaka.In Act V a conversation between Jāmbavant and an ascetic lady, Çravaṇā, tells of the doings of Rāma until his advent in the forest. Çravaṇā goes to Sugrīva to bespeak a kindly welcome for the wayfarers, while Jāmbavant overhears a dialogue between Rāvaṇa, disguised as a juggler, and Lakṣmaṇa. The vulture Jaṭāyu then appears with the grave news that he has seen Rāvaṇa and Mārīca in the forest; Jāmbavant goes to warn Sugrīva of the danger, while Jaṭāyu sees the rape of Sītā and pursues the ravisher. After this entr’acte Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa enter, wandering in grief in vain search. They are interrupted by a cry and see the friendly forest chief, Guha, assailed by the headless Kabandha. Lakṣmaṇa rescues him, but, in doing so, knocks off the tree, on which it was suspended, the skeleton of Dundubhi, to the annoyance of Vālin, who appears, and after a lengthy conversation challenges Rāma to battle. The fight is described from the stage by Lakṣmaṇa and Guha; the enemy is slain. Voices from behind the scenes report the coronation of Sugrīva and his determination to aid Rāma in the recovery of[229]Sītā, and Lakṣmaṇa and his friend leave the stage to rejoin their party. In Act VI Sāraṇa and Çuka, two spies of Rāvaṇa’s describe to Mālyavant the building of the bridge over the ocean and the advent of Rāma’s army. Voices from behind announce the departure of Kumbhakarṇa and Meghanāda for battle; in the same way we learn of their fall and the last exit of Rāvaṇa, whom Mālyavant decides to follow to the field. The final struggle is described with tedious and tasteless prolixity by two Vidyādharas, Ratnacūḍa and Hemān̄gada, and with this the Act closes.In Act VII we have a determined effort to vie with the close of theMahāvīracarita. Rāma, Sītā, Lakṣmaṇa, Vibhīṣaṇa, and Sugrīva proceed in Kubera’s celestial car to Ayodhyā. But the route is diversified from the simplicity of the model, for the travellers are taken to the celestial regions to view in all its aspects the mythical mountain Sumeru and the world of the moon; only then do they commence their journey in its terrestrial aspect by a description of Siṅhala, distinguished as usual from Lan̄kā; the route then passes over the Malaya mountains, the forest, the mountain Prasravaṇa, the Godāvarī, mount Mālyavant, Kuṇḍinīpura in the Mahārāṣṭra country, Kāñcī, Ujjayinī, Māhiṣmatī, the Yamunā, the Ganges, Vārāṇasī, Mithilā and Campā; the car goes then west to Prayāga, and later turns east to Ayodhyā, where the priest Vasiṣṭha waits with Rāma’s brothers to crown him king.The demerits of the poem are obvious; there is no attempt to improve on the traditional narrative, though Vālin is honourably killed; the characters are as stereotyped as ever. The author, however, delights to overload and elaborate the theme; hyperbole marks every idea; his mythological knowledge is adequate to enable him to abound in conceits and plays on words, when he does not sink, as largely in Act III, to mere commonplace. The taste which invents the visit to the world of the moon and Sumeru is as deplorable as that which substitutes the dull dialogue between Jāmbavant and Jaṭāyu for the vigorous conversation of Jaṭāyu and Sampāti in theMahāvīracarita. For dialogue in general Murāri has no taste at all, and what merit his work has lies entirely in the ability which he shows to handle the Sanskrit language and to frame sentences of harmonious[230]sound in effective metrical forms. His knowledge of the lexica is obvious, while his love of the recondite in grammar has won him the fame of being used to illustrate rare forms by the author of theSiddhāntakaumudī. These linguistic merits have secured him the preference shown for him by modern taste. Nor indeed can his power of expression be justly denied:25dṛçyante madhumattakokilavadhūnirdhūtacūtān̄kura—prāgbhāraprasaratparāgasikatādurgās taṭībhūmayaḥyāḥ kṛcchrād atilan̄ghya lubdhakabhayāt tair eva reṇūtkarairdhārāvāhibhir asti luptapadavīniḥçan̄kam eṇīkulam.‘There are seen the towering slopes as of sand where the pollen tilts off from the mango shoots, shaken by the female cuckoos, maddened by the intoxication of spring; scarce can the antelopes in their fear of the hunter leap over them, but the dust which they raise in showers accords them security by concealing the path of their flight.’ The idea is certainly trivial enough, but the expression, which defies reproduction in English, is in its own way a masterpiece of effect.A pretty erotic verse is found in Act VII:26anena rambhoru bhavanmukhena: tuṣārabhānos tulayā dhṛtasyaūnasya nūnam pratipūraṇāya: tārā sphuranti pratimānakhaṇḍāh.‘When the moon is placed in the scales, fair-limbed one, against thy face, assuredly it is found wanting, and to make good the deficit the stars must shine as make-weights.’Not a bad example of more elaborate, yet graceful, eulogy is found in the following stanza:27gotre sākṣād ajani bhagavān eṣa yat padmayoniḥçayyotthāyaṁ yad akhilam ahaḥ prīṇayanti dvirephānekāgrāṁ yad dadhati bhagavaty uṣṇabhānau ca bhaktimtat prāpus te sutanu vadanaupamyam ambhoruhāṇi.‘Since manifestly in their family has been born the blessed one, sprung from the lotus; since all day long they delight the bees as they rise from their bed; since their whole faith they devote to the blessed lord of the sharp rays, thus, O lovely one, the flowers that spring from the water attain the likeness of thy face.’[231]Happy also is another erotic stanza:28abhimukhapatayālubhir lalāṭa—: çramasalilair avadhūtapattralekhaḥkathayati puruṣāyitaṁ vadhūnām: mṛditahimadyutidurmanāḥ kapolaḥ.‘Its painted mark obliterated by the moisture which streams from the wearied brow over the face, the cheek reveals the longing of women, melancholy as the wan moon.’udeṣyatpīyūṣadyutirucikaṇārdrāḥ çaçimaṇi—sthalīnām panthāno ghanacaraṇalākṣālipibhṛtaḥcakorair uḍḍīnair jhaṭiti kṛtaçan̄kāḥ pratipadamparācaḥ saṁcārān avinayavatīnāṁ vivṛṇate.‘Footprints on pavements of moonstone, marked with the lac that dyes deep the feet, wet with drops that have the radiance of rising cream, made with anxiety at every step as the Cakoras fly up disturbed, mark the departure of ladies who violate decorum.’29A further stanza in some manuscripts of the poem occurs in the drama, while elsewhere it seems to be treated as a verse about Murāri:30devīṁ vācam upāsate hi bahavaḥ sāraṁ tu sārasvatamjānīte nitarām asau gurukulakliṣṭo Murāriḥ kaviḥabdhir lan̄ghita eva vānarabhaṭaiḥ kiṁ tv asyā gambhīratāmāpātālanimagnapīvaratanur jānāti manthācalaḥ.‘Many serve the goddess speech, but the essence of eloquence Murāri alone knows to the full, that poet who long toiled in the house of his teacher; even so the monkey host leapt over the ocean, but its depth the Mount of Churning alone knows, for its mighty mass penetrated down even to the realms below.’[Contents]4.The Date of RājaçekharaRājaçekhara, with the usual prolixity of bad poets, is voluble on his personality; he was of a Mahārāṣṭra Kṣatriya family of the Yāyāvaras, who claimed descent from Rāma; son of the minister Durduka or Duhika, and of Çīlavatī; grandson of Akālajalada, and descendant of Surānanda, Tarala, and Kavirāja, all[232]poets of name. He married Avantisundarī of the Cāhamāna family, and was a moderate Çaiva.31In theKarpūramañjarī, probably his first play since it was produced at the request of his wife, and not a king, he refers to himself as the teacher of Nirbhaya or Nirbhara, who was clearly the Pratihāra king, Mahendrapāla of Mahodaya or Kanyakubja, of whom we have records inA.D.893 and 907. TheBālarāmāyaṇawas produced at his request. But he seems then to have visited another court, for theViddhaçālabhañjikāwas produced for the Kalacuri king, Yuvarāja Keyūravarṣa of Tripurī. But, as the unfinishedBālabhāratawas written for Mahīpāla, successor ofMahendrapāla, whose records begin inA.D.914, we may assume that he returned to the court of the Pratihāras and died there. In theBālarāmāyaṇahe speaks of six of his works, not apparently including theViddhaçālabhañjikāand theBālabhārata, and in fact we have many stanzas from him regarding famous authors, though of course the proof of derivation from this Rājaçekara is not always complete.TheBālarāmāyaṇashows to perfection Rājaçekhara’s own estimate of himself. He traces his poetic descent from Vālmīki, through Bhartṛmeṇṭha and Bhavabhūti, but it is not clear that Bhartṛmeṇṭha must be assumed to have dramatized the work, and the little we know of this obscure person merely shows that he wrote an epic, theHayagrīvavadha, while his date is involved in the problems of Vikramāditya and Mātṛgupta.32[Contents]5.The Dramas of RājaçekharaTheBālarāmāyaṇa33is a Mahānāṭaka, that is one in ten acts, and the author, to add to the horror of the length, has expanded the prologue to almost the dimensions of an act, celebrating his non-existent merits, and has expanded each act to almost the dimensions of a Nāṭikā. The whole has 741 stanzas, and of these no less than 203 are in the 19-syllableÇārdūlavikrīḍitaand 89 in the Sragdharā, which has two more syllables in each pada or 84 in a stanza. The play has a certain novelty, because[233]the author has made the love of Rāvaṇa the dominating feature. He appears in person in the first act, but declines to test himself by drawing Çiva’s bow, and departs, menacing evil to any husband of Sītā. In Act II he seeks the aid of Paraçurāma, but is insulted instead, and a battle barely prevented by intervention of friends. In Act III the marriage of Sītā is enacted before him to distract his amorous sorrow, but the attempt is as little a success as it deserved to be; he interrupts, and finally the scene has to be broken off. In Act IV the duel of Rāma and Paraçurāma is disposed of, but in Act V we find another ludicrous effort to amuse Rāvaṇa; dolls with parrots in their mouths are presented to him as Sītā and his foster sister; he is deceived until he finds that his grasp is on wood; distracted, he demands his beloved from nature, the seasons, the streams, and the birds, as does Purūravas in theVikramorvaçī. The arrival of Çūrpaṇakhā, his sister, who has suffered severely from her attack on Rāma, brings him to a condition of more manly rage. A tedious Act then carries matters down to the death of the sorrowing Daçaratha. In Act VII the problem of inducing the ocean to accept the burden of the bridge is solved; Dadhittha and Kapittha, two monkeys, describe at length its construction to Rāma. A momentary terror is caused by a stratagem of Mālyavant; the severed head of Sītā seems to be flung on the shore, but it speaks and reveals the fraud; it is the head of the speaking doll. In Act VIII we have Rāvaṇa’s impressions as disaster after disaster is announced; he sends out Kumbhakarṇa, but sees even him helpless, despite his magic weapons, before Rāma. In Act IX Indra himself describes the last desperate duel of Rāma and Rāvaṇa. In Act X the party of Rāma makes the usual aerial tour of India, including the world of the moon, and ending with the inevitable consecration.TheBālabhārata34is mercifully unfinished; it covers the marriage of Draupadī, and the gambling scene with the ill usage of Draupadī. The other two plays are really Nāṭikās, but the first, theKarpūramañjarī35is classed by the theory as a Saṭṭaka, simply because it is in Prākrit, none of the characters[234]speaking Sanskrit. It is the old story; here the king is Caṇḍapāla, possibly a compliment to Mahendrapāla, and his beloved the Kuntala princess, Karpūramañjarī, who is really a cousin of the queen. In Act I a magician, Bhairavānanda, displays the damsel to the king and queen; the apparition tells her tale, and the queen decides to add her to the number of her attendants. The king and the maiden fall at once in love. In Act II a letter from the maiden avows her passion, and the Vidūṣaka and her friend Vicakṣaṇā arrange to let the king see her swinging and also producing by her touch the blossoming of the Açoka. Between the Acts we must assume that the queen has found out the love, and has confined the maiden, while the king has secured the making of a subterranean passage giving access to her prison. In Act III by this means the princess and the king enjoy a flirtation in the garden, when the queen discovers them. In Act IV we find that the end of the passage giving on the garden has been blocked, but another passage has been made to the sanctuary of Cāmuṇḍā, the entrance concealed behind the statue. Thus the prisoner can play a game of hide-and-seek with the queen, and this enables her to carry out a clever ruse invented by the magician to secure the queen’s blessing for the wedding. The queen is induced to demand that the king shall marry a princess of Lāṭa who will secure him imperial rank. She is still at her home, but the magician will fetch her to the place. The wedding goes on merrily, but the princess is no other than Karpūramañjarī, and the queen has unwittingly accomplished the lovers’ desires.The same motif is repeated in theViddhaçālabhañjikā,36which is a regular Nāṭikā. Act I tells us that Candravarman of Lāṭa, vassal of Vidyādharamalla, has sent to the court of his overlord his daughter Mṛgān̄kāvalī in the guise of his son and heir. The king, Vidyādharamalla, recounts a dream in the truthful hours of the morning, in which a beautiful maid had cast a collar of pearls round his neck; he is haunted by her, and next finds her in sculptured form (çālabhañjikā) in the picture gallery. He has a further glimpse of her in the flesh but no more, before the heralds announce midday. In Act II we learn that the queen proposes to marry Kuvalayamālā of Kuntala to the pretended[235]boy, while the Vidūṣaka has been promised by her foster-sister, Mekhalā, marriage with a lady of the seductive name of Ambaramālā, Air Garland. Imagine his disgust when she turns out to be a mere slave; the king has to calm him, and together they watch in hiding Mṛgān̄kāvalī playing in the garden, and hear her reading a letter of love. The heralds proclaim the evening hour. In Act III we are told that the dream of the king was reality, devised by Bhāgurāyaṇa, his minister, who knew that the husband of the heroine would attain imperial rule. The Vidūṣaka punishes Mekhalā’s ruse by another; he bids a woman hide herself and call out a warning to Mekhalā of evil to befall her unless she crawl between a Brahmin’s limbs. The queen begs the Vidūṣaka to permit this ceremony, and, it over, he avows the plot to the great indignation of the queen. The Vidūṣaka and the king then have an interview with the heroine. In Act IV we learn of a plot of the queen to punish the king. She induces him to agree to marry the sister of the pretended boy, meaning that he should find that he has married a boy. The king agrees; the marriage is completed; news comes from Candravarman that a son is born, begging the queen to dispose in marriage of his daughter, who may resume her sex. The queen, tricked and deceived, makes the best of her situation; with dignity and hauteur she bestows on her husband both Mṛgān̄kāvalī and Kuvalayamālā, while news is brought that the last rebels are subdued and the king’s suzerainty is recognized everywhere.There can be no doubt of the demerits of Rājaçekhara’s works; he is devoid of the power to create a character: Vidyādharamalla is stiff and uninteresting beside his model, the gay and gallant Vatsa; the queen is without the love or the majesty of Vāsavadattā; Bhāgurāyaṇa is a feeble Yaugandharāyaṇa, whose magician is borrowed in theKarpūramañjarīand spoiled in the borrowing. The heroines are without merit; the Vidūṣaka in theKarpūramañjarīis tedious, but Cārāyaṇa in theViddhaçālabhañjikāhas merits; he has plenty of sound common sense, though he is simple and capable of being taken in by others. The intrigue in both Nāṭikās is poorly managed; the confusion of exits and entrances in theKarpūramañjarīis difficult to follow and probably more difficult to act, while in theViddhaçālabhañjikāthe queen is induced to arrange a marriage out of a[236]puerile incident affecting the Vidūṣaka only. The taste of giving two brides to the king at once is deplorable, as is the failure to explain why the king accepts the suggested marriage when ignorant of its true import.In all his dramas, however, Rājaçekhara is merely concerned with exercises in style. The themes he frankly tells us in the prologue to theKarpūramañjarīare the same; the question is the expression, and the language is indifferent; therefore Prākrit being smooth, while Sanskrit is harsh, the language of women as opposed to men, can be used as a medium of style by one who boasts himself an expert in every kind of language. We have, therefore, elaborate descriptions in equally elaborate verses, of the dawn, midday, sunset, the pleasures of the harem, the game of ball, the swing, a favourite enjoyment of the Indian maidens, and in the Nāṭakas picturesad nauseamof battles with magic weapons, and appalling mythical geography and topography. His allusions to local practices and customs may be interesting to the antiquarian, but are not poetical. More praiseworthy is his real accomplishment in metres, especially the Çārdūlavikrīḍita, his facility in which Kṣemendra justly praises, the Vasantatilaka, Çloka, and Sragdharā. His ability to handle elaborate Prākrit metres is undeniable; in 144 stanzas in theKarpūramañjarīhe has 17 varieties. If poetry consisted merely of harmonious sound, he must be ranked high as a poet. He is fond of proverbs:varaṁ takkālovaṇadā tittirī ṇa uṇa diahantaridā morī, which gives our ‘A bird in hand is worth two in the bush’; he introduces freely words from vernaculars, including Marāthī. But, despite his parade of learning, he cannot distinguish accurately Çaurasenī and Māhārāṣṭrī in his drama; in the former we find such forms aslaṭṭhiforyaṣṭi,ammiin the locative andhiṁtoin the ablative singular ofa-stems, andesafor the pronoun. Important as he is lexicographically for both Sanskrit and Prākrit, it is undeniable that both were utterly dead languages for him, which he had laboriously learned. Forms likeḍhillaequivalent toçithilain theKarpūramañjarīshow how far the vernaculars had advanced beyond the Prākrits of the drama.It would, however, be quite unjust to deny to Rājaçekhara the power of effective expression; like all the later dramatists he is capable of producing elegant and attractive verses, which are[237]largely spoiled in their context by their being embedded in masses of tasteless matter. Thus the benediction of theViddhaçālabhañjikāis decidedly graceful:kulagurur abalānāṁ kelidīkṣāpradāneparamasuhṛd anan̄go rohiṇīvallabhasyaapi kusumapṛṣatkair devadevasya jetājayati suratalīlānāṭikāsūtradhāraḥ.‘Family preceptor of young maidens for the bestowal of the sacrament of love, the bodyless one, dearest friend of Rohiṇī’s lover, he that with his flower arrows overthrew the god of gods, he is victorious ever, the director of the comedy of the play of love’s mysteries.’The description of summer is also pretty if banal:rajaniviramayāmeṣv ādiçantī ratecchāmkim api kaṭhinayantī nārikelīphalāmbhaḥapi pariṇamayitrī rājarambhāphalānāmdinapariṇatiramyā vartate grīṣmalakṣmīḥ.‘This is the glorious season of summer, delightful in the length of the days, when the royal plantain fruits are ripened, and the milk in the coco-nut is hardened, and the season bids us enjoy the delight of love in the closing watches of the night.’The signs of a maiden distracted by unfulfilled affection are quaintly described:candraṁ candanakardamena likhitaṁ sā mārṣṭi daṣṭādharābandhyaṁ nindati yac ca manmatham asau bhan̄ktvāgrahastān̄gurīḥkāmaḥ puṣpaçaraḥ kileti sumanovargaṁ lunīte ca yattat kāmyā subhaga tvayā varatanur vātūlatāṁ lambhitā.‘Biting her lip, she wipes out the figure of the moon sketched in sandal paste; snapping her finger-tips she mocks at love as barren; to flout his darts, the flowers she gathers she tears in shreds; assuredly the fair one whom thou shouldst love hath been brought by thee to madness.’antastāraṁ taralitatalāḥ stokam utpīḍabhājaḥpakṣmāgreṣu grathitapṛṣataḥ kīrṇadhārāḥ krameṇacittātan̄kaṁ nijagarimataḥ samyag āsūtrayantoniryānty asyāḥ kuvalayadṛço bāṣpavārām pravāhāḥ.‘Rippled on the surface of the pupil, slightly foaming, forming drops on the tips of the lashes, then slowly issuing in streams,[238]betokening by their weight her heart’s sorrow, there pour forth from the lotus-eyed one the floods of her tears.’Of all the plays theKarpūramañjarīis undoubtedly that which contains the most substantial evidence that Rājaçekhara had some real poetic talent, despite the banality and stupidity of his conception of love in Act III. The swing scene contains really effective lines of word-painting, in harmonious metre:37vicchaanto ṇaararamaṇīmaṇḍalassāṇaṇāiṁviccholanto gaaṇakuharaṁ kantijoṇhājaleṇapecchantīṇaṁ hiaaṇihiaṁ ṇiddalanto a dappaṁdolālīlāsaralataralo dīsae se muhendū.‘Paling the face of every beauty here, making the sky’s vault to ripple with the liquid moonlight of her loveliness, and breaking the haughty pride in the hearts of maids that regard her, appeareth the moon-like orb of her face as she moveth straight to and fro in her sport on the swing.’ The effective alliteration and paronomasia of this stanza are surpassed by the metrical perfection of the next but one, where the Pṛthvī metre, with ‘its jingling tribrachs and bell-like, chiming cretics’, is employed in a stanza which admirably conveys by its sound the sense at which it aims:raṇantamaṇiṇeuraṁ jhaṇajhaṇantahāracchaḍaṁkaṇakkaṇiakin̄kiṇīmuhalamehalāḍambaraṁvilolavalaāvalījaṇiamañjusiñjāravaṁṇa kassa maṇomohaṇaṁ sasimuhīa hindolaṇaṁ.‘With the tinkling jewelled anklets,       With the sound of lovely jinglesWith the flashing jewelled necklace,       From the rows of rolling bangles,With the show of girdles garrulous       Pray whose heart is not bewilderedFrom their ringing, ringing bells       While the moon-faced maiden swings?’Excellent also is the king’s address38to the Açoka when made to blossom by the touch of the foot of his young beloved, but more characteristic in his comment,39inspired by the Vidūṣaka’s[239]ungallant comparison of the fresh beauty of the maiden with thepasséecomeliness of his queen:bālāu honti kuūhaleṇa emeya cavalacittāodaralasiathaṇīsu puṇo ṇivasai maaraddhaarahassaṁ.‘Though maidens in their young zest for life are fickle of faith, yet it is with them—their breasts just budding—that the mystery of the dolphin-bannered doth abide.’For technique Rājaçekhara is of interest, because he uses in theKarpūramañjarīthe old form of prologue quite openly, with the Nāndī recited doubtless by the Sūtradhāra, followed by the advent of the Sthāpaka who recites two verses. It is noteworthy that the manuscripts often alter the Sthāpaka to the Sūtradhāra despite the clear sense of the text. The latePārvatīpariṇayalikewise has a Nāndī before the Sūtradhāra speaks a verse. It is probable that the older technique long persisted in the south.Rājaçekhara’s indebtedness to his predecessors is wholesale; the influence of Kālidāsa, Harṣa, and Bhavabhūti is obvious, and it is probably an indication of his contemporaneity with, or slight posteriority to, Murāri that he does not seem to have known his writings. Influence of the vernacular or of Prākrit is to be seen in his occasional use of rhyme, such as is found in the laterGītagovindaor theMohamudgara.[Contents]6.Bhīmaṭa and KṣemīçvaraA verse attributed to Rājaçekhara mentions the five dramas of Bhīmaṭa, of which theSvapnadaçānanawon him chief fame. He is described as a Kaliñjarapati, whence the suggestion has been made that he was a connection of the Candella king Harṣa of Jejākabhukti, who, we know, was a contemporary of Mahīpāla of Kanyakubja, patron of Rājaçekhara, but we have no ground for positive assertion.40The case is different with Kṣemīçvara, who in hisCaṇḍakauçikawrote for Mahīpāla, doubtless the king of Kanyakubja, patron of Rājaçekhara. Kṣemīçvara asserts his patron’s victory over the Karṇāṭas, which was doubtless the view taken in royal circles of the contest against the Rāṣṭrakūṭa Indra III, who for his part claims victory over Mahodaya, or Kanyakubja.40A[240]variant of the name is Kṣemendra, but he is not to be identified with the Kashmirian poet of that name. His great-grandfather was called Vijayakoṣṭha or Vijayaprakoṣṭha, who is designated as both Ārya and Ācārya, and was, therefore, a learned man of some sort.Kṣemīçvara has left two dramas. TheNaiṣadhānanda41in seven acts deals with the legend of Nala, famous in the epic and later. TheCaṇḍakauçika42reveals the stupid story of Hariçcandra, who, seeing as he thought the sacrifice of a damsel on the fire rebukes the Kauçika Viçvāmitra, and in return for his gallant action is cursed by the irascible sage, who was merely bringing the sciences under his control. He secures pardon by the surrender of the earth and a thousand gold pieces; to secure the latter he sells wife and child to a Brahmin, and himself to a Caṇḍāla as a cemetery keeper. One day his wife brings the dead body of their child, but it turns out merely to be a trial of his character; his son is alive and is crowned king. The plot is as poor as the execution of the piece. He shows in metre a special fondness for the Çikhariṇī, which occurs 20 times, nearly as often as the Çārdūlavikrīḍita (23), while the Vasantatilaka appears 27 times and the Çloka 36. His Prākrits, Çaurasenī and a fewMāhārāṣṭrīstanzas, are artificial.The compilers of anthologies make little of Kṣemīçvara, with sufficient reason, for his verses do not rise above mediocrity. The second stanza of the three-verse benediction in theNaiṣadhānandais on a common theme, but not unhappily expressed; it follows a verse in honour of Puruṣottama and Çrī, with the usual impartiality of this period:asthi hy asthi phaṇī phaṇī kim aparam bhasma bhasmaiva taccarmaiva carma kiṁ tava jitaṁ yenaivam uttāmyasinaitāṁ dhūrta paṇīkaroṣi satatam mūrdhni sthitāṁ Jāhnavīmity evaṁ Çivayā sanarmagadito dyūte Haraḥ pātu vaḥ.‘A skull is but a skull, a serpent a serpent; what more? The ashes and the skin also which thou dost wear are but ashes and skin. What of thine hast thou lost that thus thou art outworn? Ah, rogue, it is that thou wilt not stake Jahnu’s daughter that[241]rests ever on thy crest. May Hara guard you, Hara to whom Çivā once spake playfully when they diced.’This amusing play on the unwillingness of Çiva to prolong the dicing after he has unsuccessfully staked his necklace of skulls and serpents, and his clothing of ashes and hide, is followed by a wearisome eulogy of the glances of the god in the Tāṇḍava dance, alluding to the great moments in his history. Similar bad taste is shown in the curious and unusual form of the last verse of the drama:yenādiçya prayogaṁ ghanapulakabhṛtā nāṭakasyāsya harṣādvastrālaṁkārahemnām pratidinam akṛçā rāçayaḥ sampradattāḥtasya kṣattraprasūter bhramatu jagad idaṁ Kārttikeyasya kīrtiḥpāre kṣīrāmbhusindho ravikaviyaçasā sārdham agresarena.‘Through all the universe beyond the ocean of milk, heralded by the fame of his bard, the sun, may the fame wander of that scion of heroism, that god of war, who bade this drama be performed and who in keen delight at the pleasure he found in it gave daily to the poet abundant store of raiment, jewels and gold.’ Such a mode of immortalizing himself, and his patron can hardly be regarded as precisely dignified, and it certainly is not in harmony with the traditions of the drama.[242]1See Aufrecht, ZDMG. xxxvi. 521.↑2v. 36; Lévi, TI. ii. 87. The citations are mainly from hisKapphiṇābhyudaya; Thomas,Kavīndravacanasamuccaya, p. 111.↑3Pischel, ZDMG. xxxix. 315; Hultzsch, GN. 1886, pp. 224 ff.↑4Bhattanatha Svamin, IA. xli. 139 f.; Bhandarkar,Report(1897), pp. xi, xviii; Peterson,Report, ii. 59. The name is variously given as Māyūrāja.↑5Subhāṣitāvali, 1766.↑6Ibid., 1366.↑7Ibid., 1364.↑8Ibid., 1634.↑9i. 42; SD. 390; N. xix. 94; Lévi, TI. ii. 9.↑10DR. ii. 54 comm.↑11DR. iv. 26 comm.↑12DR. i. 41 comm.↑13DR. iii. 13 comm.↑14DR. iii. 17 comm.↑15DR. iii. 12 comm.↑16DR. iii. 38 comm.; SD. 512.↑17DR. iii. 56 f. comm.; SD. 516.↑18vi. 30/31 is cited in i. 6/7.↑19xxxviii. 68. For his date cf. Bühler,Kashmir Report, p. 42. See Bhattanatha Svamin, IA. xli. 141; Lévi, TI. i. 277.↑20ID. p. 83. Dhanika (DR. ii. 1) cites, anonymously as usual, iii. 21.↑21xxv. 74.↑22ZDMG. lxxv. 63.↑23ii. 34, as compared with vii. 83.↑24Ed. KM. 1894; cf. Baumgartner,Das Râmâyaṇa, pp. 125 ff.↑25v. 6.↑26vii. 87.↑27vii. 82.↑28vii. 107.↑29vii. 90.↑30Ed. p. 1, note.↑31Konow,Karpūramañjarī, pp. 177 ff.; Hultzsch, IA. xxxiv. 177 ff.; V. S. Apte,Rājaçekhara, Poona, 1886. Of special virtue is hisKāvyamīmāṅsāon rhetoric, which is better than his dramas.↑32Winternitz, GIL. iii. 47; Lévi, TI. i. 183 f.↑33Ed. Calcutta, 1884.↑34Ed. C. Cappeller, Strassburg, 1885; Weber, IS. xviii. 481 ff.↑35Ed. S. Konow, trs. C. R. Lanman, HOS. iv. 1901; J. Charpentier,Monde oriental, ii. 226 ff.↑36Ed. Poona, 1886; trs. L. H. Gray, JAOS. xxvii. 1 ff.↑37ii. 30. The translation of this and the next verse is taken from Lanman’s version.↑38ii. 47.↑39ii. 49.↑40Konow, ID. p. 87; Peterson,Reports, ii. 63; Bhandarkar,Report(1897), p. xi.↑ab41Peterson,Reports, iii. 340 f.↑42Ed. Calcutta, 1884; trs. L. Fritze, Leipzig, 1883. On the same theme is Rāmacandra’sSatyahariçcandra(twelfth cent.); see Keith, JRAS. 1914, pp. 1104 f.↑

[Contents]XMURĀRI, RĀJAÇEKHARA, THEIR PREDECESSORS AND SUCCESSORS[Contents]1.The Predecessors of MurāriWe know definitely of very few dramatists of the eighth and ninth centuries. Kalhaṇa1mentions expressly Yaçovarman of Kanyakubja as a patron of literature, who, as we have seen, patronized Bhavabhūti and Vākpati, and we learn of his dramaRāmābhyudaya, which is mentioned by Ānandavardhana in theDhvanyāloka, by Dhanika and Viçvanātha, but has not yet been found. To Kalhaṇa2also we are indebted for knowledge of the period of Çivasvāmin, who lived under Avantivarman of Kashmir (A.D.855–83) and was a contemporary of the poet Ratnākara. He wrote many Nāṭakas and Nāṭikās, and also Prakaraṇas, but save an occasional verse in the anthologies his fame is lost.Anan̄gaharṣa Mātrarāja,3on the other hand, is known to Ānandavardhana and Abhinavagupta, and his playTāpasavatsarājacaritais a variation on the theme of the ruse of Yaugandharāyaṇa to secure the marriage of Vatsa and Padmāvatī, in face of the deep love of the king for Vāsavadattā. Vatsa in this drama, which is of little poetic or dramatic value, becomes an ascetic on learning of his queen’s supposed fate, whence the title of the play. Padmāvatī, who had become enamoured of the king from a portrait sent by the minister, follows suit. Eventually Vāsavadattā and Vatsa are united in Prayāga when each is about to commit suicide in sorrow at separation, and the usual victory is reported by Rumaṇvant to give a happy ending.[221]There seems little doubt that the author used theRatnāvalī, which gives the upper limit of his date. His father’s name is givenasNarendravardhana.Māyurājā4has been less fortunate in that hisUdāttarāghavais known only by reference. Rājaçekhara represents him as a Karaculi or Kulicuri, which suggests the possibility that he was a king of the Kalacuri dynasty, of which unhappily we know little during the period in which he is probably to be set. He seems to have known Bhavabhūti. Like him he eliminated treachery from the slaying of Vālin by Rāma, and he represents Lakṣmaṇa as first to follow the magic gazelle, and Rāma as going later in pursuit. He is cited more than once in Dhanika’s commentary on theDaçarūpa.No other dramatist of this period is known with any certainty; thePārvatīpariṇayaonce ascribed to Bāṇa is now allotted to Vāmana Bhaṭṭa Bāṇa (c.A.D.1400), and theMallikāmāruta, wrongly thought to be Daṇḍin’s, is the work of one Uddaṇḍin of the seventeenth century.Of these dramatists Yaçovarman has had the honour of being considered worthy of quotation by the writers on theory who have preserved for us some interesting verses:5ākrandāḥ stanitair vilocanajalāny açrāntadhārāmbhubhistvadvicchedabhuvaç ca çokaçikhinas tulyās taḍidvibhramaiḥantar me dayitāmukhaṁ tava çaçī vṛttiḥ samāpy āvayoḥtat kim mām aniçaṁ sakhe jaladhara dagdhum evodyataḥ.‘My moans are like thy thunder, the floods of my tears thy ever-streaming showers, the flame of my sorrow at severance from my beloved thy flickering lightning, in my mind is her face reflected, in thee the moon; like is our condition; why then, O friend, O cloud, dost thou ever seek to consume me with the burning pangs of love?’This is decidedly pretty, and there is elegance and beauty in another verse:6yat tvannetrasamānakānti salile magnaṁ tad indīvarammeghair antaritaḥ priye tava mukhacchāyānukāraḥ çaçīye ’pi tvadgamanānukāragatayas te rājahaṅsā gatāstvatsādṛçyavinodamātram api me daivena na kṣamyate.[222]‘The blue lotus which rivalled thine eyes in beauty is now sunk in the lake; the moon which imitated the fairness of thy face, beloved, is hidden by the clouds; the royal swans which aped thy lovely gait are departed; cruel fate will not grant me even the consolation of thy similitude.’This verse is appropriated by theMahānāṭaka, and so is the following,7which deals elegantly enough with the commonplace contrast between the sad lover and the Açoka tree, whose name is interpreted as ‘sorrowless’, and which flowers, as the poets never weary in telling us, when touched by the foot of a fair lady,especially one young:raktas tvaṁ navapallavair aham api çlāghyaiḥ priyāyā guṇaistvām āyānti çilīmukhāḥ smaradhanurmuktāḥ sakhe mām apikāntapādatalāhatis tava mude tad api mamāvayoḥsarvaṁ tulyam açoka kevalam ahaṁ dhātrā saçokaḥ kṛtaḥ.‘Thou are proud in thy new shoots, I in the glorious excellences of my beloved; the bees resort to thee, to me the arrows shot from love’s bow; like me thou dost delight in the touch of thy dear one’s foot; all is alike for us both save only that, O tree Sorrowless, the creator hath made me a man of sorrows.’kāmavyādhaçarāhatir na gaṇitā saṁjīvanī tvaṁ smṛtāno dagdho virahānalena jhaṭiti tvatsaṁgamāçāmṛtaiḥnīto ’yaṁ divaso vicitralikhitaiḥ saṁkalparūpair mayākiṁ vānyad dhṛdaye sthitāsi nanu me tatra svayaṁ sākṣiṇī.8‘I have not recked of the wound given by love, the hunter, for the memory of thee hath been my elixir; the fire of separation hath not consumed me straightway because of the nectar of the hope of union with thee; all this day hath been spent by me in limning thy fancied form; nought else have I done, as thou thyself art witness, for dost thou not live in my heart?’ We may regret the loss of a work which contained verses as pretty as these, even on the outworn topic of Rāma and Sītā.It might be interesting to know whether Yaçovarman was successful in introducing any new element into the established plot. The play is cited in the commentary on theDaçarūpa9to illustrate the device called deception or humiliation (chalana) and the parallel cited is that of the treatment of Vāsavadattā in the[223]Ratnāvalī. The definitions of the theory leave this idea far from clear; Viçvanātha seems to treat it as the bearing of insult for the sake of the end to be reached, and the allusion in the case of Sītā may be to her abandonment by Rāma as an act of duty.A much less favourable impression is left by the few fragments of theUdāttarāghavawhich are preserved. The poet seems to have affected the horrible, as two of his few stanzas deal with it; the better is:10jīyante jayino ’pi sāndratimiravrātair viyadvyāpibhirbhāsvantaḥ sakalā raver api rucaḥ kasmād akasmād amīetāç cograkabandharandhrarudhirair ādhmāyamānodarāmuñcanty ānanakandarānalamucas tīvrā ravāḥ pheravāḥ.‘The victors are vanquished; thick darkness invades the sky and triumphs over the brilliant rays of the sun; why this inexplicable event? Why do these jackals, whose bellies are swollen with the blood sucked from the wounds of bleeding corpses, and whose gaping jaws belch flame, utter these piercing cries?’A somewhat flat passage illustrates the conflict of thought in Rāma’s mind when appealed to by Citramāya on the score that Lakṣmaṇa is in danger from a Rākṣasa:11vatsasyābhayavāridheḥ pratibhayam manye kathaṁ rākṣasāttrastaç caiṣa munir virauti manasaç cāsty eva me sambhramaḥmā hāsīr Janakātmajām iti muhuḥ snehād gurur yācatena sthātuṁ na ca gantum ākulamater mūḍhasya me niçcayaḥ.‘The boy is an ocean of valour; how can I fear danger for him from a Rākṣasa? Yet the sage here is terrified and calls for aid, and my own mind is confused; my master too in his affection ever begs me not to leave Janaka’s daughter alone; my heart is troubled, and in my confusion I cannot resolve either to go or to stay.’Another Rāma drama, theChalitarāma, is also referred to by Dhanika in his comment on theDaçarūpa; it may belong to this period, or fall somewhat later; we have from it a picture of the leading captive of Lava:12yenāvṛtya mukhāni sāma paṭhatām atyantam āyāsitambālye yena hṛtākṣasūtravalayapratyarpaṇaiḥ krīḍitamyuṣmākaṁ hṛdayaṁ sa eṣa viçikhair āpūritāṅsasthalomūrchāghoratamaspraveçavivaço baddhvā Lavo nīyate.[224]‘He who caused such trouble to the Sāman reciters turning to look at him in his childish play, who amused himself by stealing and giving back strings of beads and bracelets, he, your heart’s joy, his shoulder pierced by arrows, powerless through entry into the dread darkness of fainting, is being led away bound, even Lava.’Another stanza refers to Bharata; Rāma returning to Ayodhyā in the celestial chariot declines thus to enter the town, since it is not his, but under the rule of Bharata; scarcely has he descended when he sees before him his brother:13ko ’pi siṅhāsanasyādhaḥ sthitaḥ pādukayoḥ puraḥjaṭāvān akṣamālī ca cāmarī ca virājate.‘There stands some one, below the lion throne, before a pair of sandals, wearing his hair long, bearing a rosary, resplendent beneath the chowrie.’The same play14contains an amusing slip by Sītā where she bids her boys go to Ayodhyā and tender their respects to the king. Lava naturally replies by asking why they should become members of the king’s entourage, and Sītā answers because the king is their father, a slip which she explains away as well as she can by saying that the king is father of the whole earth.Yet another drama of which we know nothing else is revealed to us by Dhanika, thePāṇḍavānanda, from which is cited a stanza interesting in its series of questions and answers, a literary form of which the dramatists are fond:15kā çlāghyā guṇināṁ kṣamā paribhavaḥ ko yaḥ svakulyaiḥ kṛtaḥkiṁ duḥkhaṁ parasaṁçrayo jagati kaḥ çlāghyo ya āçrīyateko mṛtyur vyasanaṁ çucaṁ jahati ke yair nirjitāḥ çatravaḥkair vijñātam idaṁ Virāṭanagare channasthitaiḥ Pāṇḍavaiḥ.‘For the good what is there praiseworthy? Patience. What is disgrace? That which is wrought by those of one’s own blood. What is misery? Recourse to another’s protection. Who in the world is enviable? He to whom one resorts for aid. What is death? Misfortune. Who escape sorrow? Those who conquer their foes. Who learned this lesson? The Pāṇḍavas when they dwelt in concealment in the city of Virāṭa.’We learn also from Dhanika of two further dramas, of unknown[225]authorship and date; they are mentioned16as illustrating the two kinds of Prakaraṇa as a dramatic form, the basis of distinction being whether the heroine is the wife of the hero and therefore a lady of good family or whether she is a courtesan. Of the latter class we have an example in theTaran̄gadatta, and of the former in thePuṣpadūṣitaka; the latter name occurs in the slightly altered form of Puṣpabhūṣita in theSāhityadarpaṇa. As an example of the Samavakāra theDaçarūpa17mentions theSamudramanthana, a title doubtless as well as the description of the drama in question.[Contents]2.MurāriMurāri tells us that he was the son of Çrīvardhamānaka of the Maudgalya Gotra and of Tantumatī; he claims to be a Mahākavi, and arrogates the style of Bāla-Vālmīki. His date is uncertain; he is certainly later than Bhavabhūti since he cites from theUttararāmacarita,18while we have evidence from the anthologies that he was reckoned by some as superior to Bhavabhūti, apparently his predecessor. A further suggestion as to date may be derived from the Kashmirian poet Ratnākara,19who in hisHaravijayamakes a clear reference to Murāri as a dramatist, for the effort of Bhattanatha Svamin to disprove the reference must be deemed completely unsuccessful. As Ratnākara belongs to the middle of the ninth centuryA.D., this gives us that period as the latest date for Murāri. Curiously enough, Professor Konow,20who accepts the disproof of the reference to Murāri in Ratnākara, admits that the reference to Murāri in Man̄kha’sÇrīkaṇṭhacarita21(c.A.D.1135) suggests that he was regarded by that author as earlier than Rājaçekhara, a fact which accords excellently with his priority to Ratnākara, and is far more important than the fact that he is not cited by the authors on theory of the eleventh centuryA.D.A further effort to place him late is that of Dr. Hultzsch,22who infers from verse 3 of theKaumudīmitrāṇandaof Rāmacandra, pupil of Hemacandra, that that[226]dramatist was a contemporary of Murāri. But the evidence is clearly inadequate; the words used are perfectly compatible with the fact that Murāri was dead, and there are grave chronological difficulties in the way of the theory. It is practically impossible that a contemporary of Rāmacandra could have been cited by Man̄kha at the date of theÇrīkaṇṭhacarita. Moreover Murāri seems to have been imitated by Jayadeva in thePrasannarāghava.23Of his place of activity we know nothing definite. He mentions, however, Māhiṣmatī as the seat of the Kalacuris, and it has been suggested that this indicates that he lived under the patronage of a prince of that dynasty at Māhiṣmatī, now Māndhātā on the Narmadā.[Contents]3.The AnargharāghavaMurāri declares in the prologue to the solitary drama, theAnargharāghava24which has come down to us, though quotations show that he wrote other works, that his aim is to please a public tired of terror, horror, violence, and marvels, by a composition elevated, heroic, and marvellous throughout, not merely at the close. He defends his choice of the banal subject of Rāma; his character adds elevation and charm to the poet’s work, and it would be folly to lay aside so splendid a theme. TheAnargharāghava, however, does little to justify the poet’s confidence in his choice of topic. The theme, treated already at length by Bhavabhūti, offered no chance of success save for a great poet, and Murāri was not such a poet save in the estimate of occasional later writers who extol his depth (gambhīratā) without any shadow of justification.Act I shows us Daçaratha in conversation with Vāmadeva. The arrival of the sage Viçvāmitra is announced; he exchanges with the king hyperbolic compliments of the most tedious type, but proceeds to business by demanding the aid of Rāma against the Rākṣasas which are troubling his hermitage. The king hesitates to send one so young and dear into danger. The sage insists on his obeying the call of duty, and he hands over Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa to the care of the ascetic. The herald announces[227]midday, and the king mourns the loss of his son. In Act II we have first a long-drawn-out conversation between Çunaḥçepha and Paçumeḍhra, two pupils of Viçvāmitra, which serves to enlighten us on the history of Vālin, Rāvaṇa, the Rākṣasas, Jāmbavant, Hanumant, and Tāḍakā. The entr’acte is followed by the appearance of Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa who describe the hermitage and the doings of its occupants, and then the heat of midday. Time, however, does not trouble the dramatist; though there is no further action and no interruption in the dialogue, we find ourselves transported to the evening; Viçvāmitra enters and describes in converse with the boys the sunset. A cry behind the scene announces the approach of the demoness Tāḍakā; Rāma hesitates to slay a female, but finally departs for the necessary duty; on his return he has to describe the rising of the moon. Viçvāmitra then suggests a visit to Janaka of Mithilā, affording an opportunity for a description of the city and its ruler.In Act II only do we reach the motif which Bhavabhūti with far greater skill made the leading idea of the drama, thus giving it effective unity, so far as the story permits. The chamberlain of Janaka in conversation with Kalahaṅsikā, one of Sītā’s suite, lets us know that the princess is now ripe for marriage, and Rāvaṇa seeks her hand. In the scene that follows the king accompanied by Çatānanda receives Rāma, but hesitates to put him to the severe test involved in bending Çiva’s bow. Çauṣkala, Rāvaṇa’s envoy, arrives to demand the maiden’s hand, but indignantly declines the request that his master should bend the bow. He eulogizes Rāvaṇa whom Rāma depreciates. Rāma is at last allowed to make the trial; those who remain on the stage describe his wonderful deed in breaking the bow. He is promised Sītā’s hand, while the other sons of Daçaratha are also awarded consorts. Çauṣkala departs, menacing revenge. Act IV shows us Rāvaṇa’s minister Mālyavant lamenting the failure of his scheme to win Sītā. Çūrpaṇakhā arrives from Videha and tells of the union of Rāma and Sītā. Mālyavant recognizes that Rāvaṇa will insist on seeking to separate the pair, and he counsels Çūrpaṇakhā to assume the disguise of Mantharā, the maid of Kaikeyī, with the view of securing the banishment of Rāma to the forest, where he will be more vulnerable to attack.[228]He is also cheered by the news given by Çūrpaṇakhā of the approach of Paraçurāma to Mithilā, whence some gain may accrue to his cause. The following scene shows us Rāma and Paraçurāma in verbal contest; Rāma is even more polite than in theMahāvīracaritawhich is obviously imitated, while the friends of Rāma carry on a vituperative dialogue behind the scene without actually appearing. Finally they resolve to fight, for Rāma has annoyed his rival by reminding him that the flag of his fame won by his destruction of the Kṣatriyas is worn out and challenging him to mount a new one. The fight itself takes place off the stage; Sītā, we learn from a voice behind the scenes, is apprehensive lest Rāma be drawing again his bow to win another maiden. The rivals then appear on excellent terms; Paraçurāma exchanges farewells with his former interlocutors and disappears. Then enter Janaka and Daçaratha. The latter is determined to resign his kingdom to Rāma, but Lakṣmaṇa enters introducing Mantharā who bears a fatal missive from Kaikeyī, bidding the king grant the two boons of the banishment of Rāma and the coronation of Bharata. The kings faint; Rāma sends Lakṣmaṇa to tell Sītā, and commends his father to Janaka.In Act V a conversation between Jāmbavant and an ascetic lady, Çravaṇā, tells of the doings of Rāma until his advent in the forest. Çravaṇā goes to Sugrīva to bespeak a kindly welcome for the wayfarers, while Jāmbavant overhears a dialogue between Rāvaṇa, disguised as a juggler, and Lakṣmaṇa. The vulture Jaṭāyu then appears with the grave news that he has seen Rāvaṇa and Mārīca in the forest; Jāmbavant goes to warn Sugrīva of the danger, while Jaṭāyu sees the rape of Sītā and pursues the ravisher. After this entr’acte Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa enter, wandering in grief in vain search. They are interrupted by a cry and see the friendly forest chief, Guha, assailed by the headless Kabandha. Lakṣmaṇa rescues him, but, in doing so, knocks off the tree, on which it was suspended, the skeleton of Dundubhi, to the annoyance of Vālin, who appears, and after a lengthy conversation challenges Rāma to battle. The fight is described from the stage by Lakṣmaṇa and Guha; the enemy is slain. Voices from behind the scenes report the coronation of Sugrīva and his determination to aid Rāma in the recovery of[229]Sītā, and Lakṣmaṇa and his friend leave the stage to rejoin their party. In Act VI Sāraṇa and Çuka, two spies of Rāvaṇa’s describe to Mālyavant the building of the bridge over the ocean and the advent of Rāma’s army. Voices from behind announce the departure of Kumbhakarṇa and Meghanāda for battle; in the same way we learn of their fall and the last exit of Rāvaṇa, whom Mālyavant decides to follow to the field. The final struggle is described with tedious and tasteless prolixity by two Vidyādharas, Ratnacūḍa and Hemān̄gada, and with this the Act closes.In Act VII we have a determined effort to vie with the close of theMahāvīracarita. Rāma, Sītā, Lakṣmaṇa, Vibhīṣaṇa, and Sugrīva proceed in Kubera’s celestial car to Ayodhyā. But the route is diversified from the simplicity of the model, for the travellers are taken to the celestial regions to view in all its aspects the mythical mountain Sumeru and the world of the moon; only then do they commence their journey in its terrestrial aspect by a description of Siṅhala, distinguished as usual from Lan̄kā; the route then passes over the Malaya mountains, the forest, the mountain Prasravaṇa, the Godāvarī, mount Mālyavant, Kuṇḍinīpura in the Mahārāṣṭra country, Kāñcī, Ujjayinī, Māhiṣmatī, the Yamunā, the Ganges, Vārāṇasī, Mithilā and Campā; the car goes then west to Prayāga, and later turns east to Ayodhyā, where the priest Vasiṣṭha waits with Rāma’s brothers to crown him king.The demerits of the poem are obvious; there is no attempt to improve on the traditional narrative, though Vālin is honourably killed; the characters are as stereotyped as ever. The author, however, delights to overload and elaborate the theme; hyperbole marks every idea; his mythological knowledge is adequate to enable him to abound in conceits and plays on words, when he does not sink, as largely in Act III, to mere commonplace. The taste which invents the visit to the world of the moon and Sumeru is as deplorable as that which substitutes the dull dialogue between Jāmbavant and Jaṭāyu for the vigorous conversation of Jaṭāyu and Sampāti in theMahāvīracarita. For dialogue in general Murāri has no taste at all, and what merit his work has lies entirely in the ability which he shows to handle the Sanskrit language and to frame sentences of harmonious[230]sound in effective metrical forms. His knowledge of the lexica is obvious, while his love of the recondite in grammar has won him the fame of being used to illustrate rare forms by the author of theSiddhāntakaumudī. These linguistic merits have secured him the preference shown for him by modern taste. Nor indeed can his power of expression be justly denied:25dṛçyante madhumattakokilavadhūnirdhūtacūtān̄kura—prāgbhāraprasaratparāgasikatādurgās taṭībhūmayaḥyāḥ kṛcchrād atilan̄ghya lubdhakabhayāt tair eva reṇūtkarairdhārāvāhibhir asti luptapadavīniḥçan̄kam eṇīkulam.‘There are seen the towering slopes as of sand where the pollen tilts off from the mango shoots, shaken by the female cuckoos, maddened by the intoxication of spring; scarce can the antelopes in their fear of the hunter leap over them, but the dust which they raise in showers accords them security by concealing the path of their flight.’ The idea is certainly trivial enough, but the expression, which defies reproduction in English, is in its own way a masterpiece of effect.A pretty erotic verse is found in Act VII:26anena rambhoru bhavanmukhena: tuṣārabhānos tulayā dhṛtasyaūnasya nūnam pratipūraṇāya: tārā sphuranti pratimānakhaṇḍāh.‘When the moon is placed in the scales, fair-limbed one, against thy face, assuredly it is found wanting, and to make good the deficit the stars must shine as make-weights.’Not a bad example of more elaborate, yet graceful, eulogy is found in the following stanza:27gotre sākṣād ajani bhagavān eṣa yat padmayoniḥçayyotthāyaṁ yad akhilam ahaḥ prīṇayanti dvirephānekāgrāṁ yad dadhati bhagavaty uṣṇabhānau ca bhaktimtat prāpus te sutanu vadanaupamyam ambhoruhāṇi.‘Since manifestly in their family has been born the blessed one, sprung from the lotus; since all day long they delight the bees as they rise from their bed; since their whole faith they devote to the blessed lord of the sharp rays, thus, O lovely one, the flowers that spring from the water attain the likeness of thy face.’[231]Happy also is another erotic stanza:28abhimukhapatayālubhir lalāṭa—: çramasalilair avadhūtapattralekhaḥkathayati puruṣāyitaṁ vadhūnām: mṛditahimadyutidurmanāḥ kapolaḥ.‘Its painted mark obliterated by the moisture which streams from the wearied brow over the face, the cheek reveals the longing of women, melancholy as the wan moon.’udeṣyatpīyūṣadyutirucikaṇārdrāḥ çaçimaṇi—sthalīnām panthāno ghanacaraṇalākṣālipibhṛtaḥcakorair uḍḍīnair jhaṭiti kṛtaçan̄kāḥ pratipadamparācaḥ saṁcārān avinayavatīnāṁ vivṛṇate.‘Footprints on pavements of moonstone, marked with the lac that dyes deep the feet, wet with drops that have the radiance of rising cream, made with anxiety at every step as the Cakoras fly up disturbed, mark the departure of ladies who violate decorum.’29A further stanza in some manuscripts of the poem occurs in the drama, while elsewhere it seems to be treated as a verse about Murāri:30devīṁ vācam upāsate hi bahavaḥ sāraṁ tu sārasvatamjānīte nitarām asau gurukulakliṣṭo Murāriḥ kaviḥabdhir lan̄ghita eva vānarabhaṭaiḥ kiṁ tv asyā gambhīratāmāpātālanimagnapīvaratanur jānāti manthācalaḥ.‘Many serve the goddess speech, but the essence of eloquence Murāri alone knows to the full, that poet who long toiled in the house of his teacher; even so the monkey host leapt over the ocean, but its depth the Mount of Churning alone knows, for its mighty mass penetrated down even to the realms below.’[Contents]4.The Date of RājaçekharaRājaçekhara, with the usual prolixity of bad poets, is voluble on his personality; he was of a Mahārāṣṭra Kṣatriya family of the Yāyāvaras, who claimed descent from Rāma; son of the minister Durduka or Duhika, and of Çīlavatī; grandson of Akālajalada, and descendant of Surānanda, Tarala, and Kavirāja, all[232]poets of name. He married Avantisundarī of the Cāhamāna family, and was a moderate Çaiva.31In theKarpūramañjarī, probably his first play since it was produced at the request of his wife, and not a king, he refers to himself as the teacher of Nirbhaya or Nirbhara, who was clearly the Pratihāra king, Mahendrapāla of Mahodaya or Kanyakubja, of whom we have records inA.D.893 and 907. TheBālarāmāyaṇawas produced at his request. But he seems then to have visited another court, for theViddhaçālabhañjikāwas produced for the Kalacuri king, Yuvarāja Keyūravarṣa of Tripurī. But, as the unfinishedBālabhāratawas written for Mahīpāla, successor ofMahendrapāla, whose records begin inA.D.914, we may assume that he returned to the court of the Pratihāras and died there. In theBālarāmāyaṇahe speaks of six of his works, not apparently including theViddhaçālabhañjikāand theBālabhārata, and in fact we have many stanzas from him regarding famous authors, though of course the proof of derivation from this Rājaçekara is not always complete.TheBālarāmāyaṇashows to perfection Rājaçekhara’s own estimate of himself. He traces his poetic descent from Vālmīki, through Bhartṛmeṇṭha and Bhavabhūti, but it is not clear that Bhartṛmeṇṭha must be assumed to have dramatized the work, and the little we know of this obscure person merely shows that he wrote an epic, theHayagrīvavadha, while his date is involved in the problems of Vikramāditya and Mātṛgupta.32[Contents]5.The Dramas of RājaçekharaTheBālarāmāyaṇa33is a Mahānāṭaka, that is one in ten acts, and the author, to add to the horror of the length, has expanded the prologue to almost the dimensions of an act, celebrating his non-existent merits, and has expanded each act to almost the dimensions of a Nāṭikā. The whole has 741 stanzas, and of these no less than 203 are in the 19-syllableÇārdūlavikrīḍitaand 89 in the Sragdharā, which has two more syllables in each pada or 84 in a stanza. The play has a certain novelty, because[233]the author has made the love of Rāvaṇa the dominating feature. He appears in person in the first act, but declines to test himself by drawing Çiva’s bow, and departs, menacing evil to any husband of Sītā. In Act II he seeks the aid of Paraçurāma, but is insulted instead, and a battle barely prevented by intervention of friends. In Act III the marriage of Sītā is enacted before him to distract his amorous sorrow, but the attempt is as little a success as it deserved to be; he interrupts, and finally the scene has to be broken off. In Act IV the duel of Rāma and Paraçurāma is disposed of, but in Act V we find another ludicrous effort to amuse Rāvaṇa; dolls with parrots in their mouths are presented to him as Sītā and his foster sister; he is deceived until he finds that his grasp is on wood; distracted, he demands his beloved from nature, the seasons, the streams, and the birds, as does Purūravas in theVikramorvaçī. The arrival of Çūrpaṇakhā, his sister, who has suffered severely from her attack on Rāma, brings him to a condition of more manly rage. A tedious Act then carries matters down to the death of the sorrowing Daçaratha. In Act VII the problem of inducing the ocean to accept the burden of the bridge is solved; Dadhittha and Kapittha, two monkeys, describe at length its construction to Rāma. A momentary terror is caused by a stratagem of Mālyavant; the severed head of Sītā seems to be flung on the shore, but it speaks and reveals the fraud; it is the head of the speaking doll. In Act VIII we have Rāvaṇa’s impressions as disaster after disaster is announced; he sends out Kumbhakarṇa, but sees even him helpless, despite his magic weapons, before Rāma. In Act IX Indra himself describes the last desperate duel of Rāma and Rāvaṇa. In Act X the party of Rāma makes the usual aerial tour of India, including the world of the moon, and ending with the inevitable consecration.TheBālabhārata34is mercifully unfinished; it covers the marriage of Draupadī, and the gambling scene with the ill usage of Draupadī. The other two plays are really Nāṭikās, but the first, theKarpūramañjarī35is classed by the theory as a Saṭṭaka, simply because it is in Prākrit, none of the characters[234]speaking Sanskrit. It is the old story; here the king is Caṇḍapāla, possibly a compliment to Mahendrapāla, and his beloved the Kuntala princess, Karpūramañjarī, who is really a cousin of the queen. In Act I a magician, Bhairavānanda, displays the damsel to the king and queen; the apparition tells her tale, and the queen decides to add her to the number of her attendants. The king and the maiden fall at once in love. In Act II a letter from the maiden avows her passion, and the Vidūṣaka and her friend Vicakṣaṇā arrange to let the king see her swinging and also producing by her touch the blossoming of the Açoka. Between the Acts we must assume that the queen has found out the love, and has confined the maiden, while the king has secured the making of a subterranean passage giving access to her prison. In Act III by this means the princess and the king enjoy a flirtation in the garden, when the queen discovers them. In Act IV we find that the end of the passage giving on the garden has been blocked, but another passage has been made to the sanctuary of Cāmuṇḍā, the entrance concealed behind the statue. Thus the prisoner can play a game of hide-and-seek with the queen, and this enables her to carry out a clever ruse invented by the magician to secure the queen’s blessing for the wedding. The queen is induced to demand that the king shall marry a princess of Lāṭa who will secure him imperial rank. She is still at her home, but the magician will fetch her to the place. The wedding goes on merrily, but the princess is no other than Karpūramañjarī, and the queen has unwittingly accomplished the lovers’ desires.The same motif is repeated in theViddhaçālabhañjikā,36which is a regular Nāṭikā. Act I tells us that Candravarman of Lāṭa, vassal of Vidyādharamalla, has sent to the court of his overlord his daughter Mṛgān̄kāvalī in the guise of his son and heir. The king, Vidyādharamalla, recounts a dream in the truthful hours of the morning, in which a beautiful maid had cast a collar of pearls round his neck; he is haunted by her, and next finds her in sculptured form (çālabhañjikā) in the picture gallery. He has a further glimpse of her in the flesh but no more, before the heralds announce midday. In Act II we learn that the queen proposes to marry Kuvalayamālā of Kuntala to the pretended[235]boy, while the Vidūṣaka has been promised by her foster-sister, Mekhalā, marriage with a lady of the seductive name of Ambaramālā, Air Garland. Imagine his disgust when she turns out to be a mere slave; the king has to calm him, and together they watch in hiding Mṛgān̄kāvalī playing in the garden, and hear her reading a letter of love. The heralds proclaim the evening hour. In Act III we are told that the dream of the king was reality, devised by Bhāgurāyaṇa, his minister, who knew that the husband of the heroine would attain imperial rule. The Vidūṣaka punishes Mekhalā’s ruse by another; he bids a woman hide herself and call out a warning to Mekhalā of evil to befall her unless she crawl between a Brahmin’s limbs. The queen begs the Vidūṣaka to permit this ceremony, and, it over, he avows the plot to the great indignation of the queen. The Vidūṣaka and the king then have an interview with the heroine. In Act IV we learn of a plot of the queen to punish the king. She induces him to agree to marry the sister of the pretended boy, meaning that he should find that he has married a boy. The king agrees; the marriage is completed; news comes from Candravarman that a son is born, begging the queen to dispose in marriage of his daughter, who may resume her sex. The queen, tricked and deceived, makes the best of her situation; with dignity and hauteur she bestows on her husband both Mṛgān̄kāvalī and Kuvalayamālā, while news is brought that the last rebels are subdued and the king’s suzerainty is recognized everywhere.There can be no doubt of the demerits of Rājaçekhara’s works; he is devoid of the power to create a character: Vidyādharamalla is stiff and uninteresting beside his model, the gay and gallant Vatsa; the queen is without the love or the majesty of Vāsavadattā; Bhāgurāyaṇa is a feeble Yaugandharāyaṇa, whose magician is borrowed in theKarpūramañjarīand spoiled in the borrowing. The heroines are without merit; the Vidūṣaka in theKarpūramañjarīis tedious, but Cārāyaṇa in theViddhaçālabhañjikāhas merits; he has plenty of sound common sense, though he is simple and capable of being taken in by others. The intrigue in both Nāṭikās is poorly managed; the confusion of exits and entrances in theKarpūramañjarīis difficult to follow and probably more difficult to act, while in theViddhaçālabhañjikāthe queen is induced to arrange a marriage out of a[236]puerile incident affecting the Vidūṣaka only. The taste of giving two brides to the king at once is deplorable, as is the failure to explain why the king accepts the suggested marriage when ignorant of its true import.In all his dramas, however, Rājaçekhara is merely concerned with exercises in style. The themes he frankly tells us in the prologue to theKarpūramañjarīare the same; the question is the expression, and the language is indifferent; therefore Prākrit being smooth, while Sanskrit is harsh, the language of women as opposed to men, can be used as a medium of style by one who boasts himself an expert in every kind of language. We have, therefore, elaborate descriptions in equally elaborate verses, of the dawn, midday, sunset, the pleasures of the harem, the game of ball, the swing, a favourite enjoyment of the Indian maidens, and in the Nāṭakas picturesad nauseamof battles with magic weapons, and appalling mythical geography and topography. His allusions to local practices and customs may be interesting to the antiquarian, but are not poetical. More praiseworthy is his real accomplishment in metres, especially the Çārdūlavikrīḍita, his facility in which Kṣemendra justly praises, the Vasantatilaka, Çloka, and Sragdharā. His ability to handle elaborate Prākrit metres is undeniable; in 144 stanzas in theKarpūramañjarīhe has 17 varieties. If poetry consisted merely of harmonious sound, he must be ranked high as a poet. He is fond of proverbs:varaṁ takkālovaṇadā tittirī ṇa uṇa diahantaridā morī, which gives our ‘A bird in hand is worth two in the bush’; he introduces freely words from vernaculars, including Marāthī. But, despite his parade of learning, he cannot distinguish accurately Çaurasenī and Māhārāṣṭrī in his drama; in the former we find such forms aslaṭṭhiforyaṣṭi,ammiin the locative andhiṁtoin the ablative singular ofa-stems, andesafor the pronoun. Important as he is lexicographically for both Sanskrit and Prākrit, it is undeniable that both were utterly dead languages for him, which he had laboriously learned. Forms likeḍhillaequivalent toçithilain theKarpūramañjarīshow how far the vernaculars had advanced beyond the Prākrits of the drama.It would, however, be quite unjust to deny to Rājaçekhara the power of effective expression; like all the later dramatists he is capable of producing elegant and attractive verses, which are[237]largely spoiled in their context by their being embedded in masses of tasteless matter. Thus the benediction of theViddhaçālabhañjikāis decidedly graceful:kulagurur abalānāṁ kelidīkṣāpradāneparamasuhṛd anan̄go rohiṇīvallabhasyaapi kusumapṛṣatkair devadevasya jetājayati suratalīlānāṭikāsūtradhāraḥ.‘Family preceptor of young maidens for the bestowal of the sacrament of love, the bodyless one, dearest friend of Rohiṇī’s lover, he that with his flower arrows overthrew the god of gods, he is victorious ever, the director of the comedy of the play of love’s mysteries.’The description of summer is also pretty if banal:rajaniviramayāmeṣv ādiçantī ratecchāmkim api kaṭhinayantī nārikelīphalāmbhaḥapi pariṇamayitrī rājarambhāphalānāmdinapariṇatiramyā vartate grīṣmalakṣmīḥ.‘This is the glorious season of summer, delightful in the length of the days, when the royal plantain fruits are ripened, and the milk in the coco-nut is hardened, and the season bids us enjoy the delight of love in the closing watches of the night.’The signs of a maiden distracted by unfulfilled affection are quaintly described:candraṁ candanakardamena likhitaṁ sā mārṣṭi daṣṭādharābandhyaṁ nindati yac ca manmatham asau bhan̄ktvāgrahastān̄gurīḥkāmaḥ puṣpaçaraḥ kileti sumanovargaṁ lunīte ca yattat kāmyā subhaga tvayā varatanur vātūlatāṁ lambhitā.‘Biting her lip, she wipes out the figure of the moon sketched in sandal paste; snapping her finger-tips she mocks at love as barren; to flout his darts, the flowers she gathers she tears in shreds; assuredly the fair one whom thou shouldst love hath been brought by thee to madness.’antastāraṁ taralitatalāḥ stokam utpīḍabhājaḥpakṣmāgreṣu grathitapṛṣataḥ kīrṇadhārāḥ krameṇacittātan̄kaṁ nijagarimataḥ samyag āsūtrayantoniryānty asyāḥ kuvalayadṛço bāṣpavārām pravāhāḥ.‘Rippled on the surface of the pupil, slightly foaming, forming drops on the tips of the lashes, then slowly issuing in streams,[238]betokening by their weight her heart’s sorrow, there pour forth from the lotus-eyed one the floods of her tears.’Of all the plays theKarpūramañjarīis undoubtedly that which contains the most substantial evidence that Rājaçekhara had some real poetic talent, despite the banality and stupidity of his conception of love in Act III. The swing scene contains really effective lines of word-painting, in harmonious metre:37vicchaanto ṇaararamaṇīmaṇḍalassāṇaṇāiṁviccholanto gaaṇakuharaṁ kantijoṇhājaleṇapecchantīṇaṁ hiaaṇihiaṁ ṇiddalanto a dappaṁdolālīlāsaralataralo dīsae se muhendū.‘Paling the face of every beauty here, making the sky’s vault to ripple with the liquid moonlight of her loveliness, and breaking the haughty pride in the hearts of maids that regard her, appeareth the moon-like orb of her face as she moveth straight to and fro in her sport on the swing.’ The effective alliteration and paronomasia of this stanza are surpassed by the metrical perfection of the next but one, where the Pṛthvī metre, with ‘its jingling tribrachs and bell-like, chiming cretics’, is employed in a stanza which admirably conveys by its sound the sense at which it aims:raṇantamaṇiṇeuraṁ jhaṇajhaṇantahāracchaḍaṁkaṇakkaṇiakin̄kiṇīmuhalamehalāḍambaraṁvilolavalaāvalījaṇiamañjusiñjāravaṁṇa kassa maṇomohaṇaṁ sasimuhīa hindolaṇaṁ.‘With the tinkling jewelled anklets,       With the sound of lovely jinglesWith the flashing jewelled necklace,       From the rows of rolling bangles,With the show of girdles garrulous       Pray whose heart is not bewilderedFrom their ringing, ringing bells       While the moon-faced maiden swings?’Excellent also is the king’s address38to the Açoka when made to blossom by the touch of the foot of his young beloved, but more characteristic in his comment,39inspired by the Vidūṣaka’s[239]ungallant comparison of the fresh beauty of the maiden with thepasséecomeliness of his queen:bālāu honti kuūhaleṇa emeya cavalacittāodaralasiathaṇīsu puṇo ṇivasai maaraddhaarahassaṁ.‘Though maidens in their young zest for life are fickle of faith, yet it is with them—their breasts just budding—that the mystery of the dolphin-bannered doth abide.’For technique Rājaçekhara is of interest, because he uses in theKarpūramañjarīthe old form of prologue quite openly, with the Nāndī recited doubtless by the Sūtradhāra, followed by the advent of the Sthāpaka who recites two verses. It is noteworthy that the manuscripts often alter the Sthāpaka to the Sūtradhāra despite the clear sense of the text. The latePārvatīpariṇayalikewise has a Nāndī before the Sūtradhāra speaks a verse. It is probable that the older technique long persisted in the south.Rājaçekhara’s indebtedness to his predecessors is wholesale; the influence of Kālidāsa, Harṣa, and Bhavabhūti is obvious, and it is probably an indication of his contemporaneity with, or slight posteriority to, Murāri that he does not seem to have known his writings. Influence of the vernacular or of Prākrit is to be seen in his occasional use of rhyme, such as is found in the laterGītagovindaor theMohamudgara.[Contents]6.Bhīmaṭa and KṣemīçvaraA verse attributed to Rājaçekhara mentions the five dramas of Bhīmaṭa, of which theSvapnadaçānanawon him chief fame. He is described as a Kaliñjarapati, whence the suggestion has been made that he was a connection of the Candella king Harṣa of Jejākabhukti, who, we know, was a contemporary of Mahīpāla of Kanyakubja, patron of Rājaçekhara, but we have no ground for positive assertion.40The case is different with Kṣemīçvara, who in hisCaṇḍakauçikawrote for Mahīpāla, doubtless the king of Kanyakubja, patron of Rājaçekhara. Kṣemīçvara asserts his patron’s victory over the Karṇāṭas, which was doubtless the view taken in royal circles of the contest against the Rāṣṭrakūṭa Indra III, who for his part claims victory over Mahodaya, or Kanyakubja.40A[240]variant of the name is Kṣemendra, but he is not to be identified with the Kashmirian poet of that name. His great-grandfather was called Vijayakoṣṭha or Vijayaprakoṣṭha, who is designated as both Ārya and Ācārya, and was, therefore, a learned man of some sort.Kṣemīçvara has left two dramas. TheNaiṣadhānanda41in seven acts deals with the legend of Nala, famous in the epic and later. TheCaṇḍakauçika42reveals the stupid story of Hariçcandra, who, seeing as he thought the sacrifice of a damsel on the fire rebukes the Kauçika Viçvāmitra, and in return for his gallant action is cursed by the irascible sage, who was merely bringing the sciences under his control. He secures pardon by the surrender of the earth and a thousand gold pieces; to secure the latter he sells wife and child to a Brahmin, and himself to a Caṇḍāla as a cemetery keeper. One day his wife brings the dead body of their child, but it turns out merely to be a trial of his character; his son is alive and is crowned king. The plot is as poor as the execution of the piece. He shows in metre a special fondness for the Çikhariṇī, which occurs 20 times, nearly as often as the Çārdūlavikrīḍita (23), while the Vasantatilaka appears 27 times and the Çloka 36. His Prākrits, Çaurasenī and a fewMāhārāṣṭrīstanzas, are artificial.The compilers of anthologies make little of Kṣemīçvara, with sufficient reason, for his verses do not rise above mediocrity. The second stanza of the three-verse benediction in theNaiṣadhānandais on a common theme, but not unhappily expressed; it follows a verse in honour of Puruṣottama and Çrī, with the usual impartiality of this period:asthi hy asthi phaṇī phaṇī kim aparam bhasma bhasmaiva taccarmaiva carma kiṁ tava jitaṁ yenaivam uttāmyasinaitāṁ dhūrta paṇīkaroṣi satatam mūrdhni sthitāṁ Jāhnavīmity evaṁ Çivayā sanarmagadito dyūte Haraḥ pātu vaḥ.‘A skull is but a skull, a serpent a serpent; what more? The ashes and the skin also which thou dost wear are but ashes and skin. What of thine hast thou lost that thus thou art outworn? Ah, rogue, it is that thou wilt not stake Jahnu’s daughter that[241]rests ever on thy crest. May Hara guard you, Hara to whom Çivā once spake playfully when they diced.’This amusing play on the unwillingness of Çiva to prolong the dicing after he has unsuccessfully staked his necklace of skulls and serpents, and his clothing of ashes and hide, is followed by a wearisome eulogy of the glances of the god in the Tāṇḍava dance, alluding to the great moments in his history. Similar bad taste is shown in the curious and unusual form of the last verse of the drama:yenādiçya prayogaṁ ghanapulakabhṛtā nāṭakasyāsya harṣādvastrālaṁkārahemnām pratidinam akṛçā rāçayaḥ sampradattāḥtasya kṣattraprasūter bhramatu jagad idaṁ Kārttikeyasya kīrtiḥpāre kṣīrāmbhusindho ravikaviyaçasā sārdham agresarena.‘Through all the universe beyond the ocean of milk, heralded by the fame of his bard, the sun, may the fame wander of that scion of heroism, that god of war, who bade this drama be performed and who in keen delight at the pleasure he found in it gave daily to the poet abundant store of raiment, jewels and gold.’ Such a mode of immortalizing himself, and his patron can hardly be regarded as precisely dignified, and it certainly is not in harmony with the traditions of the drama.[242]1See Aufrecht, ZDMG. xxxvi. 521.↑2v. 36; Lévi, TI. ii. 87. The citations are mainly from hisKapphiṇābhyudaya; Thomas,Kavīndravacanasamuccaya, p. 111.↑3Pischel, ZDMG. xxxix. 315; Hultzsch, GN. 1886, pp. 224 ff.↑4Bhattanatha Svamin, IA. xli. 139 f.; Bhandarkar,Report(1897), pp. xi, xviii; Peterson,Report, ii. 59. The name is variously given as Māyūrāja.↑5Subhāṣitāvali, 1766.↑6Ibid., 1366.↑7Ibid., 1364.↑8Ibid., 1634.↑9i. 42; SD. 390; N. xix. 94; Lévi, TI. ii. 9.↑10DR. ii. 54 comm.↑11DR. iv. 26 comm.↑12DR. i. 41 comm.↑13DR. iii. 13 comm.↑14DR. iii. 17 comm.↑15DR. iii. 12 comm.↑16DR. iii. 38 comm.; SD. 512.↑17DR. iii. 56 f. comm.; SD. 516.↑18vi. 30/31 is cited in i. 6/7.↑19xxxviii. 68. For his date cf. Bühler,Kashmir Report, p. 42. See Bhattanatha Svamin, IA. xli. 141; Lévi, TI. i. 277.↑20ID. p. 83. Dhanika (DR. ii. 1) cites, anonymously as usual, iii. 21.↑21xxv. 74.↑22ZDMG. lxxv. 63.↑23ii. 34, as compared with vii. 83.↑24Ed. KM. 1894; cf. Baumgartner,Das Râmâyaṇa, pp. 125 ff.↑25v. 6.↑26vii. 87.↑27vii. 82.↑28vii. 107.↑29vii. 90.↑30Ed. p. 1, note.↑31Konow,Karpūramañjarī, pp. 177 ff.; Hultzsch, IA. xxxiv. 177 ff.; V. S. Apte,Rājaçekhara, Poona, 1886. Of special virtue is hisKāvyamīmāṅsāon rhetoric, which is better than his dramas.↑32Winternitz, GIL. iii. 47; Lévi, TI. i. 183 f.↑33Ed. Calcutta, 1884.↑34Ed. C. Cappeller, Strassburg, 1885; Weber, IS. xviii. 481 ff.↑35Ed. S. Konow, trs. C. R. Lanman, HOS. iv. 1901; J. Charpentier,Monde oriental, ii. 226 ff.↑36Ed. Poona, 1886; trs. L. H. Gray, JAOS. xxvii. 1 ff.↑37ii. 30. The translation of this and the next verse is taken from Lanman’s version.↑38ii. 47.↑39ii. 49.↑40Konow, ID. p. 87; Peterson,Reports, ii. 63; Bhandarkar,Report(1897), p. xi.↑ab41Peterson,Reports, iii. 340 f.↑42Ed. Calcutta, 1884; trs. L. Fritze, Leipzig, 1883. On the same theme is Rāmacandra’sSatyahariçcandra(twelfth cent.); see Keith, JRAS. 1914, pp. 1104 f.↑

XMURĀRI, RĀJAÇEKHARA, THEIR PREDECESSORS AND SUCCESSORS

[Contents]1.The Predecessors of MurāriWe know definitely of very few dramatists of the eighth and ninth centuries. Kalhaṇa1mentions expressly Yaçovarman of Kanyakubja as a patron of literature, who, as we have seen, patronized Bhavabhūti and Vākpati, and we learn of his dramaRāmābhyudaya, which is mentioned by Ānandavardhana in theDhvanyāloka, by Dhanika and Viçvanātha, but has not yet been found. To Kalhaṇa2also we are indebted for knowledge of the period of Çivasvāmin, who lived under Avantivarman of Kashmir (A.D.855–83) and was a contemporary of the poet Ratnākara. He wrote many Nāṭakas and Nāṭikās, and also Prakaraṇas, but save an occasional verse in the anthologies his fame is lost.Anan̄gaharṣa Mātrarāja,3on the other hand, is known to Ānandavardhana and Abhinavagupta, and his playTāpasavatsarājacaritais a variation on the theme of the ruse of Yaugandharāyaṇa to secure the marriage of Vatsa and Padmāvatī, in face of the deep love of the king for Vāsavadattā. Vatsa in this drama, which is of little poetic or dramatic value, becomes an ascetic on learning of his queen’s supposed fate, whence the title of the play. Padmāvatī, who had become enamoured of the king from a portrait sent by the minister, follows suit. Eventually Vāsavadattā and Vatsa are united in Prayāga when each is about to commit suicide in sorrow at separation, and the usual victory is reported by Rumaṇvant to give a happy ending.[221]There seems little doubt that the author used theRatnāvalī, which gives the upper limit of his date. His father’s name is givenasNarendravardhana.Māyurājā4has been less fortunate in that hisUdāttarāghavais known only by reference. Rājaçekhara represents him as a Karaculi or Kulicuri, which suggests the possibility that he was a king of the Kalacuri dynasty, of which unhappily we know little during the period in which he is probably to be set. He seems to have known Bhavabhūti. Like him he eliminated treachery from the slaying of Vālin by Rāma, and he represents Lakṣmaṇa as first to follow the magic gazelle, and Rāma as going later in pursuit. He is cited more than once in Dhanika’s commentary on theDaçarūpa.No other dramatist of this period is known with any certainty; thePārvatīpariṇayaonce ascribed to Bāṇa is now allotted to Vāmana Bhaṭṭa Bāṇa (c.A.D.1400), and theMallikāmāruta, wrongly thought to be Daṇḍin’s, is the work of one Uddaṇḍin of the seventeenth century.Of these dramatists Yaçovarman has had the honour of being considered worthy of quotation by the writers on theory who have preserved for us some interesting verses:5ākrandāḥ stanitair vilocanajalāny açrāntadhārāmbhubhistvadvicchedabhuvaç ca çokaçikhinas tulyās taḍidvibhramaiḥantar me dayitāmukhaṁ tava çaçī vṛttiḥ samāpy āvayoḥtat kim mām aniçaṁ sakhe jaladhara dagdhum evodyataḥ.‘My moans are like thy thunder, the floods of my tears thy ever-streaming showers, the flame of my sorrow at severance from my beloved thy flickering lightning, in my mind is her face reflected, in thee the moon; like is our condition; why then, O friend, O cloud, dost thou ever seek to consume me with the burning pangs of love?’This is decidedly pretty, and there is elegance and beauty in another verse:6yat tvannetrasamānakānti salile magnaṁ tad indīvarammeghair antaritaḥ priye tava mukhacchāyānukāraḥ çaçīye ’pi tvadgamanānukāragatayas te rājahaṅsā gatāstvatsādṛçyavinodamātram api me daivena na kṣamyate.[222]‘The blue lotus which rivalled thine eyes in beauty is now sunk in the lake; the moon which imitated the fairness of thy face, beloved, is hidden by the clouds; the royal swans which aped thy lovely gait are departed; cruel fate will not grant me even the consolation of thy similitude.’This verse is appropriated by theMahānāṭaka, and so is the following,7which deals elegantly enough with the commonplace contrast between the sad lover and the Açoka tree, whose name is interpreted as ‘sorrowless’, and which flowers, as the poets never weary in telling us, when touched by the foot of a fair lady,especially one young:raktas tvaṁ navapallavair aham api çlāghyaiḥ priyāyā guṇaistvām āyānti çilīmukhāḥ smaradhanurmuktāḥ sakhe mām apikāntapādatalāhatis tava mude tad api mamāvayoḥsarvaṁ tulyam açoka kevalam ahaṁ dhātrā saçokaḥ kṛtaḥ.‘Thou are proud in thy new shoots, I in the glorious excellences of my beloved; the bees resort to thee, to me the arrows shot from love’s bow; like me thou dost delight in the touch of thy dear one’s foot; all is alike for us both save only that, O tree Sorrowless, the creator hath made me a man of sorrows.’kāmavyādhaçarāhatir na gaṇitā saṁjīvanī tvaṁ smṛtāno dagdho virahānalena jhaṭiti tvatsaṁgamāçāmṛtaiḥnīto ’yaṁ divaso vicitralikhitaiḥ saṁkalparūpair mayākiṁ vānyad dhṛdaye sthitāsi nanu me tatra svayaṁ sākṣiṇī.8‘I have not recked of the wound given by love, the hunter, for the memory of thee hath been my elixir; the fire of separation hath not consumed me straightway because of the nectar of the hope of union with thee; all this day hath been spent by me in limning thy fancied form; nought else have I done, as thou thyself art witness, for dost thou not live in my heart?’ We may regret the loss of a work which contained verses as pretty as these, even on the outworn topic of Rāma and Sītā.It might be interesting to know whether Yaçovarman was successful in introducing any new element into the established plot. The play is cited in the commentary on theDaçarūpa9to illustrate the device called deception or humiliation (chalana) and the parallel cited is that of the treatment of Vāsavadattā in the[223]Ratnāvalī. The definitions of the theory leave this idea far from clear; Viçvanātha seems to treat it as the bearing of insult for the sake of the end to be reached, and the allusion in the case of Sītā may be to her abandonment by Rāma as an act of duty.A much less favourable impression is left by the few fragments of theUdāttarāghavawhich are preserved. The poet seems to have affected the horrible, as two of his few stanzas deal with it; the better is:10jīyante jayino ’pi sāndratimiravrātair viyadvyāpibhirbhāsvantaḥ sakalā raver api rucaḥ kasmād akasmād amīetāç cograkabandharandhrarudhirair ādhmāyamānodarāmuñcanty ānanakandarānalamucas tīvrā ravāḥ pheravāḥ.‘The victors are vanquished; thick darkness invades the sky and triumphs over the brilliant rays of the sun; why this inexplicable event? Why do these jackals, whose bellies are swollen with the blood sucked from the wounds of bleeding corpses, and whose gaping jaws belch flame, utter these piercing cries?’A somewhat flat passage illustrates the conflict of thought in Rāma’s mind when appealed to by Citramāya on the score that Lakṣmaṇa is in danger from a Rākṣasa:11vatsasyābhayavāridheḥ pratibhayam manye kathaṁ rākṣasāttrastaç caiṣa munir virauti manasaç cāsty eva me sambhramaḥmā hāsīr Janakātmajām iti muhuḥ snehād gurur yācatena sthātuṁ na ca gantum ākulamater mūḍhasya me niçcayaḥ.‘The boy is an ocean of valour; how can I fear danger for him from a Rākṣasa? Yet the sage here is terrified and calls for aid, and my own mind is confused; my master too in his affection ever begs me not to leave Janaka’s daughter alone; my heart is troubled, and in my confusion I cannot resolve either to go or to stay.’Another Rāma drama, theChalitarāma, is also referred to by Dhanika in his comment on theDaçarūpa; it may belong to this period, or fall somewhat later; we have from it a picture of the leading captive of Lava:12yenāvṛtya mukhāni sāma paṭhatām atyantam āyāsitambālye yena hṛtākṣasūtravalayapratyarpaṇaiḥ krīḍitamyuṣmākaṁ hṛdayaṁ sa eṣa viçikhair āpūritāṅsasthalomūrchāghoratamaspraveçavivaço baddhvā Lavo nīyate.[224]‘He who caused such trouble to the Sāman reciters turning to look at him in his childish play, who amused himself by stealing and giving back strings of beads and bracelets, he, your heart’s joy, his shoulder pierced by arrows, powerless through entry into the dread darkness of fainting, is being led away bound, even Lava.’Another stanza refers to Bharata; Rāma returning to Ayodhyā in the celestial chariot declines thus to enter the town, since it is not his, but under the rule of Bharata; scarcely has he descended when he sees before him his brother:13ko ’pi siṅhāsanasyādhaḥ sthitaḥ pādukayoḥ puraḥjaṭāvān akṣamālī ca cāmarī ca virājate.‘There stands some one, below the lion throne, before a pair of sandals, wearing his hair long, bearing a rosary, resplendent beneath the chowrie.’The same play14contains an amusing slip by Sītā where she bids her boys go to Ayodhyā and tender their respects to the king. Lava naturally replies by asking why they should become members of the king’s entourage, and Sītā answers because the king is their father, a slip which she explains away as well as she can by saying that the king is father of the whole earth.Yet another drama of which we know nothing else is revealed to us by Dhanika, thePāṇḍavānanda, from which is cited a stanza interesting in its series of questions and answers, a literary form of which the dramatists are fond:15kā çlāghyā guṇināṁ kṣamā paribhavaḥ ko yaḥ svakulyaiḥ kṛtaḥkiṁ duḥkhaṁ parasaṁçrayo jagati kaḥ çlāghyo ya āçrīyateko mṛtyur vyasanaṁ çucaṁ jahati ke yair nirjitāḥ çatravaḥkair vijñātam idaṁ Virāṭanagare channasthitaiḥ Pāṇḍavaiḥ.‘For the good what is there praiseworthy? Patience. What is disgrace? That which is wrought by those of one’s own blood. What is misery? Recourse to another’s protection. Who in the world is enviable? He to whom one resorts for aid. What is death? Misfortune. Who escape sorrow? Those who conquer their foes. Who learned this lesson? The Pāṇḍavas when they dwelt in concealment in the city of Virāṭa.’We learn also from Dhanika of two further dramas, of unknown[225]authorship and date; they are mentioned16as illustrating the two kinds of Prakaraṇa as a dramatic form, the basis of distinction being whether the heroine is the wife of the hero and therefore a lady of good family or whether she is a courtesan. Of the latter class we have an example in theTaran̄gadatta, and of the former in thePuṣpadūṣitaka; the latter name occurs in the slightly altered form of Puṣpabhūṣita in theSāhityadarpaṇa. As an example of the Samavakāra theDaçarūpa17mentions theSamudramanthana, a title doubtless as well as the description of the drama in question.[Contents]2.MurāriMurāri tells us that he was the son of Çrīvardhamānaka of the Maudgalya Gotra and of Tantumatī; he claims to be a Mahākavi, and arrogates the style of Bāla-Vālmīki. His date is uncertain; he is certainly later than Bhavabhūti since he cites from theUttararāmacarita,18while we have evidence from the anthologies that he was reckoned by some as superior to Bhavabhūti, apparently his predecessor. A further suggestion as to date may be derived from the Kashmirian poet Ratnākara,19who in hisHaravijayamakes a clear reference to Murāri as a dramatist, for the effort of Bhattanatha Svamin to disprove the reference must be deemed completely unsuccessful. As Ratnākara belongs to the middle of the ninth centuryA.D., this gives us that period as the latest date for Murāri. Curiously enough, Professor Konow,20who accepts the disproof of the reference to Murāri in Ratnākara, admits that the reference to Murāri in Man̄kha’sÇrīkaṇṭhacarita21(c.A.D.1135) suggests that he was regarded by that author as earlier than Rājaçekhara, a fact which accords excellently with his priority to Ratnākara, and is far more important than the fact that he is not cited by the authors on theory of the eleventh centuryA.D.A further effort to place him late is that of Dr. Hultzsch,22who infers from verse 3 of theKaumudīmitrāṇandaof Rāmacandra, pupil of Hemacandra, that that[226]dramatist was a contemporary of Murāri. But the evidence is clearly inadequate; the words used are perfectly compatible with the fact that Murāri was dead, and there are grave chronological difficulties in the way of the theory. It is practically impossible that a contemporary of Rāmacandra could have been cited by Man̄kha at the date of theÇrīkaṇṭhacarita. Moreover Murāri seems to have been imitated by Jayadeva in thePrasannarāghava.23Of his place of activity we know nothing definite. He mentions, however, Māhiṣmatī as the seat of the Kalacuris, and it has been suggested that this indicates that he lived under the patronage of a prince of that dynasty at Māhiṣmatī, now Māndhātā on the Narmadā.[Contents]3.The AnargharāghavaMurāri declares in the prologue to the solitary drama, theAnargharāghava24which has come down to us, though quotations show that he wrote other works, that his aim is to please a public tired of terror, horror, violence, and marvels, by a composition elevated, heroic, and marvellous throughout, not merely at the close. He defends his choice of the banal subject of Rāma; his character adds elevation and charm to the poet’s work, and it would be folly to lay aside so splendid a theme. TheAnargharāghava, however, does little to justify the poet’s confidence in his choice of topic. The theme, treated already at length by Bhavabhūti, offered no chance of success save for a great poet, and Murāri was not such a poet save in the estimate of occasional later writers who extol his depth (gambhīratā) without any shadow of justification.Act I shows us Daçaratha in conversation with Vāmadeva. The arrival of the sage Viçvāmitra is announced; he exchanges with the king hyperbolic compliments of the most tedious type, but proceeds to business by demanding the aid of Rāma against the Rākṣasas which are troubling his hermitage. The king hesitates to send one so young and dear into danger. The sage insists on his obeying the call of duty, and he hands over Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa to the care of the ascetic. The herald announces[227]midday, and the king mourns the loss of his son. In Act II we have first a long-drawn-out conversation between Çunaḥçepha and Paçumeḍhra, two pupils of Viçvāmitra, which serves to enlighten us on the history of Vālin, Rāvaṇa, the Rākṣasas, Jāmbavant, Hanumant, and Tāḍakā. The entr’acte is followed by the appearance of Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa who describe the hermitage and the doings of its occupants, and then the heat of midday. Time, however, does not trouble the dramatist; though there is no further action and no interruption in the dialogue, we find ourselves transported to the evening; Viçvāmitra enters and describes in converse with the boys the sunset. A cry behind the scene announces the approach of the demoness Tāḍakā; Rāma hesitates to slay a female, but finally departs for the necessary duty; on his return he has to describe the rising of the moon. Viçvāmitra then suggests a visit to Janaka of Mithilā, affording an opportunity for a description of the city and its ruler.In Act II only do we reach the motif which Bhavabhūti with far greater skill made the leading idea of the drama, thus giving it effective unity, so far as the story permits. The chamberlain of Janaka in conversation with Kalahaṅsikā, one of Sītā’s suite, lets us know that the princess is now ripe for marriage, and Rāvaṇa seeks her hand. In the scene that follows the king accompanied by Çatānanda receives Rāma, but hesitates to put him to the severe test involved in bending Çiva’s bow. Çauṣkala, Rāvaṇa’s envoy, arrives to demand the maiden’s hand, but indignantly declines the request that his master should bend the bow. He eulogizes Rāvaṇa whom Rāma depreciates. Rāma is at last allowed to make the trial; those who remain on the stage describe his wonderful deed in breaking the bow. He is promised Sītā’s hand, while the other sons of Daçaratha are also awarded consorts. Çauṣkala departs, menacing revenge. Act IV shows us Rāvaṇa’s minister Mālyavant lamenting the failure of his scheme to win Sītā. Çūrpaṇakhā arrives from Videha and tells of the union of Rāma and Sītā. Mālyavant recognizes that Rāvaṇa will insist on seeking to separate the pair, and he counsels Çūrpaṇakhā to assume the disguise of Mantharā, the maid of Kaikeyī, with the view of securing the banishment of Rāma to the forest, where he will be more vulnerable to attack.[228]He is also cheered by the news given by Çūrpaṇakhā of the approach of Paraçurāma to Mithilā, whence some gain may accrue to his cause. The following scene shows us Rāma and Paraçurāma in verbal contest; Rāma is even more polite than in theMahāvīracaritawhich is obviously imitated, while the friends of Rāma carry on a vituperative dialogue behind the scene without actually appearing. Finally they resolve to fight, for Rāma has annoyed his rival by reminding him that the flag of his fame won by his destruction of the Kṣatriyas is worn out and challenging him to mount a new one. The fight itself takes place off the stage; Sītā, we learn from a voice behind the scenes, is apprehensive lest Rāma be drawing again his bow to win another maiden. The rivals then appear on excellent terms; Paraçurāma exchanges farewells with his former interlocutors and disappears. Then enter Janaka and Daçaratha. The latter is determined to resign his kingdom to Rāma, but Lakṣmaṇa enters introducing Mantharā who bears a fatal missive from Kaikeyī, bidding the king grant the two boons of the banishment of Rāma and the coronation of Bharata. The kings faint; Rāma sends Lakṣmaṇa to tell Sītā, and commends his father to Janaka.In Act V a conversation between Jāmbavant and an ascetic lady, Çravaṇā, tells of the doings of Rāma until his advent in the forest. Çravaṇā goes to Sugrīva to bespeak a kindly welcome for the wayfarers, while Jāmbavant overhears a dialogue between Rāvaṇa, disguised as a juggler, and Lakṣmaṇa. The vulture Jaṭāyu then appears with the grave news that he has seen Rāvaṇa and Mārīca in the forest; Jāmbavant goes to warn Sugrīva of the danger, while Jaṭāyu sees the rape of Sītā and pursues the ravisher. After this entr’acte Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa enter, wandering in grief in vain search. They are interrupted by a cry and see the friendly forest chief, Guha, assailed by the headless Kabandha. Lakṣmaṇa rescues him, but, in doing so, knocks off the tree, on which it was suspended, the skeleton of Dundubhi, to the annoyance of Vālin, who appears, and after a lengthy conversation challenges Rāma to battle. The fight is described from the stage by Lakṣmaṇa and Guha; the enemy is slain. Voices from behind the scenes report the coronation of Sugrīva and his determination to aid Rāma in the recovery of[229]Sītā, and Lakṣmaṇa and his friend leave the stage to rejoin their party. In Act VI Sāraṇa and Çuka, two spies of Rāvaṇa’s describe to Mālyavant the building of the bridge over the ocean and the advent of Rāma’s army. Voices from behind announce the departure of Kumbhakarṇa and Meghanāda for battle; in the same way we learn of their fall and the last exit of Rāvaṇa, whom Mālyavant decides to follow to the field. The final struggle is described with tedious and tasteless prolixity by two Vidyādharas, Ratnacūḍa and Hemān̄gada, and with this the Act closes.In Act VII we have a determined effort to vie with the close of theMahāvīracarita. Rāma, Sītā, Lakṣmaṇa, Vibhīṣaṇa, and Sugrīva proceed in Kubera’s celestial car to Ayodhyā. But the route is diversified from the simplicity of the model, for the travellers are taken to the celestial regions to view in all its aspects the mythical mountain Sumeru and the world of the moon; only then do they commence their journey in its terrestrial aspect by a description of Siṅhala, distinguished as usual from Lan̄kā; the route then passes over the Malaya mountains, the forest, the mountain Prasravaṇa, the Godāvarī, mount Mālyavant, Kuṇḍinīpura in the Mahārāṣṭra country, Kāñcī, Ujjayinī, Māhiṣmatī, the Yamunā, the Ganges, Vārāṇasī, Mithilā and Campā; the car goes then west to Prayāga, and later turns east to Ayodhyā, where the priest Vasiṣṭha waits with Rāma’s brothers to crown him king.The demerits of the poem are obvious; there is no attempt to improve on the traditional narrative, though Vālin is honourably killed; the characters are as stereotyped as ever. The author, however, delights to overload and elaborate the theme; hyperbole marks every idea; his mythological knowledge is adequate to enable him to abound in conceits and plays on words, when he does not sink, as largely in Act III, to mere commonplace. The taste which invents the visit to the world of the moon and Sumeru is as deplorable as that which substitutes the dull dialogue between Jāmbavant and Jaṭāyu for the vigorous conversation of Jaṭāyu and Sampāti in theMahāvīracarita. For dialogue in general Murāri has no taste at all, and what merit his work has lies entirely in the ability which he shows to handle the Sanskrit language and to frame sentences of harmonious[230]sound in effective metrical forms. His knowledge of the lexica is obvious, while his love of the recondite in grammar has won him the fame of being used to illustrate rare forms by the author of theSiddhāntakaumudī. These linguistic merits have secured him the preference shown for him by modern taste. Nor indeed can his power of expression be justly denied:25dṛçyante madhumattakokilavadhūnirdhūtacūtān̄kura—prāgbhāraprasaratparāgasikatādurgās taṭībhūmayaḥyāḥ kṛcchrād atilan̄ghya lubdhakabhayāt tair eva reṇūtkarairdhārāvāhibhir asti luptapadavīniḥçan̄kam eṇīkulam.‘There are seen the towering slopes as of sand where the pollen tilts off from the mango shoots, shaken by the female cuckoos, maddened by the intoxication of spring; scarce can the antelopes in their fear of the hunter leap over them, but the dust which they raise in showers accords them security by concealing the path of their flight.’ The idea is certainly trivial enough, but the expression, which defies reproduction in English, is in its own way a masterpiece of effect.A pretty erotic verse is found in Act VII:26anena rambhoru bhavanmukhena: tuṣārabhānos tulayā dhṛtasyaūnasya nūnam pratipūraṇāya: tārā sphuranti pratimānakhaṇḍāh.‘When the moon is placed in the scales, fair-limbed one, against thy face, assuredly it is found wanting, and to make good the deficit the stars must shine as make-weights.’Not a bad example of more elaborate, yet graceful, eulogy is found in the following stanza:27gotre sākṣād ajani bhagavān eṣa yat padmayoniḥçayyotthāyaṁ yad akhilam ahaḥ prīṇayanti dvirephānekāgrāṁ yad dadhati bhagavaty uṣṇabhānau ca bhaktimtat prāpus te sutanu vadanaupamyam ambhoruhāṇi.‘Since manifestly in their family has been born the blessed one, sprung from the lotus; since all day long they delight the bees as they rise from their bed; since their whole faith they devote to the blessed lord of the sharp rays, thus, O lovely one, the flowers that spring from the water attain the likeness of thy face.’[231]Happy also is another erotic stanza:28abhimukhapatayālubhir lalāṭa—: çramasalilair avadhūtapattralekhaḥkathayati puruṣāyitaṁ vadhūnām: mṛditahimadyutidurmanāḥ kapolaḥ.‘Its painted mark obliterated by the moisture which streams from the wearied brow over the face, the cheek reveals the longing of women, melancholy as the wan moon.’udeṣyatpīyūṣadyutirucikaṇārdrāḥ çaçimaṇi—sthalīnām panthāno ghanacaraṇalākṣālipibhṛtaḥcakorair uḍḍīnair jhaṭiti kṛtaçan̄kāḥ pratipadamparācaḥ saṁcārān avinayavatīnāṁ vivṛṇate.‘Footprints on pavements of moonstone, marked with the lac that dyes deep the feet, wet with drops that have the radiance of rising cream, made with anxiety at every step as the Cakoras fly up disturbed, mark the departure of ladies who violate decorum.’29A further stanza in some manuscripts of the poem occurs in the drama, while elsewhere it seems to be treated as a verse about Murāri:30devīṁ vācam upāsate hi bahavaḥ sāraṁ tu sārasvatamjānīte nitarām asau gurukulakliṣṭo Murāriḥ kaviḥabdhir lan̄ghita eva vānarabhaṭaiḥ kiṁ tv asyā gambhīratāmāpātālanimagnapīvaratanur jānāti manthācalaḥ.‘Many serve the goddess speech, but the essence of eloquence Murāri alone knows to the full, that poet who long toiled in the house of his teacher; even so the monkey host leapt over the ocean, but its depth the Mount of Churning alone knows, for its mighty mass penetrated down even to the realms below.’[Contents]4.The Date of RājaçekharaRājaçekhara, with the usual prolixity of bad poets, is voluble on his personality; he was of a Mahārāṣṭra Kṣatriya family of the Yāyāvaras, who claimed descent from Rāma; son of the minister Durduka or Duhika, and of Çīlavatī; grandson of Akālajalada, and descendant of Surānanda, Tarala, and Kavirāja, all[232]poets of name. He married Avantisundarī of the Cāhamāna family, and was a moderate Çaiva.31In theKarpūramañjarī, probably his first play since it was produced at the request of his wife, and not a king, he refers to himself as the teacher of Nirbhaya or Nirbhara, who was clearly the Pratihāra king, Mahendrapāla of Mahodaya or Kanyakubja, of whom we have records inA.D.893 and 907. TheBālarāmāyaṇawas produced at his request. But he seems then to have visited another court, for theViddhaçālabhañjikāwas produced for the Kalacuri king, Yuvarāja Keyūravarṣa of Tripurī. But, as the unfinishedBālabhāratawas written for Mahīpāla, successor ofMahendrapāla, whose records begin inA.D.914, we may assume that he returned to the court of the Pratihāras and died there. In theBālarāmāyaṇahe speaks of six of his works, not apparently including theViddhaçālabhañjikāand theBālabhārata, and in fact we have many stanzas from him regarding famous authors, though of course the proof of derivation from this Rājaçekara is not always complete.TheBālarāmāyaṇashows to perfection Rājaçekhara’s own estimate of himself. He traces his poetic descent from Vālmīki, through Bhartṛmeṇṭha and Bhavabhūti, but it is not clear that Bhartṛmeṇṭha must be assumed to have dramatized the work, and the little we know of this obscure person merely shows that he wrote an epic, theHayagrīvavadha, while his date is involved in the problems of Vikramāditya and Mātṛgupta.32[Contents]5.The Dramas of RājaçekharaTheBālarāmāyaṇa33is a Mahānāṭaka, that is one in ten acts, and the author, to add to the horror of the length, has expanded the prologue to almost the dimensions of an act, celebrating his non-existent merits, and has expanded each act to almost the dimensions of a Nāṭikā. The whole has 741 stanzas, and of these no less than 203 are in the 19-syllableÇārdūlavikrīḍitaand 89 in the Sragdharā, which has two more syllables in each pada or 84 in a stanza. The play has a certain novelty, because[233]the author has made the love of Rāvaṇa the dominating feature. He appears in person in the first act, but declines to test himself by drawing Çiva’s bow, and departs, menacing evil to any husband of Sītā. In Act II he seeks the aid of Paraçurāma, but is insulted instead, and a battle barely prevented by intervention of friends. In Act III the marriage of Sītā is enacted before him to distract his amorous sorrow, but the attempt is as little a success as it deserved to be; he interrupts, and finally the scene has to be broken off. In Act IV the duel of Rāma and Paraçurāma is disposed of, but in Act V we find another ludicrous effort to amuse Rāvaṇa; dolls with parrots in their mouths are presented to him as Sītā and his foster sister; he is deceived until he finds that his grasp is on wood; distracted, he demands his beloved from nature, the seasons, the streams, and the birds, as does Purūravas in theVikramorvaçī. The arrival of Çūrpaṇakhā, his sister, who has suffered severely from her attack on Rāma, brings him to a condition of more manly rage. A tedious Act then carries matters down to the death of the sorrowing Daçaratha. In Act VII the problem of inducing the ocean to accept the burden of the bridge is solved; Dadhittha and Kapittha, two monkeys, describe at length its construction to Rāma. A momentary terror is caused by a stratagem of Mālyavant; the severed head of Sītā seems to be flung on the shore, but it speaks and reveals the fraud; it is the head of the speaking doll. In Act VIII we have Rāvaṇa’s impressions as disaster after disaster is announced; he sends out Kumbhakarṇa, but sees even him helpless, despite his magic weapons, before Rāma. In Act IX Indra himself describes the last desperate duel of Rāma and Rāvaṇa. In Act X the party of Rāma makes the usual aerial tour of India, including the world of the moon, and ending with the inevitable consecration.TheBālabhārata34is mercifully unfinished; it covers the marriage of Draupadī, and the gambling scene with the ill usage of Draupadī. The other two plays are really Nāṭikās, but the first, theKarpūramañjarī35is classed by the theory as a Saṭṭaka, simply because it is in Prākrit, none of the characters[234]speaking Sanskrit. It is the old story; here the king is Caṇḍapāla, possibly a compliment to Mahendrapāla, and his beloved the Kuntala princess, Karpūramañjarī, who is really a cousin of the queen. In Act I a magician, Bhairavānanda, displays the damsel to the king and queen; the apparition tells her tale, and the queen decides to add her to the number of her attendants. The king and the maiden fall at once in love. In Act II a letter from the maiden avows her passion, and the Vidūṣaka and her friend Vicakṣaṇā arrange to let the king see her swinging and also producing by her touch the blossoming of the Açoka. Between the Acts we must assume that the queen has found out the love, and has confined the maiden, while the king has secured the making of a subterranean passage giving access to her prison. In Act III by this means the princess and the king enjoy a flirtation in the garden, when the queen discovers them. In Act IV we find that the end of the passage giving on the garden has been blocked, but another passage has been made to the sanctuary of Cāmuṇḍā, the entrance concealed behind the statue. Thus the prisoner can play a game of hide-and-seek with the queen, and this enables her to carry out a clever ruse invented by the magician to secure the queen’s blessing for the wedding. The queen is induced to demand that the king shall marry a princess of Lāṭa who will secure him imperial rank. She is still at her home, but the magician will fetch her to the place. The wedding goes on merrily, but the princess is no other than Karpūramañjarī, and the queen has unwittingly accomplished the lovers’ desires.The same motif is repeated in theViddhaçālabhañjikā,36which is a regular Nāṭikā. Act I tells us that Candravarman of Lāṭa, vassal of Vidyādharamalla, has sent to the court of his overlord his daughter Mṛgān̄kāvalī in the guise of his son and heir. The king, Vidyādharamalla, recounts a dream in the truthful hours of the morning, in which a beautiful maid had cast a collar of pearls round his neck; he is haunted by her, and next finds her in sculptured form (çālabhañjikā) in the picture gallery. He has a further glimpse of her in the flesh but no more, before the heralds announce midday. In Act II we learn that the queen proposes to marry Kuvalayamālā of Kuntala to the pretended[235]boy, while the Vidūṣaka has been promised by her foster-sister, Mekhalā, marriage with a lady of the seductive name of Ambaramālā, Air Garland. Imagine his disgust when she turns out to be a mere slave; the king has to calm him, and together they watch in hiding Mṛgān̄kāvalī playing in the garden, and hear her reading a letter of love. The heralds proclaim the evening hour. In Act III we are told that the dream of the king was reality, devised by Bhāgurāyaṇa, his minister, who knew that the husband of the heroine would attain imperial rule. The Vidūṣaka punishes Mekhalā’s ruse by another; he bids a woman hide herself and call out a warning to Mekhalā of evil to befall her unless she crawl between a Brahmin’s limbs. The queen begs the Vidūṣaka to permit this ceremony, and, it over, he avows the plot to the great indignation of the queen. The Vidūṣaka and the king then have an interview with the heroine. In Act IV we learn of a plot of the queen to punish the king. She induces him to agree to marry the sister of the pretended boy, meaning that he should find that he has married a boy. The king agrees; the marriage is completed; news comes from Candravarman that a son is born, begging the queen to dispose in marriage of his daughter, who may resume her sex. The queen, tricked and deceived, makes the best of her situation; with dignity and hauteur she bestows on her husband both Mṛgān̄kāvalī and Kuvalayamālā, while news is brought that the last rebels are subdued and the king’s suzerainty is recognized everywhere.There can be no doubt of the demerits of Rājaçekhara’s works; he is devoid of the power to create a character: Vidyādharamalla is stiff and uninteresting beside his model, the gay and gallant Vatsa; the queen is without the love or the majesty of Vāsavadattā; Bhāgurāyaṇa is a feeble Yaugandharāyaṇa, whose magician is borrowed in theKarpūramañjarīand spoiled in the borrowing. The heroines are without merit; the Vidūṣaka in theKarpūramañjarīis tedious, but Cārāyaṇa in theViddhaçālabhañjikāhas merits; he has plenty of sound common sense, though he is simple and capable of being taken in by others. The intrigue in both Nāṭikās is poorly managed; the confusion of exits and entrances in theKarpūramañjarīis difficult to follow and probably more difficult to act, while in theViddhaçālabhañjikāthe queen is induced to arrange a marriage out of a[236]puerile incident affecting the Vidūṣaka only. The taste of giving two brides to the king at once is deplorable, as is the failure to explain why the king accepts the suggested marriage when ignorant of its true import.In all his dramas, however, Rājaçekhara is merely concerned with exercises in style. The themes he frankly tells us in the prologue to theKarpūramañjarīare the same; the question is the expression, and the language is indifferent; therefore Prākrit being smooth, while Sanskrit is harsh, the language of women as opposed to men, can be used as a medium of style by one who boasts himself an expert in every kind of language. We have, therefore, elaborate descriptions in equally elaborate verses, of the dawn, midday, sunset, the pleasures of the harem, the game of ball, the swing, a favourite enjoyment of the Indian maidens, and in the Nāṭakas picturesad nauseamof battles with magic weapons, and appalling mythical geography and topography. His allusions to local practices and customs may be interesting to the antiquarian, but are not poetical. More praiseworthy is his real accomplishment in metres, especially the Çārdūlavikrīḍita, his facility in which Kṣemendra justly praises, the Vasantatilaka, Çloka, and Sragdharā. His ability to handle elaborate Prākrit metres is undeniable; in 144 stanzas in theKarpūramañjarīhe has 17 varieties. If poetry consisted merely of harmonious sound, he must be ranked high as a poet. He is fond of proverbs:varaṁ takkālovaṇadā tittirī ṇa uṇa diahantaridā morī, which gives our ‘A bird in hand is worth two in the bush’; he introduces freely words from vernaculars, including Marāthī. But, despite his parade of learning, he cannot distinguish accurately Çaurasenī and Māhārāṣṭrī in his drama; in the former we find such forms aslaṭṭhiforyaṣṭi,ammiin the locative andhiṁtoin the ablative singular ofa-stems, andesafor the pronoun. Important as he is lexicographically for both Sanskrit and Prākrit, it is undeniable that both were utterly dead languages for him, which he had laboriously learned. Forms likeḍhillaequivalent toçithilain theKarpūramañjarīshow how far the vernaculars had advanced beyond the Prākrits of the drama.It would, however, be quite unjust to deny to Rājaçekhara the power of effective expression; like all the later dramatists he is capable of producing elegant and attractive verses, which are[237]largely spoiled in their context by their being embedded in masses of tasteless matter. Thus the benediction of theViddhaçālabhañjikāis decidedly graceful:kulagurur abalānāṁ kelidīkṣāpradāneparamasuhṛd anan̄go rohiṇīvallabhasyaapi kusumapṛṣatkair devadevasya jetājayati suratalīlānāṭikāsūtradhāraḥ.‘Family preceptor of young maidens for the bestowal of the sacrament of love, the bodyless one, dearest friend of Rohiṇī’s lover, he that with his flower arrows overthrew the god of gods, he is victorious ever, the director of the comedy of the play of love’s mysteries.’The description of summer is also pretty if banal:rajaniviramayāmeṣv ādiçantī ratecchāmkim api kaṭhinayantī nārikelīphalāmbhaḥapi pariṇamayitrī rājarambhāphalānāmdinapariṇatiramyā vartate grīṣmalakṣmīḥ.‘This is the glorious season of summer, delightful in the length of the days, when the royal plantain fruits are ripened, and the milk in the coco-nut is hardened, and the season bids us enjoy the delight of love in the closing watches of the night.’The signs of a maiden distracted by unfulfilled affection are quaintly described:candraṁ candanakardamena likhitaṁ sā mārṣṭi daṣṭādharābandhyaṁ nindati yac ca manmatham asau bhan̄ktvāgrahastān̄gurīḥkāmaḥ puṣpaçaraḥ kileti sumanovargaṁ lunīte ca yattat kāmyā subhaga tvayā varatanur vātūlatāṁ lambhitā.‘Biting her lip, she wipes out the figure of the moon sketched in sandal paste; snapping her finger-tips she mocks at love as barren; to flout his darts, the flowers she gathers she tears in shreds; assuredly the fair one whom thou shouldst love hath been brought by thee to madness.’antastāraṁ taralitatalāḥ stokam utpīḍabhājaḥpakṣmāgreṣu grathitapṛṣataḥ kīrṇadhārāḥ krameṇacittātan̄kaṁ nijagarimataḥ samyag āsūtrayantoniryānty asyāḥ kuvalayadṛço bāṣpavārām pravāhāḥ.‘Rippled on the surface of the pupil, slightly foaming, forming drops on the tips of the lashes, then slowly issuing in streams,[238]betokening by their weight her heart’s sorrow, there pour forth from the lotus-eyed one the floods of her tears.’Of all the plays theKarpūramañjarīis undoubtedly that which contains the most substantial evidence that Rājaçekhara had some real poetic talent, despite the banality and stupidity of his conception of love in Act III. The swing scene contains really effective lines of word-painting, in harmonious metre:37vicchaanto ṇaararamaṇīmaṇḍalassāṇaṇāiṁviccholanto gaaṇakuharaṁ kantijoṇhājaleṇapecchantīṇaṁ hiaaṇihiaṁ ṇiddalanto a dappaṁdolālīlāsaralataralo dīsae se muhendū.‘Paling the face of every beauty here, making the sky’s vault to ripple with the liquid moonlight of her loveliness, and breaking the haughty pride in the hearts of maids that regard her, appeareth the moon-like orb of her face as she moveth straight to and fro in her sport on the swing.’ The effective alliteration and paronomasia of this stanza are surpassed by the metrical perfection of the next but one, where the Pṛthvī metre, with ‘its jingling tribrachs and bell-like, chiming cretics’, is employed in a stanza which admirably conveys by its sound the sense at which it aims:raṇantamaṇiṇeuraṁ jhaṇajhaṇantahāracchaḍaṁkaṇakkaṇiakin̄kiṇīmuhalamehalāḍambaraṁvilolavalaāvalījaṇiamañjusiñjāravaṁṇa kassa maṇomohaṇaṁ sasimuhīa hindolaṇaṁ.‘With the tinkling jewelled anklets,       With the sound of lovely jinglesWith the flashing jewelled necklace,       From the rows of rolling bangles,With the show of girdles garrulous       Pray whose heart is not bewilderedFrom their ringing, ringing bells       While the moon-faced maiden swings?’Excellent also is the king’s address38to the Açoka when made to blossom by the touch of the foot of his young beloved, but more characteristic in his comment,39inspired by the Vidūṣaka’s[239]ungallant comparison of the fresh beauty of the maiden with thepasséecomeliness of his queen:bālāu honti kuūhaleṇa emeya cavalacittāodaralasiathaṇīsu puṇo ṇivasai maaraddhaarahassaṁ.‘Though maidens in their young zest for life are fickle of faith, yet it is with them—their breasts just budding—that the mystery of the dolphin-bannered doth abide.’For technique Rājaçekhara is of interest, because he uses in theKarpūramañjarīthe old form of prologue quite openly, with the Nāndī recited doubtless by the Sūtradhāra, followed by the advent of the Sthāpaka who recites two verses. It is noteworthy that the manuscripts often alter the Sthāpaka to the Sūtradhāra despite the clear sense of the text. The latePārvatīpariṇayalikewise has a Nāndī before the Sūtradhāra speaks a verse. It is probable that the older technique long persisted in the south.Rājaçekhara’s indebtedness to his predecessors is wholesale; the influence of Kālidāsa, Harṣa, and Bhavabhūti is obvious, and it is probably an indication of his contemporaneity with, or slight posteriority to, Murāri that he does not seem to have known his writings. Influence of the vernacular or of Prākrit is to be seen in his occasional use of rhyme, such as is found in the laterGītagovindaor theMohamudgara.[Contents]6.Bhīmaṭa and KṣemīçvaraA verse attributed to Rājaçekhara mentions the five dramas of Bhīmaṭa, of which theSvapnadaçānanawon him chief fame. He is described as a Kaliñjarapati, whence the suggestion has been made that he was a connection of the Candella king Harṣa of Jejākabhukti, who, we know, was a contemporary of Mahīpāla of Kanyakubja, patron of Rājaçekhara, but we have no ground for positive assertion.40The case is different with Kṣemīçvara, who in hisCaṇḍakauçikawrote for Mahīpāla, doubtless the king of Kanyakubja, patron of Rājaçekhara. Kṣemīçvara asserts his patron’s victory over the Karṇāṭas, which was doubtless the view taken in royal circles of the contest against the Rāṣṭrakūṭa Indra III, who for his part claims victory over Mahodaya, or Kanyakubja.40A[240]variant of the name is Kṣemendra, but he is not to be identified with the Kashmirian poet of that name. His great-grandfather was called Vijayakoṣṭha or Vijayaprakoṣṭha, who is designated as both Ārya and Ācārya, and was, therefore, a learned man of some sort.Kṣemīçvara has left two dramas. TheNaiṣadhānanda41in seven acts deals with the legend of Nala, famous in the epic and later. TheCaṇḍakauçika42reveals the stupid story of Hariçcandra, who, seeing as he thought the sacrifice of a damsel on the fire rebukes the Kauçika Viçvāmitra, and in return for his gallant action is cursed by the irascible sage, who was merely bringing the sciences under his control. He secures pardon by the surrender of the earth and a thousand gold pieces; to secure the latter he sells wife and child to a Brahmin, and himself to a Caṇḍāla as a cemetery keeper. One day his wife brings the dead body of their child, but it turns out merely to be a trial of his character; his son is alive and is crowned king. The plot is as poor as the execution of the piece. He shows in metre a special fondness for the Çikhariṇī, which occurs 20 times, nearly as often as the Çārdūlavikrīḍita (23), while the Vasantatilaka appears 27 times and the Çloka 36. His Prākrits, Çaurasenī and a fewMāhārāṣṭrīstanzas, are artificial.The compilers of anthologies make little of Kṣemīçvara, with sufficient reason, for his verses do not rise above mediocrity. The second stanza of the three-verse benediction in theNaiṣadhānandais on a common theme, but not unhappily expressed; it follows a verse in honour of Puruṣottama and Çrī, with the usual impartiality of this period:asthi hy asthi phaṇī phaṇī kim aparam bhasma bhasmaiva taccarmaiva carma kiṁ tava jitaṁ yenaivam uttāmyasinaitāṁ dhūrta paṇīkaroṣi satatam mūrdhni sthitāṁ Jāhnavīmity evaṁ Çivayā sanarmagadito dyūte Haraḥ pātu vaḥ.‘A skull is but a skull, a serpent a serpent; what more? The ashes and the skin also which thou dost wear are but ashes and skin. What of thine hast thou lost that thus thou art outworn? Ah, rogue, it is that thou wilt not stake Jahnu’s daughter that[241]rests ever on thy crest. May Hara guard you, Hara to whom Çivā once spake playfully when they diced.’This amusing play on the unwillingness of Çiva to prolong the dicing after he has unsuccessfully staked his necklace of skulls and serpents, and his clothing of ashes and hide, is followed by a wearisome eulogy of the glances of the god in the Tāṇḍava dance, alluding to the great moments in his history. Similar bad taste is shown in the curious and unusual form of the last verse of the drama:yenādiçya prayogaṁ ghanapulakabhṛtā nāṭakasyāsya harṣādvastrālaṁkārahemnām pratidinam akṛçā rāçayaḥ sampradattāḥtasya kṣattraprasūter bhramatu jagad idaṁ Kārttikeyasya kīrtiḥpāre kṣīrāmbhusindho ravikaviyaçasā sārdham agresarena.‘Through all the universe beyond the ocean of milk, heralded by the fame of his bard, the sun, may the fame wander of that scion of heroism, that god of war, who bade this drama be performed and who in keen delight at the pleasure he found in it gave daily to the poet abundant store of raiment, jewels and gold.’ Such a mode of immortalizing himself, and his patron can hardly be regarded as precisely dignified, and it certainly is not in harmony with the traditions of the drama.[242]

[Contents]1.The Predecessors of MurāriWe know definitely of very few dramatists of the eighth and ninth centuries. Kalhaṇa1mentions expressly Yaçovarman of Kanyakubja as a patron of literature, who, as we have seen, patronized Bhavabhūti and Vākpati, and we learn of his dramaRāmābhyudaya, which is mentioned by Ānandavardhana in theDhvanyāloka, by Dhanika and Viçvanātha, but has not yet been found. To Kalhaṇa2also we are indebted for knowledge of the period of Çivasvāmin, who lived under Avantivarman of Kashmir (A.D.855–83) and was a contemporary of the poet Ratnākara. He wrote many Nāṭakas and Nāṭikās, and also Prakaraṇas, but save an occasional verse in the anthologies his fame is lost.Anan̄gaharṣa Mātrarāja,3on the other hand, is known to Ānandavardhana and Abhinavagupta, and his playTāpasavatsarājacaritais a variation on the theme of the ruse of Yaugandharāyaṇa to secure the marriage of Vatsa and Padmāvatī, in face of the deep love of the king for Vāsavadattā. Vatsa in this drama, which is of little poetic or dramatic value, becomes an ascetic on learning of his queen’s supposed fate, whence the title of the play. Padmāvatī, who had become enamoured of the king from a portrait sent by the minister, follows suit. Eventually Vāsavadattā and Vatsa are united in Prayāga when each is about to commit suicide in sorrow at separation, and the usual victory is reported by Rumaṇvant to give a happy ending.[221]There seems little doubt that the author used theRatnāvalī, which gives the upper limit of his date. His father’s name is givenasNarendravardhana.Māyurājā4has been less fortunate in that hisUdāttarāghavais known only by reference. Rājaçekhara represents him as a Karaculi or Kulicuri, which suggests the possibility that he was a king of the Kalacuri dynasty, of which unhappily we know little during the period in which he is probably to be set. He seems to have known Bhavabhūti. Like him he eliminated treachery from the slaying of Vālin by Rāma, and he represents Lakṣmaṇa as first to follow the magic gazelle, and Rāma as going later in pursuit. He is cited more than once in Dhanika’s commentary on theDaçarūpa.No other dramatist of this period is known with any certainty; thePārvatīpariṇayaonce ascribed to Bāṇa is now allotted to Vāmana Bhaṭṭa Bāṇa (c.A.D.1400), and theMallikāmāruta, wrongly thought to be Daṇḍin’s, is the work of one Uddaṇḍin of the seventeenth century.Of these dramatists Yaçovarman has had the honour of being considered worthy of quotation by the writers on theory who have preserved for us some interesting verses:5ākrandāḥ stanitair vilocanajalāny açrāntadhārāmbhubhistvadvicchedabhuvaç ca çokaçikhinas tulyās taḍidvibhramaiḥantar me dayitāmukhaṁ tava çaçī vṛttiḥ samāpy āvayoḥtat kim mām aniçaṁ sakhe jaladhara dagdhum evodyataḥ.‘My moans are like thy thunder, the floods of my tears thy ever-streaming showers, the flame of my sorrow at severance from my beloved thy flickering lightning, in my mind is her face reflected, in thee the moon; like is our condition; why then, O friend, O cloud, dost thou ever seek to consume me with the burning pangs of love?’This is decidedly pretty, and there is elegance and beauty in another verse:6yat tvannetrasamānakānti salile magnaṁ tad indīvarammeghair antaritaḥ priye tava mukhacchāyānukāraḥ çaçīye ’pi tvadgamanānukāragatayas te rājahaṅsā gatāstvatsādṛçyavinodamātram api me daivena na kṣamyate.[222]‘The blue lotus which rivalled thine eyes in beauty is now sunk in the lake; the moon which imitated the fairness of thy face, beloved, is hidden by the clouds; the royal swans which aped thy lovely gait are departed; cruel fate will not grant me even the consolation of thy similitude.’This verse is appropriated by theMahānāṭaka, and so is the following,7which deals elegantly enough with the commonplace contrast between the sad lover and the Açoka tree, whose name is interpreted as ‘sorrowless’, and which flowers, as the poets never weary in telling us, when touched by the foot of a fair lady,especially one young:raktas tvaṁ navapallavair aham api çlāghyaiḥ priyāyā guṇaistvām āyānti çilīmukhāḥ smaradhanurmuktāḥ sakhe mām apikāntapādatalāhatis tava mude tad api mamāvayoḥsarvaṁ tulyam açoka kevalam ahaṁ dhātrā saçokaḥ kṛtaḥ.‘Thou are proud in thy new shoots, I in the glorious excellences of my beloved; the bees resort to thee, to me the arrows shot from love’s bow; like me thou dost delight in the touch of thy dear one’s foot; all is alike for us both save only that, O tree Sorrowless, the creator hath made me a man of sorrows.’kāmavyādhaçarāhatir na gaṇitā saṁjīvanī tvaṁ smṛtāno dagdho virahānalena jhaṭiti tvatsaṁgamāçāmṛtaiḥnīto ’yaṁ divaso vicitralikhitaiḥ saṁkalparūpair mayākiṁ vānyad dhṛdaye sthitāsi nanu me tatra svayaṁ sākṣiṇī.8‘I have not recked of the wound given by love, the hunter, for the memory of thee hath been my elixir; the fire of separation hath not consumed me straightway because of the nectar of the hope of union with thee; all this day hath been spent by me in limning thy fancied form; nought else have I done, as thou thyself art witness, for dost thou not live in my heart?’ We may regret the loss of a work which contained verses as pretty as these, even on the outworn topic of Rāma and Sītā.It might be interesting to know whether Yaçovarman was successful in introducing any new element into the established plot. The play is cited in the commentary on theDaçarūpa9to illustrate the device called deception or humiliation (chalana) and the parallel cited is that of the treatment of Vāsavadattā in the[223]Ratnāvalī. The definitions of the theory leave this idea far from clear; Viçvanātha seems to treat it as the bearing of insult for the sake of the end to be reached, and the allusion in the case of Sītā may be to her abandonment by Rāma as an act of duty.A much less favourable impression is left by the few fragments of theUdāttarāghavawhich are preserved. The poet seems to have affected the horrible, as two of his few stanzas deal with it; the better is:10jīyante jayino ’pi sāndratimiravrātair viyadvyāpibhirbhāsvantaḥ sakalā raver api rucaḥ kasmād akasmād amīetāç cograkabandharandhrarudhirair ādhmāyamānodarāmuñcanty ānanakandarānalamucas tīvrā ravāḥ pheravāḥ.‘The victors are vanquished; thick darkness invades the sky and triumphs over the brilliant rays of the sun; why this inexplicable event? Why do these jackals, whose bellies are swollen with the blood sucked from the wounds of bleeding corpses, and whose gaping jaws belch flame, utter these piercing cries?’A somewhat flat passage illustrates the conflict of thought in Rāma’s mind when appealed to by Citramāya on the score that Lakṣmaṇa is in danger from a Rākṣasa:11vatsasyābhayavāridheḥ pratibhayam manye kathaṁ rākṣasāttrastaç caiṣa munir virauti manasaç cāsty eva me sambhramaḥmā hāsīr Janakātmajām iti muhuḥ snehād gurur yācatena sthātuṁ na ca gantum ākulamater mūḍhasya me niçcayaḥ.‘The boy is an ocean of valour; how can I fear danger for him from a Rākṣasa? Yet the sage here is terrified and calls for aid, and my own mind is confused; my master too in his affection ever begs me not to leave Janaka’s daughter alone; my heart is troubled, and in my confusion I cannot resolve either to go or to stay.’Another Rāma drama, theChalitarāma, is also referred to by Dhanika in his comment on theDaçarūpa; it may belong to this period, or fall somewhat later; we have from it a picture of the leading captive of Lava:12yenāvṛtya mukhāni sāma paṭhatām atyantam āyāsitambālye yena hṛtākṣasūtravalayapratyarpaṇaiḥ krīḍitamyuṣmākaṁ hṛdayaṁ sa eṣa viçikhair āpūritāṅsasthalomūrchāghoratamaspraveçavivaço baddhvā Lavo nīyate.[224]‘He who caused such trouble to the Sāman reciters turning to look at him in his childish play, who amused himself by stealing and giving back strings of beads and bracelets, he, your heart’s joy, his shoulder pierced by arrows, powerless through entry into the dread darkness of fainting, is being led away bound, even Lava.’Another stanza refers to Bharata; Rāma returning to Ayodhyā in the celestial chariot declines thus to enter the town, since it is not his, but under the rule of Bharata; scarcely has he descended when he sees before him his brother:13ko ’pi siṅhāsanasyādhaḥ sthitaḥ pādukayoḥ puraḥjaṭāvān akṣamālī ca cāmarī ca virājate.‘There stands some one, below the lion throne, before a pair of sandals, wearing his hair long, bearing a rosary, resplendent beneath the chowrie.’The same play14contains an amusing slip by Sītā where she bids her boys go to Ayodhyā and tender their respects to the king. Lava naturally replies by asking why they should become members of the king’s entourage, and Sītā answers because the king is their father, a slip which she explains away as well as she can by saying that the king is father of the whole earth.Yet another drama of which we know nothing else is revealed to us by Dhanika, thePāṇḍavānanda, from which is cited a stanza interesting in its series of questions and answers, a literary form of which the dramatists are fond:15kā çlāghyā guṇināṁ kṣamā paribhavaḥ ko yaḥ svakulyaiḥ kṛtaḥkiṁ duḥkhaṁ parasaṁçrayo jagati kaḥ çlāghyo ya āçrīyateko mṛtyur vyasanaṁ çucaṁ jahati ke yair nirjitāḥ çatravaḥkair vijñātam idaṁ Virāṭanagare channasthitaiḥ Pāṇḍavaiḥ.‘For the good what is there praiseworthy? Patience. What is disgrace? That which is wrought by those of one’s own blood. What is misery? Recourse to another’s protection. Who in the world is enviable? He to whom one resorts for aid. What is death? Misfortune. Who escape sorrow? Those who conquer their foes. Who learned this lesson? The Pāṇḍavas when they dwelt in concealment in the city of Virāṭa.’We learn also from Dhanika of two further dramas, of unknown[225]authorship and date; they are mentioned16as illustrating the two kinds of Prakaraṇa as a dramatic form, the basis of distinction being whether the heroine is the wife of the hero and therefore a lady of good family or whether she is a courtesan. Of the latter class we have an example in theTaran̄gadatta, and of the former in thePuṣpadūṣitaka; the latter name occurs in the slightly altered form of Puṣpabhūṣita in theSāhityadarpaṇa. As an example of the Samavakāra theDaçarūpa17mentions theSamudramanthana, a title doubtless as well as the description of the drama in question.

1.The Predecessors of Murāri

We know definitely of very few dramatists of the eighth and ninth centuries. Kalhaṇa1mentions expressly Yaçovarman of Kanyakubja as a patron of literature, who, as we have seen, patronized Bhavabhūti and Vākpati, and we learn of his dramaRāmābhyudaya, which is mentioned by Ānandavardhana in theDhvanyāloka, by Dhanika and Viçvanātha, but has not yet been found. To Kalhaṇa2also we are indebted for knowledge of the period of Çivasvāmin, who lived under Avantivarman of Kashmir (A.D.855–83) and was a contemporary of the poet Ratnākara. He wrote many Nāṭakas and Nāṭikās, and also Prakaraṇas, but save an occasional verse in the anthologies his fame is lost.Anan̄gaharṣa Mātrarāja,3on the other hand, is known to Ānandavardhana and Abhinavagupta, and his playTāpasavatsarājacaritais a variation on the theme of the ruse of Yaugandharāyaṇa to secure the marriage of Vatsa and Padmāvatī, in face of the deep love of the king for Vāsavadattā. Vatsa in this drama, which is of little poetic or dramatic value, becomes an ascetic on learning of his queen’s supposed fate, whence the title of the play. Padmāvatī, who had become enamoured of the king from a portrait sent by the minister, follows suit. Eventually Vāsavadattā and Vatsa are united in Prayāga when each is about to commit suicide in sorrow at separation, and the usual victory is reported by Rumaṇvant to give a happy ending.[221]There seems little doubt that the author used theRatnāvalī, which gives the upper limit of his date. His father’s name is givenasNarendravardhana.Māyurājā4has been less fortunate in that hisUdāttarāghavais known only by reference. Rājaçekhara represents him as a Karaculi or Kulicuri, which suggests the possibility that he was a king of the Kalacuri dynasty, of which unhappily we know little during the period in which he is probably to be set. He seems to have known Bhavabhūti. Like him he eliminated treachery from the slaying of Vālin by Rāma, and he represents Lakṣmaṇa as first to follow the magic gazelle, and Rāma as going later in pursuit. He is cited more than once in Dhanika’s commentary on theDaçarūpa.No other dramatist of this period is known with any certainty; thePārvatīpariṇayaonce ascribed to Bāṇa is now allotted to Vāmana Bhaṭṭa Bāṇa (c.A.D.1400), and theMallikāmāruta, wrongly thought to be Daṇḍin’s, is the work of one Uddaṇḍin of the seventeenth century.Of these dramatists Yaçovarman has had the honour of being considered worthy of quotation by the writers on theory who have preserved for us some interesting verses:5ākrandāḥ stanitair vilocanajalāny açrāntadhārāmbhubhistvadvicchedabhuvaç ca çokaçikhinas tulyās taḍidvibhramaiḥantar me dayitāmukhaṁ tava çaçī vṛttiḥ samāpy āvayoḥtat kim mām aniçaṁ sakhe jaladhara dagdhum evodyataḥ.‘My moans are like thy thunder, the floods of my tears thy ever-streaming showers, the flame of my sorrow at severance from my beloved thy flickering lightning, in my mind is her face reflected, in thee the moon; like is our condition; why then, O friend, O cloud, dost thou ever seek to consume me with the burning pangs of love?’This is decidedly pretty, and there is elegance and beauty in another verse:6yat tvannetrasamānakānti salile magnaṁ tad indīvarammeghair antaritaḥ priye tava mukhacchāyānukāraḥ çaçīye ’pi tvadgamanānukāragatayas te rājahaṅsā gatāstvatsādṛçyavinodamātram api me daivena na kṣamyate.[222]‘The blue lotus which rivalled thine eyes in beauty is now sunk in the lake; the moon which imitated the fairness of thy face, beloved, is hidden by the clouds; the royal swans which aped thy lovely gait are departed; cruel fate will not grant me even the consolation of thy similitude.’This verse is appropriated by theMahānāṭaka, and so is the following,7which deals elegantly enough with the commonplace contrast between the sad lover and the Açoka tree, whose name is interpreted as ‘sorrowless’, and which flowers, as the poets never weary in telling us, when touched by the foot of a fair lady,especially one young:raktas tvaṁ navapallavair aham api çlāghyaiḥ priyāyā guṇaistvām āyānti çilīmukhāḥ smaradhanurmuktāḥ sakhe mām apikāntapādatalāhatis tava mude tad api mamāvayoḥsarvaṁ tulyam açoka kevalam ahaṁ dhātrā saçokaḥ kṛtaḥ.‘Thou are proud in thy new shoots, I in the glorious excellences of my beloved; the bees resort to thee, to me the arrows shot from love’s bow; like me thou dost delight in the touch of thy dear one’s foot; all is alike for us both save only that, O tree Sorrowless, the creator hath made me a man of sorrows.’kāmavyādhaçarāhatir na gaṇitā saṁjīvanī tvaṁ smṛtāno dagdho virahānalena jhaṭiti tvatsaṁgamāçāmṛtaiḥnīto ’yaṁ divaso vicitralikhitaiḥ saṁkalparūpair mayākiṁ vānyad dhṛdaye sthitāsi nanu me tatra svayaṁ sākṣiṇī.8‘I have not recked of the wound given by love, the hunter, for the memory of thee hath been my elixir; the fire of separation hath not consumed me straightway because of the nectar of the hope of union with thee; all this day hath been spent by me in limning thy fancied form; nought else have I done, as thou thyself art witness, for dost thou not live in my heart?’ We may regret the loss of a work which contained verses as pretty as these, even on the outworn topic of Rāma and Sītā.It might be interesting to know whether Yaçovarman was successful in introducing any new element into the established plot. The play is cited in the commentary on theDaçarūpa9to illustrate the device called deception or humiliation (chalana) and the parallel cited is that of the treatment of Vāsavadattā in the[223]Ratnāvalī. The definitions of the theory leave this idea far from clear; Viçvanātha seems to treat it as the bearing of insult for the sake of the end to be reached, and the allusion in the case of Sītā may be to her abandonment by Rāma as an act of duty.A much less favourable impression is left by the few fragments of theUdāttarāghavawhich are preserved. The poet seems to have affected the horrible, as two of his few stanzas deal with it; the better is:10jīyante jayino ’pi sāndratimiravrātair viyadvyāpibhirbhāsvantaḥ sakalā raver api rucaḥ kasmād akasmād amīetāç cograkabandharandhrarudhirair ādhmāyamānodarāmuñcanty ānanakandarānalamucas tīvrā ravāḥ pheravāḥ.‘The victors are vanquished; thick darkness invades the sky and triumphs over the brilliant rays of the sun; why this inexplicable event? Why do these jackals, whose bellies are swollen with the blood sucked from the wounds of bleeding corpses, and whose gaping jaws belch flame, utter these piercing cries?’A somewhat flat passage illustrates the conflict of thought in Rāma’s mind when appealed to by Citramāya on the score that Lakṣmaṇa is in danger from a Rākṣasa:11vatsasyābhayavāridheḥ pratibhayam manye kathaṁ rākṣasāttrastaç caiṣa munir virauti manasaç cāsty eva me sambhramaḥmā hāsīr Janakātmajām iti muhuḥ snehād gurur yācatena sthātuṁ na ca gantum ākulamater mūḍhasya me niçcayaḥ.‘The boy is an ocean of valour; how can I fear danger for him from a Rākṣasa? Yet the sage here is terrified and calls for aid, and my own mind is confused; my master too in his affection ever begs me not to leave Janaka’s daughter alone; my heart is troubled, and in my confusion I cannot resolve either to go or to stay.’Another Rāma drama, theChalitarāma, is also referred to by Dhanika in his comment on theDaçarūpa; it may belong to this period, or fall somewhat later; we have from it a picture of the leading captive of Lava:12yenāvṛtya mukhāni sāma paṭhatām atyantam āyāsitambālye yena hṛtākṣasūtravalayapratyarpaṇaiḥ krīḍitamyuṣmākaṁ hṛdayaṁ sa eṣa viçikhair āpūritāṅsasthalomūrchāghoratamaspraveçavivaço baddhvā Lavo nīyate.[224]‘He who caused such trouble to the Sāman reciters turning to look at him in his childish play, who amused himself by stealing and giving back strings of beads and bracelets, he, your heart’s joy, his shoulder pierced by arrows, powerless through entry into the dread darkness of fainting, is being led away bound, even Lava.’Another stanza refers to Bharata; Rāma returning to Ayodhyā in the celestial chariot declines thus to enter the town, since it is not his, but under the rule of Bharata; scarcely has he descended when he sees before him his brother:13ko ’pi siṅhāsanasyādhaḥ sthitaḥ pādukayoḥ puraḥjaṭāvān akṣamālī ca cāmarī ca virājate.‘There stands some one, below the lion throne, before a pair of sandals, wearing his hair long, bearing a rosary, resplendent beneath the chowrie.’The same play14contains an amusing slip by Sītā where she bids her boys go to Ayodhyā and tender their respects to the king. Lava naturally replies by asking why they should become members of the king’s entourage, and Sītā answers because the king is their father, a slip which she explains away as well as she can by saying that the king is father of the whole earth.Yet another drama of which we know nothing else is revealed to us by Dhanika, thePāṇḍavānanda, from which is cited a stanza interesting in its series of questions and answers, a literary form of which the dramatists are fond:15kā çlāghyā guṇināṁ kṣamā paribhavaḥ ko yaḥ svakulyaiḥ kṛtaḥkiṁ duḥkhaṁ parasaṁçrayo jagati kaḥ çlāghyo ya āçrīyateko mṛtyur vyasanaṁ çucaṁ jahati ke yair nirjitāḥ çatravaḥkair vijñātam idaṁ Virāṭanagare channasthitaiḥ Pāṇḍavaiḥ.‘For the good what is there praiseworthy? Patience. What is disgrace? That which is wrought by those of one’s own blood. What is misery? Recourse to another’s protection. Who in the world is enviable? He to whom one resorts for aid. What is death? Misfortune. Who escape sorrow? Those who conquer their foes. Who learned this lesson? The Pāṇḍavas when they dwelt in concealment in the city of Virāṭa.’We learn also from Dhanika of two further dramas, of unknown[225]authorship and date; they are mentioned16as illustrating the two kinds of Prakaraṇa as a dramatic form, the basis of distinction being whether the heroine is the wife of the hero and therefore a lady of good family or whether she is a courtesan. Of the latter class we have an example in theTaran̄gadatta, and of the former in thePuṣpadūṣitaka; the latter name occurs in the slightly altered form of Puṣpabhūṣita in theSāhityadarpaṇa. As an example of the Samavakāra theDaçarūpa17mentions theSamudramanthana, a title doubtless as well as the description of the drama in question.

We know definitely of very few dramatists of the eighth and ninth centuries. Kalhaṇa1mentions expressly Yaçovarman of Kanyakubja as a patron of literature, who, as we have seen, patronized Bhavabhūti and Vākpati, and we learn of his dramaRāmābhyudaya, which is mentioned by Ānandavardhana in theDhvanyāloka, by Dhanika and Viçvanātha, but has not yet been found. To Kalhaṇa2also we are indebted for knowledge of the period of Çivasvāmin, who lived under Avantivarman of Kashmir (A.D.855–83) and was a contemporary of the poet Ratnākara. He wrote many Nāṭakas and Nāṭikās, and also Prakaraṇas, but save an occasional verse in the anthologies his fame is lost.

Anan̄gaharṣa Mātrarāja,3on the other hand, is known to Ānandavardhana and Abhinavagupta, and his playTāpasavatsarājacaritais a variation on the theme of the ruse of Yaugandharāyaṇa to secure the marriage of Vatsa and Padmāvatī, in face of the deep love of the king for Vāsavadattā. Vatsa in this drama, which is of little poetic or dramatic value, becomes an ascetic on learning of his queen’s supposed fate, whence the title of the play. Padmāvatī, who had become enamoured of the king from a portrait sent by the minister, follows suit. Eventually Vāsavadattā and Vatsa are united in Prayāga when each is about to commit suicide in sorrow at separation, and the usual victory is reported by Rumaṇvant to give a happy ending.[221]There seems little doubt that the author used theRatnāvalī, which gives the upper limit of his date. His father’s name is givenasNarendravardhana.

Māyurājā4has been less fortunate in that hisUdāttarāghavais known only by reference. Rājaçekhara represents him as a Karaculi or Kulicuri, which suggests the possibility that he was a king of the Kalacuri dynasty, of which unhappily we know little during the period in which he is probably to be set. He seems to have known Bhavabhūti. Like him he eliminated treachery from the slaying of Vālin by Rāma, and he represents Lakṣmaṇa as first to follow the magic gazelle, and Rāma as going later in pursuit. He is cited more than once in Dhanika’s commentary on theDaçarūpa.

No other dramatist of this period is known with any certainty; thePārvatīpariṇayaonce ascribed to Bāṇa is now allotted to Vāmana Bhaṭṭa Bāṇa (c.A.D.1400), and theMallikāmāruta, wrongly thought to be Daṇḍin’s, is the work of one Uddaṇḍin of the seventeenth century.

Of these dramatists Yaçovarman has had the honour of being considered worthy of quotation by the writers on theory who have preserved for us some interesting verses:5

ākrandāḥ stanitair vilocanajalāny açrāntadhārāmbhubhistvadvicchedabhuvaç ca çokaçikhinas tulyās taḍidvibhramaiḥantar me dayitāmukhaṁ tava çaçī vṛttiḥ samāpy āvayoḥtat kim mām aniçaṁ sakhe jaladhara dagdhum evodyataḥ.

ākrandāḥ stanitair vilocanajalāny açrāntadhārāmbhubhis

tvadvicchedabhuvaç ca çokaçikhinas tulyās taḍidvibhramaiḥ

antar me dayitāmukhaṁ tava çaçī vṛttiḥ samāpy āvayoḥ

tat kim mām aniçaṁ sakhe jaladhara dagdhum evodyataḥ.

‘My moans are like thy thunder, the floods of my tears thy ever-streaming showers, the flame of my sorrow at severance from my beloved thy flickering lightning, in my mind is her face reflected, in thee the moon; like is our condition; why then, O friend, O cloud, dost thou ever seek to consume me with the burning pangs of love?’

This is decidedly pretty, and there is elegance and beauty in another verse:6

yat tvannetrasamānakānti salile magnaṁ tad indīvarammeghair antaritaḥ priye tava mukhacchāyānukāraḥ çaçīye ’pi tvadgamanānukāragatayas te rājahaṅsā gatāstvatsādṛçyavinodamātram api me daivena na kṣamyate.

yat tvannetrasamānakānti salile magnaṁ tad indīvaram

meghair antaritaḥ priye tava mukhacchāyānukāraḥ çaçī

ye ’pi tvadgamanānukāragatayas te rājahaṅsā gatās

tvatsādṛçyavinodamātram api me daivena na kṣamyate.

[222]

‘The blue lotus which rivalled thine eyes in beauty is now sunk in the lake; the moon which imitated the fairness of thy face, beloved, is hidden by the clouds; the royal swans which aped thy lovely gait are departed; cruel fate will not grant me even the consolation of thy similitude.’

This verse is appropriated by theMahānāṭaka, and so is the following,7which deals elegantly enough with the commonplace contrast between the sad lover and the Açoka tree, whose name is interpreted as ‘sorrowless’, and which flowers, as the poets never weary in telling us, when touched by the foot of a fair lady,especially one young:

raktas tvaṁ navapallavair aham api çlāghyaiḥ priyāyā guṇaistvām āyānti çilīmukhāḥ smaradhanurmuktāḥ sakhe mām apikāntapādatalāhatis tava mude tad api mamāvayoḥsarvaṁ tulyam açoka kevalam ahaṁ dhātrā saçokaḥ kṛtaḥ.

raktas tvaṁ navapallavair aham api çlāghyaiḥ priyāyā guṇais

tvām āyānti çilīmukhāḥ smaradhanurmuktāḥ sakhe mām api

kāntapādatalāhatis tava mude tad api mamāvayoḥ

sarvaṁ tulyam açoka kevalam ahaṁ dhātrā saçokaḥ kṛtaḥ.

‘Thou are proud in thy new shoots, I in the glorious excellences of my beloved; the bees resort to thee, to me the arrows shot from love’s bow; like me thou dost delight in the touch of thy dear one’s foot; all is alike for us both save only that, O tree Sorrowless, the creator hath made me a man of sorrows.’

kāmavyādhaçarāhatir na gaṇitā saṁjīvanī tvaṁ smṛtāno dagdho virahānalena jhaṭiti tvatsaṁgamāçāmṛtaiḥnīto ’yaṁ divaso vicitralikhitaiḥ saṁkalparūpair mayākiṁ vānyad dhṛdaye sthitāsi nanu me tatra svayaṁ sākṣiṇī.8

kāmavyādhaçarāhatir na gaṇitā saṁjīvanī tvaṁ smṛtā

no dagdho virahānalena jhaṭiti tvatsaṁgamāçāmṛtaiḥ

nīto ’yaṁ divaso vicitralikhitaiḥ saṁkalparūpair mayā

kiṁ vānyad dhṛdaye sthitāsi nanu me tatra svayaṁ sākṣiṇī.8

‘I have not recked of the wound given by love, the hunter, for the memory of thee hath been my elixir; the fire of separation hath not consumed me straightway because of the nectar of the hope of union with thee; all this day hath been spent by me in limning thy fancied form; nought else have I done, as thou thyself art witness, for dost thou not live in my heart?’ We may regret the loss of a work which contained verses as pretty as these, even on the outworn topic of Rāma and Sītā.

It might be interesting to know whether Yaçovarman was successful in introducing any new element into the established plot. The play is cited in the commentary on theDaçarūpa9to illustrate the device called deception or humiliation (chalana) and the parallel cited is that of the treatment of Vāsavadattā in the[223]Ratnāvalī. The definitions of the theory leave this idea far from clear; Viçvanātha seems to treat it as the bearing of insult for the sake of the end to be reached, and the allusion in the case of Sītā may be to her abandonment by Rāma as an act of duty.

A much less favourable impression is left by the few fragments of theUdāttarāghavawhich are preserved. The poet seems to have affected the horrible, as two of his few stanzas deal with it; the better is:10

jīyante jayino ’pi sāndratimiravrātair viyadvyāpibhirbhāsvantaḥ sakalā raver api rucaḥ kasmād akasmād amīetāç cograkabandharandhrarudhirair ādhmāyamānodarāmuñcanty ānanakandarānalamucas tīvrā ravāḥ pheravāḥ.

jīyante jayino ’pi sāndratimiravrātair viyadvyāpibhir

bhāsvantaḥ sakalā raver api rucaḥ kasmād akasmād amī

etāç cograkabandharandhrarudhirair ādhmāyamānodarā

muñcanty ānanakandarānalamucas tīvrā ravāḥ pheravāḥ.

‘The victors are vanquished; thick darkness invades the sky and triumphs over the brilliant rays of the sun; why this inexplicable event? Why do these jackals, whose bellies are swollen with the blood sucked from the wounds of bleeding corpses, and whose gaping jaws belch flame, utter these piercing cries?’

A somewhat flat passage illustrates the conflict of thought in Rāma’s mind when appealed to by Citramāya on the score that Lakṣmaṇa is in danger from a Rākṣasa:11

vatsasyābhayavāridheḥ pratibhayam manye kathaṁ rākṣasāttrastaç caiṣa munir virauti manasaç cāsty eva me sambhramaḥmā hāsīr Janakātmajām iti muhuḥ snehād gurur yācatena sthātuṁ na ca gantum ākulamater mūḍhasya me niçcayaḥ.

vatsasyābhayavāridheḥ pratibhayam manye kathaṁ rākṣasāt

trastaç caiṣa munir virauti manasaç cāsty eva me sambhramaḥ

mā hāsīr Janakātmajām iti muhuḥ snehād gurur yācate

na sthātuṁ na ca gantum ākulamater mūḍhasya me niçcayaḥ.

‘The boy is an ocean of valour; how can I fear danger for him from a Rākṣasa? Yet the sage here is terrified and calls for aid, and my own mind is confused; my master too in his affection ever begs me not to leave Janaka’s daughter alone; my heart is troubled, and in my confusion I cannot resolve either to go or to stay.’

Another Rāma drama, theChalitarāma, is also referred to by Dhanika in his comment on theDaçarūpa; it may belong to this period, or fall somewhat later; we have from it a picture of the leading captive of Lava:12

yenāvṛtya mukhāni sāma paṭhatām atyantam āyāsitambālye yena hṛtākṣasūtravalayapratyarpaṇaiḥ krīḍitamyuṣmākaṁ hṛdayaṁ sa eṣa viçikhair āpūritāṅsasthalomūrchāghoratamaspraveçavivaço baddhvā Lavo nīyate.

yenāvṛtya mukhāni sāma paṭhatām atyantam āyāsitam

bālye yena hṛtākṣasūtravalayapratyarpaṇaiḥ krīḍitam

yuṣmākaṁ hṛdayaṁ sa eṣa viçikhair āpūritāṅsasthalo

mūrchāghoratamaspraveçavivaço baddhvā Lavo nīyate.

[224]

‘He who caused such trouble to the Sāman reciters turning to look at him in his childish play, who amused himself by stealing and giving back strings of beads and bracelets, he, your heart’s joy, his shoulder pierced by arrows, powerless through entry into the dread darkness of fainting, is being led away bound, even Lava.’

Another stanza refers to Bharata; Rāma returning to Ayodhyā in the celestial chariot declines thus to enter the town, since it is not his, but under the rule of Bharata; scarcely has he descended when he sees before him his brother:13

ko ’pi siṅhāsanasyādhaḥ sthitaḥ pādukayoḥ puraḥjaṭāvān akṣamālī ca cāmarī ca virājate.

ko ’pi siṅhāsanasyādhaḥ sthitaḥ pādukayoḥ puraḥ

jaṭāvān akṣamālī ca cāmarī ca virājate.

‘There stands some one, below the lion throne, before a pair of sandals, wearing his hair long, bearing a rosary, resplendent beneath the chowrie.’

The same play14contains an amusing slip by Sītā where she bids her boys go to Ayodhyā and tender their respects to the king. Lava naturally replies by asking why they should become members of the king’s entourage, and Sītā answers because the king is their father, a slip which she explains away as well as she can by saying that the king is father of the whole earth.

Yet another drama of which we know nothing else is revealed to us by Dhanika, thePāṇḍavānanda, from which is cited a stanza interesting in its series of questions and answers, a literary form of which the dramatists are fond:15

kā çlāghyā guṇināṁ kṣamā paribhavaḥ ko yaḥ svakulyaiḥ kṛtaḥkiṁ duḥkhaṁ parasaṁçrayo jagati kaḥ çlāghyo ya āçrīyateko mṛtyur vyasanaṁ çucaṁ jahati ke yair nirjitāḥ çatravaḥkair vijñātam idaṁ Virāṭanagare channasthitaiḥ Pāṇḍavaiḥ.

kā çlāghyā guṇināṁ kṣamā paribhavaḥ ko yaḥ svakulyaiḥ kṛtaḥ

kiṁ duḥkhaṁ parasaṁçrayo jagati kaḥ çlāghyo ya āçrīyate

ko mṛtyur vyasanaṁ çucaṁ jahati ke yair nirjitāḥ çatravaḥ

kair vijñātam idaṁ Virāṭanagare channasthitaiḥ Pāṇḍavaiḥ.

‘For the good what is there praiseworthy? Patience. What is disgrace? That which is wrought by those of one’s own blood. What is misery? Recourse to another’s protection. Who in the world is enviable? He to whom one resorts for aid. What is death? Misfortune. Who escape sorrow? Those who conquer their foes. Who learned this lesson? The Pāṇḍavas when they dwelt in concealment in the city of Virāṭa.’

We learn also from Dhanika of two further dramas, of unknown[225]authorship and date; they are mentioned16as illustrating the two kinds of Prakaraṇa as a dramatic form, the basis of distinction being whether the heroine is the wife of the hero and therefore a lady of good family or whether she is a courtesan. Of the latter class we have an example in theTaran̄gadatta, and of the former in thePuṣpadūṣitaka; the latter name occurs in the slightly altered form of Puṣpabhūṣita in theSāhityadarpaṇa. As an example of the Samavakāra theDaçarūpa17mentions theSamudramanthana, a title doubtless as well as the description of the drama in question.

[Contents]2.MurāriMurāri tells us that he was the son of Çrīvardhamānaka of the Maudgalya Gotra and of Tantumatī; he claims to be a Mahākavi, and arrogates the style of Bāla-Vālmīki. His date is uncertain; he is certainly later than Bhavabhūti since he cites from theUttararāmacarita,18while we have evidence from the anthologies that he was reckoned by some as superior to Bhavabhūti, apparently his predecessor. A further suggestion as to date may be derived from the Kashmirian poet Ratnākara,19who in hisHaravijayamakes a clear reference to Murāri as a dramatist, for the effort of Bhattanatha Svamin to disprove the reference must be deemed completely unsuccessful. As Ratnākara belongs to the middle of the ninth centuryA.D., this gives us that period as the latest date for Murāri. Curiously enough, Professor Konow,20who accepts the disproof of the reference to Murāri in Ratnākara, admits that the reference to Murāri in Man̄kha’sÇrīkaṇṭhacarita21(c.A.D.1135) suggests that he was regarded by that author as earlier than Rājaçekhara, a fact which accords excellently with his priority to Ratnākara, and is far more important than the fact that he is not cited by the authors on theory of the eleventh centuryA.D.A further effort to place him late is that of Dr. Hultzsch,22who infers from verse 3 of theKaumudīmitrāṇandaof Rāmacandra, pupil of Hemacandra, that that[226]dramatist was a contemporary of Murāri. But the evidence is clearly inadequate; the words used are perfectly compatible with the fact that Murāri was dead, and there are grave chronological difficulties in the way of the theory. It is practically impossible that a contemporary of Rāmacandra could have been cited by Man̄kha at the date of theÇrīkaṇṭhacarita. Moreover Murāri seems to have been imitated by Jayadeva in thePrasannarāghava.23Of his place of activity we know nothing definite. He mentions, however, Māhiṣmatī as the seat of the Kalacuris, and it has been suggested that this indicates that he lived under the patronage of a prince of that dynasty at Māhiṣmatī, now Māndhātā on the Narmadā.

2.Murāri

Murāri tells us that he was the son of Çrīvardhamānaka of the Maudgalya Gotra and of Tantumatī; he claims to be a Mahākavi, and arrogates the style of Bāla-Vālmīki. His date is uncertain; he is certainly later than Bhavabhūti since he cites from theUttararāmacarita,18while we have evidence from the anthologies that he was reckoned by some as superior to Bhavabhūti, apparently his predecessor. A further suggestion as to date may be derived from the Kashmirian poet Ratnākara,19who in hisHaravijayamakes a clear reference to Murāri as a dramatist, for the effort of Bhattanatha Svamin to disprove the reference must be deemed completely unsuccessful. As Ratnākara belongs to the middle of the ninth centuryA.D., this gives us that period as the latest date for Murāri. Curiously enough, Professor Konow,20who accepts the disproof of the reference to Murāri in Ratnākara, admits that the reference to Murāri in Man̄kha’sÇrīkaṇṭhacarita21(c.A.D.1135) suggests that he was regarded by that author as earlier than Rājaçekhara, a fact which accords excellently with his priority to Ratnākara, and is far more important than the fact that he is not cited by the authors on theory of the eleventh centuryA.D.A further effort to place him late is that of Dr. Hultzsch,22who infers from verse 3 of theKaumudīmitrāṇandaof Rāmacandra, pupil of Hemacandra, that that[226]dramatist was a contemporary of Murāri. But the evidence is clearly inadequate; the words used are perfectly compatible with the fact that Murāri was dead, and there are grave chronological difficulties in the way of the theory. It is practically impossible that a contemporary of Rāmacandra could have been cited by Man̄kha at the date of theÇrīkaṇṭhacarita. Moreover Murāri seems to have been imitated by Jayadeva in thePrasannarāghava.23Of his place of activity we know nothing definite. He mentions, however, Māhiṣmatī as the seat of the Kalacuris, and it has been suggested that this indicates that he lived under the patronage of a prince of that dynasty at Māhiṣmatī, now Māndhātā on the Narmadā.

Murāri tells us that he was the son of Çrīvardhamānaka of the Maudgalya Gotra and of Tantumatī; he claims to be a Mahākavi, and arrogates the style of Bāla-Vālmīki. His date is uncertain; he is certainly later than Bhavabhūti since he cites from theUttararāmacarita,18while we have evidence from the anthologies that he was reckoned by some as superior to Bhavabhūti, apparently his predecessor. A further suggestion as to date may be derived from the Kashmirian poet Ratnākara,19who in hisHaravijayamakes a clear reference to Murāri as a dramatist, for the effort of Bhattanatha Svamin to disprove the reference must be deemed completely unsuccessful. As Ratnākara belongs to the middle of the ninth centuryA.D., this gives us that period as the latest date for Murāri. Curiously enough, Professor Konow,20who accepts the disproof of the reference to Murāri in Ratnākara, admits that the reference to Murāri in Man̄kha’sÇrīkaṇṭhacarita21(c.A.D.1135) suggests that he was regarded by that author as earlier than Rājaçekhara, a fact which accords excellently with his priority to Ratnākara, and is far more important than the fact that he is not cited by the authors on theory of the eleventh centuryA.D.A further effort to place him late is that of Dr. Hultzsch,22who infers from verse 3 of theKaumudīmitrāṇandaof Rāmacandra, pupil of Hemacandra, that that[226]dramatist was a contemporary of Murāri. But the evidence is clearly inadequate; the words used are perfectly compatible with the fact that Murāri was dead, and there are grave chronological difficulties in the way of the theory. It is practically impossible that a contemporary of Rāmacandra could have been cited by Man̄kha at the date of theÇrīkaṇṭhacarita. Moreover Murāri seems to have been imitated by Jayadeva in thePrasannarāghava.23

Of his place of activity we know nothing definite. He mentions, however, Māhiṣmatī as the seat of the Kalacuris, and it has been suggested that this indicates that he lived under the patronage of a prince of that dynasty at Māhiṣmatī, now Māndhātā on the Narmadā.

[Contents]3.The AnargharāghavaMurāri declares in the prologue to the solitary drama, theAnargharāghava24which has come down to us, though quotations show that he wrote other works, that his aim is to please a public tired of terror, horror, violence, and marvels, by a composition elevated, heroic, and marvellous throughout, not merely at the close. He defends his choice of the banal subject of Rāma; his character adds elevation and charm to the poet’s work, and it would be folly to lay aside so splendid a theme. TheAnargharāghava, however, does little to justify the poet’s confidence in his choice of topic. The theme, treated already at length by Bhavabhūti, offered no chance of success save for a great poet, and Murāri was not such a poet save in the estimate of occasional later writers who extol his depth (gambhīratā) without any shadow of justification.Act I shows us Daçaratha in conversation with Vāmadeva. The arrival of the sage Viçvāmitra is announced; he exchanges with the king hyperbolic compliments of the most tedious type, but proceeds to business by demanding the aid of Rāma against the Rākṣasas which are troubling his hermitage. The king hesitates to send one so young and dear into danger. The sage insists on his obeying the call of duty, and he hands over Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa to the care of the ascetic. The herald announces[227]midday, and the king mourns the loss of his son. In Act II we have first a long-drawn-out conversation between Çunaḥçepha and Paçumeḍhra, two pupils of Viçvāmitra, which serves to enlighten us on the history of Vālin, Rāvaṇa, the Rākṣasas, Jāmbavant, Hanumant, and Tāḍakā. The entr’acte is followed by the appearance of Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa who describe the hermitage and the doings of its occupants, and then the heat of midday. Time, however, does not trouble the dramatist; though there is no further action and no interruption in the dialogue, we find ourselves transported to the evening; Viçvāmitra enters and describes in converse with the boys the sunset. A cry behind the scene announces the approach of the demoness Tāḍakā; Rāma hesitates to slay a female, but finally departs for the necessary duty; on his return he has to describe the rising of the moon. Viçvāmitra then suggests a visit to Janaka of Mithilā, affording an opportunity for a description of the city and its ruler.In Act II only do we reach the motif which Bhavabhūti with far greater skill made the leading idea of the drama, thus giving it effective unity, so far as the story permits. The chamberlain of Janaka in conversation with Kalahaṅsikā, one of Sītā’s suite, lets us know that the princess is now ripe for marriage, and Rāvaṇa seeks her hand. In the scene that follows the king accompanied by Çatānanda receives Rāma, but hesitates to put him to the severe test involved in bending Çiva’s bow. Çauṣkala, Rāvaṇa’s envoy, arrives to demand the maiden’s hand, but indignantly declines the request that his master should bend the bow. He eulogizes Rāvaṇa whom Rāma depreciates. Rāma is at last allowed to make the trial; those who remain on the stage describe his wonderful deed in breaking the bow. He is promised Sītā’s hand, while the other sons of Daçaratha are also awarded consorts. Çauṣkala departs, menacing revenge. Act IV shows us Rāvaṇa’s minister Mālyavant lamenting the failure of his scheme to win Sītā. Çūrpaṇakhā arrives from Videha and tells of the union of Rāma and Sītā. Mālyavant recognizes that Rāvaṇa will insist on seeking to separate the pair, and he counsels Çūrpaṇakhā to assume the disguise of Mantharā, the maid of Kaikeyī, with the view of securing the banishment of Rāma to the forest, where he will be more vulnerable to attack.[228]He is also cheered by the news given by Çūrpaṇakhā of the approach of Paraçurāma to Mithilā, whence some gain may accrue to his cause. The following scene shows us Rāma and Paraçurāma in verbal contest; Rāma is even more polite than in theMahāvīracaritawhich is obviously imitated, while the friends of Rāma carry on a vituperative dialogue behind the scene without actually appearing. Finally they resolve to fight, for Rāma has annoyed his rival by reminding him that the flag of his fame won by his destruction of the Kṣatriyas is worn out and challenging him to mount a new one. The fight itself takes place off the stage; Sītā, we learn from a voice behind the scenes, is apprehensive lest Rāma be drawing again his bow to win another maiden. The rivals then appear on excellent terms; Paraçurāma exchanges farewells with his former interlocutors and disappears. Then enter Janaka and Daçaratha. The latter is determined to resign his kingdom to Rāma, but Lakṣmaṇa enters introducing Mantharā who bears a fatal missive from Kaikeyī, bidding the king grant the two boons of the banishment of Rāma and the coronation of Bharata. The kings faint; Rāma sends Lakṣmaṇa to tell Sītā, and commends his father to Janaka.In Act V a conversation between Jāmbavant and an ascetic lady, Çravaṇā, tells of the doings of Rāma until his advent in the forest. Çravaṇā goes to Sugrīva to bespeak a kindly welcome for the wayfarers, while Jāmbavant overhears a dialogue between Rāvaṇa, disguised as a juggler, and Lakṣmaṇa. The vulture Jaṭāyu then appears with the grave news that he has seen Rāvaṇa and Mārīca in the forest; Jāmbavant goes to warn Sugrīva of the danger, while Jaṭāyu sees the rape of Sītā and pursues the ravisher. After this entr’acte Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa enter, wandering in grief in vain search. They are interrupted by a cry and see the friendly forest chief, Guha, assailed by the headless Kabandha. Lakṣmaṇa rescues him, but, in doing so, knocks off the tree, on which it was suspended, the skeleton of Dundubhi, to the annoyance of Vālin, who appears, and after a lengthy conversation challenges Rāma to battle. The fight is described from the stage by Lakṣmaṇa and Guha; the enemy is slain. Voices from behind the scenes report the coronation of Sugrīva and his determination to aid Rāma in the recovery of[229]Sītā, and Lakṣmaṇa and his friend leave the stage to rejoin their party. In Act VI Sāraṇa and Çuka, two spies of Rāvaṇa’s describe to Mālyavant the building of the bridge over the ocean and the advent of Rāma’s army. Voices from behind announce the departure of Kumbhakarṇa and Meghanāda for battle; in the same way we learn of their fall and the last exit of Rāvaṇa, whom Mālyavant decides to follow to the field. The final struggle is described with tedious and tasteless prolixity by two Vidyādharas, Ratnacūḍa and Hemān̄gada, and with this the Act closes.In Act VII we have a determined effort to vie with the close of theMahāvīracarita. Rāma, Sītā, Lakṣmaṇa, Vibhīṣaṇa, and Sugrīva proceed in Kubera’s celestial car to Ayodhyā. But the route is diversified from the simplicity of the model, for the travellers are taken to the celestial regions to view in all its aspects the mythical mountain Sumeru and the world of the moon; only then do they commence their journey in its terrestrial aspect by a description of Siṅhala, distinguished as usual from Lan̄kā; the route then passes over the Malaya mountains, the forest, the mountain Prasravaṇa, the Godāvarī, mount Mālyavant, Kuṇḍinīpura in the Mahārāṣṭra country, Kāñcī, Ujjayinī, Māhiṣmatī, the Yamunā, the Ganges, Vārāṇasī, Mithilā and Campā; the car goes then west to Prayāga, and later turns east to Ayodhyā, where the priest Vasiṣṭha waits with Rāma’s brothers to crown him king.The demerits of the poem are obvious; there is no attempt to improve on the traditional narrative, though Vālin is honourably killed; the characters are as stereotyped as ever. The author, however, delights to overload and elaborate the theme; hyperbole marks every idea; his mythological knowledge is adequate to enable him to abound in conceits and plays on words, when he does not sink, as largely in Act III, to mere commonplace. The taste which invents the visit to the world of the moon and Sumeru is as deplorable as that which substitutes the dull dialogue between Jāmbavant and Jaṭāyu for the vigorous conversation of Jaṭāyu and Sampāti in theMahāvīracarita. For dialogue in general Murāri has no taste at all, and what merit his work has lies entirely in the ability which he shows to handle the Sanskrit language and to frame sentences of harmonious[230]sound in effective metrical forms. His knowledge of the lexica is obvious, while his love of the recondite in grammar has won him the fame of being used to illustrate rare forms by the author of theSiddhāntakaumudī. These linguistic merits have secured him the preference shown for him by modern taste. Nor indeed can his power of expression be justly denied:25dṛçyante madhumattakokilavadhūnirdhūtacūtān̄kura—prāgbhāraprasaratparāgasikatādurgās taṭībhūmayaḥyāḥ kṛcchrād atilan̄ghya lubdhakabhayāt tair eva reṇūtkarairdhārāvāhibhir asti luptapadavīniḥçan̄kam eṇīkulam.‘There are seen the towering slopes as of sand where the pollen tilts off from the mango shoots, shaken by the female cuckoos, maddened by the intoxication of spring; scarce can the antelopes in their fear of the hunter leap over them, but the dust which they raise in showers accords them security by concealing the path of their flight.’ The idea is certainly trivial enough, but the expression, which defies reproduction in English, is in its own way a masterpiece of effect.A pretty erotic verse is found in Act VII:26anena rambhoru bhavanmukhena: tuṣārabhānos tulayā dhṛtasyaūnasya nūnam pratipūraṇāya: tārā sphuranti pratimānakhaṇḍāh.‘When the moon is placed in the scales, fair-limbed one, against thy face, assuredly it is found wanting, and to make good the deficit the stars must shine as make-weights.’Not a bad example of more elaborate, yet graceful, eulogy is found in the following stanza:27gotre sākṣād ajani bhagavān eṣa yat padmayoniḥçayyotthāyaṁ yad akhilam ahaḥ prīṇayanti dvirephānekāgrāṁ yad dadhati bhagavaty uṣṇabhānau ca bhaktimtat prāpus te sutanu vadanaupamyam ambhoruhāṇi.‘Since manifestly in their family has been born the blessed one, sprung from the lotus; since all day long they delight the bees as they rise from their bed; since their whole faith they devote to the blessed lord of the sharp rays, thus, O lovely one, the flowers that spring from the water attain the likeness of thy face.’[231]Happy also is another erotic stanza:28abhimukhapatayālubhir lalāṭa—: çramasalilair avadhūtapattralekhaḥkathayati puruṣāyitaṁ vadhūnām: mṛditahimadyutidurmanāḥ kapolaḥ.‘Its painted mark obliterated by the moisture which streams from the wearied brow over the face, the cheek reveals the longing of women, melancholy as the wan moon.’udeṣyatpīyūṣadyutirucikaṇārdrāḥ çaçimaṇi—sthalīnām panthāno ghanacaraṇalākṣālipibhṛtaḥcakorair uḍḍīnair jhaṭiti kṛtaçan̄kāḥ pratipadamparācaḥ saṁcārān avinayavatīnāṁ vivṛṇate.‘Footprints on pavements of moonstone, marked with the lac that dyes deep the feet, wet with drops that have the radiance of rising cream, made with anxiety at every step as the Cakoras fly up disturbed, mark the departure of ladies who violate decorum.’29A further stanza in some manuscripts of the poem occurs in the drama, while elsewhere it seems to be treated as a verse about Murāri:30devīṁ vācam upāsate hi bahavaḥ sāraṁ tu sārasvatamjānīte nitarām asau gurukulakliṣṭo Murāriḥ kaviḥabdhir lan̄ghita eva vānarabhaṭaiḥ kiṁ tv asyā gambhīratāmāpātālanimagnapīvaratanur jānāti manthācalaḥ.‘Many serve the goddess speech, but the essence of eloquence Murāri alone knows to the full, that poet who long toiled in the house of his teacher; even so the monkey host leapt over the ocean, but its depth the Mount of Churning alone knows, for its mighty mass penetrated down even to the realms below.’

3.The Anargharāghava

Murāri declares in the prologue to the solitary drama, theAnargharāghava24which has come down to us, though quotations show that he wrote other works, that his aim is to please a public tired of terror, horror, violence, and marvels, by a composition elevated, heroic, and marvellous throughout, not merely at the close. He defends his choice of the banal subject of Rāma; his character adds elevation and charm to the poet’s work, and it would be folly to lay aside so splendid a theme. TheAnargharāghava, however, does little to justify the poet’s confidence in his choice of topic. The theme, treated already at length by Bhavabhūti, offered no chance of success save for a great poet, and Murāri was not such a poet save in the estimate of occasional later writers who extol his depth (gambhīratā) without any shadow of justification.Act I shows us Daçaratha in conversation with Vāmadeva. The arrival of the sage Viçvāmitra is announced; he exchanges with the king hyperbolic compliments of the most tedious type, but proceeds to business by demanding the aid of Rāma against the Rākṣasas which are troubling his hermitage. The king hesitates to send one so young and dear into danger. The sage insists on his obeying the call of duty, and he hands over Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa to the care of the ascetic. The herald announces[227]midday, and the king mourns the loss of his son. In Act II we have first a long-drawn-out conversation between Çunaḥçepha and Paçumeḍhra, two pupils of Viçvāmitra, which serves to enlighten us on the history of Vālin, Rāvaṇa, the Rākṣasas, Jāmbavant, Hanumant, and Tāḍakā. The entr’acte is followed by the appearance of Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa who describe the hermitage and the doings of its occupants, and then the heat of midday. Time, however, does not trouble the dramatist; though there is no further action and no interruption in the dialogue, we find ourselves transported to the evening; Viçvāmitra enters and describes in converse with the boys the sunset. A cry behind the scene announces the approach of the demoness Tāḍakā; Rāma hesitates to slay a female, but finally departs for the necessary duty; on his return he has to describe the rising of the moon. Viçvāmitra then suggests a visit to Janaka of Mithilā, affording an opportunity for a description of the city and its ruler.In Act II only do we reach the motif which Bhavabhūti with far greater skill made the leading idea of the drama, thus giving it effective unity, so far as the story permits. The chamberlain of Janaka in conversation with Kalahaṅsikā, one of Sītā’s suite, lets us know that the princess is now ripe for marriage, and Rāvaṇa seeks her hand. In the scene that follows the king accompanied by Çatānanda receives Rāma, but hesitates to put him to the severe test involved in bending Çiva’s bow. Çauṣkala, Rāvaṇa’s envoy, arrives to demand the maiden’s hand, but indignantly declines the request that his master should bend the bow. He eulogizes Rāvaṇa whom Rāma depreciates. Rāma is at last allowed to make the trial; those who remain on the stage describe his wonderful deed in breaking the bow. He is promised Sītā’s hand, while the other sons of Daçaratha are also awarded consorts. Çauṣkala departs, menacing revenge. Act IV shows us Rāvaṇa’s minister Mālyavant lamenting the failure of his scheme to win Sītā. Çūrpaṇakhā arrives from Videha and tells of the union of Rāma and Sītā. Mālyavant recognizes that Rāvaṇa will insist on seeking to separate the pair, and he counsels Çūrpaṇakhā to assume the disguise of Mantharā, the maid of Kaikeyī, with the view of securing the banishment of Rāma to the forest, where he will be more vulnerable to attack.[228]He is also cheered by the news given by Çūrpaṇakhā of the approach of Paraçurāma to Mithilā, whence some gain may accrue to his cause. The following scene shows us Rāma and Paraçurāma in verbal contest; Rāma is even more polite than in theMahāvīracaritawhich is obviously imitated, while the friends of Rāma carry on a vituperative dialogue behind the scene without actually appearing. Finally they resolve to fight, for Rāma has annoyed his rival by reminding him that the flag of his fame won by his destruction of the Kṣatriyas is worn out and challenging him to mount a new one. The fight itself takes place off the stage; Sītā, we learn from a voice behind the scenes, is apprehensive lest Rāma be drawing again his bow to win another maiden. The rivals then appear on excellent terms; Paraçurāma exchanges farewells with his former interlocutors and disappears. Then enter Janaka and Daçaratha. The latter is determined to resign his kingdom to Rāma, but Lakṣmaṇa enters introducing Mantharā who bears a fatal missive from Kaikeyī, bidding the king grant the two boons of the banishment of Rāma and the coronation of Bharata. The kings faint; Rāma sends Lakṣmaṇa to tell Sītā, and commends his father to Janaka.In Act V a conversation between Jāmbavant and an ascetic lady, Çravaṇā, tells of the doings of Rāma until his advent in the forest. Çravaṇā goes to Sugrīva to bespeak a kindly welcome for the wayfarers, while Jāmbavant overhears a dialogue between Rāvaṇa, disguised as a juggler, and Lakṣmaṇa. The vulture Jaṭāyu then appears with the grave news that he has seen Rāvaṇa and Mārīca in the forest; Jāmbavant goes to warn Sugrīva of the danger, while Jaṭāyu sees the rape of Sītā and pursues the ravisher. After this entr’acte Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa enter, wandering in grief in vain search. They are interrupted by a cry and see the friendly forest chief, Guha, assailed by the headless Kabandha. Lakṣmaṇa rescues him, but, in doing so, knocks off the tree, on which it was suspended, the skeleton of Dundubhi, to the annoyance of Vālin, who appears, and after a lengthy conversation challenges Rāma to battle. The fight is described from the stage by Lakṣmaṇa and Guha; the enemy is slain. Voices from behind the scenes report the coronation of Sugrīva and his determination to aid Rāma in the recovery of[229]Sītā, and Lakṣmaṇa and his friend leave the stage to rejoin their party. In Act VI Sāraṇa and Çuka, two spies of Rāvaṇa’s describe to Mālyavant the building of the bridge over the ocean and the advent of Rāma’s army. Voices from behind announce the departure of Kumbhakarṇa and Meghanāda for battle; in the same way we learn of their fall and the last exit of Rāvaṇa, whom Mālyavant decides to follow to the field. The final struggle is described with tedious and tasteless prolixity by two Vidyādharas, Ratnacūḍa and Hemān̄gada, and with this the Act closes.In Act VII we have a determined effort to vie with the close of theMahāvīracarita. Rāma, Sītā, Lakṣmaṇa, Vibhīṣaṇa, and Sugrīva proceed in Kubera’s celestial car to Ayodhyā. But the route is diversified from the simplicity of the model, for the travellers are taken to the celestial regions to view in all its aspects the mythical mountain Sumeru and the world of the moon; only then do they commence their journey in its terrestrial aspect by a description of Siṅhala, distinguished as usual from Lan̄kā; the route then passes over the Malaya mountains, the forest, the mountain Prasravaṇa, the Godāvarī, mount Mālyavant, Kuṇḍinīpura in the Mahārāṣṭra country, Kāñcī, Ujjayinī, Māhiṣmatī, the Yamunā, the Ganges, Vārāṇasī, Mithilā and Campā; the car goes then west to Prayāga, and later turns east to Ayodhyā, where the priest Vasiṣṭha waits with Rāma’s brothers to crown him king.The demerits of the poem are obvious; there is no attempt to improve on the traditional narrative, though Vālin is honourably killed; the characters are as stereotyped as ever. The author, however, delights to overload and elaborate the theme; hyperbole marks every idea; his mythological knowledge is adequate to enable him to abound in conceits and plays on words, when he does not sink, as largely in Act III, to mere commonplace. The taste which invents the visit to the world of the moon and Sumeru is as deplorable as that which substitutes the dull dialogue between Jāmbavant and Jaṭāyu for the vigorous conversation of Jaṭāyu and Sampāti in theMahāvīracarita. For dialogue in general Murāri has no taste at all, and what merit his work has lies entirely in the ability which he shows to handle the Sanskrit language and to frame sentences of harmonious[230]sound in effective metrical forms. His knowledge of the lexica is obvious, while his love of the recondite in grammar has won him the fame of being used to illustrate rare forms by the author of theSiddhāntakaumudī. These linguistic merits have secured him the preference shown for him by modern taste. Nor indeed can his power of expression be justly denied:25dṛçyante madhumattakokilavadhūnirdhūtacūtān̄kura—prāgbhāraprasaratparāgasikatādurgās taṭībhūmayaḥyāḥ kṛcchrād atilan̄ghya lubdhakabhayāt tair eva reṇūtkarairdhārāvāhibhir asti luptapadavīniḥçan̄kam eṇīkulam.‘There are seen the towering slopes as of sand where the pollen tilts off from the mango shoots, shaken by the female cuckoos, maddened by the intoxication of spring; scarce can the antelopes in their fear of the hunter leap over them, but the dust which they raise in showers accords them security by concealing the path of their flight.’ The idea is certainly trivial enough, but the expression, which defies reproduction in English, is in its own way a masterpiece of effect.A pretty erotic verse is found in Act VII:26anena rambhoru bhavanmukhena: tuṣārabhānos tulayā dhṛtasyaūnasya nūnam pratipūraṇāya: tārā sphuranti pratimānakhaṇḍāh.‘When the moon is placed in the scales, fair-limbed one, against thy face, assuredly it is found wanting, and to make good the deficit the stars must shine as make-weights.’Not a bad example of more elaborate, yet graceful, eulogy is found in the following stanza:27gotre sākṣād ajani bhagavān eṣa yat padmayoniḥçayyotthāyaṁ yad akhilam ahaḥ prīṇayanti dvirephānekāgrāṁ yad dadhati bhagavaty uṣṇabhānau ca bhaktimtat prāpus te sutanu vadanaupamyam ambhoruhāṇi.‘Since manifestly in their family has been born the blessed one, sprung from the lotus; since all day long they delight the bees as they rise from their bed; since their whole faith they devote to the blessed lord of the sharp rays, thus, O lovely one, the flowers that spring from the water attain the likeness of thy face.’[231]Happy also is another erotic stanza:28abhimukhapatayālubhir lalāṭa—: çramasalilair avadhūtapattralekhaḥkathayati puruṣāyitaṁ vadhūnām: mṛditahimadyutidurmanāḥ kapolaḥ.‘Its painted mark obliterated by the moisture which streams from the wearied brow over the face, the cheek reveals the longing of women, melancholy as the wan moon.’udeṣyatpīyūṣadyutirucikaṇārdrāḥ çaçimaṇi—sthalīnām panthāno ghanacaraṇalākṣālipibhṛtaḥcakorair uḍḍīnair jhaṭiti kṛtaçan̄kāḥ pratipadamparācaḥ saṁcārān avinayavatīnāṁ vivṛṇate.‘Footprints on pavements of moonstone, marked with the lac that dyes deep the feet, wet with drops that have the radiance of rising cream, made with anxiety at every step as the Cakoras fly up disturbed, mark the departure of ladies who violate decorum.’29A further stanza in some manuscripts of the poem occurs in the drama, while elsewhere it seems to be treated as a verse about Murāri:30devīṁ vācam upāsate hi bahavaḥ sāraṁ tu sārasvatamjānīte nitarām asau gurukulakliṣṭo Murāriḥ kaviḥabdhir lan̄ghita eva vānarabhaṭaiḥ kiṁ tv asyā gambhīratāmāpātālanimagnapīvaratanur jānāti manthācalaḥ.‘Many serve the goddess speech, but the essence of eloquence Murāri alone knows to the full, that poet who long toiled in the house of his teacher; even so the monkey host leapt over the ocean, but its depth the Mount of Churning alone knows, for its mighty mass penetrated down even to the realms below.’

Murāri declares in the prologue to the solitary drama, theAnargharāghava24which has come down to us, though quotations show that he wrote other works, that his aim is to please a public tired of terror, horror, violence, and marvels, by a composition elevated, heroic, and marvellous throughout, not merely at the close. He defends his choice of the banal subject of Rāma; his character adds elevation and charm to the poet’s work, and it would be folly to lay aside so splendid a theme. TheAnargharāghava, however, does little to justify the poet’s confidence in his choice of topic. The theme, treated already at length by Bhavabhūti, offered no chance of success save for a great poet, and Murāri was not such a poet save in the estimate of occasional later writers who extol his depth (gambhīratā) without any shadow of justification.

Act I shows us Daçaratha in conversation with Vāmadeva. The arrival of the sage Viçvāmitra is announced; he exchanges with the king hyperbolic compliments of the most tedious type, but proceeds to business by demanding the aid of Rāma against the Rākṣasas which are troubling his hermitage. The king hesitates to send one so young and dear into danger. The sage insists on his obeying the call of duty, and he hands over Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa to the care of the ascetic. The herald announces[227]midday, and the king mourns the loss of his son. In Act II we have first a long-drawn-out conversation between Çunaḥçepha and Paçumeḍhra, two pupils of Viçvāmitra, which serves to enlighten us on the history of Vālin, Rāvaṇa, the Rākṣasas, Jāmbavant, Hanumant, and Tāḍakā. The entr’acte is followed by the appearance of Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa who describe the hermitage and the doings of its occupants, and then the heat of midday. Time, however, does not trouble the dramatist; though there is no further action and no interruption in the dialogue, we find ourselves transported to the evening; Viçvāmitra enters and describes in converse with the boys the sunset. A cry behind the scene announces the approach of the demoness Tāḍakā; Rāma hesitates to slay a female, but finally departs for the necessary duty; on his return he has to describe the rising of the moon. Viçvāmitra then suggests a visit to Janaka of Mithilā, affording an opportunity for a description of the city and its ruler.

In Act II only do we reach the motif which Bhavabhūti with far greater skill made the leading idea of the drama, thus giving it effective unity, so far as the story permits. The chamberlain of Janaka in conversation with Kalahaṅsikā, one of Sītā’s suite, lets us know that the princess is now ripe for marriage, and Rāvaṇa seeks her hand. In the scene that follows the king accompanied by Çatānanda receives Rāma, but hesitates to put him to the severe test involved in bending Çiva’s bow. Çauṣkala, Rāvaṇa’s envoy, arrives to demand the maiden’s hand, but indignantly declines the request that his master should bend the bow. He eulogizes Rāvaṇa whom Rāma depreciates. Rāma is at last allowed to make the trial; those who remain on the stage describe his wonderful deed in breaking the bow. He is promised Sītā’s hand, while the other sons of Daçaratha are also awarded consorts. Çauṣkala departs, menacing revenge. Act IV shows us Rāvaṇa’s minister Mālyavant lamenting the failure of his scheme to win Sītā. Çūrpaṇakhā arrives from Videha and tells of the union of Rāma and Sītā. Mālyavant recognizes that Rāvaṇa will insist on seeking to separate the pair, and he counsels Çūrpaṇakhā to assume the disguise of Mantharā, the maid of Kaikeyī, with the view of securing the banishment of Rāma to the forest, where he will be more vulnerable to attack.[228]He is also cheered by the news given by Çūrpaṇakhā of the approach of Paraçurāma to Mithilā, whence some gain may accrue to his cause. The following scene shows us Rāma and Paraçurāma in verbal contest; Rāma is even more polite than in theMahāvīracaritawhich is obviously imitated, while the friends of Rāma carry on a vituperative dialogue behind the scene without actually appearing. Finally they resolve to fight, for Rāma has annoyed his rival by reminding him that the flag of his fame won by his destruction of the Kṣatriyas is worn out and challenging him to mount a new one. The fight itself takes place off the stage; Sītā, we learn from a voice behind the scenes, is apprehensive lest Rāma be drawing again his bow to win another maiden. The rivals then appear on excellent terms; Paraçurāma exchanges farewells with his former interlocutors and disappears. Then enter Janaka and Daçaratha. The latter is determined to resign his kingdom to Rāma, but Lakṣmaṇa enters introducing Mantharā who bears a fatal missive from Kaikeyī, bidding the king grant the two boons of the banishment of Rāma and the coronation of Bharata. The kings faint; Rāma sends Lakṣmaṇa to tell Sītā, and commends his father to Janaka.

In Act V a conversation between Jāmbavant and an ascetic lady, Çravaṇā, tells of the doings of Rāma until his advent in the forest. Çravaṇā goes to Sugrīva to bespeak a kindly welcome for the wayfarers, while Jāmbavant overhears a dialogue between Rāvaṇa, disguised as a juggler, and Lakṣmaṇa. The vulture Jaṭāyu then appears with the grave news that he has seen Rāvaṇa and Mārīca in the forest; Jāmbavant goes to warn Sugrīva of the danger, while Jaṭāyu sees the rape of Sītā and pursues the ravisher. After this entr’acte Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa enter, wandering in grief in vain search. They are interrupted by a cry and see the friendly forest chief, Guha, assailed by the headless Kabandha. Lakṣmaṇa rescues him, but, in doing so, knocks off the tree, on which it was suspended, the skeleton of Dundubhi, to the annoyance of Vālin, who appears, and after a lengthy conversation challenges Rāma to battle. The fight is described from the stage by Lakṣmaṇa and Guha; the enemy is slain. Voices from behind the scenes report the coronation of Sugrīva and his determination to aid Rāma in the recovery of[229]Sītā, and Lakṣmaṇa and his friend leave the stage to rejoin their party. In Act VI Sāraṇa and Çuka, two spies of Rāvaṇa’s describe to Mālyavant the building of the bridge over the ocean and the advent of Rāma’s army. Voices from behind announce the departure of Kumbhakarṇa and Meghanāda for battle; in the same way we learn of their fall and the last exit of Rāvaṇa, whom Mālyavant decides to follow to the field. The final struggle is described with tedious and tasteless prolixity by two Vidyādharas, Ratnacūḍa and Hemān̄gada, and with this the Act closes.

In Act VII we have a determined effort to vie with the close of theMahāvīracarita. Rāma, Sītā, Lakṣmaṇa, Vibhīṣaṇa, and Sugrīva proceed in Kubera’s celestial car to Ayodhyā. But the route is diversified from the simplicity of the model, for the travellers are taken to the celestial regions to view in all its aspects the mythical mountain Sumeru and the world of the moon; only then do they commence their journey in its terrestrial aspect by a description of Siṅhala, distinguished as usual from Lan̄kā; the route then passes over the Malaya mountains, the forest, the mountain Prasravaṇa, the Godāvarī, mount Mālyavant, Kuṇḍinīpura in the Mahārāṣṭra country, Kāñcī, Ujjayinī, Māhiṣmatī, the Yamunā, the Ganges, Vārāṇasī, Mithilā and Campā; the car goes then west to Prayāga, and later turns east to Ayodhyā, where the priest Vasiṣṭha waits with Rāma’s brothers to crown him king.

The demerits of the poem are obvious; there is no attempt to improve on the traditional narrative, though Vālin is honourably killed; the characters are as stereotyped as ever. The author, however, delights to overload and elaborate the theme; hyperbole marks every idea; his mythological knowledge is adequate to enable him to abound in conceits and plays on words, when he does not sink, as largely in Act III, to mere commonplace. The taste which invents the visit to the world of the moon and Sumeru is as deplorable as that which substitutes the dull dialogue between Jāmbavant and Jaṭāyu for the vigorous conversation of Jaṭāyu and Sampāti in theMahāvīracarita. For dialogue in general Murāri has no taste at all, and what merit his work has lies entirely in the ability which he shows to handle the Sanskrit language and to frame sentences of harmonious[230]sound in effective metrical forms. His knowledge of the lexica is obvious, while his love of the recondite in grammar has won him the fame of being used to illustrate rare forms by the author of theSiddhāntakaumudī. These linguistic merits have secured him the preference shown for him by modern taste. Nor indeed can his power of expression be justly denied:25

dṛçyante madhumattakokilavadhūnirdhūtacūtān̄kura—prāgbhāraprasaratparāgasikatādurgās taṭībhūmayaḥyāḥ kṛcchrād atilan̄ghya lubdhakabhayāt tair eva reṇūtkarairdhārāvāhibhir asti luptapadavīniḥçan̄kam eṇīkulam.

dṛçyante madhumattakokilavadhūnirdhūtacūtān̄kura—

prāgbhāraprasaratparāgasikatādurgās taṭībhūmayaḥ

yāḥ kṛcchrād atilan̄ghya lubdhakabhayāt tair eva reṇūtkarair

dhārāvāhibhir asti luptapadavīniḥçan̄kam eṇīkulam.

‘There are seen the towering slopes as of sand where the pollen tilts off from the mango shoots, shaken by the female cuckoos, maddened by the intoxication of spring; scarce can the antelopes in their fear of the hunter leap over them, but the dust which they raise in showers accords them security by concealing the path of their flight.’ The idea is certainly trivial enough, but the expression, which defies reproduction in English, is in its own way a masterpiece of effect.

A pretty erotic verse is found in Act VII:26

anena rambhoru bhavanmukhena: tuṣārabhānos tulayā dhṛtasyaūnasya nūnam pratipūraṇāya: tārā sphuranti pratimānakhaṇḍāh.

anena rambhoru bhavanmukhena: tuṣārabhānos tulayā dhṛtasya

ūnasya nūnam pratipūraṇāya: tārā sphuranti pratimānakhaṇḍāh.

‘When the moon is placed in the scales, fair-limbed one, against thy face, assuredly it is found wanting, and to make good the deficit the stars must shine as make-weights.’

Not a bad example of more elaborate, yet graceful, eulogy is found in the following stanza:27

gotre sākṣād ajani bhagavān eṣa yat padmayoniḥçayyotthāyaṁ yad akhilam ahaḥ prīṇayanti dvirephānekāgrāṁ yad dadhati bhagavaty uṣṇabhānau ca bhaktimtat prāpus te sutanu vadanaupamyam ambhoruhāṇi.

gotre sākṣād ajani bhagavān eṣa yat padmayoniḥ

çayyotthāyaṁ yad akhilam ahaḥ prīṇayanti dvirephān

ekāgrāṁ yad dadhati bhagavaty uṣṇabhānau ca bhaktim

tat prāpus te sutanu vadanaupamyam ambhoruhāṇi.

‘Since manifestly in their family has been born the blessed one, sprung from the lotus; since all day long they delight the bees as they rise from their bed; since their whole faith they devote to the blessed lord of the sharp rays, thus, O lovely one, the flowers that spring from the water attain the likeness of thy face.’[231]

Happy also is another erotic stanza:28

abhimukhapatayālubhir lalāṭa—: çramasalilair avadhūtapattralekhaḥkathayati puruṣāyitaṁ vadhūnām: mṛditahimadyutidurmanāḥ kapolaḥ.

abhimukhapatayālubhir lalāṭa—: çramasalilair avadhūtapattralekhaḥ

kathayati puruṣāyitaṁ vadhūnām: mṛditahimadyutidurmanāḥ kapolaḥ.

‘Its painted mark obliterated by the moisture which streams from the wearied brow over the face, the cheek reveals the longing of women, melancholy as the wan moon.’

udeṣyatpīyūṣadyutirucikaṇārdrāḥ çaçimaṇi—sthalīnām panthāno ghanacaraṇalākṣālipibhṛtaḥcakorair uḍḍīnair jhaṭiti kṛtaçan̄kāḥ pratipadamparācaḥ saṁcārān avinayavatīnāṁ vivṛṇate.

udeṣyatpīyūṣadyutirucikaṇārdrāḥ çaçimaṇi—

sthalīnām panthāno ghanacaraṇalākṣālipibhṛtaḥ

cakorair uḍḍīnair jhaṭiti kṛtaçan̄kāḥ pratipadam

parācaḥ saṁcārān avinayavatīnāṁ vivṛṇate.

‘Footprints on pavements of moonstone, marked with the lac that dyes deep the feet, wet with drops that have the radiance of rising cream, made with anxiety at every step as the Cakoras fly up disturbed, mark the departure of ladies who violate decorum.’29

A further stanza in some manuscripts of the poem occurs in the drama, while elsewhere it seems to be treated as a verse about Murāri:30

devīṁ vācam upāsate hi bahavaḥ sāraṁ tu sārasvatamjānīte nitarām asau gurukulakliṣṭo Murāriḥ kaviḥabdhir lan̄ghita eva vānarabhaṭaiḥ kiṁ tv asyā gambhīratāmāpātālanimagnapīvaratanur jānāti manthācalaḥ.

devīṁ vācam upāsate hi bahavaḥ sāraṁ tu sārasvatam

jānīte nitarām asau gurukulakliṣṭo Murāriḥ kaviḥ

abdhir lan̄ghita eva vānarabhaṭaiḥ kiṁ tv asyā gambhīratām

āpātālanimagnapīvaratanur jānāti manthācalaḥ.

‘Many serve the goddess speech, but the essence of eloquence Murāri alone knows to the full, that poet who long toiled in the house of his teacher; even so the monkey host leapt over the ocean, but its depth the Mount of Churning alone knows, for its mighty mass penetrated down even to the realms below.’

[Contents]4.The Date of RājaçekharaRājaçekhara, with the usual prolixity of bad poets, is voluble on his personality; he was of a Mahārāṣṭra Kṣatriya family of the Yāyāvaras, who claimed descent from Rāma; son of the minister Durduka or Duhika, and of Çīlavatī; grandson of Akālajalada, and descendant of Surānanda, Tarala, and Kavirāja, all[232]poets of name. He married Avantisundarī of the Cāhamāna family, and was a moderate Çaiva.31In theKarpūramañjarī, probably his first play since it was produced at the request of his wife, and not a king, he refers to himself as the teacher of Nirbhaya or Nirbhara, who was clearly the Pratihāra king, Mahendrapāla of Mahodaya or Kanyakubja, of whom we have records inA.D.893 and 907. TheBālarāmāyaṇawas produced at his request. But he seems then to have visited another court, for theViddhaçālabhañjikāwas produced for the Kalacuri king, Yuvarāja Keyūravarṣa of Tripurī. But, as the unfinishedBālabhāratawas written for Mahīpāla, successor ofMahendrapāla, whose records begin inA.D.914, we may assume that he returned to the court of the Pratihāras and died there. In theBālarāmāyaṇahe speaks of six of his works, not apparently including theViddhaçālabhañjikāand theBālabhārata, and in fact we have many stanzas from him regarding famous authors, though of course the proof of derivation from this Rājaçekara is not always complete.TheBālarāmāyaṇashows to perfection Rājaçekhara’s own estimate of himself. He traces his poetic descent from Vālmīki, through Bhartṛmeṇṭha and Bhavabhūti, but it is not clear that Bhartṛmeṇṭha must be assumed to have dramatized the work, and the little we know of this obscure person merely shows that he wrote an epic, theHayagrīvavadha, while his date is involved in the problems of Vikramāditya and Mātṛgupta.32

4.The Date of Rājaçekhara

Rājaçekhara, with the usual prolixity of bad poets, is voluble on his personality; he was of a Mahārāṣṭra Kṣatriya family of the Yāyāvaras, who claimed descent from Rāma; son of the minister Durduka or Duhika, and of Çīlavatī; grandson of Akālajalada, and descendant of Surānanda, Tarala, and Kavirāja, all[232]poets of name. He married Avantisundarī of the Cāhamāna family, and was a moderate Çaiva.31In theKarpūramañjarī, probably his first play since it was produced at the request of his wife, and not a king, he refers to himself as the teacher of Nirbhaya or Nirbhara, who was clearly the Pratihāra king, Mahendrapāla of Mahodaya or Kanyakubja, of whom we have records inA.D.893 and 907. TheBālarāmāyaṇawas produced at his request. But he seems then to have visited another court, for theViddhaçālabhañjikāwas produced for the Kalacuri king, Yuvarāja Keyūravarṣa of Tripurī. But, as the unfinishedBālabhāratawas written for Mahīpāla, successor ofMahendrapāla, whose records begin inA.D.914, we may assume that he returned to the court of the Pratihāras and died there. In theBālarāmāyaṇahe speaks of six of his works, not apparently including theViddhaçālabhañjikāand theBālabhārata, and in fact we have many stanzas from him regarding famous authors, though of course the proof of derivation from this Rājaçekara is not always complete.TheBālarāmāyaṇashows to perfection Rājaçekhara’s own estimate of himself. He traces his poetic descent from Vālmīki, through Bhartṛmeṇṭha and Bhavabhūti, but it is not clear that Bhartṛmeṇṭha must be assumed to have dramatized the work, and the little we know of this obscure person merely shows that he wrote an epic, theHayagrīvavadha, while his date is involved in the problems of Vikramāditya and Mātṛgupta.32

Rājaçekhara, with the usual prolixity of bad poets, is voluble on his personality; he was of a Mahārāṣṭra Kṣatriya family of the Yāyāvaras, who claimed descent from Rāma; son of the minister Durduka or Duhika, and of Çīlavatī; grandson of Akālajalada, and descendant of Surānanda, Tarala, and Kavirāja, all[232]poets of name. He married Avantisundarī of the Cāhamāna family, and was a moderate Çaiva.31

In theKarpūramañjarī, probably his first play since it was produced at the request of his wife, and not a king, he refers to himself as the teacher of Nirbhaya or Nirbhara, who was clearly the Pratihāra king, Mahendrapāla of Mahodaya or Kanyakubja, of whom we have records inA.D.893 and 907. TheBālarāmāyaṇawas produced at his request. But he seems then to have visited another court, for theViddhaçālabhañjikāwas produced for the Kalacuri king, Yuvarāja Keyūravarṣa of Tripurī. But, as the unfinishedBālabhāratawas written for Mahīpāla, successor ofMahendrapāla, whose records begin inA.D.914, we may assume that he returned to the court of the Pratihāras and died there. In theBālarāmāyaṇahe speaks of six of his works, not apparently including theViddhaçālabhañjikāand theBālabhārata, and in fact we have many stanzas from him regarding famous authors, though of course the proof of derivation from this Rājaçekara is not always complete.

TheBālarāmāyaṇashows to perfection Rājaçekhara’s own estimate of himself. He traces his poetic descent from Vālmīki, through Bhartṛmeṇṭha and Bhavabhūti, but it is not clear that Bhartṛmeṇṭha must be assumed to have dramatized the work, and the little we know of this obscure person merely shows that he wrote an epic, theHayagrīvavadha, while his date is involved in the problems of Vikramāditya and Mātṛgupta.32

[Contents]5.The Dramas of RājaçekharaTheBālarāmāyaṇa33is a Mahānāṭaka, that is one in ten acts, and the author, to add to the horror of the length, has expanded the prologue to almost the dimensions of an act, celebrating his non-existent merits, and has expanded each act to almost the dimensions of a Nāṭikā. The whole has 741 stanzas, and of these no less than 203 are in the 19-syllableÇārdūlavikrīḍitaand 89 in the Sragdharā, which has two more syllables in each pada or 84 in a stanza. The play has a certain novelty, because[233]the author has made the love of Rāvaṇa the dominating feature. He appears in person in the first act, but declines to test himself by drawing Çiva’s bow, and departs, menacing evil to any husband of Sītā. In Act II he seeks the aid of Paraçurāma, but is insulted instead, and a battle barely prevented by intervention of friends. In Act III the marriage of Sītā is enacted before him to distract his amorous sorrow, but the attempt is as little a success as it deserved to be; he interrupts, and finally the scene has to be broken off. In Act IV the duel of Rāma and Paraçurāma is disposed of, but in Act V we find another ludicrous effort to amuse Rāvaṇa; dolls with parrots in their mouths are presented to him as Sītā and his foster sister; he is deceived until he finds that his grasp is on wood; distracted, he demands his beloved from nature, the seasons, the streams, and the birds, as does Purūravas in theVikramorvaçī. The arrival of Çūrpaṇakhā, his sister, who has suffered severely from her attack on Rāma, brings him to a condition of more manly rage. A tedious Act then carries matters down to the death of the sorrowing Daçaratha. In Act VII the problem of inducing the ocean to accept the burden of the bridge is solved; Dadhittha and Kapittha, two monkeys, describe at length its construction to Rāma. A momentary terror is caused by a stratagem of Mālyavant; the severed head of Sītā seems to be flung on the shore, but it speaks and reveals the fraud; it is the head of the speaking doll. In Act VIII we have Rāvaṇa’s impressions as disaster after disaster is announced; he sends out Kumbhakarṇa, but sees even him helpless, despite his magic weapons, before Rāma. In Act IX Indra himself describes the last desperate duel of Rāma and Rāvaṇa. In Act X the party of Rāma makes the usual aerial tour of India, including the world of the moon, and ending with the inevitable consecration.TheBālabhārata34is mercifully unfinished; it covers the marriage of Draupadī, and the gambling scene with the ill usage of Draupadī. The other two plays are really Nāṭikās, but the first, theKarpūramañjarī35is classed by the theory as a Saṭṭaka, simply because it is in Prākrit, none of the characters[234]speaking Sanskrit. It is the old story; here the king is Caṇḍapāla, possibly a compliment to Mahendrapāla, and his beloved the Kuntala princess, Karpūramañjarī, who is really a cousin of the queen. In Act I a magician, Bhairavānanda, displays the damsel to the king and queen; the apparition tells her tale, and the queen decides to add her to the number of her attendants. The king and the maiden fall at once in love. In Act II a letter from the maiden avows her passion, and the Vidūṣaka and her friend Vicakṣaṇā arrange to let the king see her swinging and also producing by her touch the blossoming of the Açoka. Between the Acts we must assume that the queen has found out the love, and has confined the maiden, while the king has secured the making of a subterranean passage giving access to her prison. In Act III by this means the princess and the king enjoy a flirtation in the garden, when the queen discovers them. In Act IV we find that the end of the passage giving on the garden has been blocked, but another passage has been made to the sanctuary of Cāmuṇḍā, the entrance concealed behind the statue. Thus the prisoner can play a game of hide-and-seek with the queen, and this enables her to carry out a clever ruse invented by the magician to secure the queen’s blessing for the wedding. The queen is induced to demand that the king shall marry a princess of Lāṭa who will secure him imperial rank. She is still at her home, but the magician will fetch her to the place. The wedding goes on merrily, but the princess is no other than Karpūramañjarī, and the queen has unwittingly accomplished the lovers’ desires.The same motif is repeated in theViddhaçālabhañjikā,36which is a regular Nāṭikā. Act I tells us that Candravarman of Lāṭa, vassal of Vidyādharamalla, has sent to the court of his overlord his daughter Mṛgān̄kāvalī in the guise of his son and heir. The king, Vidyādharamalla, recounts a dream in the truthful hours of the morning, in which a beautiful maid had cast a collar of pearls round his neck; he is haunted by her, and next finds her in sculptured form (çālabhañjikā) in the picture gallery. He has a further glimpse of her in the flesh but no more, before the heralds announce midday. In Act II we learn that the queen proposes to marry Kuvalayamālā of Kuntala to the pretended[235]boy, while the Vidūṣaka has been promised by her foster-sister, Mekhalā, marriage with a lady of the seductive name of Ambaramālā, Air Garland. Imagine his disgust when she turns out to be a mere slave; the king has to calm him, and together they watch in hiding Mṛgān̄kāvalī playing in the garden, and hear her reading a letter of love. The heralds proclaim the evening hour. In Act III we are told that the dream of the king was reality, devised by Bhāgurāyaṇa, his minister, who knew that the husband of the heroine would attain imperial rule. The Vidūṣaka punishes Mekhalā’s ruse by another; he bids a woman hide herself and call out a warning to Mekhalā of evil to befall her unless she crawl between a Brahmin’s limbs. The queen begs the Vidūṣaka to permit this ceremony, and, it over, he avows the plot to the great indignation of the queen. The Vidūṣaka and the king then have an interview with the heroine. In Act IV we learn of a plot of the queen to punish the king. She induces him to agree to marry the sister of the pretended boy, meaning that he should find that he has married a boy. The king agrees; the marriage is completed; news comes from Candravarman that a son is born, begging the queen to dispose in marriage of his daughter, who may resume her sex. The queen, tricked and deceived, makes the best of her situation; with dignity and hauteur she bestows on her husband both Mṛgān̄kāvalī and Kuvalayamālā, while news is brought that the last rebels are subdued and the king’s suzerainty is recognized everywhere.There can be no doubt of the demerits of Rājaçekhara’s works; he is devoid of the power to create a character: Vidyādharamalla is stiff and uninteresting beside his model, the gay and gallant Vatsa; the queen is without the love or the majesty of Vāsavadattā; Bhāgurāyaṇa is a feeble Yaugandharāyaṇa, whose magician is borrowed in theKarpūramañjarīand spoiled in the borrowing. The heroines are without merit; the Vidūṣaka in theKarpūramañjarīis tedious, but Cārāyaṇa in theViddhaçālabhañjikāhas merits; he has plenty of sound common sense, though he is simple and capable of being taken in by others. The intrigue in both Nāṭikās is poorly managed; the confusion of exits and entrances in theKarpūramañjarīis difficult to follow and probably more difficult to act, while in theViddhaçālabhañjikāthe queen is induced to arrange a marriage out of a[236]puerile incident affecting the Vidūṣaka only. The taste of giving two brides to the king at once is deplorable, as is the failure to explain why the king accepts the suggested marriage when ignorant of its true import.In all his dramas, however, Rājaçekhara is merely concerned with exercises in style. The themes he frankly tells us in the prologue to theKarpūramañjarīare the same; the question is the expression, and the language is indifferent; therefore Prākrit being smooth, while Sanskrit is harsh, the language of women as opposed to men, can be used as a medium of style by one who boasts himself an expert in every kind of language. We have, therefore, elaborate descriptions in equally elaborate verses, of the dawn, midday, sunset, the pleasures of the harem, the game of ball, the swing, a favourite enjoyment of the Indian maidens, and in the Nāṭakas picturesad nauseamof battles with magic weapons, and appalling mythical geography and topography. His allusions to local practices and customs may be interesting to the antiquarian, but are not poetical. More praiseworthy is his real accomplishment in metres, especially the Çārdūlavikrīḍita, his facility in which Kṣemendra justly praises, the Vasantatilaka, Çloka, and Sragdharā. His ability to handle elaborate Prākrit metres is undeniable; in 144 stanzas in theKarpūramañjarīhe has 17 varieties. If poetry consisted merely of harmonious sound, he must be ranked high as a poet. He is fond of proverbs:varaṁ takkālovaṇadā tittirī ṇa uṇa diahantaridā morī, which gives our ‘A bird in hand is worth two in the bush’; he introduces freely words from vernaculars, including Marāthī. But, despite his parade of learning, he cannot distinguish accurately Çaurasenī and Māhārāṣṭrī in his drama; in the former we find such forms aslaṭṭhiforyaṣṭi,ammiin the locative andhiṁtoin the ablative singular ofa-stems, andesafor the pronoun. Important as he is lexicographically for both Sanskrit and Prākrit, it is undeniable that both were utterly dead languages for him, which he had laboriously learned. Forms likeḍhillaequivalent toçithilain theKarpūramañjarīshow how far the vernaculars had advanced beyond the Prākrits of the drama.It would, however, be quite unjust to deny to Rājaçekhara the power of effective expression; like all the later dramatists he is capable of producing elegant and attractive verses, which are[237]largely spoiled in their context by their being embedded in masses of tasteless matter. Thus the benediction of theViddhaçālabhañjikāis decidedly graceful:kulagurur abalānāṁ kelidīkṣāpradāneparamasuhṛd anan̄go rohiṇīvallabhasyaapi kusumapṛṣatkair devadevasya jetājayati suratalīlānāṭikāsūtradhāraḥ.‘Family preceptor of young maidens for the bestowal of the sacrament of love, the bodyless one, dearest friend of Rohiṇī’s lover, he that with his flower arrows overthrew the god of gods, he is victorious ever, the director of the comedy of the play of love’s mysteries.’The description of summer is also pretty if banal:rajaniviramayāmeṣv ādiçantī ratecchāmkim api kaṭhinayantī nārikelīphalāmbhaḥapi pariṇamayitrī rājarambhāphalānāmdinapariṇatiramyā vartate grīṣmalakṣmīḥ.‘This is the glorious season of summer, delightful in the length of the days, when the royal plantain fruits are ripened, and the milk in the coco-nut is hardened, and the season bids us enjoy the delight of love in the closing watches of the night.’The signs of a maiden distracted by unfulfilled affection are quaintly described:candraṁ candanakardamena likhitaṁ sā mārṣṭi daṣṭādharābandhyaṁ nindati yac ca manmatham asau bhan̄ktvāgrahastān̄gurīḥkāmaḥ puṣpaçaraḥ kileti sumanovargaṁ lunīte ca yattat kāmyā subhaga tvayā varatanur vātūlatāṁ lambhitā.‘Biting her lip, she wipes out the figure of the moon sketched in sandal paste; snapping her finger-tips she mocks at love as barren; to flout his darts, the flowers she gathers she tears in shreds; assuredly the fair one whom thou shouldst love hath been brought by thee to madness.’antastāraṁ taralitatalāḥ stokam utpīḍabhājaḥpakṣmāgreṣu grathitapṛṣataḥ kīrṇadhārāḥ krameṇacittātan̄kaṁ nijagarimataḥ samyag āsūtrayantoniryānty asyāḥ kuvalayadṛço bāṣpavārām pravāhāḥ.‘Rippled on the surface of the pupil, slightly foaming, forming drops on the tips of the lashes, then slowly issuing in streams,[238]betokening by their weight her heart’s sorrow, there pour forth from the lotus-eyed one the floods of her tears.’Of all the plays theKarpūramañjarīis undoubtedly that which contains the most substantial evidence that Rājaçekhara had some real poetic talent, despite the banality and stupidity of his conception of love in Act III. The swing scene contains really effective lines of word-painting, in harmonious metre:37vicchaanto ṇaararamaṇīmaṇḍalassāṇaṇāiṁviccholanto gaaṇakuharaṁ kantijoṇhājaleṇapecchantīṇaṁ hiaaṇihiaṁ ṇiddalanto a dappaṁdolālīlāsaralataralo dīsae se muhendū.‘Paling the face of every beauty here, making the sky’s vault to ripple with the liquid moonlight of her loveliness, and breaking the haughty pride in the hearts of maids that regard her, appeareth the moon-like orb of her face as she moveth straight to and fro in her sport on the swing.’ The effective alliteration and paronomasia of this stanza are surpassed by the metrical perfection of the next but one, where the Pṛthvī metre, with ‘its jingling tribrachs and bell-like, chiming cretics’, is employed in a stanza which admirably conveys by its sound the sense at which it aims:raṇantamaṇiṇeuraṁ jhaṇajhaṇantahāracchaḍaṁkaṇakkaṇiakin̄kiṇīmuhalamehalāḍambaraṁvilolavalaāvalījaṇiamañjusiñjāravaṁṇa kassa maṇomohaṇaṁ sasimuhīa hindolaṇaṁ.‘With the tinkling jewelled anklets,       With the sound of lovely jinglesWith the flashing jewelled necklace,       From the rows of rolling bangles,With the show of girdles garrulous       Pray whose heart is not bewilderedFrom their ringing, ringing bells       While the moon-faced maiden swings?’Excellent also is the king’s address38to the Açoka when made to blossom by the touch of the foot of his young beloved, but more characteristic in his comment,39inspired by the Vidūṣaka’s[239]ungallant comparison of the fresh beauty of the maiden with thepasséecomeliness of his queen:bālāu honti kuūhaleṇa emeya cavalacittāodaralasiathaṇīsu puṇo ṇivasai maaraddhaarahassaṁ.‘Though maidens in their young zest for life are fickle of faith, yet it is with them—their breasts just budding—that the mystery of the dolphin-bannered doth abide.’For technique Rājaçekhara is of interest, because he uses in theKarpūramañjarīthe old form of prologue quite openly, with the Nāndī recited doubtless by the Sūtradhāra, followed by the advent of the Sthāpaka who recites two verses. It is noteworthy that the manuscripts often alter the Sthāpaka to the Sūtradhāra despite the clear sense of the text. The latePārvatīpariṇayalikewise has a Nāndī before the Sūtradhāra speaks a verse. It is probable that the older technique long persisted in the south.Rājaçekhara’s indebtedness to his predecessors is wholesale; the influence of Kālidāsa, Harṣa, and Bhavabhūti is obvious, and it is probably an indication of his contemporaneity with, or slight posteriority to, Murāri that he does not seem to have known his writings. Influence of the vernacular or of Prākrit is to be seen in his occasional use of rhyme, such as is found in the laterGītagovindaor theMohamudgara.

5.The Dramas of Rājaçekhara

TheBālarāmāyaṇa33is a Mahānāṭaka, that is one in ten acts, and the author, to add to the horror of the length, has expanded the prologue to almost the dimensions of an act, celebrating his non-existent merits, and has expanded each act to almost the dimensions of a Nāṭikā. The whole has 741 stanzas, and of these no less than 203 are in the 19-syllableÇārdūlavikrīḍitaand 89 in the Sragdharā, which has two more syllables in each pada or 84 in a stanza. The play has a certain novelty, because[233]the author has made the love of Rāvaṇa the dominating feature. He appears in person in the first act, but declines to test himself by drawing Çiva’s bow, and departs, menacing evil to any husband of Sītā. In Act II he seeks the aid of Paraçurāma, but is insulted instead, and a battle barely prevented by intervention of friends. In Act III the marriage of Sītā is enacted before him to distract his amorous sorrow, but the attempt is as little a success as it deserved to be; he interrupts, and finally the scene has to be broken off. In Act IV the duel of Rāma and Paraçurāma is disposed of, but in Act V we find another ludicrous effort to amuse Rāvaṇa; dolls with parrots in their mouths are presented to him as Sītā and his foster sister; he is deceived until he finds that his grasp is on wood; distracted, he demands his beloved from nature, the seasons, the streams, and the birds, as does Purūravas in theVikramorvaçī. The arrival of Çūrpaṇakhā, his sister, who has suffered severely from her attack on Rāma, brings him to a condition of more manly rage. A tedious Act then carries matters down to the death of the sorrowing Daçaratha. In Act VII the problem of inducing the ocean to accept the burden of the bridge is solved; Dadhittha and Kapittha, two monkeys, describe at length its construction to Rāma. A momentary terror is caused by a stratagem of Mālyavant; the severed head of Sītā seems to be flung on the shore, but it speaks and reveals the fraud; it is the head of the speaking doll. In Act VIII we have Rāvaṇa’s impressions as disaster after disaster is announced; he sends out Kumbhakarṇa, but sees even him helpless, despite his magic weapons, before Rāma. In Act IX Indra himself describes the last desperate duel of Rāma and Rāvaṇa. In Act X the party of Rāma makes the usual aerial tour of India, including the world of the moon, and ending with the inevitable consecration.TheBālabhārata34is mercifully unfinished; it covers the marriage of Draupadī, and the gambling scene with the ill usage of Draupadī. The other two plays are really Nāṭikās, but the first, theKarpūramañjarī35is classed by the theory as a Saṭṭaka, simply because it is in Prākrit, none of the characters[234]speaking Sanskrit. It is the old story; here the king is Caṇḍapāla, possibly a compliment to Mahendrapāla, and his beloved the Kuntala princess, Karpūramañjarī, who is really a cousin of the queen. In Act I a magician, Bhairavānanda, displays the damsel to the king and queen; the apparition tells her tale, and the queen decides to add her to the number of her attendants. The king and the maiden fall at once in love. In Act II a letter from the maiden avows her passion, and the Vidūṣaka and her friend Vicakṣaṇā arrange to let the king see her swinging and also producing by her touch the blossoming of the Açoka. Between the Acts we must assume that the queen has found out the love, and has confined the maiden, while the king has secured the making of a subterranean passage giving access to her prison. In Act III by this means the princess and the king enjoy a flirtation in the garden, when the queen discovers them. In Act IV we find that the end of the passage giving on the garden has been blocked, but another passage has been made to the sanctuary of Cāmuṇḍā, the entrance concealed behind the statue. Thus the prisoner can play a game of hide-and-seek with the queen, and this enables her to carry out a clever ruse invented by the magician to secure the queen’s blessing for the wedding. The queen is induced to demand that the king shall marry a princess of Lāṭa who will secure him imperial rank. She is still at her home, but the magician will fetch her to the place. The wedding goes on merrily, but the princess is no other than Karpūramañjarī, and the queen has unwittingly accomplished the lovers’ desires.The same motif is repeated in theViddhaçālabhañjikā,36which is a regular Nāṭikā. Act I tells us that Candravarman of Lāṭa, vassal of Vidyādharamalla, has sent to the court of his overlord his daughter Mṛgān̄kāvalī in the guise of his son and heir. The king, Vidyādharamalla, recounts a dream in the truthful hours of the morning, in which a beautiful maid had cast a collar of pearls round his neck; he is haunted by her, and next finds her in sculptured form (çālabhañjikā) in the picture gallery. He has a further glimpse of her in the flesh but no more, before the heralds announce midday. In Act II we learn that the queen proposes to marry Kuvalayamālā of Kuntala to the pretended[235]boy, while the Vidūṣaka has been promised by her foster-sister, Mekhalā, marriage with a lady of the seductive name of Ambaramālā, Air Garland. Imagine his disgust when she turns out to be a mere slave; the king has to calm him, and together they watch in hiding Mṛgān̄kāvalī playing in the garden, and hear her reading a letter of love. The heralds proclaim the evening hour. In Act III we are told that the dream of the king was reality, devised by Bhāgurāyaṇa, his minister, who knew that the husband of the heroine would attain imperial rule. The Vidūṣaka punishes Mekhalā’s ruse by another; he bids a woman hide herself and call out a warning to Mekhalā of evil to befall her unless she crawl between a Brahmin’s limbs. The queen begs the Vidūṣaka to permit this ceremony, and, it over, he avows the plot to the great indignation of the queen. The Vidūṣaka and the king then have an interview with the heroine. In Act IV we learn of a plot of the queen to punish the king. She induces him to agree to marry the sister of the pretended boy, meaning that he should find that he has married a boy. The king agrees; the marriage is completed; news comes from Candravarman that a son is born, begging the queen to dispose in marriage of his daughter, who may resume her sex. The queen, tricked and deceived, makes the best of her situation; with dignity and hauteur she bestows on her husband both Mṛgān̄kāvalī and Kuvalayamālā, while news is brought that the last rebels are subdued and the king’s suzerainty is recognized everywhere.There can be no doubt of the demerits of Rājaçekhara’s works; he is devoid of the power to create a character: Vidyādharamalla is stiff and uninteresting beside his model, the gay and gallant Vatsa; the queen is without the love or the majesty of Vāsavadattā; Bhāgurāyaṇa is a feeble Yaugandharāyaṇa, whose magician is borrowed in theKarpūramañjarīand spoiled in the borrowing. The heroines are without merit; the Vidūṣaka in theKarpūramañjarīis tedious, but Cārāyaṇa in theViddhaçālabhañjikāhas merits; he has plenty of sound common sense, though he is simple and capable of being taken in by others. The intrigue in both Nāṭikās is poorly managed; the confusion of exits and entrances in theKarpūramañjarīis difficult to follow and probably more difficult to act, while in theViddhaçālabhañjikāthe queen is induced to arrange a marriage out of a[236]puerile incident affecting the Vidūṣaka only. The taste of giving two brides to the king at once is deplorable, as is the failure to explain why the king accepts the suggested marriage when ignorant of its true import.In all his dramas, however, Rājaçekhara is merely concerned with exercises in style. The themes he frankly tells us in the prologue to theKarpūramañjarīare the same; the question is the expression, and the language is indifferent; therefore Prākrit being smooth, while Sanskrit is harsh, the language of women as opposed to men, can be used as a medium of style by one who boasts himself an expert in every kind of language. We have, therefore, elaborate descriptions in equally elaborate verses, of the dawn, midday, sunset, the pleasures of the harem, the game of ball, the swing, a favourite enjoyment of the Indian maidens, and in the Nāṭakas picturesad nauseamof battles with magic weapons, and appalling mythical geography and topography. His allusions to local practices and customs may be interesting to the antiquarian, but are not poetical. More praiseworthy is his real accomplishment in metres, especially the Çārdūlavikrīḍita, his facility in which Kṣemendra justly praises, the Vasantatilaka, Çloka, and Sragdharā. His ability to handle elaborate Prākrit metres is undeniable; in 144 stanzas in theKarpūramañjarīhe has 17 varieties. If poetry consisted merely of harmonious sound, he must be ranked high as a poet. He is fond of proverbs:varaṁ takkālovaṇadā tittirī ṇa uṇa diahantaridā morī, which gives our ‘A bird in hand is worth two in the bush’; he introduces freely words from vernaculars, including Marāthī. But, despite his parade of learning, he cannot distinguish accurately Çaurasenī and Māhārāṣṭrī in his drama; in the former we find such forms aslaṭṭhiforyaṣṭi,ammiin the locative andhiṁtoin the ablative singular ofa-stems, andesafor the pronoun. Important as he is lexicographically for both Sanskrit and Prākrit, it is undeniable that both were utterly dead languages for him, which he had laboriously learned. Forms likeḍhillaequivalent toçithilain theKarpūramañjarīshow how far the vernaculars had advanced beyond the Prākrits of the drama.It would, however, be quite unjust to deny to Rājaçekhara the power of effective expression; like all the later dramatists he is capable of producing elegant and attractive verses, which are[237]largely spoiled in their context by their being embedded in masses of tasteless matter. Thus the benediction of theViddhaçālabhañjikāis decidedly graceful:kulagurur abalānāṁ kelidīkṣāpradāneparamasuhṛd anan̄go rohiṇīvallabhasyaapi kusumapṛṣatkair devadevasya jetājayati suratalīlānāṭikāsūtradhāraḥ.‘Family preceptor of young maidens for the bestowal of the sacrament of love, the bodyless one, dearest friend of Rohiṇī’s lover, he that with his flower arrows overthrew the god of gods, he is victorious ever, the director of the comedy of the play of love’s mysteries.’The description of summer is also pretty if banal:rajaniviramayāmeṣv ādiçantī ratecchāmkim api kaṭhinayantī nārikelīphalāmbhaḥapi pariṇamayitrī rājarambhāphalānāmdinapariṇatiramyā vartate grīṣmalakṣmīḥ.‘This is the glorious season of summer, delightful in the length of the days, when the royal plantain fruits are ripened, and the milk in the coco-nut is hardened, and the season bids us enjoy the delight of love in the closing watches of the night.’The signs of a maiden distracted by unfulfilled affection are quaintly described:candraṁ candanakardamena likhitaṁ sā mārṣṭi daṣṭādharābandhyaṁ nindati yac ca manmatham asau bhan̄ktvāgrahastān̄gurīḥkāmaḥ puṣpaçaraḥ kileti sumanovargaṁ lunīte ca yattat kāmyā subhaga tvayā varatanur vātūlatāṁ lambhitā.‘Biting her lip, she wipes out the figure of the moon sketched in sandal paste; snapping her finger-tips she mocks at love as barren; to flout his darts, the flowers she gathers she tears in shreds; assuredly the fair one whom thou shouldst love hath been brought by thee to madness.’antastāraṁ taralitatalāḥ stokam utpīḍabhājaḥpakṣmāgreṣu grathitapṛṣataḥ kīrṇadhārāḥ krameṇacittātan̄kaṁ nijagarimataḥ samyag āsūtrayantoniryānty asyāḥ kuvalayadṛço bāṣpavārām pravāhāḥ.‘Rippled on the surface of the pupil, slightly foaming, forming drops on the tips of the lashes, then slowly issuing in streams,[238]betokening by their weight her heart’s sorrow, there pour forth from the lotus-eyed one the floods of her tears.’Of all the plays theKarpūramañjarīis undoubtedly that which contains the most substantial evidence that Rājaçekhara had some real poetic talent, despite the banality and stupidity of his conception of love in Act III. The swing scene contains really effective lines of word-painting, in harmonious metre:37vicchaanto ṇaararamaṇīmaṇḍalassāṇaṇāiṁviccholanto gaaṇakuharaṁ kantijoṇhājaleṇapecchantīṇaṁ hiaaṇihiaṁ ṇiddalanto a dappaṁdolālīlāsaralataralo dīsae se muhendū.‘Paling the face of every beauty here, making the sky’s vault to ripple with the liquid moonlight of her loveliness, and breaking the haughty pride in the hearts of maids that regard her, appeareth the moon-like orb of her face as she moveth straight to and fro in her sport on the swing.’ The effective alliteration and paronomasia of this stanza are surpassed by the metrical perfection of the next but one, where the Pṛthvī metre, with ‘its jingling tribrachs and bell-like, chiming cretics’, is employed in a stanza which admirably conveys by its sound the sense at which it aims:raṇantamaṇiṇeuraṁ jhaṇajhaṇantahāracchaḍaṁkaṇakkaṇiakin̄kiṇīmuhalamehalāḍambaraṁvilolavalaāvalījaṇiamañjusiñjāravaṁṇa kassa maṇomohaṇaṁ sasimuhīa hindolaṇaṁ.‘With the tinkling jewelled anklets,       With the sound of lovely jinglesWith the flashing jewelled necklace,       From the rows of rolling bangles,With the show of girdles garrulous       Pray whose heart is not bewilderedFrom their ringing, ringing bells       While the moon-faced maiden swings?’Excellent also is the king’s address38to the Açoka when made to blossom by the touch of the foot of his young beloved, but more characteristic in his comment,39inspired by the Vidūṣaka’s[239]ungallant comparison of the fresh beauty of the maiden with thepasséecomeliness of his queen:bālāu honti kuūhaleṇa emeya cavalacittāodaralasiathaṇīsu puṇo ṇivasai maaraddhaarahassaṁ.‘Though maidens in their young zest for life are fickle of faith, yet it is with them—their breasts just budding—that the mystery of the dolphin-bannered doth abide.’For technique Rājaçekhara is of interest, because he uses in theKarpūramañjarīthe old form of prologue quite openly, with the Nāndī recited doubtless by the Sūtradhāra, followed by the advent of the Sthāpaka who recites two verses. It is noteworthy that the manuscripts often alter the Sthāpaka to the Sūtradhāra despite the clear sense of the text. The latePārvatīpariṇayalikewise has a Nāndī before the Sūtradhāra speaks a verse. It is probable that the older technique long persisted in the south.Rājaçekhara’s indebtedness to his predecessors is wholesale; the influence of Kālidāsa, Harṣa, and Bhavabhūti is obvious, and it is probably an indication of his contemporaneity with, or slight posteriority to, Murāri that he does not seem to have known his writings. Influence of the vernacular or of Prākrit is to be seen in his occasional use of rhyme, such as is found in the laterGītagovindaor theMohamudgara.

TheBālarāmāyaṇa33is a Mahānāṭaka, that is one in ten acts, and the author, to add to the horror of the length, has expanded the prologue to almost the dimensions of an act, celebrating his non-existent merits, and has expanded each act to almost the dimensions of a Nāṭikā. The whole has 741 stanzas, and of these no less than 203 are in the 19-syllableÇārdūlavikrīḍitaand 89 in the Sragdharā, which has two more syllables in each pada or 84 in a stanza. The play has a certain novelty, because[233]the author has made the love of Rāvaṇa the dominating feature. He appears in person in the first act, but declines to test himself by drawing Çiva’s bow, and departs, menacing evil to any husband of Sītā. In Act II he seeks the aid of Paraçurāma, but is insulted instead, and a battle barely prevented by intervention of friends. In Act III the marriage of Sītā is enacted before him to distract his amorous sorrow, but the attempt is as little a success as it deserved to be; he interrupts, and finally the scene has to be broken off. In Act IV the duel of Rāma and Paraçurāma is disposed of, but in Act V we find another ludicrous effort to amuse Rāvaṇa; dolls with parrots in their mouths are presented to him as Sītā and his foster sister; he is deceived until he finds that his grasp is on wood; distracted, he demands his beloved from nature, the seasons, the streams, and the birds, as does Purūravas in theVikramorvaçī. The arrival of Çūrpaṇakhā, his sister, who has suffered severely from her attack on Rāma, brings him to a condition of more manly rage. A tedious Act then carries matters down to the death of the sorrowing Daçaratha. In Act VII the problem of inducing the ocean to accept the burden of the bridge is solved; Dadhittha and Kapittha, two monkeys, describe at length its construction to Rāma. A momentary terror is caused by a stratagem of Mālyavant; the severed head of Sītā seems to be flung on the shore, but it speaks and reveals the fraud; it is the head of the speaking doll. In Act VIII we have Rāvaṇa’s impressions as disaster after disaster is announced; he sends out Kumbhakarṇa, but sees even him helpless, despite his magic weapons, before Rāma. In Act IX Indra himself describes the last desperate duel of Rāma and Rāvaṇa. In Act X the party of Rāma makes the usual aerial tour of India, including the world of the moon, and ending with the inevitable consecration.

TheBālabhārata34is mercifully unfinished; it covers the marriage of Draupadī, and the gambling scene with the ill usage of Draupadī. The other two plays are really Nāṭikās, but the first, theKarpūramañjarī35is classed by the theory as a Saṭṭaka, simply because it is in Prākrit, none of the characters[234]speaking Sanskrit. It is the old story; here the king is Caṇḍapāla, possibly a compliment to Mahendrapāla, and his beloved the Kuntala princess, Karpūramañjarī, who is really a cousin of the queen. In Act I a magician, Bhairavānanda, displays the damsel to the king and queen; the apparition tells her tale, and the queen decides to add her to the number of her attendants. The king and the maiden fall at once in love. In Act II a letter from the maiden avows her passion, and the Vidūṣaka and her friend Vicakṣaṇā arrange to let the king see her swinging and also producing by her touch the blossoming of the Açoka. Between the Acts we must assume that the queen has found out the love, and has confined the maiden, while the king has secured the making of a subterranean passage giving access to her prison. In Act III by this means the princess and the king enjoy a flirtation in the garden, when the queen discovers them. In Act IV we find that the end of the passage giving on the garden has been blocked, but another passage has been made to the sanctuary of Cāmuṇḍā, the entrance concealed behind the statue. Thus the prisoner can play a game of hide-and-seek with the queen, and this enables her to carry out a clever ruse invented by the magician to secure the queen’s blessing for the wedding. The queen is induced to demand that the king shall marry a princess of Lāṭa who will secure him imperial rank. She is still at her home, but the magician will fetch her to the place. The wedding goes on merrily, but the princess is no other than Karpūramañjarī, and the queen has unwittingly accomplished the lovers’ desires.

The same motif is repeated in theViddhaçālabhañjikā,36which is a regular Nāṭikā. Act I tells us that Candravarman of Lāṭa, vassal of Vidyādharamalla, has sent to the court of his overlord his daughter Mṛgān̄kāvalī in the guise of his son and heir. The king, Vidyādharamalla, recounts a dream in the truthful hours of the morning, in which a beautiful maid had cast a collar of pearls round his neck; he is haunted by her, and next finds her in sculptured form (çālabhañjikā) in the picture gallery. He has a further glimpse of her in the flesh but no more, before the heralds announce midday. In Act II we learn that the queen proposes to marry Kuvalayamālā of Kuntala to the pretended[235]boy, while the Vidūṣaka has been promised by her foster-sister, Mekhalā, marriage with a lady of the seductive name of Ambaramālā, Air Garland. Imagine his disgust when she turns out to be a mere slave; the king has to calm him, and together they watch in hiding Mṛgān̄kāvalī playing in the garden, and hear her reading a letter of love. The heralds proclaim the evening hour. In Act III we are told that the dream of the king was reality, devised by Bhāgurāyaṇa, his minister, who knew that the husband of the heroine would attain imperial rule. The Vidūṣaka punishes Mekhalā’s ruse by another; he bids a woman hide herself and call out a warning to Mekhalā of evil to befall her unless she crawl between a Brahmin’s limbs. The queen begs the Vidūṣaka to permit this ceremony, and, it over, he avows the plot to the great indignation of the queen. The Vidūṣaka and the king then have an interview with the heroine. In Act IV we learn of a plot of the queen to punish the king. She induces him to agree to marry the sister of the pretended boy, meaning that he should find that he has married a boy. The king agrees; the marriage is completed; news comes from Candravarman that a son is born, begging the queen to dispose in marriage of his daughter, who may resume her sex. The queen, tricked and deceived, makes the best of her situation; with dignity and hauteur she bestows on her husband both Mṛgān̄kāvalī and Kuvalayamālā, while news is brought that the last rebels are subdued and the king’s suzerainty is recognized everywhere.

There can be no doubt of the demerits of Rājaçekhara’s works; he is devoid of the power to create a character: Vidyādharamalla is stiff and uninteresting beside his model, the gay and gallant Vatsa; the queen is without the love or the majesty of Vāsavadattā; Bhāgurāyaṇa is a feeble Yaugandharāyaṇa, whose magician is borrowed in theKarpūramañjarīand spoiled in the borrowing. The heroines are without merit; the Vidūṣaka in theKarpūramañjarīis tedious, but Cārāyaṇa in theViddhaçālabhañjikāhas merits; he has plenty of sound common sense, though he is simple and capable of being taken in by others. The intrigue in both Nāṭikās is poorly managed; the confusion of exits and entrances in theKarpūramañjarīis difficult to follow and probably more difficult to act, while in theViddhaçālabhañjikāthe queen is induced to arrange a marriage out of a[236]puerile incident affecting the Vidūṣaka only. The taste of giving two brides to the king at once is deplorable, as is the failure to explain why the king accepts the suggested marriage when ignorant of its true import.

In all his dramas, however, Rājaçekhara is merely concerned with exercises in style. The themes he frankly tells us in the prologue to theKarpūramañjarīare the same; the question is the expression, and the language is indifferent; therefore Prākrit being smooth, while Sanskrit is harsh, the language of women as opposed to men, can be used as a medium of style by one who boasts himself an expert in every kind of language. We have, therefore, elaborate descriptions in equally elaborate verses, of the dawn, midday, sunset, the pleasures of the harem, the game of ball, the swing, a favourite enjoyment of the Indian maidens, and in the Nāṭakas picturesad nauseamof battles with magic weapons, and appalling mythical geography and topography. His allusions to local practices and customs may be interesting to the antiquarian, but are not poetical. More praiseworthy is his real accomplishment in metres, especially the Çārdūlavikrīḍita, his facility in which Kṣemendra justly praises, the Vasantatilaka, Çloka, and Sragdharā. His ability to handle elaborate Prākrit metres is undeniable; in 144 stanzas in theKarpūramañjarīhe has 17 varieties. If poetry consisted merely of harmonious sound, he must be ranked high as a poet. He is fond of proverbs:varaṁ takkālovaṇadā tittirī ṇa uṇa diahantaridā morī, which gives our ‘A bird in hand is worth two in the bush’; he introduces freely words from vernaculars, including Marāthī. But, despite his parade of learning, he cannot distinguish accurately Çaurasenī and Māhārāṣṭrī in his drama; in the former we find such forms aslaṭṭhiforyaṣṭi,ammiin the locative andhiṁtoin the ablative singular ofa-stems, andesafor the pronoun. Important as he is lexicographically for both Sanskrit and Prākrit, it is undeniable that both were utterly dead languages for him, which he had laboriously learned. Forms likeḍhillaequivalent toçithilain theKarpūramañjarīshow how far the vernaculars had advanced beyond the Prākrits of the drama.

It would, however, be quite unjust to deny to Rājaçekhara the power of effective expression; like all the later dramatists he is capable of producing elegant and attractive verses, which are[237]largely spoiled in their context by their being embedded in masses of tasteless matter. Thus the benediction of theViddhaçālabhañjikāis decidedly graceful:

kulagurur abalānāṁ kelidīkṣāpradāneparamasuhṛd anan̄go rohiṇīvallabhasyaapi kusumapṛṣatkair devadevasya jetājayati suratalīlānāṭikāsūtradhāraḥ.

kulagurur abalānāṁ kelidīkṣāpradāne

paramasuhṛd anan̄go rohiṇīvallabhasya

api kusumapṛṣatkair devadevasya jetā

jayati suratalīlānāṭikāsūtradhāraḥ.

‘Family preceptor of young maidens for the bestowal of the sacrament of love, the bodyless one, dearest friend of Rohiṇī’s lover, he that with his flower arrows overthrew the god of gods, he is victorious ever, the director of the comedy of the play of love’s mysteries.’

The description of summer is also pretty if banal:

rajaniviramayāmeṣv ādiçantī ratecchāmkim api kaṭhinayantī nārikelīphalāmbhaḥapi pariṇamayitrī rājarambhāphalānāmdinapariṇatiramyā vartate grīṣmalakṣmīḥ.

rajaniviramayāmeṣv ādiçantī ratecchām

kim api kaṭhinayantī nārikelīphalāmbhaḥ

api pariṇamayitrī rājarambhāphalānām

dinapariṇatiramyā vartate grīṣmalakṣmīḥ.

‘This is the glorious season of summer, delightful in the length of the days, when the royal plantain fruits are ripened, and the milk in the coco-nut is hardened, and the season bids us enjoy the delight of love in the closing watches of the night.’

The signs of a maiden distracted by unfulfilled affection are quaintly described:

candraṁ candanakardamena likhitaṁ sā mārṣṭi daṣṭādharābandhyaṁ nindati yac ca manmatham asau bhan̄ktvāgrahastān̄gurīḥkāmaḥ puṣpaçaraḥ kileti sumanovargaṁ lunīte ca yattat kāmyā subhaga tvayā varatanur vātūlatāṁ lambhitā.

candraṁ candanakardamena likhitaṁ sā mārṣṭi daṣṭādharā

bandhyaṁ nindati yac ca manmatham asau bhan̄ktvāgrahastān̄gurīḥ

kāmaḥ puṣpaçaraḥ kileti sumanovargaṁ lunīte ca yat

tat kāmyā subhaga tvayā varatanur vātūlatāṁ lambhitā.

‘Biting her lip, she wipes out the figure of the moon sketched in sandal paste; snapping her finger-tips she mocks at love as barren; to flout his darts, the flowers she gathers she tears in shreds; assuredly the fair one whom thou shouldst love hath been brought by thee to madness.’

antastāraṁ taralitatalāḥ stokam utpīḍabhājaḥpakṣmāgreṣu grathitapṛṣataḥ kīrṇadhārāḥ krameṇacittātan̄kaṁ nijagarimataḥ samyag āsūtrayantoniryānty asyāḥ kuvalayadṛço bāṣpavārām pravāhāḥ.

antastāraṁ taralitatalāḥ stokam utpīḍabhājaḥ

pakṣmāgreṣu grathitapṛṣataḥ kīrṇadhārāḥ krameṇa

cittātan̄kaṁ nijagarimataḥ samyag āsūtrayanto

niryānty asyāḥ kuvalayadṛço bāṣpavārām pravāhāḥ.

‘Rippled on the surface of the pupil, slightly foaming, forming drops on the tips of the lashes, then slowly issuing in streams,[238]betokening by their weight her heart’s sorrow, there pour forth from the lotus-eyed one the floods of her tears.’

Of all the plays theKarpūramañjarīis undoubtedly that which contains the most substantial evidence that Rājaçekhara had some real poetic talent, despite the banality and stupidity of his conception of love in Act III. The swing scene contains really effective lines of word-painting, in harmonious metre:37

vicchaanto ṇaararamaṇīmaṇḍalassāṇaṇāiṁviccholanto gaaṇakuharaṁ kantijoṇhājaleṇapecchantīṇaṁ hiaaṇihiaṁ ṇiddalanto a dappaṁdolālīlāsaralataralo dīsae se muhendū.

vicchaanto ṇaararamaṇīmaṇḍalassāṇaṇāiṁ

viccholanto gaaṇakuharaṁ kantijoṇhājaleṇa

pecchantīṇaṁ hiaaṇihiaṁ ṇiddalanto a dappaṁ

dolālīlāsaralataralo dīsae se muhendū.

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

raṇantamaṇiṇeuraṁ jhaṇajhaṇantahāracchaḍaṁkaṇakkaṇiakin̄kiṇīmuhalamehalāḍambaraṁvilolavalaāvalījaṇiamañjusiñjāravaṁṇa kassa maṇomohaṇaṁ sasimuhīa hindolaṇaṁ.

raṇantamaṇiṇeuraṁ jhaṇajhaṇantahāracchaḍaṁ

kaṇakkaṇiakin̄kiṇīmuhalamehalāḍambaraṁ

vilolavalaāvalījaṇiamañjusiñjāravaṁ

ṇa kassa maṇomohaṇaṁ sasimuhīa hindolaṇaṁ.

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

‘With the tinkling jewelled anklets,       With the sound of lovely jingles

With the flashing jewelled necklace,       From the rows of rolling bangles,

With the show of girdles garrulous       Pray whose heart is not bewildered

From their ringing, ringing bells       While the moon-faced maiden swings?’

Excellent also is the king’s address38to the Açoka when made to blossom by the touch of the foot of his young beloved, but more characteristic in his comment,39inspired by the Vidūṣaka’s[239]ungallant comparison of the fresh beauty of the maiden with thepasséecomeliness of his queen:

bālāu honti kuūhaleṇa emeya cavalacittāodaralasiathaṇīsu puṇo ṇivasai maaraddhaarahassaṁ.

bālāu honti kuūhaleṇa emeya cavalacittāo

daralasiathaṇīsu puṇo ṇivasai maaraddhaarahassaṁ.

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

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

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

[Contents]6.Bhīmaṭa and KṣemīçvaraA verse attributed to Rājaçekhara mentions the five dramas of Bhīmaṭa, of which theSvapnadaçānanawon him chief fame. He is described as a Kaliñjarapati, whence the suggestion has been made that he was a connection of the Candella king Harṣa of Jejākabhukti, who, we know, was a contemporary of Mahīpāla of Kanyakubja, patron of Rājaçekhara, but we have no ground for positive assertion.40The case is different with Kṣemīçvara, who in hisCaṇḍakauçikawrote for Mahīpāla, doubtless the king of Kanyakubja, patron of Rājaçekhara. Kṣemīçvara asserts his patron’s victory over the Karṇāṭas, which was doubtless the view taken in royal circles of the contest against the Rāṣṭrakūṭa Indra III, who for his part claims victory over Mahodaya, or Kanyakubja.40A[240]variant of the name is Kṣemendra, but he is not to be identified with the Kashmirian poet of that name. His great-grandfather was called Vijayakoṣṭha or Vijayaprakoṣṭha, who is designated as both Ārya and Ācārya, and was, therefore, a learned man of some sort.Kṣemīçvara has left two dramas. TheNaiṣadhānanda41in seven acts deals with the legend of Nala, famous in the epic and later. TheCaṇḍakauçika42reveals the stupid story of Hariçcandra, who, seeing as he thought the sacrifice of a damsel on the fire rebukes the Kauçika Viçvāmitra, and in return for his gallant action is cursed by the irascible sage, who was merely bringing the sciences under his control. He secures pardon by the surrender of the earth and a thousand gold pieces; to secure the latter he sells wife and child to a Brahmin, and himself to a Caṇḍāla as a cemetery keeper. One day his wife brings the dead body of their child, but it turns out merely to be a trial of his character; his son is alive and is crowned king. The plot is as poor as the execution of the piece. He shows in metre a special fondness for the Çikhariṇī, which occurs 20 times, nearly as often as the Çārdūlavikrīḍita (23), while the Vasantatilaka appears 27 times and the Çloka 36. His Prākrits, Çaurasenī and a fewMāhārāṣṭrīstanzas, are artificial.The compilers of anthologies make little of Kṣemīçvara, with sufficient reason, for his verses do not rise above mediocrity. The second stanza of the three-verse benediction in theNaiṣadhānandais on a common theme, but not unhappily expressed; it follows a verse in honour of Puruṣottama and Çrī, with the usual impartiality of this period:asthi hy asthi phaṇī phaṇī kim aparam bhasma bhasmaiva taccarmaiva carma kiṁ tava jitaṁ yenaivam uttāmyasinaitāṁ dhūrta paṇīkaroṣi satatam mūrdhni sthitāṁ Jāhnavīmity evaṁ Çivayā sanarmagadito dyūte Haraḥ pātu vaḥ.‘A skull is but a skull, a serpent a serpent; what more? The ashes and the skin also which thou dost wear are but ashes and skin. What of thine hast thou lost that thus thou art outworn? Ah, rogue, it is that thou wilt not stake Jahnu’s daughter that[241]rests ever on thy crest. May Hara guard you, Hara to whom Çivā once spake playfully when they diced.’This amusing play on the unwillingness of Çiva to prolong the dicing after he has unsuccessfully staked his necklace of skulls and serpents, and his clothing of ashes and hide, is followed by a wearisome eulogy of the glances of the god in the Tāṇḍava dance, alluding to the great moments in his history. Similar bad taste is shown in the curious and unusual form of the last verse of the drama:yenādiçya prayogaṁ ghanapulakabhṛtā nāṭakasyāsya harṣādvastrālaṁkārahemnām pratidinam akṛçā rāçayaḥ sampradattāḥtasya kṣattraprasūter bhramatu jagad idaṁ Kārttikeyasya kīrtiḥpāre kṣīrāmbhusindho ravikaviyaçasā sārdham agresarena.‘Through all the universe beyond the ocean of milk, heralded by the fame of his bard, the sun, may the fame wander of that scion of heroism, that god of war, who bade this drama be performed and who in keen delight at the pleasure he found in it gave daily to the poet abundant store of raiment, jewels and gold.’ Such a mode of immortalizing himself, and his patron can hardly be regarded as precisely dignified, and it certainly is not in harmony with the traditions of the drama.[242]

6.Bhīmaṭa and Kṣemīçvara

A verse attributed to Rājaçekhara mentions the five dramas of Bhīmaṭa, of which theSvapnadaçānanawon him chief fame. He is described as a Kaliñjarapati, whence the suggestion has been made that he was a connection of the Candella king Harṣa of Jejākabhukti, who, we know, was a contemporary of Mahīpāla of Kanyakubja, patron of Rājaçekhara, but we have no ground for positive assertion.40The case is different with Kṣemīçvara, who in hisCaṇḍakauçikawrote for Mahīpāla, doubtless the king of Kanyakubja, patron of Rājaçekhara. Kṣemīçvara asserts his patron’s victory over the Karṇāṭas, which was doubtless the view taken in royal circles of the contest against the Rāṣṭrakūṭa Indra III, who for his part claims victory over Mahodaya, or Kanyakubja.40A[240]variant of the name is Kṣemendra, but he is not to be identified with the Kashmirian poet of that name. His great-grandfather was called Vijayakoṣṭha or Vijayaprakoṣṭha, who is designated as both Ārya and Ācārya, and was, therefore, a learned man of some sort.Kṣemīçvara has left two dramas. TheNaiṣadhānanda41in seven acts deals with the legend of Nala, famous in the epic and later. TheCaṇḍakauçika42reveals the stupid story of Hariçcandra, who, seeing as he thought the sacrifice of a damsel on the fire rebukes the Kauçika Viçvāmitra, and in return for his gallant action is cursed by the irascible sage, who was merely bringing the sciences under his control. He secures pardon by the surrender of the earth and a thousand gold pieces; to secure the latter he sells wife and child to a Brahmin, and himself to a Caṇḍāla as a cemetery keeper. One day his wife brings the dead body of their child, but it turns out merely to be a trial of his character; his son is alive and is crowned king. The plot is as poor as the execution of the piece. He shows in metre a special fondness for the Çikhariṇī, which occurs 20 times, nearly as often as the Çārdūlavikrīḍita (23), while the Vasantatilaka appears 27 times and the Çloka 36. His Prākrits, Çaurasenī and a fewMāhārāṣṭrīstanzas, are artificial.The compilers of anthologies make little of Kṣemīçvara, with sufficient reason, for his verses do not rise above mediocrity. The second stanza of the three-verse benediction in theNaiṣadhānandais on a common theme, but not unhappily expressed; it follows a verse in honour of Puruṣottama and Çrī, with the usual impartiality of this period:asthi hy asthi phaṇī phaṇī kim aparam bhasma bhasmaiva taccarmaiva carma kiṁ tava jitaṁ yenaivam uttāmyasinaitāṁ dhūrta paṇīkaroṣi satatam mūrdhni sthitāṁ Jāhnavīmity evaṁ Çivayā sanarmagadito dyūte Haraḥ pātu vaḥ.‘A skull is but a skull, a serpent a serpent; what more? The ashes and the skin also which thou dost wear are but ashes and skin. What of thine hast thou lost that thus thou art outworn? Ah, rogue, it is that thou wilt not stake Jahnu’s daughter that[241]rests ever on thy crest. May Hara guard you, Hara to whom Çivā once spake playfully when they diced.’This amusing play on the unwillingness of Çiva to prolong the dicing after he has unsuccessfully staked his necklace of skulls and serpents, and his clothing of ashes and hide, is followed by a wearisome eulogy of the glances of the god in the Tāṇḍava dance, alluding to the great moments in his history. Similar bad taste is shown in the curious and unusual form of the last verse of the drama:yenādiçya prayogaṁ ghanapulakabhṛtā nāṭakasyāsya harṣādvastrālaṁkārahemnām pratidinam akṛçā rāçayaḥ sampradattāḥtasya kṣattraprasūter bhramatu jagad idaṁ Kārttikeyasya kīrtiḥpāre kṣīrāmbhusindho ravikaviyaçasā sārdham agresarena.‘Through all the universe beyond the ocean of milk, heralded by the fame of his bard, the sun, may the fame wander of that scion of heroism, that god of war, who bade this drama be performed and who in keen delight at the pleasure he found in it gave daily to the poet abundant store of raiment, jewels and gold.’ Such a mode of immortalizing himself, and his patron can hardly be regarded as precisely dignified, and it certainly is not in harmony with the traditions of the drama.[242]

A verse attributed to Rājaçekhara mentions the five dramas of Bhīmaṭa, of which theSvapnadaçānanawon him chief fame. He is described as a Kaliñjarapati, whence the suggestion has been made that he was a connection of the Candella king Harṣa of Jejākabhukti, who, we know, was a contemporary of Mahīpāla of Kanyakubja, patron of Rājaçekhara, but we have no ground for positive assertion.40

The case is different with Kṣemīçvara, who in hisCaṇḍakauçikawrote for Mahīpāla, doubtless the king of Kanyakubja, patron of Rājaçekhara. Kṣemīçvara asserts his patron’s victory over the Karṇāṭas, which was doubtless the view taken in royal circles of the contest against the Rāṣṭrakūṭa Indra III, who for his part claims victory over Mahodaya, or Kanyakubja.40A[240]variant of the name is Kṣemendra, but he is not to be identified with the Kashmirian poet of that name. His great-grandfather was called Vijayakoṣṭha or Vijayaprakoṣṭha, who is designated as both Ārya and Ācārya, and was, therefore, a learned man of some sort.

Kṣemīçvara has left two dramas. TheNaiṣadhānanda41in seven acts deals with the legend of Nala, famous in the epic and later. TheCaṇḍakauçika42reveals the stupid story of Hariçcandra, who, seeing as he thought the sacrifice of a damsel on the fire rebukes the Kauçika Viçvāmitra, and in return for his gallant action is cursed by the irascible sage, who was merely bringing the sciences under his control. He secures pardon by the surrender of the earth and a thousand gold pieces; to secure the latter he sells wife and child to a Brahmin, and himself to a Caṇḍāla as a cemetery keeper. One day his wife brings the dead body of their child, but it turns out merely to be a trial of his character; his son is alive and is crowned king. The plot is as poor as the execution of the piece. He shows in metre a special fondness for the Çikhariṇī, which occurs 20 times, nearly as often as the Çārdūlavikrīḍita (23), while the Vasantatilaka appears 27 times and the Çloka 36. His Prākrits, Çaurasenī and a fewMāhārāṣṭrīstanzas, are artificial.

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

asthi hy asthi phaṇī phaṇī kim aparam bhasma bhasmaiva taccarmaiva carma kiṁ tava jitaṁ yenaivam uttāmyasinaitāṁ dhūrta paṇīkaroṣi satatam mūrdhni sthitāṁ Jāhnavīmity evaṁ Çivayā sanarmagadito dyūte Haraḥ pātu vaḥ.

asthi hy asthi phaṇī phaṇī kim aparam bhasma bhasmaiva tac

carmaiva carma kiṁ tava jitaṁ yenaivam uttāmyasi

naitāṁ dhūrta paṇīkaroṣi satatam mūrdhni sthitāṁ Jāhnavīm

ity evaṁ Çivayā sanarmagadito dyūte Haraḥ pātu vaḥ.

‘A skull is but a skull, a serpent a serpent; what more? The ashes and the skin also which thou dost wear are but ashes and skin. What of thine hast thou lost that thus thou art outworn? Ah, rogue, it is that thou wilt not stake Jahnu’s daughter that[241]rests ever on thy crest. May Hara guard you, Hara to whom Çivā once spake playfully when they diced.’

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

yenādiçya prayogaṁ ghanapulakabhṛtā nāṭakasyāsya harṣādvastrālaṁkārahemnām pratidinam akṛçā rāçayaḥ sampradattāḥtasya kṣattraprasūter bhramatu jagad idaṁ Kārttikeyasya kīrtiḥpāre kṣīrāmbhusindho ravikaviyaçasā sārdham agresarena.

yenādiçya prayogaṁ ghanapulakabhṛtā nāṭakasyāsya harṣād

vastrālaṁkārahemnām pratidinam akṛçā rāçayaḥ sampradattāḥ

tasya kṣattraprasūter bhramatu jagad idaṁ Kārttikeyasya kīrtiḥ

pāre kṣīrāmbhusindho ravikaviyaçasā sārdham agresarena.

‘Through all the universe beyond the ocean of milk, heralded by the fame of his bard, the sun, may the fame wander of that scion of heroism, that god of war, who bade this drama be performed and who in keen delight at the pleasure he found in it gave daily to the poet abundant store of raiment, jewels and gold.’ Such a mode of immortalizing himself, and his patron can hardly be regarded as precisely dignified, and it certainly is not in harmony with the traditions of the drama.[242]

1See Aufrecht, ZDMG. xxxvi. 521.↑2v. 36; Lévi, TI. ii. 87. The citations are mainly from hisKapphiṇābhyudaya; Thomas,Kavīndravacanasamuccaya, p. 111.↑3Pischel, ZDMG. xxxix. 315; Hultzsch, GN. 1886, pp. 224 ff.↑4Bhattanatha Svamin, IA. xli. 139 f.; Bhandarkar,Report(1897), pp. xi, xviii; Peterson,Report, ii. 59. The name is variously given as Māyūrāja.↑5Subhāṣitāvali, 1766.↑6Ibid., 1366.↑7Ibid., 1364.↑8Ibid., 1634.↑9i. 42; SD. 390; N. xix. 94; Lévi, TI. ii. 9.↑10DR. ii. 54 comm.↑11DR. iv. 26 comm.↑12DR. i. 41 comm.↑13DR. iii. 13 comm.↑14DR. iii. 17 comm.↑15DR. iii. 12 comm.↑16DR. iii. 38 comm.; SD. 512.↑17DR. iii. 56 f. comm.; SD. 516.↑18vi. 30/31 is cited in i. 6/7.↑19xxxviii. 68. For his date cf. Bühler,Kashmir Report, p. 42. See Bhattanatha Svamin, IA. xli. 141; Lévi, TI. i. 277.↑20ID. p. 83. Dhanika (DR. ii. 1) cites, anonymously as usual, iii. 21.↑21xxv. 74.↑22ZDMG. lxxv. 63.↑23ii. 34, as compared with vii. 83.↑24Ed. KM. 1894; cf. Baumgartner,Das Râmâyaṇa, pp. 125 ff.↑25v. 6.↑26vii. 87.↑27vii. 82.↑28vii. 107.↑29vii. 90.↑30Ed. p. 1, note.↑31Konow,Karpūramañjarī, pp. 177 ff.; Hultzsch, IA. xxxiv. 177 ff.; V. S. Apte,Rājaçekhara, Poona, 1886. Of special virtue is hisKāvyamīmāṅsāon rhetoric, which is better than his dramas.↑32Winternitz, GIL. iii. 47; Lévi, TI. i. 183 f.↑33Ed. Calcutta, 1884.↑34Ed. C. Cappeller, Strassburg, 1885; Weber, IS. xviii. 481 ff.↑35Ed. S. Konow, trs. C. R. Lanman, HOS. iv. 1901; J. Charpentier,Monde oriental, ii. 226 ff.↑36Ed. Poona, 1886; trs. L. H. Gray, JAOS. xxvii. 1 ff.↑37ii. 30. The translation of this and the next verse is taken from Lanman’s version.↑38ii. 47.↑39ii. 49.↑40Konow, ID. p. 87; Peterson,Reports, ii. 63; Bhandarkar,Report(1897), p. xi.↑ab41Peterson,Reports, iii. 340 f.↑42Ed. Calcutta, 1884; trs. L. Fritze, Leipzig, 1883. On the same theme is Rāmacandra’sSatyahariçcandra(twelfth cent.); see Keith, JRAS. 1914, pp. 1104 f.↑

1See Aufrecht, ZDMG. xxxvi. 521.↑2v. 36; Lévi, TI. ii. 87. The citations are mainly from hisKapphiṇābhyudaya; Thomas,Kavīndravacanasamuccaya, p. 111.↑3Pischel, ZDMG. xxxix. 315; Hultzsch, GN. 1886, pp. 224 ff.↑4Bhattanatha Svamin, IA. xli. 139 f.; Bhandarkar,Report(1897), pp. xi, xviii; Peterson,Report, ii. 59. The name is variously given as Māyūrāja.↑5Subhāṣitāvali, 1766.↑6Ibid., 1366.↑7Ibid., 1364.↑8Ibid., 1634.↑9i. 42; SD. 390; N. xix. 94; Lévi, TI. ii. 9.↑10DR. ii. 54 comm.↑11DR. iv. 26 comm.↑12DR. i. 41 comm.↑13DR. iii. 13 comm.↑14DR. iii. 17 comm.↑15DR. iii. 12 comm.↑16DR. iii. 38 comm.; SD. 512.↑17DR. iii. 56 f. comm.; SD. 516.↑18vi. 30/31 is cited in i. 6/7.↑19xxxviii. 68. For his date cf. Bühler,Kashmir Report, p. 42. See Bhattanatha Svamin, IA. xli. 141; Lévi, TI. i. 277.↑20ID. p. 83. Dhanika (DR. ii. 1) cites, anonymously as usual, iii. 21.↑21xxv. 74.↑22ZDMG. lxxv. 63.↑23ii. 34, as compared with vii. 83.↑24Ed. KM. 1894; cf. Baumgartner,Das Râmâyaṇa, pp. 125 ff.↑25v. 6.↑26vii. 87.↑27vii. 82.↑28vii. 107.↑29vii. 90.↑30Ed. p. 1, note.↑31Konow,Karpūramañjarī, pp. 177 ff.; Hultzsch, IA. xxxiv. 177 ff.; V. S. Apte,Rājaçekhara, Poona, 1886. Of special virtue is hisKāvyamīmāṅsāon rhetoric, which is better than his dramas.↑32Winternitz, GIL. iii. 47; Lévi, TI. i. 183 f.↑33Ed. Calcutta, 1884.↑34Ed. C. Cappeller, Strassburg, 1885; Weber, IS. xviii. 481 ff.↑35Ed. S. Konow, trs. C. R. Lanman, HOS. iv. 1901; J. Charpentier,Monde oriental, ii. 226 ff.↑36Ed. Poona, 1886; trs. L. H. Gray, JAOS. xxvii. 1 ff.↑37ii. 30. The translation of this and the next verse is taken from Lanman’s version.↑38ii. 47.↑39ii. 49.↑40Konow, ID. p. 87; Peterson,Reports, ii. 63; Bhandarkar,Report(1897), p. xi.↑ab41Peterson,Reports, iii. 340 f.↑42Ed. Calcutta, 1884; trs. L. Fritze, Leipzig, 1883. On the same theme is Rāmacandra’sSatyahariçcandra(twelfth cent.); see Keith, JRAS. 1914, pp. 1104 f.↑

1See Aufrecht, ZDMG. xxxvi. 521.↑

1See Aufrecht, ZDMG. xxxvi. 521.↑

2v. 36; Lévi, TI. ii. 87. The citations are mainly from hisKapphiṇābhyudaya; Thomas,Kavīndravacanasamuccaya, p. 111.↑

2v. 36; Lévi, TI. ii. 87. The citations are mainly from hisKapphiṇābhyudaya; Thomas,Kavīndravacanasamuccaya, p. 111.↑

3Pischel, ZDMG. xxxix. 315; Hultzsch, GN. 1886, pp. 224 ff.↑

3Pischel, ZDMG. xxxix. 315; Hultzsch, GN. 1886, pp. 224 ff.↑

4Bhattanatha Svamin, IA. xli. 139 f.; Bhandarkar,Report(1897), pp. xi, xviii; Peterson,Report, ii. 59. The name is variously given as Māyūrāja.↑

4Bhattanatha Svamin, IA. xli. 139 f.; Bhandarkar,Report(1897), pp. xi, xviii; Peterson,Report, ii. 59. The name is variously given as Māyūrāja.↑

5Subhāṣitāvali, 1766.↑

5Subhāṣitāvali, 1766.↑

6Ibid., 1366.↑

6Ibid., 1366.↑

7Ibid., 1364.↑

7Ibid., 1364.↑

8Ibid., 1634.↑

8Ibid., 1634.↑

9i. 42; SD. 390; N. xix. 94; Lévi, TI. ii. 9.↑

9i. 42; SD. 390; N. xix. 94; Lévi, TI. ii. 9.↑

10DR. ii. 54 comm.↑

10DR. ii. 54 comm.↑

11DR. iv. 26 comm.↑

11DR. iv. 26 comm.↑

12DR. i. 41 comm.↑

12DR. i. 41 comm.↑

13DR. iii. 13 comm.↑

13DR. iii. 13 comm.↑

14DR. iii. 17 comm.↑

14DR. iii. 17 comm.↑

15DR. iii. 12 comm.↑

15DR. iii. 12 comm.↑

16DR. iii. 38 comm.; SD. 512.↑

16DR. iii. 38 comm.; SD. 512.↑

17DR. iii. 56 f. comm.; SD. 516.↑

17DR. iii. 56 f. comm.; SD. 516.↑

18vi. 30/31 is cited in i. 6/7.↑

18vi. 30/31 is cited in i. 6/7.↑

19xxxviii. 68. For his date cf. Bühler,Kashmir Report, p. 42. See Bhattanatha Svamin, IA. xli. 141; Lévi, TI. i. 277.↑

19xxxviii. 68. For his date cf. Bühler,Kashmir Report, p. 42. See Bhattanatha Svamin, IA. xli. 141; Lévi, TI. i. 277.↑

20ID. p. 83. Dhanika (DR. ii. 1) cites, anonymously as usual, iii. 21.↑

20ID. p. 83. Dhanika (DR. ii. 1) cites, anonymously as usual, iii. 21.↑

21xxv. 74.↑

21xxv. 74.↑

22ZDMG. lxxv. 63.↑

22ZDMG. lxxv. 63.↑

23ii. 34, as compared with vii. 83.↑

23ii. 34, as compared with vii. 83.↑

24Ed. KM. 1894; cf. Baumgartner,Das Râmâyaṇa, pp. 125 ff.↑

24Ed. KM. 1894; cf. Baumgartner,Das Râmâyaṇa, pp. 125 ff.↑

25v. 6.↑

25v. 6.↑

26vii. 87.↑

26vii. 87.↑

27vii. 82.↑

27vii. 82.↑

28vii. 107.↑

28vii. 107.↑

29vii. 90.↑

29vii. 90.↑

30Ed. p. 1, note.↑

30Ed. p. 1, note.↑

31Konow,Karpūramañjarī, pp. 177 ff.; Hultzsch, IA. xxxiv. 177 ff.; V. S. Apte,Rājaçekhara, Poona, 1886. Of special virtue is hisKāvyamīmāṅsāon rhetoric, which is better than his dramas.↑

31Konow,Karpūramañjarī, pp. 177 ff.; Hultzsch, IA. xxxiv. 177 ff.; V. S. Apte,Rājaçekhara, Poona, 1886. Of special virtue is hisKāvyamīmāṅsāon rhetoric, which is better than his dramas.↑

32Winternitz, GIL. iii. 47; Lévi, TI. i. 183 f.↑

32Winternitz, GIL. iii. 47; Lévi, TI. i. 183 f.↑

33Ed. Calcutta, 1884.↑

33Ed. Calcutta, 1884.↑

34Ed. C. Cappeller, Strassburg, 1885; Weber, IS. xviii. 481 ff.↑

34Ed. C. Cappeller, Strassburg, 1885; Weber, IS. xviii. 481 ff.↑

35Ed. S. Konow, trs. C. R. Lanman, HOS. iv. 1901; J. Charpentier,Monde oriental, ii. 226 ff.↑

35Ed. S. Konow, trs. C. R. Lanman, HOS. iv. 1901; J. Charpentier,Monde oriental, ii. 226 ff.↑

36Ed. Poona, 1886; trs. L. H. Gray, JAOS. xxvii. 1 ff.↑

36Ed. Poona, 1886; trs. L. H. Gray, JAOS. xxvii. 1 ff.↑

37ii. 30. The translation of this and the next verse is taken from Lanman’s version.↑

37ii. 30. The translation of this and the next verse is taken from Lanman’s version.↑

38ii. 47.↑

38ii. 47.↑

39ii. 49.↑

39ii. 49.↑

40Konow, ID. p. 87; Peterson,Reports, ii. 63; Bhandarkar,Report(1897), p. xi.↑ab

40Konow, ID. p. 87; Peterson,Reports, ii. 63; Bhandarkar,Report(1897), p. xi.↑ab

41Peterson,Reports, iii. 340 f.↑

41Peterson,Reports, iii. 340 f.↑

42Ed. Calcutta, 1884; trs. L. Fritze, Leipzig, 1883. On the same theme is Rāmacandra’sSatyahariçcandra(twelfth cent.); see Keith, JRAS. 1914, pp. 1104 f.↑

42Ed. Calcutta, 1884; trs. L. Fritze, Leipzig, 1883. On the same theme is Rāmacandra’sSatyahariçcandra(twelfth cent.); see Keith, JRAS. 1914, pp. 1104 f.↑

Back to IndexNext