Vanitākavitotsavaḥ: Watching Women at Play – 2

Dr. Ganesh is a noted scholar of Indian aesthetics. Apart from studying a staggering number of works in this discipline, he has conceived original ideas, unknotted ticklish issues and provided insights into ancient concepts. He has peppered the present work with several such insights, as is his wont. Let us sample a few.

At one instance in the play Vijjikā composes an allegorical verse (13) on the fly, and the other poetesses analyze it from various standpoints. The question then arises: Is there rasa in a standalone verse? The premise for the question is the notion that rasa requires an elaborate backdrop to develop. Dr. Ganesh puts the answer to this question into the words of Madhuravāṇī and Gaṅgādevī, and thus suggests that poetesses were quick in the uptake to defend their friends in issues of aesthetics. The answer is straightforward: standalone verses offer enough scope for the development of vastu- and alaṅkāra-dhvani (an idea or a figure of speech suggested), which take the route of suggestion that is discernible (saṃlakṣya-krama). These finally culminate in rasa. The verse under the scanner includes the figure of speech aprastuta-praśaṃsā and is demonstrably of the guṇībhūta-vyaṅgya (subordinated suggestion) type. Ānandavardhana, the aesthetician nonpareil, has reserved a prominent place for guṇībhūtavyaṅgya in the scheme of aesthetics and has averred that it certainly leads to rasa. Furthermore, Jagannātha has discussed numerous verses of this sort in his treatise Rasagaṅgādhara and has established how all of them lead the readers to rasa. The sole guiding factor in this issue is aucitya or propriety – if the poet creates a beautiful piece that does not flout the norms of aucitya, it will be enjoyable indeed.

The next issue highlights the difference between ‘personal emotion’ and ‘art emotion.’ When the poetesses recount tragic turns in their lives, Sarasvatī listens to them compassionately and says these experiences are the warp and woof of poetry, and budding poets will do well to cogitate upon them.  

सत्काव्यं ननु जीवनस्य सकलानौचित्यचर्याच्युतं

भाव्यं भव्यनिरूपणं रसभरं वागर्थविद्योतनम्।

तन्निर्माणचणैरवश्यमनिशं स्वस्वान्तरालस्थितं

रागद्वेषविषं विलोक्यमखिलं पीयूषसाक्षीक्षणैः॥21

Great poetry is free from all the improprieties of life. It is a grand narrative laden with rasa where form and content shine together. Poets who wish to compose such a work should constantly look within themselves – detached, nectarine eyes should observe the poison of likes and dislikes.

This verse throws a flood of light on the nature of great poetry and the person who composes it. The best of poetry is but an aesthetic account of the happenings in the world, with all the inappropriate elements pruned. Master poets are endowed with the ability to contemplate on the matrix of likes and dislikes that lies within them, and thus envision the common stage on which all human drama plays out. Having had this vision, poets set out to evoke rasa, which guides them on the path of appropriateness: the tone, setting, plot, nature of characters, development – everything should be aligned to rasa to remain appropriate. Put succinctly, rasa removes the inappropriate. In this way, a poet suggests how the world can be a better place.

Speaking of the place morality has in poetry, the poet says:

नीतिर्न जातु सत्काव्ये लक्ष्यत्वेन समिष्यते।

किन्तु सौख्यं रसाश्लिष्टं नीतितत्त्वविरोधि न॥31

Moral codes do not constitute the aims and objectives of poetry. Nonetheless, the joy we derive from poetry in the form of rasa is not opposed to moral codes.    

This observation echoes the thoughts of Prof. M Hiriyanna, who perhaps had the last word on the topic: “… Art should not have a moral aim, but must necessarily have a moral view, if it should fulfil its true purpose. This is not to make art didactic, for morality does not form either its content or its purpose…”[1]

The next issue is on the part played by metre in poetry. Dr. Ganesh observes, in the words of Avantisundarī, that “Chandas is not indispensable to poetry. It is, however, desirable, because if present, it adds a great deal of value” (p. 55). This position is in tune with the Indian aesthetic tradition that has held prose, verse, or even a mixture of these as poetry. However, the same tradition has given rise to numerous poets who have expressed themselves remarkably in verse. Keeping these complementary views in mind, Dr. Ganesh has drawn our attention to the strengths of metre. Following the lead of Mahimabhaṭṭa, he regards chandas as a form of śabdālaṅkāra (figure of sound).[2] When we examine the verbal roots of the word chandas, we learn that it has the power to (1) cover up the lacunae in our words, (2) gladden the listeners with its rhythm, and (3) illuminate expression. Although the poet knows these strengths of metre well, he does not hold it as ineluctable.[3] This stand eloquently testifies his objectivity.

The poet has had occasion to discuss some aspects of plagiarism (haraṇa) in the play. As we have observed, several verses composed by poetesses have been preserved in anthologies. Some of these works mention the composers of the verses they have compiled, which raises problems of authorship: a few verses that these books attribute to poetesses are present in other works authored by poets. For instance, a verse that goes ‘kṛśā kenāsi tvaṃ’ is attributed to Mārulā in the anthologies but is found in Amaru’s century of verses. Another verse in the name of Morikā is attributed to Sātavāhana. More often than not, Bhallaṭa, Amaruka, Bhartṛhari, Līlāśuka and Sātavāhana are the poets to whom such verses are attributed. The reason is not hard to seek: these poets are the authors of standalone verses based on a single theme, which have been compiled in their name. An interpolator finds it easy to slide a verse slyly into such a compilation. Dr. Ganesh explains these reasons in the play (pp. 51–52) and refers to the discussion on haraṇa in Rājaśekhara’s Kāvyamīmāṃsā through Avantisundarī.

*             *             *

We know precious little about the personal lives of Sanskrit writers. A web of hearsays, legends and apocryphal stories surrounds this terra incognita. In this backdrop, it is heartening that we are able to place at least a few poetesses in time and space with a fair amount of certainty. Dr. Ganesh has judiciously used the life-details of these poetesses based on literary and epigraphic sources. As appropriate, he has coupled these details with ‘cāṭu’ verses. The result is a veritable smorgasbord of sombre human emotions that has supplied depth to an otherwise airy section of the play. Vikaṭanitambā, Madhuravāṇī, Vijjikā, Gaṅgādevī, Tirumalāmbā and Śīlā are the characters in this section (pp. 32–34). Among other things, their experiences involve: the disenchantment from marrying a scatterbrain, the emotional upheavals in being a courtesan, the unspeakable pain of losing one’s husband after a brief spell of conjugal love, the interminable problems of war, the singular misfortune of enduring a co-wife’s evil machinations, and the inexplicable dissatisfaction of half-rewarded love.    

*             *             *

The concluding pages of the play present some lovely examples of repartee. The avadhānī in the author has found the perfect occasion to play with samasyās and datta-padīs. This lapse into literary sports does not appear forced, as most of the poetesses could compose verses extempore and Madhuravāṇī, one of the strong characters in this and the preceding sections, was a śatāvadhāninī. Let us sample a verse each from the samasyā and datta-padī varieties.

Samasyā – hūṃ hu hūṃ hu hu hu hūṃ hu hu hūṃ hūm

उन्नमय्य सकचग्रहमास्यं

चुम्बति प्रियतमे हठवृत्त्या।

कूजितं जयति मानधनाया

हूं हु हूं हुहुहु हूं हुहु हूं हूम्॥69

When her lover grabbed her hair, lifted her face and kissed her passionately, the prissy girl moaned, ‘Ah ah ah ah ahh ahh ahh!’

The samasyā is a string of senseless syllables. The poetess Vijjikā has composed three lines to complete the verse, and in the process has transformed the senseless syllables into a perfectly ‘meaningful’ cry of sensual pleasure!  

Datta-padī – Description of the Sun using the words tuṇḍa, puṇḍa, maṇḍa and khaṇḍa:

शुकतुण्डच्छवि सवितु-

श्चण्डरुचेः पुण्डरीकवनबन्धोः।

मण्डलमुदितं वन्दे

कुण्डलमाखण्डलाशायाः॥72

The rising Sun with scorching rays is the friend of lotuses. I bow to its disc, which is as red as a parrot’s beak and appears as an earring for the deity of East.  

Dr. Ganesh has noticed the rhyming words present throughout the verse and has skilfully extracted four such, one from each line. Taken away from their context, these words have little meaning and are thus perfect examples of datta-padas.

Readers of the play will agree that these literary sports break the monotony in narration and help vivify the plot.

*             *             *

The language of the play is a delight to lovers of Sanskrit. Dr. Ganesh has the inimitable ability to bend ‘the language of the Gods’ to his will and express himself in a chaste, classical, idiomatic style. As we have already sampled examples of his verse, let us now relish his prose.

Some delicious expletives worded in highly idiomatic language:

कस्य वा गेहेनर्दिनः खादतमोदतामात्रतृप्तस्य दुर्लब्धविद्यावलेपदुर्विदग्धस्य दुरभिसन्धिरयम्? (p. 12)

Who is that dirty coward who feigns bravery at home, that good-for-nothing glutton, that cocky imbecile who thinks a smattering of knowledge makes him a scholar – who has the gall to say [we can’t speak Sanskrit?!]  

A classic example of vṛtta-gandhi or rhythmic prose. Notice the rhythm of the Viyoginī metre in the first word:

समयोपायसरस्वतीयं मारुला। (p. 18)

A telling simile:

प्राकृतलोके पाणिनिसूत्रमिव तच्चित्तं कामपि कान्दिशीकतां गाहते। (p. 32)

Her mind went blank and she felt useless – like the rules of (Sanskrit) grammar in a gathering of unlettered men (who speak only Prakrit).

*             *             *

All things considered, Vanitākavitotsavaḥ gives its readers the satisfaction of savouring a work in the classical mould. Kudos to Dr. Ganesh for wreathing together diverse verses into a unified thematic composition. Apart from achieving its avowed objective of providing aesthetic joy to its readers, the play paints an authentic picture of the status of women in ancient India. This is the reason why it cannot be boxed within the narrow confines of agenda-driven literature.

I recommend this work to all lovers of Sanskrit and look forward to the day when competent artists and actors come forward to stage it.