Act V shows us Kaṅsa plotting the overthrow of the youths. A herald

reports the arrival of Dāmodara, and his great feats of strength, the mocking of the elephant let loose on him, the making straight of a female dwarf, the breaking of the bow of the guardsman. The king orders at once the boxing to begin; Kṛṣṇa, however, easily overcomes Muṣṭika and Cāṇūra, the king’s chosen champions, and completes his victory by a sudden onslaught which leaves the king dead. His soldiers would avenge him, but Vasudeva announces Kṛṣṇa’s identity with Viṣṇu, and appoints Ugrasena king in Kaṅsa’s place, freeing him from the confinement in which his son had placed him. Nārada with Apsarases and Gandharvas appears to glorify Kṛṣṇa, who graciously permits Nārada to return to heaven, and a benediction, spoken apparently by the actor, closes the play.

The precise source of the drama is unknown; it differs in detail widely from the stories of Kṛṣṇa in the Harivaṅça, Viṣṇu, and Bhāgavata Purāṇas, but none of these works, as we have it, is probably older than Bhāsa. The erotic element, which is so closely associated with Kṛṣṇa in later tradition, is lacking here as in the Harivaṅça and the Viṣṇu Purāṇa, and similarly the figure of Rādhā is missing.

The merits of the Bālacarita are not reproduced in Bhāsa’s treatment of the other chief Avatāra of Viṣṇu. The Pratimānāṭaka shows us the death of Daçaratha, when he realizes the departure of Rāma, deprived of his inheritance by Kaikeyī’s wiles, with Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa into the forest; his statue is added to those of his predecessors in the statue (pratimā) hall. Bharata returns from a visit, learns of the news, pursues Rāma, but is induced to return to rule, bearing with him Rāma’s shoes as token that he regards himself but as viceroy. Rāma decides to offer the sacrifice for the dead for his sire; Rāvaṇa appears under the guise of an expert, and bids him offer a golden antelope, by this device securing Rāma’s absence when Sītā is stolen by him, slaying Jaṭāyu who seeks to protect her. Rāma goes to Kiṣkindhā, and makes alliance with Sugrīva against Vālin. Bharata learns that Kaikeyī’s ruse had been induced by the curse of an ascetic, whose son Daçaratha had unwittingly slain, and that she had but meant to ask for a banishment of fourteen days, but had by a slip said years. He sends his army to aid Rāma, who ultimately defeats Rāvaṇa, and recovers Sītā. He brings her with him to Janasthāna, where he is begged to resume his kingdom; all then go by the magic car Puṣpak to Ayodhyā. The seven acts of the play are matched by the six of the Abhiṣekanāṭaka, [172] the drama of the consecration of Rāma which follows, like its predecessor, the Rāmāyaṇa. It tells of Vālin’s death at the hands of Rāma; Hanumant’s success in reaching Lan̄kā and in comforting Sītā and affronting Rāvaṇa. Vibhīṣaṇa advises the coercion of the ocean to attain a passage for the army; Rāvaṇa vainly seeks to win Sītā, showing her in appearance the heads of Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, but she repudiates his advances; he is compelled to fight, and the play ends with Rāma’s coronation. The epic apparently has weighed too heavily on the author, whose resource in incident is remarkable by its absence.

A far more favourable opportunity is afforded to Bhāsa when he derived his story from the Kathā literature, [173] as is doubtless the case in the Avimāraka, a drama in six acts. The daughter of king Kuntibhoja, the young Kuran̄gī, is saved from an elephant by an unknown youth, who, in reality son of the Sauvīra king, is with his father living as a member of a degraded caste for a year, as the outcome of a curse. His low status forbids his aspiring to the princess, but love triumphs, and the maidens of Kuran̄g, arrange a secret meeting to which the youth comes in the guise of a thief. But the news leaks out and he must fly; in despair of reunion he seeks death in the fire, but Agni repulses him; he would have thrown himself from a rock, but a Vidyādhara dissuades him, giving him a ring which enables him unseen to re-enter the palace and save Kuran̄gī, likewise desolated, from suicide. The way for a happy issue from the impasse is found by the fact that Nārada reveals the true history of Avimāraka; he is not in fact the son of the Sauvīra king; he is the son of the god Agni by Sudarçanā, the wife of the king of Kāçi, who gave him over on his birth to Sucetanā, her sister, wife of the Sauvīra king. The marriage thus takes place with the approval of all those connected with the pair.

Equally from the Kathā literature, and in this case from a source known to us, the Bṛhatkathā of Guṇāḍhya, which, written in Paiçācī Prākrit has vanished, but is preserved in a version from Nepal and two from Kashmir, is the subject of the Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa, [174] styled in the prologue a Prakaraṇa, which has four Acts and resembles in part that form of drama as recognized by the theory, though its hero is the minister of Udayana, the Vatsa king. The latter goes on an elephant hunt, armed with his lyre to charm his prey, but is taken prisoner by a clever trick of his enemy, Pradyota Mahāsena, of Ujjayinī, a counterfeit elephant being employed for his overthrow. Yaugandharāyaṇa determines to revenge the king. In Ujjayinī Mahāsena discusses with his wife the question of the marriage of their daughter Vāsavadattā, when the news of the capture of Udayana arrives. They decide that she shall take lessons in music from the captive, and, not unnaturally, the two fall in love. Yaugandharāyaṇa comes to Ujjayinī in disguise with his friends, and through his machinations the king is enabled to escape with Vāsavadattā, though the minister is himself, after a gallant fight, captured. Mahāsena, however, appreciated the minister’s cleverness, and has the marriage of the pair depicted. [175]

The play is criticized severely, though not by name, by Bhāmaha, [176] on the score that Udayana could never have been deceived by an artificial elephant, and if deceived his life would not have been spared by the enemy forces. The contentions are obviously of little value in this form; the essence, of course, is that such an incident which may pass in a tale seems too childish for a drama, but, if this troubles us, we may console ourselves with the reflexion that the trees were thick, and Udayana ardent in the chase. Vāmana [177] cites the end of verse 3 in Act IV which occurs also in the Arthaçāstra, [178] a work which need not be older than Bhāsa, and may be a good deal later.

The Svapnavāsavadattā, [179] or the Svapnanāṭaka, in six Acts forms in substance the continuation of the Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa. The minister is anxious to secure for Udayana an extension of his power by wedding him to Padmāvatī, daughter of the king of Magadha. But Udayana will not leave his beloved Vāsavadattā, so that strategy is needed. The minister induces Vāsavadattā to aid in his scheme, and, taking advantage of a temporary separation, he spreads the rumour that the queen and he have perished in a conflagration. The king is thus induced to consider marriage with Padmāvatī, in whose care the minister has entrusted the queen, giving out that she is his sister. Padmāvatī is willing to accept the love of the king, but, learning that he has never ceased to cherish the memory of his beloved, she is seized by a severe headache, and the king comes to comfort her. He does not find her, and lies down, sleep overcoming him; Vāsavadattā who had come to aid Padmāvatī sits down beside the sleeping form which she mistakes for that of her new mistress, but, as he begins to speak in his sleep she rises and leaves him, but not before he has caught a glimpse of her, in a dream as he thinks. He is summoned to the palace, and finds the good news that his foes have been defeated, and a messenger has come from Mahāsena and his wife to console him, bearing the picture of the nuptials of himself and Vāsavadattā. Padmāvatī recognizes in the lady the features of the sister left in her care by Yaugandharāyaṇa, who arrives to explain to the satisfaction of all the plan he has devised to secure Udayana’s ends.

The fame of the work in Rājaçekhara’s time is attested, and already before him the imaginary conflagration of the queen had excited the imitation of Harṣa in the Ratnāvalī; Vāmana [180] cites from it, and Abhinavagupta [181] knew it. Nor is there any doubt that it is the poet’s masterpiece and the most mature of his dramas. Great promise, however, in a different vein is shown in the Cārudatta, of which we have only a fragment in four Acts without beginning or final verses. Cārudatta, a merchant whose generosity has impoverished him, has seen a hetaera Vasantasenā at a festival, and they have fallen in love. Pursued by the king’s brother-in-law, Saṁsthāna, Vasantasenā takes refuge in Cārudatta’s house, and, when she goes, she leaves in his care her gold ornaments. She generously ransoms from his creditors a former servant of Cārudatta, who then renounces the world and becomes a monk. In the night the ornaments, which she had deposited, are stolen by a thief Sajjalaka who breaks into Cārudatta’s house, in order to gain the means to purchase the freedom of a slave of the hetaera with whom he is in love. Cārudatta is overcome with shame at learning of the theft of goods deposited in his care, and his noble wife sacrifices a pearl necklace, which she gives to the Vidūṣaka to hand over to Vasantasenā in lieu of her lost jewels. He takes it to the hetaera, who has learned of the theft, but accepts it to have the excuse of visiting the merchant once more. She therefore hands over the slave girl to Sajjalaka, and starts out to Cārudatta’s house. At this point the play ends abruptly, but it seems as if Cārudatta were accused of theft, and that Vasantasenā herself is in grave danger of her life.

A verse of this play is cited by Vāmana [182] and another, [183] found also in the Bālacarita [184] and the Mṛcchakaṭikā, [185] is quoted by Daṇḍin in the Kāvyādarça. [186] We need not doubt that Bhāsa is his source, especially as there is possibly elsewhere in the Kāvyādarça an allusion to the dream scene of the Svapnavāsavadattā and its sequel. The Daridracārudatta mentioned by Abhinavagupta is most probably the same work. From it are derived the first four Acts of the Mṛcchakaṭikā. [187] The source of the drama is not certain; we have the motif of the love of a merchant and a hetaera elsewhere, but not with the special developments given by Bhāsa.

Verses attributed to Bhāsa are also found which are not contained in the extant dramas, so that, even allowing for misquotation and confusion, it is probable that he may have written further plays, or he may have illustrated the book of the dramatic art which he is credited with writing, [188] by inserting examples of his own composition. Why his plays should have fared so badly as to disappear from popular use apparently for centuries does not appear. The most plausible view is that he was a poet of the south, and that his dramas suffered from the general Mahomedan objection to everything Hindu, and especially to the dramas of an earnest devotee of Viṣṇu such as Bhāsa was. But this is mere conjecture.

4. BHĀSA’S ART AND TECHNIQUE

The number of Bhāsa’s dramas, and the variety of their themes, indicate the activity and originality of his talent. Even the limitations imposed by the choice of epic subjects are often successfully surmounted. In the Rāma dramas only is there lacking any sign of his ability; the Abhiṣekanāṭaka is a somewhat dreary summary of the corresponding books (IV–VI) of the Rāmāyaṇa, nor is the Pratimānāṭaka substantially superior. The variations are in the main few and unimportant; the two struggles between Sugrīva and Vālin are condensed into one, which leaves the treacherous slaying of Vālin without shadow of excuse, and casts a blemish on Rāma’s character which later dramatists avoid. The pathetic scene of the epic in which Tārā, his wife, laments Vālin’s death is omitted, Vālin forbidding any woman to gaze on him in his fall. The two efforts of Rāvaṇa to deceive Sītā, first by showing her Rāma’s head, and later Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa bound and seemingly dead, are reduced to one, the showing of the heads of both, and Sītā’s constancy is made inhuman by denying her the comfort of a consoler. To secure a happy ending, Agni is made to vindicate Sītā by the test of fire, and to hand her over to Rāma as Lakṣmī and his fit mate. The characters remain stereotyped and dull; Rāvaṇa is nothing more than a miles gloriosus, if not comic, and Lakṣmaṇa cuts a very poor figure. [189]

The pieces based on the Mahābhārata shows more invention and interest. The Madhyamavyāyoga exploits neatly the theme of Hiḍimbā’s longing to see her husband of many years before, and the obedience of a son to a mother exemplified both by Ghaṭotkaca and by Madhyama; a mother’s bidding outweighs even that of a father. The struggle of father against son, both unknowing, is original, though not tragic. In the Karṇabhāra the nobility of the haughty Karṇa is emphasized; in the epic he surrenders his armour to Indra, but demands a price, the lance that never fails; in the play it suffices the prince that he has conferred a boon on the god himself. There is the same martial spirit, evoking the sentiment of heroism in the audience, in the Dūtaghaṭotkaca where the joy of the Kurus is contrasted effectively with the doubts of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, and the grave warning which Ghaṭotkaca brings of the revenge to be wreaked by Arjuna for his son’s death. The Dūtavākya is admirable in his contrast between the character of Duryodhana and the majesty of Kṛṣṇa; the picture motif is effectively elaborated, and the deep admiration of the poet for Kṛṣṇa as the embodiment of the highest of gods Viṣṇu, of whom he was an adorer, is plainly manifest. In the Ūrubhan̄ga Duryodhana’s hauteur to the highest of gods meets with its just punishment; Duryodhana is the chief subject, but not the hero, of the piece which manifests the just [190] punishment of the impious. The death of Duryodhana is admirably depicted; his child who loved to sit on his knees comes to him, but must be repulsed; the touch that brought joy aforetime would now be an agony. [191] But Duryodhana, with all his demerits as a man, remains heroic in his death.

The Bālacarita reveals the originality of Bhāsa’s genius; the entr’acte to the second Act is extremely effective in its terrors, and the poet has no hesitation in asking the audience to conceive for themselves the strange figures of the attendants of Viṣṇu or the host of the goddess Kārtyāyanī, or the bull Ariṣṭa, or the snake demon Kāliya, all of whom appear on the stage, but doubtless in costumes which left most to the mind’s eye. The miracles of the light emanating from the child Kṛṣṇa, the crossing of the Yamunā, and the water springing from the ground, are innovations on the tradition, as is the apparent death and revival of the child of Yaçodā. Kṛṣṇa is heroism incarnate, Kaṅsa without merit, and his slaying just, but the heroic sentiment is blended with the erotic, and with that of wonder. As a drama, however, the play suffers unquestionably from the wholly undeniable disparity between the two opponents; Kṛṣṇa is never in danger, and his feats are too easily achieved to produce their full effect.

The Avimāraka is a drama of love, primitive in its expression and intensity; Bhāsa’s love for rapid action is here, as always, strongly marked, as is also his willingness to repeat incidents and situations; the hero twice seeks suicide, and the heroine does so once. The dénouement is artificial, though something of the kind was necessary to secure the possibility of the marriage of the pair. There is a far more interesting hint of youthful love in the amours of Udayana and Vāsavadattā in the Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa, where the rapidity of action is in entire harmony with the skill attributed to the minister, whose address, courage, and loyalty, make him an attractive figure. The Svapnavāsavadattā itself reveals Udayana as a faithful and devoted husband, very different from the careless if courteous gentleman of Harṣa’s dramas. His love for the queen he imagines lost ennobles and elevates his character, while motives of statecraft and the affection shown him by Padmāvatī easily explain his wooing of that maiden. Vāsavadattā herself is not the jealous if high-minded wife of Harṣa’s plays; she is the devoted and self-sacrificing lover who is willing to postpone her own feelings and wishes to the good of her husband. The king and queen are the finest products of Bhāsa’s characterization of lovers. In the Cārudatta, however, we have clever studies in the hetaera, the merchant and the minor figures, though the value of the play must seem less to us than when completed and elaborated in the Mṛcchakaṭikā.

Bhāsa undoubtedly excels in suggesting heroism; this characteristic is admirably depicted in Yaugandharāyaṇa, and above all in Duryodhana, who in the Dūtaghaṭotkaca effectively replies to the menaces of the envoy by promising an answer in deeds, war, not in harsh words. But his power is not confined to heroism, love, pathos, or the marvellous. The Vidūṣaka in his hands attains the characteristics which mark him in the later drama, and, though much was doubtless traditional, it may safely be assumed that he tended by his example to stereotype the figure. In the Avimāraka [192] he distinguishes himself by devotion to his master; he is set on finding him, dead or alive, when he is missing, and he is prepared if need be to follow him beyond the grave. Avimāraka himself portrays the character of his friend; he places first, doubtless deliberately, the amusement he produces in social intercourse (goṣṭhīṣu hāsyaḥ), but he describes him also as brave in battle, a wise friend, a comforter in sorrow, a violent foe to his enemies. If in the Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa [193] he seems to abandon the idea of succouring his master, it is only because he is convinced that Vatsa is dead, and that nothing can be done to save him. The other side of his character is his devotion to the pleasures of the table and his feeble attempts at wit and humour. Vāsavadattā he remembers fondly because she used to see that he never lacked sweetmeats. [194] When in the Avimāraka [195] the heroine weeps in love-sorrow, he would like to weep also in sympathy; but no tears come, and he recalls that, even when his own father died, he could hardly weep. When addressed as a man, he insists that he is a woman. He is, however, a Brahmin in his prejudices; he will not drink brandy, a pleasure which he permits to the Gātrasevaka, the disguise assumed by one of Yaugandharāyaṇa’s following in the attempt to rescue Udayana. This worthy favours us with a eulogy of drink, which is an interesting fragment of the drinking songs which must have existed in ancient India: [196]

dhaṇṇā surāhi mattā dhaṇṇā surāhi aṇulittā; dhaṇṇā surāhi hṇādā dhaṇṇā surāhi saṁñavidā.

‘Blessed those that are drunk with drink, blessed those that are soaked with drink; blessed those that are washed with drink, blessed those that are choked with drink.’ Amusing also is the figure of Yaugandharāyaṇa as an Unmattaka, devoted to eating and dancing, and of Rumaṇvant in his guise of a Çramaṇaka. There is genuine humour in the scene in the Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa [197] between the Gātrasevaka and the servant, when the former makes ready the elephant Bhadravatī, which is to be the means of carrying off the king and Vāsavadattā beyond the reach of all pursuit, without raising any suspicion on the part of the entourage of Mahāsena. Quiet humour is shown in the episode of the bringing of Bhīma by Ghaṭotkaca to his mother Hiḍimbā; Ghaṭotkaca has difficulty in describing his victim, and is much amazed to find his mother, whose curiosity is aroused by his lack of precision, finding him to be his deity and hers in his capacity as husband and father. [198] In the same vein is the compliment paid by Rāma to Sītā, when the latter accurately predicts the action he would take when his father offered him the throne: ‘Thou hast guessed well; few pairs are there of like character in the world (suṣṭhu tarkitam alpaṁ tulyaçīlāni dvandvāni sṛjyante)’. [199] Quite distinctly amusing is the scene at the close of the Avimāraka, [200] where the facts of the relationships are being disclosed to the king Kuntibhoja. That sovereign may be justly excused his difficulty in apprehending the situation; he is reduced to such confusion that he is dubious about his own capital Vairantya, but finally, when assured that the hero is the son-in-law of Kuntibhoja, asks who that worthy may be, to be reminded politely that he himself is Kuntibhoja, father of Kuran̄gī, son of Duryodhana, and lord of Vairantya. This power explains the description of Bhāsa as the laughter (hāsa) of poetry given to him by Jayadeva in the Prasannarāghava, a title which is also merited by such verses as one cited in the anthologies, [201] though not found in the extant dramas:

kapāle mārjāraḥ paya iti karāṅl leḍhi çaçinas tarucchidraprotān bisam iti karī saṁkalayati ratānte talpasthān harati vanitāpy aṅçukam iti prabhāmattaç candro jagad idam aho viplavayati.

‘When its rays fall on its cheeks the cat licks them, thinking them milk; when they are caught in the cleft of a tree the elephant deems them a lotus; when they rest on the couch of lovers the maiden seizes them, saying, “’Tis my robe”; the moon in truth, proud of its brilliance, doth lead astray all this world.’

Of deeper sentiments we need expect nothing from Bhāsa; in this respect he sets the model for his successors. From Kālidāsa he differs in being a devotee of Viṣṇu rather than Çiva, but he is equally an admirer of the established Brahminical order. In the Pañcarātra, [202] the Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa, [203] and in the character of Nārada in the Avimāraka, [204] we find clearly expressed his appreciation of the high rank of the Brahmin, and the obligations due to him from kings and other classes.

Care in the delineation of even minor characters is normally displayed; the number of these is considerable; sixteen each in the Svapnavāsavadattā and the Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa, about twenty in the Avimāraka, Abhiṣekanāṭaka, and Pañcarātra, twelve in the Cārudatta, and about thirty in the Bālacarita. But there are traces of the anxiety of Bhāsa to avoid adding needlessly to the number of those appearing; in the Avimāraka neither the king of Kāçi nor Sucetanā appears on the scene despite their part in the play. The silence of Sītā, though at the close of the Abhiṣekanāṭaka she appears on the stage, is doubtless explicable by the same dramatic touch which makes Euripides refuse to assign any words to Alkestis on her return from the dead.

In technique Bhāsa does not accord entirely with the later rules of the theorists. The Nāṭyaçāstra, it is true, when it forbids the exhibition of battle scenes contradicts itself, and Bhāsa freely permits them, as must have been the case in the primitive drama in which Kṛṣṇa slew Kaṅsa. The maidens, however, he bids watch the mortal combat of Ariṣṭa and Kṛṣṇa from afar. Daçaratha’s death he admits; the bodies of Cāṇūra, Muṣṭika, and Kaṅsa lie on the stage, and Vālin perishes there as well as Duryodhana, but all these are evildoers, and their death evokes no sorrow. The same simplicity doubtless accounts for the introduction of the mythological figures of the Bālacarita, whom we need not imagine to have been elaborately costumed; they announce their nature or are described, [205] and the spectator supplies the imagination requisite to comprehend them.

We find already in Bhāsa the formal distinction of introductory scenes into Viṣkambhakas of two kinds, according as Sanskrit alone or Sanskrit and Prākrit are used and Praveçakas; in the former the number of interlocutors is three in two [206] cases against one or two as usual later; there are other signs of his fondness for triads. [207] The introduction normally is styled Sthāpanā, [208] not as later Prastāvanā, and it is extremely simple; after a Nāndī, not preserved, has been pronounced—perhaps behind the scene—the director enters, utters a benediction, and is about to make an announcement when a sound is heard which leads up to the actual drama. No mention of the poet’s name or the work is found, but these we may suggest were left to the preliminaries which even in the Nāṭyaçāstra were elaborate, and which doubtless were performed before Bhāsa’s plays, as they were essentially religious rites in honour of the gods. On the other hand, the close, the Bharatavākya, of the later theory is varied in Bhāsa. The conventions as to the use of speech, aloud, aside to another, or to the audience alone are well known, and effective use is made of the voice from the air or behind the scene, as in the Abhiṣekanāṭaka, when Rāvaṇa taunts his prisoner and asks, who can set her free when her rescuers are dead; the voice replies, ‘Rāma, Rāma’. [209]

There are unquestionably primitive traits in Bhāsa’s art; he uses with dangerous freedom the device by which some one departs and returns straightway, to narrate what must have taken long to happen; thus in the Abhiṣekanāṭaka, Çan̄kukarṇa is bidden send a thousand men against Hanumant; he departs at once, to return and tell that they have fallen. Free use is made also, as in the epic, of magic weapons in the conflict, as in the battle of Duryodhana and Kṛṣṇa in the Dūtavākya. So also in the Madhyamavyāyoga we find Ghaṭotkaca employing his magic power to produce water from a rock; then he binds Bhīma in a magic noose, from which he is delivered by a magic formula. In the Dūtavākya the discus of Kṛṣṇa secures water from the heavenly Ganges by magic means; it has the power to move the mountains of the gods, to set the ocean in motion, and to bring down the stars to earth, ideas which are less unintelligible when we remember the wide-spread Indian beliefs in the powers of magicians, which we find later in Harṣa’s Ratnāvalī, and which are earlier recorded of those who have attained high degrees of intuition in both the Upaniṣads and Buddhism. In the Avimāraka we have the magic ring of the Vidyādhara playing a decisive part in the action, since by its use the hero can enter unseen the harem and visit his wife Kuran̄gī in secret. It is clear that both in the epic and in the popular tale Bhāsa found adequate precedent for the stress laid on these means of evoking in his audience the sentiment of wonder.

The use of the dance as an ornament to the drama which is seen in Kālidāsa is frequently resorted to in Bhāsa. In Act III of the Bālacarita there is a performance of the Hallīçaka dance, in which both the herdsmen and the cowherdesses take full part; the dance is accompanied by music and song, and the maidens are gaily attired. A similar dance is mentioned in Act II of the Pañcarātra, [210] a reflex no doubt of the ritual dance of the winter solstice in the Mahāvrata rite. It is conceivable also that the conception in the Bālacarita of the appearance of Viṣṇu’s weapons as figures on the stage in the dress of herdsmen is a reminiscence of a cult dance in honour of Viṣṇu, but this idea must not be pressed unduly, for the poet there invents also the figures of the Curse and the King’s Fortune as personae dramatis. There is, it is clear, a certain similarity between the personification of these abstractions and the allegorical figures of the Buddhist drama, which come again into being in the Prabodhacandrodaya of Kṛṣṇamiçra. Song as an important element in the drama again appears in the Abhiṣekanāṭaka, where the Gandharvas and Apsarases sing the praises of Viṣṇu. [211]

There are clear traces in the dramas of the overwhelming influence of epic tradition and of epic recitation in the tendency to introduce the description of battle scenes at great length in lieu of dramatic action, while a certain lack of skill is apparent in the attempt to transform the tale into a drama. Thus in the Avimāraka the facts essential for a full understanding of the story come out only in the last Act, and the adventures of the hero are there recounted with distinct lack of propriety, as they have formed the subject of the earlier acts of the drama. Neither the Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa nor the Svapnavāsavadattā is constructed in so clumsy a manner, but in both cases the working out of the plot is certainly open to criticism. Thus even in the last Act of the latter drama, which in many respects is effective, the stage directions assume that the queen appears on the stage with Vāsavadattā as her attendant, but that the king either does not see, or does not recognize the latter, both obviously very improbable suppositions; possibly it is assumed that the presence of Vāsavadattā, though obvious to the audience, is concealed from the king in some manner by the use of the curtain, but this is left to be imagined, [212] and it would have been much simpler to invent some ground for securing the entry of Vāsavadattā by herself later on. On the other hand, in Act I of the play, the facts regarding the supposed death of Vāsavadattā and the minister in a fire are effectively brought out by the device of using a Brahmacārin, who arrives at the hermitage at the same time as Yaugandharāyaṇa and Vāsavadattā in their disguise, and tells the tale of the disaster as explaining why he has left that place in sorrow at the event, dilating at the same time on the effect of the news on the unhappy king. The mode in which Vāsavadattā in Act V mistakes the king for Padmāvatī is quite naturally evolved, for the place where he is resting is poorly illuminated and she was naturally unwilling to arouse her mistress from the slumber into which she hoped she had fallen. In Act II of the Abhiṣekanāṭaka the conversation of Hanumant with Sītā is made possible only by the somewhat implausible device of assuming that the Rākṣasīs who guard her fall asleep at their post.

A rather marked fondness is shown by Bhāsa for the repetition of the same incident. Thus in the Avimāraka we have the twice repeated attempt of the hero at suicide followed by the attempt of the heroine in the same sense, from which he saves her. At the close of the Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa we have again the idea of the attempted suicide of the heroine’s mother, which is obviated by the king’s good sense in showing her that the marriage of the runaway pair was quite proper in their rank and in arranging for marrying them in a painting. The dying Vālin in the Abhiṣekanāṭaka has a vision of the Ganges and the other great rivers. Urvaçī and the Apsarases, and the chariot drawn by a thousand swans, which bears away the dead, coming for his spirit; Duryodhana in the Ūrubhan̄ga has a similar vision, and Avimāraka, when on the point of committing suicide he sees the Vidyādhara beside him, imagines that this is a vision such as comes often to dying men. Again in the prologues there is almost a monotonous adoption of the device by which the director is interrupted in making a proposed announcement by a voice from behind the scene, which enables him by a clever transition to lead the audience into the dramatic action proper.

5. BHĀSA’S STYLE

The rapidity and directness of the action of Bhāsa’s plays is reflected in his style. More than any other dramatist, he uses the verse to further the progress of the play, in lieu of devoting it to descriptions rather poetic than directly aiding the drama, and it is characteristic that he freely employs monostichs, which are rare later. On the other hand, he is ready to resort to monologue; that on the third Act of the Avimāraka suggested perhaps the monologue of Çarvilaka in the Mṛcchakaṭikā, whose author must have known Bhāsa’s works intimately.

The dominating influence on Bhāsa’s style was clearly that of the epic and in special of Vālmīki, whose great work inevitably impressed itself on the minds of all his successors. The effects are visible not merely in the dramas with epic subject-matter, but extend throughout Bhāsa’s plays. The results of this influence are all to the good; the necessities of the drama saved Bhāsa from the one great defect of the epic style, the lack of measure, which permits the Rāmāyaṇa to illustrate by twenty-nine similes the sorrows of Sītā in her captivity, while in the Abhiṣekanāṭaka the dramatist is content with one. On the other hand he owes to it the relative simplicity of his diction, and his freedom from the excesses of the poetic equivalent of the nominal style, which comes to dominate later Sanskrit literature. The use of long compounds is obviously and plainly undramatic; carried to excess it must have rendered a Sanskrit drama unintelligible even to a highly cultivated audience as far as the verses were concerned, and it is an essential dramatic merit in Bhāsa that his expression is far easier to follow than in much of later dramatic poetry. He possesses in fact that clearness, which is theoretically a merit of the Kāvya style, but which is signally neglected by the average Kāvya writer in his anxiety to display the complete familiarity which he possesses with every side of the art of poetry. As far as we can judge from the scanty fragments of Açvaghoṣa’s dramas, that poet was more complex than Bhāsa, and certainly so in his epics, which aided powerfully in the formation of Kālidāsa’s epic and dramatic style.

Bhāsa, of course, is not in the slightest degree akin to a poet of the people; he is an accomplished master of the art of poetry, but one whose good sense and taste preserve him from adopting in drama the artifices which are permitted in the court epic and lyric which were intended to be studied at leisure. The simple and sententious is beloved of Bhāsa: thus Karṇa repels the objections of Çalya to his parting with armour and earring to the disguised Indra: [213]

çikṣā kṣayaṁ gacchati kālaparyayāt: subaddhamūlā nipatanti pādapāḥ jalaṁ jalasthānagataṁ ca çuṣyati: hutaṁ ca dattaṁ ca tathaiva tiṣṭhati.

‘Learning decayeth with the passing of time; though firm their roots, trees fall; the water of a lake drieth up; but sacrifices and gifts endure.’ When Sītā is forced to undergo the ordeal by fire Lakṣmaṇa exclaims: [214]

vijñāya devyāç çaucaṁ ca çrutvācāryasya çāsanam dharmasnehāntare nyastā buddhir dolāyate mama.

‘I know the queen’s chastity; I have heard the bidding of our preceptor; like a swing, my mind doth move ’twixt duty and love.’ When Rāma falls at his father’s feet on the order being given for his coronation, he tells us: [215]

samaṁ bāṣpeṇa patatā tasyopari mamāpy adhaḥ pitur me kleditau pādau mamāpi kleditaṁ çiraḥ.

‘My father’s feet were wet with tears I let fall on them, and my head was wet with tears he let fall over me.’ When Devakī must yield, for the sake of saving it, her child, it is said of her: [216]

hṛdayeneha taran̄gair dvidhābhūteva gacchati yathā nabhasi toye ca candralekhā dvidhā kṛtā.

‘She is divided; her heart remaineth here, her body goeth yonder, as in cloud and water the digit of the moon is divided.’ Rāvaṇa’s contempt for Rāma as a foe is forcibly expressed: [217]

kathaṁ lambasataḥ siṅho mṛgeṇa vinipātyate gajo vā sumahān mattaḥ sṛgālena nihanyate?

‘Can the deer bring low the lion with flowing mane? Can the jackal slay the mighty elephant in his wrath?’ In the Cārudatta [218] the darkness is happily described:

sulabhaçaraṇam āçrayo bhayānāṁ: vanagahanaṁ timiraṁ ca tulyam eva ubhayam api hi rakṣyate ’ndhakāre: janayati yaç ca bhayāni yaç ca bhītaḥ.

‘Affording easy refuge, yet abodes of fear, the forest depths and darkness are akin; for the shadows guard alike him who feareth and him who causeth fear.’ More ambitious is a verse given in the Subhāṣitāvali: [219]

kaṭhinahṛdaye muñca krodhaṁ sukhapratighātakam likhati divasaṁ yātaṁ yātaṁ Yamaḥ kila mānini vayasi taruṇe naitad yuktaṁ cale ca samāgame bhavati kalaho yāvat tāvad varaṁ subhage ratam.

‘Hard-hearted maiden, lay aside the anger that doth impede our joy; death entereth on his register every day as it goeth, disdainful one; not meet is this in thy tender youth, for love is fleeting; rather spend in love the time we lose in this quarrel.’

The simple figures of speech are freely used by Bhāsa, and he shows as usual a marked fondness for the accumulation of similar sounds, as in sajalajaladhara, sanīranīrada, or kuladayaṁ hanti madena nārī: kūladvayaṁ kṣubdhajalā nadīva. More interesting are instances of his power, which is specially manifest in the Svapnavāsavadattā and the Pratimānāṭaka, of expressing strong emotion adequately and forcibly. Thus we have the indignant upbraiding of Kaikeyī by the angry Bharata: [220]

vayam ayaçasā cīreṇāryo nṛpo gṛhamṛtyunā pratataruditaiḥ kṛtsnāyodhyā mṛgaiḥ saha Lakṣmaṇaḥ dayitatanayāḥ çokenāmbāḥ snuṣādhvapariçramair dhig iti vacasā cogreṇātmā tvayā nanu yojitāḥ?

‘Hast thou not brought upon me disgrace and dishonour, on my noble father’s death at the hands of his dearest, on all Ayodhyā ceaseless lamentation, exile on Lakṣmaṇa, sorrow on the noble ladies, who love their children, for the cruel journey imposed on thy daughter-in-law, and on thyself the hateful reproach of a shameful deed?’ Equally effective is Lakṣmaṇa’s protest against Rāma’s acquiescence in his exclusion from the throne: [221]

yadi na sahase rājño mohaṃ dhanuḥ spṛça mā dayā svajananibhṛtaḥ sarvo ’py evam mṛduḥ paribhūyate atha na rucitam muñca mām ahaṁ kṛtaniçcayo yuvatirahitaṁ kartuṁ lokaṁ yataç chalitā vayam.

‘If thou wilt not endure the king’s infatuation, take thy bow, show no pity. Hidden among his own folk every weakling is thus overborne. But, if thou wilt not, leave me free at least; my mind is intent to make this world free of that youthful one, since cheated we have been.’ Bharata’s devotion is expressed happily enough: [222]

tatra yasyāmi yatrāsau vartate Lakṣmaṇapriyaḥ nāyodhyā taṁ vināyodhyā sāyodhyā yatra Rāghavaḥ.

‘Thither will I go where dwelleth Lakṣmaṇa’s beloved; without him Ayodhyā is not Ayodhyā; where Rāghava is, there is Ayodhyā.’ A martial spirit breathes in Virāṭa’s words: [223]

tāḍitasya hi yodhasya çlāghanīyena karmaṇā akālāntaritā pūjā nāçayaty eva vedanām.

‘Instant fame destroys the pangs of the warrior stricken in performing a deed of valour.’ There is manly indignation and pathos in Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s mourning over Abhimanyu’s death: [224]

bahūnāṁ samupetānām ekasmin nirghṛṇātmanām bāle putre praharatāṁ kathaṁ na patitā bhujāḥ.

‘How could these cruel men bear to raise their arms to smite one young boy, alone against such a concourse?’ The necessity of toil to achieve any end is well brought out in a verse in the Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa, [225] which has a curious parallel in Açvaghoṣa: [226]

kāṣṭhād agnir jāyate mathyamānād: bhūmis toyaṁ khanyamānā dadāti sotsahānāṁ nāsty asādhyaṁ narāṇām: mārgārabdhāḥ sarvayatnāḥ phalanti.

‘Fire ariseth from the rubbing of timber; the earth when dug giveth water; nothing is there that men may not obtain by effort; every exertion duly undertaken doth bear fruit.’ A profound truth, the rareness of gratitude, is emphasized in the Svapnavāsavadattā: [227]

guṇānāṁ vā viçālānāṁ satkārāṇāṁ ca nityaçaḥ kartāraḥ sulabhā loke vijñātāras tu durlabhāḥ.

‘There are many to show conspicuous virtue and to do constant deeds of kindness, but few are there who are grateful for such actions.’ The heavy burden of the duties of a king is effectively described in the Avimāraka: [228]

dharmaḥ prāg eva cintyaḥ sacivamatigatiḥ prekṣitavyā svabuddhyā pracchādyau rāgaroṣau mṛduparuṣaguṇau kālayogena kāryau jñeyaṁ lokānuvṛttam paracaranayanair maṇḍalam prekṣitavyam rakṣyo yatnād ihātmā raṇaçirasi punas so ’pi nāvekṣitavyaḥ.

‘First there must be consideration of the injunctions of the law, then the train of the minister’s thought must be followed; desire and anger must be concealed; mercy and harshness must be applied as expediency demands; the temper of the people must be ascertained through the aid of spies as well as the demeanour of neighbouring kings; one’s life must be guarded with every care, but in the forefront of battle heed for it must be laid aside.’ The position of a minister is no enviable one: [229]

prasiddhau kāryāṇām pravadati janaḥ pārthivabalam vipattau vispaṣṭaṁ sacivam atidoṣaṁ janayati amātyā ity uktāḥ çrutisukham udāraṁ nṛpatibhiḥ susūkṣmaṁ daṇḍyante matibalavidagdhāḥ kupuruṣāḥ.

‘If policy succeeds, the people acclaim the prince’s might; if disaster ensue, it condemns the incompetency of the minister; poor fools, puffed up by their strength of intellect, they receive from kings the noble and sweet sounding style of “counsellor” only to be punished sharply for any failure.’

Bhāsa is fond of expressing typical feelings in simple language which later poets would deem lacking in ornament; thus he expresses a mother’s feelings regarding her daughter’s marriage in the Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa: [230]

adattety āgatā lajjā datteti vyathitam manaḥ dharmasnehāntare nyastā duḥkhitāḥ khalu mātaraḥ.

‘Shame were it if she be not betrothed; yet if betrothed sorrow is one’s lot; between duty and love mothers are sore vexed in heart.’ The responsibility of a teacher is set out by Droṇa in the Pañcarātra: [231]

atītya bandhūn avalan̄ghya mitrāṇy: ācāryam āgacchati çiṣyadoṣaḥ. bālaṁ hy apatyaṁ gurave pradātum: naivāparādho ’sti pitur na mātuḥ.

‘A pupil’s fault passes over relatives and friends and settles on the teacher, for it is no wrong in father or mother to hand over a young child to a preceptor.’

Bhāsa’s power of depicting irony is specially prominent in the Svapnavāsavadattā, [232] where Vāsavadattā is driven to weave the garland for the new queen’s marriage, on the score of her skill in this art. Rāvaṇa shows the heads which he represents as those of Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa to Sītā, only to hear the announcement that his son is slain in the battle, by the very two whose death he has feigned. [233] Effective is the contrast between Vālin’s splendour and his fall in his son An̄gada’s lament: [234]

atibalasukhaçāyī pūrvam āsīr harīndraḥ: kṣititalaparivartī kṣīṇasarvān̄gaceṣṭaḥ.

‘Soft indeed thy couch aforetime as lord of the apes, who now dost lie on the ground, thy every movement stilled in death’, and Duryodhana’s fall is not less effectively described. [235]

A characteristic of Bhāsa is his fondness for pithy proverbial phrases, ‘Everything suits a handsome figure’, ‘Misfortunes never come singly’, ‘Good news sounds more pleasant from a friend’s mouth’ (piaṇivediamāṇāṇi piāṇi piadarāṇi honti), ‘Man’s fate is as mobile as an elephant’s trunk’, ‘There are many obstacles in the road to fortune’, ‘A small cause begets grave misfortune’, are found in the Avimāraka alone. An idea once expressed fascinates Bhāsa and is repeated again and again in the same terms, a fact which incidentally helps to assure the genuineness of the plays. For some phrases he has a special fondness; mā with the instrumental is normal in lieu of the ordinary alam, which he also uses; aho tu khalu to introduce a stanza; kiṁ nu khalu in a question; āma and bādham to indicate assent; sukham āryasya as a phrase of greeting. Especially is he devoted to the term vara, sometimes before, usually after, the noun whose quality it intensifies; the use occurs even twice or thrice in a single stanza.

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

6. THE LANGUAGE OF THE PLAYS

Bhāsa’s Sanskrit [236] is in the main correct according to the rules of the grammarians, but his dependence on the epic is revealed by the occasional use of epic irregularities, almost always for the sake of the metre, which in the epic also is the cause of many deviations from classical grammar. We have thus the irregular contractions putreti and Avantyādhipateḥ, and a number of middle forms in lieu of active, gamiṣye, garjase, drakṣyate, pṛcchase, bhraçyate, ruhyate, çroṣyate. In other cases the active replaces the middle, āpṛccha, upalapsyati, pariṣvaja. There is confusion between the simple and the causative verb in sravati and vījanti, and in vimoktukāma. The forms rudantī and gṛhya have many epic parallels. Irregular compounds are sarvarājñaḥ in verse, and Kāçirājñe in prose; vyūḍhoras and tulyadharma occur in verse. The use in one clause of both ced and yadi is found in verse and also in prose, as in the epic. Mere blunders perhaps may be styled pratyāyati, a haplological form of the causative with the meaning of the simple verb, samāçvāsitum with causative sense, and yudh as a masculine noun. There are other seeming irregularities, but they are either sanctioned by usage or possible of explanation by reference to variant interpretations of Pāṇini’s rules.

The Prākrits [237] found in Bhāsa are normally Çaurasenī, which is present in all the plays save the Dūtavākya, which has no Prākrit; Māgadhī found in two different forms; and what may be styled Ardha-Māgadhī. The distinctive feature of his language is its transitional aspect as compared with Açvaghoṣa on the one hand and Kālidāsa on the other. Açvaghoṣa never softens—save in one instance—hard consonants, but both ṭ and t are changed to ḍ and d in Bhāsa. Açvaghoṣa never omits consonants, but, though this is less often carried out than in Kālidāsa, we find cases of the loss of k, g, c, j, t, d, p, b, v, and y when intervocalic. y itself suffers frequent change to j, contrary to Açvaghoṣa’s usage. The change of n initial and medial to ṇ is regular, while it is unknown to Açvaghoṣa. The aspirates kh, gh, th, dh, ph, and bh are all often reduced as later to h, but never in Açvaghoṣa.

In the case of conjunct consonants we find that jñ gives in Bhāsa either ññ or ṇṇ, possibly the latter by error; Açvaghoṣa has ññ only, Kālidāsa ṇṇ. For ny and ṇy Bhāsa has always ṇṇ as against Açvaghoṣa’s ññ. The eliding of a consonant, with the compensatory lengthening of the vowel as in dīsadi, is unknown to Açvaghoṣa, where the omission of the consonant twice occurs but without lengthening; it is frequent in Bhāsa and regular in Kālidāsa. The analogous use of a short vowel and a double consonant to represent a long vowel with a single consonant is unknown to Açvaghoṣa, but Bhāsa has it in evva, evvaṁ, jovvana, devva, ekka. On the other hand, like Açvaghoṣa, for ry he has yy only in lieu of Kālidāsa’s jj. For the later metta matta is always found, and the epenthetic vowel is u, not i, in purusa, and puruva is normal.

In inflection we have, in the nominative and accusative plural of neuter stems in a, āni in Açvaghoṣa, āṇi in Bhāsa, while both āṇi and āiṁ are allowed later. The accusative plural masculine has also, analogously to āni in the Ardha-Māgadhī of the Açoka inscriptions, [238] āṇi, and the locative singular feminine is in āaṁ, not as later āe. For the later attāṇaaṁ we have attāṇaṁ. For ‘we’ Açvaghoṣa has vayaṁ, Kālidāsa amhe; Bhāsa both and vaaṁ. In the genitive plural Bhāsa has both amhāaṁ and the only form later amhāṇaṁ, while Açvaghoṣa would doubtless have used amhākaṁ. kissa is kept for later kīsa, and kocci (kaccid) disappears later. The root darç is represented by dass and daṅs, grah by gaṇhadi against the later geṇhadi, which, however, is found in Açvaghoṣa. The older forms karia and gacchia or gamia, are found in lieu of kadua and gadua, but the last occurs once. mā is used with the gerund in the sense of alam.

Many of these peculiarities mark also the Māgadhī, which appears in two slightly varied forms, the first in the Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa and the Cārudatta, the second in the Bālacarita and the Pañcarātra; in the two latter we have ṣ and o for the ç and e of the former. As in Açvaghoṣa there is no trace of obedience to the rules of the grammarians which require sṭ for Sanskrit ṣṭh or ṣṭ, çc for cch, sk or ẖk for kṣ. For ‘I’ we find ahake, which is an intermediate stage between Açvaghoṣa’s ahakaṁ and the later hage. ny becomes ṇṇ, not ññ, and the use of y to denote a dropped consonant is not carried out.

The only passages that can claim to be anything like Ardha-Māgadhī are the remarks of Indra in disguise in the Karṇabhāra, where the characteristic signs, the use of r, s, and e, are found; in the speeches of Muṣṭika and Cāṇūra in the Bālacarita we have the use of l and a locative in ammi. A single passage in the Pañcarātra suggests Māgadhī Apabhraṅça, but is probably corrupt.

7. THE METRES OF THE DRAMAS

It is characteristic of Bhāsa’s close dependence on the epic that his dramas should show a far more frequent use of the Çloka, 436 out of 1,092 verses. No later writer save Bhavabhūti in his Rāma dramas approaches this frequency, which, it must be noted, is not confined to the epic plays, for the Svapnavāsavadattā has 26 Çlokas out of 57 verses. In some plays, it is true, such as the Madhyamavyāyoga or the Pañcarātra, long series of Çlokas suggest incomplete command of the dramatic art on Bhāsa’s part, but his general preference is clearly an outcome of his desire for rapid movement and simplicity; it is the later love for elaborate descriptions that encourages the use of sonorous and complex metres. The Çlokas are remarkably regular in construction; the diiambus in the second Pāda is insisted on rigidly; the Vipulās [239] are rare, the fourth is unknown, the second sporadic, the first twice as frequent as the third, and the prior foot is rarely [240] ⏓ - ⏑ -. The sparing use of the irregular forms is doubtless due to the comparatively small number of Çlokas used consecutively, which minimises the desire for change of form.

Of the more elaborate metres, in which each syllable has a fixed length, the favourite is the Vasantatilaka, which occurs 179 times, while the Upajāti occurs 121 times. Next comes the Çārdūlavikrīḍita (92), Mālinī (72), Puṣpitāgrā with the scheme ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ - ⏑ - ⏑ - - | ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ ⏑ - ⏑ ⏑ - ⏑ - ⏑ - - (66), Vaṅçasthā (35), Çālinī (2), Çikhariṇī (19), and Praharṣiṇī (17). Other metres are purely sporadic; they include the Sragdharā, Hariṇī, Vaiçvadevī, [241] Drutavilambita, [242] Pṛthvī, [243] and Bhujan̄gaprāyata, [244] while the Suvadanā occurs four times. There is one example of the Upagīti with 12 morae in the first and third Pādas, and 15 in the second and fourth, and one of the Vaitālīya with 14 and 16 in the two sets respectively. There is also one example of the shortest form of Daṇḍaka metre, with six short syllables followed by seven amphimacers, while there is also one shorter metre with six amphimacers. The rarity of the Āryā is remarkable; beside the one Upagīti, which is in Prākrit, there are only eleven, of which five are in Prākrit. Contrast the frequency of the Āryā in Kālidāsa where there are 31 out of 163 in the Vikramorvaçī, and 35 out of 96 in the Mālavikāgnimitra.

Generally the rules of classical prosody are faithfully observed; there is one hiatus between Pādas and once Sandhi; in niyatī and maulī, as in anūkarṣa, the lengthening is probably metrical. The Çlokas show a great fondness for epic tags, such as acireṇaiva kālena, prasādaṁ kartum arhasi, and kampayann iva medinīm. Especially frequent is the breaking up of a verse between different speakers or by interruptions of one kind or another.

8. BHĀSA AND KĀLIDĀSA

There is prima facie the probability that Kālidāsa should be strongly affected by a predecessor so illustrious and of such varied achievement, and the probability is turned into certainty by the numerous coincidences between the two writers. [245] Inevitably, of course, with such a genius as Kālidāsa’s, the matter which is borrowed is transformed and normally improved in the change, and this fact renders strict proof of indebtedness impossible. But the evidence is sufficient to induce conviction to any one accustomed to weighing literary evidence of borrowing.

In Act I of the Çakuntalā the king is struck with the elegance of the simple bark dress worn by the heroine in keeping with her station as a maiden of the hermitage; kim iva hi madhurāṇām maṇḍanaṁ nākṛtīnām, ‘For what does not grace a lovely figure?’ he asks, and illustrates his theme. [246] The germ of this pretty idea is found in the Pratimānāṭaka, Act I, where Sītā playfully decks herself in a dress of bark, evoking the judgement of her friend: savvasohaṇīaṁ surūvaṁ ṇāma. [247] The converse relationship is here incredible; Bhāsa’s imitation of Kālidāsa would be feeble and tasteless, while Kālidāsa’s improvement on his original is apt and skilful. The fact of borrowing is established by the episode in the same act of the Çakuntalā of the treatment of watering the garden as an act of penance on the maiden’s part; an idea which occurs in a closely parallel passage in Act V of the Pratimānāṭaka. Bhāsa treats it as bearable, illustrating it by the adduction of an example in the technical form of an Arthāntaranyāsa, [248] while Kālidāsa [249] is more severe in his condemnation, using the technical figure Nidarçanā, clearly a deliberate variation of the idea. In the same Act of the Pratimānāṭaka [250] we find Rāma bidding Sītā take farewell of the fawns and the trees, which are her foster-children, and of her dear friends, the Vindhya mountain and the creepers; in the departure of Çakuntalā from the hermitage [251] the trees and the fawns as well as the creepers share in the grief of her departure; of the deer is expressly used the term ‘foster-child’ found in the Pratimānāṭaka. Again in Act VII of that play Sītā is reminded of the distrust felt by the deer in Bharata, [252] just as Çakuntalā describes their distrust of Duḥṣanta. [253] There is a parallel in the Svapnavāsavadattā, Act I, where Vāsavadattā is received kindly by the lady of the hermitage, and thanks her for her courteous words, to the scene at the opening of the Çakuntalā, in which the king assures Anasūyā that her speech of welcome is sufficient hospitality (bhavatīnāṁ sūnṛtayaiva girā kṛtam ātithyam). The parallel is completed by the instruction given by the chamberlain in Bhāsa’s play to the servant to avoid disturbance to the hermitage with the commands of the king to the commander-in-chief. Similar also is the scene in Act II of the Svapnavāsavadattā, in which during the play of Padmāvatī and Vāsavadattā in disguise reference is made to the former’s approaching marriage, to the talk of Çakuntalā’s friends with her in Act I. We have also in the sixth Act of either play a parallel treatment of the lute lost by Udayana in the one case, [254] and the ring lost by Çakuntalā in the other; [255] the verses in which these innocent objects of censure are attacked are similar in spirit and taste.

Other traces of Bhāsa’s influence are also to be found. The motif of the curse of Durvāsas which in the Çakuntalā explains the sufferings of the heroine suggests the curse of Caṇḍabhārgava in the Avimāraka which reduces the hero to a humble rank, and in the Çakuntalā the lovers are reunited at the hermitage of the sage Mārīca, as in the Avimāraka they meet at the home of Nārada. There is a vague similarity also as regards many expressions in the two poets, but it would be unwise to lay any special stress on such testimony. But the more specific evidence given above of dependence is undeniable, and it is surprising to find it questioned by Professor Hillebrandt, [256] especially when we have Kālidāsa’s own recognition of Bhāsa’s fame, and Bāṇa’s reiteration of it.

The most valid argument which might be adduced against dependence is the fact that Kālidāsa’s dramas as they stand do not seem to agree with the rule observed in those of Bhāsa regarding the beginning of the drama. In Bhāsa’s works the Sūtradhāra appears on the stage at the close of a Nāndī, the text of which is not given, and recites a verse which obviously is not technically a Nāndī, though it is of the same type, containing a benediction. In the works of Kālidāsa the first verse is the Nāndī, and at the close of it the Sūtradhāra begins the play with a dialogue. But we cannot rely on the manuscripts as giving us the true practice of Kālidāsa’s date, for we know that in the case of the Vikramorvaçī old manuscripts denied to the first verse the character of a Nāndī, and therefore presented the play in the form affected by Bhāsa, and the same style is sometimes followed in South Indian manuscripts of other plays. It is, therefore, impossible to hold that Kālidāsa rejected the practice of Bhāsa, or to base any argument on the facts.

V

THE PRECURSORS OF KĀLIDĀSA AND ÇŪDRAKA

1. THE PRECURSORS OF KĀLIDĀSA

Kālidāsa refers in the prologue to the Mālavikāgnimitra not only to Bhāsa but to Saumilla and Kaviputra—perhaps rather the Kaviputras—as his predecessors in drama. Saumilla, whose name suggests an origin in Mahārāṣṭra, is mentioned by Rājaçekhara along with Bhāsa and a third poet Rāmila. Further, the same authority tells us that Rāmila and Somila composed a Çūdrakakathā, which is compared to Çiva under the form of Ardhanārīçvara, in which he is united with his spouse, perhaps a hint at the union of heroic and love sentiments in the tale. A fine stanza is attributed to them in the Çārn̄gadharapaddhati: [257]

savyādheḥ kṛçatā kṣatasya rudhiraṁ daṣṭasya lālāsrutiḥ kiṁcin naitad ihāsti tat katham asau pānthas tapasvī mṛtaḥ? ā jñātaṁ madhulampaṭair madhukarair ārabdhakolāhale nūnaṁ sāhasikena cūtamukule dṛṣṭiḥ samāropitā.

‘Had he been ill he would have been emaciated; wounded, he would have bled; bitten, have shown the venom; no sign of these is here; how then has the unhappy traveller met his death? Ah! I see. When the bees began to hum as they sought greedily for honey, the rash one let his glance fall on the mango bud’. Spring is the time for lovers’ meetings; the traveller, far from his beloved, lets himself think of her and dies of despair.

The Kaviputras, a pair according to the verse cited from them in the Subhāṣitāvali [258], were apparently also collaborators, a decidedly curious parallel with Somila and Rāmila, as such collaboration seems later rare. The stanza is pretty:

bhrūcāturyaṁ kuñcitāntāḥ kaṭākṣāḥ: snigdhā hāvā lajjitāntāç ca hāsāḥ līlāmandaṁ prasthitaṁ ca sthitaṁ ca: strīṇām etad bhūṣaṇam āyudhaṁ ca.

‘The play of the brows, the sidelong glances which contract the corners of the eyes, words of love, bashful laughter, the slow departure in sport, and the staying of the steps: these are the ornaments and the weapons of women.’

Strange that so scanty remnants should remain of poets who must have deserved high praise to receive Kālidāsa’s recognition, but the fame of that poet doubtless inflicted on them the fate that all but overtook Bhāsa himself.

2. THE AUTHORSHIP AND AGE OF THE MṚCCHAKAṬIKĀ

The discovery of the Cārudatta of Bhāsa has cast an unexpected light on the age of the Mṛcchakaṭikā, but has still left it dubious whether or not the author is to be placed before Kālidāsa. That this rank was due to him was the general opinion before Professor Lévi attacked the theory, and it is curious that later he should have inclined to doubt the value of his earlier judgement. The existence of the Cārudatta would explain, of course, the silence of Kālidāsa on the Mṛcchakaṭikā, if it existed in his time. Explicit use of the drama by Kālidāsa or the reverse would be conclusive, but unhappily none of the parallels which can be adduced have any effective force, and from rhetorical quotations we only have the fact that Çūdraka was recognized as an author by Vāmana, [259] for Daṇḍin’s citation of a verse found in the Mṛcchakaṭikā is now clearly known to be a citation from Bhāsa, in whose works the verse in question twice occurs. With this falls the hypothesis of Pischel, [260] who, after ascribing the play to Bhāsa, later fathered it upon Daṇḍin, to make good the number of three famous works with which he is in later tradition credited.

The play itself presents Çūdraka, a king, as its author and gives curious details of his capacities; he was an expert in the Ṛgveda, the Sāmaveda, mathematics, the arts regarding courtesans, and the science of elephants, all facts which could be concluded from the knowledge shown in the play itself; he was cured of some complaint, and after establishing his son in his place, and performing the horse sacrifice, he entered the fire and died at the age of a hundred years and ten days. We have a good deal more information of a sort regarding his personality; he was to Kalhaṇa in the Rājataran̄giṇī [261] a figure to be set beside Vikramāditya; the Skanda Purāṇa [262] makes him out the first of the Andhrabhṛtyas; the Vetālapañcaviṅçati knows of his age as a hundred, and gives as his capital either Vardhamāna or Çobhāvatī, which is the scene of his activities according to the Kathāsaritsāgara, which tells of the sacrifice of a Brahmin who saves him from imminent death and secures his life of a hundred years by killing himself. In the Kādambarī he is located at Vidiçā, and in the Harṣacarita we hear of the device by which he got rid of his enemy Candraketu, prince of Cakora, while Daṇḍin in the Daçakumāracarita refers to his adventures in several lives. The fact that Rāmila and Somila wrote a Kathā on him is significant of his legendary character in their time, considerably before Kālidāsa. A very late tradition in the Vīracarita and the younger Rājaçekhara [263] brings him into connexion with Sātavāhana or Çālivāhana, whose minister he was and from whom he obtained half his kingdom, including Pratiṣṭhāna. [264]

These references seem to suggest that Çūdraka was a merely legendary person, a fact rather supported than otherwise by his quaint name, which is absurd in a king of normal type. Nevertheless, Professor Konow treats him as historical, and finds in him the Ābhīra prince Çivadatta, who, or whose son, Īçvarasena, is held by Dr. Fleet to have overthrown the last of the Andhra dynasty and to have founded the Cedi era of A.D. 248–9. [265] This remarkable result is held to be supported by the fact that in the play the king of Ujjayinī is Pālaka, and is represented as being overthrown by Āryaka, son of a herdsman (gopāla), and the Ābhīras are essentially herdsmen. But this is much more than dubious; we have in fact legendary history in the names of Pālaka, Gopāla—to be taken probably in the Mṛcchakaṭikā as a proper name—and Āryaka. The proof is indeed overwhelming, for Bhāsa, who is the source of so much of the Mṛcchakaṭikā, mentions in his Pratijñāyaugandharāyaṇa as sons of Pradyota of Ujjayinī both Gopāla and Pālaka, and the Bṛhatkathā must have contained the story of Gopāla surrendering the kingdom on Pradyota’s death to Pālaka, and of the latter having to make room for Āryaka, his brother’s son. To make history out of these events, which belong to the period shortly after the Buddha’s death, say 483 B.C., and history of the third century A.D., is really impossible. Çūdraka is really clearly mythical, as is seen by the admission that he entered the fire, for no one can believe that he foresaw his death-day so precisely, or that the ceremony referred to is that performed on becoming an ascetic, or even that the prologue was added after his death; if it had been, it would have doubtless been of a different type. Still less can we imagine that he was helped in his work by Rāmila and Somila.

Windisch, [266] on the other hand, attempted to prove a close similarity between the plot of the political side of the play and the legend of Kṛṣṇa, instancing the prediction of Āryaka’s attaining the throne, the jealousy of the king and his efforts to destroy him, and the final overthrow of the tyrant. The similarity, however, is really remote; the story is a commonplace in legend, and nothing can be made of the comparison.

We are left, therefore, to accept the view that the author who wrote up the Cārudatta, and combined with it a new play, thought it well to conceal his identity and to pass off the work under the appellation of a famous king. Lévi’s suggestion that he chose Çūdraka for this purpose because he lived after Vikramāditya, patron of Kālidāsa, and wished to give his work the appearance of antiquity by associating it with a prince who preceded Vikramāditya, is clearly far-fetched, and insufficient to suggest a date. Nor can anything be deduced from the plentiful exhibition of Prākrits, which is not, to judge from Bhāsa, a sign of very early date; while the use of Māhārāṣṭrī Prākrit would be, if proved, conclusive that he is fairly late. Konow’s effort to support Çūdraka’s connexion with Pratiṣṭhāna by this use is clearly untenable.

There is more plausibility in the argument from the simple form of the construction of the drama; the manner of Bhāsa is closely followed; thus in Act IX the absurd celerity with which the officer of the court obeys the order to bring the mother of Vasantasenā on the scene, and secures the presence of Cārudatta, is precisely on a par with Bhāsa’s management of the plot in his dramas. The scenes of violence, in which Vasantasenā is apparently killed and Cārudatta is led to death, are reminiscent of Bhāsa’s willingness to present such scenes, but they do not depart from the practice of the later drama as in Bhavabhūti’s Mālatīmādhava. The Çakāra and Viṭa are indeed figures of the early stage, but they are taken straight from Bhāsa and prove nothing. The position of the Buddhist monk is more interesting, but here again it is borrowed, though developed, and we find Buddhism respected in Kālidāsa and Harṣa. The arguments based on the apparent similarity with the Greek New Comedy are without value for an early date, for they apply, if they have any value at all, to the Cārudatta of Bhāsa. We are left, therefore, with no more than impressions, and these are quite insufficient to assign any date to the clever hand which recast the Cārudatta and made one of the great plays of the Indian drama. [267]

3. THE MṚCCHAKAṬIKĀ

The first four acts of the play are a reproduction with slight changes of the Cārudatta of Bhāsa; [268] the very prologue shows the fact in the inexplicable transformation in the speech of the director, who opens in Sanskrit and then changes to Prākrit, while in the Cārudatta he speaks Prākrit only as fits the part of the Vidūṣaka which he is to play. The names are slightly changed; the king’s brother-in-law is called Saṁsthānaka, and the thief Çarvilaka. Act I carries the action up to the deposit of the gems by Vasantasenā; Act II relates the generosity of the hetaera to the shampooer who turns monk, and the attack made on him as he leaves her house by a mad elephant, from which Karṇapūraka, a servant of Vasantasenā’s, saves him, receiving as reward a cloak which Vasantasenā recognizes as Cārudatta’s. In Act III we learn of Çarvilaka’s success in stealing the jewels, and the generous resolve of the wife of Cārudatta to give her necklace to replace them. In Act IV Çarvilaka gives the jewels to Vasantasenā, who, though aware of the theft, sets his love free. As he leaves with her, he hears of the imprisonment of his friend Āryaka by order of the king, who knows the prophecy of his attaining the kingship, and leaving his newly-made bride, he hastens to aid his friend who is reported to have escaped from his captivity. The Vidūṣaka then comes with the necklace, which the hetaera accepts in order to use it as a pretext to see Cārudatta once more. The visit occupies Act V, which passes in a storm forcing Vasantasenā to spend the night in Cārudatta’s house. Act VI reveals her next morning offering to return to Cārudatta’s wife the necklace, but her gift is refused. The child of Cārudatta appears, complaining that he has only a little earth cart (mṛcchakaṭikā), whence the name of the play; Vasantasenā gives him her jewels that he may buy one of gold. She is to rejoin Cārudatta in a neighbouring park, the property of Saṁsthānaka, but by error she enters the car of Saṁsthānaka, while Āryaka, who has been seeking a hiding-place, leaps into that of Cārudatta and is driven away; two policemen stop the cart, and one recognizes Āryaka, but protects him from the other with whom he contrives a quarrel. In Act VII Cārudatta, who is conversing with the Vidūṣaka, sees his cart drive up, discovers Āryaka, and permits him to go off in it, while he himself leaves to find Vasantasenā. In the next act Saṁsthānaka, with the Viṭa and a slave, meets in the park the shampooer turned monk, who has gone there to wash his robe in the tank; he insults him and beats him. The cart with Vasantasenā then is driven up, and the angry Saṁsthānaka first tries to win her by fair words; then, repulsed, orders the Viṭa and the slave to slay her; they indignantly refuse; he pretends to grow calm, dismisses them, and then rains blows on Vasantasenā, who falls apparently dead; the Viṭa, who sees his action, deserts at once his cause and passes over to Āryaka’s side. Saṁsthānaka, after burying the body under some leaves, departs, promising himself to put the slave in chains; the monk re-enters to dry his robe, finds and restores to life Vasantasenā, and takes her to the monastery to be cared for. In Act IX Saṁsthānaka denounces Cārudatta as the murderer of Vasantasenā to the court; [269] her mother is summoned as a witness, but defends Cārudatta, who himself is cited; the police officer testifies to the escape of Āryaka, which implicates Cārudatta; the Vidūṣaka who enters the court, while en route to return to Vasantasenā the jewels she had given the child, is so indignant with the accuser that he lets fall the jewels; this fact, taken together with the evidence that Vasantasenā spent the night with Cārudatta and left next morning to meet him, and the signs of struggle in the park, deceives the judge, who condemns Cārudatta to exile; Pālaka converts the sentence into one of death. Act X reveals the hero led to death by two Caṇḍālas, who regret the duty they have to perform; the servant of Saṁsthānaka escapes and reveals the truth, but Saṁsthānaka makes light of his words as a disgraced and spiteful slave, and the headsmen decide to proceed with their work. Vasantasenā and the monk enter just in time to prevent Cārudatta’s death, and, while the lovers rejoice at their reunion, the news is brought that Āryaka has succeeded Pālaka whom he has slain, and that he has granted a principality to Cārudatta. The crowd shout for Saṁsthānaka’s death, but Cārudatta pardons him, while the monk is rewarded by being appointed superior over the Buddhist monasteries of the realm, and, best of all, Vasantasenā is made free of her profession, and thus can become Cārudatta’s lawful wife.

To the author we may ascribe the originality of combining the political and the love intrigue, which give together a special value to the play. We know of no precise parallel to this combination of motifs, though in the Bṛhatkathā there was probably a story recorded later [270] of the hetaera Kumudikā who fell in love with a poor Brahmin, imprisoned by the king; she allied herself to the fortunes of a dethroned prince Vikramasiṅha, aided him by her arts to secure the throne, and was permitted by the grateful prince to marry her beloved, now released from prison. The idea was doubtless current in some form or another, just as for the incidents of Bhāsa’s story we can trace parallels in the Kathā literature of hetaerae who love honest and poor men and desire to abandon for their sakes their hereditary and obligatory calling, which the law will compel them to follow. [271] The conception of the science of theft is neatly paralleled in the Daçakumāracarita, where a text-book of the subject is ascribed to Karṇīsuta, and the same work contains interesting accounts of gambling which illustrate Act II. The Kathāsaritsāgara [272] tells of a ruined gambler, who takes refuge in an empty shrine, and describes in Sarga xxxviii the palace of the hetaera Madanamālā in terms which may be compared with the description by the Vidūṣaka in Act IV of the splendours of Vasantasenā’s palace. [273] The court scene conforms duly to the requirements of the legal Smṛtis of the sixth and seventh centuries A.D., but the conservatism of the law renders this no sign of date.

Though composite in origin and in no sense a transcript from life, the merits of the Mṛcchakaṭikā are great and most amply justify what else would have been an inexcusable plagiarism. The hints given in the Cārudatta here appear in full and harmonious development aided and heightened by the introduction of the intrigue, which combines the private affairs of the hero with the fate of the city and kingdom. Cārudatta’s character is attractive in the extreme; considerate to his friend the Vidūṣaka, honouring and respecting his wife, deeply devoted to his little son, Rohasena, he loves Vasantasenā with an affection free from all mere passion; he has realized her nobility of character, her generosity, and the depth and truth of her love. Yet his devotion is only a part of his life; aware of the vanity of all human things, he does not value life over-highly; his condemnation affects him most because it strikes at his honour that he should have murdered a woman, and he leaves thus to his child a heritage of shame. Not less attractive is Vasantasenā, bound, despite herself, to a profession which has brought her great wealth but which offends her heart; the judge and all the others believe her merely carried away by sensual passion; Cārudatta and his wife alone recognize her nobility of soul, and realize how much it means for her to be made eligible for marriage to her beloved. There is an admirable contrast with the hero in the Çakāra Saṁsthānaka, who is described vividly and realistically. His position as brother-in-law of the king and his wealth make him believe that he is entitled to whatever he wants; Vasantasenā’s repulse of him outrages his sense of his own importance more than anything else; brutal, ignorant [274] despite his association with courtiers of breeding and refinement, and cowardly, he has only skill in perfidy and deceit, and is mean enough to beg piteously for the life he has forfeited, but which Cārudatta magnanimously spares. The Viṭa is an excellent foil to him in his culture, good taste, and high breeding; despite his dependence on his patron, he checks his violence to Vasantasenā, strives to prevent his effort to murder her, and when he fails in this takes his life into his own hands and passes over to Āryaka’s side. The Vidūṣaka may be fond of food and comfortable living, but he remains faithful in adversity to his master, is prepared to die for him, and consents to live only to care for his son.

The minor characters among the twenty-seven in all who appear have each an individuality rare in Indian drama. Çarvilaka, once a Brahmin, now a professional thief, performs his new functions with all the precision appropriate to the performance of religious rites according to the text-books. The shampooer, turned Buddhist monk, has far too much worldly knowledge to seek any temporal preferment from the favour of Āryaka. Māthura, the master gambler, is a hardened sinner without bowels of compassion, but the two headsmen are sympathetic souls who perform reluctantly their painful duty. The wife of Cārudatta is a noble and gentle lady worthy of her husband, and one who in the best Indian fashion does not grudge him a new love if worthy, while the lively maid Madanikā deserves fully her freedom and marriage with Çarvilaka. Even characters which play so small an actual part as Āryaka are effectively indicated. The good taste of the author is strikingly revealed by the alteration made in the last scene by a certain Nīlakaṇṭha, [275] who holds that the omission to bring upon the stage Cārudatta’s wife, his son, and the Vidūṣaka was due to the risk of making the time occupied by the representation of the play too great. He supplies the lacuna by representing all three as determined to commit suicide when Cārudatta rescues them; the author himself would never have consented to introduce the first wife at the moment when a second is about to be taken.

The author is not merely admirable in characterization; he is master of pathos, as in the parting of Cārudatta from his son who asks the headsman to kill him and let his father go, and above all he abounds in humour and wit; even in the last act Goha, the headman, relieves the tension by the tale of his father who advised him on his death-bed not to slay too quickly the criminal on the off-chance that there might be a revolution or something to save the wretch’s life, and, when after deliverance comes the noble Cārudatta forbids the slaying with steel of the grovelling Saṁsthānaka, Çarvilaka cheerfully remarks that is all right: he will be eaten alive by the dogs instead.

These merits and the wealth of incident of the drama more than compensate for the overluxuriance of the double intrigue, and the lack of unity, which is unquestionable. A demerit in the eyes of the writers on poetics is the absence of elaborate descriptions, but the simple and clear diction of the play adds greatly to its liveliness and dramatic effect, and the poet has perfect command of the power of pithy and forcible expression. The Viṭa effectually rebukes the arrogance and pride of family of Saṁsthānaka:

kiṁ kulenopadiṣṭena çīlam evātra kāraṇam bhavanti sutarāṁ sphītāḥ sukṣetre kaṇṭakidrumāḥ.

‘Why talk of birth? Character alone counts. In rich soil the thorn trees grow fastest.’ Cārudatta on the point of death asserts his fearlessness:

na bhīto marāṇād asmi kevalaṁ dūṣitaṁ yaçaḥ viçuddhasya hi me mṛtyuḥ putrajanmasamo bhavet.

‘I fear not death, but my honour is sullied; were that stain removed, death would be as dear as the birth of a son.’ Admirable is his expression of belief in Vasantasenā who may be dead:

prabhavati yadi dharmo dūṣitasyāpi me ’dya: prabalapuruṣavākyair bhāgyadoṣāt kathaṁcit surapatibhavanasthā yatra tatra sthitā vā: vyapanayatu kalan̄kaṁ svasvabhāvena saiva.

‘If righteousness prevails, though to-day I am undone by the slanderous words of one in power through my unhappy fate, may she, dwelling with the gods above or wherever she be, by her true nature wipe out the blot upon me.’ Sadly he apostrophizes his child deemed to be at play:

hā Rohasena na hi paçyasi me vipattim: mithyaiva nandasi paravyasanena nityam.

‘Ah! Rohasena, since thou dost not know my plight, ever dost thou rejoice in thy play falsely, for sorrow is in store.’

The character of Cārudatta is effectively portrayed by the Vidūṣaka: [276]

dīnānāṁ kalpavṛkṣaḥ svaguṇaphalanataḥ sajjanānāṁ kuṭumbī ādarçaḥ çikṣitānāṁ sucaritanikaṣaḥ çīlavelāsamudraḥ satkartā nāvamantā puruṣaguṇanidhir dakṣiṇodārasattvo hy ekaḥ çlāghyaḥ sa jīvaty adhikaguṇatayā cocchvasanti cānye.

‘A tree of bounty to the poor, bent down by its fruits, his virtues; a support for all good men; a mirror of the learned, a touchstone of virtue, an ocean that never violates its boundaries of virtue; righteous, free from pride, a store-house of human merit, the essence of courtesy and nobility; he gives meaning to life by the goodness which we extol; other men merely breathe.’

The evils of poverty are forcibly depicted by Cārudatta himself: [277]

çūnyair gṛhaiḥ khalu samāḥ puruṣāḥ daridrāḥ kūpaiç ca toyarahitais tarubhiç ca çīrṇaiḥ yad dṛṣṭapūrvajanasaṁgamavismṛtānām evam bhavanti viphalāḥ paritoṣakālāḥ.

‘Like empty houses, in truth, are poor men, or wells without water or blasted trees; for fruitless are their hours of relaxation, since their former friends forget them.’ The same idea is again expressed by the hero: [278]

satyaṁ na me vibhavanāçakṛtāsti cintā: bhāgyakrameṇa hi dhanāni bhavanti yānti etat tu māṁ dahati naṣṭadhanāçrayasya: yat sauhṛdād api janāḥ çithilībhavanti.

‘My dejection, assuredly, is not born of the mere loss of my wealth, for with the turn of fortune’s wheel riches come and go. Nay, what pains me is that men fail in friendship to him whose sometime wealth has taken flight.’ The repetition of the idea becomes, indeed, wearisome, but the ingenuity and fancy of the author are undoubted.

Love is also effectively described. The Viṭa is an admirer of Vasantasenā and thus addresses the fleeting lady: [279]

kiṁ tvaṁ padair mama padāni viçeṣayantī vyālīva yāsi patagendrabhayābhibhūtā? vegād aham praviçṛtaḥ pavanaṁ nirundhyām tvannigrahe tu varagātri na me prayatnaḥ.

‘Why, surpassing my speed with thine own, dost thou flee like a snake, filled with fear of the lord of birds? Were I to use my speed I could outstrip the wind itself, but I would make no effort to seize thee, O fair-limbed one.’ Cārudatta praises the rain: [280]

dhanyāni teṣāṁ khalu jīvitāni: ye kāminīnāṁ gṛham āgatānām ārdrāṇi meghodakaçītalāni: gātrāṇi gātreṣu pariṣvajanti.

‘Happy the life of those whose limbs embrace the limbs of their loved ones, come to their home, dripping wet and cold with the water of the clouds.’

Moreover, while to later Indian critics the descriptive stanzas of the poet are lacking in that elaboration and cleverness which are admitted by developed taste, to us much of the poetic value of the drama depends on the power of the poet to describe with point and feeling in simple terms which require no effort to appreciate. The whole scene of the storm gains by the stanzas in which its beauties are described, once we consent, as we must do in appreciating any Sanskrit play, to ignore the inappropriateness of these lyric effusions in the actual circumstances. In real life a lady seeking eagerly an interview with her beloved, in resplendent attire, would have no time to display her command of Sanskrit poetry in description, when counsels of prudence urged her to her destination with the least possible delay: [281]

mūḍhe nirantarapayodharayā mayaiva: kāntaḥ sahābhiramate kiṁ tavātra? māṁ garjitair iti muhur vinivārayantī: mārgaṁ ruṇaddhi kupiteva niçā sapatnī.

‘“If, foolish one, my beloved has joy clasped in my bosom’s embrace, what is that to thee?” Thus night with her thunders, seeking to stay me, blocks my path, like an angry rival.’

meghā varṣantu garjantu muñcantv açanim eva vā gaṇayanti na çītoṣṇaṁ ramaṇābhimukhāḥ striyaḥ.

‘Let the clouds rain, thunder, or cast down the levin bolt; women who speed to their loved ones reckon nothing of heat or cold.’ [282]

gatā nāçaṁ tārā upakṛtam asādhāv iva jane viyuktāḥ kāntena striya iva na rājanti kakubhaḥ prakāmāntastaptaṁ tridaçapatiçastrasya çikhinā dravībhūtam manye patati jalarūpeṇa gaganam.

‘The stars disappear, like a favour bestowed on a worthless man; the quarters lose their radiance, like women severed from their beloved; molten by the fierce fire of Indra’s bolt, the sky, I ween, is poured down upon us in rain.’ [283]

unnamati namati varṣati garjati meghaḥ karoti timiraugham prathamaçrīr iva puruṣaḥ karoti rūpāṇy anekāni.

‘The cloud rises aloft, bows down, pours rain, sends thunder and the dark; every show it makes of its wealth like the man newly rich.’ [284]

Last we may cite the rebuke of Vasantasenā to the lightning:

yadi garjati vāridharo garjatu tannāma niṣṭhurāḥ puruṣāḥ ayi vidyut pramadānāṃ tvam api ca duḥkhaṁ na jānāsi?

‘If the cloud must thunder, then let him thunder; cruel were men ever; but, O lightning, can it be that thou too dost not know the pangs of a maiden’s love?’ [285]

The merits of the play are sufficient to enable its author to dispense with praise not deserved. For Çūdraka, regarded as the author, has been credited [286] with the distinction of being a cosmopolitan; however great the difference between Kālidāsa, ‘the grace of poetry’ [287] and Bhavabhūti, ‘the master of eloquence,’ [288] these two authors, it is said, are far more allied in spirit than is either of them with the author of the Mṛcchakaṭikā; the Çakuntalā and the Uttararāmacarita could have been produced nowhere save in India, Çakuntalā is a Hindu maid, Mādhava a Hindu hero, while Saṁsthānaka, Maitreya, and Madanikā are citizens of the world. This claim, however, can hardly be admitted; the Mṛcchakaṭikā as a whole is a drama redolent of Indian thought and life, and none of the three characters adduced have any special claim to be more cosmopolitan than some of the creations of Kālidāsa. The variety of the characters of the play is unquestionably laudable, but the praise in part is due to Bhāsa, and not to his successor. To the same source also must be attributed the comparative simplicity of the style, which certainly contrasts with the degree of elaboration found even in Kālidāsa, and carried much further in Bhavabhūti. The variety of incident is foreshadowed in Bhāsa, but the development of the drama must be attributed to the author, and frankly it cannot be said to be wholly artistic; that the drama is unnecessarily complex must be conceded, nor can the action be said to proceed with complete ease and conviction. The humour of the play is undoubted, but here again to Bhāsa must honour be given. Bhāsa again is the prototype for the neglect of the rule of the dramaturgy which demands the presence of the hero on the stage in each act; the naming of the play, in defiance of convention, from a minor incident may justly be ascribed to the author himself.

The real Indian character of the drama reveals itself in the demand for the conventional happy ending, which shows us every person in a condition of happiness, with the solitary exception of the evil king. Cārudatta is restored to affluence and power from the depths of infamy and misery; Vasantasenā’s virtue and fidelity are rewarded by the signal honour of restoration to the rank of one whom the hero may marry; the monk, who refuses worldly gain, has the pleasure of becoming charged with spiritual oversight, with its attendant amenities—not inconsiderable to judge from our knowledge of the wealth of Buddhist monasteries. Even Saṁsthānaka is spared, to save us, we may assume, the pain of seeing anything so unpleasant as a real, even if well deserved, death on the stage, for the king perishes at a distance from the scene. If, as Cārudatta asserts at the end of the play, fate plays with men like buckets at the well, one rising as another falls, Çūdraka is not inclined to seek realism sufficiently to permit of his introducing even a tinge of sorrow into the close of his drama.

4. THE PRĀKRITS

No extant play exhibits anything like the variety of Prākrits found in the Mṛcchakaṭikā, which seems almost as if intended to illustrate the precepts of the Nāṭyaçāstra in this regard. [289] The commentator obligingly provides us with the names of the dialects represented and those who speak them. Çaurasenī is spoken by the director after his Sanskrit exordium, the comedienne, Vasantasenā, Madanikā, her servant, Karṇapūraka, her slave, her mother, the wife of Cārudatta, the Çreṣṭhin or guildsman, and the officer of the court, and Radanikā, Cārudatta’s servant. Avantikā is attributed to the two policemen Vīraka and Candanaka. The Vidūṣaka speaks Prācyā. The shampooer who turns monk, Sthāvaraka, servant of the Çakāra Saṁsthānaka, Kumbhīlaka, servant of Vasantasenā, Vardhamānaka, servant of Cārudatta, and the little Rohasena speak Māgadhī. The Çakāra speaks Çākārī, the Caṇḍālas who act as headsmen Cāṇḍālī, and the chief gambler Ḍhakkī. Sanskrit, on the other hand, is spoken by the hero, the Viṭa, the royal claimant Āryaka, and the Brahmin thief Çarvilaka. This distribution of Prākrits agrees with that of the Nāṭyaçāstra as we have it in one important aspect; it ignores the Māhārāṣṭrī, though for some not obvious reason Konow claims that this was introduced into the drama by Çūdraka. On the other hand, it does not assign to slaves, Rājputs, or guildsmen the Ardha-Māgadhī of the Nāṭyaçāstra. In the case of Rohasena the Māgadhī ascribed to him has been largely converted into Çaurasenī in the manuscripts. The Çāstra ascribes Āvantī to Dhūrtas, which is interpreted as meaning gamblers; the distinction between it and Çaurasenī is minimal; it is said to have s and r and be rich in proverbs by Pṛthvīdhara, and this accords adequately with the actual speeches of the officers. But the second, Candanaka, expressly gives himself out as a southerner, and we can hardly avoid the conclusion that the dialect is Dākṣiṇātyā which the Çāstra ascribes to warriors, police officers, and gamblers. The Prācyā of the Vidūṣaka is nothing more or less than Çaurasenī, though it is given separately in the Çāstra also; it may have been an eastern dialect of the main language. The Ḍhakkī ascribed to the gamblers should probably [290] be named Ṭakkī, or Ṭākkī, an easy error because of the confusion of the letters in manuscripts. Pischel regarded it as an eastern dialect which had l, and preserved two sibilants ç and s in which ṣ was merged; Sir G. Grierson finds in it a western dialect, which seems more probable. The Çākārī of Saṁsthānaka is nothing more or less than Māgadhī, which is given as the language of that person by the Nāṭyaçāstra, and the Cāṇḍālī is merely another variety of that Prākrit. Thus the rich variety reduces itself in effect to Çaurasenī [291] and Māgadhī with Ṭakkī, of which we have too little to say precisely what it was.

5. THE METRES

The author of the Mṛcchakaṭikā shows considerable skill in metrical handling; his favourite metre is naturally enough the Çloka, which suits his rapid style and is adapted to further the progress of the dialogue. It occurs 83 times, while the next favourite, the pretty Vasantatilaka, appears 39 times, and the Çārdūlavikrīḍita 32 times. The only other important metres are the Indravajrā (26), with the Vaṅçasthā (9), and the Upajāti combination of both (5). But there occur also the Puṣpitāgrā, Praharṣiṇī, Mālinī, Vidyunmālā, [292] Vaiçvadevī, Çikhariṇī, Sragdharā, and Hariṇī, and one irregular stanza. Of the Āryā there are 21 cases, including one Gīti, with 30 morae in each half stanza, and there are two instances of the Aupacchandasika. The Prākrit metres show considerable variety; of the Āryā type there are 53 as against 44 of other types. [293]

VI

KĀLIDĀSA

1. THE DATE OF KĀLIDĀSA

It is unfortunate, though as in the case of Shakespeare not surprising, that we know practically nothing of the life and age of Kālidāsa save what we can infer from his works and from the general history of Sanskrit literature. There are indeed stories [294] of his ignorance in youth, until he was given poetic power by the grace of Kālī, whence his strange style of Kālidāsa, slave of Kālī, which is not one prima facie to be expected in the case of a poet who shows throughout his work the finest flower of Brahmanical culture. But these tales are late and worthless, and equally without value is the fiction that he was a contemporary of King Bhoja of Dhārā in the first half of the eleventh century A.D. As little value, however, attaches to a tale which has been deemed of greater value, the alleged death of Kālidāsa in Ceylon when on a visit there by the hand of a courtesan, and the discovery of his murder by his friend Kumāradāsa, identified with the king of that name of the early part of the sixth century A.D. The tradition, as I showed in 1901, is very late, unsupported by the earliest evidence, and totally without value. [295]

The most prevalent tradition makes Kālidāsa a contemporary of Vikramāditya, and treats him as one of the nine jewels of that monarch’s entourage. Doubtless the king meant by the tradition, which is late and of uncertain provenance, is the Vikramāditya whose name is associated with the era of 57 B.C. and who is credited with a victory over the Çakas. Whatever truth there may be in the legend, and in this regard we have nothing but conjecture, [296] there is not the slightest reason to accept so early a date for Kālidāsa, and it has now no serious supporter outside India. But, based on Fergusson’s suggestion [297] that the era of 57 B.C. was based on a real victory over Hūṇas in A.D. 544, the reckoning being antedated 600 years, Max Müller [298] adopted the view that Kālidāsa flourished about that period, a suggestion which was supported by the fact that Varāhamihira, also a jewel, certainly belongs to that century, and others of the jewels might without great difficulty be assigned to the same period. The theory in so far as it rested on Fergusson’s hypothesis has been definitely demolished by conclusive proof of the existence of the era, as that of the Mālavas, before A.D. 544, but the date has been supported on other grounds. Thus Dr. Hoernle [299] found it most probable that the victor who was meant by Vikramāditya in tradition was the king Yaçodharman, conqueror of the Hūṇas, and the same view was at one time supported by Professor Pathak, [300] who laid stress on the fact that Kālidāsa in his account of the Digvijaya, or tour of conquest of the earth, of the ancient prince Raghu in the Raghuvaṅça [301] refers to the Hūṇas, and apparently locates them in Kashmir, because he mentions the saffron which grows only in Kashmir.

An earlier date, to bring Kālidāsa under the Guptas, has been favoured by other authorities, who have found that the reference to a conquest of the Hūṇas must be held to be allusion to a contemporary event. This date is attained on second thoughts by Professor Pathak, [302] who places the Hūṇas on the Oxus on this view, and holds that Kālidāsa wrote his poem shortly after A.D. 450, the date of the first establishment of their empire in the Oxus valley, but before their first defeat by Skandagupta, which took place before A.D. 455, when they were still in the Oxus valley and were considered the most invincible warriors of the age. On the other hand, Monmohan Chakravarti, [303] who converted Professor Pathak to belief in the contemporaneity of Kālidāsa with the Guptas, places the date at between A.D. 480 and 490, on the theory that the Hūṇas were in Kālidāsa’s time in Kashmir. The whole argument, however, appears fallacious; Raghu is represented as conquering the Persians, and there is no contemporary ground for this allegation; manifestly we have no serious historical reminiscences, but, as is natural in a Brahmanical poet, a reference of the type of the epic which knows perfectly well the Hūṇas. The exact identity of the Hūṇas of the epic is immaterial; as the name had penetrated to the western world by the second century A.D. if not earlier, there is no conceivable reason for assuming that it could not have reached India long before the fifth or sixth centuries A.D. [304]

Other evidence is scanty. Mallinātha, as is notorious, finds in verse 14 of the Meghadūta a reference to a poet Nicula, a friend of Kālidāsa, and an enemy Dignāga; the latter would be the famous Buddhist logician, and, assuming that his date is the fifth century A.D., we have an argument for placing Kālidāsa in the fifth or sixth century A.D. But the difficulties of this argument are insurmountable. In the first place, it is extremely difficult to accept the alleged reference to Nicula, who is otherwise a mere name, and to Dignāga; why a Buddhist logician should have attacked a poet does not appear, especially as every other record of the conflict is lost. Nor is the double entendre at all in Kālidāsa’s manner; [305] such efforts are little in harmony with Kālidāsa’s age, while later they are precisely what is admitted, and are naturally seen by the commentators where not really intended. It is significant that the allusion is not noted by Vallabhadeva, and that it first occurs in Dakṣināvarta Nātha (c. A.D. 1200) and Mallinātha (fourteenth century), many centuries after the latest date assignable to Kālidāsa. Even, however, if the reference were real, the date of Dignāga can no longer be placed confidently in the fifth century A.D., or with other authorities in the sixth century. On the contrary, there is a good deal of evidence which suggests that A.D. 400 is as late as he can properly be placed. [306]

As little can any conclusion be derived from the allusion in Vāmana to a son of Candragupta in connexion with Vasubandhu, which has led to varied efforts at identification, based largely on the fifth century as the date of Vasubandhu. But it is far more probable that Vasubandhu dates from the early part of the fourth century, and nothing can be derived hence to aid in determining the period of Kālidāsa. [307]

More solid evidence must be sought in the astronomical or astrological data which are found in Kālidāsa. Professor Jacobi has seen in the equalization of the midday with the sixth Kāla in the Vikramorvaçī a proof of Kālidāsa’s having lived in the period immediately subsequent to the introduction from the west of the system of reckoning for ordinary purposes the day by 12 Horās, Kāla being evidently used as Horā. The passage has been interpreted by Huth as referring to a sixteenfold division, and the argument to be derived from it is not established, but Huth, on the other hand, manifestly errs by making Kālidāsa posterior to Āryabhaṭa (A.D. 499) on the score that in the Raghuvaṅça he refers to eclipses as caused by the shadow of the earth, the reference being plainly to the old doctrine of the spots on the moon. It is, however, probable that Kālidāsa in the Vikramorvaçī refers to the figure of the lion in the zodiac, borrowed from the west, and it is certain that he was familiar with the system of judicial astrology, which India owes to the west, for he alludes both in the Raghuvaṅça and the Kumārasambhava to the influence of the planets, and above all uses technical terms like ucca and even jāmitra, borrowed from Greece. A date not probably prior to A.D. 350 is indicated by such passages. [308]

Similar evidence can be derived from Kālidāsa’s Prākrit, which is plainly more advanced than that of Bhāsa, while his Māhārāṣṭrī can be placed with reasonable assurance after that of the earlier Māhārāṣṭrī lyric, which may have flourished in the third and fourth centuries A.D. He is also earlier than the Aihole inscription of A.D. 634, where he is celebrated, than Bāṇa (A.D. 620), and above all than Vatsabhaṭṭi’s Mandasor Praçasti of A.D. 473. It is, therefore, most probable that he flourished under Candragupta II of Ujjayinī, who ruled up to about A.D. 413 with the style of Vikramāditya, which is perhaps alluded to in the name Vikramorvaçī, while the Kumārasambhava’s title may well hint a compliment on the birth of young Kumāragupta, his son and successor. [309] The Mālavikāgnimitra with its marked insistence on the horse sacrifice of the drama seems to suggest a period in Kālidāsa’s early activity when the memory of the first horse sacrifice for long performed by an Indian king, that of Samudragupta, was fresh in men’s minds. Moreover the poems of Kālidāsa are essentially those of the Gupta period, when the Brahmanical and Indian tendencies of the dynasty were in full strength and the menace of foreign attack was for the time evanescent.

2. THE THREE DRAMAS OF KĀLIDĀSA

The Mālavikāgnimitra [310] is unquestionably the first dramatic work [311] of Kālidāsa; he seeks in the prologue to excuse his presumption of presenting a new play when tried favourites such as Bhāsa, Saumilla, and the Kaviputras exist, and in the Vikramorvaçī also he shows some diffidence, which has disappeared in the Çakuntalā. The great merits of the poet are far less clearly exhibited here than in his other plays, but the identity of authorship is unquestionable, and was long ago proved by Weber against the doubts of Wilson.

The play, performed at a spring festival, probably at Ujjayinī, is a Nāṭaka in five Acts, and depicts a love drama of the type seen already in Bhāsa’s plays on the theme of Udayana. The heroine Mālavikā is a Vidarbha princess, who is destined as the bride of Agnimitra; her brother, Mādhavasena, however, is captured by his cousin Yajñasena; she escapes and seeks Agnimitra, but en route to his capital in Vidiçā her escort is attacked by foresters, perhaps by order of the rival Vidarbha prince; she escapes again, however, and reaches Vidiçā, where she finds refuge in the home of the queen Dhāriṇī, who has her trained in the art of dancing. The king happens to see a picture in which she is depicted, and falls in love with her. To arrange an interview is not easy, but Gautama, his Vidūṣaka, provokes a quarrel between two masters of the dance, who have recourse to the king to decide the issue of superiority. He in turn refers the matter to the nun Kauçikī, who is in reality a partisan of Mālavikā, who had been in her charge and that of her brother, who was killed when the escort was dispersed. She bids the masters produce each his best pupil; Gaṇadāsa brings out Mālavikā, whose singing and dancing delight all, while her beauty ravishes the king more than ever. She is victorious. In Act III the scene changes to the park, whither comes Mālavikā at the bidding of Dhāriṇī to make the Açoka blossom, according to the ancient belief, by the touch of her foot. The king hidden with the Vidūṣaka behind a thicket watches her, but so also does Irāvatī, the younger of Agnimitra’s queens, who is suspicious and jealous of any rival in the king’s love. The king overhears Mālavikā’s conversation with her friend, and realizes that his love is shared; he comes forth and embraces her, but Irāvatī springs out of her hiding-place and insults the king. Dhāriṇī has Mālavikā confined to prevent any further development of the intrigue. The Vidūṣaka, however, proves equal to the occasion with the aid of Kauçikī; he declares himself bitten by a snake; the only remedy proves to require the use of a stone in the queen’s ring, which is accorded for that purpose, but employed for the more useful end of securing the release of Mālavikā, and the meeting of the lovers, which Irāvatī, who has excellent grounds for her vigilance, again disturbs. The king’s embarrassment is fortunately mitigated by the necessity of his going to the rescue of the little princess Vasulakṣmī, whom a monkey has frightened. Act V cuts the knot by the advent of two unexpected pieces of news; envoys come bearing the report of victory over the prince of Vidarbha and conveying captives; two young girls introduced before the queen as singers recognize both Kauçikī and their princess Mālavikā among the queen’s attendants, and Kauçikī explains her silence on the princess’s identity by obedience to a prophecy. Further, Puṣyamitra, Agnimitra’s father, sends tidings of victory from the north; the son of Dhāriṇī, Vasumitra, has defeated the Yavanas on the bank of the Indus, while guarding the sacrificial horse, which by ancient law is let loose to roam for a year unfettered before a king can perform rightfully the horse sacrifice, which marks him as emperor. Dhāriṇī already owes Mālavikā a guerdon for her service in causing the Açoka plant to blossom; delighted by the news of her son’s success, she gladly gives Agnimitra authority to marry Mālavikā, Irāvatī begs her pardon, and all ends in happiness.

Puṣyamitra, Agnimitra, and Vasumitra are clearly taken from the dynasty of the Çun̄gas, formed by the first through the deposition of the last Maurya in 178 B.C. [312] Contact with Yavanas in his time is recorded and the horse sacrifice is doubtless traditional, but equally it may reflect the sacrifice of Samudragupta, the most striking event of the early Gupta history, since it asserted the imperial sway of the family. The rest of the play is based on the normal model.

The Vikramorvaçī, [313] by many reckoned as the last work [314] in drama of Kālidāsa, seems rather to fall in the interval between the youthful Mālavikāgnimitra and the mature perfection of the Çakuntalā. The theme is that of the love of Purūravas, a king, and Urvaçī, an Apsaras, or heavenly nymph. The prologue, which has been unjustly suspected of being proof of the incompleteness and therefore later date of the drama, is followed by screams of the nymphs from whom Urvaçī on her return from Kailāsa has been torn away by a demon; the king hastens to her aid, recovers her, and restores her first to her friends, and then to the Gandharva king, but not before both have fallen desperately in love. In the entr’acte a servant of the queen extracts cleverly from the Vidūṣaka the secret of the change which has come over the king, his love for Urvaçī. The king himself then appears; in conversation with the Vidūṣaka he declares his love, to meet with scant sympathy; Urvaçī and a friend appear in the air, and Urvaçī drops a letter written on birch bark breathing her love; the king reads it and gives it to the Vidūṣaka; Urvaçī’s friend appears, and finally Urvaçī herself, but after a brief exchange of love passages Urvaçī is recalled to play a part in heaven in a drama produced by Bharata. The message, unluckily, falls into the queen’s hands, and she refuses to be appeased by Purūravas’s attempts to soothe her. In the entr’acte before Act II we learn from a conversation between two pupils of Bharata that Urvaçī was so deeply in love that she played badly her part in the piece on Lakṣmī’s wedding; asked whom she loved, she answered Purūravas instead of Puruṣottama, Viṣṇu’s name, and Bharata cursed her; but Indra intervened and gave her leave to dwell on earth with her love until he had seen the face of her child. The Act that follows shows the king, anxious to please the queen, engaged with her in celebrating the festival of the moon’s union with Rohiṇī; Urvaçī and her friend, in disguise and unseen by the king in a fairy mist, watch his courtesy which fills the nymph with anguish, though her friend assures her that it is mere courtesy. To her joy she finds that the queen has decided to be reconciled, and to permit the king the enjoyment of his beloved; pressed to stay with the king, she refuses, and Urvaçī joins Purūravas, her friend leaving her, bidding Purūravas to care for her so that she may not miss her friends in the sky.

The prelude to Act IV tells us of misfortune; the nymphs who mourn by the sea her absence learn that, angry at her husband for some trivial cause, she had entered the grove of Kumāra, forbidden to women, and been turned into a creeper. In distraction [315] the king seeks for her; he deems the cloud a demon which has stolen her away, demands of the peacock, the cuckoo, the flamingo, the bee, the elephant, the boar, the antelope what has become of her; he deems her transformed into the stream, whose waves are the movements of her eyebrows while the rows of birds in its waters are her girdle; he dances, sings, cries, faints in his madness, or deems the echo to be answering him, until a voice from heaven tells him of a magic stone, armed with which he grasps a creeper which in his embrace turns into Urvaçī.

From this lyric height the drama declines in Act V. The king and his beloved are back in his capital; the moon festival is being celebrated, but the magic stone is stolen by a vulture, which, however, falls pierced by the arrow of a youthful archer; the arrow bears the inscription, ‘the arrow of Āyus, son of Urvaçī and Purūravas’. The king had known nothing of the child, but, while he is amazed, a woman comes from a hermitage with a gallant boy, who, educated in the duties of his warrior caste, has by his slaying the bird violated the rule of the hermitage and is now returned to his mother. Urvaçī, summoned, admits her parentage, but, while Purūravas is glad, she weeps to think of their severance, now inevitable, since he has seen his son. But, while Purūravas is ready to abandon the realm to the boy and retire to the forest in grief, Nārada comes with a message of good tidings; a battle is raging between the gods and the demons; Purūravas’s arms will be necessary, and in reward he may have Urvaçī’s society for his life.

The play has come down in two recensions, one preserved in Bengālī and Devanāgarī manuscripts and commented on by Ran̄ganātha in A.D. 1656, and the other in South Indian manuscripts, commented on by Kāṭayavema, minister of the Reḍḍi prince, Kumāragiri of Koṇḍavīḍu about A.D. 1400. The most important among many differences is the fact that in Act IV the northern manuscripts give a series of Apabhraṅça verses, with directions as to the mode of singing and accompanying them, which are ignored in the southern manuscripts. The northern text calls the play a Troṭaka, apparently from the dance which accompanied the verses, the southern a Nāṭaka which it in essentials is. The arguments against the authenticity of the verses are partly the silence of the theorists, the fact that the existence in Kālidāsa’s time of Apabhraṅça of the type found is more than dubious, [316] that there is sometimes a degree of discrepancy between the verses and the prose of the drama, and that in the many imitations of the scene (Mālatīmādhava, Act IX, Bālarāmāyaṇa,