Part 2

The unsettled chronology of Indian literature makes it impossible to work out at present Bana's relations with other Sanskrit writers. Professor Peterson, [21] indeed, makes some interesting conjectures as to his connection with other authors of his own country, and also suggests, from similarity of phrase, that he may have fallen indirectly under the influence of Alexandrian literature. Be that as it may, he has been for many centuries a model of style, and it is therefore worth while to consider briefly the characteristics of his style compared with European standards. The first thing that strikes the reader is that the sense of proportion, the very foundation of style as we know it, is entirely absent. No topic is let go till the author can squeeze no more from it. In descriptions every possible minor detail is given in all its fulness; then follows a series of similes, and then a firework of puns. In speeches, be they lamentations or exhortations, grief is not assuaged, nor advice ended, till the same thing has been uttered with every existing variety of synonym. This defect, though it springs from the author's richness of resource and readiness of wit, makes the task of rendering in English the merit of the Sanskrit style an impossible one. It gives also a false impression; for to us a long description, if good, gives the effect of 'sweetness long drawn out,' and, if bad, brings drowsiness; whereas in Sanskrit the unending compounds suggest the impetuous rush of a torrent, and the similes and puns are like the play of light and shade on its waters. Bana, according to Professor Weber, [22] 'passes for the special representative of the Pañcali style,' [23] which Bhoja, quoted in the commentary of the 'Sahitya-Darpana,' defines as 'a sweet and soft style characterized by force (ojas) and elegance (kanti), containing compounds of five or six words.' But style, which is to poetic charm as the body to the soul, varies with the sense to be expressed, and Bana in many of his speeches is perfectly simple and direct. Owing to the peacefulness of 'Kadambari,' there is little opportunity for observing the rule that in the 'Katha' letters 'ought not to be too rough, even when the flavour is furious.' [24] Of the alliteration of initial consonants, the only long passage is in the description of Çukanasa (p. 50), but in its subtler forms it constantly occurs. Of shorter passages there are several examples--e.g., Candra Candala (infra, p. 127); Candrapida Candalo (Sanskrit text, p. 416); Utkantham sotkantham kanthe jagraha (Ibid., p. 367); Kamam sakamam kuryam (Ibid., p. 350); Candrapida pidanaya (Ibid., p. 370). The ornament of çlesha, or paronomasia, which seems to arise from the untrained philological instinct of mankind seeking the fundamental identity of like sounds with apparently unlike meaning, and which lends dramatic intensity when, as sometimes in Shakespeare, [25] a flash of passionate feeling reveals to the speaker an original sameness of meaning in words seemingly far apart, is by Bana used purely as an adornment. He speaks of pleasant stories interwoven with puns 'as jasmine garlands with campak buds,' and they abound in his descriptions. The rasanopama, [26] or girdle of similes, is exemplified (p. 115), 'As youth to beauty, love to youth, spring to love' so was Kapiñjala to Pundarika. Vishamam (incongruity) is the figure used in 'the brightness of his glory, free from heat, consumed his foes; constant, ever roamed' (p. 48). It can scarcely be separated from virodha (contradiction)--often used, as in 'I will allay on the funeral pyre the fever which the moon, sandal, and all cool things have increased' (p. 195)--or from vicitram [27] (strangeness), where an act is contrary to its apparent purpose: 'There lives not the man whom the virtues of the most courteous lady Kadambari do not discourteously enslave' (p. 159). Arthapatti [28] (a fortiori conclusion) is exemplified in 'Even the senseless trees, robed in bark, seem like fellow-ascetics of this holy man. How much more, then, living beings endowed with sense!' (p. 43). Time and space would alike fail for analysis of Bana's similes according to the rules of the 'Sahitya-Darpana.' [29] The author of the 'Raghavapandaviya' considers Subandhu and Bana as his only equals in vakrokti, or crooked speech, and the fault of a 'meaning to be guessed out' ('Sahitya-Darpana,' § 574) is not rare. The 'Kavya-Prakaça,' in addition to the references given by Professor Peterson, quotes a stanza describing a horse in the 'Harsha-Carita' (chap. iii.) as an example of svabhavokti.

The hero belongs to the division described as the high-spirited, but temperate and firm ('Sahitya-Darpana,' § 64), i.e., he who is 'not given to boasting, placable, very profound, with great self-command, resolute, whose self-esteem is concealed, and faithful to his engagements,' and who has the 'eight manly qualities' of 'brilliancy, vivacity, sweetness of temper, depth of character, steadfastness, keen sense of honour, gallantry, and magnanimity' (Ibid., § 89). Kadambari is the type of the youthful heroine who feels love for the first time, is shy, and gentle even in indignation (Ibid., § 98). The companions of each are also those declared in the books of rhetoric to be appropriate.

LITERARY PARALLELS.

The work which most invites comparison with 'Kadambari' is one far removed from it in place and time--Spenser's 'Faerie Queene.' Both have in great measure the same faults and the same virtues. The lack of proportion,--due partly to too large a plan, partly to an imagination wandering at will--the absence of visualization--which in Spenser produces sometimes a line like

'A lovely Ladie rode him faire beside Upon a lowly Asse more white then snow, Yet she much whiter,'

and in Bana many a description like that of Mahaçveta's fairness (pp. 95-97)--the undiscriminating praise bestowed on those whom they would fain honour, the shadowy nature of many of their personages, and the intricacies in which the story loses itself, are faults common to both. Both, too, by a strange coincidence, died with their work unfinished. But if they have the same faults, they have also many of the same virtues. The love of what is beautiful and pure both in character and the world around, tenderness of heart, a gentle spirit troubled by the disquiet of life, [30] grace and sweetness of style, and idyllic simplicity, are common to both. Though, however, Candrapida may have the chivalry and reverence of the Red Cross Knight, and Una share with Kadambari or Rohini 'nobility, tenderness, loftiness of soul, devotion and charm,' [31] the English hero and heroine are more real and more strenuous. We are, indeed, told in one hurried sentence of the heroic deeds of Candrapida in his world-conquest, and his self-control and firmness are often insisted on; but as he appears throughout the book, his self-control is constantly broken down by affection or grief, and his firmness destroyed by a timid balancing of conflicting duties, while his real virtue is his unfailing gentleness and courtesy. Nor could Kadambari, like Una, bid him, in any conflict, 'Add faith unto your force, and be not faint.' She is, perhaps, in youth and entire self-surrender, more like Shakespeare's Juliet, but she lacks her courage and resolve.

THE PURPOSE OF 'KADAMBARI.'

The likeness of spirit between these two leads to the question, Had Bana, like Spenser, any purpose, ethical or political, underlying his story? On the surface it is pure romance, and it is hard to believe that he had any motive but the simple delight of self-expression and love for the children of his own imagination. He only claims to tell a story 'tender with the charm of gracious speech, that comes of itself, like a bride, to the possession of its lord'; [32] but it may be that he gladly gathered up in old age the fruits of his life's experience, and that his own memory of his father's tenderness to his childhood, of the temptations of youth, and of the dangers of prosperity and flattery that assail the heart of kings, was not used only to adorn a tale, but to be a guide to others on the perilous path of life. Be that as it may, the interest of 'Kadambari,' like that of the 'Faerie Queene,' does not depend for us now on any underlying purpose, but on the picture it presents in itself of the life and thought of a world removed in time, but not in sympathy, from our own; on the fresh understanding it gives of those who are in the widest sense our fellow-countrymen; and on the charm, to quote the beautiful words of Professor Peterson, 'of a story of human sorrow and divine consolation, of death and the passionate longing for a union after death, that goes straight from the heart of one who had himself felt the pang, and nursed the hope, to us who are of like frame with him ... the story which from the beginning of time mortal ears have yearned to hear, but which mortal lips have never spoken.'

THE PLAN OF THE TRANSLATION.

The translation of Bana presents much difficulty from the elaboration of his style, and it has been a specially hard task, and sometimes an impossible one, to give any rendering of the constant play on words in which he delights. I have sometimes endeavoured to give what might be an English equivalent, and in such cases I have added in a note the literal meaning of both alternatives; perhaps too much freedom may have been used, and sometimes also the best alternative may not have been chosen to place in the text; but those who have most experience will know how hard it is to do otherwise than fail. Some long descriptions have been omitted, such, e.g., as a passage of several pages describing how the dust rose under the feet of Candrapida's army, and others where there seemed no special interest or variety to redeem their tediousness. A list of these omissions [33] is given at the end, together with an appendix, in which a few passages, chiefly interesting as mentioning religious sects, are added. I have acted on Professor Cowell's advice as to the principle on which omissions are made, as also in giving only a full abstract, and not a translation, of the continuation of 'Kadambari' by Bhushana. It is so entirely an imitation of his father's work in style, with all his faults, and without the originality that redeems them, that it would not reward translation. In my abstract I have kept the direct narration as more simple, but even when passages are given rather fully, it does not profess in any case to be more than a very free rendering; sometimes only the sense of a whole passage is summed up. I regret that the system of transliteration approved by the Royal Asiatic Society came too late for adoption here.

The edition of 'Kadambari' to which the references in the text are given is that of the Nirnaya-Sagara Press (Bombay, 1890), which the full commentary makes indispensable, but I have also throughout made use of Professor Peterson's edition (Bombay Sanskrit Series, No. xxiv.). For the last half of the Second Part [34] I have referred to an anonymous literal translation, published by the New Britannia Press Depository, 78, Amherst Street, Calcutta.

I have now to offer my grateful thanks to the Secretary of State for India, without whose kind help the volume could not have been published. I have also to thank Miss C. M. Duff for allowing me to use the MS. of her 'Indian Chronology'; Miss E. Dale, of Girton College, for botanical notes, which I regret that want of space prevented my printing in full; Mr. C. Tawney, librarian of the Indian Office, for information as to the sources of Indian fiction; Mr. F. F. Arbuthnot and Professor Rhys-Davids, for valuable advice; Professor C. Bendall, for his description of the Kamandakiya-Niti-Çastra, and his constant kindness about my work; Mr. F. W. Thomas, of Trinity College, for letting me see the proof-sheets of the translation of the 'Harsha Carita'; and others for suggested renderings of difficult phrases, and for help of various kinds.

But especially my thanks are due to Professor Cowell [35] for a generosity and unwearied helpfulness which all his pupils know, and which perhaps few but they could imagine. I read through with him the whole of the First Part before translating it myself, so that mistakes in the translation, many as they may be, can arise only from misunderstanding on my part, from too great freedom of rendering, or from failing to have recourse to the knowledge he so freely gives.

'Vrihatsahayah karyantam kshodiyanapi gacchati; Sambhuyambodhim abhyeti mahanadya nagapaga.'

KADAMBARI.

(1) Hail to the Birthless, the cause of creation, continuance, and destruction, triple [36] in form and quality, who shows activity in the birth of things, goodness in their continuance, and darkness in their destruction.

(2) Glory to the dust of Tryambaka's feet, caressed by the diadem of the demon Bana [37]; even that dust that kisses the circle of Ravana's ten crest-gems, that rests on the crests of the lords of gods and demons, and that destroys our transitory life.

(3) Glory to Vishnu, who, resolving to strike from afar, with but a moment's glance from his wrath-inflamed eye stained the breast of his enemy, as if it had burst of itself in terror.

I salute the lotus feet of Bhatsu, [38] honoured by crowned Maukharis: the feet which have their tawny toes rubbed on a footstool made by the united crowns of neighbouring kings.

Who is there that fears not the wicked, pitiless in causeless enmity; in whose mouth calumny hard to bear is always ready as the poison of a serpent?

The wicked, like fetters, echo harshly, wound deeply, and leave a scar; while the good, like jewelled anklets, ever charm the mind with sweet sounds.

(4) In a bad man gentle words sink no deeper than the throat, like nectar swallowed by Rahu. The good man bears them constantly on his heart, as Hari his pure gem.

A story tender with the charm of gracious speech, creates in the heart joy full of fresh interest [39]; and it comes of itself, with native feeling, to its lord's possession, like a fresh bride. [40]

Who is not carried captive by tales fashioned in freshness of speech, all alight with similes, and the lamps of glowing words [41]: pleasant tales interwoven with many a contrast of words, [42] as jasmine garlands with campak buds?

There was once a Brahman, Kuvera by name, sprung from the race of Vatsyayana, sung throughout the world for his virtue, a leader of the good: his lotus feet were worshipped by many a Gupta, and he seemed a very portion of Brahma.

(5) On his mouth Sarasvati ever dwelt: for in it all evil was stilled by the Veda; it had lips purified by sacrificial cake, and a palate bitter with soma, and it was pleasant with smriti and çastra.

In his house frightened boys, as they repeated verses of the Yajur and Sama Veda, were chidden at every word by caged parrots and mainas, who were thoroughly versed in everything belonging to words.

From him was born Arthapati, a lord of the twice-born, as Hiranyagarbha from the world-egg, the moon from the Milky Ocean, or Garuda from Vinata.

As he unfolded his spreading discourse day by day at dawn, new troops of pupils, intent on listening, [43] gave him a new glory, like fresh sandal-shoots fixed on the ear.

(6) With countless sacrifices adorned with gifts duly offered, [44] having glowing Mahavira fires in their midst, [45] and raising the sacrificial posts as their hands, [46] he won easily, as if with a troop of elephants, the abode of the gods.

He in due course obtained a son, Citrabhanu, who amongst his other noble and glorious sons, all versed in çruti and çastra, shone as crystal, like Kailasa among mountains.

The virtues of that noble man, reaching far and gleaming bright as a digit of the moon, yet without its spot, pierced deep even into the hearts of his foes, like the budding claws of Nrisimha (Vishnu).

The dark smoke of many a sacrifice rose like curls on the brow of the goddesses of the sky; or like shoots of tamala on the ear of the bride, the Threefold Veda, and only made his own glory shine more bright.

From him was born a son, Bana, when the drops that rose from the fatigue of the soma sacrifice were wiped from his brow by the folded lotus hands of Sarasvati, and when the seven worlds had been illuminated by the rays of his glory.

(7) By that Brahman, albeit with a mind keeping even in his unspoken words its original dullness blinded by the darkness of its own utter folly, and simple from having never gained the charm of ready wit, this tale, surpassing the other two, [47] was fashioned, even Kadambari.

There was once upon a time a king named Çudraka. Like a second Indra, he had his commands honoured by the bent heads of all kings; he was lord of the earth girt in by the four oceans; he had an army of neighbouring chiefs bowed down in loyalty to his majesty; he had the signs of a universal emperor; (8) like Vishnu, his lotus-hand bore the sign of the conch and the quoit; like Çiva, he had overcome Love; like Kartikeya, he was unconquerable in might [48]; like Brahma, he had the circle of great kings humbled [49]; like the ocean, he was the source of Lakshmi; like the stream of Ganges, he followed in the course of the pious king Bhagiratha; like the sun, he rose daily in fresh splendour; like Meru, the brightness of his foot was honoured by all the world; like the elephant of the quarters, [50] he constantly poured forth a stream of generosity. He was a worker of wonders, an offerer of sacrifices, a mirror of moral law, a source of the arts, a native home of virtue; a spring of the ambrosial sweetness of poetry, a mountain of sunrise to all his friends, [51] and a direful comet to all his foes. (9) He was, moreover, a founder of literary societies, a refuge for men of taste, a rejecter of haughty bowholders, a leader among the bold, a chief among the wise. He was a cause of gladness to the humble, as Vainateya [52] was to Vinata. He rooted up with the point of his bow the boundary-mountains of his foes as Prithuraja did the noble mountains. He mocked Krishna, also, for while the latter made his boast of his man-lion form, he himself smote down the hearts of his foes by his very name, and while Krishna wearied the universe with his three steps, he subdued the whole world by one heroic effort. Glory long dwelt on the watered edge of his sword, as if to wash off the stain of contact with a thousand base chieftains, which had clung to her too long.

By the indwelling of Dharma in his mind, Yama in his wrath, Kuvera in his kindness, Agni in his splendour, Earth in his arm, Lakshmi in his glance, Sarasvati in his eloquence, (10) the Moon in his face, the Wind in his might, Brihaspati in his knowledge, Love in his beauty, the Sun in his glory, he resembled holy Narayana, whose nature manifests every form, and who is the very essence of deity. Royal glory came to him once for all, like a woman coming to meet her lover, on the nights of battle stormy with the showers of ichor from the elephants' temples, and stood by him in the midst of the darkness of thousands of coats of mail, loosened from the doors of the breasts of warriors. She seemed to be drawn irresistibly by his sword, which was uneven in its edge, by reason of the drops of water forced out by the pressure of his strong hand, and which was decked with large pearls clinging to it when he clove the frontal bones of wild elephants. The flame of his majesty burnt day and night, as if it were a fire within his foes' fair wives, albeit reft of their lords, as if he would destroy the husbands now only enshrined in their hearts.

(11) While he, having subdued the earth, was guardian of the world, the only mixing of colour [53] was in painting; the only pulling of hair in caresses; the only strict fetters in the laws of poetry; the only care was concerning moral law; the only deception was in dreams; the only golden rods [54] were in umbrellas. Banners alone trembled; songs alone showed variations [55]; elephants alone were rampant; [56] bows alone had severed cords; [57] lattice windows alone had ensnaring network; lovers' disputes alone caused sending of messengers; dice and chessmen alone left empty squares; and his subjects had no deserted homes. Under him, too, there was only fear of the next world, only twisting in the curls of the zenana women, only loquacity in anklets, only taking the hand [58] in marriage, only shedding of tears from the smoke of ceaseless sacrificial fires; the only sound of the lash was for horses, while the only twang of the bow was Love's.

(15) When the thousand-rayed sun, bursting open the young lotus-buds, had not long risen, though it had lost somewhat of the pinkness of dawn, a portress approached the king in his hall of audience, and humbly addressed him. Her form was lovely, yet awe-inspiring, and with the scimitar (a weapon rarely worn by women) hanging at her left side, was like a sandal-tree girt by a snake. Her bosom glistened with rich sandal ointment like the heavenly Ganges when the frontal-bone of Airavata rises from its waters. (16) The chiefs bent before her seemed, by her reflection on their crests, to bear her on their foreheads as a royal command in human form. Like autumn, [59] she was robed in the whiteness of hamsas; like the blade of Paraçurama she held the circle of kings in submission; like the forest land of the Vindhyas, she bore her wand, [60] and she seemed the very guardian-goddess of the realm. Placing on the ground her lotus hand and knee, she thus spake: 'Sire, there stands at the gate a Candala maiden from the South, a royal glory of the race of that Triçamku [61] who climbed the sky, but fell from it at the murmur of wrathful Indra. She bears a parrot in a cage, and bids me thus hail your majesty: "Sire, thou, like the ocean, art alone worthy to receive the treasures of the whole earth. In the thought that this bird is a marvel, and the treasure of the whole earth, I bring it to lay at thy feet, and desire to behold thee." (17) Thou, 0 king, hast heard her message, and must decide!' So saying, she ended her speech. The king, whose curiosity was aroused, looked at the chiefs around him, and with the words 'Why not? Bid her enter?' gave his permission.